Saturday, December 26, 2015

Got a #Kindle 4 Christmas? Fill it with #99Cent #Inspirational #Romantic #Family #Faith #Fictions!


    
The wife of Messianic field missionary, Ron Michelson, I love returning to churches where he preached. While chatting with friends we'd made, I often heard that  they  hadn't share the blessing Ron brings when he connects the dots between the Old and New Testaments  because they feared losing their friends. 

While praying about this God reminded me that a Messianic publisher friend of mine wanted to publish my work. With the leading of the Ruach HaKodesh (Holy Spirit), we meet. Afterward, I began to write praying that readers would love and gift these Messianic books to their friends ~ whether they believed or not. Some did, most did not. However, the goal God impressed upon my heart then is as firm as it was when I began this work ~ that I show the reader Jewish people who experience need, fear, repentance, faith, slips, God's grace & His forever forgiveness ~ the gift we all are blessed to receive when we believe in His son ~ Messiah Yeshua ~ Jesus Christ!

If you got a Kindle 4 Christmas, I hope you'll fill it with my three Inspirational Romantic Family Faith Fictions women enjoyed when they read the story Naomi told me. 


And if your friends were given a Kindle 4 Hanukkah, Christmas, or any other gifting time, I hope you'll ask if they's like to read the story Naomi told me. A story of fear, the unfulfilled promise of love, betrayal, sorrow, joy, and a faith that overcame all of this to receive the blessing of the love that denied her. http://amzn.to/1IoUSMY
In this first book of Naomi’s faith journey we see what happens when we deny who we are and what we believe to achieve our dreams. Bound by secrets, trapped by choices, Naomi is about to discover that life is not what you plan but what happens.

Naomi journeys from adolescence to womanhood, from frightened isolation and captivity to the noble status of heiress. Trapped in a life where all who know her think her a saint, saddled with a mission and responsibilities, Naomi agrees to marry to sidestep more issues and the couples tangled web escalates for neither are what they seem to be.

As a Jew, Naomi knows the promise of Genesis 12:3 by heart and often repeats “I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.” When she hears Isaiah 53:5 “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed,” will she believe?


EDITORIAL REVIEW: “A faith based read about love, life and forgiveness there are things we are commissioned to do in our Christian walk, but life choices can make these things seem to be pushed far back and our fleshy desires forefront.” — Reviews by SweetReadz Mag
In this second of the six faith stories, we see a bride in flight rather than deal with the fall out of revealed secrets. Now Naomi has nothing and no one. But God is about to gift her everything if, finding herself embraced by people who care, she discovers the ‘Lover of her Soul’.

Will Naomi’s friendship with a ‘Titus 2 Woman’ and the blessings found at ‘Blessings Rock’ bring her to Christ? Can a husband who refuses to forgive his wife handle what he discovers when visiting his family? Is there is more between Chaz and Naomi than their unfulfilled longing?

Upon hearing Genesis 12:3 “I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you,” quoted by his family for the first time after his hidden reality is revealed, will God show Chaz what is true?

When Elí tells Chaz, “No, I am perfectly sane. It is the world that is crazy because they do not realize the one who died for our sins was the Messiah of Israel—the Jewish Savior!” will the words break though Chaz’s unbelief or can finding a dreidel at his uncles archaeological dig help Chaz become the man God created him to be?

EDITORIAL REVIEW: “A fascinating layered read, the tension between characters leaves you breathless in anticipation. I admit I had to cheat a little and check to make sure there was a happily ever after! Never fear! There is! The plot twists, turns and carries you all the way to the end hoping Chaz and Naomi find each other again! For those looking for a great book... pick it up!” - Kitty Muse Book Reviews
amzn.to/1zV9oKP
In book three of Naomi and Chaz’s faith journey, after a month of individual soul searching and finally believing in Messiah the newlyweds wed again.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 ‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” During this season of revelations the couple discovers each other’s secrets and now with a marriage built upon faith in their Savior there are challenges for Chaz is an internationally known and sought after philanthropist, and Naomi the Las Niña’s Tía has committed her life to rescuing teenage girls from immigration.

Will Naomi learn to trust Chaz? Ephesians 5:22 “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.”

Will Chaz love and protect his wife? Ephesians 5:25 “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”

EDITORIAL REVIEW: “A heroine learning to love the man she needs and a hero in love with a woman whose duty is tearing her apart. Together they find the strength to face their fears with love built upon an unshakable faith. Author Paula Rose Michelson captures the complexities of human emotion like few authors I've read. Passion, duty, fear, revenge, courage, prejudice and love are woven into this truly gripping story which so well illustrates that which makes us human.” - William Struse

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

The Candy Cane Lane Caper


Every year for as long as I could remember, my husband and I would wait until it was dark and have our daughters, Danae and Cheryl put on their warmest clothes and jackets. We’d grab some warm blankets as we scurried out to the car with a thermos of warm coco and a feeling of Christmas cheer. We’d turn on the radio and listen to Christmas music as we drove to Candy Cane Lane. During any other time of the year, we’d never have been able to find the place. For you see, Candy Cane Lane, just like Christmas itself magically appears then disappears every year. Just as everyone knows Santa Clause lives in the North Pole, Candy Cane Lane with its myriad of lights and festive regalia appeared and disappeared yearly like Brigadoon to remind us that who we are and what we do for others matters more than what we get. However, that certainly didn’t seem to be the case on that one Christmas so long ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself. So let’s begin at the beginning since that’s where any good story begins.
            I remember it as if it were yesterday although looking back now and counting the years it was a long time ago. Nye onto thirty years or more if my memory serves me…Yep, I think that’s about right because my kids were still little. It was Thanksgiving - one of those rare holidays where we’d eaten early, cleaned up, and everyone who’d come, including grandma and grandpa left just as is was getting dark. So my hubby Ron and I looked at each other, and smiled as he nodded towards the coat closet. Knowing what he meant, I hurried into the kitchen to make some coco.
            Thermos tucked into my carryall, Ron hollered, “Girls put on your warmest clothes.”
            As if on que, they joyfully shouted, “Hurray! We’re going to Candy Cane Lane.” They rushed off and Ron forged in our linen closet to find our warmest blankets. A few minutes later, we smiled at each other as we all gathered in the vestibule. With a nod and a wink reminiscent of old Saint Nick, Ron opened the front door and we ran to the car, faces aglow. He joined us and backed the car out of the driveway, while I turned on the radio and heard Andy Williams singing,

