August, 2025

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and if our dog is typical, then I would have to say “they” are correct. Floyd and I, however, have been trying to make his retirement work, and at times, we feel as if we might be that old dog! Our lives have been full of travel and people and exciting adventures (some of which I could have done without, but I’ll leave that for another time). I have always enjoyed the role of silent partner to Floyd’s evangelism and Bible college “professoring.” I make really good biscuits (with butter and honey) and was glad to offer our hospitality to anyone he brought home.

Now, however, we are living in Montana, and although we still invite people to our home, we are grappling with finding new things to do that are somehow attached to the things we used to do when we were young and had energy. Floyd wanted to have a website, and you who follow us so faithfully know that we keep tweaking it. This newsletter is to announce another tweak.

I have just finished writing a novel! Yay! You are the first to be told. It is a contemporary Christian novel, gently dealing with a very up-to-date topic. Floyd thinks we need an author’s website to promote it, so we are making some changes to “The Bible Compass.” I love the name, and everything we put on it will continue to point people to the Bible as their only reliable compass for life. As you know, I also write historical fiction (and yes, a third cathedral novel is underway), and I also love to help people dig into their Bible with Bible studies and other helps.

I got my idea for this most recent novel when we lived in Dubuque, IA. I was volunteering once a week at a crisis pregnancy center. As I answered the telephone and found literature for young mothers, my imagination wandered from what I was doing each week to what might be possible. Ta-da! A novel. Several of you read the early drafts, found typos, made suggestions and wrote reviews. Thank you for your input, much of which I heeded. Here is what one reviewer wrote:

“Dorothy’s Gift breathes with compassion and practical wisdom in a modern setting. The subject matter and writing style are less intricate that Christine’s “Fires of Faith” series. The characters in Dorothy’s Gift, however, meet their own fires of faith – the kinds to which we can easily relate. I also found it true to reality regarding much of what it takes to help damaged women. At the same time, it offers a lighter approach to addressing serious matters. I found it gripping. Even though the happy ending is predictable, Dorothy’s spiritual lessons add depth through illustrative, heart-warming conversations and family relationships.”

Floyd has been learning online publishing and formatting and marketing, and those are a lot of new tricks for an old . . . well, for him. The book is out, and can be purchased in paperback or ebook. Beginning September 4th, there will be a Kindle Countdown. In the meantime, I have attached below a small excerpt from the book.

Well, I hope your summer is not too hot and not too soggy. It’s been nice chatting with you.

Blessings, Christine

DOROTHY'S GIFT

She was grinning and looking sheepish. “You’ll never guess what!”

“What?” I asked, thinking perhaps I already knew.

“I had a job interview this afternoon.”

“And?”

“I got the job! I couldn’t believe it but I got the job! Mr. Bauer – that’s the person in H.R. – he said that he talked to my boss at the casino, and, like, the work I was doing in reception was good – considering that I just started – so if I, like, wanted the job, I could have it!”

“What did your boss at the casino think? Was that a problem at work?”

“Nope. I gave him two weeks’ notice, and he said I could, like, go sooner if they needed me.” She leaned against the doorjamb and frowned. “Actually, that sounds as if he wants me to go.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he does, but you can’t have it both ways.”

She sighed and pushed away from the door to go downstairs. Thirty seconds later, she ran back up the stairs, gasping and wringing her hands. “Oh, Dorothy! There’s a – a mouse in my room!”

“Did you see it?”

“Of course, I saw it! How else would I know? I went into my room and it ran – joop! – along the wall and disappeared under my bed.” Her voice calmed, and she lowered her tone to say very seriously, “I’m not sleeping in there with a mouse.” I stood and dried my hands. “Can you show me where you saw him?”

She eyed me suspiciously. “How do you know it’s a ‘him’?”

I laughed. “I don’t.” I headed for the stairs. “Show me?”

She trailed behind me down the stairs. When I opened her door, I had to force it open.

“Here,” she said helpfully, “Let me. There are a few things in the way.”

The “few things” looked to me as if everything she owned was strewn about the room. The bed was unmade, several piles of clothes – dirty? clean? – were heaped in the center of the room. On her desk, surrounded by various containers of make-up, was a small pile of dirty dishes with uneaten food. No wonder the mouse had come: He had found paradise! A short wall of empty soda cans ran along the floor, the length of the bed. She was fortunate not to have ants too. The wastebasket overflowed with tissues and other unmentionable things. And the room smelled musty and unclean.

I turned around and just looked at her.

“I was going to clean my room,” she protested.

“I’m sure the mouse loves it. He – or she – has probably been here for some time.”

“I’m not sleeping in here with a mouse,” she repeated.

“I’ll take care of the mouse. I want this room clean before dinner.”

“I have to go to work.”

“When?”

She hung her head. “After supper.”

I started to go upstairs and had second thoughts and looked back into the room. “Do you need a list of how to clean this room?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Maybe.”

Cleaning the bathroom could wait; this was obviously much more urgent.

I gave her a few ideas of where to begin, but it became very clear that the poor child had never been taught anything about how to take care of her belongings. I had her collect the dirty clothes and put a small – small! – load in the washer.

While she was doing that, I texted my husband and asked him to bring a few cheap mousetraps home. “The kind that snap and kill the mouse instantly,” I told him.

Back in Bailey’s room, we tackled the clean clothes. No one had ever shown her how to fold her things and how to put them in drawers. She was still living out of her suitcases which were, of course, too small for all the things she had acquired since she had move in with us. Some of her “clean” clothes had sprinkles of mouse droppings, so we added them to the dirty clothes pile.

We found containers for the make-up, and put them and all her hair things in the bathroom across the hall. I had been cleaning it (for which I now was very glad), but now I realized that I needed to teach her how to clean a bathroom as well.

Bailey took the dirty dishes upstairs and hauled the trash to the garage. When she came back down, she stopped to lean on the doorframe, frowning at her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly afraid that I had made her work too hard.

“There’s this regular movement that won’t stop.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Just - blip - blip - blip.”

I smiled. “Your baby has the hiccups.”

“Hiccups?” She grinned. “That’s cute.”

While she folded clothes, I wiped every surface with a disinfectant. Finally, I vacuumed, moving all the furniture. Sure enough, that mouse ran from under the bed to under the dresser to avoid the noisy machine.

Bailey squealed and ran into the hallway. “I’m not sleeping in there with a mouse,” she warned.

“That’s fine. If we don’t catch him – her – tonight, then you can sleep on the couch.”

Gary brought home traps, and I set three in various spots in her room, baited with peanut butter. During supper we heard a loud snap, and the mouse was dead. We hoped it was the only mouse, but we didn’t say that to Bailey.

DOROTHY'S GIFT

The Bible Compass