Life with Jason Wright

I need you!

2011-06-01T11:59:00.000-04:00

I'm working on a column about how everyone's life has a "packet of problems", and sometimes we wish we could trade our problems with other people. If your life has more drama than a Lifetime movie, I'd love to hear it :)

I invite you leave an ANONYMOUS comment here with a few short details about your "packet of problems". You may also e-mail me privately, if you prefer.

If your "packet of problems" is shared in the column, it will be done in complete anonymity for the benefit of others.

Please do not share any identifying information about yourself or other parties involved. (divorce, death, job loss, etc.)

Thank you!

Media appearance in Winchester (and an apology!)

2011-05-17T12:05:00.001-04:00

I have been a very, very bad blogger of late. Forgive me?

The weekly columns I'm writing for a newspaper and a couple of websites have been a blessing and a curse. I love writing them, but they take a lot of energy and most of my good ideas every week. Plus, seriously, what does a guy like me really have to say?

I'll try to be better, I promise!

For now, enjoy this clip from a program over the weekend in Winchester, VA. The host, Barry Lee, is one of the top radio personalities in the area. He's a complete pro and it was fun to finally meet the man I've listened to for a long time every morning.

Announcing my fall 2011 novel: The Wedding Letters

2011-04-28T17:21:00.002-04:00

I've been teasing this on Facebook for weeks and I'm giddy-thrilled to finally share the news. My next book is called The Wedding Letters and will hit stores on 9/27/2011.

As you might guess, the book takes us back to Woodstock, Virginia and the gang at the Domus Jefferson Bed & Breakfast. Malcolm and Rain are back, so are Samantha and Matthew. Even better? A&P and all of her eccentricities are back!

More details to come including an exciting and rare pre-order offer. But in the meantime, enjoy this gorgeous new cover and tell your friends. There might be some drama in the Shenandoah Valley on 9/27.

Chat with Glenn Beck about The Cross Gardener

2011-04-23T16:25:00.000-04:00

Wright Words: Five tips to writing the book hiding in your soul

2011-03-25T10:30:00.000-04:00

Chances are at some point in your life you’ve had an idea while in the shower, in traffic or in a blue-grey office cubicle and thought, “Wow! That would make a really great book.”

You might have even jotted down a title or a paragraph or two. Perhaps you began an outline in your journal or did some online research. But then what? Odds are just as high that your fantastic idea is still hiding in your soul somewhere waiting to be told.

It’s an age-old problem. There’s a reason more of us run 5K races than marathons. It’s no surprise that health clubs are busier during the resolution-heavy months of January and February than during any other time of year. And do you know how many projects around the house I’ve started and not finished? Me neither, but I bet my wife does.

At first, the idea pulls at your shirttail for attention. But as time passes, the energy to do something about it passes, too. Life is busy. Work is hectic. The kids are a priority. All true, right? But what if that initial thought, that glorious piece of originality, that uncut diamond, could change a life? What if the book hiding in your soul just waiting to be written could inspire a single person to live his or her life differently?

A few days ago I received a letter from a woman incarcerated in the Midwest. The letter was handwritten on a torn half-sheet of yellow legal paper and bore an ominous black prison ink-stamp. The woman explained how one of my books rolled past her cell on a metal library cart.

She checked it out, read it slowly, and revealed that the story brought her a unique sense of hope. She also wrote how she felt closer to God and had a fresh view of repentance. With its misspellings, sloppy handwriting and torn edges, it was easily one of the most beautiful letters I’ve ever received. I will cherish it.

What if that idea you’ve got tucked away could prompt such a letter? Whether fiction or non-fiction, short story or screenplay, what if you have a concept unique to you and you alone? What if it's shouting at you to share it?

If you’ve read my books, you already know that I’m not going to win a Pulitzer Prize or National-Book-of-the-Year award. I’m hardly an expert. However, what I do know is that no award or bestseller list can match the sheer joy of finishing what we start, even if it’s for an audience of exactly one.

Through the years I’ve developed a few tips to remind myself how to continuously uncover my own ideas and guide them to the surface and ultimately to conclusion. Here are five of them:

1. Read

People who don’t read, don’t write. Maintain at least a one-to-one ratio of hours spent reading versus writing. You would be stunned at how many with a dream of writing a book never actually read one.

2. Share your idea

Too often we’re afraid someone will steal our concept and write it behind our backs. Does the miniscule chance of that happening outweigh the much more likely risk that the story dies with you? Don’t fear! Go tell a handful of your favorite, trusted people your idea and if they don’t dose off, it’s probably a good one.

3. Keep a writing journal

You should always have a small notebook handy in your car, desk, briefcase or purse. When an idea hits, no matter how trivial it seems, write it down as soon as possible. Refer to your notes often, even if you don’t have time to advance the story.

4. Write five days a week

Even if it’s only a few hundreds words or a few well-crafted lines, advance your story every single working day. Then take one day for yourself to clear your mind and one day for the Lord to remind you that your talents are not an accident.

5. Pray

Basketball players pray over free throws, surgeons pray as they don scrubs, actors pray before the show and painters pray for inspiration. So why not pray before you invite that idea from your soul to the page? Pray for guidance, pray for clarity, pray for purpose.

I wish I could promise following these tips or any others will guarantee that one day you will see your book for sale at Barnes and Noble or that Oprah invites you to sit on her couch. Maybe that happens; maybe it doesn’t. Someday a million people could read your first book and the ones that follow.

Or, perhaps, only one person reads it. But the words — your words — could bring them peace when they need it most.

Wouldn't that be worth it?

Pre-order The Cross Gardener paperback and get The James Miracle e-book for free

2011-03-21T10:59:00.004-04:00

It's the #1 question I hear at events, book clubs, in emails or while shopping at my local Wal-Mart: "Where can I buy The James Miracle?"

TJM was my very first book, a short little novella written for my wife in 2003. It's been out-of-print for a few years and won't likely be re-released until at least 2012.

So how can you read it right now? Pre-order the gorgeous new The Cross Gardener paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Books-A-Million and I'll send you The James Miracle as an e-book (PDF) for free. Pre-order by April 5th and I'll also mail you an autographed bookplate.

To get your free e-book and bookplate, simply forward your Amazon, BN or BAM confirmation email to TCGpreorder@jasonfwright.com. Your email should include the name and mailing address of the person receiving the autographed bookplate.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Wright Words: Why you could be wrong about public schools

2011-03-16T17:10:00.001-04:00

Not many topics ignite water cooler debates quite like the state of public schools in America. It seems every day I overhear folks debating public versus private versus home schooling, teacher pay or the recent, highly publicized standoff in Wisconsin. If you numbered all the opinions in your own community, you might have more than the number of students actually enrolled in the school district.

The debates — when civil — are healthy to the process. They serve as a reminder of what’s great about our country and how intelligent, well-meaning minds can passionately defend hot positions and share a cool frozen yogurt, all at the same time.

It’s understandable that the rhetoric on the state of public schools becomes heated. We love our children. We root for their success, understanding that most of our youngsters spend more time in their classrooms every day than at home. Teachers, administrators and the systems they choose to use have significant influence over our youths.

You’ve heard the complaints, whether you’re a parent of a public school student or not. Teachers shouldn’t whine about pay when they work nine months a year. Teachers and administrators everywhere are having inappropriate physical relationships with students. Your children are suffering because liberal philosophies and political talking points are being drilled into students’ rapidly developing world views.

My schools are falling apart. My children’s teachers are too old. My taxes are too high for such mediocre results in education. Does this sound like you? A friend? A neighbor?

I have been tremendously blessed since 2005, but particularly during this current school year, to visit schools across the country and to speak to tens of thousands of students from grades K-12. I’ve spoken in schools in urban areas where Caucasians are a minority, and I’ve met with students in schools with so little diversity they make a loaf of Wonder Bread look multinational.

I’ve met a handful of tired teachers who count the days to retirement. I chatted with a male teacher who makes a habit of flirting with high school girls. Front office staffers have treated me like a nuisance, and lunchroom ladies have barked at children for giggling at me and saying hello. My ears have heard teachers yell and tell inappropriate jokes. My eyes have seen ceilings crumbing and plastic buckets catching the drip-drip beneath.

That’s not news, is it? For many of us, these anecdotes simply reinforce our belief that the public school system is a dying dinosaur; a diseased creature that shouldn’t be treated, it should be killed.

But here’s why you could be wrong about public schools. For every alarming three-minute story on the 6 o’clock news that makes you consider for the ninth time this week whether you should home-school, countless hours of good are performed by the overwhelming majority of educators in the overwhelming majority of public schools.

In the past six months, I’ve personally observed that when budgets are tight and when they truly believe in the message, teachers will often spend their own funds on books for students.

I’ve listened as teachers tearfully shared their own "Christmas Jar" miracles. Many teachers who could have used the money themselves have chosen to anonymously give away a small fortune to some student’s struggling family.

I’ve spoken at evening fundraisers in dimly lit cafeterias. At these events, the only money changing hands is what we raise for the Red Cross, a teacher with cancer or a family recovering from funeral expenses and lost income while they took the time to bury their son. Those rooms are always full of teachers, and I promise that none of them are whining about their paychecks.

In my own hometown of Woodstock, Va., with the organization and encouragement of their dedicated teachers, students at W.W. Robinson Elementary School surprised me by collecting nearly $1,000 in change for the Seventeen Second Miracle Scholarship Fund, a program to benefit high school seniors with more dreams in their hearts than money in their pockets.

Teachers weep when their students weep, and they cheer when their students succeed. They build bridges and raise expectations. They lose sleep over students who chronically fail and pray for those who hide bruises under scarves and long-sleeved shirts.

Before you fill my in-box with studies, graphs, frightening anecdotes or videos of teachers-gone-wild, please note that I strongly believe there are important issues that can and should be addressed in our public schools. Without question we need less of the bureaucracy, more local control, less pressure to “teach to the test” and more, much more, of the divine.

Also note how proud I am that my children attend public school. I am enormously grateful for the hours their teachers labor each and every day on their behalf. They’re not perfect, but neither are my children.

Many of my friends choose to home-school their children. I honor their decision. Other friends pay for private schooling, and I respect their decisions, too. What I don’t respect are people forming coast-to-coast opinions about public schools and throwing teachers into a single, deep and dysfunctional pool.

If you ever need a reminder that the men and women teaching your children are good, decent and caring people, turn off the news and spend a day in the classroom. You might find you’ve been wrong about public schools.

Wright Words: Stay classy, San Diego State

2011-03-02T14:56:00.001-05:00

Has there ever been a better time to be a Brigham Young University basketball fan? Currently BYU stands at No. 3 in the polls and looks poised for a rare run into the NCAA Tournament’s second week.

You can’t turn on ESPN these days without seeing a clip of BYU All-American Jimmer Fredette launching a 30-foot 3-pointer, or a live interview with “The Jimmer” or a hoops guru breaking down game film. Even more likely, you’ve seen all of the above. If Jimmer were a stock, he’d be Google at $610 a share with room to grow.

Indeed, it’s been quite a season. I only wish I’d seen more of it. Living in the East has not afforded as many opportunities to watch games as my friends in the West. Just imagine how thrilled I was that BYU’s game with then-No. 6 ranked San Diego State University last Saturday would be televised coast-to-coast on CBS. It was only the second game all year I watched from tip-off to final buzzer.

Thankfully, the game was nearly everything we’d been promised. It featured physical play from both teams, timely offense and good coaching from two of the best. It was entertaining and competitive until roughly the 10-minute mark of the second half. For the rest of the matchup, BYU answered every SDSU mini-run with huge shots from plenty of players not named Jimmer.

As the clock ticked down, the only real suspense was whether or not SDSU fans, desperate for a win over their much-hated league rival, would stay classy or repeat their embarrassing behavior from previous meetings.

SDSU coach Steve Fisher sent an e-mail earlier in the week asking all fans, especially those in SDSU’s famed student section dubbed “The Show,” to behave appropriately.

Among other things, Fisher wrote, “We cannot cross the line into topics that are out of bounds and distasteful, particularly making fun of one's religion."

Maybe some SDSU fans have junk filters blocking Coach Fisher’s e-mails.

It’s obvious that if you’re watching premium cable and your children walk in the room, you better be prepared to explain the profanity, innuendo, etc. To a slightly lesser degree, the same is true if your little ones wander in while watching any number of primetime sitcoms on NBC, CBS, ABC or FOX. But should that be the case if you’re watching a college basketball game on national television?