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'rywhere you go; 
Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again 
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

            Before we knew it, we were singing along. Now to an onlooker this might have seemed odd since we didn’t know Messiah yet, so let me share that as far as we were concerned, having Holiday Cheer in our heart had nothing to do with what faith you practiced. It had everything to do with wishing for peace on earth and extending good will towards men…and women. And as far as Candy Cane Lane or even Christmas itself was concerned, everyone who knew me and mine knew were we always ready for a party of any sort…so off to Candy Cane Lane we went.
            While Ron drove into the night, we reminisced about all the years we had visited the Lane. We remembered the year we’d seen carolers dressed as if they were characters from a Dickens novel singing Christmas songs as they walked the 12 blocks that made up the Lane. Grouped in two’s - the women carried baskets filled with muffins - the men had thermoses filled with hot apple cider. Ron had pulled over, so we could hop out, get a muffin, some cider and get back into the car much to the consternation of those in the cars behind us that let us know what we’d done caused the traffic through the lane to back up more than it usually did. That didn’t bother us because we knew the ride through the Lane was all about making memories. We loved the fact that a drive, which should take five or ten minutes took at least an hour. While Ron waved those in a hurry on, Cheryl reminisced about the first time she’d seen the giant Snoopy rotating in time to Christmas carols. Danae spoke about how lovely each family had decorated their tree and wondered if their choices reflected the people within the homes. We talked about what it would be like to live on these streets while we oohed and awed as we pointed to each home amid giggles of joy mingled with music as the Lane’s magic wove its way into our hearts leaving another year of memories to treasure. 
            We’d learned that with each passing generation the people who lived on Candy Cane Lane sold their homes to their children, relatives or dear friends who promised to keep this tradition going. Knowing this brought me a sense of community and a feeling that as difficult as things could get - for one brief moment - everyone really did want to bless each other. And as we inched our way along in a sea of cars which seldom moved more than a foot or two while gawking at the beautiful, amazing, religious, funny, outlandish - and at times thought provoking decorations - I believed everyone felt what I did.  
            Some believe all good things must end. I don’t, and I discovered my family didn’t the next night when we turned on the news and discovered that vandals had defaced Candy Cane Lane and ruined the decorations leaving the owners forlorn. That’s right – this bastion of cherished values, of joyful memories - a place where children could experience the wonder of people going out of their way to bless their community and others who made the yearly trek sometimes pulling over in their car to catch a few winks before they hurried on - had vanished. Where once the song “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” was heard, now on the news the faces of homeowners who’d remind behind the scenes were lined with concern as they bemoaned the passing of the legacy they’d pledged to continue.
            As the reporter interviewed one of the owners, I saw him standing in front of his home where, just the night before, we’d heard, “Have a holly, jolly Christmas,” being played while a child size coo-choo train chugged between presents wrapped in red and green, which were as large as a side table or larger, and my kids wondered if there really were presents inside them. Whether there were present in those boxes or not, it didn’t matter - what mattered now was that someone needed to do something or Candy Cane Lane would vanish into the ether as surly as Brigadoon did. However, unlike that fabled town, if these beloved yuletide streets vanished they would never appear again.
            Each of us wanted to do something. We each knew without saying anything that whatever we did would have to gain media attention and be done anonymously. Just as these homeowners had gifted our community, we would bestow an affirmation upon them. A very tall order because how could a family of four gift blocks of people and do it in a way that would be news worthy? We didn’t know. And being Jewish we didn’t have anything in our home that gave us an idea. So we drove to our local five and dime, scurried up and down the isles in search of an idea, and ended up in the art supplies isle all smiles, for above us hung a Christmas display, at eye level were the supplies needed to make what we saw. Danae got a cart and we packed it full. Of course we weren’t going to make a replica of their display! In fact we weren’t sure what we were going to do.
Returning home, we dumped the bags of supplies onto our kitchen table and reviewed what we had. Glue - check, poster board - check, markers - check, extra red and green markers – check, and check. Red and green ribbon - check…and the list went on. We’d bought out the section which meant we’d be eating allot of noodles with guess what…noodles as the side dish. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the realization that we didn’t have a clue about what to make that would overshadow all the vandals had done, but we had to have the project done and place on Candy Cane Lane before daybreak.
            Ron and I voiced idea after idea. None worked. Time ticked by. It was way past the kid’s bedtime and they were yawning. “It’s getting late and you guys have school tomorrow,” I said.
            I’ll never know if it was the idea of leaving the project undone or the fact that their hearts hurt for the homeowners, but at that moment that the girls suggested, “How about if we tell them we love them.” Amid smiles, Ron and I nodded.
       Turing on the news the next night, we saw the same reporter interviewing the same homeowner. This time the man’s sorrow had turned to joy! In fact, all the homeowners were smiling because someone had hung or tapped poster boards with, “We Love You Candy Cane Lane!” As the camera scanned the street, we saw that their sadness had turned to joy because our posters proclaimed what we and generations before us felt - love for those who’d gone out of their way to make our holiday special with their gift made them smile.
           Today my kids have kids of their own and Danae, my eldest daughter, lives a few miles from where we did. Each year she and her husband bundle their kids up and take them to Candy Cane Lane. I’ve never asked her or Cheryl if they remember the time Candy Cane Lane almost vanished, because knowing Messiah as I do now, I know Christmas isn’t about the gifts we give each other, but about the gift God gave the world on the day Christ was born to fulfill what was written by the prophet Isaiah 9:6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulders: and his shall be called Wonderful Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.





