The Christmas Tree Treasure Hunt

Chapter One by Joan Campbell

Chapter Two by Ruth O'Neil

Chapter Three by J.A. Marx

Chapter Four by Deanna Klingel

Chapter Five by MarjiLaine

Chapter Six by Sheryl Holmes

Chapter Seven by Fay Lamb



Chapter Eight Part One

By Debbie Roome



The flutter of little feet drew me out of deep sleep.

“She’s awake!” A child’s high pitched voice pierced through the last remnants of drowsiness. The feet and voice receded. “Granny, come! Aunty Grace is awake.”

Light streamed through an unfamiliar window. My head pounded; my eyes ached. It didn’t feel as if it should be morning already. Where on earth …?

Of course – New Zealand! Slowly the events of the preceding day seeped back into my consciousness: the warm weather, that didn’t feel at all like Christmas, despite the baubles and tinsel decorating the airport; the strange local accents; and—worst of all—driving on the wrong side of the road to reach Ngaire’s house. As stressful as the drive had been, I had still managed to take in a little of the breath-taking scenery. The ocean had spread like a sequinned mat to the left, sparkling in the brilliant sun, while green hills had unfurled to the right. Farms had dotted the landscape and sheep grazed in clumps.

Ngaire stood at the door now, a large smile on her deep olive face. Her nut brown hair, streaked with gray, hung in a braid.

“Did this little rascal wake you?”

At Ngaire’s side, the little rascal’s face was lit up with pride at her accomplishment.

“Well … yes. But it’s a good thing. The sooner I start operating on New Zealand time, the better.”

“I’ll brew some fresh tea for you in the kitchen. Chamomile, right? I bought some especially.”

I smiled. After a few weeks of being on Grammie’s adventure, it didn’t surprise me anymore that she had seen to all these little details.

Fumbling for my watch on the bedside table, my fingers instead wrapped around the tiny wooden whale that had been in envelope seven. I traced its smooth shape before putting it down next to the photo of the tree with the spiky red blossoms, the other mystery item in the envelope.

“All to be explained, right Grammie?” I said aloud to an empty room. Ngaire and her great-granddaughter had already left.

I made my way—somewhat groggily—to the sagging bay window and pressed my face up to the glass to stare out at the ocean. Blue, navy, and turquoise layered the water, and waves washed against rocky cliffs and a fringe of dark sand. How many times had Grammie looked at this same view? Ngaire had told me the night before that Grammie had slept in this room many times in the year she spent as a missionary in New Plymouth. The thought filled me with a strangely conflicting mix of joy and sorrow.

As I dressed, I thought of the warm welcome I had experienced from the moment I had arrived at this home. My first feeling as I drove up the long sandy driveway had been one of trepidation. The weatherboard home, spreading in all directions, looked rather haphazard. Additions had been made over the years and nothing quite matched. I couldn’t help but wonder who could live here.

However, Ngaire’s warm welcome at the door had eased my apprehension. She had folded me into her arms like a long last daughter and drawn me into her worn, but spotless home where the aroma of home baking wafted from the kitchen. I had been introduced to her large extended family. Her son and daughter-in-law, with their five teenage children, all lived in the house. One of her granddaughter’s had ‘got herself into a spot of trouble’ as Ngaire put it, with the result that a lively two-year-old now also shared the home. “It’s crowded but whānau – extended family – is important to us Maori,” Ngaire had told me with a smile.

The evening had passed quickly, a blur of smiling brown faces and hospitality. I loved the way they spoke, the lilting accent that ended every sentence on an upbeat. I suspected it was on purpose that Ngaire delegated me as babysitter for her granddaughter’s little girl, Aroha. “We’ll cook while you watch the little one,” she said, depositing the child in my arms. “She’s tired so just cradle her, and she’ll probably go to sleep.”

I admit I hadn’t been all too happy to begin with. I knew nothing about babies and small children, and they scared me somewhat. I had leaned back in the armchair, shifting position until Aroha seemed comfortable.

