The first inspiration for this novel came when my beloved grandmother took me as a young girl to the Memorial Arts Museum. I was heartbroken to see a stone-engraved list of names of Atlantans who perished in a plane crash. Over the years, the tragedy continued to haunt and inspire me.
This story begins with that tragic event, but my inspiration also came from my upbringing in an affluent neighborhood and the struggles I had as I tried to understand my faith in Christ within the context of wealth and poverty and prejudice.
She was quite an amazing woman.
We were jogging now, I with great difficulty, and had reached the administration building of Wellington. It housed all the offices on the main floor, as well as the assembly hall, with the art classrooms and the drama rooms upstairs. Normally stately looking, with its red brick and thick white columns, the building struck me as spooky at midnight. Or maybe it was just a combination of Mr. Poe’s influence and my overactive imagination that made the fluted columns look like strange, sturdy ghosts, ready for some ghoulish battle. Behind the administration building was a large open terrace, with immaculate gardens surrounding a bronze statue of the founder of the school, Mr. Augustus Parks Emerson Wellington. We called him APE for short.
“There’s the ape-man,” Rachel giggled. “You look in his mouth. I’ll check his hands.”
The APE had been sculpted by one of Atlanta’s finest sculptors, and everyone who had known Mr. Wellington said it looked just like him—he was long since dead. The girls at Wellington found great merriment in the way his mouth was open and you could literally put your hand, well, at least three fingers, inside. Which is precisely what I did. But there was nothing there.
The events of Mardi Gras in The Swan House are very similar to the wonderful Mardi Gras celebrations at my high school, where I wrote the skits for my class each year along with two other wonderful writer classmates.
Above-a page from my scrapbook. Mardi Gras-1977-My Junior Year at Westminster. The theme was Baskin Robbins Ice Cream. We Juniors chose a new (but actual) flavor, Champagne Grape Ice, I wrote the skit about it, and then oh, la, la, the faculty got all upset about the use of Champagne in a skit with under-age kids. I had to rewrite the whole skit so that no one drank champagne, we just ‘bubbled like champagne.’ Little did I know that I’d be rewriting scenes in one of my novels years later because of the same issue!
And of course, the real Swan House itself was a huge inspiration for the novel.
I am fortunate to own several beautiful paintings of the real Swan House.
And here’s the house that was the inspiration for the Middleton home in the novel. It really is next door to the Swan House.
Over the years, I’ve been privileged to speak to countless book clubs at The Swan Coach House Restaurant while the readers (and myself) enjoyed a delicious luncheon. Many book clubs come for lunch and then take a tour of the Swan House, which is part of the Atlanta History Center.
Fun fact: I was a waitress at The Swan Coach House during the summer after my Freshman year in college. Here’s part of a scene near the end of Chapter 1 in The Dwelling Place, the sequel to The Swan House, which describes (with no embellishment) the true and humiliating event that happened to me on my first day as a waitress there.
Mary Swan’s daughter, Ellie, is speaking:
“My first day on the job, I spilled six strawberry daiquiris! It’s a wonder they kept me.”
I could still see myself, awkward in my new polyester uniform, bending too far over the table, desperately trying to balance the tray of iced drinks in my left hand. Suddenly the frosted glasses began slipping, and before I could grab the tray with my right hand, they crashed onto the table and spilled all over the startled guests.
I am so grateful for The Swan Coach House Gift Shop which carries many of my novels and where I often do signings, inside when it’s chilly and outside on warmer days.
As you read the story, you’ll also be introduced to other historic spots in Atlanta like The Fox Theater…
The One and Only Varsity…
…and Oakland Cemetery
Because of the extended Author’s Note and FAQs in the new edition, I needed to trim a few scenes in the novel. You can find those scenes in their entirety right here:
From Chapter 3-I shortened the article from Newsweek.
Our LIFE magazine showed up about two weeks after the crash. On the front cover was this great picture of Natalie Wood, who was kind of like my heroine. She was absolutely gorgeous on the cover, her black hair tousled and windblown, her dark eyes looking up, a wide smile on her face displaying her perfectly straight white teeth. Sometimes I’d fantasize that I might look a tiny bit like Natalie Wood, although there was not one iota of resemblance—she was so stunning and buxom, and I was so plain and flat-chested.
But then I saw the headline in the upper right-hand corner of the cover: “ATLANTA: A City’s Time of Sorrow and the Enduring Art Legacy the Plane Victims Left Behind.” I flipped through the pages until I found the article. There were pictures of the paintings that various victims had donated to the museum, and then a picture of a bunch of mourners kneeling outside the Cathedral of Christ the King for the memorial service held there. They were kneeling outside because there was no more room inside. Another picture showed a roomful of women, members of the Atlanta Junior League, standing with their heads bowed in the ballroom of the Piedmont Driving Club, grieving the loss of thirteen of their members. Mama was one of them.
There were shots of the artwork in some of the victims’ bedrooms and an article about the different artists. There was a picture of a guard standing outside the museum, which was closed out of respect for the dead, with several wreaths of flowers in front of the door. And there was a picture of a self-portrait Mama had been painting, taken right in her studio. I remembered the day the reporters had come, invading our privacy for the benefit of the public.
I read every word about the crash written in LIFE, and when Newsweek came a few days later, I read it too. Maybe it was some kind of masochistic pleasure, but I don’t think so. It was just me, Mary Swan Middleton, trying to make sense of something that could never be explained.
For days after the crash, the whole city of Atlanta seemed to be in mourning. She had lost over a hundred of her most prominent citizens, people whose lives had been spent investing in the culture of Atlanta. The churches were full that Sunday morning on the third of June when the news of the horrible tragedy was announced. The president of the Atlanta Arts Center was a victim along with his wife.
“It is doubtful that any American city ever lost at a single stroke so much of its fineness,” said editor Eugene Patterson of the Atlanta Constitution. Most of the victims were members of the tightly knit cadre of old families which makes up the motive force behind much of this Southern city’s financial and cultural growth. They were the money raisers, the civic project backers, the city leaders who by letting it be known that they favored peaceful desegregation were responsible for Atlanta’s orderly handling of that most difficult problem.
Of the dead, six were board members of the Atlanta Art Association; thirty were members of the Piedmont Driving Club; twenty-one were members of the Capital City Club; thirteen were Junior Leaguers, of which two were former presidents. As editor Jack Spalding of the Atlanta Journal said, “They were all involved in some sort of civic work.”
“These people were of the type the city can ill afford to lose, the type who made Atlanta what it is,” said ex-Mayor Hartsfield. “This is the greatest tragedy to strike Atlanta since the Civil War.”
As the week wore on, messages of sympathy arrived from President Kennedy, de Gaulle, the Pope, and many others. Homes in the Buckhead section were garbed in mourning wreaths, neighbors brought over food, and friends and relatives came to get the clothes and belongings of many of the thirty-one children orphaned by the disaster.
At Orly Field, Mayor Allen grimly inspected the wreckage and the partly burned guidebooks, billfolds, traveler’s checks, souvenir ashtrays, menus, gold slippers, blackened opera glasses, charred cameras, and antique silverware. He picked up a charred vacation brochure (“Your trip will be carefree and unforgettable”), and it crumbled in his hand.
After a trip to the morgue, the gray-haired mayor said wearily, “I had known most of these people since childhood, but I wasn’t able to recognize any of them.” The grim task of identification was left to experts, and Allen returned to Atlanta to comfort the bereaved.
On Friday, the Art Association executive committee decided to raise $1.5 million from donations for the purpose of building a new art school as a memorial to the victims. This, they believed, was much more meaningful than eulogies. Dr. Reginald Poland, director of the Art Association Museum, put it about as simply as one could, “Anything you say would be inadequate.”
That was how the article in Newsweek ended, and that was how it should have. There was nothing else to say, no possible way to express the personal and communal grief that Atlanta was living. I was glad that the rest of America could know it, and yet I didn’t want them to know too much, because, more than anything else, I thought that no one outside of those of us who were living this catastrophe could really understand it. And I didn’t want it trivialized.
If I had been talented like Mama, I would have painted something to show how I felt. But every time I got my sketchbook out, all I could do was scribble horrible black lines all over the page. And day by day, I fell into a darker mood and a cycle of not eating and crying and sleeping and sitting on my bed just staring out the window.
From Chapter 19
On Thanksgiving Day we all went to Grandmom and Granddad Middleton’s house for dinner. Their house was on Habersham Road, only a five-minute car ride away. We liked their house because it had a big basement that they’d transformed into a game room. It had a pool table and a ping-pong table, and along one wall there were shelves behind glass that were filled with all of Granddad’s trophies from his high school and college days—the days when he’d been a sports hero. Sometimes after a meal, Jimmy and I would escape to the game room and admire the trophies while the adults sipped their after-dinner drinks.
Tradition stood strong on Thanksgiving Day. On Christmas and Easter and the Fourth of July, the Middleton clan sometimes split up to be with their respective spouses’ families. But not on Thanksgiving. That was the day when every Middleton was expected to be present, from the oldest to the youngest. This year, with Mama gone and Daddy’s youngest sister just having had her third baby, the number went unchanged from last year, and that number was twenty-eight immediate family members. Grandmom didn’t mind a bit if other families showed up to join in the fun, as long as she had all her children and grandchildren around. Sometimes, Mama’s parents came up from Griffin to join us.
