Posts Categorized: Thoughts from Christy

The Cheer of Free Art

Life hasn’t exactly been what we hoped for the past couple of months. When we were stranded in Ogden, Utah, for two weeks in September while my father-in-law was in the hospital, I felt like I was traveling through a long dark tunnel where the light at the end was always out of my reach.

But once we were able to hit the road, things started to look up. We desperately wanted to get home, so, traveling in our gently used RV, we hit the road as the sun set and drove through the night over the mountain pass just to get out of Utah, finally, and into another state, Wyoming.

It really is true that travelers park at Walmart to sleep. At three in the morning, we pulled into the parking lot between another RV and a big rig for what was left of the night.

The entire experience drained me of energy, joy and hope. Even though I still trusted God, my emotions were harsh and unpredictable with the dark hole of depression threatening to swallow me. But God brought some cheer to my drear when we rolled into an RV park in Kearney, Nebraska.

I was drawn to the park’s little lending library. Maybe I could get lost in choosing a new book to read and if I took one, I’d send them one when I returned home. Instead of picking out a book, what I found was someone’s artwork, neatly packaged in a Ziplock baggie.

I thought it odd to have art mixed in with books until I turned it over to read the backside.

I’d never heard of such a thing as “free art,” but I like the thought behind it. Under normal circumstances, I would not take the art but leave it for someone else more needy. But I truly needed it. It brought me some joy in my darkness. A brighter light in my tunnel. When I look at the art, I am reminded that a stranger was thoughtful enough to bring me kindness when I needed it most.

By the way, there’s a public Facebook Community called Abandoned Art, if you’d like to see examples of free art that people create and find.

To finish the story and get some closure for me, I mailed copies of all my books to the RV hosts with a thank you. I may never meet the person who left the happy little hand-painted picture of birdhouses, but I will never forget how their kindness brought me hope. For that, I am forever grateful.

Writers Need Writers

There are Facebook groups for every cause, or, if you are old-school like me, there are in-person groups, also known as support groups.

When I was first diagnosed with diabetes, I quickly learned I need other diabetics and started a support and education group that met twice a month.

When I first expressed my desire to write, a friend invited me to a writing critique group, where I met my good friend, Michelle Ule.

The group inspired me to attend writing conferences where I learned the craft and met hundreds of writers and others in the business.

The same friend who invited me to the writer group, a few years later started another writing group.

When we moved to Tennessee, I wished I could have taken my writing friends with me.

They helped me make decisions concerning my middle-grade novel series, The Rubber Band, and were very encouraging, inspiring me to keep writing on a regular basis. I missed them terribly and felt I would never find another group.

But God has answered the desire of my heart. I am pleased to have hosted a writing critique group with my friends Sharon Schuller Kiser and Laurie Herlich. We spent nearly four hours talking shop and going over our red-lined submissions.

Sharon Schuller Kiser, Christy Hoss and Laurie Herlich

Every writing group is unique and I count all of my writing experiences as useful and educational, but mostly, I value the relationships that have come from them.

I need my writing friends to keep me going and am thankful for each and every one of them.

Thumbs Up!

Closing my eyes, I can see where I was like it was yesterday.

My fourth-grade class lined up on the staircase, waiting for our teacher’s instructions. The girl next to me pulled up my hand and thrust it under my first-crush’s nose, saying, “Chad, look how fat Christy’s fingers are.”

I’d never paid attention to my fingers before, but sure enough, when I examined them, my thumb was stubby and huge with four matching fingers.

I pulled my hand back in humiliation. Ever since that day I tucked my thumb under my fingers, hoping no one would notice my oddly shaped digits.

They are called “hammer” thumbs, a genetic defect that even my high school biology teacher pointed out. I’m the only female in my family to have inherited them. When asked if I could change anything about my body, I knew the answer instantly.

After moving to California in 1987, I discovered a life-changing miracle: acrylic nails. This discovery transformed my life. I no longer hid my thumbs but became confident enough to untuck them.

Getting my nails done on a regular basis is now an important part of my survival. For example: typing this story goes much faster with longer nails.

On the last day of the Blue Lake Christian Writers Retreat, a sweet young lady politely showed me she had thumbs like mine. I immediately embraced her, laughed and cried as we shared stories of dealing with people’s opinions.

Zariah and I are now ‘thumb’ sisters forever.

So, I inherited a genetic defect, passed down from my daddy. He went to Heaven on Christmas Day of 2020. I miss him terribly but think of him often, especially when I look at my thumbs. He gave me a gift that keeps on giving.

These hammer thumbs will keep typing stories and inspiring others no matter what. For that reason alone, I’ll give a thumbs up.

It’s an Obsession!

