To Those Who Wait

In this age of instant gratification, it seems that nobody has the patience to wait for anything anymore. No matter how old we are, we have all been swept up in the belief that we need everything to happen or be given to us right now, at this very moment. The notion of waiting for anything has completely gone out of fashion. Amazon is even looking at the possibility of same-day delivery drones because getting a package in one or two days is simply not fast enough any longer.

This week, our Jewish friends are celebrating Chanukah, meaning dedication, an eight-day period to celebrate religious freedom and the rededication of the temple after war with Greece. Though the great temple in Jerusalem is no longer standing, the Jewish people continue to pray there and continue to wait for the coming of their Messiah. In fact, they have been waiting for 6000 years. Talk about being patient! While Christians believe that the Messiah has already come, we are reminded, each year, of the 4000 years we waited when we celebrate Advent. To many, this four-week period of anticipation is more than they can bear. I know of one couple who already exchanged Christmas presents because they couldn’t bear to wait just twenty days more for Christmas.

I get it. It’s hard to wait, but… Read more

The Greatest Christmas Gift You Can Give

Thanksgiving is over. We survived Black Friday, and Cyber Monday seems to be stretching itself all the way to Friday. The Hallmark channel now plays constantly on at least one television in every home in America (come on, admit it). Santa is receiving letters and is making a list and checking it twice. The ads on television and on the Internet are telling us that those lists need to be longer, the letters fatter, the asking louder, the gifts bigger. It has always amazed me that we spend an entire day giving thanks for all we have and then turn around within ten hours (or substantially less for some) and begin focussing on what we don’t have, what we want, what we must have, or else. Perhaps others also see the irony in this, and that is the reason why this commercial, from Forest Hill Church, in Charlotte, North Carolina, has gone viral in the past couple days.


Believe me, I am just as guilty as everyone else when it comes to focussing on gift giving at Christmas (and gift getting). I sent a link to my family for an item I’d really like to have with the suggestion they buy it while it’s on sale. And I’ve sent links to my extended family with gift suggestions for my girls. It’s how we’ve always done things, and it’s hard for me to see anything wrong with it, but something I read the other day really made me stop in my tracks. It was a gospel reflection by Bishop Robert Barron.


So, now I have a confession to make. Even after reading this, I still went to Amazon on Monday. And I still clicked on the BUY button for that giant-screen TV I’ve been longing for. And I’m really excited that it arrives tomorrow. Yes, we have a decent-sized television. Yes, it works just fine. We’re going to move it to our bedroom and replace the one in there because the screen on that one seems to have gotten smaller as I’ve gotten older. Ken keeps kidding that we now have to tear down the living room and build a bigger one that will fit the new TV. “…tear them down and build bigger ones.”

Gulp–the sound of me swallowing that lump in my throat.

Wow. I wonder if the rich man had more than just his possessions. Did he have a family? Did he have friends? Was he in good health? If he were real and alive today, would he awaken like the man in the Forest Hills ad and be grateful for all that he has? Would he see the riches and blessings that he has before him and know in his heart that he doesn’t need more? Would he recognize that all he needs to make him happy is love? The love of God, the love of others, and love for himself as he is, without possessions, without riches, without STUFF.

We live in a world where the grass is always greener on the other side. We always want what someone else has, and sometimes we want what we can never have. We ask for more and more; we work longer and harder so that we can buy more. We do this even though our closets are bursting, our drawers won’t close, and our cups runneth over with things. And how happy are we? Even with a family, a home, electricity, hot food, cars, and coffee, are we still looking for more? When will we be satisfied? When will we realize that we already have enough? When will we realize that love is all we need? That it is love that makes us wealthy, not things?

There are 27 days until Christmas. That gives me 27 days to remind myself and my family, every single day, what Dr. Seuss tried to tell us many years ago:


We have all already received many, many gifts. Even those who don’t have many “things” still have blessings for which to be thankful. Let’s take the Thanksgiving spirit with us right into Christmas and beyond. Let’s be grateful for all that we have, and let’s spend the Christmas season thinking about giving rather than getting. Begin thinking today about what you can do to help others see that we all have so much for which to be thankful, and let’s all remember as we go through Advent that “Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” 

Santa and Jesus

In one simple word, the meaning of Christmas is, love. Love that is never-ending, all-encompassing, and self-sacrificing. We don’t need Santa to bring us more stuff. We’ve already been given the greatest gift of all – love. All we need to do is open our hearts, not our closets, to giving and receiving more.