During the final minutes of the SDSU-BYU game, my daughter popped in to check on the score and enjoy a quick one-on-one chat with Dad. I was explaining a foul against SDSU when the crowd, obviously disagreeing with the call, began to chant a popular two-word phrase connoting disbelief. “Dad, are they chanting what I think they’re chanting?”

“Yes, dear, they are.”

“Can’t they get in trouble for that?” she asked.

“Apparently not.”

Basketball is a sport that encourages fan involvement. We sit close to the court and have easy access to players. We’re often referred to as the “sixth-man” and, perhaps more than in any sport, we can feed a team’s momentum.

Everyone wants to win the big game, right? That’s why we buy tickets and that’s why we scramble around on a busy Saturday morning to be in a position to devote two hours to a basketball game. It’s not a crime to want your team to perform well and to beat your rival. But when is too much too much?

Perhaps it was poor taste that hundreds of SDSU students dressed as missionaries in white shirts, ties and fake nametags, but most would argue it was harmless. I thought the efforts to distract BYU players at the free-throw line with giant heads of pop culture figures was quite clever. I saw Woody from Toy Story, Marilyn Monroe and Donald Trump. Nothing offensive there.

But what about the sign that read, "Wives-for-Rent"? Or the signs that carried vile slurs aimed at Jimmer’s girlfriend? What about the fans who threw candy on the court? I’d call it elementary school stuff, but that’s not fair to little kids who actually know better.

If you were the athletic director at BYU or any other school that endures religious taunts, dangerous playing conditions or any other behavior that crosses the line of good sportsmanship, wouldn’t you find other places to play? After all, there are 344 other Division I basketball teams in the country.

It’s certainly acceptable and encouraged to cheer and chant and to hope with all your heart your team wins. In the proper spirit, sports can bring people together and bridge differences in cultures, wealth and religion. What’s happening at “The Show” at SDSU shouldn’t be encouraged and is completely unacceptable.

To be certain, this inappropriate, childish behavior happens on other college campuses around the country and BYU has its own share of fans that have probably crossed the line. If BYU treats Notre Dame or anyone else this way during a visit to Provo, I’ll gladly reboot this column and let the Cougars have it.

Rivalries are wonderful and good-natured ribbing and passionate competition is part of sports. Chanting obscenities, mocking religion and denigrating players and their families is not. No one should ever have to apologize to a child for a sport’s broadcast.

I anticipate many SDSU fans will call me prudish, self-righteous and other derogatory names. I just wish they could follow Ron Burgundy’s advice to “Stay classy, San Diego.”

Wright Words: The 25-year anniversary you don't care about

2011-02-23T14:59:00.000-05:00

It is an anniversary of absolutely zero significance to anyone else in the world but me. Not even my wife knows. (Note to self: Tell wife before column is published.)

Twenty-five years ago I heard my father shout two words at me I'll never forget. Even though the meaning has changed, their significance hasn't.

The journey to those two words started on a tennis court nestled on my neighbor's historic and humongous southern plantation. I learned to play the sport by hitting balls against a faded green cinderblock wall. The practice wall was standard height, but what waited for me on the other side wasn't so standard at all.

If I caught too much air, balls would fly into a field filled with a toxic mix of thick weeds and thorny bushes that ate my 12-year-old bony legs. I learned quickly not to hit the balls over the wall.

Once I was comfortable with the rules and could sustain something vaguely resembling a rally, I let a much more talented friend talk me into entering a citywide doubles tournament to be held on the grounds at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.

I'll never forget the day my father picked us up from school and drove us to campus to see the tournament draw. We rode in the bed of my father's prized, silver Dodge Rampage. It was one-third truck, one-third car and one-third complete awesomeness.

Sure, we were happy to learn we'd received a first-round bye. Sure, we were excited to see we'd drawn one of the few mixed-doubles teams. But we were downright giddy that the female half of the opposing duo was a student from our high school who we knew we could handle on the court. We didn't recognize her playing partner's name, but he just had to be lousy. No reason, just because.

We sat in the bed of the truck as Dad drove my friend home and felt like we ruled the world. I recall how we repeated our opponents' names over and over with derision and disrespect dripping from our lips. "We got matched against them? Them? We can beat them! With a bye and then these chumps, we're guaranteed to make the third round!" We even came up with a snarky little chant.

Every day after school we practiced and strategized. On the day of the tournament I felt like such a man pulling up the new socks my mother bought me at a real sporting goods store. Not Sears or Kmart but an actual sporting goods store. I stretched them over my calves and made sure they didn't crinkle or get bent at the top, so friends and competitors alike could see the brand name.

There were at least 20 courts at the tennis complex, and we were assigned to one that ran alongside the major thoroughfare in Charlottesville. Our parents and a few friends sat on a grassy hill between the sidewalk and the court with a perfect view.

The four of us met at the net for introductions, and I wondered who the old guy was with the girl we already knew from school. Funny thing: It turns out there wasn't an age limit in the mixed-doubles competition, and the chump staring at us was her personal coach. They promised to take it easy on us, and I promised to beat my friend later with my tennis racket.

The girl was very good, much to our surprise and chagrin. Thankfully her AARP playing partner kept his word and played loose and light.

The first set was competitive and stood at 4-4 with my partner serving. I hugged the net, my strong suit, and stabbed and punched back every volley I could.

We engaged in a long rally with me on the right side of the court. Grandpa hit a crushing forehand that sent me diving toward the doubles alley. My sweet '80s hair flew behind me, and I launched through the air like Superman in gym shorts and a tournament-issued T-shirt. I grunted for effect and somehow, miraculously, I got the ball back over the net and into play. The rally continued without me.

Twenty-five-years later I remember lying on the court with my hands at my sides and feeling the sting of little pebbles embedded in my palms.

Twenty-five-years later I remember my father shouting two words at me from his perch on the grass hill: "Get up!"

I did. Then two or three exchanges later we won the point, and my friend and I exchanged "Top Gun"-style high fives.

This story could end like a Disney sports movie where everyone gets what they want, and both the game and film come down to the final play and the final scene. Or it could end with the truth, that we lost that first set in a close battle and then got hammered in the second by the girl and Abe Lincoln.

Yes, we lost two sets to none. Yes, I took it hard. But I'll never forget hearing my father's voice from the distance. I'd lose a thousand tennis matches to have learned the lesson.

Sometimes I fall and get up. Sometimes I don't. But my shot at being successful only comes on the occasions when I brush the pebbles off and stand again. Even then, as much as I want it, I still sometimes lose.

My father died less than a year later, and I wonder how many times since his passing he has shouted at me from his perch on a grassy hill. "Get up!" I wonder if he knew then how badly I needed to hear those two words or how many times I've longed to hear them since.

No, this anniversary means nothing to anyone but me, and that's just the way I like it. I simply hope that all these years later I'm still trying to "get up" every time I fall.

I also hope he's still shouting.

Wright Words: One reason I love New York City more than ever

2011-02-19T15:01:00.000-05:00

I love living in tiny Woodstock, Va. I get to punch out columns and manuscripts from a one-room office on Main Street and enjoy watching and waving at passersby. I'm in the same building as an old-fashioned three-screen movie theater, one of which is above me on the second floor. Beneath me is a real wood floor almost as old as the town itself. It's a quaint, historic community that provides my family and me most everything we need.

What it's most certainly not is the publishing capital of the world. For that I'm required to make a long trek three or four times per year to New York City. In fact, this column comes to you from my favorite hotel on Times Square.

The biggest difference between this trip and all the others is that my sweet wife has come along. At this moment she sits across the room fiddling on her iPad, patiently waiting for me to finish so we can return to the concrete jungle in search of more adventures. She's also rolling her eyes because two minutes ago I went to the window and yelled, "Live from New York, it's Wright Words!" She's positive I'm the only one who will find that funny.

Who cares, right? I can dream of being funny. It is, after all, The City of Dreams. We're in The Big Apple, The Empire City, Gotham and The City Where Jason Once Fell Asleep on the Shoulder of a Complete Stranger.

I should confess that to make this trip happen I schemed and white-fibbed my way to an itinerary so sugar sweet it would send a diabetic over the top. The schedule has been ambitious.

She and I came by train from Washington, D.C., something my wife has always wanted to try. We strolled China Town and took cheesy pictures on Times Square and on the subway. She finally met Glenn Beck, something I've been promising for years. We sat in his office with a stunning view of the city and soaked up his creative energy.

She also met Academy Award-winner Kieth Merrill, and together with another filmmaker we talked books, movies and morals. We ate at a place that felt lifted from a Woody Allen film, The Cranberry Café.

My kids won't go to college, but we saw the new musical "Spider Man: Turn off the Dark." It was simply sensational. Of course it helped that none of the actors fell on their heads — or ours.

It's been a wonderful trip, but as I flip through the memories in my mind's photo album, I smile most at the things that I didn't plan. I suspect the most colorful memories when I'm 50, 60 or 160 will be the ones for which I didn't make reservations.

This morning we took a frightening cab ride to Battery Park so wild it felt like we'd been swallowed up in a racing video game being played by my 4-year-old on a sugar rush. I don't remember paying the cabbie; I only remember kissing the pavement when I flopped out.

We ate dinner on Valentine's Day at a restaurant in Little Italy. The place was so romantic it belonged in a Hallmark commercial, all except for the couple at the table next to us arguing. When the woman threatened to get up and walk out, I leaned over the table and whispered to my wife, "Please don't leave. This is better than the ravioli!"

Somehow we walked four blocks from our hotel in a big loop to a pizza place that we were embarrassed to find was right next to where we started. I convinced my wife it was part of my plan to work up a healthy appetite for the best pizza she'd ever eat. Maybe "convinced" is the wrong word.

We took the ferry to the Statue of Liberty, our most anticipated excursion, and she and I endured biting wind and brutal cold. At our first opportunity we bought matching sweatshirts so corny even Mr. Rogers would have laughed and called us names.

Liberty Island was nice, but it was the unscheduled stop at Ellis Island that left the stronger impression. I felt the Spirit remind me how lucky I am to live in a country that people have flocked to since its divine creation. The feelings were almost indescribable as I sat in the cavernous Registry Room and imagined the millions who stepped off ships for better lives and more colorful dreams. We toured the dormitories, and I pictured the day my own ancestors arrived, were processed, and then were sent by rail to seed the country I would one day call my home.

Yes, it is the land of opportunity. But not for the homeless man we saw eating frozen gum from a manhole cover. Neither my wife nor I will soon forget that memory. It didn't bring a smile, but we're glad we saw it anyway. Another reminder how blessed we've been and how much more we should be giving.

Tomorrow we'll make our way back to Penn Station, hidden deep below Madison Square Garden, and board a train for home. We'll keep gushing about "Spider Man," the meals, the meetings and the future. But what we'll laugh about and what we'll cling to are the memories we created, not the ones we planned.

What's the one reason I love New York City more than ever? Because this time she was in it.

Wright Words: Hero lives undetected in Ogden

2011-02-12T15:02:00.000-05:00

I grew up thinking heroes moved mountains, saved lives or won Super Bowls with last-minute drives. A few days ago, I learned they also diagnose eye problems.

On a trip to speak at the Time Out for Women 2011 kick-off event in Ogden, Utah, I began to have problems seeing out of my left eye. It was mildly irritated in the morning, sore when I boarded the plane and on fire by the time I landed in Salt Lake City.

Sitting inside my rental car in the parking garage, I did what most husbands do when they feel lousy on a business trip. I called my wife. Her advice was three words long: Find a doctor. Then she added a fourth: Now!

Have you ever been travelling in another state with sparks coming from one of your eyeballs and desperately needing to find an eye doctor? I had grown exhausted from back-to-back nights of very little sleep, a ridiculously early morning and a long flight. Then I looked at my watch and realized I still needed to shower, shave, put on a suit and report to the venue at Weber State University in just a few hours.

I searched eye doctors on my trusty iPhone and began making calls. Some said no. Others asked if I could come next week. One said I could come hang around with no promise of actually seeing a doctor.

Then I called a doctor in Ogden not far from my hotel. After a moment on hold the receptionist returned and said, "Can you come right now?"

I raced straight there and walked with one eye closed through the front door of the Ogden Vision Center. Before I could even sit, someone offered me drops for the pain. Before I could fill out a single piece of paperwork I was sitting in a chair in Dr. Lincoln J. Dygert's exam room having my eyes checked.

He took care of the pain, put in a special contact lens to help protect the eye until I could see my own doctor back home in Virginia and gave me his cell phone number. He was concerned the bright lights on stage would wreak havoc on my eye, and he made me promise to text him if it became too painful.

I didn't have to. My phone rang on the way to the venue. The good doctor wanted to know whether I needed anything. He also made me promise to contact him the next morning before I boarded the plane.

