Tie-Dyed Cover Reveal

Here’s the cover for Tie-Dyed, book 3 in my On the Brink Christian suspense series. It’s due to release March 13th and is now available for pre-order on Kindle

Here’s the blurb about Tie-Dyed:

Nat Montgomery is an expert hider. With a promiscuous, volatile addict for a mother, she has long since perfected the art of concealing herself behind humor. An art history major in Washington, DC, with an internship at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History, Nat receives a nineteenth-birthday gift from her beloved grandmother, Gigi, who raised her and who died six months previously. The gift is a laptop containing time-release video clips of Gigi’s revelations about Nat’s grandfather, murdered in 1964 when he worked for a secret racial reconciliation group that met after hours in the Smithsonian museums. The murderer was never found, and Gigi’s family always believed he abandoned her and her unborn child.

Knowing the hole Grandpa Bobby’s disappearance left in Gigi’s heart, Nat resolves to discover the truth of what happened to him. But when her roommate Cadence disappears after asking questions about the long-dead past, Nat fears Bobby’s killer is still a threat. Casting off her inclination to hide, Nat determines to find the person who kidnapped Cadence and who may well have killed her grandfather a half-century earlier.

The Perfect Digital Stocking Stuffer

Did you buy a loved one a Kindle or tablet for Christmas? Today through December 18th, you can gift the person an e-book of my Christian suspense novels Whitewashed and Colorblind for only 99 cents each! Don’t forget to grab a copy for yourself!

Enter to win over 20 inspirational books (including Whitewashed and Colorblind)


Mantle Rock Publishing is holding a contest for a chance to win over 20 inspirational books, including my suspense novels Whitewashed and Colorblind. Click here for to enter!



Now available in paperback and ebook: The Fall of Thor’s Hammer (Levi Prince, book 2)

The Fall of Thor’s Hammer, book 2 in my Levi Prince YA Christian fantasy series, is now available for purchase in both paperback and ebook (free for Kindle Unlimited)! Here are the links on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Blurb for The Fall of Thor’s Hammer:

Stay out of the cellar! One of Camp Classic’s firmest rules puts Levi in a dilemma when he hears banging on the cellar door. Could it be a Lake Superior sailor driven into Terracaelum’s underbelly by a storm? Or is it one of the Dvergar trying to lure a foolish camper to certain death? It’s only the first night back in the castle and already Levi must make a potentially disastrous decision: Should he disobey Mr. Dominic at the risk of his own life? Or do as he’s told, possibly leaving some poor sailor to wander in darkness until he starves?

The Fall of Thor’s Hammer Is Now Available for Pre-order!

The Fall of Thor’s Hammer, book 2 in my Levi Prince YA Christian fantasy series, is now available for pre-order in both paperback and e-book formats. Click to pre-order on Amazon or Barnes and Noble.  The Fall of Thor’s Hammer releases on August 23rd!

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Stay out of the cellar! One of Camp Classic’s firmest rules puts Levi in a dilemma when he hears banging on the cellar door. Could it be a Lake Superior sailor driven into Terracaelum’s underbelly by a storm? Or is it one of the Dvergar trying to lure a foolish camper to certain death? It’s only the first night back in the castle and already Levi must make a potentially disastrous decision: Should he disobey Mr. Dominic at the risk of his own life? Or do as he’s told, possibly leaving some poor sailor to wander in darkness until he starves?

Whitewashed is Free August 10, 11, 12 Only!

Grab your copy of my Christian suspense novel Whitewashed today! FREE in e-book August 10, 11, 12 only!

