BookExpo America, New York City

Don and I are off to New York for BookExpo America at the Jacob Javit's Center. I'll be in the Strategic Book Group booth, #4577, on Thursday, May 27th from 1:00 to 5:00 P.M. Stop by if you're in the neighborhood!

When You Answer the Call of Music

When I was a little girl with a square, red-cheeked face, and chubby fingers, about the age of three, I started to tinker on our upright piano, and tried with my little brain to make a melody. Nana, my music teacher grandmother, said that it was time to teach me how to play the piano. It didn't matter that my fingers were short and fat, the desire grew in my heart, and so we began.

The music filled my heart and soul, even at a young age. I used to sing to the horses, cows, and bulls on our farm, sometimes standing right next to their giant pillars of legs. Father once found me singing to our two thousand pound bull in his bullpen! The animals seemed to have a sense of my vulnerability and innocence, and didn't ever attempt to hurt me. I always felt that I knew what they were thinking.

As I grew up, I never lost my love for music. Indeed, the piano, accordion, organ, and guitar were my favorite instruments. My first singing solo was at the age of nine for the spring concert in elementary school. My interest burgeoned after that, and father took me to all the Broadway musicals that came to St. Paul and Minneapolis. I remember my brothers hollering to our parents, "Mom, Dad, make her stop!" I played the piano in our living room for hours on end, and they didn't appreciate that it interrupted their evening TV entertainment. After that, my dad bought me a piano for my bedroom. Every moment that I didn't do chores, homework, or make dinner, I spent at the piano.

When I was thirteen years old, I began voice lessons with one of the most renowned voice teachers of all time, Madame Mady Metzger-Ziegler, famous for her hay days at the Berlin Opera, the Deutsche Staatsoper. She taught me well and hard, and stretched my voice to the full breadth of a coloratura soprano: four octaves. She sent me out for auditions for various community events and productions, which led to my first leading role in an opera at the age of fifteen, and the opportunity to record with the Boston Pops at the age of sixteen.

Through my life, I performed at various amateur and professional venues, and then I stopped. I still don't know for certain why I stopped. A few years ago, I rediscovered music at our very large church and became part of the choir, with occasional special roles. That led to the beginning of my own music ministry, a mini-choir of twenty-two people who sang mostly gospel music. After that, I started a praise and worship band, and began to tour the area. It expended an enormous amount of energy: the practices, the setup and breakdown of equipment, the performances, and I lost fifteen more pounds.

I wrote music all hours of the day and night, built a recording studio, and recorded the music. Lyrics poured out of me in a flood of inspiration, and then "The Spirit Series" of books, which went international at the onset. The time spent writing and publishing the books overwhelmed me, and so I discontinued my music ministry. My husband, Don, suggested on a beach in Hawaii, "Why don't you try writing some fiction?" I thought, "Why not?" I retreated to our room upstairs and retrieved my notebook and "The Faith Series" of Christian fiction began. I've now finished the fifth and last book in this series, and it, too, is spreading around the world.

Up until about three months ago, my church attendance started to wane with travel, problems with insomnia, and my workload, all bad excuses for not attending church regularly. At one point, I didn't attend church three weeks in a row. That's when it happened: the Holy Spirit convicted me big time for not using the gift of music that God had given me at a very young age. I wasn't using it to worship Him, which is the reason God gave me the gift in the first place. I understood what God wanted and returned to church to sing out in the congregation in a full emotional voice of praise. I concocted harmonies and descants for worship and praise songs and sang out my love for God with my hands in the air. It made me feel so much better.

Groups of people chose to sit near us, and people said to me, "I hope you're going to sing today." This morning, my heart felt overwhelmed with glorious thanks to the Lord for being so supernatural that the Creator of the universe could come down to earth in the form of a little baby. The more I sang to His praise, the more I felt like continuing. When God is gracious enough to give us a gift, it is not for a defined period of our own determination, but for a lifetime. God never calls us and then takes back the call. From this moment on, I will sing to the praises of the Lord, until I sound like a croaking frog. To God, it will sound like an angel singing in perfect angelic harmony, such are the ways of the Lord.

