One Red Thread and Several Red Seas

Last week I spoke to a group of young women about our wilderness experience with our oldest son. The theme was “Hard Things.”  As I prayed about the content of my presentation, I was directed to the 2009 archives of my blog. I was amazed that I’d been inspired to start writing here almost exactly a year before we hit the moment of crisis. I was instantly grateful for the record I’d kept. Through my posts I was able to take myself back to that place, relive some of the “hard things,” as well as the attendant blessings. And I felt reconnected to you—my friends who are anything but “virtual.” I was very moved as I reread your comments and offers of prayers. 

Our daughter was in the audience as I spoke that night, and while she listened to me retell our family’s saga tears flowed down her cheeks. I recalled with poignancy that this was a “Hard Thing” for the whole family—not just for our oldest, or for us as parents—this was a crucible for the younger children as well. She was so worried about her big brother and his choices, often caught between feeling loyal to him and knowing she needed to involve us. There were times, early on, when she felt judged, tarnished and even ostracized by friends at school. She felt as broken and wounded as we did the day we finally sent him off to the wilderness. She suffered, she wept, she grew...and she was galvanized. All because of that invisible red thread that connects us as family.

Later in the week, as I sat in the audience listening to her sing with her high school choir, I realized that this girl has been magnificently rewarded for her choices, her growth, her persistence, her loyalty and her love. 

When she declared her intention to run for Senior VP, the (very popular) girl who was supposedly running against her suddenly dropped out of the race. And our daughter ran unopposed. A red sea, parted.

When she auditioned for Madrigals, she sang the hymn “Be Still My Soul.” The words are sublime: 

  Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav’nly Friend
Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Our daughter at age seven.

I was there, accompanying her on the piano. She was singing with a friend so she wouldn’t be as nervous. They started out just fine. Then suddenly my little girl began to cry. It was an unprecedented opening of emotional floodgates. She was suddenly so moved by the words of the hymn, she could barely get any notes out at all, and was wiping huge crocodile tears from her face. I asked if she wanted to start over. Her teacher suggested she go out in the hall and get a drink and pull herself together. Meanwhile her adorable audition partner was just standing there waiting with a big grin on his face. Bless his heart. She came back and was able to get through the song, but it was not her best performance. I didn’t think there was any way she’d make the choir after that audition. When she called me the following Monday to tell me she was on the list, suddenly it was my turn to cry. Another red sea, parted.

Our daughter has also had to part ways with a few friends over the past couple of years...one to an out-of-state move, one who was making bad choices, another who “wasn’t a good influence,” and one to a baffling misunderstanding. In their wake, however, she now finds herself surrounded by the brightest and best kids imaginable. I couldn’t have hand-picked a better crop of teenagers if I went over to the high school myself. I adore these kids who invade my kitchen at lunchtime, who all went to the prom in a big group , and who regularly surround our dining room table to quiz each other on flashcards for the AP test. What was once a painful parting has been replaced with a sea of good friends. Another red sea. This time surrounding her in warmth, sweeping her up in its current and delivering her to a better place. 

Within the past couple of weeks our daughter has received a sea of accolades: she made the journalism staff, the madrigal choir, the H.O.S.A. president, the seminary council, and Senior Class Vice-President. Her plate will be very, very full next year...but her cup is overflowing. 

As I thought about the red sea that parted, opening a way for us to help our oldest son, circling me with a current of support, and then the red seas that have recently opened up for our daughter, over and over again, the red thread is stronger than ever, the miracles are evident, and the waters serene.


I'm linking up with my friend Heather's JUST WRITE series, here.

Dispirited

I’ve been feeling more than a little bit dispirited lately. And most of it boils down to a yearning for words. I’m lacking words with sufficient power and strength to combat inane corporate decisions that cause my husband sleepless nights. And how do I find the words to console my friend whose daughter just delivered a stillborn baby? What words express the feelings of isolation, disregard, and invisibility that creep up in new situations...or worse, familiar ones? And, on a happier note, where are the words to describe the radiance and purity of our teenage daughter, dressed in layers of silky cream for her Junior Prom? This applies to my fiction as well as my life. When it comes down to the crucial moments, what I most often lack is the essential words. 

