One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation (51 page)
Read One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation Online
Authors: Karen Kingsbury
But that wasn't the point—not then and not now.
The point was much deeper.
We were all changed by what happened on September 11. In the days and months that followed, we grieved and got angry and came together in a way that had never happened before. We loved more easily. Some of you who are faithful readers wrote me letters saying that you'd made amends with a family member or learned to express your feelings for someone you cared about.
“I tell my father that I love him every time we talk now,” one of you wrote to me. “Life is too short … I know that better today.”
We all do.
The lessons Eric Michaels learned while living in the shoes of Jake Bryan are lessons we would all do well to take notice of. The essential need for God in our lives, the value of faith and family and special times together. The importance of daily Bible reading. And most of all, the fact that a job will never be more important than knowing God or treasuring the smiles of our little ones before they're grown.
No promotion or job title is more important than our relationships.
There were other lessons of course, the ones Jamie Bryan learned. That we cannot run from death. Eventually, it will catch each of us, and often at an hour when we are unaware. For that reason we need to love without limit and be ready to face our Maker as long as we draw breath.
I am grateful that you journeyed the pages of
One Tuesday Morning
with me. It was a difficult story to write—especially the scenes in the south tower—and I am certain it was difficult to read. For those of you who were touched personally by the attacks on America, please know that my heart grieves with you. I have prayed that this book might be sensitive and compassionate, and that it might help you grieve, also.
Perhaps in a way you haven't done until now.
I've been asked many times—even by my own father—whether it's too soon for a story like
One Tuesday Morning
. But always I say the thing that is in my heart. As a nation we have shared our shock and our anger.
Now it is time to share our grief. And often that is best done through story.
One Tuesday Morning
was my way of grieving, and maybe … just maybe it'll be your way too.
For those of you who've read all my novels, let me tell you that my family is doing well. My husband is enjoying his time away from coaching, a time to be with our children and lead our family into a closer walk of faith. Kelsey is a young teenager now, and our relationship with her is sweeter than ever. Tyler still gravitates toward storytelling and drama, and the four younger boys are most easily found on a sports field. As always, we cherish your prayers … especially for my family and my ministry of writing.
I leave you with the words of Jake Bryan—
“I've prayed for God to touch your heart … He means everything to me, and I know that one day He'll mean everything to you too. On that day, you'll no longer have to be afraid, because you'll have God Almighty to lean on.”
For those of you whose faith is as strong as Jake Bryan's … I celebrate with you the joy of knowing the peace that passes understanding. But if the tragedy of September 11 has you confused or depressed, if your questions about that day still stand in the way of your relationship with the Creator, please, find a Bible-believing church and voice your concerns. I am convinced that only then will you find out the truth about the love of God.
Though death will one day find us all, we are not without hope. For God has won the victory over death.
Remember that.
In Christ's light and love … until next time,
Karen Kingsbury
PS … I'd love to hear from you at my website:
or by emailing me at [email protected]
B
EYOND
T
UESDAY
M
ORNING
(A song)
B
Y
K
AREN
K
INGSBURY
(Chorus)
Let’s not move too far beyond Tuesday morning
Let’s not forget all the lives that were lost
Let’s not move too far beyond Tuesday morning
Remember the heroes remember the cost.
Time has moved on as time always will do
Healing has come both to me and to you.
The towers that stood now stand only at times
A memory that’s fading from all of our minds.
The flag on your bumper is yellowed and frayed
It’s only on Sundays we take time to pray
For families of folks who did nothing but go
To work Tuesday morning and never came home.
(Bridge)
Still they are crying and still they are trying
To understand all that America lost
Take time to remember, there is no denying
That one Tuesday morning and all that it cost.
Smile at a stranger or do a good deed
Help out a neighbor, love someone in need
Do it to honor the women and men
Who died Tuesday morning and ever since then.
Let’s not move too far beyond Tuesday morning
Let’s not forget all the lives that were lost
Let’s not move too far beyond Tuesday morning
Remember the heroes, remember the cost.
Donald, my prince charming, who is forever praying for me, encouraging me, and giving me reasons to laugh. The wings are from God, but you are the wind. Every letter I receive, every life changed by the words God gives me to write, all of it is as much your ministry as mine. That’s how much I rely on your love and prayers. You told me when we married that you’d always love God more than me. Ever since then I’ve been thanking the Lord for that truth, because the love and light you bring to me and our children could only come from heaven above. I love you, Donald. With you, life is always a dance.
