Amy Boucher Pye

Category: Finding Myself in Britain

No Place Like Home by Cathy Madavan

Riches upon riches – that’s what this blog series, “There’s No Place Like Home,” is. And today I’m thrilled to host the marvelous Cathy Madavan, a firecracker of a woman who is passionate about living the Christian life with joy, purpose, and commitment. When I was working as a publisher with Authentic Media, I longed to commission her – and was thrilled when she said yes. I love, love, love her book Digging with Diamonds, which I got to help her with – if you haven’t read it, do so. She’s not only brilliant with catchy turn-of-phrases, but has the wisdom and depth to go with it. And yes, she was the one who came up with the title for this series!

No place like home.

There really is no place like home. And by home I mean the place where you can kick off your shoes and sprawl over the sofa armed with a book and a cavernous bag of crisps/bar of chocolate/bowl of popcorn *delete as desired*.
Of course, the pressure is always on for us to create the ‘ideal home’ straight from the pages of a glossy magazine, but creating a home is different to constructing a house. It takes an architect and some bricklaying experience to construct a house, but if we want to create an home environment where relationships can thrive, that also takes some planning and skill. It’s worth thinking about what we want to build, so that we can deliberately put the right foundations and building blocks in place.

Build what matters

I once visited a home with a sign above the door that read, “If you want to visit the house make an appointment. If you want to visit us, come any time.” Good point, I thought. We all want our houses to be warm and welcoming, but will people really feel more at home because your trinkets are displayed in perfect symmetry? Will they be so dazzled by your spotless floor that they want to open up their hearts and reveal their hopes and fears? Not so much. Now, I do love my house – I could well suffer from Obsessive Cushion Disorder and have spent an embarrassing amount of hours choosing the right shade of cream for the walls, but it’s not a home because of shabby chic accessories.

So, rather than spending too much time discussing our fabulous new feature wall or conversely moaning about our collection of cobwebs and unfinished projects, why not instead draw attention to all God has given us and be thankful and joyful about it? This is about building firm foundations. Your house might be perfect or it might be a work in progress, but you have a safe place called home where you know you belong and where strong relationships can be built. Stable buildings need firm foundations and it’s up to us to remember what really matters most in our homes and then build on that. What are our values? How do we enjoy in this space? How can we best express our memories and passions here?

Protect what is precious

For any building, we take out insurance in case our belongings are damaged, lost or stolen. But our most precious possessions are not material. Our home is a place where love can flourish, forgiveness can be practiced and honesty can be shared. These vital values need to be protected. Just as we deliberately keep out physical danger, so we should intentionally close the door on division, bitterness and selfishness. Pray that kindness will guard the threshold into your home. Declare that transparency will shine through the windows of your family. Believe that fruitfulness will abound on your land.

Your values and your traditions will not accidentally emerge; they will be created through intention and remain safe through protection. Sadly, through the busyness of life and various competing agendas, other influences will constantly try and invade our space and the enemy will attempt to steal all we hold dear. God has given us all we need to protect our territory; what do we need to do to ensure that His love remains at the heart of our home? Are we sufficiently spiritually insured against the loss of what matters most?

Extend where necessary

Somebody said that it’s not how many bedrooms you have, but how you use them that matters. Now, while constant striving for a larger house is futile (everybody always needs just one more room), I do think this person had a point. I know people with huge houses and small apartments who demonstrate equally incredible and sacrificial hospitality. And I know others who don’t. We can all extend ourselves and replicate our values by offering a grace space to others. Our homes can be a light into our community and our relationships. It doesn’t have to be a lot of work – my preferred option is holding pudding parties where other people bring the puds! We provide the table and a place to grow deep-rooted relationships. Could you invite others to share what you are building? Why not welcome them into your mistakes as well as your success? Allow your children (if you have them) to invite friends, make mess and eat pizza.

Proverbs 24:3–4 says ‘By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.’ What a blessing it is that as we dwell together, God dwells in the midst of us, enabling us to build a rich and significant place called home. There really is no place like it.

Cathy is the author of Digging for Diamonds and speaks at events, churches and organisations across the UK including tours with Care for the Family. She also writes for Liberti magazine and for CWR and is part of the Spring Harvest Planning Group. She is mum to two teenage girls, wife to Mark (a church leader) and leads worship at church. She loves communicating creatively and connecting with people.

January 22, 2016
Behind the Publishing Scenes – Marketing for Finding Myself in Britain

Me with Kate Beaton and Becky Fawcett, she of editorial fame, at my book launch, September 2015.

