How To Tame a City-Slicker

I am pleased to welcome author Deb Elkink to Patti's Porch. Enjoy a cup of iced tea and relax as she shares an inspirational message spiced up with a generous helping of humor:



How to Tame a City-Slicker


I was born for uptown living.

True, the view from the maternity ward of the Mennonite village that first heard me squawk showed only flat Canadian prairie—not a mall in sight. But my parents soon moved me and my sibs to the big city, and, by the time I was a teen, I could shop nonstop from store opening to store closing. During senior high, my dramatic extroversion kicked into full force and I fought laryngitis from constant chattering. College years in Minneapolis put the polish on my love of metropolis and led to summer studies in Japan—Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka—where I gloried in the lights and crush and din of clustered humanity.

So I was totally unprepared when my cowboy groom swept me down a long gravel road to the vast and empty sand hills surrounding his secluded cattle ranch, where the ceaseless wind and the endless sky would bring me face to face with myself.

Only months into the marriage—before I’d yet learned to help round up the herd on horseback or cook for branding crews of a hundred—I experienced a pivotal moment, a tipping point in transition.

I was baptized into rural reality.

It was a blustery morning in April during my first calving season on the ranch. Not suspecting the crisis in store for me that day, I’d kissed my new husband goodbye at the door of our cozy bungalow as he set out for chores. I’d admired my choice of wedding stoneware as I washed up the few breakfast dishes, wearing rubber gloves to protect my delicate hands. I might even have perused the latest issue of the fashion magazine that was my connection to civilization. Now here I was in the bathroom, steam rising about me as I removed my elegant trousseau robe and dipped my pedicured toe into the tub full of fragrant bubbles.

Out of the blue, my husband started hammering on the bathroom door and yelling, “Open up!” I barely grabbed my wrap in time as he and his father broke in with a freezing newborn calf—slimy and shivering violently. “Oh, good!” they both exclaimed in surprised tones of approval, as though marveling that I demonstrated such foresight and rural mettle. “She’s got hot water all ready for us!” And then they plunged that filthy beast into my bridal bubble bath—and, oh, how that ghastly creature’s eyes rolled in ecstasy!

(Had it, in fact, lived, it might well have been tethered, bottle-fed, named “Pie,” and fattened for slaughter—as had Georgie, Porgie, and Puddin’ before it.)

This moment is symbolic of my own immersion into the grit and glory of cattle ranching, and the next two decades domesticated me out of my city ways. Sure, I longed for sophistication, fine dining, and foreign adventure (and in time my introverted, country-lovin’ husband—who’d never even eaten lasagna before meeting me—expanded his tastes to include classical music, foie gras, and international travel). But what I found during those years on the ranch I believe would have been lost to me had I remained a distracted city-dweller.

I was forced by the silence of the wilderness to listen for the voice of God.

Because of my upbringing, as a child I’d placed trust in Jesus Christ for the salvation of my soul. However, until my move to the ranch, my spirituality included a component of sociability: all my religious learning took place in a classroom or a pew or a youth group. Now my geographical isolation put most believers out of my reach. I managed to drive two hours on most Sundays for corporate worship, but I met God much more immediately and intimately through reading the Bible alone at the kitchen table, and raising my voice in prayer and song out in the wind among the sand dunes without another soul in sight.  

My conversion from the public to the pasture refined me.

Father, Son, and Spirit continue to transform me through Scripture by renewing my mind, taming my appetite for the constant stimulation of others, and testing me to develop my discernment and keenness in practicing God’s will (Rom. 12:2). I have no doubt that He would have effected this transformation even if I’d held on to my city-slicker status (2 Cor. 3:18; Phil. 1:6). And don’t get me wrong—I take every opportunity to shop for five-inch heels and silk scarves in Paris and Buenos Aires and Istanbul!  But I faced my “dark night of the soul” out on Canada’s western plains and grasslands, where I learned to embrace the holy loneliness necessary to true, communing fellowship with God and others.