What I was writing about a year ago this week: Food Memories.

Amy Schisler is an award-winning author of both children’s books and sweet, faith-filled romance novels for readers of all ages. She lives with her husband and three daughters on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Her books, Picture MeWhispering Vines, and Island of Miracles are all recipients of Illumination Awards, placing them among the top inspirational fiction books of 2015, 2016, and 2017. Whispering Vines was awarded the 2017 LYRA Award for the best romance of 2016.  Island of Miracles has outsold all of Amy’s other books worldwide and ranked as high as 600 on Amazon. Her follow up, Island of Promise is a reader favorite. Amy’s children’s book is The Greatest Gift. The suspense novel, Summer’s Squall, and all of Amy’s books, can be found online and in stores. Her latest novel, Island of Promise, was recently awarded First Prize by the Oklahoma Romance Writer’s Association as the best Inspirational Romance of 2018.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at, Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, Goodreads at and at

Amy’s books: Crabbing With Granddad (2013), A Place to Call Home (2014), Picture Me (2015), Whispering Vines (2016), Island of Miracles (2017), Stations of the Cross Meditations for Moms (2017), The Greatest Gift (2017), Summer’s Squall (2017), Island of Promise (2018).

Seeing Jesus

Every time I have tried to write this post, I have been brought to a standstill. I intended to write on the meaning of Christmas, but I can’t seem to move past the events taking place in my family. Several days ago, radio host, Gus Lloyd, posed the question, if there was a survey in which people had to look at a picture of Santa and a picture of Jesus and choose which one has to do with Christmas, which picture would the majority of people pick? He contended that most would choose Santa, and he’s probably correct. I had a whole blog written in my head on that very topic, but somehow, I find myself unable to actually write it.

While it might be true that nowadays, many people associate Santa with Christmas, the Easter Bunny with Easter, and Jesus with ancient stories that have no relevance today, I have been blessed to witness Jesus over and over this Christmas season.

You may know that my father-in-law is very sick and will not be with us much longer. Those words are very difficult to write. For over twenty-four years, he has been a second father to me. Recently someone commented to me that it was asking a lot of me to take care of man who isn’t even my own dad. But, from day one, Dad has always treated me like his daughter. I can’t let him down. But I do.

I have learned that I am not a caregiver. I think I did all right as a mother. My girls all seemed to have turned out okay. But when I take my turns with Dad, I find myself at a loss for what to say, what to do, how to comfort him. I try, but words fail me. I want to be kind and loving when he’s hurting. I want to be stern and commanding when he’s doing something he’s been told not to do. I want to let him know that I am there for him and talk to him about my girls, the weather, or the news. Instead, I often find myself not sure how to talk to a man who used to love talking to everyone, telling stories, and hearing tales but can no longer speak or interact. I want to help feed him, attend his personal needs, and care for his failing body, but I stumble on my own insecurities.

And then I watch my sister-in-law, Chrissy, who so loving and uncomplainingly writes to Dad over and over on his white board and coaxes him to write back. I observe my husband, Ken, as he gently guides his father to the bathroom, helps him comb his hair, and changes his clothes, all with an unwavering devotion and patience. I wipe away a tear as my Rebecca gives up a weekend of studying for her last first-semester law school exam to visit her grandfather and to lay a wreath on his father’s grave. I marvel at my sixteen-year-old, Morgan, really just a child, who has become one of Dad’s most frequent and attentive caregivers. She skipped her school’s Christmas party this morning to wake up at the crack of dawn and feed her grandfather, help the hospice nurse change and shave him, and spend her first day of the break tending to his every need so that her grandmother could attend an important event and doctor’s appointments. I look at these people, and countless others – my daughter Katie who runs countless errands so she can help us out, the hospice nurses who gently wash Dad, Morgan’s teachers who allow her to leave school early to help feed her grandfather when I fear I will do something wrong.; I look at them, and I see Jesus.

