Red Skinned Potato Salad

I’m guessing some people out there have an abundance of boiled eggs (probably in a multitude of pretty colors!) left over from Easter. Either you’re planning to eat plain eggs for the next week, or you’re searching for some recipes to use them up. Egg salad is great, but can I suggest something A-MAZING? I submit my red skinned potato salad as a possible contender. I promise it won’t disappoint. We had this at Easter…and there is hardly any left!

Red Skinned Potato Salad

-1 pound bacon
-3 pounds red potatoes
-6 eggs
-Green onion
-2 stalks of celery
-2 cups mayo
-Salt and pepper

Directions:

1) Scrub potatoes until clean (don’t you hate that part?? Wish I could get someone to give me clean potatoes).

2) Bring a large pot of water to a boil, add the potatoes and cook 12-15 minutes. Drain and allow potatoes to cool. Chop cooled potatoes (leave skin on…hense the name of the recipe).

3) Cover eggs with cool water and bring water to a boil. Remove the pot from heat, cover with lid, and let eggs stand in water for 15 minutes. Remove from water, peel, and chop the eggs.

4) Cook bacon – drain, cool, and crumble.

5) Chop celery.

6) Put potatoes, eggs, bacon, mayo, celery, and chopped green onions in a large bowl. Mix well. Season with salt and pepper to your liking. Sprinkle more green onions over the top. Place the salad in the fridge for at least 3 hours before serving.

Doubters Welcome

You know, I think Thomas gets a bad rap in the church. The poor guy doesn’t even get called just Thomas anymore—what do we call him? Doubting Thomas.

Harsh much?

And the truth of the matter is that Thomas isn’t the biggest doubter in the Bible. Not really. The man who doubted the most is someone we usually speak about in the context of having strong faith. I’m talking about John the Baptist.

Stick with me here.

I’m convinced that John the Baptist got to see/experience God on earth in a way that no other human being has, nor properly ever will.

When you ask? During the baptism of Christ.

Here he is, a man who has spent his entire life telling people about Jesus and preparing them for Christ to come to the world. When people asked if they could follow John, he told them to go follow Jesus. Then one day as John’s going about his business, Jesus comes and asks John to baptize him.

During the baptism John is HOLDING Jesus, he HEARS the voice of the Father, and SEES the Spirit in the form of a dove come down from heaven.
It could be argued that—if anyone in history—John was the one man who had absolutely no reason to ever doubt God. Not after that. Not after the Trinity all at once.

Later, John’s captured by the king and imprisoned. The king promises his new stepdaughter anything she desires and she asks for John’s head on a platter. Word gets back to John that he’s on death row and fear blasts through his veins.

When his friends come to visit he sends word through them to Jesus – the message he sent?

“Are you really the Christ?”

Translation: I don’t really want to die unless I’m 100% certain of this Jesus-thing. I’m scared. I’m suffering. I doubt that you’re even real. I know you’ve shown yourself to me before but I don’t care about that, I need something right now.

Here is a man who touched, heard, and saw God, and in his darkest moment faltered. Jesus sends back word that he truly is God and John goes to his death. But take heart, I’m not to the best part of the story yet!

Soon after John’s death Jesus is talking to a large gathering of people and he is asked about John. Here’s Christ’s opportunity to say anything. He doesn’t voice disappointment. He doesn’t make an example out of John. He doesn’t say he’s angry. He doesn’t admonish him for doubting. No.

Jesus makes one statement about John:

He was the greatest man ever born of woman.

See, God’s not angry or put off when we doubt. He doesn’t shake His head or turn His back. When we question Him He doesn’t shake His fist.
Instead, He reassures us that He’s God, and He’s trustworthy—even in our darkest moments and even when our situations don’t go how we would want them.

He opens His arms. Letting us all know that doubters are welcome in the Kingdom of God.

Image courtesy of Nuchylee / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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Always There

The other day I was trying to get ready to make it to an appointment on time. Easy, right? Well, it used to be, but this is no small feat now with a two month old in the house.