Kelsey, my precious daughter, so grown-up. Sometimes I look at you and do a double take. When did that kindergartner with the poofy bangs become the beautiful fifteen-year-old with model good looks? Back then I would say, “Who made you so pretty, Kelsey?” You’d giggle and answer, “Jesus!” It’s still so true today, only now, as you grow closer to Him, I see an even greater beauty. The beauty of Christ within you. I’m in awe of your choices, your high standards, your determination to keep God first in your life. High school already, Kelsey? Can you believe it? Your life is everything you dreamed about and the ride gets faster all the time. But in the quiet places of my heart you will always be my little Norm. I love you.
Tyler, my Broadway boy. Once upon a yesterday you would find whoever was home, stop what we were doing, and gather us together. Audience in place, you would sing. Song after song after song. Not regular kid songs, but songs from
Annie
,
Oklahoma, Les Misérables,
and
Phantom of the Opera.
We always knew you had a gift, but now we gather together in one room
hoping
you’ll sing. More people are listening, Tyler, and many more will in years to come. You are only twelve, but the gift God has given you in song and drama and writing leaves me speechless. The mother heart in me is trying to find balance between my excitement for your future and my trepidation, because one day I won’t have you and Kelsey singing and dancing in the background of our lives. You are the music of our home, dear Son, and even after you grow up, I will hear your song in my memory forever. I love you, Tyler.
Sean, my sunbeam. You are ten already and I can’t believe it’s been almost four years since you came from Haiti to live with us. You were the first one to open up about your past, to tell us of the hard times, days when you had to fend for yourself, eating dirt to survive. But today you are the first one with a hug and a smile, looking out for other people as easily as you breathe. You are a talented reader, a devoted son, and a respectful young man. I couldn’t be more proud of you. You are gifted in sports, yes, but that’s not why you’re the first boy picked when they form teams at recess. It’s because of who you are on the inside—the kind, loving person God made you to be. I’m forever glad God led you to our family; you belonged here from the beginning. I love you, Sean.
Josh, my rough-and-tumble sweetheart. Since I met you, I’ve known you had an amazing gift of persuasion. There I was at the Haitian orphanage, meeting Sean and EJ for the first time, but the first one to talk was you. “I love you, Mommy,” you told me, using beautiful English. Do you know that the room went silent, Josh? Forty-two children clamoring and laughing and yelling in that tiny orphanage courtyard, and all I could hear was you, a child I’d never met until that day. No question, God wanted you in our home, because you arrived on September 8, 2001. Three days later political tensions might have meant you would never come home. Isn’t God amazing? At ten years old, your talents are too numerous to mention, but above all God will use that wonderful charisma to bring people to Him. Save me a seat in the front row, okay, honey? I love you, Josh.
EJ, my wide-eyed overcomer. Like a precious, beautiful flower, you continue to unfold a little more each day, proving to everyone in your world that you are capable of great things, even at eight years old. I’m so proud of the way you hold your head high, the picture of kindness and character you present to the world. In the garden of life, you are becoming a leader, one forged by hanging onto Christ and letting Him pull you to the top. I know God has plans for all of His children, but yours gets a little clearer every day. I cherish our quiet times, when you sit beside me during devotions. Your smile makes our home so much brighter. I love you, EJ.
Austin, my six-year-old Green Beret. When God brought you safely back from infant heart surgery, I knew He had a special reason for letting you live. Now I can only dream of what He has in store. “I don’t need to learn piano, Mommy. I told you…I’m going to be a Green Beret!” That and a Green Bay Packer. Oh, and the next (blond) Michael Jordan. Or maybe a champion bull rider. All that rough, tough men’s town stuff, and you still cry when you think of Jesus on a cross. Talk about a heartbreaking cutie! But for now, the only broken heart is mine, because already our special babyhood days together are over. You are out of kindergarten, into full-day school like the others. But don’t be surprised, little first-grader, if one morning you look up and I’m there to take you out for a special date. One more time to share lunch and give-and-go and cuddle time. Whoever said it was harder letting go of your youngest was right. Keep holding onto Jesus, Austin. I love you.
And to God Almighty, the Author of Life, who has—for now—blessed me with these.
As always, when I bring my heart’s thoughts and dreams to the computer keyboard, it’s not without the help of a host of people.