I have a very close friend who has a rare gift for words, wields their power with both discretion and ferocity, and is pitch-perfect in her ability to select just the right descriptors, evoking stunning imagery. Her name is Luisa Perkins.

A few years ago I received her cookbook, Comfortably Yum, as a thank-you prize for coming up with the winning title. When the book arrived (as I described in this post, and again in this post) I sat down and read it from cover to cover. This was a cookbook, mind you. Not fiction. Yet I could. not. put. it. down. I devoured it. And that was before I’d even tried a single recipe. :) Now it's so well-loved and food-worn I'll soon have to replace it.

Not long afterward—almost exactly two years ago—Luisa sent me the first three chapters of a manuscript she was working on. I gobbled her words down insatiably, then printed them out and carried them around for weeks, hoping my hardcopy would spontaneously generate the rest of the story. (It didn’t.) 

This book has perhaps the most unique and original premise I have ever encountered. Here is the breathtaking idea which first captured my interest: 

A young boy figures out how to take “out-of-body experience” to a whole new level, and drifts away from his home and his body to go in search of his departed mother. 

Once I finally got my hands on a copy of the entire novel, I was completely blown away. It was so riveting, I couldn’t inhale it fast enough. And yet there are so many rich layers, I wanted to savor it s l o w l y, pondering the mysteries of the universe as they unfolded before my eyes.

The book asks a universal, yet never-addressed-like-this question: What could happen if I chose to leave my body unattended? Even for a brief moment? And it offers in exchange for your time the most harrowing of answers...and a spellbinding journey of thought-provoking insights and first-rate entertainment.

It’s all at once a cautionary tale, a mysterious romp through time and place, a ghost story, a romance, a spiritual thriller, a paean to family history, a dark look into the way evil operates, and bar none the most terrifying book I have ever read. I didn’t think I was a fan of the horror genre, but this is mind-bending, electrifying, and life-altering. Dare I say uplifting? Definitely a must-read.

I've since heard her read the first chapter aloud, and the effect was spellbinding. She literally left the audience craving more. (Just like I imagine the effects of her cooking!)

Luisa writes “dark, speculative fiction,” (which is Luisaspeak for scary, mind-bending and life-changing otherworldly novels). This book is technically slated as a YA novel. But it’s every bit as much for grown-ups as teens.

On my Goodreads review I urged young children and the "faint of heart" to proceed with caution. Here’s why: One chapter takes you inside the mind of a truly evil character. This is, to say the least, disturbing. But Luisa’s words take you there with great restraint. She spares you what could be gory, graphic, or sensationalized, but shows you the intent. The result is creepy with a capital C. But it doesn’t leave you feeling like you need to take a shower. 

Oh, and the title? Dispirited. I’m very proud of that word. It’s one of many title ideas I gave her. One of my attempts to capture the essence of her 88,000 words. In a single word. Dispirited.

Now, I have great news! News that is already lifting my spirits. Although Luisa resides in New York, she will be in Utah the first week of May and will be signing copies of Dispirited at The King’s English bookstore at 7pm on May 4. I will be there. I will be purchasing her book and begging her to autograph it for me. I’ll also be buying some as gifts and asking her to sign those as well. And I’ll be looking for YOU! I hope to see you there. If you leave me a comment here saying you’ll be at the booksigning, I’ll personally purchase a copy of Dispirited there for one lucky reader. Just leave me your name to be entered in the drawing. Must be present to win.

______________________


And now, the results of our last drawing: 

Pretty Darn Funny pins go to Becca, Dedee and Luisa. 

And the winner of the original painting from Tell Me Who I Am is...a brand-new reader, Donna! I'll be sending you a signed original watercolor, Painting #3, as soon as you claim your prize and send me your mailing address. Congratulations! (And thank you, everyone, for you kind raves about the artwork! I assure you the words are just as good! DeNae has an unbeatable Mother's Day promotion package going on right now for Tell Me Who I Am. She's another friend with an inimitable way with words...witty and hilarious. Do stop by!)