I got my daughter settled in her bouncer and she was happy to sit there and watch me as I straightened the kitchen. The clock started ticking and I needed to get ready—no matter, I brought all my stuff downstairs and could use the bathroom on the main level and still be near to her.

-happy in her bouncer-

The problem was that every time I stepped into the bathroom, she let out a blood-curdling cry. I’d walk back over to where she was (literally 2 paces from the open bathroom door) and the second she saw me she’d smile again.

So back into the bathroom. Once again, the second I was out of eyesight the screaming and gnashing of gums began. I ducked back out, and just like the first time, the instant she saw me she stopped crying.

By time three I started getting frustrated. I’d call out, “Hey baby girl, I’m right here. It’s okay. I didn’t go away. Mom’s right here.” That did nothing to calm her. I tried singing and talking and anything to be able to finish getting ready. But none of that was enough. The only thing that worked was when I stepped out of the bathroom so she could see me. Then I started grumbling…We weren’t going to be on time…I still needed to check her and get her ready and make sure the diaper bag was stocked.

I was JUST around the corner, couldn’t she handle a couple seconds without me in her line of vision?

Then it hit me: My daughter had just given me a picture of myself and God.

At times when I feel alone and when I have doubts and when I feel like God’s far away, I’ve cried out to Him. “Where are you in all this?” “Do you even care?” “Why aren’t you here—why can’t I feel your presence?” “You left me!” “I feel like I’m going through this alone.”

The second it feels like He “stepped out of my line of vision” I despair, but He’s right there and He’s saying, “It’s okay, Jess. I’m right here. I’ve got this. I’ve never left you.” The only exception is that He doesn’t step away, nor does His patience grow thin when I’m crying out.

Needless to say after that thought I rushed to my daughter and picked her up and stopped worrying about getting to my destination on time.

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Happy Mr. Roger’s Day!

You know how people always ask you if you could have a meal/coffee/day with one person dead or alive, who would it be? Well, I wouldn’t pick a movie star. I wouldn’t pick a famous author. I wouldn’t pick a great theologian.

I’d pick Fred Rogers.

“In the end, all that matters is love.” -Mr Rogers

This video: His answer to how to solve the violence problem with teens/children from 1993 still rings true today.

Today would have been Mr. Rogers 85th birthday. He’s a personal hero of mine and his gracious and accepting spirit is sorely needed and missed in this world.

“There’s only one person in the whole world like you, and I like you so much.” -Mr. Rogers

This article popped up the other day, it lays out all the reasons why Fred Rogers was/is the Greatest American. I’m going to share a few of the clips from the article, but I urge you to take a minute and read that link. It just might restore your faith in the human spirit and serve to encourage you today.

“You always make it a special day for me. You know how, don’t you? By just your being you. Whether you’re in kindergarten, or third grade, or no grade at all, or ANY grade at all, I like you just the way you are.” -Mr. Rogers

This video: Pull out your tissues, Mr. Rogers ALWAYS made everyone feel special.

Raising a cup of coffee today in honor of a man who made every single person he came in contact with feel loved, special, and valued. Might we all use every interaction during our lives to do the same.

“There are many ways of saying who you are and how you feel. Ways that can be so helpful. Ways that don’t hurt yourself or anybody else. You know, that’s how you can tell when you’re grown up inside: you’re sure that what you’re planning and doing are things that can be a real help to you and your neighbor. I’m proud of you, know that. I hope you do.” -Mr. Rogers

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Original Chapter One – Part Three

The last installment of the original chapter one of Home for Good.  (If you missed the start earlier in the week press here) Enjoy!

Original Chapter One – Home for Good – Part Three

Ali wrung her hands. “A tenth of a second…a tenth of a second.”

Almost. But not quite good enough.

Story of her life.

“You were robbed, Mom.” Chance burst to his feet beside her, his small hand gesturing toward the score board.

Third place. Ali shrugged, but the failure smarted. After replaying the run in her mind twice, she still couldn’t find the misstep that cost them first and second. She wouldn’t thumb her nose at the five hundred dollar prize, but the winner’s purse would have helped more. Two thousand dollars could have paid for a decent farrier and more oats. She let out a long, hot breath. Or gone toward the insurance deductibles. Or new tack…new horses…debt. Something always needed to be paid for.