French Country Roast Chicken with Au Jus

I was twelve years old when I discovered the creativity of cooking. My first experiment was the infamous blueberry pie with a pinch of coffee grounds that won a blue ribbon at the county fair. My 4-H friends are still talking about it. The same day, I decided to endeavor to make my very first homemade chicken potpie. I used all fresh ingredients harvested from our farm, including the chicken. I wrote about this experience in the first book of the young adult series, “Innocence: Simplicity of Spirit.”

Characterized by inventiveness, my cooking is not precise. I know what I like, and so I try to imagine how the flavors will react when combined. Ten years ago, I tested a chicken roast, which has become a favorite to everyone that I’ve served. I’d like to share that with you today.

You can vary this recipe based on the number you plan to serve. Add a little more cooking time for more ingredients. Eight chicken breasts are the most that I have roasted at one time, and that roast took one hour and ten minutes.

In a Teflon roasting pan, place three skinless, boneless chicken breasts. Surround them with baby carrots, white corn cut from the cob, and small Dutch potatoes. Season the entire dish with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Pinch the spices in your fingers as you dispense them onto your creation. Don’t be spare with your spices, but don’t overwhelm the roast either. Onto the chicken breasts, dash a reasonable amount of dark Worcestershire sauce. Too much will skew the flavor. You’ll know you’ve added enough Worcestershire when the breast appears basted with it. Glop three generous teaspoons or dollops of margarine or butter on each breast. Cover with at least five cups of chopped mushrooms. Choose your mushrooms for tenderness, not chewiness. Cover the entire dish with at least four cups of freshly shredded parmesan cheese. Leave the baking pan uncovered. Pop it into the oven at 375 degrees for 45 minutes.

The smell of the spices and Worcestershire simmering is scintillating. The scent will waft through your kitchen and make the mouths of your family and friends water with anticipation. Use a large sturdy spatula to cut through the parmesan and mushrooms around each chicken breast, and then lift the chicken breast out of the pan and onto the plate. Add carrots, corn, and potatoes to each plate, and drizzle the au jus over everything. Serve the roast with freshly baked rosemary bread for a satisfied crew.

My husband loves this dish. He would rather eat at home than go out to a restaurant, and sometimes I would, too! Since, we both work from home, occasionally the preparation of three meals a day in the kitchen seems like a lot. This recipe is one of the most tantalizing and easiest recipes in my repertoire, and one I don’t mind making. I hope that you enjoy it!

End the Fear of Wasted Love

God places love in our hearts when we become a child of God. The Holy Spirit gives us the ability to love. If God is love, therefore, so am I, when I become a child of God. We know that God's love is eternal. Is our love eternal, too?

A man met a woman and fell passionately in love with her. His love was an undying feeling of affection characterized by strength, depth, sincerity, tenderness, devotion, loyalty, and passion. She accepted his love willingly and gloried in it. She thought that it would last forever, that is just how secure it felt to her, and so she lavished love on him in return. He accepted her love and they grew in love and commitment together. The years passed and one of them strayed from the path of commitment. The marriage didn't feel exciting anymore, and so the eyes wandered. Without realizing that it was even happening, one of them dissipated the commitment with an affair.

The spouse had felt the loss of the other person's affection and devotion, and therefore, developed anxiety about the relationship. The anxiety sought relief in the form of another love. The couple divorced and wondered how it ever happened to them. Where did the love go that each of them offered and accepted from each other?

We know that love is a choice and an action, not just a feeling. A person may not feel the same passion for the other as before because he or she chose not to exhibit the affection anymore, but the couple did feel the love at one time. The special love turned to bitterness when it remembered the way it used to be, but what happened to the love that they showed to each other? Did it disappear or remain in the memory of the person that accepted it?

A parent showered love upon a child. The child remembered and developed a loving nature. The child grew up into an adult and the parent died. The child still remembered the parent's love, and it became part of who the child would always be. Does an alienated spouse remember the love, too?

I believe that a person's memory holds the love and cherishes it even after the other person no longer offers it. Like the parent and child, that love becomes a part of whom that person will always be. It helps to explain why, even after decades, that former lovers continue to feel animosity for each other and are not comfortable talking to each other. The love that existed in the past still lives on in their hearts and memory, and has become a part of whom they are. It's hard not to feel resentment at its discontinuance. There may not be a logical reason for the resentment, but maybe that IS the reason because LOVE IS ETERNAL.