The house was already brimming with children, teens, and adults when Mamie and Papy arrived. I could tell that Mamie had been drinking. She leaned heavily into Papy, and when she kissed me on the cheeks, I could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her bright red lipstick was smeared on, and her eyes looked bright and glassy. Papy supported her under the arm.
“Ma chère Marie Cygne.” She always broke into French when she’d been drinking and started calling me the French equivalent of Mary Swan. “Pourquoi n’es-tu pas venue me voir?”
Her words stung me. Why hadn’t I been to Griffin to visit this fall? Mama had been their only child. That big plantation must have seemed terribly lonely since Mama’s death.
“We’ll be coming for Christmas, Evelyne,” Daddy said, rescuing me and giving his mother-in-law the necessary kiss on each cheek. “Ian, so good to see you. Come on in. I believe you remember my sister, Lisa, and her husband, Jeff.”
And so I escaped into the kitchen. It wasn’t my usual spot on Thanksgiving Day. Normally I played chase with my younger cousins and then went out by the pool and talked with the older ones. We grandchildren ranged in age from Jackie, who at twenty was in her junior year at Hollins, to baby Eddie, who was just sitting up at six months. Eddie was actually Franklin Edward Middleton VI, named after Daddy’s oldest brother, who was named after Granddad who was named after my great-granddad. Somehow there had been six of them. This new baby had been dubbed Eddie. In that way, when Grandmom spoke of Frank or Frankie or Franklin, only three men would qualify, making things a little less confusing.
I really didn’t see my cousins very often, maybe two or three times a year, and I never felt any tight bonds with them. Still we managed to have fun at the family get-togethers. It was Jackie who had given me my first cigarette to smoke, years ago behind the changing rooms at Grandmom’s swimming pool. But today I didn’t feel like chasing toddlers or chatting with the teenagers.
“Mary Swan, go on out with everyone, honey,” Grandmom said as I tried to find something to do in the kitchen.
I pretended I didn’t hear her, and she didn’t insist. I needed the shelter of the warm kitchen with the delicious aromas of baking turkey and biscuits and apple cake engulfing me and protecting me from the reality around, the reality that everyone was present except Mama. I was thankful for my experience at Grant Park too. Somehow having spent so many hours in the kitchen in the basement of Mt. Carmel made me feel more comfortable in Grandmom’s kitchen. That Thanksgiving Day, I found real pleasure in helping Grandmom, the master hostess, arrange the food on her dining room table. The china and silver and white linen napkins were stacked at one end of the table. The crystal glasses and the ice water and tea in their silver pitchers and the wine in its crystal decanter were all set on the long cherry sideboard.
I began to carry out the food. As with every Thanksgiving, each family brought some Southern specialty to add to the feast. Soon the table was laden with the turkey, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the cranberry sauce, the delicious pâté that Mamie always brought, fresh from her farm, the artichoke hearts, the blueberry muffins, the sweet potatoes with the marshmallows melted on top, the green bean casserole, the fresh turnip greens, Grandmom’s homemade rolls that Jimmy loved, and my personal favorite, her corn soufflé. When it was all in place and piping hot, we stood around the table, all forty-two of us, and held hands while Granddad asked the blessing.
By the time the pies—pumpkin, chess, and apple—were laid out, we were all recovering in various corners of the vast house. Uncle Tim, completely drunk, had launched into the same story he told every Thanksgiving, and the house was filled with merry chatter. The day was bright and chilly, and from the windows of Grandmom’s living room, I could see some of the cousins playing in the yard with Muffin, who loved to join us at my grandparents’ house. The red mutt, who was mostly hunting dog, ran in wild circles around the children, his rust-colored fur blending nicely with the fallen leaves. Several girls chased him, squealing, while Jimmy tossed a football with two boys around his age.
I made polite conversation until I found my chance to kiss both sets of grandparents goodbye, slip outside, and walk from Habersham Road to Andrews Drive, admiring the stately homes all along the way that I knew so well. Once at my house, I went upstairs to the atelier and closed the door firmly behind me. I stood before my easel, looking out the windows, and I painted. My stomach was full and I felt sleepy, so my strokes were not crisp like the autumn air, but lethargic, slow, as if I was clumsily trying to thread a needle with my paintbrush. But I kept painting because over the past weeks, experience had proved that just the discipline of making myself paint was invaluable. And today I was concentrating on a very small part of the canvas, a figure in the background, barely seen, fuzzy like my mood, the figure of a black boy kneeling in a field.
There were few things that brought the city of Atlanta to its feet in those days like the football rivalry between Georgia Tech and the University of Georgia. The Georgia Tech vs. Georgia football game on the Saturday after Thanksgiving was as much of a tradition as Thanksgiving itself. This year it took place in nearby Athens, at the University of Georgia’s Sanford Stadium. Granddad had eight tickets, so I’d invited Robbie, and Jimmy had invited Andy, and Daddy had, unfortunately, invited Amanda Hunnicutt.
By the time we got to our seats, the crowd of students for both teams had already had a lot to drink and were bellowing out their rival school songs. Being on Bulldog territory, Tech fans were by far outnumbered. But our minority crowd sang with as much gusto as the Georgia Bulldogs: “I’m a Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech!”
And from the Georgia camp came their song to the tune of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”: “Glory, glory to ole Georgia!”
Of course in our family, with Granddad having played for Tech’s illustrious football team, we’d heard a hundred stories of the rivalry and especially the one about when Granddad was the hero of the game. But since Robbie didn’t know the story, Granddad launched into it again.
“The game was being played on Georgia Tech’s Grant Field. It had snowed at the beginning, and a freezing drizzle settled in for the rest of the game. But the loyal fans stayed. Georgia had a strong team that year, and Tech had a few star rookies but lacked experience.”
“Granddad was one of the star rookies,” Jimmy added.
“Well, now, Georgia jumped to a fourteen-zero lead. Tech got two field goals, making it fourteen to six.”
“It was Granddad who kicked the field goals!” Jimmy persisted.
“Georgia scored again but missed the extra point. At halftime it was twenty to six. We got quite a talking-to by our coach at halftime.”
“Tell them who your coach was, Granddad.” That was Jimmy again.
“Robbie, our coach was none other than John W. Heisman. You ever heard of him?”
“Sure, Mr. Middleton. He’s the man the Heisman Trophy is named after.”
“Exactly. Well, he coached at Tech, boy. And he coached hard. Cut our water allowance during the week before the game and had us eating lots of meat, eating it nearly raw. Anyway, in the third quarter, we rallied with a touchdown and made it twenty to thirteen.”
“Excuse me, sir? Did you score the touchdown?”
“Well, yes, I did, son. I did score that one. And we managed to hold Georgia on their next two possessions. But with three minutes left, we were still down by seven points.”
Jimmy could not contain his enthusiasm. “Then Granddad came in as end, and the quarterback hid the ball on his hip and faked to the tailback. In the meantime, Granddad was streaking down the field, wide open, and the quarterback lofted a pass to him and it sailed into Granddad’s hands and he scored!”
Granddad looked more than content. “Of course, with the extra point, that made the score twenty to twenty. Only a minute and a half left. Georgia fumbled the ball and Tech recovered it. Got it down to the thirty-five. It was fourth down . . .”
“And in came Granddad. You guessed it! He kicked the goal and scored. All the Tech fans started flooding onto the field while there was still fifteen seconds on the clock!”
Robbie, always polite, had followed the whole story with seeming interest. “That’s really impressive, Mr. Middleton!” he commented enthusiastically. And with the ritual of Granddad’s moment of glory behind us, we settled in to watch this game, which in the end proved no less exciting.
All of the fans were already in a frenzy of expectation because the week before, Tech had upset Alabama, and Georgia had upset Auburn. They were hoping for something even more explosive in this game. Tech kicked off. Bobby Dodd was the coach, and Billy Lothridge from Gainesville was the quarterback. He scored the first touchdown, and everyone started chanting, “Mr. Cool, Mr. Everything!”
I was huddled as close as possible to Robbie, covered by blankets and protected from the wet seat by a cushion. Our only problem was the drunken man sitting behind me would cuss and stomp when Tech made a bad play, and half of his bottle of bourbon had splashed onto me. But Robbie and I just laughed and laughed, and Jimmy and Andy ate hot dogs, and Daddy and Amanda screamed their hearts out. And Granddad let loose a string of curse words when Georgia scored first, and Grandmom just laughed and said, “Frank! Please calm down!” and the men sipped their flasks of whiskey and kept warm that way.
Until the second half. By that time, the Tech fan behind us had drunk himself into oblivion. He stopped one of the young black boys who was coming down the concrete stairs with a tray full of peanuts around his neck. “Whatcha selling, black boy?”
I turned around immediately and glared at the man, but he didn’t notice.
The boy looked nervous. “Peanuts, sir.”
“Well, go on. Give me a bag.” He thrust out a fat red hand.
“Yessir. Heah ya go. That’ll be fifteen cents, sir.”
“Fifteen cents! That’s highway robbery. I ain’t givin’ you no fifteen cents.”
Fear sprang into the boy’s eyes. “Well, sir, that’s the price.”
The big drunk man stood up and towered over the boy. “I told ya, boy, I ain’t got no fifteen cents for peanuts.”