Never quite good enough. Never quite…enough, for anyone.

“Naw, I lost fair and square, buddy.”

Kate tucked long auburn strands of hair behind her ear. “You made a good run, Al. You and Denny were dynamite out there. The entire crowd was on edge.” She bent, scooping up their small blue cooler full of pop and juice. “We’ll find a way to save Big Sky Dreams. Don’t worry about the future so much.”

“Easy for you to say, seeing as you have nothing to do with my non-profit and no personal effort invested.” The moment Ali solved one issue at Big Sky Dreams, the handicapped horseback riding program she managed, an even bigger problem usually surfaced.

Catching Chance’s hands, lathered with butter and prickly popcorn salt, Ali followed behind her younger sister. At twenty-four, Kate returned home from college a year ago with a degree and a non-stop positive outlook on life. Moreover, she possessed the annoying knack of saying exactly what Ali didn’t want to hear.

“I’m just saying. If God wants Big Sky Dreams to survive, the program will survive.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “Riiiight. Words to live by, I’m sure. But I think the best bet is to bust my back for donations and sign up for every barrel tournament with a purse from here clear to Idaho. I just don’t get where all our money goes. There seemed to be plenty after the last fund-raiser, but the money’s just gone.”  She didn’t want to stomp on her sister’s happy little world, but Ali knew better. God helped those who helped themselves. Because, seriously, when setbacks in life came, God didn’t care. Until she saw him on earth attempting to make a difference with his own two hands, she wouldn’t trust him for anything. Sure, she wanted to believe. Everyone wanted someone to put their hope in. But Ali learned the hard way—hope placed in the wrong thing—or person—left her feeling worse than Chance with a 102 degree temperature.

Ali pointed toward the animal pens. “I’m gonna get Denny. Meet me by the trailer?”

“Sure, and I’ll take scamp here with me.” Kate patted Chance’s head.

“Heeey. I’m not a scamp. Is that a good thing? Mom, what’s a scamp?”

“A nickname like that is a good thing, bud. Means you like to play.” She picked her way across the street then called over her shoulder. “Thanks, Kate.”

Denny nickered as she approached, his black glassy eyes surveying her with what felt like understanding.

“Hey, there, boy. You did good today. I’m the one who botched our run.” She reached out, tracing her fingers down his velvety black muzzle as she unlatched the gate. When Ali slipped the green halter over his head, Denny leaned into her like a hug. She gave him a pat on the neck for thanks.

“We’ll help those kids. We’ll figure out some way.” Bending over, she gathered up most of the brushes. She dumped them all into a bucket then tossed the horse blanket and saddle on Denny’s back, letting the cinch hang loose. She’d just lead him gingerly to the trailer and hope his gear stayed on, which sounded loads better than making two trips.

“Hiya, Ali.”

The voice from her past rocketed through her with the force of a kick drum. The last curry comb flew out of her hand and spun in a drunken arc on the hard dirt. She snapped up and took a step backward.

Jericho Freed.

All six feet of him, clad in jeans and a fitted grey striped button-down. His bold, masculine eyebrows rose as he surveyed her with look-me-in-the-eyes-if-you-dare blues. He wore a straw cowboy hat with unruly hair poking out, and four days-worth of a beard outlined his firm jaw. His defined arms looped over the front of the gate, blocking her path out. Eight years later and the man still made her mouth go dry.

And she hated that he still had that power.

So she did the only rational thing she could think to do. Flee.

In a fluid movement, Ali bounded over the back of the pen and took off sprinting at a breakneck clip. Her hat flew off.

He yelled out her name, called out….

And just like in the past, his voice poured sweet and velvety like chocolate over each syllable, making her toes curl. Ali’s nails dug into her palms. She didn’t want to hear him. She never wanted to fall under his spell again. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she ran.

Why was he here? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

Tearing across the carnival, she pushed past people as they threw her angry looks. Forget them. They didn’t know the danger engulfing her. Didn’t know evil incarnate might be ten paces behind, literarily nipping at her heels.

