Families tell stories. In forty years of public school teaching and administration, I encountered families of every description, each of whom had their own tales to tell. My family’s storytellers were my grandmother and mother. As our family grew, more tales appeared. Each represents a legacy of faith, grit, and dignity. Each deserves to be remembered.
Certain of my ancestors and their experiences appear in what I write: a bit of my grandmother and a strong dash of my mother in one character; my father’s sterling qualities in another; and the low-down family reprobate in another. Cotton planting, hoeing, and harvest time. The glorious aroma of fresh-picked cotton and the nothing-in-the-world-like-it odor from the pig pen. The whir of the sewing machine, the clink of a milk pail, and the bellow of a cow hollering to be milked. The summer sun on my face, the hearty South Texas wind in my hair, and the comfort of backing up to a wall heater on a cold winter morning. All find their way into my stories.
Tales like Ella McFarland’s that reach beyond the ordinary to the extraordinary because of Jesus are the stories I write by His grace. I hope they inform and encourage in powerful ways.
Click on the links below for a peek into how I imagine some of my family’s tales might have begun. Who knows? They may become full-length novels.