By then everyone around the man had stopped watching the game and was staring at the scene going on around them.
“Robbie, make him quit!” I whispered. “He’s awful. He’s gonna hurt that kid.”
But before Robbie or Daddy or anyone else could do a thing, the drunk man grabbed the boy by his jacket and shook him hard, so hard that bags of peanuts tumbled off his tray.
Granddad stood up then. “That’s enough, mister. You’d best be going.” I guess the fact that Granddad was every bit as big as the drunken man, combined with the eyes of a dozen people on him, made him reconsider. With a killing look, the man grabbed his flask and his blanket and left the stadium. The boy had laid down his tray on the steps and was frantically trying to salvage a few bags of peanuts off the ground.
Granddad motioned to him. “Come here, boy.” He handed him several dollars and said, “Don’t you worry about it, ya hear? Everything is going to be okay.”
The boy muttered a “Thank ya, sir,” and continued down the steps, calling out, a little less enthusiastically, “Peanuts! Get yore peanuts heah. Fifteen cents.”
Tech won the game easily, thirty-seven to six, and by the time we left Sanford Stadium all of us were hoarse from screaming, chilled to the bone but good-humored. But, of course, I couldn’t wipe out the image of the boy selling peanuts. That scene as well as several others kept playing in my mind on the way home. And I remembered something Carl had told me once: “You whites think that handing these guys a wad of bills will help. But it’s not the money. It’s our dignity that matters. It’s not pity we want. It’s equality. It’s not having to cower to another man and keep your mouth shut just because his skin is white and yours is black.”
From Chapter 20-I deleted some of the lengthy Bible verses in the new edition, so I’ve copied the entire scene with those included here.
“I’ve been reading this book”—I indicated a Bible on her desk—“just like you said, and I have questions. Lots of questions.”
Miss Abigail set down a letter she was holding in her hand and leaned back in her chair, an amused expression on her face. “Fire away, Mary Swan.”
“Well, first of all, I don’t think the truth is going to make me free. The truth is just confusing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the things I’m finding out about my mother. It’s the truth, but it’s awful. And ugly things about my school, my side of town, like how much prejudice there is not only toward the blacks, but toward Jews too.”
“And what have you read about this in the Bible?”
“Well, I read chapter eight of John’s gospel, like you said.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t get it.”
“No, I see that. Mary Swan, you can make the Bible say what you want. Lots of people twist the meaning to support whatever they believe. So you have to be careful when you read the Scriptures. Ever heard of hermeneutics?”
“Never.”
“Well, it’s a big word that means there’s a way to study Scripture. You can’t just grab a verse and use it to defend something without looking at what was going on in the verses preceding and following it, without looking at the kind of literature it is—poetry or proverbs or history or letters.”
I wrinkled my brow, confused.
“Here, let me give you an example.” She flipped through her Bible until she found what she was looking for. “Look, here it says Judas ‘went and hanged himself.’” Then she turned to another part of the Bible and read, “Go, and do thou likewise.”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows a little. “Okay, I get it.”
“What I’m trying to show you is that you’re taking Jesus’ words about truth and fitting them into your situation. But you need to understand that Jesus was talking about eternal truth. God’s truth. The truth of who He is and who He wants to be in your life—that truth will make you free.”
“Oh,” I said, brightening. “That makes sense. Just the way when you’re studying poetry or literature, you have to be careful not to read too much into what the author said. You have to look at the time the author lived and his culture and that culture’s traditions and morals to understand the book’s message.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmmm. Okay. But I have another question. You’ve had so many bad things happen in your life. It doesn’t seem fair, when all you want is to do God’s work. Why has it turned out that way for you?”
“God’s work is never easy. He tells us we’ll be hurt when we work for Him, that hardships will come our way.”
“Then why do you want to do it?”
“That’s part of the supernatural beauty of the gospel. What Jesus gives us is so much better than all the terrible things that can happen here on earth that you almost consider it a privilege to suffer for Him. The Bible is full of stories of men and women of faith and courage. They didn’t get some great reward here on earth, but they knew they would get one afterward.”
“So what is the reward?”
“Eternal life. Eternity with Jesus. Seated around His throne, singing praises.”
“Oh.” My face fell. “Sounds a little boring. You’re gonna be singing forever and ever? That’s all?”
That made Miss Abigail give a full belly laugh, which pleased me. “Mary Swan Middleton, if your middle name isn’t honest, I don’t know what it is! Heaven is a place of eternal joy. God himself promises no more tears, no more sorrow. Sounds pretty good to me.”
“So you’re saying that all the awful junk that you have to endure down here will be worth it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. And there’s something else very important you need to know, Mary Swan. All the ‘awful junk,’ as you call it, can either just sit there as awful junk, or it can be used by God to do something good, very good, in our heart.”
“Like what?”
“Like making us more like Jesus. The Bible is clear, Mary Swan. It says we all will suffer, and it says if we seek to live for the Lord, we’ll be persecuted for our faith. But it’s also very clear that God never wastes our pain. And He never leaves us alone.”
Then she closed her eyes and smiled, as if she was seeing Jesus on a throne right then, and she started reciting something from memory. “‘For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’ Second Corinthians, chapter four, verses sixteen through eighteen.”
“That’s beautiful and interesting and hard to understand,” I said, momentarily caught up in her reverence. “I like it.”
“It’s just one of many verses that adorn my bulletin board.” She let her hand sweep through the air, indicating the large bulletin board that hung above her desk. It looked a little bit like her refrigerator—filled with old curling pictures on it, snips of paper with addresses, and lots of little white cards with Bible verses written on them.
I inspected the board more closely and read another verse. “‘Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.’ Second Corinthians chapter one, verses three through five.” I shrugged. “Lots of comfort in that verse, seems like.”
“Yes.” Miss Abigail beamed. “Our suffering will be used by God to help someone else who is suffering. Never wasted, Mary Swan. Just remember, it’s never wasted. And look at that one—James chapter one, verses two through four.”
I read the scribbled words, “‘My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into diverse temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.’”
She opened her eyes, those perfectly plain brown eyes, and leaned forward. “God’s Word is incredibly rich. His Bible provides us with all we need to know to live in this hard, hard world, Mary Swan. The more you get to know the Bible, the more you’ll find what Scripture calls a ‘peace which passeth all understanding.’”
My mind was too full of ideas to answer her right then. Something about the way she was explaining things to me made sense. I was thinking that if I could memorize a bunch of poems for school, it probably would be a cinch to memorize some of those Bible verses. I scanned the bulletin board again. One picture, curling at the corners, showed Carl and Mike and James and Puddin’. Carl was about Jimmy’s age in the photo and Puddin’ only a toddler. My throat went dry, and I felt tears prickling my eyes. There were others photos of this family, school pictures that showed them toothless and grinning. As my eyes traveled across the large bulletin board, I let them suddenly rest on a slip of paper tacked up beside her Bible verses.
I pointed to the paper. “Is this from the Bible?”
She got her sad smile again and said, “No, but it’s one of my favorite poems. A blind missionary wrote it, Amy Carmichael, a woman who knew great suffering, a woman who served God by rescuing Indian girls from temple prostitution.”
I walked over to it and read the faded writing out loud:
“No wound. No scar?
Yet as the Master shall the servant be,
And pierced are the feet that follow Me.
But thine are whole; can he have followed far
Who has no wound, nor scar?”
Tears suddenly filled my eyes. “That is beautiful,” I whispered.
“Yes. Isn’t it?”
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Miss Abigail.”
“My pleasure, Mary Swan. Any time.”
I left her office, deeply moved. This was something so revolutionary to me that my head was reeling. I had tears falling down my cheeks, and instead of hearing “Song of the Chattahoochee” or “Little Orphant Annie” or “The Charge of the Light Brigade” in my mind, all I could hear was one phrase: “Can he have followed far who has no wound, no scar?”
We’re coming in under the wire this year with our Happy New Year’s wishes. For all of you Americans, remember that the French give each other permission to wish ‘Bonne Annee’ right up until the end of January./ Nous arrivons juste à temps cette année pour vous présenter nos vœux de bonne année. Pour tous les américains, n’oubliez pas que les français se souhaitent « Bonne Année » jusqu’à la fin du mois de janvier.
Our big news is that on December 31, 2025, we retired from One Collective after 43 years. We are so grateful for these decades with our mission./ La grande nouvelle, c’est que le 31 décembre 2025, nous avons pris notre retraite de One Collective après 43 ans. Nous sommes très reconnaissants pour toutes ces décennies au sein de One Collective.
So starting now, please use our new email addresses found at the end of this letter./ À partir de maintenant, veuillez utiliser nos nouvelles adresses électroniques indiquées à la fin de cette lettre.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Come on a photo tour of 2025 with Paul and me…/ Mais je m’avance un peu trop vite. Venez faire un tour en photos de l’année 2025 avec Paul et moi…
January/ Janvier
On New Year’s Day we headed to Kentucky for a few wonderful days with Paul’s siblings and their spouses./ Le jour de l’An, nous sommes partis dans le Kentucky pour passer quelques jours merveilleux avec les frères et sœurs de Paul et leurs conjoints.