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Here’s the blurb:

Eighteen-year-old Patience McDonough has a plan. Despite her parents’ objections, she will attend Verity College in Hades, Mississippi, and live with her grandparents. She’ll complete her degree in record time and go on to become a doctor. But things at the college are strangely neglected, her class work is unexpectedly hard, Grand gets called out-of-town, and Poppa starts acting weird—so weird she suspects he has Alzheimer’s. On top of that, she has to work extra hours at her student job inputting financial data for the college—boring! But soon her job gets more interesting than she’d like: she finds that millions of dollars are unaccounted for and that something creepy is going on in the Big House basement. She discovers secrets tying her family into the dark beginnings of Verity, founded on a slave plantation, and she is forced to question the characters of people she has always trusted. Finally, confronted with a psychotic killer, Patience has to face facts—her plans are not necessarily God’s plans. Will the truth set her free?

July 19th Release of The Fall of Thor’s Hammer

The second book in my Levi Prince YA fantasy series, The Fall of Thor’s Hammer, is due to release July 19th!

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Here’s the blurb:
Stay out of the cellar! One of Camp Classic’s firmest rules puts Levi in a dilemma when he hears banging on the cellar door. Could it be a Lake Superior sailor driven into Terracaelum’s underbelly by a storm? Or is it one of the Dvergar trying to lure a foolish camper to certain death? It’s only the first night back in the castle and already Levi must make a potentially disastrous decision: Should he disobey Mr. Dominic at the risk of his own life? Or do as he’s told, possibly leaving some poor sailor to wander in darkness until he starves?

It’s Homeschool Convention Season!

If you’re attending the Great Homeschool Convention April 20-22 in Cincinnati this year, please take a moment to visit The Writing Family’s booth, which I share with my fellow homeschool moms/authors Carol Kinsey, Colleen Scott, and Rachael Woodall. I’ll be signing and selling my novels Whitewashed, Colorblind, and The Trojan Horse Traitor, all of which feature homeschooled main characters.


Carol, Colleen, and I will also be teaching two workshops during the convention–one on encouraging reluctant writers to love writing; the other about the path to publication. We’d love for you to come listen.

Tidings of Comfort

pom_craciunThough it was only December 26, I felt an uneasy need to get our Christmas decorations down early. My pregnant belly so round and tight I couldn’t sit up straight much less bend over, I assigned the task of “undecorating” our fake tree to my children. As I settled at the dining table and watched my three little ones scurry around with ornaments for me to pack into boxes, I told myself my baby was lulled to sleep by all my holiday activity and that his lack of movement was simply due to the tight quarters he had to live in for the next five weeks.

By the next morning, I knew I was wrong. My baby was coming—way too early. That night after a difficult labor, my son was born and immediately transported to Children’s Mercy Hospital. Unknown to us, his urethra had been blocked. His kidney function had been ruined and urine had backed up in his body cavity until his belly was bigger than his head. Since my husband went to Children’s Mercy with our baby, I spent that first sleepless night alone at Liberty Hospital, my mind and emotions a whirlwind of worries and half-spoken prayers.

The next day after I was released, my husband pushed my wheelchair into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of Children’s Mercy where our baby was hooked to a terrifying array of tubes and wires, his bassinet only one of many holding infants suffering various health problems.

Questions plagued me. Why had God ruined my plans for an easy delivery and a quick return home? Who would care for our other three children, two hours away? Why had He allowed our newborn to be so sick? Would he survive? Had I somehow caused his condition? If I’d done something differently during my pregnancy, would he be healthy now?

After a few days of wheeling around Children’s Mercy in an exhausted daze, my body became so toxic even my husband’s bedroom slippers felt tight on my swollen feet. My blood pressure shot so high it didn’t register on the machine, and my doctor readmitted me to Liberty Hospital for another night. Even after I was released and allowed to return to Children’s Mercy, I could barely function. Worse, my body was too stressed to produce the breast milk my newborn needed to heal.

Late one night, I sat beside my baby. The picc line in his head that administered nourishment and medication also made holding him difficult, so I hovered over his bassinet and gently stroked his arms and legs. His face contorted around the breathing tube that filled his mouth. Worried, I asked the nurse what was wrong. She told me he was crying but couldn’t make sounds because of the tube.