The event couldn't have gone any better. None of the 1,800 women in attendance threw rotten fruit at me, and only a few hundred had to be nudged awake by their seatmates when I concluded.

The next morning, the doctor insisted on driving in to his office to check my eyes again. He swapped the contact, gave me valuable advice on managing the discomfort until I could return home and wished me well.

I stared out the window as my eastbound plane cut through the cold evening air and contemplated just how many heroes there are like Dr. Dygert. How many heroes in my life have I taken for granted because they don't fight fires for a living or drive tanks across a desert in the Middle East?

I wondered then and I wonder now as these words hit the page, what defines a hero in today's world? Must they be brave? Should they be strong? Do they have change hearts or minds? Save a life?

Maybe a hero is simply the person who answers the call when others ignore it. Maybe a hero is someone who lives every day to serve in big moments and small moments. Sometimes they get thanked; sometimes they don't.

I wonder how many I've failed to thank. How many heroes in my life have gone undetected, unappreciated, unrewarded?

How about you? When was the last time you examined your own life and identified the heroes around you?

I'm embarrassed to think how many have zipped in and out of my life without knowing how thankful I was for their heroics. But not this time.

To Dr. Dygert and his team at Ogden Vision Center, I say thank you for answering the call when others didn't. Cape or no cape, you are modern-day heroes.

Wright Words: The top ten excuses for missing a deadline

2011-02-05T12:54:00.002-05:00

Like many of you, I live in a world of deadlines. I’ve got one for this very column you’re reading, another for a contract I’m reviewing and one for a church project. I’ve even got one for my wife’s upcoming milestone birthday. Naturally each carries penalties for being late, and you can guess which deadline would be the most painful to miss.

Through the years I’ve become a certified blue ribbon-winning deadline misser, an expert at massaging my way through excuses and negotiating extensions. It’s a vicious cycle: If I had a nickel for every occasion I had to buy myself more time, I would have spent all those nickels.

I’m not a newbie to this game. I’ve been waving to passing deadlines since I was a kid. You said that book report is due by what day? Tomorrow? My room cleaned by what time? Six? Potty trained by what age? Seven?

The latest deadline costing me sleep is for my fall 2011 novel. I can’t tell you the title yet, and I can’t tell you what it’s about, but I can share one juicy nugget: It’s not done. Let me clarify: It’s kinda sorta done. And by kinda sorta I mean – not really. I’m still editing, proofing, dotting my I’s and squiggling my S’s.

To keep my editor and his trusty assistant from hunting me down and handcuffing me to my laptop, I’ve rolled out some of my time-tested, mother-disapproved excuses. They’ve served me well through the years. May you find them equally useful.

The top 10 excuses for missing a deadline:

1. Did you mean Eastern Standard or Hawaii Standard Time? I’m 1/64th Polynesian, plus I had ham and pineapple pizza last night.

2. “The Brady Bunch” was on, the one where the boys want a rowboat and the girls want a sewing machine, and they compromise on a color television. That episode taught me something your science project couldn’t.

3. My teddy bear bore a cub overnight, but it wasn’t stuffed. We had to rush him to Build-A-Bear.

4. Two words: "American Idol."

5. I’m late with this assignment because I haven’t actually read the book, and I thought your keen sense of morality would appreciate honesty much more than a faked report.

6. I got a flat tire on the way to school but had no spare. I’d forgotten that I put it on my elderly neighbor’s station wagon during last week’s hailstorm.

7. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. My DVR is almost out of space, and I’m still behind on "Cake Boss."

8. My kids needed some daddy time, and I felt it was important to take a few days off. Why don’t you want my children to be happy?

9. My crops have been struggling with the harsh weather, and I’ve had to commit a lot of extra time to working the fields. Farmville is a lot more difficult than it looks.

Whoops, no time for No. 10. My deadline has passed. If you have a spectacularly bad excuse you’ve heard or used, share it in the comments.

Announcing Jason's brand new EDITOR-FOR-A-DAY Contest

2011-01-29T23:06:00.003-05:00

Do you have a funny photo of your kids? Your pets? A snowman wearing a Speedo? That funny photo could earn you the most unique prize you've ever won!

How do you enter?

STEP 1: E-mail your funny photo to contests@jasonfwright.com before February 2 at 11:59 PM, EST. (One photo per person.)

STEP 2: Wait for a reply confirming your photo has been received and posted in a special contest album on Facebook.

STEP 3: Encourage your Facebook friends and family to “like” your photo.

STEP 4: Watch as your photo competes against other funny photos for the most “likes”. Whichever photo receives the most “likes” by 11:59 PM, EST on February 4, wins! The entrant will become Jason's EDITOR-FOR-A-DAY.

What’s the Grand Prize?

-The winner will be named Jason’s exclusive EDITOR-FOR-A-DAY.

-The winner will be among the first five people to read Jason's latest manuscript.

-The winner will give feedback on the manuscript, just like an actual editor at a major publisher.

-The winner will be credited as "Editor-for-a-Day" in the acknowledgments of the book when it is released on October 11th, 2011.

-The winner will receive two signed, first-edition copies.

-Other prizes, including books and CD’s, will be offered to runners-up.

The not-so-fine print.

-Deadline to enter is February 2 at 11:59 PM, EST. Photos received after the deadline will not be entered. One photo per person, please.

-You must own the rights to the photo you are submitting.

-Photos must be "PG" in nature.

-Prize may not be sold or transferred and has no cash value.

-Employees or contractors of Jason Wright's publishers, publicists and agencies are ineligible.

Wright Words: Look Ma, I'm 40!

2011-01-26T12:20:00.002-05:00

In a few days I will say goodbye to my 30s. Tchau. Adios. Sayonara. Later, dude. It’s been nice knowing you.

Turning 30 didn’t bother me because I still felt so young. Turning 40 terrifies me because I’ve napped twice since starting this column.

When I turned 30 people told me I looked 22. No one ever believed me when we played the "Guess-how-old-I-am" game. But now, as I turn 40, I suddenly look 67. Great if you're trying to collect Social Security or get the seniors' 4 p.m. discount at Denny's. Not great if you still have a kid in diapers.

I've lived a bizarre and interesting 10 years. My 20s ended with a run for Congress. I thank heaven and the GOP delegates of Utah’s third district everyday for sending me home. Never have I been more grateful to finish in second place.

My 30s are ending in a way I could have never predicted, as a full-time writer and public speaker.

Along the way, there have been plenty of heartaches. I’ve been haunted by a decade-long legal dispute so frivolous, it makes lawsuits over spilled hot coffee look legitimate. If I wrote a memoir about it they would put it in the fiction category because no one would believe people could behave in such ways. The process nearly destroyed me financially and emotionally. Suffice it to say I’ve learned more about forgiveness and humility than I ever wanted to learn.

There have also been tragic deaths of both friends and friendships. One of my best childhood pals was killed in a car accident near our hometown in Charlottesville, Va. Another from the same era might as well be gone because he refuses to speak to me anymore. I’d share the reasons if I actually knew them.

There have been miracles, too. A niece shouldn’t have survived her arrival on earth, the open-heart surgery or the multiple life-flights to a children’s hospital in Washington, D.C. But she did, and today this little angel is pestering her brothers and sisters like a pro.

And, after my wife had a miscarriage early in the decade that led us to believe we might not have more children, we had two boys and on most days I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

There have also been lessons learned. Do not go on C-SPAN with a runny nose. Do not make jokes at airport security. Do not ask your wife if that’s what she’s really wearing to a neighborhood party. And do not, I repeat do not lower the rim on your portable backyard basketball hoop and hang on the rim when you dunk it.

There have been successes. Books have landed on best seller lists for months and have been translated into languages all around the world. But there have been tremendous failures, too. Recovering Charles, one of my personal favorites, failed to strike a chord and flopped faster and harder than a Jennifer Lopez film. I suppose that one is all around the world, too, balancing uneven legs on bargain book tables far and wide.

I have visited 38 states and met countless people I won’t forget in this life or the next. I’ve come home from each and every trip to a family that tolerates the travel and loves me in spite of my baggage. They are the gorgeous pressure-tested diamonds; I am still the coal, a rock with potential.

So what do I predict for the next 10 years? No more kids. A dozen more books – half become best sellers, the others bomb and are used to treat insomnia. I’ll finally buy a movie ticket to one of my book-to-film adaptations. I’ll visit the Great Wall, return to my beloved Brazil, lock my daughters in their bedrooms when they turn 16 and take my boys to the emergency room at least six times — each.

What will I learn? How to be more patient. How to manage my time more effectively. Maybe how to write more better and stuff, irregardless what people think. Perhaps I'll learn to more fully appreciate my amazing mother for all she’s endured and for all she’s done for me. And, hopefully, I’ll continue to learn that Heavenly Father loves me on the bad days just as much as the good.

Bring it on, 40s. Bring the pain, successes, joys, failures and aches of the heart, knees and lower back.

Well, maybe I'm not so terrified after all. Can I still get a third nap?

Wright Words: The New York Times Best Seller List debunked

2011-01-19T11:12:00.002-05:00

Every author I know remembers where they were the first time they learned they’d "hit the list." It is the gold standard of best seller rankings: The New York Times.

Obviously there are other lists and each is important: USA Today, Wall Street Journal and Publishers Weekly to name a few. Each is a useful barometer of whether a book is being embraced across a broad audience. But with all due respect to the others, The New York Times' remains the list authors at all levels covet and pine over. That much we know.

What we don’t know is exactly how it's compiled. The process is a closely guarded secret, ranking somewhere on the scale between the nuke codes in the president’s "football" and the formula for Coke. Editors from the paper rarely speak about their process for calculating and ranking books. Some independent stores report their sales; some don’t. Some mega chains such as Barnes & Noble report, but others, like Wal-Mart, do not.

Judging from comments I hear on the road, even many casual readers and writers seem to know the importance of "hitting the list." Did you know there are actually 11 published lists in The New York Times? Neither did I, but obviously more lists mean more opportunity for authors and publishers.

Unlike USA Today, which groups all books into one behemoth list of 150 titles, The New York Times list has evolved into a series of well-defined categories. You can "hit the list" in any of these sections: Hardcover Fiction; Hardcover and Paperback Non-Fiction; Trade Paperback Fiction; Mass-Market Fiction; Hardcover and Paperback Advice; How-To and Miscellaneous; Children’s Picture Books; Children’s Chapter Books; Children’s Paperback; and Children’s Series.

When a book goes to reprint, when a paperback is issued, or when an author publishes their next title, you can bet "New York Times Best Seller" will appear on the cover, regardless of the specific list on which they appeared.

The various lists, published in the Sunday edition of The New York Times, are pre-released on Wednesdays to subscribing publishers, agents and industry insiders. It arrives by e-mail typically between 4:30-6:30 p.m. EST. If you're hoping to be on it, seeing it pop into your inbox is like plunging your hand in the Captain Crunch and finding a toy so big you need both hands to lift it.

The first time I "hit the list" was the week when "The Wednesday Letters" came out in hardcover in September of 2007. I hadn't made the list yet with "Christmas Jars," so we didn't expect this book to make it either. Still, there were reasons for slivers of hope. I'd appeared on Glenn Beck’s radio and television shows the day the book launched and had given out my cell phone number asking readers to call and share stories of their favorite handwritten letters. I received so many calls my cell phone had smoke and sparks coming from it by midnight on the first day. As the calls came in and the interview went viral, sales rankings rose.

When the following Wednesday arrived, I was with my wife and four children running errands in nearby Harrisonburg, Va. We hadn’t talked about it much, and the publisher had successfully lowered my expectations. Still, as the afternoon wore on, it began to feel like butterflies were building a water park in my belly.

A call from my editor came on my cell phone shortly after 5 p.m. as we sat in the KFC drive-through. I answered the phone about the same time the squawk box garbled back our order, and I remember wondering if they’d hired an actual chicken to work the window. With the kids barking from a long day in the car and the drive-through speaker bawk bawk bawking, I had no choice but to abandon the driver’s seat and scamper to the far corner of the parking lot.

I watched my wife scramble to pull the car up and listened as my editor put me on speakerphone. “You hit the list,” he said and the room around him erupted in cheers. Then someone else in the background on the phone added, “You know you can scream, too.”

So I did. I yelled and raised both arms in the air as if I’d scored the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl of Nerds.

After a round of congratulations from everyone on the phone and learning the actual number I’d hit — six — I returned to the car and walked around to the driver’s side window where my wife awaited our celebratory dinner. I hugged her and smiled when I saw tears in her eyes. I cannot confirm nor deny that I might have also had tears in mine.