______________________


And finally, many thanks to Heather of the EO for hosting another Just Write and for the writing prompt: Words. Love!

Rip Van Winkle Brings you a Colossal Update...and Another Art Giveaway

It kinda feels like my blog's been asleep for a hundred years, doesn't it?
It also seems like a hundred years' worth of STUFF has happened since the last time I was here, on my Dormant post, back on January 31.


1. The next draft of my novel, The Bridge Club Chronicles, is currently at 60,646 words. I'm planning to print out a hard copy to circulate to my critique group tomorrow. From there, I'll incorporate their feedback, and pitch it to an editor, Molly O'Neill, on May 5. And at some point between now and then, I'll be shipping my manuscript off to favorite author Haven Kimmel. 


2. Tell Me Who I Am: Stories of Faith, Family, and Identity This book is already here! So I guess my six essays and my six paintings actually made the deadline! 

But the coolest part of all is...the book literally houses the words of some of my very favorite people ever. Ever. All in one place. It feels like hanging out with friends whenever I pick it up. Which I do. Often.

It makes you laugh. Out loud. Thanks to people like DeNae Handy, Chris Clark and Ken Craig.

It makes you cry. Real tears. Sobs. Right along with Becca Wilhite, Melanie Jacobson, and Debbie Frampton.

It makes you rethink the way you see the world. Again. From the unique perspective of Luisa Perkins, Annette Lyon, Stephanie Sorensen, Michelle Budge, Cari Banning, and Karen and Gideon Burton. 

See? I told you. Favorite people. And most likely your favorite people too. Every single author takes you on a journey that opens your perspective...on faith, love, miracles and more.

I have decided to give away a painting to celebrate the book's release. They're 7 x 9 images worth $250 each. Above are my six illustrations, including the (intentionally unfinished) cover art. Just leave me a comment telling me which one you like best to be entered in the drawing. Additional entries for Facebooking, tweeting, pinning, etc. Still more entries for each book purchased (link on your left). I'm giving this to all my sisters and sisters-in-law for Mothers Day. (Oops! There went that surprise!) Feel free to steal my idea. Just come back and tell me what you did in the comment box and I'll make sure you get all the entries you deserve.

The winner will receive your choice of one of the above paintings OR a similar size and style painting of your own house/ancestral home/vacation home. Possibly in time for Mother's Day. You provide the photo. 

3. The Story at Home Conference was great! I'm already looking forward to the next one. In the meantime, I'm going to post my presentation, on Balance (and specifically balancing real life and internet use) in a series of posts over the next month or so. I'll share my five best secrets for holding it all together, plus some winner stories about how and when I failed. Stay tuned.

4. Jeff's super-secret projects are now public: The Book of Jer3miah, his award-winning conspiracy-thriller web series is finally available on DVD.
The story is fast-based and mind-bending and a whole new kind of original. It's had a ton of favorable press, including a rave review in the New York Times. The DVD has all twenty episodes in one place, so you can watch them in one two-hour sitting, like a movie, or just watch an episode at a time whenever you have a spare five or ten minutes. I know several people who couldn't STAND the suspense of waiting a whole week between episodes when the series was first released, and now? That problem's solved for you. The DVD also has a bunch of special features not found anywhere else, including deleted scenes, and commentary by my genius writer/director husband. Yay! 


I wish I could giveaway something cool for this too—like, say, lunch with the Director. But it turns out I'm still standing in line for that myself!


More good news on the Jer3miah front: Luisa Perkins has written a novelization of the first season...with amazing interstitial details, and other surprises not in the original series. It comes out in August.


On top of all the Jer3miah hoopla, he has a brand new web series, a spanking-clean comedy about women, called Pretty Darn Funny. Here's the trailer:

I had a chance to visit the set for the filming of nearly every episode. So much fun! 
And sometimes I laughed out loud just watching them set up the shot. Not kidding. I was getting in trouble with the sound people.