“I like you,” she had said, reaching up and touching my auburn curls. “Your hair is pretty.” She entwined her fingers in a spiral and held it firmly until her eyes drooped and breathing slowed. Then her grip loosened and her hand fell onto my chest, splayed like a tiny starfish.

As I brushed the hair that little hand had clasped the night before, a new—unwanted—thought drifted through my mind. Lauren’s little one would be just a little older than Aroha. What kind of conversations would she and Lauren be having? Did she look like us, or more like Steve? The sudden yearning to see my sister’s child was intense, but I pushed it away as I made my way to the kitchen for my cup of chamomile tea.

“You ready to go girl?” Ngaire asked when the tea was finished.

“Sure.”

“Take a jersey with you. The early morning breezes are fresh on the beach.”

We slipped out of the house and Ngaire led the way to a sandy path. “I often go down to the beach in the morning to pray,” she told me.

The Christmas Tree Treasure Hunt

Grace takes delivery of a package and her life is turned upside down by nine sealed mystery envelopes from her late grandmother. Grammie’s instructions require Grace to take the journey of her lifetime, not only to far off places, but also into the deepest parts of her heart. As she follows the trail laid out for her and uncovers her family’s darkest secrets, Grace is forced to confront the loss and betrayal that has scarred her past and seek the greatest Christmas Treasure of all.

Read More:

Chapter One by Joan Campbell

Chapter Two by Ruth O'Neil

Chapter Three by J.A. Marx

Chapter Four by Deanna Klingel

Chapter Five by MarjiLaine

Chapter Six by Sheryl Holmes

Chapter Seven by Fay Lamb



Learn more about this fun project at Write Integrity Press.

Extract from New Kindle Book

Alluring Lists & The Bus Watcher

Thanks for stoppying by to read a couple of extracts from my latest Kindle book. Alluring Lists & The Bus Watcher is just over 5000 words long so would be classed as a long short story.

Here's the blurb about it: A young girl’s life takes a downturn when she misses the bus to work one day. Afraid of getting into trouble with her employer, she picks up a bus timetable little knowing these will soon rule her life. Over the space of three years, her life spirals downwards into a cycle of lists, hoarding and obsessions. An intriguing short story that looks at OCD and how untreated obsessions and compulsions can destroy a life.

Extracts
There was a bus stop directly outside my cottage that serviced several routes, its shelter a gaunt skeleton of metal ribs and frosted glass. It was there that my love affair with buses started. The first weekend after Mrs Cooper’s rebuke, I jiggled Dad’s old recliner into position by the front window and for an hour sat watching the buses. I could see through the frilly white veil but no one could see in and I enjoyed being a secret observer; a mouse peeping from her hidey-hole.


The next weekend, I took my research a step further and started riding the buses. Timetable in hand and metro card in the other, I boarded the buses outside my home and rode the complete circuit. I carried notebook and pencil and scribbled notes to myself, working out which buses I could catch to work, noting where they stopped and how often, always following the route on the timetable. I needed to leave home between 7 and 7:15am and I had a choice of three buses during that time. Any one of them would deposit me within a block of the office.

******************************************************************************

By 2011, I was in deeper than I had thought possible. My life revolved around the buses and the view from my front window. I was compelled to record every movement, every minute detail. If I cooked, it was a matter of tossing a pie in the microwave. More often, I had takeout delivered to my door. I couldn’t leave my spot by the window for longer than a few minutes. The lists grew in number and size and I started boxing the old ones, stuffing pages in haphazardly and tossing them into my bedroom and the passage way. I still couldn’t part with them. They were vitally important to my well-being; hoards of information that was the focus of my life.

The buses stopped their circuits at midnight and that was when I would do my shopping. Squeaking down Bailey Street on my bicycle. Pedalling from one street lamp to the next, their cinnamon cones of light illuminating my way, never allowing darkness to shroud me. At the second corner, I would turn left by the broad oak and then right into the car park. The twenty-four hour sign flickered incessantly, reminding people they could shop anytime; luring in weary travellers and thirsty party goers. My basket contained only bread, milk and microwave meals. I would be home by 1am and if I had the energy, would put on a load of washing before collapsing into bed. It was easy to toss it in the drier when the alarm called me to rise.


