by Tracie Peterson A Life So True is book two in the three-book generational series titled A Minnesota Legacy. Set in Minneapolis, in 1893, the story is a faith-based historical romance that offers hope and encouragement to the reader. It also reveals the importance of being truthful. This is the story of Evie Turner, daughter of Dr. Roman and Judith Turner. All her life she’s wanted to train as a nurse and work at her father’s side to help the poor and underprivileged of

by Grace Fox Every January for a decade, I attended a week-long retreat for Christian authors. Friendships grew deep as we set aside our writing projects to prioritize our physical and spiritual health with like-minded women. For me, one of the highlights was hearing others’ personal stories. The common thread woven throughout the tapestry of testimonies was unmistakable: Each of the thirty or so women in the room had experienced soul-deep suffering. One woman recalled sp

by Marcie Gourley Most of life isn’t lived under bright lights. It is lived along dimly lit paths, not dark enough to lose our way completely, but not always clear enough to see very far ahead, either. Sometimes this leaves us feeling lost, or anxious, or cautious. We are on the kind of path where you take a few steps, adjust your footing, and keep going, trusting that what you need will be visible when you need it. I remember a hike like that. It was later than I had pla

by Suzanne Woods Fisher When my editor called two days after I sent her the manuscript for Chase the Light, I braced myself. Two days is fast. Really fast. In my experience, fast usually means one of two things: either she loved it so much she couldn’t put it down, or there were big problems. “I read it in two days,” she said. “And I have no revisions.” I actually laughed. “Really?” “None. It’s ready.” That’s a moment every writer dreams about. The wow moment. The o

by Cindy K. Sproles My mother will be 100 years old in August. Most folks who make it to her age are sporting around a grocery bag of medications. Mom takes a blood pressure pill and a thyroid tablet. That’s it. To be one-hundred, Mother is exceptional. In fact, she’s so exceptional that she turns out a queen-sized quilt every other month. We rent a climate-controlled storage building to house her, over eighty, quilts and wall hangings. None of which Mom will sell. I ofte

by Becky Harling I remember talking with a woman who was facing a number of trials. During the course of our conversation, I asked, “How are you doing Friend-Wise?” There was a long pause. Then she replied with tears, “ I mean, I have a few, but nothing really deep. Most of the time I feel lonely.” That conversation points to the loneliness epidemic that pervades our culture. Many want friends, but they simply don’t know how to be a good friend. While they may have lots of

by Robin Jones Gunn When my fiancé and I started making wedding plans, I had one important question that couldn’t wait. “Are you planning to wear a kilt?” His Scottish heritage ran deep, and I knew that other men in his extended clan showed up at weddings in kilts. His brother had bagpipes at his reception. I wanted to know what Ross’s vision was for our August wedding in Southern California. His reply was, “No kilt, but what do you think about having popsicles instead of

by Jenny Erlingsson I can still remember the way my daughter looked at me several years ago when we were going over letters. This particular alphabet was also a challenge to me because we were living in Iceland. So when she blinked at me and couldn’t name English and Icelandic letters a few seconds after reviewing them, I thought it was mostly because of the language difference. But as the months passed, I realized that my younger daughter was processing things differently.

by Stephanie Mack As my fortieth birthday began to beam at me from the calendar, I found myself doing what many women do in these quiet, existential moments—perhaps especially us millennials, a nostalgic bunch: Reflecting. Examining. Pondering. Not in regret, exactly, but rather curiosity. I thought almost instantly of the girl I was at twenty-one, fresh out of USC—that bright-eyed, big-dreaming bride at the altar with her college sweetheart. Then the career girl in pen

by Jaime Jo Wright When I sat down to write The Bookshop of 99 Doors, I had all sorts of ideas of where I wanted the story to go. I started out with a dead Civil War captain, a house based on a legendary ruin in Malaysia (of all places) with 99 doors and a rumored 100th that led to a spiritual portal, and a ghost-hunting team of paranormal experts. Let’s face it. Those pieces don’t fit together easily, and in the world of Christian fiction, one may question how I even inten