God is love, and therefore, so am I. I think that my love and the love I've received must be eternal, too.

The Voice of Inspiration

The recording sound engineer turned on the red light for the finale. The audience hushed as did everyone back stage. Jim, the head of fifteen-year-old Lilia’s security, had Bill and Kimo, members of his security team, positioned on either side of the stage. Jim stood in the wing closest to wherever Lilia happened to be, his responsibility as her bodyguard boyfriend.

Jim knocked on her door, “You’re on, sweetheart.” He didn’t say too much because he knew that Lilia didn’t want to be engaged in conversation and lose her focus. She was now “Princess Marie” from the operetta Naughty Marietta.

Lilia only smiled and followed Jim to the stage. The announcer said with a deep bass voice, “We have the honor of welcoming back to our stage the renown, youngest diva, Lilia Faith Christian.” The audience jumped to their feet and clamored in appreciation. Lilia raised her chin and walked onto the stage like the princess she had become. Her grace and beauty overwhelmed the audience. Gasps of awe from the audience filled the air at her presence.

Her mom held her dad’s arm and felt tearful. Her dad grasped her mom’s hand in his. He also felt overwhelmed by the moment. Her grandpa had guessed many years ago what she was capable of accomplishing. Here was yet another indication that he had been right. He held his beloved Mandy’s hand in speculative anticipation and tried desperately to hold back his tears.

The orchestra played the introduction to the “Italian Street Song,” Lilia’s last number, the finale of the program. The recording of this song at the Hawaii Opera had played on public radio every Sunday for months. Everyone recognized it. It was the reason they had come to hear her record with the Boston Pops in the first place. It was also the reason that there was not an empty seat in Boston’s Symphony Hall. The audience, rapt, fell silent.

Lilia began, “Ah! My heart is back in Napoli, dear Napoli, dear Napoli and I seem to hear again in dreams her revelry, her sweet revelry.” She sang with the beauty of an angel with so much precision and accuracy that she astonished the audience. She played the part of “Princess Marie,” royal and yet playful. The audience adored her. When Lilia began the chorus, she took the performance to a higher level.

Her grandpa thought, Lilia is setting a new high watermark tonight. A tear slipped down his cheek. He had known when Lilia had been just a little girl. He had known then that she would become a star.

Lilia sang the audience into a silent frenzy. They listened to every nuance, every note, enamored with the young diva. She began the second chorus and sang the obbligato adding a perfect trill, as pure and tight as the warble of a nightingale just before the grace notes. It took the song to a higher level than what the audience had heard on the radio. The audience realized that they were in the presence of greatness and held their collective breath. Lilia sang the sixth C for seven plus measures ending in a faultlessly executed run. Then, she jumped and sang through the entirety of the chorus with perfect cadence and accuracy as she delivered the full sound of a dramatic coloratura soprano. Lilia held the last “Boom” in the coda, and landed on the F. She belted it out with brilliant clarity and finished it abruptly with a shake of her head.

The audience leaped to their feet, and clamored and clapped. They hollered, “Brava! Brava!” People tossed roses to the stage from every direction. Lilia bowed humbly, then raised her arms up slowly from the sides to the ceiling, pointed at God, and looked up to give God all the glory. That motion sent the audience into hysteria.

Her mom couldn’t control the tears. They rolled down her face, and she knew she would have to redo her makeup. This remarkable young genius was her very own daughter. That knowledge threatened to overcome her.

Mandy looked on with awe that words could not express. “Oh, Lilia,” she whispered.

The announcer walked out onto the stage to join Lilia. The audience quieted so that they could hear. He asked her, “Lilia, please tell us from where you get your inspiration.”

Lilia answered with perfect aplomb and without hesitation, “God is the original storyteller. The story is simply told through us.”

The announcer said, “I present Lilia Faith Christian, the youngest diva.” The audience increased their applause audibly.

Lilia graciously delivered her final line that always created a delirium, “Thank you, thank you for listening.”