I don’t know when society began turning away from God or when Christmas became more about Santa than about Jesus, but I do know that Jesus exists, here and now. He told us, “Love each other as I have loved you” (John 15:12). Sometimes the most difficult and painful times in life provide us with the opportunity to show the greatest amount of love. So, during this Christmas season, I’d like to remind everyone of the real reason for the season, but I’d also like to point out that Jesus doesn’t come to us at Christmas time only. He is here every day, in the loving hands of those who tend to the sick and dying, in the eyes of a child who finds peace in bringing happiness and comfort to others, in the arms of a loved one, providing care and comfort for the weary. He is there in a million things we do each day. We just need to open our eyes and see Him, and then point Him out to others so that they, too, can know He is here.

Merry Christmas to you all. May you encounter Jesus at the celebration of His birth and every day throughout the year.

1503911_10200877328958367_1431887920_nMy dear precious Jesus, I did not mean to take your place,
I only bring toys and things and you bring love and grace.
People give me lists of wishes and hope that they came true;
But you hear prayers of the heart and promise your will to do.
Children try to be good and not to cry when I am coming to town;
But you love them unconditionally and that love will abound.
I leave only a bag of toys and temporary joy for a season;
But you leave a heart of love, full of purpose and reasons.
I have a lot of believers and what one might call fame;
But I never healed the blind or tried to help the lame.
I have rosy cheeks and a voice full of laughter;
But no nail—scarred hands or a promise of the hereafter.
You may find several of me in town or at a mall;
But there is only one omnipotent you, to answer a sinner’s call.
And so, my dear precious Jesus, I kneel here to pray;
To worship and adore you on this, your holy birthday. – Author Unknown

What I was writing about this time last year:  Tis The Season

Amy Schisler is an award winning author of both children’s books and sweet romance novels for readers of all ages. She lives with her husband and three daughters on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Her books, Picture Me and Whispering Vines, are recipients of Illumination Awards, placing them among the top three inspirational fiction books of 2015 and 2016. Whispering Vines was awarded the 2017 LYRA Award for the best romance of 2016. Amy followed up her success with, Island of Miracles, which has outsold all of her other books worldwide and ranked as high 600 on Amazon. Her next children’s book, The Greatest Gift, is now available. Amy’s novel, Summer’s Squall, is now on sale online and in stores.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at, Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, Goodreads at at

Amy’s books: Crabbing With Granddad (2013), A Place to Call Home (2014), Picture Me (2015), Whispering Vines (2016), Island of Miracles (2017), Stations of the Cross Meditations for Moms (2017), The Greatest Gift (2017), Summer’s Squall (2017)

‘Tis the Season

IMG_2675.JPG‘Tis the season… for exhaustion.  And I do it to myself.  I can’t remember the last night I had a good night’s sleep, and it’s my own fault.  Shopping and wrapping are always done early and not a problem.  Even the annual Mother-Daughter Christmas dinner the girls and I host is easy for me.  But there are the other things that I put on myself that tend to keep me up at night.  I love Christmas letters.  I know some people think they’re cheesy, but I love them.  I want to know what’s going on with the military family I grew up with and how many grandchildren our elderly relatives now have.  I love reading about where people have traveled, what their children are majoring in, and how I can pray for them in the coming year.  For years, I wrote my own family Christmas letter and kept copies on the last page of our family albums.  Then a few years ago, I started sending our letter electronically, and somehow that morphed into a slideshow complete with Christmas carols.  The end product is something we all enjoy watching and sharing, but getting to that end, with everything else we have going on, is sometimes a painstaking endeavor.

Add to that the family Christmas story.  Many years ago, when my children and their cousins were very young, I wrote a Christmas story and bound it with a handmade cover.  The kids loved it, and my mother-in-law said it made her Christmas.  As happens so often, the tale took on a life of it’s own, and every year, I reach into the depths of my mind to create a story that is still fun and whimsical but is relatable to everyone as they get older.  It’s no easy task.  Writing the story, creating graphics, and putting it together into a book takes longer than all of the wrapping I do for every occasion all year long.  But the love and laughter that go along with that Christmas day read-aloud is worth it.  As least I think it is.  By the time I’m done with everything that I do to prepare for the holidays, I’m positive that I’ll be too tired to really enjoy any of it.  But then December 22nd rolls around. 