I’m delighted to welcome Kate Beaton to the blog today to talk all things marketing. She is an amazing person – one who feels things deeply with a huge gift of empathy, and one whose passion to connect readers with great Christian content has shaped much of her professional life. At the end of the year, she moved from Authentic Media to a position at World Vision, where she’s exercising her skills in a slightly different area – but still focused on connecting people with great ideas and causes. Join me in finding out more about her heartbeat behind how she spends her days.

ABP: Tell us a bit about yourself, Kate. How did your interest in marketing develop?

KB: I’m Chaos Manager at my home which I’m blessed to share with two children, aged 3 and 7, and my husband Kenny, a louder-than-life 6’1 Scot who works in the local prison where he brings light and life. We’re part of the congregation at Stony Stratford Community Church.

My publishing adventure began 18 years ago when I left the tranquility of East Devon for Milton Keynes, knowing only one person in my soon-to-be home but having a very clear sense of God going before me.

My interest in marketing has always been about people. I have always loved connecting people with others and sharing ideas. For me, marketing is about connections and adding value to people’s lives through great products, which in the world of Christian publishing has been a dream and a privilege.

Kate and Kenny, her gregarious Scotsman husband.

ABP: I knew of you when I worked at Zondervan and you were at Authentic Media – I remember thinking that you were a firecracker of a marketer, and I was secretly jealous of Authentic and your work there. Imagine my surprise when we were reunited to work together later at Authentic! Tell us about your work at Authentic and then Scripture Union and then Authentic again.

KB: Funny that you say that as I remember thinking the same of you! I came to work at Word Entertainment selling advertising space in Premier Magazine and then moved in to a Marketing and PR role. One of the stand-out campaigns I remember was lead singer of Irish group Clannad, Maire Brennan’s album ‘Perfect Time’. I then moved into the role of Marketing Manager and was with Authentic until my role was made redundant in 2007. That was a tough time and a stark reminder that who we are as people is more important than the job titles we do or don’t have.

I moved on to Scripture Union where I had the joy of being involved in the launch of their digital suite of products, WordLive and LightLive and their strong portfolio of published products. I loved being part of a mission organization full of gifted passionate people and was there for over 6 years before Authentic came knocking on my door!

ABP: I’d love to hear more from you about what is behind what you do in marketing. What do you hope to achieve?

KB: For me, relationship is at the heart of marketing. That is, knowing the audience you seek to serve in terms of their needs and communicating the benefits that your product will provide. In an increasingly noisy world where the average person is said to be exposed to over 350 marketing messages a day, it’s sometimes really tough to get your message heard. But the old advertising mnemonic AIDA is still relevant: build Attention of a product, capture Interest, create Desire, lead to Action.

The marketing process follows through from the inspiration and work of the author as we the publisher seek to build their voice to connect with the type of reader they had in mind. Of course, the author has to be a part of the marketing effort to deliver this.

At the heart of any good marketing campaign is a great product, and we are privileged to work in shaping campaigns that have already been inspired by the Holy Spirit as writers and artists have tuned in to God and what he is asking them to craft and create.

I’m sure many authors can relate that golden moment when they hear from a reader about the positive impact that their book has made in the reader’s life. We serve the ultimate Creator so it’s fantastic to be involved in a process which has creativity at its heart (and if you want to be inspired about releasing your creativity, watch this great poem written and performed by Fusion’s effervescent Miriam Swaffield).

Kate’s creative handiwork at the book launch. She taught CutiePyeGirl how to make a stunning book tower.

ABP: I was touched at my book launch how you saw potential in CutiePyeGirl to be a marketer someday. What qualities does someone need to be successful? What sorts of things did you see in her? (She now insists on creating any book tower wherever I go when selling my book – and she does so very well, under your tutelage!)

KB: Your second question first! In CutiePyeGirl I saw a gregarious, confident, people-loving girl who wanted to help shape a fantastic book-launch experience for all involved. Her creative spark was plain to see and her instant engagement with the building of the book tower was lovely to watch. All the natural ingredients of a marketer-in-the-making (which may answer your first question)! I wanted to verbalize what I saw to encourage her, as I know how powerful a well-placed God-inspired word can be for us all, whatever age we are.

A publisher’s lunch with Kate and Steve Mitchell, then MD of Authentic.

ABP: Many authors are disgruntled with their publishers, saying that they don’t get enough attention (not a complaint, mind you, that I would lodge). Why do authors need to be so involved in spreading the word today? What advice would you give to authors?

