COVER REVEAL: Unseasonable

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Coming in December 2019 from Pelican Book Group!

Unseasonable: A Novel of Sisterhood, Storms, Sunblock, and the Occasional Christmas Celebration

Ann Cooper does not panic. From her demanding job training horses to her family role of keeping tabs on her high-maintenance sister, Ann remains cool, calm, and collected at all times. This holiday season, however, Ann’s fortitude will be tested like never before. Not only is she pondering a potential shift in an important relationship, but she’s also facing the prospect of riding out an unseasonable hurricane with the doubtful help of her sister Rachel. This December, Ann’s patience and faith will both be stretched. Will the risks involved in taking a leap of faith outweigh the possible rewards?

For more information, see here.

To be among the first to know when the book goes up for pre-order, see here!

Florida Summer Is Your Winter

The evidence is undeniable.

Holing Up Indoors

Those who spend winter huddling under a pile of blankets truly appreciate the arrival of the summer sun. As one of my Midwestern friends is fond of saying, “Sun’s out, guns out!” (She’s referring to her arms. She lifts. She’s crazy strong and enjoys sporting tank tops.)

Down here, however, we have a different summer motto. “Flee the sun lest it boil your face.” While November through March are nearly idyllic, drawing visitors from around the globe, April through October cause us to question why anyone ever settled here. 

Most of us prefer to spend summer inside huddled under air conditioning vents.

Extreme Storms

For most of you, winter is the time to brace yourself. You dress for extreme cold and fortify your homes and vehicles against major storms. For us, the opposite is true. Extreme temperatures and damaging storms arrive during summer.

In addition to soaring temperatures, Florida summer heralds the arrival of rainy season.

These aren’t just cute little rain showers, either. They’re tropical deluges. Towering thunderheads build quickly, unleashing torrential downpours accompanied by electrical storms. Personally, during summer I plan to run errands in the morning or evening to avoid getting caught in them.

In addition to near-daily storms, summer heralds the threat of named tropical storms and full-blown hurricanes

Is it any wonder our seasonal residents abandon ship every spring?

Complaining on Social Media

Northern friends spend the winter posting pictures of the snowfall accumulating on their back porches and Tweeting low temps. They bemoan the wind, decry a lack of sunlight, and wish for winter to end.

Meanwhile, during Florida summer, we post that it’s still 90 degrees after sunset (seriously, how??) and complain that we broke into a sweat while walking toward the gym at 6:00am.

Conclusion

I’m not trying to turn this into a contest about whose seasonal issues are worse.

I think we can all agree Siberia has us beat.

All places have ups and downs. All things considered, Florida’s pretty great. Once winter rolls around, I’m sure plenty of you would be happy to trade places. 

Bear in mind, however, that we do have other problems.

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Note: An early version of this post appeared in June of 2016 on my former blogging site. With record highs hitting the northeastern United States this weekend, it seemed like an opportune moment to dust it off and trot it back out. Keep cool, check on your neighbors, and take care of each other!

Publication Announcement

New Book

You asked. I listened.

Coming in December 2019 from Pelican Book Group:

Unseasonable: A Novel of Sisterhood, Storms, Sunblock, and the Occasional Christmas Celebration

Ann Cooper does not panic. From her demanding job training horses to her family role of keeping tabs on her high-maintenance sister, Ann remains cool, calm, and collected at all times. This holiday season, however, Ann’s fortitude will be tested like never before. Not only is she pondering a potential shift in an important relationship, but she’s also facing the prospect of riding out an unseasonable hurricane with the doubtful help of her sister Rachel. This December, Ann’s patience and faith will both be stretched. Will the risks involved in taking a leap of faith outweigh the possible rewards?

Fans of the Collapsible trilogy can look forward to meeting plenty of old friends in these pages, as well as some fresh faces; but since this is a straight-up spin-off, new readers will have no trouble quickly orienting themselves in Ann’s world. (Ann’s world is extremely oriented.)

This book was an absolute treat to write, and I can’t wait to get it in front of your beady little eyes.

More info when I have it!

(Tip: Subscribers always know first.)


You’ve all been very patient as my blogging frequency dropped during the first half of 2019. Now that you know why I trust you’ll forgive me.

Because NEW BOOK!

I look forward to posting some reflections from my recent trip to Montgomery and a short series before the summer is over.

Happy Friday, everybody! Until we meet again, may your A/C be cool, your coffee hot, and your hearts warm.