Once we’re at Mom’s and our family is gathered under one roof – the five of us, my parents, my brothers and their families, aunts, uncles, cousins, all of the extended family and closest friends – whatever worries or exhaustion I may have been feeling, just melts away.  Amidst the cooking, the football watching, the game playing, and the picture taking, I find my zen, my foundation, my piece of Heaven on Earth.  I know that Christmas isn’t about presents, or stories, or letters, or baking, or any of the other things that the world would like us to believe it’s about, but it is about self-sacrifice.  It’s about coming into this world to serve others, to put the good of mankind above all, to love your neighbor as yourself, to strive for peace on Earth, and to lay down one’s life for your friends.  It’s about all of the good that still exists in this world and the riches and joys of the world to come.  It’s about seeing the face of Jesus in others and feeling the love of Jesus in our hearts.  I pray that everyone is able to experience the true meaning of Christmas this holiday season.  When you feel run-down, overwhelmed, and too exhausted to go, remember,

“unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

Luke 2: 11-14

Amy Schisler is an award winning author of both children’s books and novels for readers of all ages.  She lives with her husband and three daughters on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Her book, Picture Me, is the recipient of an Illumination Award, placing it among the top three inspirational fiction eBooks of 2015. Her most recent book, Whispering Vines, is available for purchase; and her next novel, Island of Miracles, will be released in January of 2017.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at on Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, on Goodreads at and on her web site

Amy’s books: Crabbing With Granddad (2013), A Place to Call Home (2014), Picture Me (2015), Whispering Vines (2016)

Lighting the Way This Christmas


About ten years ago, I had a public disagreement with someone who was the leader of an organization that I was and still am a part of.  We were planning a trip for a large number of young girls, and we were at odds over the logistics of the trip.  After causing a bit of a scene, this person ended the meeting and then called the “higher ups” to complain about my alleged coup.  A friend, who was at the meeting, asked me, “Does she know about everything you’re going through right now?” After I shook my head to say no, she replied, “You should tell her.  She shouldn’t be treating you like that.”

You see, my grandmother had recently had a debilitating stroke and was going downhill fast; my father had just been diagnosed with cancer, again; one of our daughters was really struggling with bullies at school, and we were in the process of trying to figure out how to send all three girls to the Catholic school where we so desperately wanted them to be anyway.  To make matters worse, Ken had unexpectedly resigned from his job after life in the political limelight became too much for us all; and just when I had decided to stay home and try to get my writing career started, a tumor was discovered on my uterus and would require surgery and a biopsy.  It seemed that my entire world was falling apart before my eyes, but very few people actually knew the whole of what we were facing.  Ken wasn’t sleeping at all at night because he worried about us losing everything if he didn’t find a job.  Our daughter cried uncontrollably every morning when I tried to put her on the bus, and our savings was quickly being depleted with no hope in sight.  But it all taught me some very important lessons. 

First, have faith, always.  I never let my faith waiver.  I knew that, despite both us being out of work, God was going to provide.  I knew that if He wanted our children to change schools, He would make it happen.  I knew that whatever was to come, we could face it together.  The story of how we overcame all of this can be saved for another day, but suffice it to say that God came through in some very miraculous ways.  Yes, faith the size of a mustard seed can indeed move mountains.

Another very important thing I learned was that while I was suffering inside, so, too, might this other person have been suffering.  I knew very little about her.  I had never met her before joining this group, and after this incident drove her to quit the organization, I never saw her again.  I often wonder if things might have turned out differently had I taken the time to get to know her, to talk to her, to ask her if everything was okay.  Perhaps she wasn’t upset with me or our group at all.  Perhaps there was something bigger going on in her life, and she felt things spiraling out of control just as I had.  Maybe planning this trip was too much for her with whatever else was going on.  Sadly, I’ll never know.  In all honesty, I can’t say I’ve gotten better at this, but I do try to be a little more empathetic.

Finally, we all have opportunities to reach out to and help one another.  Not only my faith in God, but my friends and family got me through one of the hardest times in my life.  Though very few people knew the whole story, those who did became my rocks.  They prayed for me, brought my family meals after my surgery, cleaned my house, and took care of my children.  And over the years, I’ve tried to repay them and pay it forward.

We’re in the season of Advent.  It’s a time of preparation but also a time of healing, of sharing, of reaching out to others.  There is so much that we can do, in ways both large and small, to have an impact on the lives of others.  Take your children to drop off gifts at a homeless shelter or a prison.  Support your local organizations that help those in need (look for a St. Vincent de Paul Society near you and ask how you can help).  Bake cookies for the shut-in across the street, and spend time with her when you deliver them.  Call an old friend or family member who you haven’t seen or spoken to in a while.  Let go of old grudges, and forgive.  Open your heart to the relatives you’d rather not spend time with.  Ask them how they are, and let them know you care.

