Hey, y’all. I trust you had a great weekend. Mine was wonderfully out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, I don’t have any new photos to share. Crazy, right? I mean, this is me we’re talking about. Oh, well. Take my word for it: the scenery was beautiful.
I drove up to Fresno, which is no little task for me. When I was younger, I used to drive all the time. It was nothing to head to the beach or Disneyland or even up to the mountains. But somewhere between here and there, my collection of car accidents plus having Dot to consider . . . well, my drive to drive took a wrong turn (see what I did there?).
Let’s not forget it was just a few simple years ago that I got lost coming home from Disneyland–a trip I’d made at least twenty times in as many years. The Southern California freeways are not necessarily enjoyable. And in my neck of the desert, there is always, and yes I do mean always, some form of road construction or deconstruction going on.
Keep moving.
[Okay, so this meme was created, like, over a year ago. I had to put some visualization in this post. Anyway . . . ]
When Dot and her husband began their grand adventure, I whispered, “I wish I was brave like you.” Now that she is married and three states away, a little bit of that bravery has come back to me.
No longer do I have to consider coming home “on time” to make dinner for anyone other than myself. I don’t have to worry about “If I do this, what will she do?” I’m no longer a single parent trying to make ends meet and feeling guilty for eating all the ice cream. Nosirreebob, I am just single. (Unless you count the FurFamily. But that’s a tad diff, don’t you think?)
So. When my friend Becky said, “Come on up for the weekend.” I said “Are you nuts? Don’t you know I don’t drive? Like, ever ever. You wanna drive me crazy? Why don’t you come see me and keep the peace instead?” I said, “Hey. I’ve been wanting to be braver. This isn’t too bad. And it’s the opposite of LA traffic. Sure, I’ll come visit.”
Now, mind you. Ursula is nine years old, and it’s been a while since she’s been out on the open road for any great stretch. But they (whoever “they” in the care-for-your-car-industry is) recommend taking your car on longish drives now and then to clean out the carburetor And by the way, I had to verify the spelling on that word. Doesn’t it sound like it should be spelled “carborator”? That’s what I thought, too. Obviously.
But I digress. So. Back on track. Yesterday morning I packed up my Babycakes laptop, a few Jamberry supplies, some bottles of water, and put ‘er in gear.
And four hours later I was in Fresno. Fresno, folks! Like, central California. We’re talking farm country. Open fields. smooth roads. Friendly freeway traffic (I know, right?! I couldn’t believe it either!).
And all I wanted to do was turn around and do it again!
This crazy thing happened to me. Someone called it confidence and I said what did you smoke from your peace pipe and they said no its true and I said no seriously and they said don’t you believe in yourself and I said yes I do but I just drove four hours and in people terms that’s like two hundred and fifty miles which is like sixty miles more than the drive to Vegas and three times as far as Disneyland and have I mentioned that lately I get lost coming home from Disneyland and they said stop being so dramatic you haven’t been to Disneyland in years and I said I KNOW BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I TRIED COMING HOME I GOT LOST and they said stop talking to yourself so I did.
Except to tell myself once more that I have more confidence.
I realized anything that could happen to me and/or my car such as a flat tire or a breakdown could also happen close to home. I have my Triple-A membership card. I have a sense of adventure. So why not go the distance (see what I did there?)?
And then comes the best part. Not only did I get to spend the weekend with Becky and her husband, but her husband happens to be Al of Al Gansky fame, of Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference and Firsts in Fiction fame. Yes, that Al Gansky. Of course a month ago when Becky and I were planning this I tolddictated asked Aaron in his capacity as my writing mentor, “So, it’s not totally weird for you that I’m going to go hang out with your folks for a weekend, right? Cuz if it is, we need to talk.” [I told him before Blue Ridge that I collect parents. This shouldn’t have been a surprise for him.] [Apparently, it wasn’t.]
Obviously he and Naomi were fine with it (I did have to promise not to supersede them on the parents’ Christmas card list) and the rest is almost history. Er, almost the rest is history. I mean . . .
ANYWAY.
I spend the weekend with Becky and Al which was a lot of fun when you consider a few things:
Becky and I have the same sense of humor. I feel sorry for Al.
Al has the same sense of humor as Aaron. You feel sorry for me.
The excuse for the drive was for Becky to hostess a Jamberry party, which allowed us some fun girl time with a few guests.