Blueberry Pie

This was the third time that Lilia had baked blueberry pie to practice for the county fair. Lilia arranged the dough in the pie pan, trimmed it, and then covered it with a linen cloth. She had enough for another pie, but nothing to put in it. She looked in the freezer: there were frozen peas, corn, green beans, baby carrots, and some chicken breasts. I'll make a homemade chicken potpie, thought Lilia. She loved to experiment with ingredients. Lilia thawed the chicken breasts in cold water, placed them in a baking pan, and seasoned them slightly with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. She placed it in the oven at three hundred fifty degrees for forty-five minutes.

Now, while that's cooking, I'll make the blueberry pie, she thought. She rolled out the dough, covered the pie tin with the uneven slab of dough, and snipped off the excess. Lilia prepared the gel mixture for the blueberries, retrieved the blueberries, and mixed it all together. I think I'll try a little of this ingredient because it's dark and will add a little texture, she thought. Lilia rolled out the top crust, arranged it on the pie, and snipped off the excess. Then, very methodically, she pinched the crusts together with her two thumbs all the way around the pie. Lilia poked the uncooked top a with a fork, and sprinkled it with sugar and cinnamon.

The chicken finished baking. Lilia removed the chicken from the oven, and replaced it with the blueberry pie. She whisked together the ingredients for the gravy: gravy coloring, cold milk, a little flour, juice from the pan, and a little salt and pepper. She uncovered her previously prepared pie crust, and placed the peas, corn, green beans, and carrots in the pie crust. She shredded the chicken, tossed that in with the vegetables, and poured in the gravy. Lastly, she rolled out the top pie crust, placed it on the pie, secured the pie crusts together as before, poked it with a fork, and smeared a little butter on top.

When the blueberry pie finished baking, Lilia switched the pies and placed the chicken potpie in the oven. It's time to set the table, thought Lilia.

Her mom had worked in the garden for the last two hours. I'd better call it quits and get supper ready, she thought. When she entered the kitchen, the scent was tantalizing. She smelled an aroma of cinnamon, blueberries, and some other spices that she couldn't identify. "My goodness, it smells good in here, what are you making, Lilia?"

"It's a surprise for you, dad, and Gramps. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Could you alert everyone?" Lilia announced in a business-like manner.

Francine felt stunned. Was this her outdoorsy, can't-sit-still daughter? The tables had turned! Francine cleaned herself up, rounded up Jacob and Apelehama, and they all sat down for the mystery meal. Lilia filled glasses with water and ice cubes, and then added a slice of lime. The three adults acted as if they had never met Lilia before. It seemed that wearing her mother's apron had magically changed her into someone else!

Lilia carved the chicken potpie with her mother's good crystal pie cutter. The heavenly scent wafted from the steamy concoction and filled the air. Lilia served them one by one, and then suggested, "Let's say grace." She said the blessing while all the adults sat there speechless. They feasted on homemade chicken potpie that was mouth-watering good.

"How did you think of this, Lilia?" asked her astonished mom.

"There was too much dough, so I took what we had out of the freezer. I'm really getting into this cooking thing! I love to experiment with flavors and spices," Lilia replied winningly.

Jacob and Apelehama seemed to have lost their tongues. They ate appreciatively and stared at Lilia with over-sized stupefied eyes. Who is this girl, and what have you done with Lilia? Jacob wondered.

Lilia cleared the dishes and queried, "Would anyone like dessert?"

A unanimous, "Yes" answered the question.

Lilia cut each of them a generous portion of blueberry pie, and topped it with vanilla ice cream. They ate in appreciative silence with only an occasional "M-m-m-m-m-m." They finished it all, down to the last crumb.

"That was unlike any blueberry pie I have ever had the pleasure to eat," her dad finally spoke up as he dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "There's something different about it."

"This is the pie I'm going to enter at the fair. Did you like it?" Lilia asked with curiosity.

Her grandpa broke his silence, "It was wonderful, but there is something a little different about it. What is it?" Her mom, dad, and grandpa eyed Lilia attentively.

"Coffee grounds."

"What?" All three stammered.

"Coffee grounds, I told you I like to experiment with flavors," she commented as she smiled sweetly at the flabbergasted adults.