KB: In this noisier, digital world we are closer to each other. And people are searching for authenticity and truth. The author’s voice is powerful and readers develop a relationship with an author through reading their words. And these days people expect to be able to have – if they want it – interaction with writers and speakers, whether that is to follow their blog posts or tweets or watch their videos.

People follow people so at Authentic we have been working with our authors to help with this process as best we can. I understand that it can be scary for authors to see themselves as marketers, but when a book is published, that really is Day 1 of its life. There comes a lot of hard graft after that!

It’s not a question of having to be all things to all people, but it is a challenge to see how what you have carefully crafted in the pages of your book can be ‘repackaged’ and served up to add value to people’s lives across multiple platforms, including TV, radio, speaking engagements and last but not least social media which is where many of us spend time looking for inspiring content. Publishers will help you do this as they have a vested interest to do so!

So think about your target reader and how you can engage with them and continue to add value to their lives in a time-bound realistic way for you; perhaps that’s blogging once a week about a topic that you are passionate about and relates back to your book. Remember this isn’t about meaningless, soul-less marketing; it’s about relationship building, understanding your reader who is closer than ever before and bringing the message that God has given you and giving it away to others for his glory.

“Yes, Amy, this is a book. You read it by looking at the words on the page and turning them, one by one, to move along through it…”

ABP: Your time at Authentic is ending as you move to World Vision. I hear you’re passionate about this new venture; please share with us what you’ll be doing and what you hope to be able to achieve.

KB: Milton Keynes is home to many Christian charities. World Vision is an organization I’ve always deeply admired in terms of their work in child sponsorship, community development and disaster response. I know a lot of fantastic people who work there.

I will be joining the Supporter Experience team who connect with World Vision child sponsors and seek to enrich the relationship they have with their sponsored child through relevant timely communication. I’m looking forward to being part of a large marketing team and hope to be able to help World Vision grow its impact and awareness in the UK through child sponsorship. Ultimately it’s about God’s people using the resources we have to answer the call to bring about God’s will on earth as in heaven; sharing our resources and praying to make it possible to live in a world where every child is free from fear.

January 20, 2016
Making my Home by Joan Bonner

Today I’m happy to host Joan Bonner in our “There’s No Place Like Home” series, whom I met through an American writing friend who goes to church with Joan. We became friends on Facebook, and I soon enjoyed her Northern (English) wit and comments in discussions about America versus the UK, for Joan has lived in the States for decades. I’m also thrilled to host her because she and my in-laws lived through many similar experiences during the Second World War, with her and my mother-in-law thankfully avoiding the fate of those schoolchildren who boarded a ship to Canada, as she describes below. I love how she brings alive a recent history that many of us don’t know; I think you’ll also enjoy hearing how she and her husband ended up making their home an ocean away from what had been home.

When Dad came back from World War 1, he had trouble finding a job, so when he and Mam heard about a job-opening being caretakers (US: janitors) of a church, they jumped at the chance. A rent-free house and one pound a week, what more could you ask? Thus for me as a child, home was a four-room, one-story terraced (US: row) house in a large shipbuilding town on the northeast coast of England. On one side was an identical house and on the other was a church.

Here I am at the age of two with my big brother. It must have been a balmy day – probably as high as 60F/16C, because he is taking me into the water to plodge.

Mam was an amazing housekeeper. Not only did she keep the church clean but our house was immaculate. Other houses on the street were also spotless but to the point where you were afraid to sit down. Not my house! Friends were always made welcome and, best of all, if you stayed for tea (US: dinner), you didn’t have to make polite conversation – we always read at mealtimes. (At the time I didn’t know how uncouth and bad-mannered this was, but to this day I have to have a book propped up in front of me at mealtimes.)

We moved to our terraced house in 1936 when I was seven, which was, of course, when Hitler was coming to power. For the next three years, every time Hitler’s name was mentioned, Dad would say “There’s going to be a war. I don’t care what Chamberlain, or anyone else says, there’s going to be a war.”

No surprise to me, therefore, when 3 September 1939 rolled around. There I was, 10 years old, sitting in church that Sunday morning, when Dad appeared behind the pulpit and whispered to the minister. I was totally embarrassed that he would do that until the minister turned to the congregation and said, “We are at war!”

In front of my house at the age of eight.

During those three years leading up to the war, Dad realised that our town would be bombed and so he had made arrangements for me to be evacuated to Montreal, where we had family. The government offered free passage to children from low-income families, so I was put on a waiting list.

Meanwhile, the war had started and bombs were dropping. One of the elders of our church lived outside of town and, hearing Dad’s concern, offered to let me live with them. This felt like culture shock for me, for they lived in a house “in its own grounds.” No, nothing like Downton Abbey, but so much bigger than my home and – indoor plumbing!

