This book is a compilation of three short stories that explore varying responses to hardship and tragedy, and expose the possibilities and even miracles that can come from the hope that lies within.
A Christmas Resurrection
David had always known there was something terribly wrong with him, but he desperately wanted to believe that his uncontrollable tantrums were somehow disconnected from his inner being. His family and school teachers were confident that David’s behavior was by choice. His only friend was his toddler half brother, Darion, whom David feared would contract his troubles by association. David already had accepted that continual punishment and isolation were his destiny when his neighborhood was invaded by a flock of weird strangers who dressed oddly and sounded even more so. Their arrival marked a starting point, but for what?
A Christmas Cat for Chloe
Charlotte Turner had the perfect husband, the perfect children, and the perfect life until John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Within days, she lost her husband and unborn child. As Charlotte slipped further into depression, her son Dirk became lost in the Sixties Revolution. Just when she thought it could not get any worse, Dirk was drafted to go to Vietnam. Could Charlotte’s young daughter Chloe and her foundling irreverent cat be the sparks that would help ignite the fires of reconciliation for their family, or would God take every person whom Charlotte loved away from her?
Everything about Dibs’ Christmas vacation sucked. She needed a way out. She was desperate to hang with her older boyfriend Dundee, even though she knew he was cheating on her. Her mother was out of touch and too busy to clue in on anything. Now, to add insult to injury, she was going to be “babysat” by her grandmother who was so ancient she didn’t have TV or the internet. As far as Dibs could tell, the only thing that she and Grandma Nora had in common was big boobs. Dibs found her escape, but not anywhere she thought it would be.
I started writing stories in the third grade, sitting at the kitchen table keeping my mother company while she cooked dinner or sewed. Now I still write stories, except at my own kitchen table. I started a family tradition several years ago of writing a story at Christmas to give to family and friends. Sometimes a few of us get together and I read it out loud, usually on Christmas evening. They always tell me they like them. Read one, and see what you think.
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