I got to pick Al’s brain about all things writing, editing, and Blue Ridge. Like, conference chatter. And it isn’t even conference time! I found out more of what goes into the behind-the-scenes, and I shared with him some of my immediate, short-term, and long-term goals as a writer and editor. He didn’t even charge me a coaching fee.
A once-a-year thunderstorm hit just as I was considering coming home Saturday night. So I stayed per the original plan and we enjoyed some flickering lights, dimming TV screens, flashes of lightning and serious boomage that set car alarms off. Now that’s thunder!
We watched Perry Mason and Alfred Hitchcock together. Between yelling “Motive!” at the TV and pointing our fingers at all the characters, all I can say is, Al will never let me near the medicine cabinet. And he really shouldn’t leave the cyanidesaccharin pain pills where anyone can get at them. Just sayin’. How’s that coffee this morning, Al?
The same, easy drive to get up to Fresno was just as easy coming home. Except for the microburst in Tehachapi that slowed traffic for about fifteen minutes. Only in California can the sky ahead be blue while the sky directly above is bringing down God’s wrath. Just sayin’.
Once I got home and loved on the FurFamily, we had our own storm system move in. That was about five hours ago. And it’s still here. Lightning. Thunder. Rain. It’s all good.
So I sort lied about the no new photos thing. Okay. This isn’t a photo. It’s a video. I know, semantics. And you can’t hear the thunder, but trust me. It was there!
I think I’m gonna bottle this sound and play it all time. Especially when I’m writing NOLA. Or missing Blue Ridge. Or when it’s too hot and dry. Or when I’m trying to sleep. Or any other time. Yes. Definitely any time is a good time to listen to rain.
I’d say all in all it was a great weekend. And it left me with a deeper drive to reach my goals: writing, editing, social media presentations, speaking, Jamberry, redecorating Bedford Manor, and making sure all my peeps know they’re important to me (the people, not the goals) (well, I mean, both. But the people. Right now, I’m talking about the people).
North Carolina is full of rocking chairs and a Mayberry-esque lifestyle. There are rocking chairs in the airports, and there are rocking chairs in the restaurants. In the restaurants, people! I ain’t making this stuff up.
North Carolina Rocking Chairs are Everywhere!
I want to live there. I want to drink more sweet tea and say “y’all” and “honey, sugar” to strangers and call my friends “Sweet Potato” and rock on a front porch as the rain patters down. I want to live in Blue Ridge.
Unfortunately, Blue Ridge is an event, not a place. Well, it’s both, but when it’s not an event, it can get kind of lonely. Kind of, this-hallway-belongs-in-Stephen-King’s-The-Shining lonely (thanks for that thought process, Beckie).
Which could be pretty hard on This Girl who fills the love-tank with social interaction. I do not care (said with my newly adopted Southe’n accent) I do not care if you are male, female, black, white, cat, dog (scratch that. I care. I don’t like dogs). . . my point is, people is people, people! And when you’re in a place surrounded not only by people, but by people who understand, who help, who encourage, who laugh, cry, scream, giggle, play games, eat dinner . . . People who get you. . . how can it not be home?
In my life, I have felt alone, abandoned, worthless, a failure, confused, out of place, neglected, misunderstood, incomplete.
When I set foot on Ridgecrest, those insecurities left me. Completely, for six whole days, I was pushed smack-dab into what I can only describe as an immersion program for Christian writers.
Attending Blue Ridge wasn’t about making new friends.
It was about finding family I didn’t know I had.
Is it no surprise how I cried from loneliness when the plane landed in Las Vegas? Or when I thought of Sweet Cara and how it will be a year before I see my new sister again? Or (better), when I claim my place into this family of God’s children?
I’m sitting in my recliner at Bedford Manor now. Everything’s the way I left it. The cats are dozing. The house is quiet. But my soul is restless.
I long to go back to Blue Ridge. To find my own little parcel of land and put a rocking chair on it and say, “This is mine! This corner of the world, these people, this experience. . . This is mine.”
But I also long to stay here. To work at making Bedford Manor my home for as long as the Lord wants me to. I’m ready to get moving for the Lord, but that doesn’t mean I have to move.
In fact, through Blue Ridge, He has called me to be a spring in the desert. [Isaiah 43:19]. And I’m ready to do that, because that’s what He’s asking.