Here's the first episode: (It went live today!)



You might recognize a few friends in this first episode. Some well-known bloggers (and two of my kids) appear as extras at the comedy club. Tell me who you spot, and I'll send you an exclusive Pretty Darn Funny pin (while supplies last).  Here's the official site with all the character links, subscription details, contest, etc. Trust me, you don't want to miss this!


So...which porch painting do you want from Tell Me Who I Am?
What's your favorite episode of The Book of Jer3miah? (No spoilers please!)
Who's your favorite character of The Book of Jer3miah?
Who do you recognize in the first episode of Pretty Darn Funny?
Who's your favorite Pretty Darn Funny character so far?


Are we still friends?

Dormant

Sometimes it looks like things are a little sleepy here at Divergent Pathways. But whenever my blog goes dormant, it usually means it's doing the sleeping for me. Because I'm not sleeping much at all.

Here are a few of the things that are currently keeping me from sleeping (not counting the THREE dinner parties I hosted last week):

Author Haven Kimmel

1. Haven Kimmel. A couple of weeks ago I had a brief (as in, eight-minute) lunch (the library brought her in, and I was among the first in line for tickets—possibly the only thing I've been early for in recent history) with this favorite best-selling author. (If I were less mature I would follow that up with seventeen exclamation points.) Haven—who is completely delightful in person, just as you'd imagine—afterward, at the book-signing, actually asked me to send her the manuscript I'm writing. (Oh, what the heck: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Opportunity of a lifetime! So I'm frantically whittling away at my second draft, hoping against hope I can have something great to send her, so I don't BLOW this phenomenal invitation!

2. Tell Me Who I Am. Six of my essays are being published in this collection, a book scheduled to come out in March. The other writers are stellar and it's an honor to have my work nestled beside theirs. I also volunteered to add the cover art and a handful of interior illustrations to the mix. (Just so you don't think I'm completely insane, I offered to do this BEFORE the Haven Kimmel opportunity presented itself; otherwise, no way. But I'm keeping my word.)

3. Story at Home Conference. I'm speaking at this event, March 9-10, in Salt Lake City. It encompasses several of the somethings I'm passionate about: Storytelling, Family History, Blogging—and the combination promises to yield something symbiotic and wonderful. I'll be speaking about Balance—which actually made my husband LAUGH when I told him my topic! But I assure you I'll be honest and forthcoming about my failures, as well as my one or two successes. Please join us! The December discount package is still available! (Again, I committed to this BEFORE the Haven Kimmel thing; but I'm keeping my word, and questioning my sanity.)

4. Jeff's schedule and projects. Mr. Wonderful is working on a couple of super-secret new media projects right now. I'll let you in on the secret as soon as it's safe to tell. Plus post a link or two. In the meantime, think MOMEDY (mothers and comedy) and know that I'm trying to sleep vicariously for him as well, since he gets home at, oh, roughly 4am most nights. (Notice that the juxtaposition of "a.m." and "night" is an oxymoron.) Busy guy. But that's the price I pay for being married to a handsome, hilarious genius. (And Jeff's speaking at Story at Home too.)

5. Our 12-year-old is singing along to a catchy tune whose chorus is "Black-on-Black Murder." I even caught myself humming the chorus last night. What the--?!?  When did MURDER become an acceptable topic for mainstream teeny-bopper music? I'm ready to take out my own homicidal tendencies on a few music industry execs right now! I looked up the lyrics online, and to their credit the song is protesting racial violence and extreme wealth. But still, how uplifting a message can a song deliver that starts out, "Bloody, bloody MURDER?" (Speaking of Kanye, if you want a good laugh, check out this video instead.)

Just writing all this put me in such a tranquil state, I had to go take a nap. I dreamed I was on a trip, and I was completely unprepared. Couldn't find my paperwork, lost my airline tickets, forgot my luggage and had to rush back for it, didn't pack enough snacks and had to raid the airport's stash. I'm noticing a theme here.....