A few weeks later I was surprised with a luncheon at my publisher’s headquarters. During introductory remarks in front of the corporate office, Sheri Dew, CEO of Deseret Book/Shadow Mountain, reminded me that I would forever be known as a “New York Times best selling author." She joked that it might look nice on my tombstone. I replied that the granite was already on order.

Every author has a different experience that first time, but the excitement is universal. Fortunately it isn’t the only way to have your writing validated, or yourself for that matter. It’s not the loftiness of the goal so much as the goal itself.

You don’t have to discover a cure for cancer or win the Nobel Prize to be great humanitarian. Maybe you just need to know where the Band-Aids are stored in the back of the cabinet. Do you really need an Oscar sitting on your shelf, or will you settle for knowing your kids think you tell the world’s best bedtime stories?

Becoming a New York Times best seller won’t define your life, and it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re selling a bazillion books. What it does mean is the hours you write before dawn when no one is watching are appreciated. If you're an aspiring author, it’s a goal worth having like any other.

What have I learned? Hitting the New York Times best selling list hasn't made me luckier, wiser, cooler to my kids or any better at loading the dishwasher. Still, while it won't get me to heaven any faster, it might not look that bad on a tombstone.

Wright Words: The best movie you'll never see

2011-01-13T10:21:00.001-05:00

We've all been there. The house lights are just coming up. The credits are scrolling across the screen. The empty Raisinets box has joined the unpopped kernels in the bottom of the giant cardboard tub. As we walk to the exit of the theater, we say to ourselves, "Yowza. That's two hours of my life I'll never get back."

What if we could, though? What if rather than sitting through painful dialog and pointless chase scenes we had been enhancing ourselves, improving our lives?

I don't know about you, but I've seen some unusually smelly films in the last year or so. And it's not that they necessarily offended with language, nudity or violence, but they did do damage to good taste, common sense and my wallet.

Can't Hollywood find a better way to spend $50 million dollars than on body function laughs? Isn't there a single screenwriter in Los Angeles who can write an entertaining script for kids that doesn't rely on easy jokes and the lazy writing of potty humor? Even a dimwitted columnist like me can write that kind of comedy. Seriously, I'm not afraid to say dirty diaper jokes have become my No. 2 biggest pet peeve.

With this in mind and with the new year still fresh, I've decided to launch an experiment. The next time I see an ad for a movie and ask myself, "I wonder if it's any good," I'm going to find out how long it is. Then I'll add 20 minutes of travel, 15 minutes of previews, and the five minutes I would spend wondering if the bottom of my shoes were too sticky to wear into the house.

I will note the start time of the movie, disappear into my study and not come out until I would have made it home had I actually gone to the theater. I won't do anything that is on my normal to-do list. No writing, no paying bills, no Internet "research" — aka surfing for funny YouTube videos. It will be pure bonus time, the precious minutes I would not have gotten back had I gone to see "The Wizard's Date Night With Poodle Spies."

I'm sure the first few minutes will feel uncomfortable as I look around imagining what else I could be doing. Maybe I will say a little prayer. Maybe I will say a really long, longer-than-I've-ever-said-before prayer. Maybe I'll spend the time thinking about one thing. One memory. One challenge. One opportunity.

The more I think about it, the more exciting the idea becomes. I can take a couple of hours and tell my sound-bite-attention-span brain to get over it. I'm not going to entertain you tonight. Tonight we will sit quietly and consider the deep things of life. We're not coming out of this study until life is better — or at least better understood. Certainly life will be better than if we had gone to a cheesy movie with no redeeming value.

Perhaps you're thinking, "But I like the escape. I like the mindless entertainment that enables me to forget the stress and mess of everyday life." Well so do I, and that's often why I see these stinkers in the first place. But what good is an escape from reality if it leaves you wishing you'd picked a different place to hide?

Maybe, like many of my ideas, I'll find the experiment a complete failure. It could be I do nothing more than stare at the wall and wonder who I can blame for the wackiness. Or maybe I'll learn something about myself.

Maybe I'll hear something in the silence that moves me in a way a movie about belching dogs can't.

Will you join me? Pick a movie and showtime that suits your schedule. Then don't go to the theater. Instead, go to the library or another quiet place. Meditate. Contemplate. Muse. Brood. Cogitate. Then take a few minutes at the end to write a quick journal entry and weigh the experiment's value.

If it goes well, you might remember that experience as the best movie you'll never see.

Wright Words: Schedule 'Daddy-Kid Days' on your 2011 calendar

2011-01-06T09:11:00.001-05:00

It's been 10 years since I first celebrated a "Daddy-Kid Day." My oldest daughter was 5 years old, her sister 2.

The oldest reminded me at dinner that while it wasn't her actual birthday, Dec. 6, it was still the sixth of a different month. "We should do something super special!"

My wife, exhausted from a long day of playing dolls, diapers and dress-up, smiled so sweetly at me from across the table. "Yes, Jason, you two should do something super special. Something far away. Something she really wants to do that will last long enough for me to put the other to bed and treat myself to something incredibly glamorous. Like a shower."

Thus was born "Daddy-Kid Day." But because it was hers and hers alone, she chose to call it "Daddy-Oakli Day." And you don't have to have a degree in brand marketing to know where we ended up that night.

Fifteen minutes later we ate vanilla ice cream cones together in a McDonald's parking lot. After we'd cleared the drive-through and parked in the very last stall, I invited the wide-eyed little girl to climb up front with me. I'll never forget this date, partly because it became a tradition that's lasted a decade, but mostly because it was the first time I saw my daughter as more than a child.

For a few minutes and for reasons I cannot explain, my eyes looked at that person in the passenger's seat and saw her as a teen, a wife, a mother and a friend. She was a soul of her own, not just an extension or responsibility of her mom and dad.

Ever since that first "Daddy-Oakli Day," we've repeated the tradition on the sixth of each month. Sometimes it's as simple as a Slurpee run. Other times it's a movie 30 miles away at our favorite theater. It can be a walk, a trip to the library or playing "Guess the Price" at the grocery store.

Things happen. There are months when I'm traveling on the sixth or when one of us is ill. Homework happens. Meetings happen. Life happens. But we do our best to reschedule, juggle and make it up. No matter the day it occurs, we look forward to the special moments alone, and there's simply no forgetting what the sixth means to Oakli and me.

Naturally, my other daughter also has her own special holiday. We celebrate "Daddy-Jadi Day" on the thirteenth, and every month when her day hits, I'm sure to be reminded of it before I've even finished breakfast. Her tastes and interests differ from her sister's, and our activities together vary accordingly.

I've got two boys as well, both younger, and each has his own 'Daddy-Kid Day'. Neither of these tigers even bothers for me to get downstairs for breakfast on their respective days. Their reminders come when they pry my eyes open in bed.

Their interests are unique from their sisters' and from one another. If I tried to play Littlest Pet Shop with my 7-year-old on "Daddy-Kason Day," he'd shove a tiny plastic animal up each nostril. Not his, mine.

My 3-year-old is the easiest to please. "Hey buddy, it's 'Daddy-Koleson Day.' How about we swing in the backyard as long as you want?" Done. "Want me to read your favorite dinosaur pop-up book and make scary roaring noises while attacking you?" Even better.

Obviously this isn't the only time I spend with my kids, and none of it will win me Father of the Year. They'll tell you I still don't spend nearly enough time with them, and it's something I'm constantly working to improve. But this simple tradition, at least for our gang, has proven valuable because even when life is at its busiest, when church and work responsibilities feel overwhelming, when the kids are being tested by pressures seen and unseen, we always see a "Daddy-Kid Day" right around the corner.

It could be the needs of your family are dissimilar. If you're a single mother with more than one child, perhaps a sitter would watch one while you celebrate "Mommy-Kid Day" with the other? If you're an empty nester, find an afterschool program or youth center to volunteer at once a month. Call it "Mentor-Kid Day," and take on as many days and as many children as life will allow.

I cannot help but smile when looking back at 10 years of "Daddy-Kid Days." There have been slices of pepperoni pizza and frosty glasses of root beer, arm-wrestling and cheese fries, roller skating mishaps and mini-golf controversies. There have been more laughs than I deserve and tears I was honored to wipe away. They are adventures every one. Memories I will cherish forever.

So schedule at least one "Daddy-Kid Day" on your 2011 calendar. I bet you two vanilla ice cream cones you'll schedule more.

Wright Words: Five New Year’s resolutions you can actually keep

2010-12-31T10:49:00.001-05:00

'Tis the season for inspirational columns, blogs and soundtrack-backed television segments about the power of New Year's resolutions. Over the coming days, everyone from Jon Stewart to Dr. Phil and from Barney Gumble to Matt Lauer will weigh in with advice for 2011.

Make no mistake, they have valuable opinions to share, and I'll do as much reading and listening as anyone. But if you're anything like me, and let's hope for your sake and for your community-at-large that you're not, by Jan. 15 you'll be seeing signs of slippage on whatever resolutions you make. By Feb. 1 you'll be hanging by a thread so thin you'd need a DNA microscope to find it. By March 1 you'll be selling that abdominal contraption on eBay. You know the one. It's that device that looks like a cross between a Big Wheel and something that you strap yourself into for a long ride to the International Space Station.

Who hasn't been there? I remember years ago a college buddy told me that once and for all he was going to give up Dr. Pepper on New Year's Day. He told me how proud he felt to walk into his closet, uncover his secret stash and pour it down the drain in his master bathroom. "I'll never drink another caffeinated soda," he told his wife. "This is the year."

Then on Jan. 4 he called me from his cell phone. He wanted me to know he hadn't just fallen off the wagon, it had backed up and run him over. I tried not to laugh as he described pulling open the heavy glass door of his favorite 7-Eleven, yanking up his hoodie, filling a Big Gulp with the "forbidden juice" and tossing the exact amount on the counter in stride as he rolled out before anyone could spot him. He drank it in his car, parked in the far corner of the employee lot at his office building and hid the collapsed evidence under his seat for disposal on the way home from work.

I found it funny then — and now — because I relate so well. Hard and fast resolutions are wonderful when we keep them. But when we don't, which happens much more often than not, we only remind ourselves we're not as perfect as we'd like to be.

In 2011, why don't we set five resolutions we can actually keep?

1. Ignore the mirror: Let's be honest, most of us aren't super models. But the truth is you're much better looking than you think are. In fact, you're actually quite beautiful. You're not as plump as you imagine, and your nose and teeth are just fine. You're divine, and those who love you agree.

2. Walk more: Don't commit to walking 40 miles a week or even an hour a day. Just commit to walking more than you did last year. Park at the back of the lot every time you're at IKEA, Wal-Mart or your local mall. Before you know it, you will have walked a marathon.

3. Eat better: Can you still eat fast food? Sure you can. Just make a conscious effort to skip it now and then. Next time you have a hankering for a hamburger, grab a salad instead. Next time you're jonesing for a soda, grab an ice-cold bottle of water from the convenience store.

4. Pray more: I had a friend tell me his key to success was kneeling in quiet prayer no fewer than six times a day. Six times? I'm delighted when I get two on my knees, one at my desk, one in my car and one on a golf course. If you feel distance between you and your Father in Heaven, step closer through prayer, but don't keep a pie chart. Just pray more than you did last year; the results will astound you.

5. Be more charitable: Are you slow to say thank you? To open doors? To forgive? Make charity a verb by seeking out small moments every single day to lift someone. Will you still get grumpy? Still have bad days? Still find yourself occasionally annoyed at people around you? Sure, but not as much as you did last year, guaranteed.

Perhaps more than anything in the year ahead, let's remember that New Year's resolutions aren't about being perfect; they are about being better.

They are not meant to transform us into someone else; they should simply mold us into a better version of ourselves.

That's the key to happiness 2011.

*Are you subscribed to my free newsletter? http://www.jasonfwright.com

Wright Words: How death made my 17th Christmas feel like my very first

2010-12-22T11:53:00.000-05:00

After school on Friday, Dec. 18, 1987, a friend and I drove to the University of Virginia hospital in Charlottesville. I was 16 years old. The next morning we were set to travel to a high school speech and forensics competition across the state.

I was there to visit my father, Willard Wright, admitted for tests and likely surgery. He was in round two of a battle that began as kidney cancer and had recently changed playing fields to his lower back.

That evening, as the winter sun set in his drab third-floor room, Dad took my hand to wish me well for the weekend. Then through light, quickened breaths he said two words that will never fade: "Be good."

At the time — given how well he knew my rambunctious personality — I assumed he meant to be good on the bus the next morning. Hours later I learned I was wrong.