            

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Heart Gifts Bind us Together in LOVE as 'Cheryl’s Memory Album' Did!

Christmas is my favorite time of year! Perhaps it is because I grew up without Christmas that I feel that way. Or, it might just be, because for one brief moment, everyone seems to care for each other, even if they had a fight the week before. It is a time for parties, shopping, and hoping that you will get that one gift you really, really want. You know the one you never told anyone about, not even Santa. I love Christmas so much that I begin my shopping way before the Halloween decorations go up. Long before most mom’s, and kids are considering whether they should go trick or treating, or attend something that is safer, and affirms their values, I have bought my gifts, wrapped them, and decked our house in festive regalia.  
            Doing these things early in the fall allows me to savor the selection of each present. First, I think about the recipient; who they are, and what they mean to me. Then, I remember all the special times we have shared together. Times of walks along the horse trial by our house with our basest hound Barney running ahead of us as our feet kick up the debris of old leaves. Times of special teas shared near a cozy fire by the seashore. Times of playing blackout scrabble in the living room as the smell of a roast in the crock-pot enfolds us in the aroma of love. Times of reflection, introspection, joy, and laughter, which trips lightly through the moment, and creates bonds of friendship. I think of all of this as I search for that perfect declaration of affection for each holiday recipient.
            I want those receiving gifts on this special day to know that they are treasured. I try to choose each gift to reflect the personality of the receiver. Many times, I have stood in front to a lovely display of merchandise and walked away with nothing. For having pondered what each gift might convey, I found a slight discord and chose to continue my search. As you can tell, choosing a memento of love for each special person on my list is a defining act for me. This act says I see who you are. I love and treasure you! You are dear to me!
            Therefore, you can understand that is was with a deep sense of frustration that I looked at the few dollars I had to spend on that Christmas twenty-four years ago and wandered the isles in search of that elusive perfect present. A present of recognition, which each family member and friend would receive as an affirmation of their unique personhood. For my niece who wanted to become an author I could envision a portable writing tabletop complete with attached pillow on the bottom. For my daughter Cheryl, I thought of a lovely handmade fall outfit, something seasonally appropriate for our first winter in the cold climate of northern California. For my husband a round of golf, which he loved, but would never do for himself. Now you may wonder why my older daughter Danae was not on my list. Simple, since she had chosen to use her plane ticket to visit during Thanksgiving and would arrive soon, I did not need to worry about a gift for her. However, what had seemed finically easy when we purchased Danae’s ticket was now tantamount to an extravagance and knowing that made my predicament about Cheryl’s gift worse.
            Alas, what was the use of wishing? I needed to flex skills long dormant and resurrect my ability to create something wonderful out of very little. I had done this before – years ago – been inspired to make gifts. I can do it again, I told myself. I set my sights on projects I could accomplish while my family was away at their daily pursuits. I was grateful that my husband needed to go to his office daily. I wanted to surprise him with my ingenuity and creativeness. As I worked I prayed that the results would be worthy of those I hoped to give the surprises to. After all, a woman in her forties needs to be able to show some small skill in her work given as a gift. Little by little, these small tokens of love began to take substance. Perhaps it was the prayers I silently sent to heaven, or the blessings I prayed for the recipient of the individual presents because each item turned out well. The gifts completed, I wrapped them and set them out as festive décor as I always did. Even as my eye traveled appraisingly over them, I knew I was not done – there was no gift for Cheryl.
            It was almost Thanksgiving, and I still needed to select a gift project for my fourteen year old. Yet as I wandered the isles, I secretly admitted, Stumped…that is what I am stumped! At fourteen, a girl needs frivolous things, feminine things. My daughter needed nurturing and encouraged as she stood on the threshold of young womanhood. Yet, as much as I searched, I found no gift that could meet this need in any craft store, or catalogue. Christmas was hastening. The air had already tuned crisp. Leaves had long ago become those reddish burnt offerings to the last days of Indian summer and my time was running out.
            One day Cheryl and I were sitting on the couch together sharing fond memories while we thumbed through the family scrapbook. As I watched and listened, I became aware of her need to feel more connected to us. Yes, she was reaching out to the world - becoming more than a child. For her to do this successfully she needed to have her personhood strongly and firmly established and supported in our family. She needed what my husband and I always refer to as a stake in the ground. A place of firm footing from which she could venture out and then return for sustenance and reassurance. We tried to give her that daily as she grew. But I could sense that she needed something more, something special. I had her pictorial history in my hands when I realized that I could give her photos of our family’s affirmation of her. It would be a challenge, and a lot of work, but she was worth it. I began at once, praying once again that it would be all that I hoped it would be and that she would be pleased.
            The next day, I drove Cheryl to school and said goodbye with a special lilt in my voice. I am certain she never noticed the twinkle that shown through my otherwise usual mourning rituals. But I did! As I drove back home I began to visualize the scope, and breath of the work ahead of me. It seemed an overwhelming project to undertake, for Christmas was fast approaching. However, everything else that I need to do for the holiday was finished. And I must admit I was glad it had worked that way since I knew this project would take all the time I had and most likely many hours I would steel from some other pursuit. However, nothing mattered more to me than the love I would lavish on this gift and my prayer that when my daughter held it she would feel my love through her fingertips and my joy at her being my daughter when her eyes caressed each picture.
            When I arrived home, I lit the logs in the fireplace, made a cup of tea, and began to sort the pictures for Cheryl’s Memory Book. Soon pictures of Cheryl were everywhere. I grouped them by age. There were many that I believed she had never seen before since I had put them in an old pillowcase before we moved and forgotten all about them until now. As I looked at each one-I saw pictures of bygone times, of life well lived. Each one held a precious memory - memories of the beach and hugs, our trip to Washington D.C. and confidences, whack attacks and family laughter - family past and present, and friends, the stuff of life. Page by page her book took shape and as they did, I felt I was giving my daughter a wonderful present - her own history. A gift, which I felt spoke loud, and clear of fourteen years of encouragement, and our love for her.
            I hoped that my hours spent on this project would tell her that she was of great value to her dad, and me. The project complete my husband wrote her a beautiful letter and placed it in the front of her book. I wrapped this treasure of her precious memories and placed with the other gifts. Would she like it, or would she think it silly?       
            We did not need to wait long since Christmas was the next morning. I watched her unwrap her present and saw her hug it to herself. I was not disappointed. I could tell that she loved her book. My husband and I exchanged winks. It was only as the day moved on that we noticed with growing wonder how she shared her book with others as her primary gift of the season, embellishing on it so that it seemed to us that the listener began to desire their own memory album.
            Today Cheryl is all grown up and has a family of her own. However, even as busy as she has become she has continued to build upon that gift we gave her so long ago. As our parents and other members of the family passed on, she has taken their pictures off their wall or from their albums, written their stories, and made a place for them in her heart and in her home. Yes, memories are the moments of our life. Without them, we pass away unnoticed and perhaps forgotten. How lucky for us that the one Christmas our funds were so low became for our daughter and our family a legacy of love and treasured  memories persevered by the keeper of them all, our daughter Cheryl.