 

Florida Summer: The Ultimate Bummer (A Poem by Me)

When thunderclouds rise in the deep Western skies

And the air is as heavy as lead –

When fat Bufo toads squat right there by our toes

And the snakes topple down on our heads –

When we feel ourselves frown as the sweat trickles down

From our necks to the smalls of our backs –

Then we know without doubt that our luck has run out

And the summer’s arrived right on track.

Oh, this Florida summer–it’s really a bummer.

The sunshine’s so bright we go blind!

It’s hot and it’s muggy, and outside it’s buggy.

That heat index? Simply unkind.

The gators are gloating, the fire ants floating,

The snowbirds have all fled up North.

On the Fourth of July, we’ll sit inside and cry

As the A/C once more proves its worth.

By fall, you may find that we’ve all lost our minds.

But there’s a good reason, remember.

(The number one reason is Hurricane Season,

Which stretches from June to November.)

So let’s hang down our heads for the season we dread –

It’s summer down here in SoFlo.

Sure, we know how to deal, just don’t ask how we feel

Unless you–in fact–want to know.


Despite the tone of the poem above, I’m actually doing pretty well today, both mentally and physically. After nearly two years of almost strictly running, I’ve rejoined a gym. My arms are remembering what weights feel like. It’s a whole scene. So that’s how things are going here.

It’s true I’ve been slacking on the blogging front. There are reasons. I hope you’ll accept this little post to tide you over until my next personal essay is ready.

Speaking of which, I am planning a short series this summer that’s going to blow everybody’s hair back – including, probably, mine. Actually, if you wouldn’t mind praying for me as I prepare it, I’d appreciate that. It’s sort of a doozy and a has proven a stretch for me to write. But I can’t not write it. It’s basically boiling a hole in my brain!

In the comments below, be sure to check in and let me know how you are. Critique the poem if you like, and feel free to write a few lines about summer in your own hometown! I’d love that.

Happy Wednesday, everybody!

May your coffee be hot, your A/C cool, and your hearts warm with joy!

S.O.S. (Support Our Singles)

My book on singleness and the church released in November of 2017, and since then, I’ve had increased opportunity to discuss my single life.

I was able to write such a book because I’m supported by my community. My family, friends, and church family do really well at rallying round to ensure that I’m well cared for. This is partly true because I’m vocal with my needs. It’s also true that when I reach out, they reach back.

Here are a few things they do for me. Consider whether or not these practical steps would also work for the single adults in your lives.

Feed Us

In my book, I discuss why I don’t like to eat alone and how my community helps ensure that it doesn’t happen very often. I won’t cover that ground again in this post. Instead, I’ll highlight ways in which others go above and beyond when it comes to keeping me fed.

In addition to not liking to eat alone, I also don’t like cooking for one. (Who does?) It’s not rare for me get a text saying there’s a Tupperware of lasagna or a crock of soup in someone’s fridge with my name on it. All I need to do is pick it up or (depending on my schedule) wait for it to be dropped off. Honestly, few things make me feel more cared for.

Second, I have friends with whom I exchange fresh fruits and vegetables. I mean, there’s no way I’m going to eat an entire bag of tangerines by myself before some of them spoil, and most people won’t miss parting with a few shoots of green onion, a handful of carrots, or a single stalk of celery. Sometimes the exchange rate works in my favor; sometimes in theirs. That’s just how these things go! At least fresh fruits and veggies aren’t going to waste.

Surround Us

There’s a difference between inviting someone along and inviting them in. The former makes sure we’re not alone. The latter ensures we’re not lonely.

Don’t just seek to “hang out.” Surround your singles, physically as well as emotionally. Don’t just spend time with us. Invite us fully into your lives.

Pray for Us

The best way to know how to pray for your single friends is to ask individually.

If someone were to ask me today, here’s what I’d say.

  • Pray that I walk in the will of God.
  • Pray that I can maintain a chaste life.
  • Pray that my life shows off God’s glory.
  • Pray that the Word dwells richly in me.
  • Pray that God blesses my work both inside and outside the church.
  • Pray that God grants ongoing grace as certain aspects of my life run counter to my expectations and desires.

Press Love In

A friend and I were talking last week about how in the Old Testament Book of Ruth, Ruth’s mother-in-law Naomi didn’t just need to be loved. Naomi needed love pressed into her, and Ruth spends much of the book doing just that.