My Little Plot of Desert, Where I Will Be a Spring [Isaiah 43:19]
I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
[Isaiah 43:19, NRSV]
I imagine as the days take me further from my first Blue Ridge experience, this painful longing to go back will lesson, but only for a short time. Because then I’ll be filled with the drive to return next year, and this desire will push me to do all I can to accomplish that goal. I’ll work harder than I have at becoming the writer and speaker He has made me to be.
I’m okay with this kind of pain: The pain that pushes me forward, the longing that makes me reach beyond myself.
I am not perfect. But at Blue Ridge, I am perfectly me.
It’s almost 1 a.m. Sunday morning. Well, my watch tells me it’s only 9:45 pm, but I’m in North Carolina now, so it’s three hours later. Which makes it thisclose to sunrise. Ok, not really. There’s still an opportunity to catch some zzz’s but I just can’t go to sleep without sharing what the last 24 — okay, 36 — hours have been like.
Having been blessed with a scholarship and a share in the travel expense, I’m — wait for it. No, I can’t quite get my head around it yet. But yes, it’s true.
I’m at Blue Ridge! The Blue Ridge. The Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. It is, to my knowledge, the largest and best Christian Writers Conference in the nation. And I just happen to know a girl who knows a guy who knows a guy . . . you know how the story goes.
#BRMCWC
I’m a good writer striving to be great, but without those connections, I’d be asleep in my bed back in California right now. Instead, I’ve worked my way here by writing, winning, striving, and socializing.
Throughout this upcoming adventure, I hope to share with you grand stories of what I’m learning, who I’m meeting, and what you can do to get here next year.
But . . . it’s almost 1 a.m. And I’ve had a crazy 36-ish hours. So let me run down the build up of how we got here.
My writing mentor, Aaron Gansky, is on faculty for Blue Ridge. Some months ago, he, his wife (my good friend Naomi), and I got together and prayed. They really felt I should be here. I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to come, but I wasn’t sure I was ready. I wasn’t sure, if I was ready, how I would get here.
Flash forward through lots of prayers, hard work, scholarship applications . . . and here I am. Along with my good friend Beckie Lindsey (follow her blog here!).
The Three Writing Amigos. . . and a Photobombing Flight Attendant
Being the frugal person I am, I suggested we fly out of Vegas because it’s cheaper. It’s only a three hour drive, and hey, who doesn’t love a good coin toss now and then. Right? I was also hoping for perhaps a northward layover so I could at least lunch with my daughter and her new husband in Seattle.
Yeahhhh. . .
Aaron’s flight had to be booked first through the Conference. He asked, on my recommendation, to fly out of Vegas and they obliged. Unfortunately, the flightpath is directly east, not north.
That’s okay. I followed suit and booked the same flights and close seating, and reserved the same for Beckie. She was on vacation in Mexico and I had no way of getting in touch with her except a short email that gave her the reservation number and the message of “They can only hold it for 24 hours!”
Thankfully, she saw the message in time, and was able to also book the same flight and neighboring seats.
Now, you would think at this point things are going smoothly, right? Not so much. Because in our zeal to fly cheaper out of Vegas, two things happened: we realized that in order to get to the airport in time for a morning flight, we’d have to drive up the night before. That’s right. Drive. North. On the 15 Freeway. To Vegas. On a Friday night. Thank you, Molly. I’m sure that’s what they were saying. I’m just not sure it was in a tone I care to recall.
Then comes the problem of where do we stay? I thought perhaps we could drive up after midnight and sleep in the car for a few hours, but they didn’t approve. Something about neck cramps and crazy talk. So I shouted out to my friend Corrie who lives in Vegas and after twelve seconds she invited us to stay at her house, and she even promised lattes in the morning!
Compliments of Casa de Corrie <3
After trying for several attempts online to pre-check, I had to call US Airways, who transferred me back to American Airlines who said everything looks fine, I just need to actually check in at the airport instead of online.
No worries, because Beckie did, too. Apparently, they didn’t like that the ticket was reserved “Beckie” but her legal name is “Rebecca”. And Aaron? He checked in just fine and I can’t guarantee this, but I think he might have been rolling eyes at us women by now.
At the check in, I received one boarding pass. To Charlotte, NC. I asked, “Do I get my other boarding pass in Charlotte?” To which the clerk responded, “Oh, you’re going to Charlotte?”
Now you would think I would have had some red flags go up at this point, but the truth is, with the three of us all trying to check in and get our passes with three different clerks and verifying names and seats and checking baggage . . . I just went with it. He corrected my ticket and we were ready to go.