Of course, there’s no sin in loving civilization (the Tower of Babel notwithstanding)! But to serve humanity properly, we must have our spirituality in order. To that end, you might want to follow these steps:

Step #1: Recognize your setting. I was predisposed to approach God through social relationships. Emotionally, where do you “live”? How do your lifestyle and friendships influence your spiritual outlook? What is your natural bent, and can you see the potential limitations of your viewpoint?

Step #2: Face your conflict. Admitting the profound difference between my life in the city and my life on the ranch helped me pinpoint my underlying problem: I can get side-tracked spiritually by an audience. What “calf in the bubble bath” are you facing right now? How are you reacting and responding to your circumstances? At what point has your one-on-one relationship with God broken down?

Step #3: Discover your resolution. Pastoral tranquility was just what I needed to shut out metropolitan noise and pay attention to the voice of God. What distracts you from listening to Him speak in Scripture? How can you adjust your lifestyle to hear Him better?  What will you do today to focus on your primary and foundational relationship with God?






Deb Elkink writes from her home on the banks of Ross Creek in southern Alberta, Canada—a stone’s throw from the Montana border. Her award-winning, debut novel, The Third Grace, is set in the cities of Paris and Denver, and on a farm in Nebraska’s sand hills, where her main character lives out some of Deb’s own urban/rural experiences. Visit the author at www.debelkink.com.      



Thank you, Deb, for spending some time with us!

Thanks for reading my blog!

Is God Mad?

These past few weeks in Colorado have been tough. In the latter part of June, what started out as smoke observed in the Waldo Canyon area west of Colorado Springs evolved over the ensuing days into the most expensive fire in state history. Close to 350 homes were lost and over 18,000 acres burned.


Yesterday morning, the nation awakened to the shocking report that 12 lives were lost and some 50+ others were victims of a random shooting at a movie theater in the Colorado city of Aurora. Within hours, the tragic news made headlines around the world.


It makes a person wonder if God is on a vendetta against our state and its residents. Is he mad at us? Have those who fell victim to either of these tragedies done something to incur His wrath?


To assume so would be highly presumptuous. I don't believe for a moment that God singled out those victims because he was "mad." If he's taking revenge on sinners with these tragedies, I probably should have been one of the victims. I'm ashamed to admit my list of sins stays pretty lengthy.


The cause of the Waldo Canyon fire remains under investigation. God could have easily whispered a word of warning into the ear of the person or persons who committed whatever act to ignite the fire. 


He could have jerked the weapons out of the hand of the gunman who spread panic, destruction, and death throughout a packed movie theater shortly after midnight on Saturday morning.


Yet, God doesn't work that way. I don't believe He targets individuals for tragedy, either, whether He is angry with our behavior or not. He gave us the laws, but He also gave us the freedom to choose to follow or disobey them.


I have no doubt He is angry with man's flagrant disregard for His laws. Yet, sometimes I wonder if that anger isn't more heartbreak, the heartbreak a parent feels when a child makes a decision the parent knows is detrimental to the child leading a productive and fulfilling life. 


I believe God is mad. He's mad, enraged in fact, at His eternal enemy, Satan. Just as a mom or dad would be enraged at someone who leads their child into addiction or abuse, God abhors the evil one who leads His children down a path to destruction. 


He hurts when we hurt. 


His heart breaks when ours breaks. 


The difference is that He has the power to take away the hurt and the heartbreak.


We can rest assured that no matter what losses we suffer, He will do just that.


Have you suffered loss in your life due to tragedy? What are your thoughts?


Thanks for reading my blog!

Interview with aspiring author Kristena Tunstall

Today, I am honored to host aspiring author Kristena Tunstall on Patti's Porch. Pull up a chair, grab a glass of lemonade, and join us as Kristena speaks from the heart about the way God used a tragedy to start her on her writing journey.

Welcome, Kristena!

I have been invited to guest blog here today and at first I really didn’t know what I’d write about. I put a little flag in my email to remind me I needed to write something but kept putting it off.

Then it struck me. How did I get to a place that I even have a writing journey to talk about? I am kind of dumbfounded sometimes as I can think back to high school and writing was the last thing on my mind. It was a chore to be precise. I could never envision myself as a writer as English was so hard for me. Getting a C was really good. It just never came easily as I also have a learning disability called Dyslexia (thank goodness for MS Word J).