In Memory of the Sandy Hook Children "It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas" by Paula Rose Michelson


It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas
Every year for as long as I could remember, my husband and I would wait until it was dark and have our daughters, Danae and Cheryl put on their warmest clothes and jackets. We’d grab some warm blankets as we scurried out to the car with a thermos of warm coco and a feeling of Christmas cheer. Then we’d turn on the radio and listen to Christmas music as we drove to Candy Cane Lane. During any other time of the year, we would never have been able to find the place. For you see, Candy Cane Lane, just like Christmas itself magically appears then disappears every year. Just as everyone knows that Santa Clause lives in the North Pole, we thought Candy Cane Lane with its myriad of lights and festive regalia appeared and disappeared yearly like Brigadoon, to remind us that who we are and what we do matters more than what we get. However, that certainly didn’t seem to be the case on that one Christmas so long ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself. So let’s begin at the beginning since that’s where any good story begins.
            I remember it as if it were yesterday. Although looking back now and counting the years it was a long time ago. Nye onto thirty years or more if my memory servers me…Yep, I think that’s about right because my kids were still little. Just like you. And it was Thanksgiving…just like it is today. It was one of those rare holidays where we’d eaten early, cleaned up quick, and everyone who’d come, including grandma and grandpa left just as is was getting dark. So my husband and I looked at each other, smiled and nodded towards the coat closet.
            I hurried into the kitchen to make some coco.
            “Girls put on your warmest clothes,” Ron said.
            As if on que, they joyfully shouted, “Hurray! We’re going to Candy Cane Lane.”
            They rushed off and Ron forged in our linen closet.
            A few minutes later, we smiled at each other as we gathered in the vestibule.
            Then with a nod and a wink reminiscent of old Saint Nick, Ron opened the front door and we ran to the car, faces aglow. He joined us and backed the car out of the driveway, while I turned on the radio and heard Andy Williams singing,

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'rywhere you go;
Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

