A few years back I was killing time waiting for my flight to deliver me from a vicious Texas winter. I grabbed a bottle of water and browsed the paperback book section of the store inside the Austin terminal. I love books… big surprise. I normally choose books, but that one time, his book chose me. “The Time Mom Met Hitler, Frost Came to Dinner, And I Heard the Greatest Story Ever Told”. I reread the title again silently. It grabbed me then I grabbed it and headed to the checkout line.

The Time Mom Met Hitler, Frost Came to Dinner, And I Heard the Greatest Story Ever Told, falls into the “best books I’ve ever read” category. It’s Dikkon Eberhart’s memoir about his life and family. Dikkon’s dad was the famous poet Richard Eberhart, who had famous friends, like Robert Frost, as mentioned in the title to his book.

There are an extreme few people in this world that can tell stories of the times when Dylan Thomas came to tuck them in or tell them a bedtime story. Dikkon is one of those few.

Dikkon’s family on his mother’s side were floor wax pioneers. His great grandpa actually invented floor wax and turned his invention into a house hold name. But being born into a famous family or privilege doesn’t keep the world from stomping on your dreams and heart.

Dikkon’s book is the story of how all of us, regardless of which family we’re born into, have struggles and sorrows in this life. His story is the story of God’s redemption and grace. It’s a story of Dikkon and his family’s path from legalism in Judaism to the Truth of God.

Over the last few years Dikkon and I, like many of you, have forged a long distance friendship. Even though he’s on the other side of the traditional publishing chasm, Dikkon takes the time to interact and help out folks like me seeking what he’s already attained.

I’m excited to share the news that Dikkon is working on a follow up to The Time Mom Met Hitler, Frost Came to Dinner, And I Heard the Greatest Story Ever Told! The theme of his new book is how Dikkon and his wife were being relentlessly pursued by the Trinity, even when they didn’t know it, and what transpired once their hearts and souls surrendered.

Here’s the best part; if you subscribe on his website you can request to be an “Insider”, of which I’m one, and you’ll be on Dikkon’s list of people he actually allows to participate in the editing parts of his new manuscript as he writes it. Pretty cool. That shows the humility and heart of God in my friend; Dikkon.

If you haven’t read The Time Mom Met Hitler, Frost Came to Dinner, And I Heard the Greatest Story Ever Told, I highly suggest you do. And I’d also appreciate if you’d visit Dikkon here and support a fine man of God.

Dikkon Eberhart


I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard it, but it was early on, as far back as I can recollect. It went something like this; “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. It was just another catchy adage I’d memorize as easily as John 3:16, but not really grasp the depth of either for decades.

image courtesy of

It’s been a whirlwind of busyness lately. It’s peculiar how similar that word is to business. It’s good in some ways; that means, according to the old “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”, I’m keeping my nose clean. Yeah, I can quote the old adages like people do Beatle’s songs.

But as I get along in years it seems those old adages, like all things, are just generalities.

There is a reason that the Good Book says, “Be still and know that I AM GOD”.

Being busy, if it takes up space and time with the Father, is another form of idolatry. Sometimes it just takes the time to sit down and peck out a few words to begin to grasp the depth of our motivations and shortcomings.

When we get so busy it’s easy to hide behind the actions and justify our reasons, but it’s all about priorities. The flesh has its priorities and they never align with God’s. Sometimes it takes an idle mind to ponder and accept the fact that we’re “Prone to Wander… Lord I feel it”.

In our time of musing the sovereignty of our Father and our tendencies to fill our lives with distractions, we come back to Truth… And we fall into the comfort of His Amazing Grace. There is no sweeter place or sound.

It’s the season of rearranging and shuffling priorities to their proper place. And tossing the ones that keep us so busy we forget to seek Truth and find peace in this dizzying busy life.

I’ve missed the reading and writing and interaction with my comrades. It helps keep priorities in order.

Somewhere between “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop” and “Choked by the worries of this world” is where we find peace with our Maker.












Man, I wish I knew how to sail! courtesy Photobucket

Repost from November 2010. As a youngster, I heard what seemed like an unlimited supply of adults say, “Just remember, you reap what you sow!”

I was one of those kids who caring adults tried to give a bit of advice in order to save me from future grief. Some personalities read like a billboard sign…

That sowing was great… right up till it came time reap.

Some of us learn easier than others.

I was at one of my best friend’s surprise birthday party this last week. Typical of all get-togethers of old friends or family, it is a stroll down memory lane. Some streets I’ve ventured down I’ve completely forgotten.

I was reminded of an incident that happened during my sowing years. I was with a good buddy of mine, Dave D. and two other girls our age, I’ll spare them the embarrassment by naming names. We were down at the lake and decided it would be a great day to go sailing. Along with no sense, we had no money.

I decided we could “borrow” one, so we did. After our push off into our new hobby, out about 100 yards we heard yelling coming from the shore. It didn’t take long to figure out it was the owner of the sailboat.

I never considered turning back to return what wasn’t mine. We laughed and kept paddling. Sailboats aren’t a very effective means of water transportation when you don’t know how to sail…

The guy cursing from the shore shed his clothes and started swimming. As he started getting closer there was less laughter from our sobering vessel. I started waving down boats passing by and begged for a tow. We finally got one with the man fish about 15 feet from us.

Instant reaping would be more effective. When there isn’t immediate consequences from deserved actions it makes a wild heart bolder.