What a wonderful picture of Christ, not to mention a perfect description of how we’re to express Christian love. Love isn’t just a passive emotion. It’s a continual, active response.

By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth. (1 John 3:16-18)

When you press love in, it’s not possible for people to be with you and walk away feeling neglected.

Exactly what this looks like will depend a lot on your personality and how you naturally express yourself. Pressing love into someone can be tiring. It’s work. But it’s worth it.


For more information on caring for singles in your church, please see The Proper Care and Feeding of Singles: How Pastors, Marrieds, and Church Leaders Effectively Support Solo Members.

Available now! (5)

Worst Parade Ever: Surviving My First (and Only) Marathon

On Sunday, March 3, 2019, I ran my first (and only) full marathon.

Having a handful of small races, a few half marathons, and even a Ragnar Trail Relay under my belt and faithfully following a training program did not fully prepare me for the physical and emotional roller coaster ahead of me.

Rather than subjecting you to all the arm-flailing details, I’ll share a quick summary of the run itself, a few vignettes from the course, and some concluding thoughts.

Running Details

The race route was actually gorgeous. We started in Downtown Stuart along the scenic waterfront, ran out to Sewell’s Point, up to the Jensen Beach Causeway, across the Indian River Lagoon to Hutchison Island, down A1A to Stuart Beach, over the Ernest Lyons Bridge down to the southern tip of Sewell’s Point, back the Evans Crary Bridge to Steele Point, passing back through Stuart on East Ocean to the Finish Line.

At the Start: My sister Bethany and good friend Jodee ensured that I arrived on time at the start, fully awake, hydrated, and stretched out. They even stayed to cheer me through the first few miles!

Miles 1-9: I hung with a pace group set to finish in 5 hours and 45 minutes. Unfortunately, once the sun rose fully, the course heated up quickly. With the temps hitting 87F and the heat index somewhat higher, I decided to drop into high/low intervals.

Miles 10-17: I ran high/low intervals. The 5:45 pace group left me behind, and the 6-hour pace group and most of the other turtle runners passed me as well. I was still feeling good, though, and moving at an acceptable clip.

Mile 17: Physical and mental breakdown on the Ernest Lyons Bridge (more on that below).

Miles 17-22: Shambling runs, uneven intervals, lots of shuffling and some fast walks with my hands on my hips. Heat and misery.

Miles 22-24: Mostly walking with a few little bursts of hopeful jogging.

Miles 25-26.2: Jogging again, because walking across the finish line was unacceptable.

Finish line: Joy and relief! Friends and family! Cold limeade! Ringing the PR Bell!

Vignettes from the Course

High points included lining up at the back of the pack with the rest of the slow-moving party crowd, coming upon a trio of older ladies mid-morning in lawn chairs offering runners scoops of ice to shove down their tops, and arriving at the finish line to discover friends and family holding out hope after the crowds had left and the crew had started shutting things down. (“If they took down the PR bell, we were going to riot!”)

Low points included soaring temperatures, my body pulling a bathroom emergency fakeout in Mile 16, and crying at the top of the Ernest Lyons Bridge in Mile 17.

I believe those two events are related.

The Bridge

By the time I hit Mile 16, I was running out on Hutchison Island, alone without a pace group.

I’d already rounded that bend near the Elliot Museum and was headed toward the double bridges to the mainland. I was running high/low intervals in a hot, airless section with no shade when my body informed me that we needed to find a Porta Potty, pronto!

Feeling pressure to deal with the situation and worried that further running might force the issue, I fell into a fast walk. While the stomach cramping faded within a few minutes, I’d lost my rhythm and drive right before I hit the Ernest Lyons Bridge.

I started up the bridge at a walk, continuing to lose steam as I ascended. The sun pressed down, the air thickened in my lungs, and the impossibility of finishing the race overwhelmed me just as my body gave out. My hands and feet began tingling. Black splotches danced across my line of sight. I swayed on my feet.

In short, I’d hit the wall.

I remember shuffling one foot in front of the other and actually grabbing the railing running between me and the sheer drop to the Intracoastal Waterway, hauling myself hand over hand toward the Olympic heights of the summit.

Just before the apex of the bridge, I stumbled upon a bench. Don’t do it, I told myself, even as I fell onto it.

I rolled onto my back, sticking my hands and feet in the air like a little bug. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, trailing toward my salt-matted hairline.

The moment had arrived. This was do or die, and I was fairly certain my body was making the decision for me.