            Before we knew it, we were singing along to the old song. Now to an onlooker this might have seemed odd since we were Jewish, so let me share that as far as we were concerned, having holiday cheer in our heart had nothing to do with what faith you practiced. It had everything to do with wishing for peace on earth and extending good will towards men…and women. And as far as Candy Cane Lane or even Christmas itself was concerned, everyone who knew me and mine knew were we always ready for a party of any sort…so off to Candy Cane Lane we went.
            While Ron drove into the night, we reminisced about all the years we had visited the lane. We remembered the year we had seen carolers dressed as if they were characters from a Dickens novel caroling up and down the street. When we noticed that the women carried baskets filled with muffins, the men had thermoses filled with hot apple cider, Ron pulled over. We hopped out, got a muffin and some cider and got back into the car much to the consternation of those in the cars behind us that let us know what we had done caused the traffic through the lane to backup more than it usually did.
            But we didn’t care because we knew the ride through the lane was for family and memories. We loved the fact that a drive, which should take five minutes or at the most ten, took at least an hour. While we waved those in a hurry on, we listened as Cheryl  reminisced about the first time she’d seen the giant Snoopy rotating in time to Christmas carols. Then Danae spoke about how lovely each family had decorated their tree and wondered if their choices reflected the people within the homes. When she spoke about that, we talked about what it would be like to live on this street. After our reminiscences were finished, we oohed and aahed as we pointed at each and home. Our giggles and joy mingled with the music in the air and the Lane worked its magic into our hearts. 
            We had heard that when the people who began Candy Cane Lane sold their homes their children, relatives or dear friends bought them thus keeping this tradition alive from generation to generation. By the time we visited the place, I believed generations of families had visited. Knowing that brought me a sense of community and a feeling that as difficult as things could get, for one brief moment, everyone really did want to bless each other. And as we inched our way along in a sea of cars which seldom moved more than two at a time and gawked at the beautiful, amazing, religious, funny, outlandish, and at times thought provoking decorations, I believed everyone thought as I did.  
            Some believe that all good things must end…I don’t …Neither did my family the next night when we turned on the news and discovered that vandals had defaced Candy Cane Lane and ruined all the decorations leaving the owners forlorn. That’s right…that bastion of cherished values, of joyful memories, a place where children could experience the wonder of people going out of their way to bless their community and others who made the yearly trek sometimes pulling over in their car to catch a few winks before they hurried on…had vanished. Where once the song “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” was heard, now on the news the faces of homeowners who had remind behind the scenes were lined with concern and they bemoaned the passing of this legacy which they had pledge to continue.
            As the reporter interviewed one of the owner, I realized that he stood in front of the home where, just the night before, we had heard the song,
Have a holly, jolly Christmas, 
It's the best time of the year, 
I don't know, if there'll be snow, 
But have a cup of cheer,
being played as a child sized choo-choo train chugged between presents wrapped in red and green, which were as large as a side table or larger, and my kids had wondered if there really were presents inside them. Now we knew that whether there were present in those boxes or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that someone need to do something or Candy Cane Lane would vanish into the either as surly as Brigadoon did. However, unlike that fabled town, if our beloved yuletide street vanished it would never appear again.
            Each of us wanted to do something. We each knew without saying anything that whatever we did would have to gain media attention and be done anonymously. Just as the homeowners had gifted our community, we would bestow an affirmation upon them, which was a tall order because how could one family of four gift a block of people and do it in a way that the newspapers would carry the story? We didn’t know. And being Jewish we didn’t have anything in our home that gave us an idea. So we got in the car and drove to our local five and dime where we scurried up and down the isles in search of an idea.     A few minutes later, we gathered by the art supplies and smiled. Above us hung a Christmas display, at eye level were the supplies needed to make what we saw. Danae got a cart and we packed it full. Of course we weren’t going to make a replica of their display…in fact we weren’t sure just what we were going to do until we got home, opened the leaf in our table, dumped the bags of supplies and reviewed what we had. Glue - check, poster board - check, markers - check, extra red and green markers – check, and check. Red and green ribbon - check…And the list went on. We had bought out the section which meant we’d be eating allot of noodles with guess what…noodles as the side dish. But that didn’t matter. What mattered we realized, as we stared at the supplies, was coming up with an idea that would overshadow what the vandals had done…And we had to have the project done and place on Candy Cane Lane before daybreak.
            Ron and I voiced idea after idea. None worked. Time ticked by. It was way past the kid’s bedtime and they were yawning.
            I looked at the clock and said, “It’s getting late and you guys have school tomorrow.”
            I’ll never know if it was the idea of leaving the project undone or the fact that their hearts hurt for the homeowners, but it was at that very moment that the girls suggested, “How about if we tell them we love them.”
            Ron and I nodded and smiled.
            The next night we turned on the news and saw the same reporter interviewing the same homeowner. Only this time instead of the man sounding forlorn he was joyful. In fact, all the homeowners were because someone…and we swore we’d never tell who, had hung or tapped poster boards with, “We Love You Candy Cane Lane,” as far as the eye could see. The camera scanned the street. Where the day before all we saw wreckage now posters proclaimed what we and generations before us had felt…love for those who had gone out of their way to make our holiday a little more special than it would be without their gift.
            Today my kids have kids of their own and Danae, my eldest daughter, lives a few miles from where we did. Each year she and her husband bundle their kids up and take them to Candy Cane Lane. I’ve never asked her or Cheryl if they ever told anyone about the year that Candy Cane Lane almost vanished. But since that was a long time ago, I think its okay to tell the story today. In fact as we approach Hanukkah and Christmas, I think it’s more than okay because stories like this remind us that people matter…even people we don’t know.

            