Beckie got her boarding pass. I got my ticket. Aaron got his headache. And away we went. Up the People Mover, to the tram, down a level, up an escalator, through the halls, to the plane. And we pre-checked our carry-on luggage, although kept our laptops with us personally. [NOTE TO SELF: Always, always ALWAYS keep your computer and phone chargers with your computer and phone. Always.]
At the pre-check, once again my carry-on was tagged to go only as far as Charlotte. Jim M. was the only helpful person in this entire fiasco so I promised him a shout out. He worked behind the counter taking care of “one problem at a time”. First, my carry-on pre-checked bag was properly tagged for Asheville. Second, my reservation was confirmed. And therein lay the problem. Somehow my connecting ticket from Charlotte to Asheville was errantly confirmed by the man downstairs for a flight I couldn’t possibly be on–a flight that left Charlotte at 4pm when I wouldn’t even arrive until 4:40.
Jim M. worked his computer magic and reset my reservation, with my original seating. Problem Number Two solved.
Then he told me the bad news is the checked bag, from Mr. Man Downstairs, was probably going to stop at Charlotte. He tried to key in the information, but the system had just had enough of me and would go no further.
What can you do? We boarded our flight and a short four hours later landed in Charlotte. Per Jim M’s instructions, I immediately rushed the boarding counter to explain they had to “stop that plane!” or at least make sure my baggage was forwarded to the proper address. The woman politely told me I was wrong, there was nothing she could do, but chances are my bag was properly identified and on the plane anyway.
Okay. Our stomachs were beginning to hurt almost as much as our heads at this time so we just went with it. I mean, my carry-ons have the most important items: laptop, wallet, conference/writing Binder, Captain America T-Shirt and two Magic The Gathering decks.
We ate at Whiskey River in Charlotte and had just enough time to stresslessly board the last leg from Charlotte to Asheville.
They’re called Dirty Tots . . . and they’re delicious!
You know where this is going, don’t you?
Of course, we arrived just fine, but my suitcase didn’t. So we (and by “we” I mean “me-but-they-had-to-follow-because-I’m-the-one-getting-the-rental-car”) started toward the Ticket Counter to make a claim only to find there were several others in the same situation. Before I could say anything, someone said, “Oh, you must have come from Charlotte.” And that someone was behind the counter. What does that tell you? [Don’t fly into Charlotte if it can be avoided.]
We find out my bag was napping in Charlotte, where they would give it a nice bed for the night and deliver to me within twenty-four hours. In the meantime, they reversed the $25 check-baggage fee, gave me a claim form, a $25 credit for the claim so I can at least buy pajamas, and a really nifty one-night-only toiletry bag.
U.S. Airways Awesome Complimentary Gift for Losing My Luggage
I’m tellin’ ya, I felt like a Superstar. NOT. [But I did get these awesome SuperHero PJ’s thanks to the bill I’m sending them!]
Marvel Avengers PJs. How could I not?
But enough was enough and we’re exhausted so we finish up there, get the rental car, and head out. The Ridgecrest Conference Center is about thirty miles from the airport. If you turn left.
Of course, we didn’t. We turned right. And about 45 minutes into our should-have-been-27-minutes drive, we realized we were lost. And by “we” I mean “Aaron-because-he-was-driving-and-it-was-his-GPS-that-did-us-in” kind of “we”.
Aaron’s dad, Alton Gansky, is co-director of this conference. His flight was scheduled to come in about three hours after ours.
I said “Wouldn’t it be funny if we arrive at Blue Ridge at the same time your folks do?”
And guess what happened?
The neat ending for me was getting a hug from Al because I’d not met him in person before today. . . er, yesterday. Last night. Whenever it was! He’s on the Firsts in Fiction podcast every Wednesday with Aaron, and we have the opportunity to talk writing a lot. But this was the first time in several years of knowing who he was, that I finally met him. And he hugged me.
I’m a huggy person. And so right then, it didn’t matter what kind of day it’s been. I’d arrived at Blue Ridge. We had our room key. I had my we’re-sorry-we-screwed-up-but-take-this-dollar-bag-for-your-humungous-inconvenience-toiletry bag, and a hug from Alton Gansky.
I have Nippers and my Harmon Bear, which smells like Lizzie cat.
But now it’s nearly 2 a.m., breakfast is in five hours, and I’m ready for bed.