Sobs wracked me. My own baby couldn’t cry in his misery, and I couldn’t take care of him. I wept myself dry, crying out to God that my baby needed help, that I needed help.

In that moment, I gave up trying to be in control. I realized I couldn’t make everything okay for my baby. I couldn’t make everything okay for my older children or my husband. I couldn’t even make everything okay for myself. Only God was strong enough to turn this miserable situation into something good.

And the Father of mercies comforted my aching soul.

That night was a turning point for me. Though the next days were still far from easy, I began to look around. I noticed the many moms and dads with haunting pain in their eyes. Babies in much worse shape than mine filled the NICU. Some had already been there for months; some would never go home. I talked to the other parents when riding the elevator, sharing a meal at the Ronald McDonald House, or waiting in the lobby for shift change to end. I sympathized when their babies had setbacks and cheered when they made strides both big and small.

While comforting others, I learned the truth of 2 Corinthians 1:3-4. I learned that God didn’t promise we’d never suffer, but that the Father of mercies and God of all comfort won’t leave us alone in our sufferings. He loved us enough to stoop down through the incarnation of His Son when we could never approach Him, and His comfort in our suffering teaches us how to comfort others in theirs.

My husband and I spent our wedding anniversary in the NICU. But we celebrated the next morning when, after twelve days, we took our baby home. The doctors warned he’d be slow to potty train. They said he’d likely have kidney and urinary tract infections along with other developmental problems, but I was simply grateful to have my entire family home.

This Christmas, healthy despite the doctors’ warnings, my youngest scampers to the Christmas tree and jockeys with his older siblings for the best branch. As I watch him stretch up on tiptoe to hang his glittery ornament, I thank God for the tidings of comfort He taught me at the birth of my little boy.

Christmas Love

Throughout our growing-up years, my mom repeated this Christmas story to my brothers and me. I hope her story will touch your heart as it always has mine.


When I glanced across the crowded fairground, my gaze caught on a young African American man near the concessions stands. Frowning, I pointed him out to Larry. “Who is that? He seems so familiar.”

“Don’t think I know him,” was all he said.

But I couldn’t let it go. I was sure I knew the young man from somewhere, so I approached him.

“Excuse me.” I tapped him on the shoulder. “My name is Pearl Lindsley. It seems like I must know you from somewhere, but I can’t think where.”

His face creased into a smile. “Mrs. Lindsley. It’s wonderful to see you again. I was in your class at school, oh, ages ago now. I remember clearly because you went on a trip to Texas with your family and lost your luggage one Christmas, you remember that?”

In an instant, I was back to December 23, 1977, two days after Larry’s and my twelfth anniversary. Amy had only just turned 5; Ben was 8; Steve was 10. We’d loaded the kids into the station wagon for the long drive from Michigan to Abilene, Texas, for a Christmas visit with my family. We’d bundled most of our suitcases and all of our Christmas presents into a luggage carrier and strapped the bulky case to the top of the car.

We were on I-57 driving through Chicago when I heard a series of thumps that made my heart sink. “Larry!” I twisted around to peer out the back windows. “I think that was our luggage!”

The heavy traffic had turned his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Nothing I can do about it right now. It’s a divided highway. No turn-arounds.”

Tears sprang into my eyes. “But our clothes. And the kids’ presents.” I glanced back at the silent children.

His jaw tightened. “All we can do is find an exit and come back up the northbound lane.”

At that moment, a semi truck rattled past and blared its horn. On a whim, I snatched the CB handset and asked if anybody had seen a luggage case on the side of the road. I got several negatives, along with one trucker who said I sounded pretty enough he’d be glad to pick me up off the side of the road.

Finally, Larry found a place to turn around and headed back north. We scoured the roadside, but our luggage carrier was gone.

Discouraged, we finished our drive to Texas. Although we found a few pitiful gifts for the kids in truck stops and enough clothes to make do, we didn’t have much of a Christmas that year. I even had to borrow underwear from one of my sisters.