I remember one Christmas, many, many years ago. I might have been seven or eight, but I’m really not sure.  There was a report on the news about a poor family in DC who not only had no presents but no clothes, no food, and no heat.  I think there was a new baby in the house, and the family would be lucky to make it through Christmas.  If my parents looked at each other with sadness as we watched the story, I didn’t notice.  When they discussed it, I don’t know.  How they found out where this family lived, I have no idea.  But one evening, my father came home and loaded us all into his car.  We drove into the city, going to a neighborhood we wouldn’t have entered during the day, not to mention at night.  When the mother opened the door, we all stood on her front step with wrapped presents, bags of clothes, and food.  I’ll never forget her tears or the way she hugged us all.  I’ll never forget the looks on the faces of the little children as they reached for their presents.  Maybe some of these details are a little mixed up.  Maybe I invented half of them with the imagination of a child who witnessed something akin to a miracle, but this is how I remember it.  I couldn’t tell you what I got for Christmas that year.  To be honest, we didn’t have extra money growing up, so it wouldn’t surprise me if some, maybe all, of those wrapped presents were meant for us.  What I do remember is that there never was and never will be another Christmas quite like that one.

So maybe you can’t solve all of the world’s problems this holiday season.  Maybe you can’t supply Christmas for a needy family.  But I bet you can find something to do to brighten someone’s day, to make their holiday a little more joyous.  Look beyond what you see in each person and what you think you know about them, and find a reason to love them anyway.  And let them know it.  When Christmas arrives, you will be more than prepared.  You will be lighting the way.

Amy Schisler is an award winning author of both children’s books and novels for readers of all ages.  She lives with her husband and three daughters on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Her book, Picture Me, is the recipient of an Illumination Award, placing it among the top three inspirational fiction eBooks of 2015. Her most recent book, Whispering Vines, is available for purchase; and her next novel, Island of Miracles, will be released in January of 2017.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at on Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, on Goodreads at and on her web site

Amy’s books: Crabbing With Granddad (2013), A Place to Call Home (2014), Picture Me (2015), Whispering Vines (2016)

Fiddling on the Roof

img_3312The Advent/Christmas season always makes me nostalgic, and that is especially true this year.  After this year, I have no idea what our Christmas festivities will resemble.  I like to think that nothing will change, that we will celebrate with our family as always, but I know that, if not this year, then in the very near future, things are bound to change.  As my children grow older and closer to beginning their own lives as adults, I can’t help but wonder which of our family traditions will hold the most meanings for them (oh, how I relate to Fiddler’s Tevye and his fight to keep his family traditions alive as his children become adults).  I grew up in a home and with a family where tradition was everything, and I’ve done my best to instill a love for tradition in my own children.  One such tradition involves our Christmas tree, our hideous, gaudy, wonderful, glorious Christmas tree.

I once had a family member tell me outright that our tree is ugly.  Sure, I know what it looks like to outsiders, but to me, there is no tree more beautiful.  Among the dozens and dozens of ornaments that adorn the tree are the wooden Raggedy Ann that was my very first ornament, a pinecone that Rebecca painted in pre-K as a gift for me, Katie’s buffalo representing the first time she saw her favorite animal live and in the wild, and the ballerina from when Morgan thought that dance class was all that mattered in the world.  Clustered amid the branches, drama masks, an altar server, three field hockey players, a tennis racket, a swimmer, a piano, an archery target, and a clarinet are joined by other such ornaments too numerous to count.  Alongside those are many handmade ornaments and an ornament from almost every place we’ve ever visited.

When Ken and I got married and moved into our first home, our Christmas tree was already decorated with twenty-two years of ornaments.  There were a bird in a nest from my Godparents, a circus train, Raggedy Ann, and many others.  Every year, my brothers and I received new ornaments that represented that year in our lives.  Those precious pieces of memorabilia now share our trees with our children’s little pieces of nostalgia.  Each Christmas season, I hunt for the perfect ornaments, the ones that the girls will pull out years from now and say, “I remember that year.” 

This year, after the girls had placed their newest ornaments on the tree (a Flamenco dancer in La Plaza de Madrid for Bec, a snorkel and goggles for Katie, and a football for Morgan), we stood back and looked at the tree. 