Confession time. I am drawn to these things. They seem to find me everywhere I go. The latest is called ‘portable’ because it comes with a lid to enclose and carry it.

I must refrain from purchasing them as I am running out of room to display them.

Sadly, I find them in disarray, broken up for their parts; their old keys recycled into jewelry.

But sometimes I receive them in perfect condition, like this one my sister won at an auction in Minnesota.

Another one added to my collection is housed in a special case. It was a Christmas gift from my sister that had to wait until we were moved before its construction and took three of us over several days to put together.

Perhaps my obsession with these is how the smell of dried-up ink ribbon brings me back to my Daddy’s typewriter that looked much like this one.

It was stored in the entryway closet, and he let me play on it from time to time. Could it be that Daddy’s old college term-paper-typing, no correctional tape machine, inspired a young girl to become a writer?

I’ll save that for a future story.

What about you?

Do you collect typewriters, or have one (or more) from “the olden days” on display or stored in closets? Do you actually use a manual typewriter? Share your favorite typewriter memory in the comments.

 

Dumpster Diving Diva

Growing up in a small Northern Minnesota town, we would often travel 50 miles west to the closest large city to see doctors, an orthodontist and other specialists. My parents loved shopping at K-Mart, having great fun hoping for a good ‘Blue Light Special.’

On the other hand, my young self was more interested in getting an Icee to drink if it was in the budget.

One trip, I picked up a flyer describing what one can acquire with Icee points that are diamond shapes on the sides of the cups. I set my eyes on the giant stuffed Icee Bear. But the cups we could afford only had one point.

My Icee Bear required 1,000 points! Impossible to a young elementary school girl. But I remember literally feeling a large light bulb turn on above my head as I walked past a public ashtray. Sitting in its sand was a discarded large Icee cup with three diamond-shaped points calling my name.

While my parents shopped, I ran through the store raiding every ashtray and trashcan I could find. I could have been labeled an environmentalist as I walked the entire parking lot salvaging every cup I found (yes, even the tire-marked squished ones).

It took a few trips but before I knew it I had enough Icee points to fill ten sheets of one hundred and send off for my bear.

When he arrived in the mail, my sister decided she wanted one. Just when I thought my dumpster diving days were over, I started all over again for the next 1,000 points.

By the way, I never actually dove into a dumpster, but I did dig around in a few public trash cans. Let’s just say that when I really want something, I dive right in!

What’s Your Word?

Every year, I hear it is popular to choose a word to live by for the entire year. I’ve only done this once and because I liked the word so much, I kept it as my word for years. The word was ‘inspire’ and I still like it.

But after a year of major changes with our move to Tennessee bringing me to my knees and causing many tears, I have chosen a new one. It has to do with a personal battle I struggle with.

Like many people, I often scroll through Facebook and see others’ successes. I begin to feel insignificant, like nothing I do matters because I am not a New York Times best-selling author, don’t have gold seal awards on my book covers or have impressive reviews on Amazon.

I confess. I long to be validated and have all those accolades for an impressive writer’s resume.

But are those the reasons for me to write?

In my daily Bible reading, I came across this passage:

Many people say, ‘who will show us better times?’ Let your face smile on us, Lord. You have given me greater joy than those who have abundant harvests of grain and wine. In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.” (Psalm 4:6-8, NLT)

I have to remind myself I write because God has called me to do it. No matter what happens with my writing, I have chosen my word based on my confession and I pray I will always adhere to it.

My word: Humbleness.

Do you have a word for 2023?

If so, what is it? Please share your word in the Comments, and tell me why you chose it.

Tears of Joy for Lola the Rescue Dog

In last week’s blog post I introduced Lola, an approximately 1-year-old border collie/Australian shepherd mix dog I found.

Lola had a sad story, but for now she was happy to be in a warm home, out of the rain and off the street, away from the cars racing dangerously past her.

Unfortunately, my 15 year-old rescue dogs (pictured below) were extremely stressed by her attempts to play and herd them – an instinct found in the kind of dog Lola is.

Aiden, my diabetic alert service dog, just ignored her as a nuisance. Here he is, doing his best to  pretend she doesn’t exist:

When it comes to animals, I love them all, especially dogs. My dream home would be to have hundreds of acres where I could adopt and care for as many dogs as possible and, of course, adopt them to the right homes. There is such a place:

Though my home is big, we don’t have a large yard and it was unfair to keep Lola inside. She learned some skills but needed a better fit for her fur-ever home. We had Lola spayed and vaccinated to make her more adoptable. I asked for prayers and put my request in to God.

While talking about Lola at the chiropractor, a woman with a dog rescue connection overheard me and gave me a contact name. The rescue that took her in vets its prospective adopters rigidly. It all happened within 24 hours – than can only be God answering our prayers! The rescue told us she would be on their website with a different name (Amora) but would most likely be adopted this weekend.