But on New Year’s Eve, Larry’s parents called. A couple from Chicago had contacted them because they’d found a baggage case on the side of the road. One of the suitcases had been labeled with Mom and Dad Lindsley’s address and phone number. I was so thankful we hadn’t removed the tags from their last flight from the bag we’d borrowed.

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We called the couple, who said they’d been on their way to Arkansas for Christmas when they found our luggage. They gave us their address and promised to hold our things until we returned.

The drive home was torture. The kids were tired and cranky, and Larry was very sick. He’d developed a urinary tract infection and had a high fever. When we finally reached the address the couple gave us, we found ourselves surrounded by graffiti-covered walls, broken windows, and homeless men warming their hands over drum fires. We were in South Chicago, the slums. The area we’d always avoided when we drove through the city.

I clutched the kids and my purse as we knocked on the door of the couple’s apartment.

A woman admitted us, her teeth white against her dark skin as she smiled. “You must be the folks that lost your luggage. Come in out of the cold.”

We followed her into a small living room. Though shabby and sparsely furnished, everything was sparkling clean, and a tiny Christmas tree graced one corner. The woman’s husband said hello and offered us seats on a rickety green sofa. A small boy and girl hid behind him, peeking out at Steve, Ben, and Amy.

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“Thank you for rescuing our things.” I pressed my lips together. How poor these people must be. And the sweet children…our gifts and clothes would’ve been a godsend to them. Had they taken anything? No, that was a terrible thought. Nobody made them contact us, after all. They could’ve kept the whole load and we’d never have known.

The woman’s light peel of laughter made all the children smile. “My husband didn’t want to stop because he figured there was a bunch of trash or even a dead body in that bag, but I told him it was our Christian duty to take a look. When we saw your things, we just knew some poor family would be missing out on they Christmas. So we took the bag on home with us and called your folks when we got back from Arkansas.”

“We appreciate it,” Larry said, his face sweaty with fever.

The other man nodded. “I’ll bring your case around and help you get it hooked up so you don’t lose it again.”

As the men left the room, the woman touched my arm. “We locked that bag of yours up tight in a barrel out back so nobody would steal nothing. Never can tell what folks’ll do these days.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

She stroked Amy’s brown curls. “Ain’t you three just precious. I’ve been longing for a peep at the young’uns what have all those presents to look forward to.” She patted Steve’s knee. “Now, who wants a drink of water? I know you’s thirsty after all that traveling.”

A little later, we loaded the children into the car. As Larry and I stood out in the cold Chicago wind to bid the couple goodbye, I felt unfriendly eyes on us, but I was no longer afraid with this good family at our side.

I offered the woman my hand. “Thank you again.”

She pulled me into a hug. “We’re just so happy the good Lord gave us a way to help.”

I blinked back tears as I climbed into my seat. Then frowned as Larry started the engine. “Wait a minute.” I lowered my window. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Oh, God love you, honey, I’m such a silly woman.” She chuckled. “Our name be Love.”

I couldn’t stifle my tears as we drove away. The Loves, a couple who lived in poverty, had chosen to show the love of God to us, a middle class white couple from Michigan.

We reached home hours later–after a stop at the ER for antibiotics for Larry. When I opened our luggage case, I was no longer surprised to find everything just as we’d left it. The wrapping on the Christmas presents didn’t have so much as a tiny rip, and not a single item was missing from our suitcases.

Over the next few days, I couldn’t forget what the Loves had done for us, so I stopped in at the newspaper office and told my story to a reporter. It was published the next week.

Though some mocked me for making a big deal of what happened, I always cherished the event.

Now at the fair, as my focus returned to the young African American man, I could tell by his shining eyes that he cherished it as well.

“I still have that article on my bulletin board in my office at the school where I’m a principal,” he said in a well-modulated voice that made me proud to have been his teacher. “It’s always inspired me to remember the way kindness…and love…has nothing to do with skin color or economics. Instead, it has everything to do with being the children of God.”

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Author, Homeschooler, Pastor's Wife

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