Can you see why I'm losing so much sleep right now?! I do try to stop in and visit your blogs as often as I can, although I'm not leaving as many comments as I used to—which, frankly wasn't a lot to begin with. But—and I mean this—I would LOVE it if you'd send me a link when you write something spectacular or revealing or hilarious that is NOT TO BE MISSED! Because even when I'm dormant, I hate to miss out on the action, especially when it's your best work! Please email me when you post something you'd like me to see and comment on. Anytime. Even 4am.  :)

Nostalgia on Auto Pilot

Yesterday I passed my old car on the freeway. It wasn’t my EXACT old car. But it looked just like it -- same body style and color as well as make and model. And I felt this inexplicable fondness as I followed it up the highway. It even made me a little wistful, but not sad. It’s just that every time I see another bluish-greenish-grey Honda Pilot on the road, or even in a parking lot somewhere, I still see us. I see our family. Our life, changing lanes right there in front of me.

Taken on my birthday weekend, an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon, circa 2005.

I see our trip to Newport for Thanksgiving, our trip to Los Angeles to see Earth, Wind and Fire at the Hollywood Bowl, a trip to Colorado to explore the Garden of the Gods, and a handful of trips to Sun Valley, Idaho for family reunions. I see us house-hunting and making a big, interstate move. But not just the big stuff. I also see a hundred trips to grandparents’ homes to rough-house with cousins. I see us piling all Josh’s belongings in--literally filling every inch of space from the floor to the roof--to move him home for the summer. I see the back crammed with art supplies, ready to take me off on a painting adventure...to Wyoming, California, Cayucos, Kayenta....wherever the muse awaits. I’m amazed that there can be so much nostalgia attached to one car.

But then I remember my very first car: a spanking-new Toyota Celica, gunmetal gray and shaped like a bullet. It symbolized freedom, independence, success. I bought it right after I got my first real job as a designer. Jeff and I did most of our dating in that car, and we drove it back and forth from Salt Lake to Los Angeles so many times we had every stretch of I-15 completely memorized. The Celica was also our honeymoon getaway car (after we washed off the shaving cream and streamers and oreos). 

And once, I spilled a quart of homemade ice cream in the trunk. I promptly cleaned it up, not realizing some had seeped under the mat and into the wheel well. In the full swelter of summer, it quickly created the foulest stench imaginable; like vomit on steroids. Yet I couldn’t find the source to save my life. Or my gag reflex. Once we discovered the epicenter of the stink and vacuumed it up, we tried to disguise the remaining odor with one of those cardboard tree-thingies from the car wash. The scent was called “Spring Magic,” which we quickly learned was a euphemism for “retch-triggering old-lady perfume gone viral”. It smelled even worse than the original odor it was supposed to mask. We still remember, because it made us so nauseated we finally had to pull off the freeway and throw it out. 

And then I remember how quickly the Celica disappeared. Early one morning we were on our way to stake choir practice. Francis Dauzat came out of nowhere, still on his pain medication from last week’s surgery, with a patch over one eye, and turned right in front of us, allowing no time to stop. There we were, a mass of mangled steel and broken glass, but no one was hurt -- not even the baby our friend Karen was carrying inside her. I remember calling the insurance company and the agent responding, “Frank again?” That’s not a good thing when you’re on a first-name basis with the folks who process insurance claims. And just like that I lost some of that freedom and independence, replacing it instead with a 4-door Mazda, and motherhood.

But I don’t miss that sporty little Celica quite as much as the white Subaru Wagon with the red and blue stripes on the sides. My heart still skips a beat if I see one of those babies on the road. Because that was the white stallion my prince rode in on when he came and swept me off my feet. That car meant, “Jeff is here.” That was the car I saw parked in front of our house when I was came home from a date with a different guy. (Total Ginger Grant/Eva Grubb moment.) As soon as my date dropped me off I ran searching for Jeff. And fortunately found him. That was also the car that met up with my Celica at the exact time at the exact same intersection. We both instinctively stopped right then and there and jumped out of our cars, and met in the middle of the intersection, falling into an embrace, followed by The Kiss That Could Stop Traffic. Little did I know, that same car, just seven months later, would be our wedding present from Jeff’s parents. Years later, long after we were married, my heart would still skip a beat whenever I saw the Subaru pull up, because it meant Daddy was home from work. It meant “Jeff is here.”