And it was just as well that Dad had arranged an alternate evacuee home for me. In 1940, the first evacuee ship,“City of Benares,” carrying 90 children, was torpedoed and sunk. Because they were in a convoy, the other ships were not allowed to stop and help. Most of the children died, including nine from Sunderland. Naturally that put a stop to any more children being sent overseas.

The couple who hosted me were about my grandparent’s age, but were wonderful to me. I have no complaints. Well, actually, Uncle Matt would not let me have tea at night! What! However, every Friday night, we all got to have a bath and shampoo, so Auntie Em would say, “I’m going to take Joan into the kitchen so that I can dry her hair by the fire.” Uncle Matt surely must have known what was going on, because Auntie Em would make me a cup of tea.

Their house was beautiful and had a gorgeous rose garden out front, plus a lawn and vegetable garden out back. Everyone was so kind to me, but still, it wasn’t home. Home was where Mam, Dad and big brother were.

As time went on and I grew a little older, I would miss my family and would decide that I needed to walk home and see them. I don’t think I told anyone where I was going; I would just show up at my home and Mam would have to take me back. I don’t remember being chastised at all at either end. What amazing people to be able to do that! While I lived there I was going to a very good high school, which I enjoyed, but still, it wasn’t home. So, in 1943, when I was 14, I talked Dad into letting me come home.

Finally back home where I belong, after three years of being evacuated. I’m fourteen in this photo.

By this time, bombing was going on regularly but I didn’t care. I was home where I belonged. Dad would actually let me sit up on the church roof with him when he was “firewatching,” which sounds like we were just watching the city burn, but we weren’t. All large buildings were required to have people go on the roof when the sirens went off to put out small fires with buckets of sand. I find it hard to believe now that I went up with my dad, but at the time I wasn’t afraid. Why should I be? – I was home.

A day at the beach – this is how we’d bundle up for the cold northern winds!

Home changed unexpectedly after I was married to my husband Bob. A misunderstanding in language meant we left England and moved across the Pond.

Bob left school at the age of fourteen, which was standard then if one didn’t go to high school. He signed on as an apprentice fitter in one of our local shipyards. Every morning he would get up, have a good old English “fry-up,” (US: a fried English breakfast of eggs, sausages, baked beans, tomatoes and mushrooms) get on his bicycle and off he’d go to the shipyard. He’d work all morning then home for dinner (lunch to you posh people), back to work, home for tea, then off to night school in our local college.

At the end of seven years of this routine, he was certified as a “Chartered British Marine Engineer” and “Chartered British Mechanical Engineer,” and moved up into the drawing office. His title was draughtsman. There were several lower staff (mostly women, of course), who would trace his designs, and were therefore called tracers.

Bob (seven years older than me) started all this before the war when there was plenty of work. By the time he and I met and were married in 1950, the war was over and the shipyards were closing. He had been working at the same shipyard for thirteen years but realized it was time to move on.

He went on several interviews which didn’t work out. We had never even considered emigration but one day, I saw an ad in the paper for draughtsmen in Canada. Interview in England, first class passage out, one year guaranteed, first class return if no more work. Salary was three times what he was earning in England. I figured, what could we lose, so I talked Bob into applying. They didn’t even want an interview, but asked, “When can you start?”

Within a month we were on our way.

We had only been married a year but had bought a house, which our family had furnished through wedding presents. Everything happened so fast we didn’t have time to think about what we were doing, or what we were leaving behind.

Outside the home we were leaving on our last day in England, bound for North America and making a new home there.

We arrived in Montreal and off Bob went to work. When he got there he discovered that a draughtsman, on this side of the pond, was the same as a tracer! Nor did we know that the cost of living was so much higher than at home.

We did, of course, finish the contract, but later moved on to the United States. Bob and I never regretted heading across the Pond and making our home there, but I know there is no way he would have accepted that job if he had realized what the position was that he was being offered.

I am so blessed here at my home in America. Both of our sons and our eldest granddaughter all live here in Indiana. They and their spouses join us regularly for shepherd’s pie or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, keeping the traditions alive.

Our family, decades later! We wear our paper crowns at Christmas with pride.

Introducing my American granddaughter to the beach in Sunderland.

January 15, 2016
My word for the year

This January, I’ve read many blogs on the #MyOneWord phenomenon, and I even wrote one about how to discern God’s voice in choosing a word. But I haven’t yet shared my word for the year, because at first it feels so fragile and tender. I’m still testing it out with God, waiting to hear any whiff of confirmation.