February/ février
March/ mars
March-April in France/ mars-avril en France
My novella, Waiting for Peter, is published in French. Hooray! It’s been a desire of mine for many years to have my novels available in French. So it was very exciting to be able to put ‘Peter’ in the hands of French readers. You can order your copy below./ Ma nouvelle, Waiting for Peter, est publiée en français: En Attendant Peter. Hourra ! Cela fait des années que je souhaite que mes romans soient disponibles en français. J’étais donc très enthousiaste à l’idée de pouvoir mettre « Peter » entre les mains des lecteurs français. Vous pouvez en commander un ci-dessous.
En Attendant Peter on Amazon.com
En Attendant Peter on Amazon.fr
Spring flowers bring joy./ Les fleurs printanières apportent de la joie.
May/ mai
June/ juin
Lots of events for the release of my novel, From the Valley We Rise, which takes place in Sisteron, France during the Allied invasion of Provence, August, 1944./ De nombreux événements sont organisés pour la sortie de mon roman, From the Valley We Rise, qui se déroule à Sisteron, en France, pendant le débarquement allié en Provence, en août 1944.
A reunion with the alumni from the school in Brazil where Paul’s parents were directors, 1969-1980./ Une réunion avec les anciens élèves de l’école au Brésil où les parents de Paul ont été directeurs, de 1969 à 1980.
July/ juillet
We take our oldest three grandkids to Paris and then the rest of the family joins us in Lyon./ Nous emmenons nos trois petits-enfants les plus âgés à Paris, puis le reste de la famille nous rejoint à Lyon.
August/ août
The grands in France, each holding a copy of the novel dedicated to them./ Les petits-enfants en France, chacun tenant un exemplaire du roman qui leur est dédié.
September/ septembre
A book tour in the beautiful Netherlands./ Une tournée promotionnelle dans les magnifiques Pays-Bas.
A retreat in Indiana with our beloved pastoral care team at One Collective./ Une retraite dans l’Indiana avec notre équipe pastorale bien-aimée de One Collective.
October/ octobre
Blackerries and tea parties with the grandkids in Georgia./ Mûres et goûters avec les petits-enfants en Géorgie
November/ novembre
December/ décembre
January 2026/ janvier 2026
And we woke up to snow this morning!/ Et nous nous sommes réveillés sous la neige ce matin !
Even though we’ve retired from One Collective, we are not retiring from France. We will continue to spend half the year in the US and half the year in France./ Même si nous avons pris notre retraite de One Collective, nous ne quittons pas la France. Nous continuerons à passer la moitié de l’année aux États-Unis et l’autre moitié en France.
We are so thankful for each of you, no matter where you live on God’s green earth!/ Nous sommes très reconnaissants envers chacun d’entre vous, où que vous viviez sur cette belle planète !
These verses have been important to us these past months in the midst of all the ups and downs of life. So much is uncertain but this remains true./ Ces versets ont été importants pour nous ces derniers mois, au milieu des hauts et des bas de la vie. Tant de choses sont incertaines, mais cela reste vrai.
“My soul, wait in silence for God alone, For my hope is from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, My refuge; I will not be shaken. My salvation and my glory rest on God; The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God. Trust in Him at all times, you people; Pour out your hearts before Him; God is a refuge for us.” Psalm 62: 5-8
« Mon âme, fais silence devant Dieu seul! Car de lui vient mon espérance. Oui, c’est lui mon rocher et mon salut, Ma forteresse ; je ne chancellerai pas. Sur Dieu reposent mon salut et ma gloire ; Le rocher de ma force, mon refuge est en Dieu. Confiez-vous en lui en tout temps, peuple ; épanchez vos cœurs en sa présence ! Dieu est notre refuge. » Psaume 62 vv. 5-8
With much love,
Elizabeth and Paul
New emails:
paulmusser58@gmail.com
elizabethmusser1960@gmail.com
Well, maybe not the very last letter ever, but this will be our last official prayer letter that we send out as missionary workers with One Collective. We’ve had the privilege of sending out these letters to our faithful prayer partners for 43 years. Whew.
But as of December 31, 2025 we will no longer be employees with One Collective. That feels big. And as a gal who likes to write, I have so much I want to say to you. But in the end, I think it can be summed up in one word: MERCI!
MERCI
Merci, Lord Jesus, for Your saving grace, for giving us a desire to leave our home country to share Your love and grace in France. Merci for the way You have provided and kept us during all these years. We have story after story of Your great care and our joy at watching You at work first in our lives and then in the lives of so many others.
And then Merci to YOU, our dear prayer partners, for investing in our lives, many of you for decades. As we have said throughout those decades, your prayers to our mighty God on our behalf are what has allowed us to continue our ministries throughout all the ups and downs, challenges, heartaches, joys, and victories of these years.
Paul’s Reflections:
We’re nearing a finish line, and it’s now in sight! This is an exciting time to be tying up loose ends, to seek to listen even more intentionally to God’s leading, to dream about next steps and yet to stay in the present! We’ve asked many friends to pray for us during this time of transition, and are confident God will speak into our story in ways that enable us to continue serving Him, even if it looks different ‘on the other side of work’. You perhaps noticed I wrote “A finish line” and did not say “THE finish line”… That one awaits us some unknown day in the future, when we’ll stand before the Lord face to face! This one is more like finishing a chapter in a good mystery novel. You want to keep going to see what’s next!😁
This fall we’re continuing our work with One Collective, facilitating transitions, encouraging our teammates as they pick up our load, and making ourselves available to the organization in whatever ways we can be useful.
Special Visits
These past months have provided us with extra opportunities to connect in meaningful ways with family, supporters, teammates and friends on both sides of the Atlantic. In July we had the joy of bringing our three oldest grandkids back to France with us, spending three days in Paris before heading to Lyon where Andrew, Lacy and the two little girls joined us for two weeks.
August 31 was our 40th anniversary, and we invited about 60 friends to stop by our house on a sunny Sunday afternoon to celebrate with us. It was precious to see friends come together, to hear their encouraging words, to celebrate God’s faithfulness over the years!
The Global Member Care Team
September gave us the long-awaited opportunity to gather with our Member Care team at a large Air BnB in the quaint little town of Nashville, IN. This 4 day retreat had been 18 months in the making, since we live all over the place and it’s challenging to coordinate all our schedules. Only one member couldn’t make it, and the rest of us dove into sharing our lives together through walks, meals, meetings and trainings, and especially standing around the large kitchen during any free time we had! Watching this team’s cohesiveness and commitment to caring for workers (and one another) was really encouraging and rewarding. We see again that we’re stepping back from a group that’s very healthy and engaged with the Lord. What a blessing God allowed us to enjoy!
The Future
Although our work as employees with One Collective is ending, our experience in overseas work and in providing pastoral care for global workers will enable us to offer periodic volunteer help in the future with One Collective.
But for a good part of 2026, our priority will be to step away from previous commitments, take a deep breath and REST. We know our physical bodies are tired. We also think our souls could use some rest, some unhurried time to wait on the Lord, listen to Him, and discern His direction for the next season. He has been faithful to guide us through the past many years. We have no doubt He will lead us into exciting new opportunities IF we take the time to seek Him first BEFORE dashing ahead into the ‘next thing’.
We greatly value your prayers that we will finish well at the end of the year and indeed guard this time in 2026 to make space to debrief these many years of ministry, seek wisdom from wise counselors, and listen to the Lord.
Before this can happen for me, Elizabeth, I have a novel to complete. No, I am not retiring from my writing ministry. I would also value your prayers for space in my head (and on the computer) to finish this story due at the end of March, 2026. If you would like to receive bi-monthly updates about my writing life, you can join that mailing list here.
In Case You Have a Few Questions:
<> Does this mean you’re done in France?
- Absolutely not! We still consider France as a home, and intend to continue dividing our time between the two countries, occupying ourselves as God leads us.
<> So, how will you spend your time abroad?
- That’s part of the reason for a period of discernment… We know we’ll continue to invest in the community of believers around us, but if God has anything else in particular for us – we trust He’ll open that door in due time.
<> What about financial support during the transition?
- Those of you who are financial partners with us will receive further information in the coming weeks.
<> When will you make that final decision about relocating full time back to the States?
- We’re confident God will make that clear to us in His perfect timing
<> Are you finished with mission work?
- One Collective will welcome us to do some volunteer work down the road, but we have no details at this time. While it will no longer be our employment, we trust God will continue to use the gifts He’s given us whether at home or abroad.
<> How can we keep in contact with you and will you send any more updates? You said this was your last letter (sort of)?
- We will be sending out our annual New Year’s Letter in January, 2026, and in it we will include our new email addresses. In the future we will occasionally send an update on our lives along with a few prayer requests. And we would love to hear from you and receive your Christmas cards if you send one out. Our home address is below.
KEPT
We were honored to be featured on One Collective’s website with an article highlighting the lessons we’ve learned from our years on the mission field. You can read that article here.
Across the Years
And what would a letter from us be like without a few parting photos from our years of ministry with One Collective?
These two verses have been a source of guidance and encouragement for us throughout these years.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6
“I will lead the blind by a way they do not know. In paths they do not know I will guide them. I will make darkness into light before them and rugged places into plains. These are the things I will do and I will not leave them undone.” Isaiah 42:16
Much love to you all and once again, MERCI! And may you have a lovely Thanksgiving celebration.
Elizabeth and Paul
P.S. Here’s a Christmas essay I’ve written called The Angel of Lost Things.