by Ann H. Gabhart Do you remember learning to read? I do. I went off to school eager to unravel the mystery of words and discover their promise. I was soon reading about Dick and Jane and their dog, Spot. Fast forward a lot of years and many, many books, both read and written, to when our local adult education center was looking for literacy tutors. I hate the thought of anybody not knowing how to read. So, I signed up, took the training, and was soon sitting next to a yo

by Angela Carlisle When I began the first book in The Secrets of Kincaid series, I had little idea what I was doing. I’d never finished a book before, hadn’t even come close. Honestly, I was unsure if I could write a whole book. But I had an idea for a story and decided to give it a shot. Now, I am not one of those authors that can sit down and plot out an entire book—much less an entire series. Would I like to be? Absolutely. But when I try, my brain laughs and gives me

by Cara Putman Embrace the grind. Do it with passion or not at all. Every day is a grind, and you have to go hard. We’ve all heard phrases like that. But we also know verses like Matthew 11:28-30: Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Or how about Psalm 16:6: The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places? There are days I can sing those words with certainty. And months where I feel like I have to grit them out from

by Jen Turano As most of my readers know, I write comedy—historical romantic comedy to be exact. My goal with my writing is to provide readers with a bit of an escape from a world that far too often can feel overwhelming. With that said, I have to admit that the entire writing process for In Pursuit of Civility was one of the most challenging processes I’ve ever had since I’ve become an author. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to finish this book.

by Jamie Ogle When I was four years old, I saw the nearly four-hour-long, 1956 masterpiece, The Ten Commandments. I was immediately obsessed with it and Charlton Heston, and was thereafter, the easiest kid to babysit so long as that movie was in the vicinity. I watched it countless times. Named my baby doll Moses. Hid him all over the house in my mom’s breadbasket. Ben Hur became another favorite later on, and then Gladiator as a young adult. I was completely captivated by

by Eva Marie Everson I couldn’t help but laugh. With the exception of my hometown paper, which came out once a week and gave all the local who, what, when, where, and why of a Mayberry-esque community, I’d not been much of a newspaper reader. Except, that is, for the “Dear Abby” column. I read the letters asking for advice and the replies given as though they were Pulitzer Prize contenders. Ninety-nine percent of them, I cannot remember. But one—one in particular writte

by Leslie Gould There’s no doubt When They Met Again is a love story—it’s a friends-to-something more, feel-good story that reminds readers that faith, romance, and community can elevate us all. I wrote it both for myself and for my readers. My last series, Amish Memories, is a collection of three dual-time novels with the historical threads focused on pre-WW II in Germany, the WW II homefront in the USA, and post WW II in Germany. Although all three books have romantic t

by Katie Powner I was in my twenties when I became a mother. My biological sons were born with no complications, and I took for granted that I would know what to do. Not that I had motherhood all figured out, but I believed many things would come naturally. And they did. I didn’t have to learn how to love my boys. I didn’t have to figure out how to be concerned when they were sick. No one had to tell me that I must do whatever it took to make sure they had enough to eat. I

by Morgan Krueger I look in the mirror, noticing the fine lines on my forehead that seem to be a little more prominent after a day of meetings, mothering, crying, laughing, and making only God knows how many silly faces to get a laugh out of my two boys. I step a little closer to my reflection to see if the lines are really as “bad” as they look from where I’m standing. They’re not . . . they’re worse. My husband, Ryan, calls out to me from the kitchen for a helping hand, s

by Ashlee Gadd I am standing at the kitchen counter, spooning banana mix into a muffin tin, when my daughter makes a proposal. “How about dis . . . ?” Presley begins, pausing for dramatic effect. “How about I put four chocolate chips on each muffin because dat’s how old I am?” I smile at her logic. Once every pink polka-dotted liner is filled with batter and topped with exactly four chocolate chips, I place both tins on the middle rack and set a timer. Presley runs ou