I’m deeply indebted to my mentor, Aaron D Gansky, for inspiring me to attend the conference and for praying faithfully for my writing in the time we’ve been working together. His friendship, work ethic, example (not to mention his being married to my good friend) are all invaluable.
I surround myself on a daily basis with writers and the writing environment. Whether I’m reading craft books, novels, sending out texts or making phone calls, I connect as often as possible with others who understand why I see dragons in the trees and how my cats are really just very furry humans.
Sparkles
When I stepped into the auditorium yesterday morning, there was an added element. This is a Christian writers conference. Everyone there from the committees to the faculty to the volunteers to the attendees has prayed and been prayed for. Often. And for quite some time.
It was exhilarating to know that my teachers are filled with wanting the best for my writing career, and are willing to share their knowledge freely. They weren’t trying to sell me anything. Of course they had books and resources for sale. But they didn’t push it. Rather, they pushed their experiences and their journeys in such ways that it made us attendees want to take the same road.
OCCWF Program Cover
The plethora of information I received, the affirmations, the you-can-do-it’s was overflowing. The schedule was parceled into workshops. Each workshop ran for an hour, and each hour presented several workshops to choose from. I was a little disappointed to learn that cloning capabilities haven’t been perfected yet, so instead of attending each and every session, I chose the ones I felt would most benefit my novel.
If I had a sidebar for this post, it would at this point read
“Kudos to Lindsay Reine for tagging me in several posts and keeping me connected to New Orleans.”
and
“Thanks Lisa for sharing a photo of your Cafe DuMonde goodies.”
I’m not sure if they knew how Kismet it was for me to be plotting out my book’s topic and receive a text about a cat playing with a crawfish. Or when I was learning how to supplement my current income with magazine and online articles, only to be tagged in a news story relating how traffic stops to let alligators cross the road . . . only in New Orleans. Those little nudges from and about the city I’m featuring were magical.
Yes, yesterday was not only about writing, it was about New Orleans. And being Christian. And finishing what I start. And sharing. So much sharing!
I was able to share the story of how I wrote The Unemployment Cookbook, why I still pick up pennies, and how I drew deeper to God through the Ten Commandments. [By the way, each of these books will be either on reduced price or free at Amazon over the next two weeks. Check out my Amazon Author Page for more information and to order your own copy!]
The Unemployment Cookbook, Second Edition
I was also overly blessed when, during one of my fifteen-minute consultations with a faculty member, I discovered the woman was the director of the conference! I had chosen to meet one-on-one with Kathy Ide, as I’d hoped to pick her brain on freelance editing jobs and other tidbits of go-get-’em-now encouragements. Within a very short time I knew her role was much bigger than a fifteen-minute mentor. Especially when she offered me the opportunity to work social media for the conference.
Kathy Ide and Molly Jo Realy at #OCCWC
Several passing-in-the-hall conversations later, I was invited to draft a proposal to become a faculty member for next year, specializing in social media publicity. I share this not to blow my own horn, as Lisa says, but rather to encourage several simple truths:
Stay the course. Whatever it takes to get you where you need to be, do it. Don’t give up. No matter how long it takes, if you know you’re on the right path, you know you need to persevere.
Do what you can to gain experience and a good reputation. Volunteer. Learn. Network. Connect. Communicate. Don’t just go for the “bottom line”. Enjoy the journey!
God will bless your attempts. When you say “yes”, it doesn’t always mean “now”. It just means you’re willing to let Him lead you. And He will honor your commitment.
Although large and busy, conferences are an intimately personal experience. It’s a chance to meet mentors, get your questions answered, socialize, find like-minded friends. At the least, it’s an opportunity to squirrel yourself away from the distractions of home and everyday life, and allow the day to be just about you and your writing.
You can sit on the steps and journal in quiet. You can join the lunch crowd and talk shop. Attend the different workshops. Whatever your writing goals are, I strongly recommend you meet regularly with other writers. Don’t know any? Check out local colleges and school groups. Put an ad on the local library bulletin board. Tack a card up in Starbucks.
Starbucks: Best Writing Partner EVER.
If you’re serious about writing, attend a conference. If you’re serious about writing for God, attend a Christian conference.
If you have questions about conferences, how to sign up for #OCCWC, or social media publicity, please send me a message.