And now? I love our new car. Love it. (Except for the neck-contorting “head rest,” which is actually tricky sales copy for “torture device.”) I love the way it handles, and the clean interior, and the fancy backing-up camera. But I’m not nostalgic when I see it pull up. It’s a little too new for that. So far, I just love that the way we acquired it felt like a total miracle! And although that’s a terrific start, I know we haven’t made nearly enough memories in it yet. But we will. 


Linking up to Just Write with my friend Heather of the EO.

Room in My Inn

Last Christmas a mother robin built her nest on our front porch, tucked away in the limbs of a little artificial pine tree we keep lit there during the holidays. I loved seeing Mama Bird swoop down and watch over her precious blue eggs. I loved hearing her sing to them in the mornings. But most of all I loved that she saw our home—our porch—as a safe place, a sheltering space.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to making space these days. In just a couple of weeks my younger sister and her family will be landing at our house for a night or two as she prepares to give birth to their sixth child, a baby boy. I love the idea of making space for them, making space for extended family, making space for the delivery of a newborn...especially at this time of year!

That same sister is contemplating making room herself. Not room in the inn, mind you, but room in the van! Their van seats seven...and baby makes eight. This is weighing heavily on me. I know they don’t have the means to purchase another car, no matter how used. Yet they have the faith to bring another child into the world. I’m racking my brain for any way I can think of to help them. I wish I could just give them my Honda Pilot. But life’s not that simple.

I have a particular affinity for this youngest sister. She is a hero in every sense of the word. She has overcome the most daunting of obstacles...smiling. She has born the most unbearable burdens...laughing. She has brought people together...remembering. She has created a beautiful home, a beautiful family, and a beautiful marriage...out of the shambles! She is amazing.

Sisters

So the innkeeping I’m contemplating is this joyful expectation, this anticipation...and I’m grateful that we have enough room. And that we have wonderful people coming, in all shapes and sizes, to join us and fill our space.

I’m thinking about other spaces too. My inn these days is crowded—both with people and activity—most of the time. So is my car—both with people and junk, typically. But the most noticeably crowded space, and perhaps the one that matters most, is my time. One of my heroes declared, “In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e.” I am convinced that today’s metaphorical inn-where-there’s-no-room is not our homes or our hearts but our schedules. Another of my heroes stated: “your sacrifice could be setting aside the time in your busy lives....” Making room involves a sacrifice.

I’m pledging today—on this first day of the last month, as we wait for miracles, and long for fulness, and anticipate gifts—to make room. Make room to worship, make room to ponder, make room to listen, make room to love, make room to pause, make room to forgive, make room to serve. Make room for Him. In the most crowded space in my life. So I can be filled.

“The Holy Ghost ‘satisfies and fills up every longing of the human heart, and fills up every vacuum. When I am filled with that Spirit, … my soul is satisfied.” 

—Eliza R. Snow

Please chime in and tell me how you’re making room for Him this month.

—And if you have any ideas on how to make more room in my sister’s car, I’d love to hear that too!

____________

Congratulations to Lara, who won my Book-for-Every-Person-on-your-Gift-List Giveaway! A box of ten books will be on its way to her shortly. (How fitting that I announce her win on this post about making room, since the name of her blog is Overstuffed!)  :)

And thank you—wonderful, generous, bloggers—for helping us meet and exceed our goal, raising over $10,000 (5.7 scholarships) for single parents last month. This will change lives. I promise.

Also, don't miss Luisa Perkins' excellent and unsolicited review of What Think Ye of Christmas, here.