Why postpone the inevitable? If I was going to quit, I should quit now and get it over with. No use shuffling any more miles. I should just surrender.

I dropped my hands and feet, leaving them to dangle over the sides of the bench. I opened my eyes, staring into the impossible blue of the sky. The black spots were gone.

On the bridge beside me, cars and trucks whizzed by. Even if I was going to quit, I couldn’t quit at the top of the bridge. It was too dangerous for anyone to park, for one thing; for another, I’d either have to roll over the cement barricade or be hauled over it. That sounded harder than walking down the bridge itself. Much better to walk down and call someone at the bottom.

After all, if I was quitting, I had plenty of time.

Fortunately, I could feel my hands and feet again. I rolled off the bench, stumbled to a standing position, inched over the tallest point of the bridge, and started down the other side.

A blessedly cool breeze lifted before me, and suddenly I felt fresh life. While I couldn’t run yet, hope rose. Maybe I wouldn’t have to quit after all.

A local man out for a walk up the bridge (it was an open course) passed me going the opposite direction. His gaze flicked to my runner’s bib (on which was my number and my first name), and he said, “Ruth! Your friend’s waiting for you!”

I didn’t have the energy to ask him what he meant, let alone puzzle it out for myself. A minute later, another passerby said something similar. “Ruth! You’re almost there! I saw your sign!” I broke into a shuffle.

There, at the bottom of the bridge, was my friend Alissa, holding a huge sign with my name on it, dancing like a crazy person. When she saw me coming, she ran straight to me, bearing iced coffee.

“You’ve hit the wall,” she told me. “So that’s over with.” I don’t remember what else she said, but I remember that only after talking to her did I feel that I might actually finish the race.

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The Song

The week before the marathon, I’d somewhat jokingly selected Psalm 118:17 as the theme verse for my race: “I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.”

That verse not only proved true but also was an actual comfort as I found myself shuffling through the dreadful miles between my breakdown and the end.

At one point, I was trapped in a sunny stretch along Sewell’s Point feeling like I might die at any moment.

Suddenly, drifting from the open windows of a residential home, I heard the strains of the worship song “O Praise the Name (Anástasis),” a song our church family has been focusing on in this season approaching Resurrection Sunday.

Themes of pain, death, and inevitable resurrection overwhelmed me. I would not die. I would live and recount the deeds of the Lord.

I didn’t have the energy to sing or the spare moisture to cry, but I raised a hand and mentally sang along.

Then on the third at break of dawn,
The Son of Heaven rose again.
O trampled death where is your sting?
The angels roar for Christ the King!

O praise the name of the Lord our God
O praise His name forever more
For endless days we will sing Your praise
Oh Lord, oh Lord our God.

Even now, I’m unable to put into words what it meant to me, hearing that song in that moment.

The Finish

Losing steam partway through the race meant that I was one of the final finishers. While I wasn’t the very last runner on the course, I was among the final dozen or so to trickle in. The police were literally taking down barricades and reopening intersections as I shambled through them.

Still, my family and friends (and random passers-by) cheered me across the line as if I were one of the top finishers.

And you know what? I’m not embarrassed by that.

I spent six months pushing myself to train, struggled through physical, emotional, and mental battles, and in the end, I finished.

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Concluding Thoughts

Running a marathon was an audacious goal for someone like me. Considering my age, temperament, and physical capabilities, it was truly an awesome challenge.

While I feel absolutely no drive to try a full marathon again, I have zero regrets about signing up, enduring the training, and suffering through the experience (although during the race itself, I couldn’t help but think the whole thing had been a huge mistake).

All I can tell you is this: if I can run a marathon, anyone can do anything.

Make a goal, set practical steps, and work toward fulfilling it.

Though you’re worried you might fail, share your journey with friends, family, and loved ones because you will definitely fail without them.

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5 Original Poems for Literary Lonely-Hearts

We’re creeping up on Valentine’s Day 2019, and I’m celebrating by posting some original poetry. It’s mostly satirical and based on literary spoilers, so manage your expectations accordingly.


Read Between the Lines:

A Love Song for Literary Lonely-Hearts

Scrooge is in his counting house, counting all his money;

Pooh is down at Rabbit’s place, eating all the honey;

Pippa’s singing her sweet song, tripping through the dew;

While I’m still sitting lonely here thinking, dear, of you.