Paul and Elizabeth Musser, 80 S. Victor Drive, Flintstone, GA 30725
Soft Christmas instrumental music plays from my Spotify playlist, a fragrant candle glows on the coffee table and the fire blazes in the hearth. I sit on the couch, covered in a warm fleece, and let my eyes take in the simplicity and beauty of my home decorated for Christmas. My throat swells with gratitude and a grin. “Thank You, Lord, for the Angel of Lost Things,” I whisper as I remember …
In 2017, after having spent thirty years as missionaries in France, my husband and I bought a home in Georgia in the southeast of the United States to be nearer to our aging parents, our sons, daughter-in-law and three young grandchildren. Thanks to the internet and airports, our role as pastoral caregivers to our missionaries around the world permitted us to work from just about anywhere. We decided that from then on, as the Lord allowed, we would spend the spring and summer in France and the fall and winter, and especially Christmas, in America.
So, year after year, I began bringing cherished Christmas items from France to America in our carry-on luggage so that nothing would be lost even if a checked bag went astray.
That first Christmas in America, I began decorating this new-to-me house with our beloved Christmas treasures. What a joy to unpack our French nativity set, complete with over forty santons, explaining to our grandkids that the word ‘santon’ means ‘little saint’ in French. These small hand-painted clay figures represented villagers each bringing their gifts to lay at Baby Jesus’s feet.
Then I brought out our eclectic collection of ornaments, some handmade and others that we’d purchased, usually from a place we had traveled during each year. Every ornament held a special memory.
Finally, I was ready to hang up seven beautiful needlepoint stockings, the ones that my mother had sent to us in France when our two sons were born, and others we had added as new members joined our family.
But there were no stockings to be found!
I spent hours each day searching our new home for the stockings amid the boxes and bins to no avail. Perhaps I had left them at my parents’ home, two hours away, when we spent our first night there after having flown from France. But my father and my sister-in-law searched through that spacious house, and specifically in Daddy’s attic, three or four different times in the weeks before Christmas.
The stockings were not there.
How could I have misplaced seven needlepoint stockings? I had photos of them in the to-be-packed piles at our home in France along with every other item we were bringing back to the States. Everything else had made it just fine, and we hadn’t lost any luggage. Certainly not my carry-on bag where I was sure I had carried the stockings.
I even called the young couple who was staying at our home in France, and the wife searched through our shelves.
The stockings were not there.
As I searched and worried and wondered, I prayed over and over, “Lord, You know where the stockings are. If You want me to have them, remind me, too.”
Then, it was time to let them go.
But how I grieved.
This little loss felt big to me. Our life overseas had been filled with losses—saying goodbye to family and friends and places time and time again. Missing out on family celebrations in the States. This Christmas, we were grieving more than ever. My mother had passed away the year before from a massive stroke. Did I have to lose the stockings she had lovingly sent us in France?
I kept giving this grief back to the Lord, but it was hard. Then to help me move on, I purchased seven red stockings, bought for $1 each from the Family Dollar store, to adorn our fireplace. That would have to be enough.
The week before Christmas, Paul and I left for a ski vacation with my father, our older son, his wife, our three grandchildren, our younger son, and his girlfriend. This was a special getaway to honor Mom. After a wonderful week with family in the mountains, we drove my father back to his home in Atlanta before heading two hours down the road to our home.
I climbed the stairs to Daddy’s attic to put away all our ski paraphernalia. As I stepped inside, I noticed a plastic bag on the floor—a bag filled with seven needlepoint stockings!
Honestly, I stood with my mouth hanging open, not believing the sight.
How did they appear? We had searched this space several times!
Upon hearing the joyful news, my daughter-in-law said, “The Angel of Lost Things brought them back!”
I wept with thankfulness as I held them in the attic, and I wept again later when I placed them on our mantel, wept because I knew the Lord had seen and understood my little loss and cared.
Two years later, as we continued to bring our Christmas items back to the States with us, the Angel of Lost Things showed up again.
Back in September, I had packed seven cross-stitched ornaments in my carry-on, tucked safely in between the green Christmas hand towels. Ornaments I had hand-stitched when our sons were babies. Ornaments dear friends had made for us. Ornaments, like those stockings, that held great sentimental value to me.
But in early December, as I brought all the Christmas décor upstairs to begin decorating, I could not find the ornaments. How could they have escaped from my carry-on? As I’d asked two years earlier about the needlepoint stockings, now I asked, “Lord, how could I lose seven cross-stitched ornaments?”
Once again I searched everywhere for them for several days. Once again I prayed, “Lord, You know where the cross-stitched ornaments are. If You want me to have them, remind me, too.”
Once again I grieved and finally gave up looking for what was lost.
I think that’s the theme with lost things. Choosing at some point to give up looking for what is lost and trusting the Lord to bring it back if and when He desires.
After all, He is the One who promises that He will search for the lost and bring back the strays. He is the One who found me all those years ago.
But letting go and trusting are so hard for me!
My husband Paul went down to our garage and moved around boxes and bins again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Suddenly he called out, “I found something!” He carried out a plastic bin that had been sitting out of sight underneath two other empty bins. When he took off the cover, laying on the top of the pile were seven cross-stitched ornaments.
I burst into tears. The Angel of Lost Things came again, and again I wept and rejoiced.
Whether the needlepoint stockings and cross-stitched ornaments were simply misplaced or retrieved by a heavenly angel, the lesson was still the same to me. I heard in my soul a sweet voice—not the Angel of Lost Things—but the Lord of that angel, whispering again, “I love you, Elizabeth, and I care. All is well.”
Lost things aren’t always found, but I always have the choice to do my best to search and then to let go and trust.
“Thank You that I can trust You, Lord, for all the other things in my life that feel lost—lost opportunities, lost relationships, lost hopes and dreams. May I trust in peace, Lord, even if I have to turn my worries over to You a hundred times a day. For I know that out of this obedience will spring ‘the peaceful fruit of righteousness.’”
Going to the mission field taught me to trust that, in as much as I depended on the Lord to provide for my every need, He would do so. That lesson, learned 30+ years ago, still applies to me every day. Our Lord wants us to live in awe and wonder of His provision and tender care of us. Advent isn’t just God coming to us, but us coming to Him in expectation and awe and deep gratitude for His provision of a Savior. Of Jesus.
At Christmas, every time I bring out those needlepoint stockings and cross-stitched ornaments, I feel the Lord’s hug. He didn’t send the Angel of Lost Things to find me. He sent His Son to redeem me. Me. The Lost Thing. The Straying Daughter.
I am safe within His arms.
Found.
BIO
ELIZABETH MUSSER writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. Elizabeth’s award winning, best-selling novel, The Swan House, was named one of Amazon’s Top Christian Books of the Year and one of Georgia’s Top Ten Novels of the Past 100 Years. All of Elizabeth’s novels have been translated into multiple languages and have been international bestsellers. Elizabeth’s most recent novel, By Way of the Moonlight, was a Publisher’s Weekly Top Ten Pick in Religion and Spirituality for Fall Releases in 2022 and a Christy Award Finalist in General Fiction for 2023.
Elizabeth and her husband, Paul, work with the non-profit One Collective. The Mussers have two sons, two daughters-in-law and five grandchildren. Find more about Elizabeth and her novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and her blog.
“Do not remember the past events; pay no attention to things of old. Look, I am about to do something new; even now it is coming. Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43: 18-19
These verses have resonated with Paul and me recently as we are coming to the end of a long and wonderful season. At the end of this year, December 2025, we will officially be retiring from One Collective.
We’ll be leaving so many dear friends and 43 years worth of memories (Yep, 43!) in which we have watched the Lord’s over abundant provision, protection, and power in our lives and in so many others. It’s a big step, and one we feel confident about, but of course, we have many mixed emotions. Overall, though, is a deep thankfulness for the privilege of serving the Lord with this organization for four decades. Throughout those years our ministries have been varied, from children and youth work, evangelization and discipleship, church planting, all in France, to the past fifteen years of offering pastoral care for our One Collective colleagues all over the world.
We especially feel deep thankfulness for YOU, many of whom have traveled most, if not all, of these 43 years with us.
Over the past few years, we’ve sensed the Lord calling us prepare for this transition. As we’ve heard it said, retirement means an end to our paid job, but we will never retire from our vocation, our calling as believers to serve our awesome God. Throughout our ministry lives, the Lord has been faithful to call us out of one thing and into another. To that end, we will be taking some extended time in 2026 to discern the next steps the Lord has for us. As of right now, we are still planning on splitting our time between France and the US.
From Paul:
In view of our upcoming retirement at the end of 2025, this is a season of transition with the mission. Over the coming months I’ll be handing off responsibilities and leadership of the Global Member Care Team (GMCT). We have recently welcomed three new colleagues to the GMCT whose experience and gifts are already much appreciated. Elizabeth and I will continue to be involved with caring for workers until December, at which point we’ll have transferred them all over to other care providers on the team. We are grateful for the way the Lord has provided in this way. We’re excited (and a little nervous, if I’m honest) about the changes to come.
– Pray with us for the transition process, and for all the details yet to be hammered out.
– Pray that we will be filled with His peace throughout this year
– Pray that we’ll be good stewards of our resources as we seek to finish this chapter well.
– Pray for our team and the new leader, Wayne, as they continue providing support, love and care for workers around the world.