Oh, why hadn’t she moved away when she had the…chance? Chance! Suddenly she pounded faster, the narrow toe of her boots chafing against her feet.

Jericho couldn’t see Chance. She wouldn’t let that happen. God, please!

Ali zeroed in on Chance and Kate milling next to their beat up green Ford pick-up.

She waved her arms. “Quick, get in the truck. Quick. Now! Chance Silver!”

“Where’s Denny? Aren’t—”

“No. Truck. Now. We’ll come back for him later.” Ali pressed a hand to the stitch in her side as she looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for the cowboy with impossibly blue eyes. He hadn’t followed her.

Kate rounded the truck, her eyes wide. “Sis? I don’t see smoke coming from your hair, so if it’s not on fire—what is?”

Ali glanced in the truck, making sure Chance was buckled in and out of earshot. She seized Kate’s arms, clamping down on reality as she felt a vine of anger seeded by fear reach up inside of her.

“He’s here. He’s back. What am I supposed to…what if he…what about Chance?” Her voice rose in a frenzy.

Kate shook her gently. “Who’s here?”

“My husband.”

The End of Original Chapter One

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Where Are You?

Today I guest blogged at Seekerville! Stop by and join the conversation

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Original Chapter One – Part Two

Yesterday I talked about how sometimes when your manuscript gets in front of your editor big sections get cut. So I’m sharing the original first chapter of Home for Good. If you missed the first chunk just press here. Part three will go live on Friday.

Original Chapter One – Home for Good – Part Two

Jericho Freed’s gut clenched. Even from the distance of the bleachers, the sight of little Ali Silver made his heart stampede like a fired up bull. Guess she wasn’t so little anymore. Eight years. He did the math as he passed his hand over his jaw. Well, twenty-seven sure looked good on her. From where he watched, the pink long-sleeved button-down brought out the summer blush of her cheeks, and those leg-huggin’ jeans verified she wasn’t a girl anymore. Fully woman. The woman he’d come home for.

“Why, if it isn’t young Mr. Freed.” Jericho’s sophomore year science teacher, Mrs. Casey, tapped his shoulder. She still wore the purple framed glasses around her neck with a string. “I didn’t think you lived in these parts anymore.”

He touched the front of his hat. “Well, Ma’am, I’ve been away awhile but I’m home now. For good.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your father. How is Abram doing?”

“Thanks for that, Mrs. Casey. He’s just down the road at Valley View Estates. They’re telling me the stroke left Pop without the use of his right side. Got in last night myself so I haven’t made time to see him yet.” Not that he was in any spit-storm rush to go see his father, but Mrs. Casey didn’t need to know that.

Jericho shifted on the bleacher, scanning the stands for Ali. Down the way, he spotted her kid sister Kate sitting with a cute little boy, but no Ali. He pulled off his straw hat, crushed it in his calloused hands then watched as the straw popped back into shape, like a sponge.

Had she seen him? Was she avoiding him? Could he blame her? Nope.

“Is that what brought you home, son?” Mrs. Casey slipped on her glasses and peered at him from over the top of them.

Jericho squirmed. He felt like a fifteen year old again, struggling to remember the chemical formula for salt. “For Pop? Sure. And I completed my tour of duty. And there’s some other…stuff.” A lump formed in the back of his throat as Ali climbed the steps and sauntered towards Kate and the child. She ruffed the boy’s hair. Jericho swallowed hard.

Mrs. Casey raised her eyebrows. “Whatever happened with you and her?”

“Me and Ali?”  He rubbed his clammy palms on the thighs of his jeans.

“In school, why, you two were a matched set. I don’t remember ever seeing one of you without the other around town neither. Then I heard…. Well, listen to me go on about other people’s business.”

I happened.

“Matched set?” He mumbled more to himself than to her.

“Well, whatever you’re here for, I wish you luck, Jericho.”

He lifted his chin. “Thanks. I’ll need a good dose of luck.”

She patted his shoulder again. “You’ll be fine. If I remember right, there isn’t an ounce of quit in your bones.”