We ditched the sailboat on the other side of the island. I really didn’t feel like we were stealing the boat, more like borrowing with asking.

I haven’t had too many things in my life borrowed from me, but I’ve had more than my fair share of things stolen from me. Multiple trucks, tools, guns, you name it, I’ve had it stolen from me. I guess some mistakes were truly built to last…

Some people call it Karma, some simpler folks like me call it “getting paid back.” I should have been paying more attention in Sunday School. I first heard this verse there, “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”

In this world, I see people not as bold with ignorant actions, but with the same adolescent lack of reality. Some with heart problems eating hamburgers and smoking cigarettes. Others spending money they don’t have.

I’m not saying I’m perfect now. The difference now is I understand there is a day of reckoning. If and when that day comes, I’ll take it on the chin. I’m not suggesting I like it, but that’s the way God designed it. There are consequences for all actions, good or bad.

For those of us who know God, know His forgiveness.

I’ve never been sailing a day in my life unless you count that one day.

By the way, Man fish did make it back to shore safe and sound… My guess is that he too learned the lesson of you reap what you sow.


Some days of the calendar are just a little more special than almost all of the others. Some calendar days resonate in our soul and take their place in line of importance behind Christmas and Easter. Of course our children’s birthdays and now their kid’s birthdays mean a lot, but without our mom’s birthday, none of us would have ours.

My mom’s birthday is August 30th, the day before my mom and dad’s anniversary. Some of the roughest days of the summer land on my mom’s birthday, but neither rain nor shine can take the meaning of that day away for her loved ones.

It was six or seven years ago, a year or two after my dad passed, since I surprised my mom for her birthday by showing up out of the blue unannounced.

That birthday she was at the sink doing dishes when I strolled up her front walk. She started crying tears of joy instantly.

I took care of loose ends and headed north. It’s about a two and a half hour drive from where I live in the Valley of the Sun to her place. It took a little longer this year with all the road work and detours… and people that do the speed limit…

It’s easy to throw my mom off and give her misdirection. I always text her early on her birthday and call later in the afternoon. I sent my yearly birthday greeting long before I started heading her way so she would have no way of knowing if I was coming to surprise her or not.

I knocked on my mom’s front metal screen door around noon. There was no answer, but I could hear the TV or radio blaring inside. I waited as long as an impatient person can and rapped the back of my knuckles on the metal door again, harder the second time.

Finally her front door opened, but with the sunlight glaring behind me and the tiny little circles on the bug screen, I couldn’t see her… but I heard her. When a person knows another intimately, like a mother and her children, you know the sound in their voice and if tears are accompanying their words. My mom’s was.

I gave my mom a hug and she cleared a place on her coffee table for the oversized arrangement that engulfed her quaint coffee table.

image courtesy of trip

My mom asked me where I wanted to go for lunch. I reminded her that it was her birthday so it was completely up to her. We had a nice lunch in her favorite spot that fronts old Route 66. It’s a great place to remember the years of life and celebrate yet another one that God provides.

With age comes wisdom. By now I know how precious each year is and I don’t want to take any for granted. And certainly not the day and the year of my mom’s birthday.


There’s no shortage of grouchy people in the world. And there seems to be an over abundance of them when it gets late in a never ending summer. Kid’s love a never ending summer. Adults, not so much.

“What number?” I asked with as cheerful a voice as I could muster in a crowded airport.

“Thirty two,” the well and overdressed middle aged man responded without looking at me.

“Right behind you,” I said and squeezed between him and a similar aged woman with her husband right behind her.

She was dressed well too. Capris, medium heeled neutral colored heels. Her medium length auburn hair was perfect along with her makeup that she’s got down to an art after all the years of practice.

grouchy people

The lady that was sporting number thirty four, one number more than me, in the loading order said to her husband, “People keep cutting in front of me!” her eyebrows, painted a dark brown for contrast pinched the bridge of her wrinkled nose.

I tried to move as far to the side of the line as the adjacent seating would allow, but the woman was still snorting heavy and exaggerated sighs of frustration.

I’ve learned that it’s best to keep my mouth shut in scenarios like that. If I start to interact and a conversation goes sideways I can be less than kind.

When the attendant finally called out, “Okay, ‘A’ thirty through sixty. Thirty through sixty, please.” Everyone moved slowly toward the the check in bell and the sweltering jetway. I slipped behind thirty two. Just as I did my neighbor, number thirty four, let out as loud a “Well’ accompanied by a nasty exhale as she could muster.

I ignored her and took my rightful place in line.

There is no shortage of grouchy people in the summertime

“Can we work in with you?” I asked the grey haired gentleman that had left the leg extension machine and was coming back to reclaim it. I could have ignored him and just taken it, but I’ve been around gyms my whole life and I adhere to the unwritten rules of gym etiquette.

“I have two sets left,” he said.

“Okay, mind if we work in with you?” I asked again.

He shook his head in disgust, “I’m done,” he huffed and started to walk away.

“Nice gym etiquette!” I called to him and tried to look him in the eye. He wasn’t looking back.

Maybe it was the summer heat that got to me. Maybe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Maybe it was just this fallen flesh that catches up with all of us sooner or later.

I wonder if James wrote those words, “Be slow to anger”, in the summertime?

Wisdom from God tells me I should see and live this short life differently than the grouchy people, but I sweat too.