Pray especially as we continue to walk alongside our workers with all the many transitions going on in their lives. One worker was kicked out of the Middle Eastern country where she had lived and served for over 10 years. She even owned a house in that country. Several workers have found that in their European country, where paperwork already takes many months, getting visas renewed is becoming increasingly complicated.
In that same country, the refugees who were housed within a large city have now been moved to camps further away from the city. This makes visiting them much more difficult, and our workers are coming up with original ways to offer art and music therapy as well as Bible Studies.
Several families are experiencing the difficulty of having their children leaving their field of service to continue their education in another country. Two dear long-time co-workers are grieving the loss of a beloved spouse.
We are continually grateful for your prayers for us: that we offer wisdom, grace, encouragement, and hope to our colleagues.
Although our ministry these past years has been focused on our One Collective colleagues, we still have a heart for France and its people and are grateful for the opportunities we’ve had in the past two months to reconnect with our church and neighborhood friends.
If you would like to keep up with what the Lord is doing in France, we suggest the Pray for France blog/newsletter.
From Elizabeth :
Something small that nonetheless seemed extraordinary to me happened shortly after we arrived back in France. It was the answer to decades of prayers by yours truly. My novella Waiting for Peter is now available in French. Although my novels have all been translated into several languages, only one (Two Crosses) has been available in French. Looooong story. Until now. My heart’s desire has always been to bring together my two vocations of missions and writing for my French friends. In mid-March I shared my testimony with a precious group of French women in a sister church in Lyon and gave away copies of Waiting for Peter.
Now these women and other French friends are reading the novella and offering it to their friends and family who are not interested in attending church but will read a novella about a wounded boy, an abandoned mutt, a worried mother, and a God big enough to bring healing for them all.
It is always worth waiting on the Lord’s timing!
As we prepare to retire from the mission, it only seems fitting that my new novel, From the Valley We Rise, coming out in June, was inspired in part by my first months in France as a missionary when in 1983, my four teammates (of whom Paul was the cute single guy) and I, all young North Americans, first arrived in France for ministry service. We took a group of college-aged Americans to a ruined medieval alpine village near Sisteron called Entrepierres, which literally means “between the stones.” We spent two weeks hauling rocks and digging ditches to help build back the dilapidated village.
Heading up the work project was a visionary British missionary who challenged us in our thoughts about faith, work, and love. Over the years his vision to make Entrepierres a retreat center for full-time French pastors and missionaries became a reality. God has mightily used Entrepierres, the inspiration for what I call ‘The Camp Between the Hills’ in the novel, to bless families, including my own, and bring healing and health to hundreds of people throughout the years. Entrepierres is a living metaphor for Isaiah 61:4, a verse referenced several times in this book.
“They will rebuild the ancient ruins, they will raise up the former devastations, and they will repair the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations.” Isaiah 61:4
You can click on the cover of the novel to learn more about the novel, which takes place in August, 1944, during Operation Dragoon, known at the second D-Day, the Allies invasion of Provence. Here is information about a few events I’ll be attending in the Atlanta area in June.
We’ll be giving more information about our retirement in our newsletters this summer and fall.
With so much love,
Elizabeth and Paul
Dear Friends, Chers Amis,
Join us in looking back on a few of the highlights of this past year with its joys and sorrows. / Revenez avec nous sur quelques moments forts de l’année écoulée, avec ses joies et ses peines.
The new year started with Paul and his siblings celebrating with Paul’s mother, ‘Mamaw’, in Richmond, KY. / La nouvelle année a commencé avec Paul et ses frères et sœurs et la mère de Paul, ‘Mamaw’, à Richmond, dans le Kentucky.
Back in Georgia, we soaked up priceless moments with our grandchildren. / De retour en Géorgie, nous avons profité de moments inestimables avec nos petits-enfants.
In February I visited our parents grave site in Atlanta, Georgia with my brothers. / En février, j’ai visité le lieu de sépulture de nos parents à Atlanta, en Géorgie, avec mes frères.
In early March, right after we arrived in France, we learned that our beloved Mamaw had passed away. We flew back to the States where Mamaw’s family members and many friends celebrated her 90 years of life. / Début mars, juste après notre arrivée en France, nous avons appris que notre Mamaw bien-aimée était décédée. Nous sommes retournés aux États-Unis où les membres de la famille de Mamaw et de nombreux amis ont célébré ses 90 ans.
In May Chris and Ashlee came to visit us in France, and Chris got to show Ashlee where he grew up in Montpellier as well as to visit several of our favorite stomping grounds in southern France. / En mai, Chris et Ashlee sont venus nous rendre visite en France, et Chris a pu montrer à Ashlee l’endroit où il a grandi, à Montpellier, et visiter plusieurs de nos endroits préférés dans le sud de la France.
Avec nos anciens et merveilleux voisins devant notre maison à Montpellier
Right after their visit we left for five weeks in Greece where we attended two conferences with One Collective, one for our workers in Europe and the other for those in the Middle East. In both, Paul and I were involved in giving pastoral care. / Juste après leur visite, nous sommes partis pour cinq semaines en Grèce où nous avons assisté à deux conférences avec One Collective, l’une pour nos travailleurs en Europe et l’autre pour ceux du Moyen-Orient. Dans les deux cas, Paul et moi avons participé à l’assistance pastorale.
In between the two conferences, we were delighted to visit Thessalonica, Meteora, and Delphi in Greece and then spend a few days in Turkey (our first time in Asia!), in Istanbul and Ephesus. We were enamored with the absolute beauty of these ancient cities and villages. / Entre les deux conférences, nous avons eu le plaisir de visiter Thessalonique, les Météores et Delphes en Grèce, puis de passer quelques jours en Turquie (notre premier voyage en Asie !), à Istanbul et à Éphèse. Nous avons été séduits par la beauté absolue de ces villes et villages anciens.
The year provided me with time to research and complete my new novel (releasing in June, 2025) which takes place in and around the city of Sisteron in 1944 during the Allied invasion of Southern France, known as ‘Operation Dragoon’. / Cette année m’a permis de faire des recherches et de terminer mon nouveau roman (qui sort en juin 2025), qui se déroule dans la ville de Sisteron et ses environs en 1944, lors de l’invasion alliée du sud de la France, connue sous le nom d’« opération Dragoon ».
In September, we spent a week on Tybee Island with Andrew and Lacy and the grandkids. / En septembre, nous avons passé une semaine sur l’île de Tybee, en Caroline du Sud, avec Andrew et Lacy et les petits-enfants.
In November, we visited the One Collective headquarters in Chicago. / En novembre, nous avons visité le siège de One Collective à Chicago.
And December saw us blessed with many family celebrations on both the Goldsmith and Musser sides. / En décembre, nous avons eu l’occasion de célébrer de nombreuses fêtes de famille, tant du côté des Goldsmith que des Musser.
This year we lost two colleagues, who were also dear friends. Their lives, like Mamaw’s life, were inspirations to many by their love for Jesus and their desire for all to know His wonderful grace. That is our greatest desire too. Life on earth is filled with uncertainties, but eternal life is certain for those who trust in Jesus.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Ephesians 2:8
Cette année a également vu le décès de deux amis très chers qui travaillaient avec One Collective. Leurs vies, comme celle de Mamaw, ont été une source d’inspiration pour de nombreuses personnes en raison de leur amour pour Jésus et de leur désir que tous connaissent sa merveilleuse grâce. C’est aussi notre plus grand désir. La vie sur terre est remplie d’incertitudes, mais la vie éternelle est certaine pour ceux qui font confiance à Jésus.
« Car c‘est par la grâce que vous avez été sauvés, par le moyen de la foi. Cela ne dépend pas de vous, c’est un don de Dieu ». Ephésiens 2 v. 8
Our hearts are filled with gratefulness to our God for all His many blessings. You are part of those blessings! We pray that you know the Lord’s goodness and provision throughout this new year of 2025. / Nos cœurs sont remplis de reconnaissance envers notre Dieu pour toutes ses nombreuses bénédictions. Vous faites partie de ces bénédictions ! Nous prions pour que vous connaissiez la bonté et la provision du Seigneur tout au long de cette nouvelle année 2025.
Sending much love to you all! / Avec toute notre affection!
Elizabeth and Paul
Summer 1944, Sisteron, France
After Isabelle Seauve’s father dies to protect her activities in the French Resistance, Isabelle is heartbroken yet even more determined to continue her work hiding Jewish children in and near the town of Sisteron, especially now that she knows there’s a traitor among the local resistance.
As the shadow of betrayal looms, Isabelle’s world collides with that of US Army Chaplain Peter Christensen, who carries the emotional scars of his service in North Africa as well as deep wounds from a tragedy in his first pastorate in Kentucky.
Amid the chaos, fifteen-year-old René Amblard narrowly escapes a devastating German attack that claims the lives of his mother and their fellow maquis fighters. With a Jewish orphan girl at his side, René seeks out his cousin Isabelle for refuge. As the bombs begin to fall, this unlikely group of heroes face the brutal reality of war as the Allied invasion of Provence unfolds.
Can they find freedom in their souls as they seek to rebuild what has been destroyed?
Releasing Summer 2025!
Order now! And don’t forget to add the book to your “To Read” list on Goodreads or BookBub!