While rehearsing a dramatic reading in my living room, the most dramatic moment of my life unfolded with a simple phone call. My eldest brother called to say Dad had stopped breathing and the rest of us needed to race to the hospital immediately.

I remember the nausea. I remember kneeling quickly in prayer with my other brother and my sister. I remember white-knuckle gripping the door handle as my brother flew us down our country road toward the hospital in his tiny blue Chevette.

I took the steps to the third floor three at a time. At the top, just outside the waiting room where my mother sat in shock and fresh grief, my brother met me with two more words I still hear today: "He's gone."

The next few days dripped by like gray raindrops on a window, each bleeding into the next. Every morning I opened my eyes and prayed the night's dream had been real. Because in the early days, I dreamed he was still alive.

Christmas morning, one week later, after the viewing and funeral, and after most of the out-of-town guests had returned to far corners of the country, we awoke to open presents Mom and Dad had bought — but that only mom would watch us open. It didn't matter because that was the first Christmas I didn't wonder what was in the packages or gift bags.

The immediate and most pressing question when we lose a loved one is simple: "Will I see them again?" No matter your faith, or how faithful you are in it, the question is universal. For days that question rolled through me like a tired rerun.

Time passed and there were more lonely moments by myself in tearful reflection. But today, through the gift of a lens only time can bestow, I see that it may have just been the first real Christmas of my life. That morning, Dec. 25, 1987, launched a clean and deeper understanding of the holiday.

My parents taught me as best they could to remember that Christmas is about Christ's birth. But when my father died, it became much, much more. I came to realize that it's as much about the Savior's life and death as his humble arrival on earth.

Because of my desire to see my father again and finish learning the lessons I believe he was meant to teach me, I finally began to view Christmas as a stepping-stone to a more important holiday, Easter, the day we rejoice in Christ's resurrection.

Obviously Dec. 25 is an important cultural and religious holiday for many of us. But without his perfect life, wouldn't Christmas be just another birthday?

Without the bloodshed and anguish in Gethsemane, wouldn't Christmas be just another day to fill the stores?

Without the death on the cross, and, even more importantly, his resurrection three days later, Christ's birth would have been just another baby born in Bethlehem.

It is because of his heavenly mission, the atonement only he could fulfill, and his glorious resurrection that we live with hope. Hope we will not just live after death, but if we live well and righteously, we will live with him again.

I am eternally grateful that my Christmas sorrow in 1987 transformed to hope. Now, 23 years later, I rejoice that my hope turned to faith, that faith became knowledge, that knowledge matured to complete confidence, an unshakable certainly that not only does Jesus Christ live but my father lives, too. One day I will see both again.

Oh how I love Christmas! Not only for the birth of our Savior but for the holy beginning. And because of his perfect life, it is a beginning that hath no end.

Wright Words: Oprah's second-favorite things

2010-12-16T09:29:00.004-05:00

You may have heard that Oprah Winfrey, the undisputed Queen of Talk TV, recently shot her final 'Favorite Things' episode. If you didn't actually see it, maybe you heard it from your front porch? The audience went so wild Oprah fielded noise complaints from Dublin to Dubai.

In a sweeping hour of generosity, Oprah handed her weeping audience everything from purses to games, from electronics to mac-and-cheese, and from cutlery to a car. She didn't just play Santa; she played the elf that Santa fired for being too generous. The total value of freebies per audience member? $36,837.

As I watched the highlights on my local news I couldn't help but think two things: First, why wasn't I invited to be in the studio audience? Second, if these are her favorite gifts for the Christmas season, what are her second-favorite? I don't know about you, but for me that list might be more useful. Seriously, how many of us have a 36 large gift budget?

So, are you also looking for some fantastic gifts for 2010 that won't break the bank? Allow me to propose 10 gifts that might have made Oprah's "Second-Favorite Things" list.

-Giant Gummy Bear on a Stick, a treat from VAT19. This tasty gummy bear weighs in at half-a-pound, or 88 times larger than a standard bear. Just try to wipe the smile off the face of your sugar fanatic when they unwrap this big guy on Christmas morning.

-"The Paper Bag Christmas," a novel by Kevin Milne. This is one of the most moving Christmas books I've ever read. It's short, it's sweet, and the message will linger long after the tree has disappeared from your living room.

-"Toy Story 3," on DVD from Pixar. Perhaps never has a trilogy of films ended so well. This wasn't simply the finest animated movie of 2010, it was one of the best movies of the year, period.

-"Art & Max," a children's book by David Wiesner. The three-time Caldecott medalist returns with the most innovative and stunning picture book of the year. You'll buy it for the kids, but you'll enjoy even it more.

-Mega Moon Mood Hopz, shoes from Toys R Us. These lightweight shoes make you feel like you're bouncing around in zero gravity. The closest thing you'll get to space walking without taking the red eye to the moon. Yes dads, they come in sizes up to 9 mens.

-"Grace," an album by Cherie Call. You simply cannot find an artist with a more distinctive voice. But it's not just her vocals that ring so pleasantly in your ears, it's her beautiful, insightful songwriting. She's a treasure.

-Brazos Bottom Pecan Pie, from Goode Company in Houston, Texas. Available online, this tasty gift arrives in a custom wooden box that's almost as attractive as the dessert inside. Trust me, this pie is so good that your mother will send you hate mail for changing your allegiance.

-Family Tree Wall Stickers, plastic wall decals from HearthSong. Help your children learn and display the branches of your family with a colorful, oversized tree. The removable decals go on any smooth service in the house. Fun for kids. Fulfilling for everyone.

-"Road Less Traveled," an album by David Osmond. The American Idol alum is a rare artist who sounds just as good in person as on a professionally studio mastered CD. Many of his tracks feel so authentic and deeply personal, it's as if he's singing straight from his journal.

-Would You Rather? a game by Zobmondo!!. It is against the laws of the universe to play this award-winning game without having riotous fun. No question lands without debate: "Would you rather have five bottles stuck on the fingers of one hand for a year or have a bucket stuck on your foot for a year?"

Wright Words: Who received the very first Christmas Jar?

2010-12-12T20:03:00.003-05:00

Call me odd, but my favorite time of year has nothing to do with lights, gifts, smells or snow, and it doesn't start on Thanksgiving. Actually, it has no firm start date.

My favorite season begins the first time I open my e-mail and find a Christmas Jar anecdote. This year's first sighting hit my inbox on Nov. 17. It came from Rachel in Minnesota:

"(Today) I received a Christmas Jar filled with $164.01. Wish I knew who to thank, as it helps more than they will probably ever know. You can bet your bottom dollar that the extra 1 cent is the beginning of my very own Christmas Jar."

Thus it begins, another season of heart-tugging miracles. While the book that began the movement might have been fiction, the magical stories that flood my website are as real as the people who both give and receive the special jars full of your quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies.

I hear from single mothers who prayed for a miracle, widows who needed a reminder they're not alone, depressed dads who found themselves jobless during the holidays. I hear from families, young singles, pastors and kids.

The details are different but the messages identical. No matter the amount of money, giving or receiving a jar changes the way they view the holiday and brings them a dose of hope.

I've said it a thousand times in churches, schools and at community events. The Christmas Jar movement has far surpassed the novel itself and is infinitely more important. It's not about a book any longer; it's about millions of dollars of spare change given away, mostly in anonymity, to people in need.

I'm often asked who received the very first Christmas Jar after the book was released in 2005. While it's impossible to know with complete certainly, I believe it began in Farmington, Utah. After countless stories shared in person and online, this one remains my favorite:

A young man named Cameron Birch, age 5, was bravely nearing the end of a life sliced short by cancer. On Christmas Eve, just before his long step from this life's mission to the next, an evening knock at the door startled Cameron and his family.

As usual, his two older brothers raced to see who stood on their quiet porch. When they opened the door, they found two enormous and anonymous Christmas Jars, one of which held a note and a copy of the book. The note read that the money was Cameron's, and his grateful parents explained more than once that it was his to spend.

What mother wouldn't offer their fast-fading a son a final chance to have a material wish come true?

What father wouldn't say, "This money is yours, bud. What would you like?"

What child wouldn't wish for a last lap at Toys R Us? A chance to fill a cart at Wal-Mart? Not Cameron.

When given more than $400 in change and a list of enticing options as long as his days would allow, the young man suggested the family replace some of the toys in the Primary Children's Center playroom where he'd spent so many hours since his initial diagnosis. He imagined new puzzles, fresh books and a sturdier play tool bench. He dreamed of smiles on the faces of his fellow cancer patients but wouldn't dream of keeping a nickel.

My daughter and I had the pleasure of meeting Cameron six weeks later. We saw the empty jars on his kitchen counter, already being filled with coins for an unknown family the following Christmas.

We sat on the edge of his bed in the living room and listened. Not to his voice, all but lost in the noise of death's footsteps, but to his spirit. I thought then, and now, that sometimes the spirit speaks louder than a mouth ever could.

He died three days later on a Sunday.

Years have passed, and still his decision brings chills. All of the things he could have done, after all he'd endured for nearly a year as cancer teased and taunted, he chose to pass it on to others he believed had a greater need.

Were other Christmas Jars given away that first year? Many. Are their unique stories inspiring? Of course. Do I still believe Cameron was the first and that after five years and countless jars he remains our ambassador? Absolutely, and Cameron's legacy lives on.

Still, after all the questions and all the answers about how, when and where it all began, perhaps it doesn't really matter who received the first jar in 2005.

The real question is, who will receive yours in 2010?

Wright Words: Mormons don’t celebrate Christmas and other myths

2010-12-04T12:00:00.004-05:00

Just before Thanksgiving I visited an old high school chum's book club. She called it a favor; I called it a treat. There isn't much I'd rather do than chat with people who are passionate about books and who graciously take the time to read one of mine.

The friend and her sweet family spent several weeks organizing and preparing for my visit. After a lengthy and lively discussion about their book-of-the-month, "Christmas Jars," we opened up the discussion to a broader range of topics.

The questions were fairly typical: How many hours do I write each day? Do I outline first? How does my family cope with me being gone so often?

Then came a question so far out in left field it would need to ride the parking lot shuttle just to see the stadium.

A smiling woman, sitting on a couch near me, asked boldly, "You've written a book about Christmas, but I know from your website that you're a Mormon. How did you reconcile your religious beliefs, the fact that you don't celebrate Christmas, with writing a book called 'Christmas Jars'?"

You've heard the term 'pregnant pause'? This one was having quintuplets.

I told her I didn't quite understand the question and asked her to repeat it. She did, nearly verbatim, then added that she'd once dated a member of the church and that he'd told her Mormons don't really celebrate the holiday.

I nibbled a sugar cookie, took a sip of water and finally said, "I'll be honest, I've been a member of the church my entire life, and this is the first time I've ever heard someone suggest that we don't celebrate Christmas. But I'm certainly glad to address it."

Yes, Mormons celebrate Christmas, I explained, and that like other Christians hopefully our celebrations revolve around the birth of Christ. In fact, everything we believe points to him. Do many of us try to downplay the commercial aspect of the holiday in order to focus on its more sacred significance? Of course we do, but that's also true of Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, etc. I added that we put up Christmas trees, string lights, sing carols and bake brownies by the bushel.

She apologized, which I assured her was completely unnecessary, and she told me how grateful she was for the clarification. By the end of the night the awkward moment had long passed, and I told the ladies how much I'd enjoyed the discussion.

I pondered that exchange on my long drive home. What other myths or odd stereotypes might she believe? Certainly The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is often misunderstood and misrepresented in the media. But with more than 14 million members around the world, there are plenty of us to clarify the misperceptions. If we don't, who will?

If given a chance to meet her again, I might tackle the most common myth and make absolutely sure she knows Mormons do not practice polygamy. The next time she or anyone else hears the media associating Mormons with the illegal practice, she can rest assured that the practitioners are not members of the church.

What we do believe is that the family is the central unit in society. Schools can play a small role, government too, and certainly our neighbors can be valuable, but nothing is more vital than the family. Most importantly, we believe that families can be together forever.

If the woman and I cross paths again, I might ask what she knows about the Book of Mormon. Perhaps she believes the myth that it is our Mormon Bible. If so, I'd make it clear that no book replaces the importance of the teachings of the Bible and that I have a copy of the King James Version on my nightstand and in my church bag.

What we do believe is that the Book of Mormon is another important testament of Jesus Christ. It is an account of ancient civilizations in the Americas who, like their brothers and sisters in the Middle East, were blessed with prophets and prophecies of the Savior's birth and ministry. Later they were visited by the resurrected Lord. I also would have added, likely with a tear in my eye, that I know it to be the word of God. I know that it testifies, like the Bible, of the divinity of Jesus Christ and that its teachings provide a roadmap to return to live with him.