Alluring Lists & The Bus Watcher is available through Amazon.com for ony 99 cents.

The Grace Filled Christmas Blog Tour

I’m honoured to be a part of the Grace Filled Christmas Blog Tour of 2012. I’m featuring two of my books – and although these are not Christmas themed, they both carry the message of Christmas - that is hope, forgiveness and love.

Contagious Hope is my latest novel released in September 2012. It’s a romantic adventure set in three locations in South Africa and here’s the blurb on it: Savannah James, a young New Zealand therapist, volunteers for a six-week mission trip to South Africa. During her journey, she is confronted with AIDS, prostitution, murder, and even a midnight escape to a safe house. Her new friends have struggles of their own, and one may lead them into even more danger.

Will Savannah, Blake, and Pumzile ever be safe again? Will they ever be able to make a difference in the lives of those around them or will their final destination put an end to it all?

Click here to read Savannah’s Mission Blog.

Embracing Change is an inspirational story of personal challenge. When Sarah Johnson’s fiancé is killed by a hijacker in South Africa, Sarah carries out his wish to continue with their plan and moves to New Zealand, taking his ashes to scatter there. In her grief she hasn’t counted on her gradual healing coming from two unexpected sources: Jesus Christ, and His new plan for her: Joel Baxter. But will Joel’s old flame, Mandy, succeed in destroying Sarah’s fragile progress in both her spiritual and earthly paths? And will she ever break free of the oppressive power still held over her by the hijacker who murdered her fiancé and attacked her, too? It takes a journey halfway back across the world for Sarah to face her demons, and finally forgive.

The Grace Filled Christmas Blog Tour runs through to December 22nd. Don’t forget to check out all the other authors on the tour. Below is a link telling you who all the authors on the tour are and what dates they will be on their own blog sharing about their novels.

Grace Tour

Permission to Fly

Have you ever seen a headline that grabbed your attention? Like really grabbed your attention? I saw one a couple of days ago that read ‘Permission to Fly’. The only problem was it was part of a video presentation and there was no way I could read the rest of the article. I tried to dismiss it but the words stayed with me, popping unbidden to mind, tantalising, provocative. Eventually I asked God what He was saying to me.

I was on a flight to Invercargill the next day when answers started flowing. I thought of a plane sitting on the runway. All the pre-flight checks had been completed and the control tower had cleared the pilot for takeoff. But he just sat there. He had permission to fly but he didn’t act on it.

I suddenly saw that I was in a similar place in my own life. Over the last 14 months, I have experienced an ongoing, intense, personal attack that left me wondering who I was, if there was anything good in me and if I had completely missed my calling in life. Intellectually I knew it was lies - but emotionally I was devastated.

God continued to speak while I was in the air on the way to Invercargill. I was reading a book that included a section about Joseph. He was falsely accused of sleeping with Potiphar’s wife and even though he had done nothing wrong, he was sent to jail for years. It was unfair and unjust but God used the experience to develop character in Joseph.

I realised that because of my situation, I’d withdrawn from life. I’d found it increasingly difficult to trust people and I’d built protective walls around myself. That was not where God wanted me. He had surrounded me with family and friends who loved me. He had brought myriad opportunities my way. He had given me permission to fly but I was still sitting on the runway.

My work in Invercargill took less than an hour and I had the day free to think and pray. I realised during this time that I needed to give myself permission to fly, permission to do things that I should have done a long time ago. I also realised that I’m not alone in this. Have a look at this list and see if there are any things you need to give yourself permission to do:

Permission to fly

Permission to cry

Permission to fail

Permission to succeed

Permission to move on

Permission to adapt

Permission to accept help

Permission to stand up for yourself

Permission to grow

Permission to dream

Permission to unleash your potential

Permission to let go

Permission to stop beating yourself up

Permission to forgive

Permission to say what you really mean

Permission to heal

The sense of freedom I experienced was amazing. I gave myself permission to be free of the shame and humiliation of the last year, permission to be who God has called me to be and to use my gifts accordingly, permission to open myself up to people again. I accepted what God was saying to me. “Debbie, you have permission to fly!”

