Families tell stories. In forty years of public school teaching and 
administration, I encountered families of every description. Each 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.