If I were fortunate enough to see her again, I would ask what she knows about modern-day prophets. I would ensure she knows that while we believe in them, we do not worship them. Maybe she believes the myth that Joseph Smith is the founder of our religion. If so, I would testify that our religion isn't his. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and we worship him alone. Also, Joseph Smith didn't found the church; he restored it in 1830 with apostles, prophets and priesthood authority. What a blessing that today it resembles the church as led by the Savior when he walked the earth.

Above all else, if this woman and I were ever in the same room again, I would want her to know how much our Father in Heaven loves every single one of us, no matter our religion. Whether prisoner of myths or not, we are all divine sons and daughters. I hope she knows how much he wants all of us to return home and live with him again.

May all Christians focus their holiday celebrations on the birth of our Savior, the beginning of the greatest life ever lived and the greatest story ever told.

Do Mormons celebrate Christmas? Yes, because we celebrate him.

The Seventeen Second Miracle on CNN

2010-11-26T12:08:00.002-05:00

Wright Words: The holiday gratitude challenge

2010-11-24T10:11:00.001-05:00

As a child there was only one thing I dreaded about Thanksgiving. It wasn't the juicy turkey, sumptuous stuffing, mashed potatoes, Waldorf salad, pies, more pies, and if I was well behaved, even more pies. No, nothing on the menu was dread-worthy.

What caused me heartburn wasn't anything that happened during the meal; it was something that happened right before the meal. I knew odds were high that my father would be the one to bless the food and give proper thanks.

I heard my father pray countless times growing up: over meals, in the car, at bedtime, at church, as Jack Nicklaus stood over a putt to win the Masters in 1986. But it was over Thanksgiving dinner that my father took the responsibility of saying grace to rare-air level. The prayer lasted so long that by the time we finally ate, most families were already enjoying their late-night turkey sandwiches. There was one year when Dad's Thanksgiving prayer went so long we went straight from the table to the Christmas tree to open gifts.

It was during those prayers that I learned to listen with my eyes closed. Or were they, Mother? Like a trapped prisoner looking through jailhouse bars, I peered through my thick eyelashes to make sure one of my siblings hadn't grabbed the hot roll over which I'd already shouted "dibs!"

Many years later, it's my turn to be the dad, and I've decided to launch my own approach. Throughout the holidays, at dinner every night until New Year's, we all say one thing we're thankful for.

There are only two rules to our Holiday Gratitude Challenge. You cannot repeat anything someone at the table has already said, and you cannot repeat any item from a previous day.

We started a few nights ago. It has been an interesting exercise to think of things we're grateful for that might not be so obvious.

I challenge you to take the Holiday Gratitude Challenge. If you do, you'll find low-hanging fruit in the first few days. After all, who isn't grateful for their family, their country, the scriptures, etc.? It's what comes next that really opens your eyes to the personalities of your children and, perhaps, to Mom and Dad.

I discovered that my wife is grateful for Steven Sasson, the mind and the man behind the first digital camera. That's probably not something that would've come up in the typical Thanksgiving Day prayer. But she feels genuine gratitude that someone brought cameras, digital and original, into the world and into our home.

She's right; just try thinking of life today without the camera.

As for me, my family learned that I am grateful for innovative genius Hans Riegel, creator of the gummy bear. No explanation required.

My oldest daughter is grateful for Steve Jobs and his ubiquitous iPod. Again, no explanation required.

Her younger sister is grateful for the art of origami. She's quite talented, and, if we let her, she'd build her own paper house in the backyard and move in immediately.

My 7-year-old son is grateful for his collection of little things. Little cars, little pins, little rocks, little treats he sneaks into his little pockets.

My youngest son, age 3, is grateful for Mr. Walt Disney and for the parents who brought him into the world. If Mickey Mouse had a Mouse Mom and a Mouse Dad, my little guy would be grateful for them, too.

What other things are we grateful for that don't automatically come to mind?

I am grateful for airplanes. Imagine a world where every time you needed to get from Va. to LA you had to hop in the car. Imagine the meetings you would miss, the family reunions never planned and the funerals with too few in the pews.

I am grateful for Gregory Orr, a poet and professor at the University of Virginia who inspired me to do what I do. He turned tragedy — having accidentally shot and killed his brother when he was young — into art by writing a series of stunning poems and later a gripping, gorgeous memoir. I am grateful for him and for his courage in sharing his story with the world.

I am also thankful for cell phones, hot water heaters, garage door openers, men and women in uniform, and Taco Bell.

I hope you and your family will take the Holiday Gratitude Challenge. You might be surprised at what things you rely on and how grateful you are for them.

Reminiscing on my own list reminds me that while my late-father's never-ending Thanksgiving Day prayers sure made my stomach growl, I'm enormously grateful for them, too. I wonder if wherever he is right now, he's still blessing last year's Thanksgiving Dinner.

I hope so.

Wright Words: The day my daughter slayed a dragon

2010-11-16T19:25:00.003-05:00

People around me must be wondering why I'm getting misty-eyed so often these days. Blaming it on allergies or seeing "Secretariat" might be easier, but the truth tells me it's all about the upcoming birthday of my 11-year-old baby girl.

Twelve is a big birthday in the Wright House because it means baby-sitting gigs, pierced ears if she finds the courage, and a transition at church from the runny noses of Primary to the big, bold world of the Young Women organization.

All of it has her nervous about what awaits. It would have a me a bit anxious, too, except for my favorite memory from her first 11 years: The day she proved she could slay a dragon.

It was a Sunday like most others at our chapel in Oakton, Va. Good messages, lots of warm fellowship. But the speakers? They were unforgettable. Particularly a petite, beautiful young lady standing a hair under 4 feet tall. She was 7 years old.

As is custom in Primaries around the world held each week in more than 100 languages and in buildings of all shapes and sizes, precious children from age 3-11 take turns delivering short talks on basic gospel principles. These angels speak on faith, prayer, temples and families. The words are few, the messages pure.

My own angel was to speak on Heavenly Father's plan. It was not the first time she'd been assigned, but previous attempts were rather unsuccessful, sometimes in very dramatic fashion. If she'd been old enough for her own reality show, it would have been a hit.

There were the fake tummy aches, creatively imagined bug bites, and blank stares from the primary pulpit followed by sobs and a superglue grip on Mom or Dad. The misery always eased outside the room on a welcoming couch in the foyer. Each failure was heartbreaking for all who witnessed it.

When yet another assignment was issued by our Primary secretary — a kind woman with the patience of Job — the pretty, pink half-page flier with her handwritten topic was met with the requisite refusals and crocodile tears.

Speaking in church had become her dragon.

With much coaxing, and by coaxing I mean bribing, and by bribing I mean multiple trips to 7-Eleven, I convinced her to sit her on my lap mid-week, and together we drafted a three-sentence masterpiece. We printed two copies on our trusty Inkjet, one for her flower-embroidered, cloth scripture bag and one for her mother to carry as a backup — just in case.

In our pajamas we practiced the talk every night before bed. Each rehearsal ended with wild applause, hugs and tickles, and five familiar words: "You can slay this dragon!"

Sunday arrived and the drive to church featured yet another pep talk and promises of an extra Rice Krispies Treat after dinner. Though we'd seen this dragon win before, we were cautiously optimistic this was the day it fell.

Primary began on time and without incident. Gorgeous in her favorite dress, my trooper sat terrified in the chair draped with a yellow felt banner marked "TALK." To each side sat other children in the less frightening chairs marked "SCRIPTURE" and "PRAYER."

I stood in the back cradling my 1-year-old son. My older daughter, the one who'd already taken this dragon out and taught it never to return, sat in the first row with her arms folded, eyes fixed on her best friend and partner-in-crime. The increasingly fidgety children sang an opening song, followed by a rousing rendition of "You Had a Birthday, Shout Hurray!" aimed at two little blushing boys.

Cue my daughter. Cue the dragon.

My wife took her pale-faced daughter's hand and led her to the green-carpeted stool behind the pulpit. She stepped up, unfolded her 40-word talk, and looked out at the mass of curious kids and their teachers.

Before she'd scanned even half the room, she'd turned and buried her head in her mother's neck. Her gut-wrenching cries were picked up clearly by the nearby black gooseneck microphone.

My heart ached. I said a simple, short prayer and knew my other daughter was silently doing the same. I had impure thoughts about that nasty dragon lurking over her shoulder.

My angel, as we all are every day, was faced with an opportunity to bend to fear and wait for another day, or raise her head and cast all doubts and indecision out into the air around her, never to return.

The next 60 seconds are permanently archived in my mind like your favorite scene in your favorite movie. It is a unique, colorful memory like few others in my entire life.

This angel, this blessed child of God, swallowed hard, fixed her eyes squarely on the talk she'd long-ago memorized and delivered the best talk I've ever heard.

"Heavenly Father made a plan to live with him again. Sometimes we make good choices, sometimes we make bad choices. I know if we make good choices we can live with him again. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

And down went the dragon! My eyes filled then and my eyes fill now reliving those sweet seconds.

After the closing prayer, my little hero ran to meet me in the back of the room. One by one teachers and classmates came to congratulate and hug the suddenly victorious public speaker. I cried, she cried, her mother beamed, and I made a note to call Toastmasters.

That night over a hot, gooey batch of Rice Krispies Treats eaten straight from the bowl, I realized that it is not life's major events that teach and build us up. It is the less ballyhooed, unexpected moments that shape our soul and can seal our future.

We read in Matthew, Chapter 18: "... Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."

I can only hope to be so brave, so pure. I can only pray to be so worthy of his kingdom.

In a singular moment this tiny warrior stood up to the dragon she feared, trusted her Father in Heaven, and learned that she had the the power to slay it and never fear again.

So can the rest of us.

Wright Words: Failing to follow my own advice

2010-11-10T15:44:00.002-05:00

Hello! I begin with an apology for being such a cruddy blogger of late. I wish I could blame it on the new book, travel, my family, polio, etc. But the truth is I've just been a lousy blogger. Here's to being better!

Over the next few days I'll be catching up on posting my Wright Words columns. They appear weekly in the Deseret News, on Facebook, and soon (hopefully) in a syndicated column.

Here's my most recent. It's the most personal column yet. Hope you enjoy.

Wright Words: Failing to follow my own advice

A regretful experience this week has my emotions bleeding into nearly every waking thought. By the end of this column, I'm hopeful the deep regret will begin to bloom into resolution.

Weekly readers of Wright Words know that my most recent novel, "The Seventeen Second Miracle," is about the small things we do for one another every day that make a difference. It's not the great, dramatic sacrifices of time and talent that define us. It's those precious seconds or minutes when, without making excuses or checking our calendar, we perform a mini-miracle for someone.

I wish this column were about one of those miraculous experiences. Instead, it's about the regret and pain of an opportunity missed.

A few days ago I had a classic opportunity to perform a Seventeen Second Miracle. It was precisely the kind of miracle espoused in the book with my name on the cover. It was just the kind of thing my late-father, who inspired the book, would have done. In fact, as I sit at my desk, I can close my eyes and see him doing exactly what I didn't.

On the evening of Nov. 2, a local store hosted a book signing for me. The owners are dear friends; they are people I admire for their love of life, family and God.

Nov. 2 was also Election Day across the United States, and there is no day more exciting for a political junkie like me. The book signing was scheduled to end around the time polls on the East Coast closed, and I was anxious to get home to watch the results pour in.

Then the storeowner's phone rang.

The caller, a gentleman who was a friend of the owners and lived nearby, asked if I would consider stopping by his home after the event to meet his wife, Audrey. She'd long wanted to meet me but couldn't attend. Would I be willing to make that happen? She was a big fan, he insisted, and had read all my novels.

Audrey had a lot of time to read, it turns out. Battling breast cancer does that to a person.

I looked at the clock, realized I was already running late leaving the event and asked if I could come by another time. The storeowner handed me the phone, and I arranged to visit her three days later.

The entire ride home I told my wife how bad I felt about not taking a few minutes to visit her, about being selfish with my time and over my desire to watch votes tallied on television. Not badly enough to turn the car around, mind you, just enough to give voice to the thoughts.

I stayed up until 1:00 a.m. eating snacks, drinking my favorite soda and watching a dozen cable news talking heads slowly announce results from Virginia to Alaska.

Two days later my friend called to say Audrey had been taken to the hospital, and our meeting in her living room would need to be rescheduled.

This morning I found out Audrey would never see her living room again.