Then on July 1, 2008, my one and only 8 ½ year old child came home early from her special needs summer school program with diarrhea. As a mom you think, “Oh, this is just a simple case of diarrhea. It’ll be gone in no time.”

Well, there wasn’t anything simple about it. Only fifteen days later on July 16, my husband and I had to make the hardest decision of our lives when we decided to take her off life support as we were told our little girl would never be the same and was forever gone.

It was during her time over that two weeks and two days (which included staying at four different hospitals, while having complete kidney failure, a stroke, cerebral hemorrhage and cardiac arrest) that I started to keep a daily journal of sorts online for my family and friends as to her current condition. This all started because somehow she contracted E. coli.

That daily journal is how my writing journey officially started. Then on October 21, 2008, I was sitting at home having all these thoughts swirling around that started with this, “The loss of a child, how deep it must go.” It just kept swirling and swirling and I knew right then I needed to get those words down so I sat at my dining room table and started to type on my laptop.

What I wrote that day ended up being the first post of a dedication website on behalf of my daughter. (To read that post in full, click here) What I didn’t know then but know do is that writing turned out to be an outlet, or cathartic, for myself. I could get out all the feelings into my writing and to share my journey with those that knew and loved me.

What has happened since is people I have never met before, and probably never will, find my website doing simple little searches for things. They then read her hospital story and are so touched they leave a comment. I am blessed to see the impact of how sharing my writing has been for others.

It has been through this journey that I have realized God has given me this gift of writing and that through it I have the ability to touch other people’s lives. People see a strength in me that I don’t see in myself. Somehow I am able to encourage others as they see I am making it through this tragedy and I am okay.

The blessings I’ve received through this loss never cease to amaze me. I am in the process of writing a book about my daughter. I’m also writing my first fiction book. I am able to use the experiences of my life and transform them in a way that may be able to touch other people’s lives in a positive way. If someone can look at me and see that I am okay and making it through that maybe they will be able to see the same thing in themselves.

So my writing journey has been a road of discovery and how God has showed me, with more blessings than I could have ever imagined, this is the path He wants me to take.

If you feel led,  please visit my daughter’s dedication website and even read about Her Hospital Story. If you leave a comment, I will personally answer it. I love to hear from anyone who has taken their own time to visit there.

If you would like to stay up to date with my latest fiction writing journey, please visit my author web site.

Thank you for taking the time to learn about my writing journey and how I have come to where I am today.


Kristena, thank you so much for sharing your story with us. 


Leave a comment by midnight July 30th about Kristena's post and you will be placed in a drawing to win a free copy of the new release from Bethany House Publishers Angels, Miracles, and Heavenly Encounters: Real-life Stories of Supernatural Events complied by James Stuart Bell.  Be sure to leave an email address!


Thanks for reading my blog!

Memories of dad

I suppose all of us who have lost our dads take a few minutes on Father's Day to wander down memory lane. My dad passed sixteen years ago, at the age of seventy-six.


Dad was always a hard worker. He held two jobs for most of his life, especially when my sister and I were younger. Our uncle owned a stationary store in town and, in addition to his full-time job as a route rider for a milk company, he worked a couple evenings a week and on Sundays at the store.


My sis and I used to ride our bikes down to the store, where dad would fix us ice cream cones. One of our big moments was to meet dad at the corner of our street and the highway when he was on his way home from work so we could hop in the car and ride back to the house with him


Dad loved his cars. He took good care of them, inside and out. I still remember him in a heated discussion with my uncle, declaring with a vehement punching of a fist on the kitchen table, "you will never, ever, see gas cost a dollar a gallon!"


Dad loved the Adirondack North Country, where he was born and raised. He married mom and raised us out on Long Island, but when we went on vacation, it was back up-state. I remember one time he called mom around ten in the morning and told her, "I'm getting off work at noon today. Be packed." She threw some things in a suitcase and we headed up to spend the week-end with relatives in the Adirondacks.