I encourage you to look at your own lives, at areas where you have allowed others to diminish you, at areas where you’ve felt inferior, condemned or unworthy. Then create your own ‘permission list’ and take flight.

It was a simple headline – ‘Permission to Fly’ – but the message behind it was straight from God’s heart to mine.

Trails of Sawdust

Airborne drifts of sawdust swirled from the truck in front of me, bouncing off my windscreen, whirling like a wooden snowstorm. The sun had just set and the lights of vehicles behind me revealed that they too were enveloped in this trail of sawdust. The driver seemed oblivious to what was happening - or maybe he just didn’t care. The back of his vehicle was completely closed in and he probably assumed the wood was contained. I drove through flying wood chips for several kilometres until the truck turned off and I continued my journey home from the deep south of New Zealand.


When I got in my car the next morning, I noticed that bits of sawdust still clung to the windscreen and slivers of wood were lodged under the wiper blades. This was after travelling a further 200 kilometres past the truck.

There and then, God dropped a clear life lesson into my heart. We leak. This happens in the natural as we see in shows like CSI. Wherever we go we leave skin cells, saliva, sweat, tears, hairs, fingerprints. It’s almost impossible not to leave a bit of ourselves behind.

Then I realised that this shedding is not just physical. We may lock ourselves up emotionally and withdraw from others – but we still leak. Even without saying a word, we communicate attitudes and feelings to those around us. We make them feel loved and accepted, or despised and rejected. Indifference, hatred, admiration and encouragement can all be passed on without a word. It was a wake-up call as I realised anew how my life affects those I come into contact with – and how that effect may still be visible days, months or years later.

I think often of that trail of sawdust and pray that God help me to live carefully and choose life. I ask that the trail I leave behind will be one of mercy, grace and peace. That love, acceptance and joy will cling to those I pass in daily life.

Be very careful, then, how you live — not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.
                                                                                                         Ephesians 5:15-16 (NIV)

And the Earth Shook Again

It’s a week since the 5.85 and 6.0 aftershocks that rudely shook Christchurch on the 23rd December. Kevin and I were having lunch at a restaurant at a mall when the first one struck and the moment is clearly etched in my mind. The gradual shaking, the acceleration and rocking, the fear that it was going to be another massive one.


The young waitresses were distraught and clung together crying as diners looked at each other in shocked disbelief. Another big quake – and just before Christmas. How unfair! How awful!

Trained by past experience, people started to evacuate the mall and crowds streamed past. Car sirens shrieked and faces reflected dismay. For me it was one of my lowest points since the first earthquake in September 2010. Things had been relatively calm for a few weeks and I couldn’t believe the earth was heaving again.

The restaurant staff kindly packed my meal into a container and Kevin and I left as the ground continued to shake with repeated aftershocks. Back home we turned on the TV and watched the breaking news. All the malls were closed, traffic was gridlocked in places, liquefaction and flooding had affected certain areas, cliff faces had collapsed further and the airport was closed.

I turned to Kevin. “Jason and Erin are supposed to fly in tonight for Christmas. I hope they aren’t delayed too much.” Erin told me later she burst into tears when she heard their rescheduled flight was for 9pm on Christmas night. Fortunately, they later managed got on a flight at 6pm on Christmas Eve.

It no longer felt like Christmas. I was sad for the retailers who lost out on one of the best shopping days of the year. I was sad for the people who once again faced clearing silt from their properties. I was sad that our own family plans were disrupted.

And then God spoke to me. I had a choice and it was up to me whether I had a good Christmas. I got up the next morning and went back to the mall to finish what I needed to do. The day was punctuated with shakes but I chose to focus on God. The circumstances were dismal ... but He was not. It made all the difference and Christmas Day turned out to be a lovely time of family and fun.

A week later, our world is still rattling and rolling. A 4.3 set the Christmas tree bouncing last night and another 4.3 woke me early this morning! From past experience I know these are set to continue for a while. As 2012 approaches, my prayer is that God will continue to help me focus on the positive and not on what is happening around me. It’s wonderful knowing the peace He gives in the midst of turmoil!