Baskets of Christmas Blessings by Paula Rose Michelson

It seemed that I would never be able to get out of bed again. If I had enough energy I would, on occasion, stumble from my bedroom to the den and turn on the TV. That took all then energy I had. So it was either watch the TV or take a shower. In my book, it doesn’t get more basic that that unless you’re talking about food – and food was one level below me and I couldn’t walk down the steps. On one rare occasion when I tried, I discovered that even if I could get down, I couldn’t get up the stairs again.
            Many days I lay in my bed and looked around my room, which seemed to grow smaller that longer I stayed there. But that wasn’t as bad as it could get if my eyes caught sight of the thirteen Christmas baskets I had been preparing as a surprise before I got sick. It seemed to me that they stood there daring me to finish them. Since I knew that was impossible, I tried to look the other way and pretend they weren’t there.
            However, the day my friend Terrie entered my room my pretending changed. She knew I was to weak to speak and told me to say nothing cause she hadn’t come to visit but planned to clean my house. I was mortified that as sick as she was she was able to do what I could not. But I was more upset when she saw the baskets and asked, “What are these doing here?”
            I closed my eyes, pretended I was asleep, and heard her leave to tidy the rest of our home.
            Two hours later, she peeked in. “I sure wish I knew what you wanted to do with all those bananas,” she said.
             “Are they rotten?” I rasped.
            “I knew you would say something before I left!”
            Aware that I had uttered my first words in over a week, I smiled.
            Terrie smiled back. “Were you planning on baking?”
            “I planned to make banana bread, and place the loaves, a devotional, and a candle in the baskets,” I whispered. I pointed towards two boxes next to my bedside table that held my purchases. 
            Terrie walked to the boxes, opened the lips, looked everything over, and nodded towards the thirteen baskets I'd lined with cheery Christmas fabric, and filled with a few gifts. “Looks like we have a project to complete!” she exclaimed. She hurried downstairs and I could hear her keys jangle as she prepared to leave. “Don’t worry about a thing! I’ll bake the banana bread then we will load everything into the car and I’ll drop them off for you. By the way, who are they for?”
            I was crying so hard, I could not answer. She must have thought something was wrong because she hurried to the loft. When she found me wiping away my tears, she sat on my bed, and waited for me to respond. I sniffled back my tears and blew my noise. “I planned to drop them off at the homes of the people who work behind the scenes at the church, the card was to read, “'A Christmas Blessing from Jesus',” nothing more.”
            A look of pure joy came over Terrie’s face. “It’s alright. I’ll find a way to take you with me when I drop them off so you can make sure there taken to the right homes.”
            “Terrie, you are a treasure!”
            “Yep…You and me both!”
            “No,” I said. I relaxed into my pillows glad that God had given me the strength to share, and happy that Terrie wanted to help. “I am just fulfilling Gods call.”
            “Me too,” she said. She stood and held up the rotten bananas.
            “Hand me my purse and I'll give you some money to buy whatever you need.”
            “I don’t need your money!” she insisted. Before I knew what was happening she stormed out of my room mumbling to herself, clearly upset by my offer. Even though she had left in a huff, I knew Terrie would help me complete what I had begun because she was someone who seldom let her moods affect her commitments.
            When my husband came home he found me elated, because I'd realized that Terrie was the thirteenth recipient. I had told him that I bought the thirteenth basket not knowing who was to receive it. Ron understood my concern when I shared Terrie’s kind offer to cover the cost of the baking, for our friend was an unemployed senior who had a myriad of health issues. She lived on unemployment, and invited others needier than her to live in her home rent free, she continued to tithe to the church, and was always available to help.
            However, it was later that night when I discovered that since Ron's mother was much like Terrie, he was comfortable with her offer. “Since Terrie’s a great cook, I hope I get a big loaf of banana bread,” he said.
            I shot up, adjetated. 
            “What’s the matter Paula? Are you feeling worse?”
            I opened my mouth, but could not answer. I was so upset that it took Ron a quarter of an hour to calm me down enough for me to explain, “Terrie weights about ninety five pounds, she's under five feet. I weigh one thirty five and am five feet five. You have trouble helping me downstairs. How is she going to get me into her car?”
            “She can’t. With her bad leg, the difference in your sizes and as weak as you are you’d better tell her you can’t go.”
            “How can I do that? She’ll know I’m lying.”
            “No she won’t,” Ron said. He fell asleep.
            Now that I realized the folly of our plan, I was unable to sleep. As much as I wanted to do what my husband suggested, I knew I couldn't get away with telling a fib. Besides, I thought what a horrible way to say thank you to a friend who offered to help me fulfill Gods Christmas Blessing for others!
            I tossed, turned, and I must have disturbed Ron. “Call me when she arrives. I’ll come home and help you get settled in her car,” he said.
            “Thank you.” I smiled as I drifted off to sleep.
            When I woke, the house was empty and the sun was up. I struggled more than I usually did to get through my morning routine, which consisted of showering, brushing my teeth, and getting dressed. Although Ron had left an apple and some string cheese on my bedside table, I was too weak to eat. I knew I'd never make it downstairs even if Ron where there to help.             
            However, I never got a chance to call Ron, for Terrie insisted that we could manage and we did. Somehow, she filled all the baskets, loaded them into her trunk, got me downstairs and settled in the back seat, and wrapped me in warm blankets. Then off we went leaving Baskets of Christmas Blessings in our wake just as God had told me to do. Every home we stopped at received theirs, complete with prayer, and Terrie made sure I saw it all from the backseat of her old green jalopy.
            At the end, there was only one basket left. Terrie looked at the basket, which was unlike the others. “My goodness,” she said. “I don’t remember there being a basket with an additional gift in it when I was at your place yesterday.”
            “Oh, you must have picked that one up by mistake.”
            “I don’t think so.” She counted the number of homes where baskets had been delivered.” 
            “Don’t worry,” I said. “Ron will deliver this one for me.”
            “I sure hope you know who it’s for,” she said. She got behind the wheel. “After all it’s not everyday that some lucky lady is given the gift of everything you gave the others, and Shalimar perfume!”
            “Oh, do you like that fragrance?” I asked.
            “It’s my favorite."
            I am glad to hear that, I thought aware that Ron had placed the perfume I'd bought to gift someone with in Terrie’s Basket of Christmas Blessing.
            Long after Terrie had gone to bed, Ron delivered our friends Basket of Blessing as I watched and thought what a sweet blessing it is, to give a blessing to one who blesses.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

This THANKSGIVING Let's Not Sign Up 4 'The Victim Dance'!


Preface
As we prepare and look forward to THANKSGIVING where we gather with family & friends to celebrate all that America is, let us pledge to keep it the free land our forefathers intended it to be. Let us call out those who twist our founders words to reshape and change our country into a land whose history is then used to meet their own ends or, worse yet, the ends of those who control them

'THE VICTIM DANCE' is a chapter in this 99cent Kindle
Having lived in ‘Writer Land’ for more whiles than a little, I know it’s odd to begin a new piece by saying once more what I said at the end of my previous article and build upon it. However, I must, because ‘The Victim Dance’ we’re in can be defined by the words I ended that piece with, which said, when ‘We the People’ don’t hold others accountable for the decisions they’ve made for us, especially by those who govern and chose by personal fiat to implement new laws that radically change the country we live in, and thereby affect every aspect of our lives now and forevermore and when called to account shine us on while continuing this wilful behavior by making more laws that go against the precepts America was founded upon. We find ourselves dancing with a partner, i.e., our elected representatives who no longer represents us, and thus find ourselves dancing ‘The Victim Dance’, so using the end to begin this beginning in the most mixed up America I never thought to see is most apropos.

Though we may long to find another partner, this is the one we voted into office so we’re stuck. Like the abused women, I’ve mentored for years, ‘We the People’ want to pretend that we like our life this way ’cause, “Hey, we must deserve a gov., where those who legislate and the Pres., tell us everything will continue to cost more, while they’re busy letting illegals in our country’s proverbial backdoor, and when we muster up the courage to call them on it, as in account for what they’ve done, we see that there’s no accountability as they silence us with, “Hey, it’s A-Okay!” But it isn’t! It isn’t okay that at every twist and turn, our ability to be in charge of our personal choices and our nation’s destiny is thwarted, and that the very people who should care are for want of a better word NOT there!

Oh, that we could continue to pretend that our partner, you know the guy or gal that we elected, gives a fig about what we think, but they don’t ’cause in ‘Codependent Land’ they know they’ve got the upper hand, for they’ve discovered that all they have to do is change the subject by offering us something we want, and when we buy in ‘The Victim Dance’ will begin again.

Think I’m wrong? Well let’s see…how about this, we know that everyone has to pay the piper to dance, right? Sure! Well, until now when we went to a dance, we could have asked that they play our favorite tune. However, today that’s considered more than rude by those in power who are usurping more of it hour by hour!