Catherine’s up to her old tricks, wandering ‘cross the moors;

Aragorn’s at the Black Gate, kicking down the doors;

The Mariner still tells his tale of bird and ship and sea;

While I’m still pining, dear, for you. Can’t you pine for me?

Atticus is in the road, sighting down the barrel;

Mary’s Apple Cart Upset left her with Yellow Peril;

Beowulf foams ‘cross the waves, plowing the whale-road;

While I’m still sending signals, dear, in hopes that you’ll decode.

Poirot strokes his long mustaches, chasing a loose end;

Viola’s dressed like a boy, but it’s just pretend;

Fred and George go out in style, kicking up a fuss

While here we be, still you and me. When will we be us?


Stopping by Woods on a Saucy Evening:

A Frost/Millay Mashup

Whose lips I’ve kissed, I think you know.

My husband’s still home sleeping, though.

He will not see me stopping here,

Recalling long-forgotten beaux.

My heart throbs quietly with pain,

Rememb’ring those brave lads again.

Now they’ve all vanished, one by one:

Like flitting birds, they’ve come and gone.

Where once their summer sang through me,

Now stand I here, a frost-stripped tree.

These woods are lonely, dark and deep,

And I have promises to keep

To my new bridegroom, home asleep.

To my new bridegroom, home asleep.


The Doomed Romance of Fiction

Rochester proposed to Jane

With his wife upstairs.

Rapunzel’s storied love led her

To sacrifice her hair.

Macbeth’s sweet spouse seduced him

Into grisly, blood-soaked killing.

Dimmesdale didn’t merit love,

But Hester Prynne proved willing.

Alas, for luckless Oedepus,

Who gouged out his own eyes

Upon the revelation

That his wife’s his mom.

(Surprise!)

Oh, single friends and married friends

And those midway ‘tween labels,

Enlist in this, my festal song.

(Please harmonize, if able.)

Lift loud and long in lusty praise

And highly-stylized diction

In thanks that we, at least,

Don’t bear the doomed romance of fiction.


Ladies, Best Stay Single:

An Ironic Love Song Based on Literary Spoilers

Sir Percy’s vows to Margurite

Were based on a deception.

Darcy and Elizabeth

Embodied misconception.

While Rochester wooed gentle Jane,

He hid a wife upstairs.

If these be paragons of love,

Then, ladies, say your prayers.

Poor loving Desdomona

Was strangled by her mate.

Petruchio retained the right

To boss and roughhouse Kate.

When Juliet wed Romeo,

It ended in her death.

If these be paragons of love,

Then, girls, don’t hold your breath.

Alex/Angel (pick a name!)

Ruined Tess’s life.

Claudio shamed Hero

‘Stead of taking her to wife.

Benedick and Beatrice

Let love and hate comingle.

If these be paragons of love,

Then, ladies, best stay single.


Love Song for a Very Specific Type of Nerd

Tesla was a little nuts;

Also, he is dead.

Faramir has passed to myth.

Captain Wentworth’s wed.

Chamberlain sleeps in the grave.

“M’sieur le maire” is fake.

If they were only here and now,

What valentines they’d make!

Ida Wells? A total boss.

Harriet Tubman? Same.

Alas! They’re gone – like Boudica,

One even Rome can’t tame.

Earhart’s vanished; Ella’s dead;

Farewell, Madame Curie.

If they were only here and now,

What valentines they’d be!

Marguerite St. Just, Nat Eaton,

Ned, Galadriel.

Aragorn of Arathorn,

Sayers, Sabriel.

Nathan Coulter, Frederick Douglass,

Flannery O’Connor.

If they were only here and now,

I’m sure we’d all be goners!


If you’ve followed me around blogging platforms over the years, you’ll no doubt recognize a few of these poems from Valentine’s Days past. This year, I thought it would be fun to pull them together into one place. Feel free to share them with fellow literary lonely hearts and add your own poems to the pile. Whether love songs or laments, they’re all welcome here!

In other news, this month Amazon selected my novel Collapsible: A Novel of Friendship, Broken Bones, Coffee, Shenanigans, and the Occasional Murder as a featured Kindle Monthly Deal. The e-book will be discounted to $1.99 through February. It’s a good time to snag your copy or recommend the books to friends!

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Happy Monday, everyone! May your coffee be hot, your tempers cool, and your toes snug in some fuzzy socks. For my Florida friends, enjoy this beautiful winter weather. For my Polar Vortex friends, please stay warm!

Or, you know, come see us.

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