Want to come for tea?


Come for tea

There are so many things to write, whether you are a writer as a profession or not.

But I must say, I think the most lovely thing to write is an invitation.

Could you join me for tea? Want to have lunch? Can you come to a dinner party?

Celebrate a birth with us, or a marriage, or an adoption!

It’s a surprise party! A birthday party! A bon voyage party! A welcome home party!

Our soldier is coming home!

Our daughter graduated!

We bought a house! or a farm! or an RV!

Celebrations are landmarks in life.

Or perhaps it is an event marking a passage.

Or perhaps it is a “for no reason” event. Those are wondrous impromptu get-togethers filled with fun, laughter, and memories.

Whatever the occasion, an invitation is a fabulous piece of mail. Regular mail or email.  A smile breaks out from one cheekbone to the other. You rush to look at your calendar with soaring hopes that the box is empty so you can gregariously say “YES! I’ll join you!”

An invitation. Lovely.

What can you invite someone to today? My table is ready for tea. I’m happy to pull out another cup or six.

Pat Meyers



Con vs. Pro

Today is my birthday. I am in stealth mode for birthdays from now on. Getting older is only what children and teenagers want to do. For a writer I don’t project much into the future. My imagination doesn’t like conjuring what more gray hair and wrinkles will look like on me. I don’t want to contemplate how much further untethered parts of me are going to droop. In fact, I have a con for all the pros of aging:

Wisdom-What good is it if you can’t remember any of it?
Inner beauty-Too bad it doesn’t show up in the mirror.
Patience-She isn’t in the car.
Contentment: Pay attention, all these are cons.
Peaceful sleep: Who sleeps?
Grace: She hasn’t been seen in years.
Tranquility: Again, all cons.
Wisdom: Oh, forgot I already mentioned that.
Balance: Any heel higher than one inch is dangerous.
Faith: Aren’t her sisters Patience and Grace?
Hope: Who?
Maturity: I’ve been that for decades, it just got me more responsibility.
Responsible: Synonym for blame.


For the Love of Typewriters, Books, and Words

Editor’s Note: This is a repost from our other blog, Bredrums.  I found this in my folder and thought some of our new readers might enjoy hearing my early passion for words and books.


I have always loved books and words. Even longer than I can remember, apparently. I was at my parent’s house for dinner recently and was asked by a guest if I had always wanted to write. Before I could answer her, my dad answered, “Yes.” He explained that when I was two, I wanted a ‘high piter’ (typewriter) and that when I was three and four, I could read words on the billboards around town.

Continue reading

Writing Time

I remember when I had a set time every morning and a block of time every week that was set apart for writing and nothing interrupted it. Those times were protected like they were precious hours – which they were.


Well, life has become strange and it has been a tough thing to get that solidly blocked out writing time of late. I could list the reasons – I took on a second job, I have a fairly major commute to my full-time job which I did not have previously – I could go on. But it really doesn’t matter what is on that list.

What we deem necessary we make time for.

And that’s the truth.

So then, I must ask myself how necessary I deem my writing time. My mind answers ‘VERY’ loudly and quickly and adamantly. But the times still slip away and get consumed by all the other necessaries.

The same could be said about anything that we feel should be a vital part of our day or week — cooking homemade meals, visiting an elderly relative, writing notes of thanks, spending time with family or friends, organizing the attic — how long could this list be?

The truth remains: what we deem necessary or vital or important, we make time for.

Starting again — I will make how I use of my hours reflect my priorities.

Do you have trouble with that as well? Is it just me? Boy, I hope it isn’t just me. Apparently, misery really does love company.