But as we’re now almost halfway through the month, I will share, especially as my word fits beautifully with the graphic above that my fabulous publisher put together for me (and another one I will share later in the year). That quotation comes from from the Parallel Lives chapter in Finding Myself in Britain, from an email I wrote to Jo Saxton, a Nigerian Brit who lives in Minnesota, when we were swapping homes and I was sitting on her comfy couch in the basement while the rest of the family slept (ah, jetlag).

Can you guess my word? It felt a bit of an odd one when it popped up into my mind, but as I’ve been sitting with it, I think it’s right.

No doubt meanings will emerge over the year, but the obvious one for me right now hints at being present, as I write above about the sacrament of the present moment. When I’m with my family and tempted to whip out my phone, for instance, I remind myself, “present,” that instead I should be living in the moment and relishing the gifts in front of me.

I have some idea of other shades of meaning, but they are whisps just now so I will leave them there.

How about you? Did you choose a word for the year? What spiritual practices do you employ to keep your attention present?

January 13, 2016
Tastes of Home by Amy Robinson

Another installment in our “There’s No Place Like Home” series, and again I read with tears. Thank you to Amy Robinson, a friend I’ve met online who is a storyteller and writer – and like me, a vicar’s wife (whatever that means!). She bursts with joy and encouragement, and I’ve so enjoyed getting to know her. She contributed a wonderful story to Finding Myself in Britain about the eccentricities and quirks of Knole House, a stately country home near to her boarding school, but alas, the story met the cutting-room floor. Perhaps I could obtain her permission to share it in a deleted-scenes post – she has a wonderful way of transporting you to amazing places through her writing. Which is what she does here, as she invites you to take up your cutlery and join her for a taste of heaven.

Do you know what food they serve at the banquet in the kingdom of heaven? I do, because one night as a teenager, I dreamed I was there. It was one of those vivid and detailed dreams, and heaven was a cross between Narnia and the Royal Albert Hall, with a banqueting table curving around the length of every balcony. When you took your place, at once the food you most wanted to eat appeared, as if the dishes had read your mind.

What was on my plate? Oh, I do feel silly admitting it, but I’ve started now. It was carrots and apples grated together: fresh, sweet and juicy the way my mother makes it. The taste of childhood summers.

A favourite mountain in France.

Food connects us so instantly to memories and to people, and in a family’s language, meals can take on a symbolic meaning. When my family arrived from France to stay over Christmas, I made fish pie. I can’t quite get it just the same as Aunt Jane’s, even though I add hard boiled eggs and serve it with cloudy apple juice, but it still tastes of welcome: of the sight of Aunt Jane opening her front door and flinging her arms wide, and the warm smell of the pie that she always made ready for our arrival.

Aunt Jane standing rather perfectly outside her front door.

Of course, because it was Christmas, I also made Grandmama’s Dundee cake. Apparently I’m the only member of the family who can make it taste exactly like hers did, but this is not due to any secret recipe or deep spiritual connection. It’s because I inherited her cake tin.

A perfect slice of Dundee cake, made from Grandmama’s tin.

My childhood was rooted in several places at once, rather than one ‘home’ which kept changing. We used to say that we worked in London and lived in France, where we spent every available holiday, but they were both ‘home’. And then there was boarding school, where I made my first deep friendships and met my husband. And there was Grandmama’s flat in London and Aunt Jane’s house near the Malverns (still where I want to live one day). All ‘home’ in that I belonged there, and they made up such important parts of me.

At school sharing a midnight feast of Grandmama’s cake! Can you guess which one I am?

Isn’t it strange and wonderful that my children, who will not meet Aunt Jane or Grandmama this side of heaven, will still grow up with the tastes of their foods as part of their own sense of home, of welcome and belonging? They will add their own places and people and foods to pass on to their children too, but I wonder for how many generations the taste of fish pie might mean the first night at home?

A few days after welcoming my family with Aunt Jane’s pie, it was Christmas day and I was at the communion rail. As I stretched out my empty hands to receive, I reflected that we are all spiritual wanderers, longing for home, but here, being handed to me, was the heavenly equivalent of fish pie: the bread and wine, the food that represents welcome and belonging, the meal which Jesus gave to his followers to remember him by. A tiny taste of home.

An incredibly young me and Tiffer, our first Easter together at my family home in France.

Aunt Jane with me as a baby (she never aged, did she?!)

Grandmama.

Family with Grandmama on her 90th birthday.