Dad loved the cold weather. I can recall going for walks with him in the snow. When we walked in the Adirondacks, it would be so cold that the snow would crunch beneath our feet.He never could tolerate the heat. Neither can I.


Dad played the piano with a talent that was a pure gift. He never learned to read a note of music and I was told he taught himself on an old pump organ. He loved the music of the big bands era. If I listen hard enough, I still hear some of those sweet melodies as vividly as I did when they floated across our living room fifty years ago.


I wish dad had been around to meet our granddaughter. I think he would have just adored her. I wish he were here to see our kids in their successful careers. On the other hand, he'd probably be miserable in today's world. All the technology, the economy, the politics, would be a constant source of irritation to him!


He lived a good life, and in those last months, when cancer attacked his body, he fought a brave fight and brought encouragement to all those around him.


Today, especially, I miss him.


Love you dad!


Thanks for reading my blog!

HEAVEN IS FOR REAL

It's great to be back in the blogosphere. I've missed my readers and I hope you've missed me!


I can't think of a better topic on Patti's Porch today than to tell you about the Heaven is for Real event my husband and I attended a couple of nights ago.


I'm sure many of you have heard about the book Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo, which tells the incredible story of his three year-old son's visit to heaven while undergoing surgery. I couldn't believe it when I learned this event would be held in a high school gymnasium in the next town, a community of about 8,000 people. Through the hard work and financial contributions of several area sponsors, those of us in the oft forgotten rural section of Southeastern Colorado were able to experience a truly delightful and inspirational evening.


The band Read You and Me played praise and worship music for quite a while. It was a bit loud, but it set the tone for the fact that the audience was there to have an encounter with God and give all the glory to Him.


Mr Burpo, a pastor from a small church in Nebraska, then spoke about their family's experience. He took us through the heart-wrenching moments when they thought they might lose their precious son and the observations young Colton shared with his parents for months afterward that verified he had actually visited heaven. The Biblical references a child could not possibly know or fabricate bring authenticity to his words that, in my opinion, cannot be refuted.


We next viewed a home video, where Colton revealed some of his observations to his dad. There are several videos that can be accessed. This is one.


A local pastor then interviewed Todd and his wife, Sonja. I love the way this family handles the message God has given them to share. They don't exploit their now eleven year-old son by putting him on stage to testify to what he saw and learned. They don't preach "you have to believe this." They simply plant seeds with solid facts and let the Holy Spirit do the rest. 


We saw Colton briefly when he came on stage to sing Amazing Grace with the pure sweet voice of a child who knows without a doubt that God, Jesus, and heaven are for real.


Have you ever had a mountaintop experience? Most of us have, where our hearts are so full that we feel like we will burst with joy.


I can't say I felt that type of emotion after this event. What I walked away with was more of a sense of confirmation and anticipation. It reminded me of when I am planning a trip and someone who has been there says, "Oh, yes, all the things you've heard about it are true. You're just going to love it!"


There sure have been a lot of questions rolling around in my brain since Wednesday evening, though. Here are just a few:


What kind of work will God have for me to do when I get there?
(Colton talked about homework!)

Will I really be able to see everything around me without glasses?

What will it be like to travel with wings? (Colton says everybody gets a pair!)

Is my dad driving the open roads in the most luxurious car ever?

Is my grandmother, who loved gardening, tending a garden so gorgeous it is beyond human description?

Are my mother-in-law's many children who preceded her in death gathering together at the table to enjoy her home-made tortillas?
(Colton talks about meeting his sister, who his mom miscarried long before Colton was born).

How many people aren't there because I didn't share my faith when I could have? (Wow, that's a tough one!)

Heaven is for real. I have peace in the knowledge that no matter what I endure on this earth, whether it be pain, heartbreak, financial insecurity, or disaster, it pales in comparison to the glory that awaits. There will be stumbling blocks on this path we call life, but all I have to do to reach my final destination is accept the gift God gave me, His son. I am blessed to have heard this story first hand of a little boy who confirms it as absolute truth.


If this event comes to your area, I strongly urge you to attend. Read the book. See for yourself the truths God has revealed through the eyes of a child.


Thanks for reading my blog.