Order Now!
| Title Information | |
| Print ISBN: | 9780764243493 |
| eBook ISBN: | 9781493450855 |
Bonjour, dear Ones, from Flintstone, Georgia where fall is in the air! Yabadabadoo!
Sometimes America feels strange to us, especially recently with all the vitriol being thrown around during election season. I’ve been privileged to take part in an in-person women’s Bible study at our supporting church on Lookout Mountain. We studied The Sermon on the Mount and oh, my! Talk about conviction. I especially paid attention to that annoying part which says to take the log out of my eye before I get the speck out of someone else’s. Our teacher used an example that when you do need to remove a speck from someone’s eye, that action requires you to lean in and be extremely gentle. May we as believers keep letting others know we are Christians by our love, sharing the Gospel with gentleness and reverence. ( I Peter 3:15)
One Collective-The Home Office
While in the US we also have the opportunity to see some of our workers face to face. And this month, we had the extra joy of visiting the One Collective offices in Elgin, Illinois, just north of Chicago. We spent a little time with some of our home staff whose ministries are often behind the scenes and much appreciated. We were especially thankful to have lunch with the CEO of the mission, Scott Olson. Fourteen years ago, shortly after he came to this organization, he visited us at our home in Lyon and proposed this role of being pastors to our workers (PTWs). We are grateful for his trust and encouragement during these past many years.
In our last letter, I shared that there is now a page specifically dedicated to the Global Member Care Team (GMCT) on One Collective’s website. I jumped the gun because the page wasn’t officially launched and there were typos etc, but now the page is updated and live. We’d so appreciate if you’d check it out right here, and if you missed the 3-minute video about the GMCT, be sure to watch it on the new page. You’ve heard us describe what we do as member care providers for the past 14 years. Now you can hear personal testimonies from One Collective workers about the importance of this role.
Our Workers
Here are a few stories to give you an idea of challenges our workers are facing now:
One of our team leaders was accused of illegally employing youth because she had the Roma youth put on a car wash to raise money for needy families. Another shared that a local worker and valued partner with the ministry was attacked and almost killed by her family because of converting to Christianity from Islam.
We have other couples whose young adult children are disillusioned with faith, some of whom have come out on the LGBTQ+ spectrum. One couple recently shared about losing support from their home church because of this. Sometimes they feel like they have to choose between loving their child and having the funds available to do their ministries.
Many of our workers in closed countries and even in Europe are having problems renewing their visas. One colleague narrowly escaped being imprisoned in his host country for his faith. He and his family had to leave the country secretly.
Families are also facing the choice of how to care for their elderly parents from afar or deciding to leave the mission field to be more involved in elder care.
Obviously these issues are complex. It is a privilege for us to walk alongside our colleagues as they navigate the rough waters of ministry in their host countries as well as at home.
We are continually grateful for your prayers for us: that we offer wisdom, grace, encouragement, and hope to our colleagues.
Family
We’re thankful also for time with our families this fall. Once again we flew from Paris to DC in September and got to spend a weekend with Chris and Ashlee. I’ve also taken several trips to Atlanta to hang out with my brothers and sisters-in-law. And at the end of September, we spent a week on Tybee Island with Andrew and Lacy and the grands. We loved our time together, even when Hurricane Helene came knocking at the door. We lost sleep and electricity, but our hearts were (and continue to be) grieved for so much devastation and loss from Helene, especially in North Carolina.
One of my favorite memories is watching Paul play soccer with Andrew and Quinn at their church’s pick-up soccer games on Sunday afternoons. Lastly, if you haven’t gone to see “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” (in the theater) we strongly encourage you to see this sweet family movie based on the classic book. We took all five grands, and it was indeed the best. (See last photo above. The two year old is in my lap so not pictured=).
We pray you have a blessed Thanksgiving and a very Merry Christmas with your hearts full of praise to our awesome God,
Elizabeth and Paul
Psalm 95
Come, let’s sing for joy to the Lord,
Let’s shout joyfully to the rock of our salvation.
2 Let’s come before His presence with a song of thanksgiving,
Let’s shout joyfully to Him in songs with instruments.
3 For the Lord is a great God
And a great King above all gods,
4 In whose hand are the depths of the earth,
The peaks of the mountains are also His.
5 The sea is His, for it was He who made it,
And His hands formed the dry land.
6 Come, let’s worship and bow down,
Let’s kneel before the Lord our Maker.
7 For He is our God,
And we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand.
Bonjour, dear Ones, on Labor Day,
On Friday, we head back to the US for the fall, but we want to catch you up on all the Lord has been doing during these summer months.
First, hot off the press! We are excited that, as One Collective updated its website, there is now a page specifically dedicated to the Global Member Care Team (GMCT). We’d so appreciate if you’d check it out right here, and if you missed the 3-minute video about the GMCT in our last update, be sure to watch it on the new page. You’ve heard us describe what we do as member care providers for the past 14 years. Now you can hear personal testimonies from One Collective workers about the importance of this role. You’ll also be able to read brief bios of each of us on the GMCT. Many of us are pictured above, relishing God’s goodness as we were together in person in Greece.
Paul and I are incredibly grateful for our colleagues. We have weathered many storms together as we’ve interceded for One Collective, our leaders, and our workers around the world. Below is a photo that shows our joy to be together.
Thank you for praying for the time we had with our One Collective workers at the two conferences held in Greece, the first for our colleagues who are based in Europe, and the second for our workers living in closed countries.
These conferences are always a highlight for us because we get to spend time one-on-one, face-to-face, listening and praying with each worker as they share challenges and joys in their ministries and personal lives.
The teaching we received focused on being reminded that Jesus welcomes us to enjoy fellowship with Him. The worship allowed us to put this into practice and was a special treat for our colleagues who work in closed countries.We also had delicious meals together and time to enjoy fellowship and the beach in a gorgeous, laid-back setting. So often we heard “I just needed to step back and take a break from ministry pressures.”
THANK YOU so much for your partnership through prayer and finances that allowed us to minister in this way.
In between the two conferences we visited the amazing cities of Thessalonica, Meteora, and Delphi in Greece, and Istanbul and Ephesus in Turkey (our first time in Turkey). All we can say is “Wow!” I’ll let these photos speak for themselves and simply add the hashtag #theperksofministry.
Back at home in France in July and August, we had the privilege of hosting many overnight guests as well as sharing meals with dear friends from our church and neighborhood. We are thankful that our home can be a refuge for many where, as at the conferences, we rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. What a privilege to minister to others by using the gifts the Lord has given us.
As you can imagine, in every area of our lives, we must let Him carry these sometimes heavy burdens. When we try to control circumstances in our lives and the lives of others through our own strength, the result is fear, fatigue, and worry. I continually come back to the Apostle Paul’s words in Galatians 5: “It is for freedom’s sake that Christ has set you free. Stand firm, then, and don’t let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”
Please join us in praying that we will daily embrace what Jesus promises in Matthew 11: 28-30: “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. And you will find rest for your soul for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
From Paul:
I am so thankful to look back over these recent months and be reminded of how God showed up again and again. His provision and presence have encouraged us when times seemed hard. His love and care (often through his people) raised our spirits when it was needed. His grace continues to cover a multitude of things that otherwise could become obstacles to growth. The Hope that we have in His salvation reminds us that we can depend on Him at all times.
We do indeed walk by faith, right? There is so much we simply cannot control, and this journey through life continues to teach us the humility and trust that prepare us for Heaven.
As you think of us during this coming month, please pray:
- for several difficult situations we’re working on.
- for workers to have a better handle on caring for their own needs/souls (staying connected).
- for those living in precarious situations to be reminded that God is present.
- for all of us to remember that Jesus is enough.
- for the many transitions happening in the coming months within the mission as we navigate these changes with our workers and our leaders.
- for relationships we have with our French friends which we’ve been able to deepen this summer.
- for our transition time back in the States. We will be in the Chattanooga area once again.
As you celebrate this Labor Day, we once again thank you for partnering with us in this work the Lord called us into 42 years ago when we were both single, recent college grads. What a privilege and testimony to His grace and provision in our lives throughout these past four decades.
With love and grateful hearts,
Paul and Elizabeth
Dear Ones,
Bonjour from our little spot of earth in Lyon, France. We are well aware of the privilege of living in two countries, and we have not yet sensed the Lord calling us back to the States permanently, but this time, our transition has been a little longer:
From Paul:
We’d spent a lovely 6 months in the States (I’d gotten to have 4-5 sweet visits with my mother at her retirement home in Kentucky), and we were excited about getting back into life in France this year. Two days after we landed in France, my brother called to say he’d found Mom in a coma, that he’d called 911 and taken her to the ER, and that they didn’t expect her to survive. Wow.
She passed into Eternity later that evening, but not until several of us had the chance to call her room and let her know how much she was loved. We’re told that hearing is often the last thing to shut down. We don’t know how much she heard, but we wanted these words to be what she took with her on this last phase of her earthly journey. As we updated our sons on her situation, I mentioned to Andrew my desire/inability to sing to Mom as I said goodbye. Later I learned he’d called ‘Mamaw’ and sang to her.
She was SOOOO ready to go be with Jesus. While we didn’t expect this, we weren’t really surprised. So Elizabeth and I headed back to Kentucky just a few days after having landed in France.