“I’m not doing this when I have my own house,” Morgan proclaimed.

“What do you mean?” came the question I had to push up from my throat.

“I’m going to have a beautiful tree decorated with Christmas balls and ribbons and only white lights,” she replied.

“What about our family tradition? Won’t your children get a special ornament every year?”

“If they want.  They can hang them on their own trees in their bedrooms.”

A little piece of me broke inside.  But that’s okay.  When Morgan’s children come to my house, they can help me decorate my tree.  I’ll have a special ornament waiting for each of them.


Amy Schisler is an award winning author of both children’s books and novels for readers of all ages.  She lives with her husband and three daughters on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Her book, Picture Me, is the recipient of an Illumination Award, placing it among the top three inspirational fiction eBooks of 2015. Her latest book, Whispering Vines, is now available for purchase.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at on Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, on Goodreads at and on her web site

Amy’s books: Crabbing With Granddad (2013), A Place to Call Home (2014), Picture Me(2015), Whispering Vines (2016)

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

DSC09019It’s almost funny, the things we will do to spend just a small amount of special time with the ones we love, and how we truly come to appreciate those times over the years.  Christmas is one of those times.  Christmas in our house was always special, always a wonderful get-together with our large, extended family.  When I was very young, my parents and I would spend the entire Christmas holiday with my grandparents on the Wicomico River in St. Mary’s County, Maryland.  We always attended the Christmas Eve vigil at the church where my parents were married (which was built by my grandfather).  While it was just the five of us there on Christmas morning, throughout the day, family would arrive until the tiny house was bursting at the seams with all of the people, presents, and holiday cheer.  Dinner was a festive event with family from all over Southern Maryland popping in and out to exchange gifts and greetings.

Once my brothers arrived, and there were more cousins on the scene than just my cousin, Terri, and myself, we all stayed home for Christmas.  All of us, that is, except for my grandparents.  They spent Christmas Eve with my Uncle Gene and Aunt Joan, had breakfast on Christmas morning with my Aunt Debbie and Uncle Karl, arrived at our house for lunch and an afternoon of egg nog and present opening, and then traveled to my Uncle Butch and Aunt Pinky’s house for dinner.  We all lived an hour or more apart, and I can only imagine how exhausting that was for them; but I don’t think they would have traded it for the world.  After my grandfather went to his eternal Christmas dinner at the Lord’s table, my grandmother would come to our house, arriving just before Thanksgiving and staying through New Year’s.  My aunts took turns hosting a family dinner on Christmas Day.

After I got married, things changed again.  Ken and I go to Mom and Dad’s and spend Christmas Eve with my parents and my brothers’ families, going to Mass and then enjoying dinner and exchanging gifts.  We return home late that night, and still today, the girls run up to bed while Ken and I visit with Santa.  On Christmas Day, Ken’s family comes here for Christmas dinner and presents.  We take lots of pictures (of course), and enjoy our time with family.

Christmas in our family is kind of like Max’s experience with the Wild Things.  We travel across the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house, just as I did as a child and my grandparents did later.  And in my mind today, as we go, I travel through night and day and in and out of weeks and over a year through all of my memories of Christmases past.  Every year, when the gift exchange begins, it’s definitely like being surrounded by wild things!  Sometimes, amidst all of that togetherness, they even roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth, but then we remember who the King of all things is, and a hush falls over all of us as we contemplate the true meaning of Christmas.

It’s a lot of work, planning and traveling for Christmas, making sure we have all of the presents, and remembering, while at Mass, to be present for the Lord.  But I wouldn’t change any of it.  After all, at Christmas, we all want to be where someone loves us best of all and where we smell good things to eat, so we give up whatever seemingly important things we are doing to head home.  We sail back over a year, and in and out of weeks, and through a day and into the night of our very own Christmas where we find the comforts of home and family waiting for us, and it’s always worth the trip.



Amy Schisler is the author of two mystery / suspense novels. Her first book, A Place to Call Home is in its second printing and may be purchased in stores and online.  Amy’s newest mystery, Picture Me, was released in August of 2015 and is available in stores, at Amazon, and at Barnes & Noble.  Both novels are also available for Kindle, Nook, and iBooks.  Amy’s children’s book, Crabbing With Granddad, may be purchased in stores and on Amazon.

You may follow Amy on Facebook at on Twitter @AmySchislerAuth, on Goodreads at and on her web site