Ha. If only Mrs. Casey knew. ‘Cause there was a pretty lady with hair like bottled fire on the other end of the stands that would say ‘quit’ was his middle name.

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Original Chapter One – Part One

I’ve recieved some notes about my new release, Home for Good, that have said they wished the book was longer. When my manuscript was first submitted it was 23,000 words longer than its published length. That’s 30% of the original manuscript that had to stay on the cutting room floor. One of the parts I was really sad to have to chop was the original first chapter. So, I’ve decided to share it in three small chunks today, Wednesday, and Friday. Thursday I’ll be on Seekerville – I’ll post the link when it goes live!

Original Chapter One – Home for Good - Part One

Horse and rider tumbled into a dustbowl of sand in the arena.

Tough break.

Seconds ago the roar of the crowd hammered through the entire rodeo, wired for the Fourth of July weekend. Now the room buzzed with silence.

And her turn came next.

Working her bottom lip between her teeth, Ali Silver ran a hand over the smooth rawhide cantle of her saddle. Two years. After scrimping and saving she’d finally stormed into Hangdog Saddlery a week ago and slammed down the cash for the Billy Cook Flex Flyer Saddle. The money spent better be worth it. The doors to Big Sky Dreams might stay shut forever if she dared to stroll home empty-handed tonight.

Tension laced the air like smoke after gunfire, and Denny shifted beneath her.

“You’re fine, boy.” Ali patted his neck, cording her fingers into the gelding’s mane. As she traced her hand across the silky buckskin hair of his neck, her catapulting stomach began to soothe. Denny knew the barrels.

Rodeo workers ran past her carrying the injured rider out on a stretcher. The fallen horse, a young chestnut, trailed after like a little sister trying to keep up. Ali tried to feel compassion for the rider. But when a horse fell down it meant the rider messed up somewhere.

And she wouldn’t mess up.

“Our next rider hails from our very own Bitterroot Valley.”

The announcer’s voice snapped Ali back to attention. Her turn. Some riders prayed before a run, but Ali didn’t. God stopped listening to her years ago, if he ever listened at all. She mentally practiced the cloverleaf racing pattern, schooling herself, the only proven way to clear her mind and drive away the fog of adrenaline.

Keep centered.

 Visualize the set.

 Leave a clear pocket.

The official nodded to her.

With a defined kick and the lift of the reins, Ali gave Denny his head and he erupted forward, slamming her into the saddle with a jerk that rattled her teeth. Charging down the alley of the rodeo arena, horse and rider busted through the center entrance at mach speed. They crossed the electronic timer beam and tore towards the first barrel with the power of a fuming bull charging a red flag.

Ali smiled. Because when she rode Denny, the rest of the world slouched out of vision. No sound registered as the duo performed their dance. The ache in her chest dissolved, and for about sixteen glorious seconds she felt whole again.

And their approach? Dead on. She fought against a laugh.

Picking Denny’s speed at the precise moment she arced him, leaving a good pocket to give him an even turn. He swung around the orange and blue painted barrel, his hooves digging into the loose ground. Anchored in the saddle, Ali clenched her abs, her right leg pressing along Denny’s ribcage for support. Half clawing the rawhide horn, she looked through the turn toward the enemy…the second barrel. Raising the knotted reins in her sweaty hand, she allowed Denny to rocket forward across the arena, kicking up a mixture of sand and dirt in his wake.

Clocking left around the barrel, they jolted forward, pounding towards the final one with electric force. Ali moistened her lips as they trampled over the place the previous challengers met their fate. She and Denny hugged the last barrel with practiced accuracy, then turned and let loose down the straight. Ali kicked wildly and Denny galloped towards the finish, crossing the timer.

As the race ended, the real world rushed back in. Applause echoed down the arena’s corridors. Ali’s muscles zinged with adrenaline as Denny clip-clopped down the cement hallway. She guided him outside to cool down. The smells of manure, leather, popcorn, and animal sweat hung together in the summer air. She closed her eyes, breathing in the dream of the rodeo. She sympathized with the men who became addicted to running the circuit despite the dangers. Knew what had possessed Dad to chase after the prized bull-riding buckle like a lover. ‘Cause she would, if it weren’t for the four feet of responsibility waiting for her near the outdoor stall.