So let’s see where they got this ‘tude… it might seem like I’m taking you to ‘Kiddy Land’ so you can grasp this cycle of abuse, but since you’re now used to putting your thinker on snooze, please do that for me while I explain why Doctor Dolittle’s ‘Pushmi-Pullyu’, which you might better recall as the ‘Push-Me—Pull-You’ fits in. See what happens when we don’t know what’s being said, or the words that we hear don’t mean what they did…just a few moments ago when we did…know? Like this two bodied llama of ‘Push-Me—Pull-You’ fame, one might assume that they, and we, like this made-up beast, are joined at the head, neck, or feet. But that’s wrong, we, like our fictional friend here, at least the ‘We’, that’s in control of the gov., are joined in such a way that all feet faced, front making it impossible for us or the llama to move unless all parts agree.

While we’re stuck, who steps in but the Pres. and his honchos ready to claim victory over seasoned advisors, seniority, morality, the silent majority and just like the beasty of literary fame, we might silently wish that we had a different name, ’cause if we’ve made a disparaging remark, we suddenly feel it might be wise to stay home after dark, ’cause since Ambassador Steven’s got his, if we bite the big one who’s going to give a fig in this new America shaped by a man who claimed, “Yes we can,” while we were busy setting in motion things that would make the words he spoke the very opposite of what ‘We the People’ knew them to mean. 

Now for those few who know what’s, what this is a hard pill…almost too hard to swallow especially when just a short time ago we were…but now like that Llama of literary fame, our yesterdays and our tomorrows are not ours to claim. If there are any in the Congress that are bold enough to go where fear must be extinguished before they open the door, please do, because without you, we’ll be no better than any other animal trapped in the mire of its own poo who wish…someone ethical would take the lead.

You might think that using this example proves that I’ve completely missed the point. But have I? I think not! For this neither we nor this fictional beastie can move at all unless both ends agree. For us it’s the Congress, Supreme Court, and the Pres., for the ‘Push-Me—Pull-You’ it’s the story he’s trapped in. How apropos, for though this is a made-up character living in a fiction, it’s no more a fiction than our current reality is…at least that’s what we’re hearing is real. Therefore, here I must say that I fear for each branch of our gov., which is the government that I NOW fear.

Fear! You may be thinking that I’m mad, and that, I must say is another way of deferring a reality that you may not wish to think about today. In fact, fear and reading or listening to only those who agree with your take on things is one of the reasons we’re in the fix ‘cause while you were doing that the very country where the slogan “Have it your way” was coined has now run amuck, and using this idiom that many may not know will most likely cause some that have too many social networking gigs and friends to care, take it on the lamb, so let me say here, and I hope this gives you pause, Obama is seriously thinking of giving the internet, another  American invention of fame to the Chinese…think I’m wrong? Type ‘Obama to give away internet’ into the open bar in the center of your search screen and you’ll see that it’s true. Think this is only one incident? Nope! It’s NOT! Type in ‘Obama sells NASA to Russia’ and you’ll see The Weekly World News article written by Tap Vann in.  Scroll down towards the bottom and you’ll read, “Obama said, “Putin promised me that he would take good care of our NASA employees and I trust him. I have no reason not to trust him.” Really? When did we give this or any other Pres. the right to see…ops, sell what we need to keep our country strong?

Think I’ve missed the point because the NASA info didn’t keep us safe…think again! Space, that ‘final frontier’ and the ability for us to go there, is now owned by the very people who just invaded and overtook the Ukraine. Having previously given, not sold, NASA to Russia, they surmised, and evidentially rightly so, that we would let them invade a sovereign country and overtake it without any national reprisals from the USA. So who’s going to listen to us or care? No one, that’s who!

That’s exactly where the abuser in ‘The Victim Dance’ wants us to be…so that ‘Victim’ finally understand that we are not free and Never will be!

There’s still time to reverse this course! But doing this won’t be easy. Think I’m kidding, ask those in Ukraine, who like ‘us’ we seem to have become, were easily undone by their own ‘Push-Me—Pull-Yous’ from within.
Order The Purple Pitch Seduction of America for 99cents at: http://amzn.to/WfYxaD

About Paula Rose Michelson
The wife of Lutheran Pastor and Chosen People Ministries field missionary, Ron Michelson, while a Church Ministries Coordinator for the mission her husband continues to serve in, Paula Rose Michelson asked God to gift her something unique to do. Little did she know that hearing David Hocking speak about Zion being both the land of Eretz Yisrael (Israel) and the Jewish people would lead her to research what befell the Spanish Jews (Sephardic) before, during and after the Inquisition. Beginning to write, word spread and some Sephardim contacted her to offer their stories. However, Naomi had already begun telling this dyslectic artist about her life, which is now a six volume romantic inspirational faith saga.


Other books - both fiction and nonfiction followed - but at her core, Paula's desire to faithfully depict Gods love, compassion, and forgiveness are the reason she continues to write. And having founded LAMB Ministries in 1988, Paula knows that the biblical tools God taught her, which she faithfully passes on to women suffering from trauma and abuse are needed by all, so she includes a few within the pages of each book.
                                All my Kindles for 99cents at: http://amzn.to/1z8ydzA

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

5 Stars! "No Other Choice is #Inspired #Romance at its best." Only #99cents

Between fear, longing lies Naomi and Chaz seem to have No Other Choice. As the author, I think this might be why a filmmaker and I are talking about movie rights at this point. I do know that whether you're looking for a great read, or want to see why some have said 'the book reads like a movie', watching this trailer and reading the opening of chapter of my bestselling novel will let you know if Naomi's journey one you want to take. And since the Kindle in only #99cents, I hope you get and gift this read to many. 