Patricia Meyers

Morning Musings

Morning Musings

Often, upon waking I have thoughts that seem grounded, logical and noteworthy, but when applied to laptop screen results in disjointed, confusing and sometimes bizarre writing. This morning, for instance, I awoke and the stop-start-pause-restart of my writing life seemed much comparable to Vincent Van Gogh staring in a mirror to paint himself sporting a bandage over his freshly lopped off ear and Ludwig Von Beethoven composing with his piano’s legs sawn off and flush on the floor so he could feel the vibration of the music in an attempt to replicate his failed hearing

As you might ascertain, I am feeling by turns tragic and pathetic about writing. Why my squirrely brain is conjuring a mentally ill Expressionist painter and a deaf composer, I have no idea. When I have no idea about a subject, I hit the Internet and Wickipedia. Today’s search uncovered knowledge that Vincent Van Gogh painted 37 self-portraits and Ludwig Von Beethoven’s temperament might have put Oscar the Grouch to shame. One of their common traits was a passionate drive to perfection hindered by illness, in Van Gogh’s case, acute mental illness and in Beethoven’s, as medical science discovered since his death by testing a lock of his hair, lead poisoning.

Another trait these two gifted and tragic individuals shared was the need to search, grow and mature in their craft. Every talent is shaped by outside influences. Van Gogh painted alongside Monet and Gaugin, Beethoven began his career as a pianist and composer under Hayden and Mozart. Artists absorb from the universe then filter, distill and translate that information through their art, whether by paint on stretched canvas, musical notes on pages of ledger bars, or words typed on a laptop screen.

My waking induced musings may never produce anything but disjointed, confusing and sometimes bizarre writing but is ranks with the common denominator shared by all artists since the birth of time. It is the human mind reaching for a way of expressing itself through God-given talent and striving to understand and be understood by the universe.


God’s Promises are Certain

How many times do we fear? or wonder? or question? or feel alone in any given area of our life? Seriously. How many? Too many to count, right?

Think for a moment about every area of your life: your family, your finances, your health, your career, your ministry, your writing, your anything. There are times when we feel like we cannot handle it on our own. Perhaps you are in one of those times right now in one area or two. In those times it is so necessary to stop and breathe and remember that God’s promises are certain.

rainbow over BreckenridgeIt is not easy to make yourself focus on the promise when everything looks bleak. But that in no way makes the promise less certain.

I have had the delight to spend four days in Breckenridge, Colorado. If you can get yourself there, do so!

We had the most amazing weather the entire trip, except for a sudden shower on Sunday afternoon. I went out to the balcony and sat, chatting with one of my daughters on the phone, listening to the rain, staring at the mountain view, and smelling the amazing aroma wafting across the tree tops.

The, suddenly — extremely suddenly — so suddenly that I gasped — a gorgeous, bright, deeply hued rainbow appeared before my eyes. The friend I shared the weekend with heard my gasp and hurried to the balcony and was greeted with a sight of sights. The rainbow had become a double rainbow with each end touching a mountain top and the space between the two rainbows filled in with deep gray-ish purple. Oh the camera did not do it justice.

We just stared it. And remembered that when the storms pop up and things seem bleak, the promises of God are certain. Perhaps, like today, they will pop out in front of our eyes. Sometimes we get to gasp at the evidence of the promise.

I wondered how many of the thousands of people in Breckenridge at that moment saw the rainbow. Probably not many. Many were working, or shopping, or eating, or getting massages, or a hundred other things. That, however, did not change the fact that the most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen presented itself overhead.

If the weekend had nothing but blue skies and friendly clouds, we would not have had those minutes of beauty. The storm brought beauty.

Then I will praise you with music on the harp,
    because you are faithful to your promises, O my God.

Pslam 71:22a

As I walk through life and encounter a storm, as I work on my writing and hit a snag, as life’s messiness happens in other areas; I will remember the day I gasped at the physical evidence of His faithfulness as it popped into view in grand splendor right before my eyes. And I will tell myself that even when I don’t see it, it is still there.

His promises are certain for every area of our life and they will show themselves at the right time.

And so I write, following the calling, trusting His provision and promise.

Pat Meyers




The Art of Juggling

In the hands of an expert juggler all the balls stay aloft, the pins fly in a blur and beneath this flurry of motion the juggler pedals his herky, jerky unicycle across the high wire while the crowd holds it collective breath waiting for the pins, balls, unicycle and rider to crash into the floor in a giant puff of sawdust. It doesn’t happen because this is the show. In practice sessions the juggler gets a crash helmet and a net.
Juggling is learning proficiency while everything is in motion, which reminds me of writing. Writing is just like juggling without the high wire. Writing has tension wires aplenty. The other elements of writing are outlined as follows:

Continue reading