“Great ride, Mom!” Her brown-haired son jumped up and down as she swung off of Denny.

“You wanna hold him, Chance?” With an impish smile that displayed more gums than teeth, her almost seven-year-old accepted the reins, his beat up cowboy boots clomping into rich Montana dirt. She pulled off her Stetson, using the hat to fan the short cropped hair from around her face then unlatched the gate. Checking first to see that Denny had water, she turned and pulled off the saddle, propping the heavy leather over the metal railing. She ran her hand down his back, drenched from exertion, murmuring praise as Chance handed her the sweat scrapper. With slow swipes she pulled most of the moisture from the horse’s coat then reached for the curry comb.

Her son bounced on the balls of his feet. “Can I go back and see the scores?”

“Sorry buddy, you have to hang with me.”

“But Aunt Kate is in there. If I promise to sit with her can I go?”

Ali moved the comb in strong circles, drawing the dirt out of Denny’s hair. “I said no.”

“Phu-leeeez, Mom. I want to see the bull riders.”

Throwing down the curry comb she spun around and pressed her hands onto her hips. Her heart squeezed. He might mirror her brown-sugar freckles, but the thick maple hair that stuck up on the side when he woke in the morning, his square jaw, the angular nose and intense pale blue eyes—all belonged to his father. Chance looked just like….

Ali shook her head. She did not want to think about him.

“All right my little bronco, here’s the deal. You may go sit with Kate, but we are not staying for the bull riding. Just until they announce the barrel winners. Got it?”

“But Mom—”

“Got it?” She cut him off with a scowl.

With a hand on the top of his hat, Chance ran back into the Ravalli County Fairgrounds main arena. The sticky sweet cotton candy, the clowns, and the 4-H pigs held no interest for him—just the broncs and the blood. She shook her head. Such a boy.

Scooping up a dandy brush, she ran her hands over the stiff rice stems as she looked up at the Bitterroot Mountain Range. The snow-capped peaks laughed down at the sweltering festivities in the sun-drenched valley. Rich light painted vivid greens across a tapestry of pines, the hues of the canyon crags vying with the peaks for splendor. The Bitterroots calmed her. Taking them in reminded her that even when life felt topsy-turvy, purpose and beauty remained in the world. She sometimes toyed with the idea of moving away—starting life over—but she couldn’t leave those mountains.

A summer breeze tickled her skin. She turned and gave Denny’s muscled neck a pat. She needed to get back to the arena. They could have announced the winners by now.

Ali put the dandy brush to Denny with quick little flicks that tossed the last of the dirt off his body and into the air. If only memories were as easy to flick away.

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Buffalo Chicken

Something I’m really short on right now is time. I love having homemade dinners, but with a four-week-old baby in the house I can’t spend 40 minutes in the kitchen preparing something. So that’s when I pull out my tried and true easy-peasy recipes. This three ingredient recipe fits the bill and is tasty and versitile enough to eat all the time.

Buffalo Chicken

• 3 pounds chicken (boneless/skinless)
• 12 ounces Buffalo wing sauce (found in the BBQ sauce aisle in the grocery store)
• 1 ounce dry Ranch dressing mix

1) Put chicken, sauce, and dressing mix in a crock-pot and cook on low for 5-6 hours.

2) Shred meat and serve. That’s it.

How do I use this wonderful food – you ask? The possibilities are endless…

• On toasted rolls with blue cheese crumbles
• On a baked poatato
• On nachos
• Over hot noodles
• Over rice
• On a homemade pizza

Also, this freezes really well. We can’t eat all three pounds at once so I freeze the cooked meat in small batches then pull them out whenever I want an easy lunch of dinner. Defrost overnight and warm up on the stovetop.

Enjoy!

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Sharing cool ways to be up on the trends at a quarter of the price. Recipes, clothes, books, fun date ideas.

Where are You??

Are you looking for me today? I’m over at my friend, Erynn’s blog. Stop by and see our fun interview (she asks great questions!) and comment on her blog for a chance to win a copy of Home for Good.