God is our refuge and strength,

an ever-present help in trouble.

  

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake with their surging

Psalm 46:1-3

The Bright Pink Torch

A Story of Hope for Christchurch

Katy had a bright pink torch that she loved with all her heart. It was a birthday present from her granny and still looked as new as the day she got it. That was surprising because she used it all the time. Sometimes she wiggled under her bed and pretended she was in a cave full of aliens. Other times she flashed signals to her friend Melissa who lived next door. When they had the big earthquake, Dad couldn’t find his torch and used hers to check the house and garden.

“Katy!” Dad called. “Come and see this!”

She scrambled upstairs, wondering what Daddy wanted to show her.

“Look out the window, Katy.”

It was dark outside and thick clouds hid the stars from view. Katy snuggled on the seat next to Dad and as she watched, bright beams of light bounced across the sky. “Wow! That’s so cool! Where’s the light coming from?”

“It’s from the centre of town where all the damaged buildings are. There’s no power in the city so the council have set up these lights to shine hope into the darkness.”

Katy was silent for a moment. “They must have giant torches to shine that brightly.”

“I’m sure they do.” Dad smiled as he tugged one of Katy’s pigtails. “Can you think of another light of hope, Katy?”

Katy put her head on one side. It was a few days before Christmas and she guessed what Dad was thinking about. “The star over the stable in Bethlehem,” she said.

“That’s right, sweetheart”

“Why was the star a light of hope, Daddy?”

“It led the wise men to baby Jesus – and he came to die in our place and save us from our sins.”

The next day Katy went down to the church with Dad. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“We’re packing food parcels for people who don’t have as much as us.”

Katy listened to the adults chatter as she played with her torch. She’d piled up some packing boxes to make a tunnel and pretended she was a spy on a secret mission. “Keep still,” she whispered to her pretend friend. “We need to hear what’s happening out there.” She flashed a few signals with her torch while peeping through a crack in the boxes.

“That’s the last one,” Dad said as he placed a gaily wrapped parcel on top of a frozen turkey, Christmas pudding and packets of food.

“This one doesn’t have a gift,” called a lady.

“Who’s it for?” Dad asked.

“Old Mrs Wilson.”

Katy knew who Mrs Wilson was. She was bent like a comma and walked with a silver stick. No one liked her grumpy ways and she often shooed children out of her path.

“I don’t know how that happened,” Dad was saying. “We double-checked our numbers.”

“We’ll have to put it aside and get a gift later.”

“But the turkey will defrost,” another lady chipped in.

The adults’ voices faded as Katy thought about Mrs Wilson. She had been to her house once and hated it. It was surrounded by ugly old trees and was cold and dark inside. She was sure Mrs Wilson didn’t know about the lights of hope, otherwise she wouldn’t be so bad-tempered. If she could see the city lights ... and if she understood the star that shone over Bethlehem, she would smile and be happy.

A thought crept into Katy’s heart and she didn’t like it. But the more she tried to push it away, the bigger it got.

“What is it Katy?” Dad asked distractedly as she tapped his arm.

“I heard you talking about a Christmas present for Mrs Wilson.” She tried to stop the quiver in her voice. “I want to give her my torch.”

Dad stopped what he was doing and looked at Katy. “But sweetheart, you love your torch.”

“I know but I think Mrs Wilson needs it more than I do. She can’t see the hope lights from her house and she never smiles.”

On Christmas Day Katy was walking out of church when she saw Mrs Wilson hobbling towards her. “Katy! Katy, dear!”

Katy stopped as the old lady caught up with her. To her surprise, tears were running down the old woman’s cheeks - but she was smiling through them.

“I want to thank you for the torch, Katy. Your father told me the whole story – and it’s the best gift anyone ever gave me.” She reached out a bony arm and pulled Katy into a hug. “God bless you child.”

Katy hugged her back, a big bubble of joy bursting up from inside. She missed her torch but God had used her gift to shine hope into an old lady’s heart. For her, that was more important than any game she could play. She lifted her face heavenwards and whispered two words. “Thank you.”