There aren't words in this language or any other to describe the remorse I feel at having passed up an opportunity to sit and chat with this woman. Not because it would have been some great honor for her, but because it would have been a great honor for me.

It was a miracle moment so custom made, an opportunity so ideally presented. It was what I'd spent months writing about and promoting in churches and schools across the country. It was the no-brainer opportunity of a lifetime to perform a small act of service without hesitating.

Except that I did hesitate.

And the opportunity was missed.

Later today I will send flowers and a note.

Later tonight I will sit on the edge of my bed and wonder.

Later this week I will attend Audrey's viewing, pay my respects and apologize to her husband.

But for now, I hope this moment teaches me that pain can be a blessing if we allow it to change us for good. Regret can be useful, but only if it lingers for a moment, not a lifetime.

My hope for today and for many days to come is that I will be able to turn a deep regret into a resolution, a resolution to never pass those moments by again. It will be my simple way of honoring a woman I never got to meet.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a book to read.

Some e-mails are meant to be shared

2010-10-12T11:15:00.000-04:00

Some e-mails are just too good to keep all to myself. This one will have me smiling for weeks. Hope you enjoy it, too. Her enthusiasm is infectious!

I bet you receive countless stories about Christmas Jars or Wednesday Letters, even about Cross Gardeners. My note to you is different, I hope.

My husband and I love adventure and often find it with our three children in tow. My dearest love had our 2009 summer vacation planned, that meant we were hittin' the road and I needed a good read.

Off to my Wal-Mart I went, and what did I find... The Wednesday Letters! I looked it over, liked what I read and bounced off to buy it. Well, in my mind I bounced off, I forget I'm in my mid-30s sometimes.

Back on June 25, 2009 my husband and I, with our three children, hopped in the truck and headed north out of Georgia. My darling husband had the miles mapped out and reservations set. Our first stop would be Natural Bridge, VA. We love nature and natural formations and a stop at a natural bridge was a must. Somehow we made it up to VA in lightning speed, or perhaps it was simply because I was absorbed with my latest read.

That first night we stayed in Harrisonburg, VA. As I read my novel I became aware, quite quickly, that I was IN my book. It was the oddest feeling. I shared so much with my husband about the novel and the correlation between it and where we were. Little did I know, it would be even more intense for me.

June 26th we woke up ready to take on our next planned attraction. We headed out of Harrisonburg, and with eager anticipation we went on our way to Luray Caverns. As my husband navigated his way I slipped back into my novel, The Wednesday Letters.

Not before long I looked up and found us at an intersection in a cute little town. My husband was unsure of which way to go, and since we are so cliche, he didn't ask for directions or look at a map and I pointed us in whatever direction my woman's intuition led me. We took a left and headed on our way to what we thought was the way to Luray Caverns.

With my book in my lap I saw a sign, OH MY GOODNESS, we were in New Market! Seeing that alone got me revved up and I gave my husband quite the earful with more stories of Malcolm and his trials.

We drove along and then I saw a sign for Mount Jackson. I was close to jumping out of my skin. At that point I could care less about Luray Caverns or anything else going on around me.

We continued to head north and I took in the beautiful vista all around me, I was in the Shenandoah Valley and I was so happy.

I had my book clutched to my chest as we rolled into Edinburgh. I knew in my heart that we were going the wrong way, away from the caverns, but I also knew the name of the town that just lied to the north. I didn't need a map and the feeling I had inside me was indescribable.

I headed into a gas station and asked for directions to the caverns, after hopping back in the truck and telling my husband we had to turn around, I also told him about the story that unfolded right to the north of where we were.

The next town to the north was Woodstock, a town I knew in my head, where I knew about the inn, the residents and the scenery.

As we drove back south, away from Woodstock I felt a peace, because I knew I had already been there, even if just in my mind.

Can we say irony? How is it that just days before my trip through the Shenandoah Valley I pick up a book that is set in that very place? How is it that without even meaning to, we got lost right in the very same area where the book is set?

It's a feeling and experience I will never fully find the words to explain but I think it's one of the most amazing ironies I've ever experienced.

Thank you Mr. Wright, for giving me a reading experience like no other!

Michelle Lynch
Loganville, Georgia

Wright Words: No, I can’t introduce you to Glenn Beck

2010-10-06T09:25:00.001-04:00

Every single week someone writes, calls, texts, or flies an airplane banner over my home asking if I can facilitate an introduction to Glenn Beck.

The requests are typically based on the fact that Jason Wright is a Mormon, Glenn Beck is a Mormon, and I’ve been on his show. Naturally we must be BFF’s, right?

Usually people wanting my access to Glenn have a new book coming out, a just-finished manuscript in search of a publisher, or maybe a line of cotton aprons with conservative slogans plastered on the front with a Bedazzeler.

Other times they just want to say they’ve shaken his hand or talked to him on the phone. One ‘friend’ even wanted me to invite Glenn to a surprise birthday party in Dallas. And by ‘friend’ I mean we met on Facebook when he threw a Sheep at me.

These requests come from all corners of the country. A woman in Virginia asked me to tell Glenn she prefers him in his blue sweater and to wear it more often. A man from Oregon suggested Glenn put a ‘cussin jar’ on the set to encourage him to keep his language under control.

One request came all the way from Australia. After catching me on Glenn’s program, a woman e-mailed this gem: ‘Please tell Mr. Beck someone from the Outback thinks he’s an idiot.’ No Mate, I didn’t pass that one along, but I think of you every time I eat a Bloomin’ Onion.

It’s not that I’m annoyed by these requests; I just don’t understand them. Somehow these well-meaning folks assume Glenn and I play golf every Friday and have cart races on the 18th fairway. It’s simply not true.

What is true is that Glenn is a friend. We met in 2005 when Christmas Jars was still a speck on the national radar and nowhere near a New York Times bestseller. Before the book was even in stores, my publisher sent Glenn an advance readers’ copy (ARC) with a note requesting he give it a look and consider endorsing or discussing it on the air. But that’s hardly unusual. Like most publishers, they send ARC’s to all sorts of media personalities from Beck to Lauer and from Regis to Ellen. That first year, we were so desperate we probably sent one to Handy Manny.

Weeks passed without word from anyone and we assumed the book was lost somewhere in the giant pile Glenn and his counterparts receive each month.

Then the phone rang. A week before Christmas a cousin called and suggested I turn on my radio because Glenn was discussing my book. No, he wasn’t just discussing it, he was reading from it. He read nearly the entire first chapter and gushed about it with enthusiasm even the ShamWow guy would envy.

The next day I called his radio show, introduced myself, and Glenn graciously endorsed the book once again on the air. He told his listeners that the previous Friday someone from his radio staff had begged him to take home a book for the weekend and make progress on the stack of ARC’s awaiting his attention. He gave the tower of books a quick scan and pulled out the thinnest, having faith it was something he could actually finish by Monday morning. There’s no other way to put it: That good fortune changed my life.

A year later he invited me to join him on his television show to share some of the true Christmas Jars miracles I’d heard since the book’s release.

Another year later he read and endorsed The Wednesday Letters, again inviting me on television and radio. Then came Recovering Charles, which Glenn again praised and promoted with me at his side.

In 2008, Glenn asked me to co-write The Christmas Sweater and I was fortunate to spend time on the phone and in-person hearing his personal story and his vision for sharing it with the world. It remains a highlight of my writing career.

Last year Glenn made time in a very busy season to again discuss the Christmas Jars movement on his radio and TV programs. I spent the day in his offices, soaking up the energy and capturing as many memories as I could. At one point during a one-on-one discussion in his office, I actually became emotional discussing a personal trial. He hugged me and offered words of encouragement. It was a tender moment I hold dear.

Since first meeting Glenn, he’s become a national phenomenon. There was a time I could get him on the phone, but that’s become a near impossible task for all but his closest associates. There were many days he replied to my e-mails, now he must receive more e-mails everyday than I receive in a year.

Even his staff, the most loyal bunch I’ve ever encountered, is much harder to communicate with. But such are the challenges and realities of being the #3 most popular radio show in the country, a TV mega star, and a publishing machine. As his star has grown, the protective layers around him have understandably multiplied and thickened.

Obviously I understand the desire to connect to Glenn Beck. I owe him a great deal and I readily acknowledge I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. Love him or hate him, his clout in the publishing marketplace is colossal. When Glenn mentions, endorses or interviews an author, he moves books like no one but Oprah, the original kingmaker.

I were as successful and visible as Glenn, would I want my friends constantly using our friendship as an entre for everyone who needs my time or name on the back of their book? Would I resent the fact that being friends with Jason means he’ll bombard me with every next-big-thing that hits his in-box? I’ll never know, but I can certainly imagine.

No, I can’t introduce you to Glenn Beck. But I like you and I’m glad we’re friends/acquaintances/neighbors/complete strangers. What I can do is invite you to watch his show, listen to his radio program, read his books, and enjoy everything his growing empire has to offer.

If you have a book, CD or other creation to promote and it’s something in Glenn’s wheelhouse, Google his address at Fox News in New York and send it to him. Trust me, it’s worth a shot.

Finally, I promise that if Glenn and I ever race those golf carts, I’ll tell him you prefer the blue sweater.

Wright Words: What is a Seventeen Second Miracle?

2010-09-29T09:51:00.004-04:00

At long last, The Seventeen Second Miracle isn't just a crazy idea floating around my head. It's finally a novel available in bookstores around the country. I've said this before, but there's nothing quite like "Release Week" for an author.

Of course the book is also available online at these web sites:

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Borders
Books-a-Million

So what is a Seventeen Second Miracle?

You're in line at Wal-Mart with enough groceries in your cart to feed the mouths and wipe the noses of everyone living within 50 miles. In fact, your cart is so heavy the wheels haven’t been spinning since the produce department. And if you stack one more Charleston Chew on the mound of groceries, someone from OSHA will appear and demand you wear a back brace while checking out.

Meanwhile, behind you in line, there's a guy buying the travel-size version of Connect Four, a box of Pop Tarts, and a single Yoo-hoo.

Just as you set your first item on the belt you glance backward and notice him. You smile and say, “Sir? Would you like to jump ahead?"

His mouth says, "Well, OK, I guess, if you're sure, why thank you." But his mind says, "Sweet Granola, yes! Thanks, lady!"

You, dear shopper, have just performed a Seventeen Second Miracle.

You and your family are walking into a restaurant or your favorite fast food spot and you see an elderly person eating alone. You ask if they'd like some company and they say yes.

You, fine diner, just performed a Seventeen Second Miracle.

You opened a door for someone? That’s also a Seventeen Second Miracle.

Befriended the new kid at school? There’s another.

Loan someone $5 for lunch? You get the picture. There are opportunities to perform daily miracles all around us. But are we seeing them?

I was fortunate to grow up in a home with a father was constantly looked for opportunities to serve others. Hardly a day passed without him performing some unscheduled act of kindness, some Seventeen Second Miracle for someone in his path.

Earlier this year I set out to write a novel that could give life to these acts of service, these daily miracles. I based the novel in my hometown, Charlottesville, Virginia, and unfolded the action on the same streets and around the familiar landmarks where I saw my father perform countless service miracles.

The novel, of course, is a work of fiction and my father never referred to his knack for service as Seventeen Second Miracles. And, frankly, if he were alive today to give me an earful, he probably would. He didn’t live his life for credit or accolades.

So why seventeen seconds? I’ve come to believe that in many cases that’s all it takes to change the course of someone’s day. Too often we think of how life can turn tragic in a matter of seconds: Car accidents, drownings, bad news from the doctor. But can’t life also turn for the better in the same blink of an eye?

Opening a door takes five seconds, saying hello to the new kid might take ten, and changing a tire might just take twenty minutes. But those are the very best kinds of service. No grade, no ribbon, no certificate. You get nothing but the sweet satisfaction that this time, at least on this occasion, you had your eyes open.

I like to say that with each book I’ve written I’ve taught myself something I’ve long needed to learn. In crafting The Seventeen Second Miracle, I learned that life isn’t so much about the grand organized service projects we undertake at church, school, or in our neighborhoods. They have their value, naturally, but I think a long life’s quilt is made up of much smaller pieces. It’s those few seconds here and there each and everyday that define who we are.

I wish I could say I’m the perfect ambassador for the Seventeen Second Miracle. I’m not. I’m simply thankful that I’m surrounded by generous people who are far greater examples of the power of simple service than I’ll ever be. If my parents, my wife, and my siblings all play professionally in the service big leagues, unceasing in their desire to lighten someone’s burden, then I’m in the pee wee division just hoping someone brought the juice boxes and fruit snacks. Yes, I’ve got a long, long way to go.