Amy Robinson is a writer, performance storyteller and ventriloquist, and benefice children’s worker for four Suffolk church communities. She has published three books with Kevin Mayhew, writes scripts and resources for www.GenR8.org and blogs a bit at www.amystoryteller.com. She lives in a rectory with the rector, two children and lots of puppets. You can find her on Twitter at @Ameandme and at Facebook.

January 8, 2016
Happy new year!

As we ring in the new year, may you know God’s love, peace, and joy. May you be held and supported through the hard times and have friends and family to share the laughter and joy of the good times. May you look forward to new challenges and experiences in the year to come as you live in each moment.

Sending love from London!

January 1, 2016
A Christmas devotional (Advent 6): Messiah, Immanuel, Jesus

Painting by Leo Boucher.

“…and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”). When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus (Matthew 1:23b–25).

What’s in a name? In biblical times, a name would often connote characteristics that the parents believed the child would embody. Along these lines, God through his angel told Joseph to name his son Jesus, which means “Yahweh saves,” and as we saw recently, what Jesus saves his people from is their sins. I don’t think Joseph had any idea of how Jesus would do this, but he welcomed it from a distance.

Matthew’s account gives Jesus two other names or titles – Messiah and Immanuel. Messiah is the Hebrew word for one anointed for a specific task (with Christ being the Greek rendering of this word). Matthew uses this term to signal to his Jewish audience that this is the coming Savior, for whom they have been waiting for generations to bring about God’s promised deliverance.

And Immanuel means God with us – God himself has taken human form in Jesus. God is with us because Jesus saves us from our sins, for sin is what separates us from God. Once Jesus rescues us from this fallen state, we enjoy Immanuel, God with us.

Jesus the anointed one. Jesus who saves. Jesus, God with us. What’s in a name? Simply, the whole gospel message.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, we welcome you this Christmas day! You are the anointed one, the God who lives with us, the one who saves. As we praise and worship you this day, fill us with your presence and your love. And help us to reach out to a world aching to hear your message of good news.

December 25, 2015
What Is Home? by Gayl Wright

Today I’m excited to welcome Gayl Wright to the “There’s No Place Like Home” series. I’ve come to know Gayl online, and so enjoy her graceful encouragement and wisdom. She shares about the meaning of home through her family life – having raised seven children, which boggles my mind! I love the rootedness of her life and the way family traditions emerged over the years.

Home is many things to many people. Some consider home to be the place where they live or the place where they were born. I have lived in so many places that it would be hard to pick one to call home. To me, home is wherever I happen to be living at a particular time.

Home is also a place where people live together as they learn to share, to work out differences, to develop skills and more. It’s a place where stories begin and memories are made. In my case it first began with my parents and then my brothers as they came along. When I married, home was wherever my husband and I found ourselves.

As our family grew the home included seven children, although my oldest was twenty when the youngest was born. At that time our four daughters were 20, 18, 14, and 12. My sons were 6, 3, and a newborn. When our baby boy was four months old we left our home in NJ and moved to SC. That was over 18 years ago! Most all have left home now to find their place in the world.

We tried to establish a few traditions, one of which was praying and reading the Bible together. We also enjoyed tea and reading time. I began reading to the girls every afternoon while they would draw or color pictures. We continued as the boys were born, although sometimes it was a challenge with toddlers and babies, but we did it!

Part of the reading was for our homeschooling, but we also chose fun books and adventure stories. A lot of the books we read were by British authors and we fell in love with the idea of tea time. I’m not sure exactly when we started the everyday tea, but it quickly became a tradition carried on even as my children became adults.

Because we liked reading so much we began including my husband in the evenings when he would read aloud to us. The Chronicles of Narnia, the Little House books, the Lord of the Rings, Anne of Green Gables and the Swallows and Amazons series were a few of the many we enjoyed. We then branched out to such authors as G.K. Chesterton, Howard Pyle, P.G. Wodehouse, and others.

My children had big imaginations and were always making up plays or acting out stories, many of which were inspired by the books we read. A treasured discovery was a book written and illustrated by J.R.R. Tolkien that started out as letters to his children from Father Christmas. It has appeal to children and adults alike and quickly became a favorite of our family to read in the days leading up to Christmas.

When I was growing up we did not celebrate Advent and I didn’t really know much about it until my husband and I had been married for awhile. As we learned about it we decided to make that a tradition. We would make or buy a wreath every year and position candles around it, lighting one each Sunday of Advent as we read from various sources.

One year, our family learned and sang together the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. We had a keyboard that could be set for a pipe organ, so I played the music which was recorded onto the keyboard. My husband, daughters and I learned the different parts and then shared it in church and with friends and family. One night while practicing in the car on the way home from visiting friends, our two-year-old surprised us by joining in!