In the writing of
Beyond Tuesday Morning,
I must first thank the people of St. Paul’s Chapel. It is every bit the mighty mission I tried to make it in the fictional story that plays out on the following pages. The volunteers at St. Paul’s continue to play a role in a healing that is far from complete. I learned much from my time at St. Paul’s, talking to volunteers and studying the mementos and memorabilia there.
While the rest of us watched in horror that terrible Tuesday morning as the Twin Towers collapsed, we eventually got on with our lives. Not so for many of the people in Manhattan—especially for hundreds of firefighters and their families. Because of that, I am grateful to each of you who still devotes his or her time to the healing process at Ground Zero.
Thanks also to the information office of the fire department of New York. With the cooperation of this office, we were able to send a thousand copies of
One Tuesday Morning,
the first book in this set, to the FDNY—four books per station. The letters I’ve received from New York City firefighters have often left me in tears.
They tell me they are desperate for light and hope, that the pain lives on every day. And that, in many cases, reading
One Tuesday Morning
gave them a reason to believe again, a reason to turn back to God and their families after being consumed by pain, grief—and even hatred.
I thank each one of you who wrote those letters, because it was your story that I had to complete in this book. Not literally, of course.
Beyond Tuesday Morning
is fictional, and any similarity to reallife people or situations is purely coincidental. But I pray that the hurting people in New York find hope the way Jamie Bryan does in this sequel.
The fact is, with God, the story need not end in grief and despair but with
life.
I pray you’ll find that message in this book.
Also thanks to my brilliant editor, Karen Ball, and to marketing expert Sue Brower, and to all my friends at Zondervan Publishing. Thank you for taking my idea about a story of life springing from the ashes of September 11 and helping it become what it is today. Also, a thanks to Cheryl Orefice who listened while I brainstormed the possibilities of
Beyond Tuesday Morning
.
A special thanks to my mother, Anne Kingsbury, who is also my assistant. You have a mind like mine and a heart for the ministry these books have become. Your presence in my life is heaven sent. I love you, Mom. I couldn’t do my job without you. And to my father, Ted, who continues to be my greatest cheerleader. Dad, remember when I was writing poetry as a teenager, and you told me I could do anything with God’s help? Even becoming an author? Well, I believed you—and look what God has done! I love you more every day.
Thanks also to my agent, Rick Christian. Rick, you pray for me and push me and protect me in ways that go beyond my highest expectations, proving I’m the most blessed writer of all. I stand amazed at your talents—and grateful that beyond anything in the publishing world, you desire God’s will for my life, that I serve Him, that I have time for my beloved husband and children, and that I listen to His call. How amazing it is to have found you!
When it comes to crunch time, and I find myself pouring out my heart on deadline, lots of people come together to fill in the gaps. With six kids, it would be impossible otherwise. And so a warm and heartfelt thanks to my husband Donald, my kids—who don’t mind having tuna sandwiches for a week on end, my sister Tricia, my parents again, and my good friends Cindy Weil, the Schmidt family, the Chapmans, Thayne Guymon, and Aaron Hisel, all of whom have on occasion caught frogs with Austin in my place.
Thanks also to my special prayer warriors, Ann Hudson, Sylvia Wallgren, Sonya Fitzpatrick, Marcia Bender, Christine Wessel, Teresa Thacker, and so many others who have written to me with promises of prayer. I feel you lifting my ministry up to Jesus time and time again. Sometimes with every breath. I couldn’t do this work without your support. Please, please, please keep praying.
And a thanks to my extended family, and to my friends Randy and Vicky and Lila Graves, Bobbi and Tika Terret, John and Melinda Chapman, Mark and Marilyn Atteberry, Kathy Santschi, and my many friends at New Heights Church, Christian Youth Theater, and at the local schools. Your encouragement, love, and support are a constant source of strength.
Also thanks to my retail family across the U.S. and Canada. I’ve met so many of you—store owners, managers, and frontliners—these past few years, and I still mean what I said back then. You are the other half of what I do. I’m so grateful for the way you’ve partnered with me. Please know that I continue to send people your way, and that I will always pray for your ministry in books.
Finally, thanks to God Almighty. He is the reason any of this is possible. The words are His, the ideas are His, the gift is His. I pray I might remain obedient to all He is asking of me in this season of writing. Thank You, God…thank You.