My friend and writing mentor, Aaron Gansky, is a featured speaker and while I always value the information he gives, there are several other sessions I’m looking forward to being a part of.
This will be the second writers conference I’ve attended. Ever. This one is different from the first one I attended last November. That one was local, and there were three consecutive sessions in the same auditorium. I knew almost everyone, because it was sponsored by my Writers Club. This one requires a little drive time, there are many short sessions to choose from, and aside from Aaron and hopefully my friend Beckie, I won’t know anyone.
Molly and Beckie
Thankfully, it was easy to choose my sessions based on my experience as a writer, and my needs to grow my network. I’m choosing to focus on what will help me finish NOLA and market it as well.
And now that the fun stuff has been announced, let’s get real.
It’s intimidating to register for a writers conference. At least, it is for me. I have so many unknowns.
What if I’m not a good enough writer to be there?
What if I can’t focus and forget all the information?
What if everyone else really has a game plan for their writing, and laugh because I don’t?
What if I share my idea for my novels and learn they’re not that great?
What if the weather is bad for the drive?
What if it’s like high school and people are clique-ish and I’m left out?
What if I get star-struck and instead of being intelligent I stumble and mumble my way through meetings and greetings?
What if I spill coffee on myself and don’t bring an extra sweater to cover it up?
These are all real concerns I have.
But the one I didn’t know I had, came to light after I registered. I have been nagged with the internal question
What if I’m not good enough?
That is, not that I’m not a good enough writer. I believe I’m a good writer on my way to being a great writer.
But, what if I’m not a good enough person? What makes it okay for someone like me to attend a Christian writers conference?
Sure, I write a lot about God and trusting His plan for our lives. I live a Faith-based life. But I’m no Saint. I’m no hero. And on not-so-good days, I can be downright bad and ugly. So what makes it okay for me to attend a Christian writers conference?
The same thing that makes it okay for me to be a writer. I don’t know everything. But what I do know, I can share. I’m not Chef Bobby Flay, but I like to cook, so I share recipes. I’m not a veterinarian, but I can write about my cats. I don’t own a landscape company or live in a mansion, but I can still blog about how to keep a nice house with decorating and fix-it tips.
So what makes it okay for me to attend a Christian writers conference? I had to wrap my head around it. I would have no problem supporting anyone else who wants to go, and if they voiced these same concerns, I’d tell them
Stop. Listen to yourself. No. Don’t. Listen to God. He brought you here for a reason. You know He did. And He has a plan for you, for your writing. Nobody’s perfect and I’m not asking you be. Did you screw up something yesterday? I did, too. I always do. It’s human nature. But you know what? God forgives you. He forgave you, and He keeps forgiving you. So get out of the dark hole you created, see the Sonshine, and do what He’s calling you to do. Be a writer. You don’t have to prosthelytize all the time. It’s okay to write mysteries and fantasy. Just write. Just use the talents He gave you, and do it! Get to the conference. Meet other imperfect people who will help you hone your imperfections into great storytelling. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.
That’s what I would tell someone else. So that’s what I’m telling me. I’m not perfect, and I’m not a Bible thumper. But I am a Christian.
So I’m giving myself permission to attend a Christian writers conference.
Now here’s the neat part. Once I decided to go (after a few nudges from Beckie and Aaron), my first thought was “I can’t afford this.” Beckie and I looked at the registration schedule. We can’t go Friday night, so we would just carpool together for the Saturday sessions. It’s $135 for the day. There’s a 10% discount code available, so my cost would drop to $121.50. Not too bad when you consider everything that’s included. But it’s still more than what I want to shell out right now, especially since I’m intent on getting to Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference in North Carolina in May.
Feeling somewhat apprehensive and pre-defeated, I asked them to pray with me for direction on this. That was Saturday night.
On Tuesday morning, I received a phone message from my insurance company. They finally received full restitution from the at-fault party for an accident I was in nearly five years ago. At that time, my insurance company took care of my vehicle replacement, my medical bills, and my settlement. But because I had to go through my own policy, I wasn’t able to collect my $500 deductible. Two years later, they received a large, albeit incomplete sum, and mailed me a check for a partial amount.
As of last week, they received the final payment, and issued me a payment for the balance of my deductible.
The conference would cost me $121.50.
The insurance payment is $121.43.
How on earth am I going to find seven pennies? I’m pretty sure God is asking me to trust Him.
And that’s how I know it’s okay for me to attend a Christian writers conference.
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