Please watch this book trailer before you read the first chapter of No Other Choice

video
                                                   http://amzn.to/1tN7hEp

Chapter 1 : What Now
As they entered the building and turned down a dark corridor all Naomi could think was, now what will I do? The man pointed to a chair in a stark office. Steeling her resolve, she entered, sat down, and clutched the old, brown, leather suitcase to her chest. Seeing an official take a man into a room, she heard his interview begin. The door shut. Her mind raced, now what…what now, demanding an answer. She closed her eyes, and tried to think of one but there were none. No answers for immigration, and she had known there would be none even before she ran away from home in the middle of the night without a goodbye or a note explaining. Aware that running away from the reality of being a Jew in a country that allowed only those of one faith, and that one not hers, to live there, she had planned to find her uncle once she was allowed into America and help him bring their family here. Tears formed. She blinked them back, certain that if she cried; she would never be allowed to enter America.  
Seeking oblivion she closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, she would find this was a horrid nightmare. Her mind brought her back to the moment fear had taken control of her life once more. She heard herself screaming, “Abuela Sosa, please do not be dead!” Her Madre’s training took over because she heard her say, mi hija, think of something else. She tried, but as if things could not get any worse, the image of the old woman’s daughter-in-law packing her meager belongings into her suitcase flashed before her, and she heard herself demand, “You have no need of me anymore? I gave you a year of my life! Your esposo…your husband promised he would help me enter America and search for my uncle if I took care of his madre!” 
Aware that the kindhearted old woman had treated her as if she were her very own kin, her sorrow increased. Yet knowing that her daughter-in-law had never visited the old woman during their voyage, and was only there now because it was necessary, Naomi was not surprised that this woman appeared unfazed by her charge’s death as she dispassionately closed the lid to the teenager’s suitcase and stared at her. Instead of demanding that the woman fetch a doctor, as she had insisted an hour ago when she fetched her, all Naomi could think of was, what do I do, now what do I do? Then she corrected herself, Naomi, it is not what do you do…it is what can I do to convince them to let me stay? She watched the woman eyeing her and wondered why is she in a hurry to rid herself of me before the doctor examines Abuela Sosa and declares her dead? Only then did she remember the woman’s secretive responses to an odd phone call that came moments after she followed Naomi into the estate room. Maybe the family discovered the last name I gave was not…she felt a knot in her stomach, and knew her worst fears were going to come true. 
Opening her eyes to see who was sitting beside her, Naomi was not surprised to find no one there for fear, she had learned, does funny tricks to one’s mind. She closed her eyes again, certain that at one point there had been an official sitting next to her. At least that is what she…Her mind drifted back to the moment they had meet, that is if being taken off the grand ship awaiting entry to New York harbor by an immigration official could be called a meeting. Reliving the moment that culminated when she sat where she was, Naomi knew it was all true. She was on Ellis Island and would be deported. She knew that because it being her first time sailing, she had listened to the other servants talking amongst themselves and learned many things…amongst them, the fact that no immigrants had disembarked at Ellis Island since the end of World War I unless… When she questioned those who spoke, she learned that immigration would remove a passenger from a ship because of a problem with their paperwork. Though when she sat where the man pointed, she had refused to believe her situation was as dire as it appeared, her heart had told her otherwise.
Trying to convince herself that her situation was not as bad as it seemed, she told herself, this is a mistake! My entry into America should have been easy. I took care of everything at the American Consulate before we left Spain. My documents, medical history… I filled each paper out very carefully!
Agitated, she opened her eyes. She was alone. Aware of the stories of the chosen few allowed to enter the country; she tried to think of anything but the future she feared. Now what? Now what? her mind repeated, demanding an immediate answer. Think of something else, her mamá had often told her when she worried too much. And now just as she had when her mother told her what to do, Naomi nodded and whispered, “Sí, mi mamá.” Scanning the room, she remembered reading that a fire had reduced the original buildings to cinders and nonflammable materials were used when the facility was rebuilt. It must have been an awful fire…still…
She heard the door to the office open, looked at the wall clock, and realized an hour had passed. An official took the man they had interviewed away. The door was left open at another man’s request. She leaned forward in her chair hoping to hear the men she assumed would decide her fate.
“Sad that the grandmother died,” the large man said, his voice filled with what she prayed was sympathy for her plight.
The smaller man nodded. “And, just before the boat she was on was to enter the harbor.”
“The girl has no sponsor. We must send her back to Spain.”
“But she says she has no people,” a man she could not see said.

“Sad yes, very sad….but it’s not our—”


Paula Rose Michelson's bio & books are at: http://amzn.to/1z8ydzA

Friday, September 4, 2015

4 a #99Cent Shot of Positivty it's my 12 page Memoir

Knowing my first book would release, I shared my secret and have been blessed by comments like  this one from Cynthia's 5 star review...


“My dyslexic daughter and I read this book together. It’s very short, but gives hope to those who get frustrated with learning disabilities. It helped my daughter to know there are others who have the same struggles she does and that she's not stupid. She can be anything she wants to be. Thanks, Paula Rose Michelson, for sharing your story."  http://amzn.to/SQetiN

About, author Paula Rose Michelson
The wife of Lutheran Pastor and Chosen People Ministries field missionary, Ron Michelson, while a Church Ministries Coordinator for the mission her husband continues to serve in, Paula Rose Michelson asked God to gift her something unique to do. Little did she know that hearing David Hocking speak about Zion being both the land of Eretz Yisrael (Israel) and the Jewish people would lead her to research what befell the Spanish Jews (Sephardic) before, during and after the Inquisition. Beginning to write, word spread and some Sephardim contacted her to offer their stories. However, Naomi had already begun telling this dyslectic artist about her life, which is now a six volume romantic inspirational faith saga.

Other books - both fiction and nonfiction followed - but at her core, Paula's desire to faithfully depict Gods love, compassion, and forgiveness are the reason she continues to write. And having founded LAMB Ministries in 1988, Paula knows that the biblical tools God taught her, which she faithfully passes on to women suffering from trauma and abuse are needed by all, so she includes a few within the pages of each book. 

For those interested in The Naomi Chronicles faith fictions, or any of this authors other books here's the link to her Amazon Page: http://amzn.to/1z8ydzA