As I hugged Lola and said goodbye, the tears would not stop. She had captured my heart. I’m glad I had her for the time I did. I needed her as much as she needed me.

My New Year’s resolution is fulfilled. Lola will be fit with the perfect home for the rest of her life.

Click here to visit the Sevier County Humane Society, where  Lola (aka, Amora) is currently awaiting adoption.

Finding a Home for a New Furry Friend

Happy 2023!

If you are like the majority of people who make resolutions every New Year, you have already broken at least one of them. This year I have a resolution I want to keep: to find a home for a furry friend.

I was driving home in the rain on a very busy-yet-rural Tennessee road. She was running on the side, ready to dart in front of me. It looked like a rescue video.

Her tail was tucked between her legs, and she was soaking wet and scared. I tossed bits of jerky until she was close enough to slip on a leash. A nearby neighbor filled me in on the dog’s history.

Her name is Lola, and her owner didn’t want her because she belonged to his girlfriend who had just passed away. Lola is approximately a year old, loves to play and is housetrained. I have been able to teach her some of the obedience skills Aiden knows.

My 15-year-old rescue dogs want nothing to do with her. Aiden tolerates her. She is an adorable, Australian shepherd mix, but not a good fit for my fur-family.

If I were in California, there would be dozens of rescue agencies to take her and people wanting to adopt her. But animals are treated differently here – left outside, not fixed and often, running around the neighborhood, making more furry creatures. Rescue agencies are overflowing.

Back to my resolution.

Lola has an appointment to get spayed and vaccinated and after that, hopefully she will find her forever home. But I will have much to say about who gets her.


Find out what happened with Lola in my next post.

Summer Reunions

Christy and Aiden in front of Thief River Falls sign

Christy and Aiden in front of Thief River Falls sign

As school resumes preschool through college, I am anticipating getting into substitute teaching.

I’m also looking back on our road trip to Thief River Falls, Minnesota, for an all- school reunion. I have never been back for any of my class reunions and next year marks 40 years since I graduated. UGH!

This gathering afforded a great opportunity to drag my husband to my hometown to meet some old pals. I had plenty of friends in high school, but most of them graduated before me and I only hung out with two girlfriends in my grade.

Classmates in stadium

I hoped to connect with others from my year and maybe begin as adults. I sat expectantly at my grade level table. I walked around and searched nametags, hoping to find more from my year. I found a neighbor I grew up with.

Christy with neighbor

But as pictures were taken by decade and then singled out into years, our class had a dismal showing of only 11, compared to older classes with enough members to pack a grandstand. The older groups seemed to have stayed in touch, as they were hugging, laughing and having a great time.

The few from ’83 invited my BFF and me to the VFW to hang out and have dinner, but when we arrived, they were nowhere to be found, so we sat with our older friends.

When I got up, who should be sitting behind us in the darkened and noisy room but our classmates. My bubble of hope burst with disappointment. They were just inches away. Some things never change.

Christy and BFF

My BFF reminded me our class never had connections like the ones I was witnessing from the older graduates. Yes, we are adults, but sometimes as the parade of time marches on, there are still others sitting on the sidewalks, watching it pass them by.

Celebrate With Me! ‘My Question for Jesus’

Illustration from My Question for Jesus

If you could ask Jesus only one question, what would it be?

As an adult I can’t think of just one question I would ask. However, the little girl in my latest book knows exactly what she wants to ask Jesus.

How it began…

Whenever I tell the story of how this picture book came about, I feel the presence of God fill me. At a writing conference ten years ago, this story was an idea pitched to a Focus on the Family editor who said the words every writer loves to hear, “Send it in. I want it.”

It was published in Clubhouse Jr Magazine in 2013 with full-color illustrations.

My Question for Jesus in Clubhouse Jr

The gift of a talented illustrator

In May of 2021 at a women’s conference, I read the story on talent show night and received a standing ovation. Afterwards, an artist, Kerstin Fletcher, approached me and said she wanted to illustrate my book.

Since publication in the magazine, I’d always dreamed of it becoming a picture book and in God’s perfect timing, here it is:

My Question for Jesus, by Christy Hoss

How were the illustrations done?

Illustration from My Question for Jesus

The illustrations are made with watercolor, one of my favorite art mediums, and then converted to digital files. Kerstin Fletcher painstakingly spent hours developing them.

To get the initial ideas, she gathered church attenders and they posed in costume by her direction. Can you imagine young children standing still for long periods of time so Kerstin could get the pose she is looking for?

Illustration from My Question for Jesus

I’m so grateful for her talent that makes this “book of my heart” come to life, beyond my greatest dreams.

My Question for Jesus is available on Amazon in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle versions.