And finally, I'm linking up with wonderful Heather of the EO who somehow keeps me writing with her Just Write series.

Because I have been given much...

It was one of those rare moments when time stands still. I was fifteen. An eighty-something-year-old voice on the other end of the line whispered furtively, "Grant's here."

The whisperer was my amazing piano teacher, Becky Almond. Becky had spent most of her life "concertizing" in New York. One of my favorite things about her apartment was a tablecloth on which she had embroidered all of the famous autographs she had collected over the decades: Arthur Rubenstein, Victor Borge, Leonard Bernstien, Count Basie, Carol Channing...virtually any big name you could think of from that era. This same woman loaned my family a Mason & Hamlin grand piano for me to practice on, because she saw promise (and because she loved my mother!).  "Grant" was Grant Johannesen, international concert pianist. He regularly stopped at her apartment whenever he was in town because he loved her pianos. They had become great friends. Becky had called to invite me to her downtown apartment early the next morning to listen to him practice the piano.

Somehow I got myself to her apartment at six o'clock on a Saturday morning. Becky met me at the door, still wearing her pink nightgown, and held her finger to her lips as she ushered me silently into the back bedroom. "He doesn't know you're here," she warned with a conspiratorial wink. She and I stood silently, leaning against the wall, listening to an undisputed genius work out difficult passages, preparing for his next performance. What I heard was awe-inspiring. But an even stronger lesson was how much Becky cared about me as her student.

It wasn't the first time a teacher had done something unexpected to show faith in me and my potential, but it was certainly the most memorable. Later, she hired Grant to give me a private master class, helping me refine a Beethoven concerto I was learning. She quoted my mother a reasonable price...then subsidized the rest of his fee herself. An amazing mentor.

Since then has come a long line of help to further my education: A four-year departmental art scholarship to University of Utah, a scholarship to Otis/Parsons, a scholarship to Cambridge, a scholarship to the Monterey Bay Watercolor Workshop. And I was helped along and encouraged by so many wonderful mentors.

Fittingly, I find myself in a mentor position now. I teach watermedia courses at Utah Valley University as well as privately. I love working with students -- seeing the light go on, seeing growth and progress. I love their energy and eagerness to learn.

One thing that surprised me about teaching was the number of non-traditional students—mostly mothers going back to school to finish their education. Another thing that surprised me is that this group of students would be among -- almost without exception -- my finest students. They work doubly hard, are extra enthusiastic, seem to appreciate their education more...and also in many cases have the biggest obstacles to overcome. Amazing.

In honor of my favorite teachers and favorite students,  I'm giving back this month. 
You'll want to take a peek at the gadget squished into my sidebar on the left. I'm donating to a scholarship fund for single parents at LDS Business College, and I encourage you to do the same.

And, in honor of Thanksgiving (and avoidance of Black Friday) I'm giving away. I'm once again giving away a copy of the lovely Christmas book I illustrated, What Think Ye of Christmas—not just to you, but to everyone on your gift list (up to ten). This is the deal of the year! Worth up to $100. To enter, you'll want to leave me your gift list in the comments below. (e.g. My sister, my BFF, my kid's piano teacher...etc.) For a second entry, click on the gadget and make a donation of any size to the scholarship fund there. Additional entries granted for Facebook statusing, twitter tweeting, blogposting, Amazon and Goodreads reviews of the book, and liking the book on Facebook (link at left). And one more bonus entry for reading and commenting on the story of how the books came to be, starting with the link in my sidebar titled, In the Beginning....

And finally, I'm announcing last week's giveaway winner: Luisa Perkins. Luisa was the first to respond to last week's post, and I find it so fitting that she was selected by random.org. Last week she gave so much, put so much energy into campaigning for Variant to benefit Rob, and now the Universe has conspired to answer that good karma and give back. Luisa is the winner of this giclée art print, currently selling for $95. (Gallery price $190.) Congratulations, Luisa!

"While Shepherds Watched", from What Think Ye of Christmas, by Jana Parkin