Today, welcome Sharon Garlock Spiegel to our Christmas Blog party.

Sharon has a special memory to share that I think many of us can relate to in some way.

At the bottom of the post, enter to win a copy of her book, Generations. 

The year was 1953, early fall, I was eight years old.  My young world had been turned up-side-down by a move from upstate New York to West Texas.  Being in the third grade in a state where reading and English grammar was the focus of learning for a child my age, I excelled in those areas. 

My trauma centered around the fact that the school in the dust-bowl town of Dell City focused on Math.  Thrust into a class that was working long division when I had not yet learned the multiplication table gave this timid eight-year-old her first introduction to not just stress—but stomach-churning, heart palpitating, misery.

Fortunate to have caring parents—my mother went to work teaching me the times table.  Our evening sessions did the trick and I mastered them in one week.  However, my parents were not aware of the bullying and name calling which served to give me a loathing for my school, its students, and the State of Texas.  I was labeled a “Yankee” with an uncomplimentary adjective preceding the name.  To further add insult to injury, there were no school supplies given to students and the first day, I sat pencil-less and at the point of tears until I mustered the nerve and voice to tell the teacher I had none.  (The State of New York provided all school supplies to their students).  The worst offense came when I learned there was a family of African Americans with five children that were not allowed to attend the school.  Although I was as disgusted by this as an eight-year-old can be—my personal horror was that we would be living in this “God-forsaken” place for Thanksgiving and Christmas—away from grandparents and the home I’d always known and loved.

 My father’s diary states: “Sharon cries every day she has to go to school.  We have to do something—she has always loved school.”

 I knew we had very little, but was not aware how impoverished we were.  My dad was a pastor and had moved us because of his doctor’s advice that his asthma required a different climate than New York offered.  His transfer to a church in Lubbock was the reason for the West Texas choice for the move.  However, when we arrived, there had been a mistake and the church was given to another pastor.  The Dell City option was all the church leaders had to offer my dad.  The salary could not support our family and he took a job at a local Cotton Mill.  I later heard him explain his goal was to work to save enough to take the family back to the East Coast and away from that God-forsaken place.  It took two months.

My delight when I learned we were headed east cannot be put into words.  A stop at my aunt’s in Pennsylvania on Thanksgiving Day was one of the happiest of my young life.  Patting the turkey as she prepared it for the oven might rank in comparison with a child’s joy at entering Disney World for the first time.

Christmas was coming.  We were back where we belonged, in civilization.  Honestly I gave no thought to presents or even where we were going to live.   After all, I was just a kid and I no longer lived where the dust choked me and I was called a curse word attached to Yankee.  We stayed at my maternal grandparents’ home while my father worked with the church leaders of his organization to find an open pastorate.  We were in a sort of limbo without an income, but I was content. 

Dad returned with news that we would be moving to Maine where he had already secured a job along with a pastorate.  We wouldn’t move until after Christmas.  There was no money for presents—and although I’m sure my parents were stressed over that fact, I was happier than I’d been since leaving New York for Texas.

Christmas morning came.  The whole family was scrunched, but warm as we gathered for breakfast at Grandma and Grandpa Angell’s house in Cropseyville, New York.  But before we ate, Grandma produced gifts for each of us, my three brothers and myself.  I have no idea what my brothers’ gifts were—but I’ll never forget opening the most beautiful doll with long auburn hair, wearing a shiny aqua colored dress.  She had white patent-leather shoes and white socks.  I believe I was the happiest eighty-year-old in upstate New York.  Life could not have been better.

Since then the years have flown by.  There have been wonderful Christmases, some sparce, some plentiful, but all filled with love.  As family members have aged and passed on to their eternal home, though absent from our presence, we always remember those times with them that were extra special.  With great fondness I’ll always recall that Christmas Grandma Angell gave me that beautiful doll—it may have been my only “wrapped” gift, but it was not my only gift that year.  The doll is long gone—but the gifts that could not be wrapped are still with me.

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When Edward Garlock was sober, he was a kind, hard-working farmer providing for his wife and eight children. But when he was drunk, he transformed into a bull capable of absolute cruelty. Then one day two young men showed up on his doorstep, putting into motion an amazing series of events. Edward soon found himself at a campground in Framingham, Massachusetts, walking into a revival tent. The Holy Spirit changed not only his life, but thousands of others through Edward. Sharon Garlock Spiegel shares her grandfather’s story of redemption, forgiveness and healing – and the impact one life can have on the following Generations. This true story of a family’s troubled past will leave you breathless at the depravity of human nature and amazed at the power Divine intervention.

Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy of Generations.

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Giveaway rules: This giveaway will run through Tuesday, December 13th. Must be 18 years old to enter. Open to residents of continental USA. Winners will be chosen at random. Winner will be notified by email and have 3 days to respond with a mailing address or book will be awarded to another entrant.

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You are not required to sign up for a newsletter or follow Sharon on her social media to enter the giveaway, but I know she would love to connect with you! Stop by and connect with Sharon on one of her spots: Twitter  Facebook  Give her a follow if you like what you see! (I think you will.)

Born in East Providence, Rhode Island, Sharon Garlock Spiegel grew up on the East Coast, the daughter of a pastor. One of seven children, as the only girl for many years, she was dubbed, “Queen of the house”.  An inquisitive mind and creative imagination, (inherited from her grandmother, Jessie May Garlock), gave birth—at a very young age—to made-up plays and dramas acted out with her siblings. 

Sharon has been married 49 years and has three children, fourteen grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. An ordained Assembly of God minister, she is the administrator of a private Christian school and pastor of South Park Assembly of God.  In addition she often speaks to groups about her books and her favorite theme: “The Promises of God for Families”.  Her spare time, (which is rare),  includes:   writing, reading, spending time with her fourteen grandchildren, and traveling with her husband when the opportunity presents itself.

Sharon’s first book, Generations, was released by Crossriver Media in 2013.  It is a true account of her grandparents’ life—which includes the horrors of addiction, abuse—and the power of redemption. 

REMEMBER: After you comment, you must enter the Rafflecopter giveaway above to be eligible to win a copy of Generations.