Most of our days were not spent doing anything extraordinary, at least it didn’t seem that way to us. We enjoyed learning and doing things together. When I look back over my old journals I see that we did a lot of reading, singing, baking, playing, walking, talking, welcoming people into our home, and for the most part everyone got along well.

Of course we had our times of sibling rivalry, disagreements with Mom and Dad, arguments among ourselves, and other hard times. I know we did not always handle those things well, but our children knew we loved each other and we loved them. I think they felt secure in that.

Nowadays our home consists of my husband, myself and our oldest son, who battles muscular dystrophy and uses a wheelchair most of the time. It’s a challenge, but we are working on finding ways to make things easier for him. The three of us still spend time reading together almost daily. We also have chickens, two dogs and a cat who all live outside.

As Christmas quickly approaches we are once again lighting the candles around the Advent wreath continuing with a tradition started many years ago. The difference is that there are only three of us living here now, but the memories linger on, all contributing to making our house a home.

We always enjoy it when our other children and our grandchildren come to visit. It’s been awhile since we’ve had everyone at once as they live in various places and have different work and school schedules. At this point there are 26 of us, but the boys aren’t married yet…

Our home is always open for visitors. We love to share our beautiful views and from scratch home cooked food. One of the favorites is face pancakes. I’ve been told my pancakes are the best!

Come on over, make yourself at home and you’ll be treated like family.

Gayl Wright makes her home in upstate South Carolina. She is a seeker of truth who looks for beauty in ordinary things. A self-taught poet, photographer and artist, she loves to capture what she finds using her talents to encourage others and glorify God.

December 23, 2015
Home: A Place to Be by Rachel Hauck

I got to know Rachel Hauck through social media after reading and loving her books – yes, I was one of those fan stalker types. She’s an amazing novelist who creates worlds you just don’t want to leave, whether in the sultry South of America or in Hessenberg, her fictional-but-real Kingdom. But her books aren’t mere escapism; they uplift and encourage with messages of hope based in her Christian faith. Rachel, as you’ll see in this engaging blog, has a huge heart, and I’m so thrilled she joins us today. (And if you’re not familiar with Cheetos – huge loss, in my view – they are a wonderful cheesy-but-crunchy snack food.)

Thanks Amy for having me on your blog! I love your book Finding Myself In Britain and how you’ve made “home” in the UK.

Home is a precious word. It’s defined by so many things. The cliché, “Home is where your heart is,” rings true to me. And it’s a cliché because it’s true.

As a kid, my family moved around a few times but even when we were in a new place, we were home. Because my parents made home a place of peace and rest.

When we moved, Dad, Mom, my brothers and sister were with me. The same argument I had with my older brother in Kentucky was the same argument I had with him in Florida. Even those bumpy moments are part of constructing home in our hearts, right. They are intense at the time but later we laugh at them. Hopefully.

My parents were good at setting the tone of our home. I love lighting and my mom always had this balance of warm light. It was more than light, it was the emotion of the home.

Me as a baby with my older brother! We loved potato chips!

Our home was welcoming. Never once did I dread going inside. I learned to be content in the place where I loved and was loved.

Off to college, I carried that sentiment with me. Living in a large sorority house part of the time, I found “home” with my friends, with my roommate, with the common bond of college sisterhood. We laughed. A lot. Laughter is a key component of “home” in my mind.

My dad with two of his brothers in 1980! Back in the day! My grandmother had a home in the Shawnee State Forest in southern Ohio. What memories we all have of that place! Dig my Uncle Dave’s plaid pants!

After college, I hit the road with my professional job. Home became a shared house in central Florida with a co-worker. But home also became the hotels I lived in 70 percent of the year.

I brought home with me in my heart. All the things I loved about “home” growing up and in college. Even ordering a pizza and watching a sitcom alone in my hotel room was “home” to me. Or sharing the evening with one of my co-workers.

Home also meant exploring my surroundings, discovering the community I was launched into for one, two or three weeks.

Upstate New York reminded me of my grandparent’s home in Ohio. A snowfall took me back to my childhood, to playing in the cold snow only to run home to a warm cozy place with soup on the stove.

Again with my older brother. Probably the ’90s. Clowning around at his home. It’s blurry but so defines our relationship!

Australia taught me people are the same all over the world. We want to raise our families in a good, safe place. Have a good job and good friends.

Venezuela allowed me to use all my years of high school and college Spanish! But in some places, it reminded me of south Florida where I’d lived in my early teens.