Lots of friends and family gathered a week later to commemorate her life at her home church in Richmond, KY. We truly celebrated Mom as we heard testimonies of her influence, as we recalled silly stories and precious memories, as we remembered her music and her Mickeys and her love for many of us.
She leaves a big hole in many hearts. I’m so grateful for the privilege of having had her example throughout my life.
From Elizabeth’s journal:
I was so thankful to have Paul back home with me after he spent extended time with his siblings in Kentucky. But it was a hard landing for him, and his sleep is still not right. It is getting better and gradually the lightness is returning in his eyes, in the way he goes about his day.
But while he was gone, You, Lord, gradually lifted me up too. I had the joy of reconnecting with my friends in France at our church’s annual weekend retreat. In spite of the cold and rain, I felt that leaping in my heart as I shivered and huddled together with these brothers and sisters in Christ. Two weeks later, I attended a Women’s Day held at our church. My heart leapt again to fellowship with these precious sisters in Christ coming from different churches in Lyon, many of whom I hadn’t seen in years. The worship was so sweet, beautiful women singing Your praises, Lord. I truly bathed in the goodness of who You are and what You have done and are doing in France. And that I get to experience this!
One Collective and the GMCT:
Many of our workers throughout the organization are going through health challenges. In late February, we were heartbroken to learn of the passing of our dear friend and longtime One Collective colleague, Tom Richards. Tom and his wife, JoAnn, served for many years in Austria at The Oasis ministry, welcoming refugees from many middle Eastern countries. For the past decade, they have served refugees in upstate New York. Tom lived and breathed love for the displaced, and his life was a testimony to Jesus’ love for them. We were privileged to attend Tom’s celebration service where many tears were shed, but there was also much rejoicing as we remembered his beautiful life.
Our workers’ concerns are real as we walk alongside them: cancer diagnoses, other health struggles, some workers ready to leave for the field but having their visas refused, and others getting kicked out of their countries, and many other struggles. One Collective has made this video to help our prayer partners (you!) understand more fully our role as the Global Member Care Team (GMCT). We’d greatly appreciate your taking 3 minutes to watch it here or click on the photo below.
The Writing Chalet
This little tool shed in our front yard is where I’ve been spending a great deal of time, whether I’m talking on zoom calls with our One Collective workers around the world or finishing up my next novel which I’ll send to my publisher on May 15. For twenty years, my writing chalet has provided me with an office that fits my need for creativity and inspiration.
Prayer Requests:
– in May and June we’ll attend two conferences where we’ll spend time with many of our One Collective workers based in Europe and some closed countries. This is our golden opportunity to actually sit down and have coffee together as we catch up on life. Please pray for God’s protection as we all travel, as we listen to God together, and as we invite Him to speak into our lives. There is much going on around us that can be distracting. We want to focus on hearing the Shepherd.
– Pray for our witness day in and day out as we live among people who need to hear the Good News. Neighbors and friends are often either quite indifferent or even against hearing of God’s love. They don’t acknowledge (or realize) their hunger. Our job is simply to point to the Bread of Life.
-that I (Elizabeth) will make the deadline for my novel and that its message of redemption and restoration will be planted deep into the words.
–that we stay well-connected to our Good Shepherd, Jesus. I (Elizabeth) have recently been blessed by listening to Philip Keller’s classic book A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23. What a beautiful reminder of our Lord’s tender care for us, His sheep.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. 3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. (KJV)
–for all of us in the Musser family as we grieve our beloved Mamaw.
We are so grateful for your prayers that have blessed us and held us before God’s throne of grace through all the ups and downs of our lives. May you too sense the love and presence of the Good Shepherd with you in this season.
Much love,
Elizabeth and Paul
It’s always a joy to share our New Year’s Letter with you. We’re thankful for all of you!/ C’est toujours une joie de partager avec vous notre lettre du Nouvel An. Nous sommes reconnaissants pour vous.
This year we’ve been privileged to see so much beauty in God’s creation. I’m no photographer but I love taking pictures. So join us on a photo tour of our year 2023.
Cette année, nous avons eu le privilège de voir tant de beauté dans la création de Dieu. Je ne suis pas photographe, mais j’adore prendre des photos. Rejoignez-nous pour une visite photographique de notre année 2023.
Paul continues to lead the pastoral care team which provides care for our One Collective colleagues around the world. /Paul continue de diriger l’équipe de soins pastoraux qui s’occupe de nos collègues de One Collective dans le monde entier.
In April we headed to Zambia for a leadership conference with One Collective. Our first time in Sub-Saharan Africa enchanted us!
En avril, nous nous sommes rendus en Zambie pour une conférence sur le leadership avec One Collective. Notre première visite en Afrique subsaharienne nous a enchantés.
Our yard in France is a delight to us in the Spring and Summer. So is the field of sunflowers not far away. / Notre jardin en France nous ravit au printemps et en été. Il en va de même pour le champ de tournesols situé non loin de là.
Over Memorial Day weekend, 50 of Doris Ann Musser’s (“Mamaw”) descendants celebrated her 90th birthday in Ohio. / Pendant le week-end du Memorial Day fin mai, 50 descendants de Doris Ann Musser (“Mamaw”) ont célébré son 90e anniversaire dans l’Ohio.
Back and forth from France to America, we relish times with our extended family, and especially Andrew and Lacy and our five grandkids who live in LaFayette, Georgia, and Chris and Ashlee who live in Washington, D.C. / En faisant des allers-retours entre la France et l’Amérique, nous apprécions les moments passés avec notre famille élargie, en particulier Andrew et Lacy et nos cinq petits-enfants qui vivent à LaFayette, en Géorgie, et Chris et Ashlee qui habitent à Washington, D.C.
Whether in the US or France, Elizabeth continues her writing ministry. / Que ce soit aux États-Unis ou en France, Elizabeth poursuit son ministère d’écriture.
In October, we enjoyed a leaf-peeping trip to New England, Upstate New York, and Quebec. / En octobre, nous avons fait un voyage pour regarder les feuilles en Nouvelle-Angleterre, dans le nord de l’État de New York et au Québec.
After our Fall trip, we returned to Georgia and another joyous event. Paul baptized our three oldest grandkids in their yard with 40 family and friends surrounding them. / Après notre voyage d’automne, nous sommes retournés en Géorgie et avons assisté à un autre événement joyeux. Paul a baptisé nos trois petits-enfants les plus âgés dans leur jardin, entourés de 40 membres de la famille et d’amis.
In November, we kept the grandkids for a week while Andrew and Lacy explored Zion National Park in Utah. / En novembre, nous avons gardé les petits-enfants pendant une semaine, tandis qu’Andrew et Lacy exploraient le parc national de Zion dans l’Utah.
We spent Thanksgiving in Atlanta with Elizabeth’s brothers and their families and her uncle and cousins. / Nous avons passé Thanksgiving à Atlanta avec les frères d’Elizabeth et leurs familles, ainsi qu’avec son oncle et ses cousins.
For Christmas, we enjoyed a raclette meal in Flintstone, Georgia, at our house with all the Goldsmiths. Pour Noël, nous avons mangé une raclette chez nous avec toute la famille Goldsmith.
And New Year’s in Louisville, Kentucky with Paul’s mom and siblings and spouses. / Et le Nouvel An à Louisville, dans le Kentucky, avec la mère de Paul, ses frères et sœurs et leurs conjoints.
We pray your 2024 will be filled with family, friends, and beauty. / Nous prions pour que votre année 2024 soit remplie de famille, d’amis et de beauté.
Sending much love, Elizabeth and Paul
Avec beaucoup d’affection, Elizabeth et Paul
“The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”
Psalm 19
“Les cieux racontent la gloire de Dieu,
Et l’étendue manifeste l’œuvre de ses mains.” Psaume 19
Merry, Merry Christmas, my dear readers!
As I reflect on this beautiful season, I’m so thankful for you! I say it often, but it’s true. We authors would not have a job without you. So thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read the words I write.
I pray that y’all are having a beautiful Advent season, anticipating our Savior’s birth. I pray too that the peace that passes understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4: 7) even in the midst of the world that is not peaceful .
I wanted to share with you the word that I have been savoring this year: Savor.
What have I been savoring? First of all time spent with my Savior! The Word become flesh…
In the mornings, I sit out in our sunroom, with a cup of tea and my Bible and surrounded by nature, and I spend quiet time with Him…
And this fall I’ve had the privilege of savoring so many joyful parts of life, such as…
…reading a fun book as I’m tucked into our new little DIY reading nook…
…being surrounded by my five precious grandchildren, true gifts from God…
…delightful times with the whole Paul Musser gang in person…
…celebrating birthdays and holidays with all our extended family…
…soaking in the glories of New England in the fall…
…getting to share my writing journey with book clubs…
…and the joy of listening to Christmas carols as I’m surrounded by the simple and nostalgic Christmas decor of our home…
These moments in community with my Savior, a good book, and with family and friends have filled my soul, and I am savoring that. But the Lord is reminding me that no matter my circumstances, when I stop and choose joy and gratefulness, I have so much to savor.
May you, too, find time to savor the big and little blessings in your life during this season!
Joyeux Noël!
Elizabeth
The books are all under the tree!
Here’s a coupon to use in my new online store if you’d like to give the gift of books this Christmas to a loved one or to yourself. We’d be delighted to send personalized autographed copies to you!
Elizabeth Musser 