All the while, each place, each trip, each house I visited wrote the story of “home” on my heart.

One year my company sent me to Ireland two weeks before Thanksgiving. I was sure to be home in plenty of time to share the holiday with my family. As the weekend rolled around, my boss called to tell me I was not leaving and had to stay a few more days. Not the news I wanted to hear. I wanted to see my family, sure, but there might have been a guy I wanted to see more. (Wink!)

That evening, our Irish distributor, a kind, fatherly man, invited me to his home for Friday night fish and chips. Their home was cozy and welcoming — just like my parents home! — and we watched a movie and laughed, told stories. That night refreshed me for the for the days ahead and eased my disappointment of “life interrupted.” And, I still made it home in time for Thanksgiving. And yep, I saw my guy.

I love this one! My parents sitting out on the back deck one summer evening after dinner. They built the house. 🙂 Love their matching plaid shirts! This is probably the middle ’80s. But this shows so much who they are and the kind of home they made.

I married that guy a couple of years later and all those “home” moments helped me create my own atmosphere when we set up house together. I wanted a place people could come and just be. “Take your hat off and stay awhile.”

When my youngest brother married, we had the whole family at the house one afternoon and my young nephews were running around with Cheeto fingers. You know, orange and sticky from eating out of the Cheeto bag.

It was no skin off my nose because what’s the use in getting upset when anything they trashed could be cleaned? And why care more about my stuff than my nephews?

Later, my middle brother commented, “You didn’t get riled by them getting Cheetos crumbs all over the place. You just rolled with it. Not many people would do that.”

I want people to feel at home! Now, come on, I wouldn’t let the boys purposefully trash the place but they were just having fun, laughing, being… boys. At Aunt Rachel’s house. Do you know they make paint now that is easy to clean? I could clean Cheeto finger prints from the wall easily enough. But I could not change their memory of me if I’d yelled at them.

My nieces and nephew. He was one of the “Cheeto” culprits! He’s in college now!

All of these moments and events go into the stories I write. My own growing up experiences with my parents and siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles. My life as a sorority girl on a large university campus. My days living on the road in hotels and out of suitcases, making friends with those I met along the way.

When I sit down to create a world, like Brighton Kingdom and the Grand Duchy of Hessenberg in the Royal Wedding Series, I remember Ireland, or Australia. Or the six hours I was in London on my way to Israel.

When I create characters, the memories of the people I’ve met over the last 30 years, begin to form faces and voices in my head. Just one thing, or one event remembered can help me define a character.

I think home is a slice of heaven on earth. The place where one can just “be.”

Christmas in 2013 with my husband, one of our “adopted daughters” and our sweet dog Lola. I like to say home and family is whoever fits into your heart!

I know not every home is peaceful, safe or comfortable. We all have varied memories of our childhood homes. Or our married homes. My husband often comments he must have grown up in a different house than is sister. They have such different perspectives.

But our experiences, good or bad, can be stored safely away in the heart of Jesus who makes all things new. He is home to us all. Peace. Safely. Comfort.

That’s why I try to write a little bit of Jesus into my stories. Because no matter what worlds and characters I create, Jesus is the “home” in the midst of it all.

Rachel Hauck is a USA Today best-selling and award-winning author. Her latest novel, The Wedding Chapel, was named to Booklist 2015 Top Ten Inspirational Novels.

A graduate of Ohio State University with a degree in journalism, Rachel worked in the corporate software world before planting her backside in an uncomfortable chair to write full-time in 2004. She serves on the Executive Board for American Christian Fiction Writers and leads worship at their annual conference. She is a mentor and book therapist at My Book Therapy, and conference speaker.

Rachel lives in central Florida with her husband and pets, and writes from her two-story tower in an exceedingly more comfy chair. She is a huge Buckeyes football fan.

December 18, 2015
Christmas cookies, the language of love

Christmas cookies to me are the language of love in the Advent and Christmas seasons. I’m behind this year – I’ve only made one measly batch so far, and Friday is the kids’ last day of school, so I need to get cracking in order to have the boxes of freshly baked goods ready for their teachers and staff at their schools.

I write about Christmas cookies in Finding Myself in Britain, for the lack of them here in the UK (where mince pies, Christmas pudding and Christmas cake are the choice seasonal foods) sent me baking as I tried to recreate America on these shores. Well, at least a bit of Yankee Doodle love…

Here is the Pye Family Favo(u)rite, an almond cookie bursting with taste and flavor. I make a triple batch because everyone loves it so much. If you have a go, post a photo of your delicacies and let me know if it rivals your best mince pie!

December 16, 2015