Now as I embark on another book tour I’m excited to meet people from Salt Lake to Charlottesville and to hear their experiences. Call them what you like, but every single one of us has been the beneficiary of a daily miracle, a moment of unexpected kindness from someone living their life with their eyes wide open.

So the challenge is this: Will you pledge to perform a daily Seventeen Second Miracle?

Wright Words: Saying 'yes' to the green toy ball meetings

2010-09-22T12:40:00.003-04:00

I love most Sunday afternoons.

There is nothing quite like coming home after church and knowing that until Monday morning, if you choose, the world exists exclusively inside your home.

Like many of you, we don't shop or eat out on Sundays, and we generally stay close to home base.

Sometimes we'll travel to visit a relative or share dinner with family or friends, but even in those activities, we do our best to treat it as a day of rest. Admittedly, we're not always successful, but we recognize our failures and constantly work toward a better understanding and a tighter embrace of the Sabbath. After years of far-too-casual treatment of his day, it's become a high priority for our family.

If you're actively involved in any church, you know that Sundays are not always strictly for worship. They're also a common day for the administration of church affairs. There are often planning or finance meetings, myriad committees, scheduling sessions and more.

The business of doing God's work, no matter your religion, unavoidably requires us to dip our foot in the world's pool of paperwork, assignments and administration.

My current volunteer assignment in the LDS Church is to serve as the president of the young men's organization covering 11 congregations in the Winchester, Va., area. Every week I have the opportunity to meet, fellowship and teach young men 12 to 18 years old in wonderful places like Woodstock, Front Royal and Berryville. I've never had so much fun serving in church.

This particular assignment, like many others, requires a number of meetings to ensure the needs of the young men in our area are being met.

Are they growing closer to their Heavenly Father? Are they being spiritually fed each week in their respective congregations? What can we, as leaders, do to enhance their growth as men in the gospel of Jesus Christ?

These meetings, held at least once a month, also cover the nuts and bolts of leadership. What activities might we share with the young women?

Who's planning the barbecue next week? Who's designing the poster? Who's inviting the speaker to our next youth conference? Who should be assigned to this or that new committee?

These are important decisions made in important meetings by people with important responsibilities. These sessions are usually enjoyable and productive. I value them and the people who sacrifice to attend.

On a recent Sunday, my family returned from church with fewer scars than normal. There was no pushing, biting or screaming. No animal cracker wars. No shoes tossed three pews forward. It was a complete, and rare, peaceful and successful trip to worship in the church we love so dearly.

After mom's famous nachos for lunch and a quick discussion about the busy week ahead — we call it Family Council in the tradition of my own mom and dad — the kids disappeared to read, color, play with toys, etc.

My youngest went to his room to play with his treasure-of-the-moment, a green toy ball he'd been carrying and sleeping with for days.

As for my wife and me, we found ourselves sitting in the living room rehashing the morning at church and enjoying the unusually quiet Sabbath afternoon.

Then I looked at my watch.

"You have a meeting today, don't you?" she asked.

Sigh. "I do."

"All the way at the chapel in Winchester?" It was another question she already knew the answer to. She also knew very well it's a 40-minute round-trip drive.

"Yep."

"You need to be there?"

"I do."

And with that I stood up, slowly retied my tie, and trudged back upstairs to retrieve the suit coat I'd tossed upon the bed.

Then it happened.

As I walked back out of my room, my 3-year-old son met me in the doorway. He was wearing his favorite crocodile shirt with red flannel snapping jaws and green shorts. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have a meeting, bud."

"A meeting?"

"Yes, a church meeting. I'll be home tonight."

Then with pure childlike innocence he pulled his green toy ball from his pocket and said, "But there's a meeting in my room, Daddy."

"There is?" The lump in my throat felt like an 8-pound bowling ball.

"Yes," he said. "It's a green toy ball meeting. And it's reaaaaaally important."

Ouch. Make that 12 pounds.

I knelt down and he opened his skinny fingers, one of them sticky with leftover nacho cheese. In his palm he held his prized green toy ball.

Looking back, I sure wish I'd said something profound. Instead, with tears racing to form drops and a pit in my stomach, I simply gave him a hug and promised to be home by bedtime. Then I closed his fingers back around the ball, patted his lowered head and sank down the stairs.

Ten minutes later, I rolled out of the driveway and headed to a meeting I hardly remember attending. I'm sure it was productive, and I'm sure important decisions were made.

I've thought of that afternoon almost every afternoon since. I love my church responsibilities and the opportunities I have to serve the Lord and the youths around me. Serving them brings me closer to him. Of that I have no doubt.

But what happens when the meetings and planning and planning more meetings becomes more important than the people we serve? At what point do I — or you — allow those we love the most to become low priority items on life's agenda?

I love the Lord. I love his gospel. I love the people with whom I worship every week. I'm especially grateful for the amazing young men I work so closely with and for whom I pray for their success and well-being.

But in the very end, when the meetings have concluded and the benedictions have been said, when the only one across the table is the Judge, the Holy One, the Redeemer of Mankind, I suspect my attendance at the administrative councils of life and religion will matter much less than the number of times I said "yes" to the green toy ball meetings.

I can't wait for the next one.

And the winner of the Guess the Number of Wristbands Contest is...

2010-09-15T22:34:00.004-04:00

Guess the number, win a copy of The Seventeen Second Miracle

2010-09-14T09:09:00.004-04:00

Exactly two weeks to go until the release of The Seventeen Second Miracle. No better way to celebrate than to give away an advance copy.

Inside this jar are wrist bands that say, "I believe in the Seventeen Second Miracle." (click on image to enlarge)

Guess how many bands are in the jar. Closest to the actual number (without going over) wins a book and a band. Be sure to include name and city/state.

Check back tomorrow for results. Good luck!

Want an advance copy of SSM?

2010-09-01T11:58:00.000-04:00

To celebrate my Seventeenth Anniversary during the month the Seventeen Second Miracle is released, let's give away another advance copy of the book.

In the comments below, tell me in exactly seventeen words why you deserve the advance, VIP copy. Good luck!

As always, include your first name, city and state. (Those don't count against your 17 words.)

In just 17 seconds can you name 5 nice things to do for someone today?

2010-08-24T12:54:00.000-04:00

The joy of inside jokes

2010-08-18T10:45:00.005-04:00

Recently a few friends and I have been harassing another friend, Matt, about his "Facebook negligence," specifically the fact that Matt last updated his status nearly one year ago. So we took a vote to decide whether or not to "defriend" Matt as a sign of solidarity. It was, of course, all tongue-in-cheek.

The decision over whether to "defriend" him came down to a single tie-breaking vote. The man who cast the deciding vote chose to announce his decision via YouTube this morning in the tradition of LeBron James.

You certainly won't find it as funny as we did, but it might be worth a chuckle or two. (As for me, I laughed so hard my face hurt and my tear ducts ran dry.)

Wright Words: The Power of Praise

2010-07-30T17:22:00.002-04:00

I was in the third grade when I first realized I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.

My teacher, the lovely and kind Mrs. Sampson, took time on a Friday afternoon to teach us the format for writing a skit and we were assigned the simple task of drafting a one-page conversation between two characters. Character name on left, dialogue on right, easy enough.

By the time the bell sent us scrambling to the buses, mine was five pages long. I handed it to Mrs. Sampson and stood on the toes on my dirty Converse tennis shoes, elbows resting on the edge of her desk, eyes locked on her face and tuned in for any reaction.

The play, no longer just a skit, was titled Molly and Polly. It was a gripping, thrilling adventure starring two leather-jacket-motorcycle-riding bunny rabbits whose mission was to cruise the countryside and solve crime.

When Mrs. Sampson finished, she looked up at me with her wise eyes and said sweetly, "Jason, this is really good. You should do more of this."

To say a light bulb popped on in my head would be too understated. It was more like a mushroom cloud, but without the long nuclear winter.

I went home that afternoon, barricaded myself in my room, and channeled Shakespeare all weekend long. I pumped out one Molly and Polly adventure after another, appearing downstairs only long enough for a quick trip to church and refills on Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies and milk.

When Monday morning arrived, I staggered out of my bedroom in a robe with three days of an imagined third-grade beard and smelling an awful lot like my socks. Later, still glassy-eyed, I strolled Mrs. Sampson's classroom and with a giant heave plopped a stack of plays of her desk. "Here you go!" I said. "Will you read these?"

"What's this?"

"It's a whole series of Molly and Polly plays. You told me to do more of this."

She looked at me so kindly, with so much love in her eyes, and said, "Oh, Dear. I didn't mean so soon."

And that was the beginning. I submitted my first manuscript for publication in 1982. I was 11. A few weeks later I received a postcard from Random House thanking me and saying my manuscript had been received and was under consideration.

Under consideration!

I walked with serious swagger around middle school for a month telling people I had a manuscript under consideration at Random House. Girls were impressed, boys jealous, and teachers unbelievably patient. Each adult wished me well and told me that no matter what, they believed in me.

I still have that postcard today. It is a cherished memory of a dream-filled childhood.

What I don't have is a rejection letter. I don't recall ever receiving one. Perhaps I did and blocked it out in the shadows of ambition. Maybe, but I prefer to think I never got one because it's still under consideration.

Under consideration!

Five years later my father died. I coped by wearing his old London Fog overcoat and writing poetry. Bad poetry. Poetry so lousy it literally pains me to read it today. But while none of it was very good, all of it was instrumental in helping me feel whole again.

After a poetry unit in Mr. Seaman's eleventh grade English class, I handed another thick stack of work to my teacher and asked if he'd read them. A week later he handed them back in a manila folder.

"What did you think?" I asked.

"Some of them are quite good, Jason, you should really consider publishing these someday."

"Really?"

"Sure. I believe in you. You should believe in you, too."

I raced home after school and announced, "Mother, my English teacher says I should publish a book of my poetry."

Getting Mom's support was the easy part, but getting a publishing deal for a volume of bad poetry proved impossible. Thankfully it didn't take long to convince my mother/agent/editor the only path to publication was doing it ourselves.

So during the summer of 1988 I laid out the book, took moody black and white photos to accompany the lousy poetry, found a local printer, and together we made history.

I'll never forget calling the local newspaper and TV station and in a well-rehearsed New York accent saying, "Hey guess what, there's a kid in town, I think he's 17, anyway he's got a book of poetry coming out, can you believe it? He's just a kid! You might want to do a story."

24-hours later I was on the 6:00 PM news and on the front page of my local paper. By the end of the week I'd supplied copies of my writing debut, Sitting on the Dock, to all the local book and gift shops.

All because a third-grade teacher on a random Friday afternoon said, "You should do more of this."

The journey since has been anything but a straight line to success. There have been failures, some of them colossal. There have been successes, all of them gratifying and humbling. But no matter what, at every step along the way, there has been someone to say: "You can do this, you have potential, keep trying, I have faith in you, I believe in you, you should do more of this, it's fine to make mistakes because I'll be there to help you do it better next time."

And they were.

I've often wondered where I'd be without Mrs. Sampson, Mr. Seaman, my parents, siblings and countless other teachers and mentors who praised when I needed praise, corrected when I needed correction, and guided when I needed it most.

Too many of these positive influences have drifted out of my life, across the country, across the universe or across the divide from this life and what awaits. Today I'm left with memories of their faith and with a charge to believe in others as much as they believed in me.

So you know that thing you're good at? That thing you love? That thing that makes you feel alive and productive and valuable and divine?

You should do more of it.

Win an ARC of The Seventeen Second Miracle

2010-07-23T10:34:00.005-04:00

There are a few key moments in the publication of a book that are exciting milestones for an author. One of those is the day the advance copies land on your doorstep. It's not the final book as it will later appear in stores around the country, but it's pretty darn close. These advance reader copies or ARC's are meant to plant seeds, encourage a nice blurb or two, and generally build buzz.

A few days ago a box arrived on doorstep containing a small stash of ARC's of my fall title, The Seventeen Second Miracle. It's a thrill to see the cover and know we're that much closer to the release on September 28th.

So, want to win the first signed copy?

In the comments section below, tell me why you deserve a free book. Be creative, funny, whatever! There is only one rule, your entry must be exactly 17 words long. Please also include your name and city/state.

Winner will be announced Monday July 26th. Good luck!

Are you filling a Christmas Jar in 2010?

2010-07-05T10:27:00.001-04:00

Click here to join the Facebook group.

The Seventeen Second Miracle has a cover!

2010-06-29T11:22:00.000-04:00

It's always such a thrill to see my book covers for the first time! Isn't it gorgeous?

Too often the designers don't get credit for their awesome work. Would you consider leaving a note for the fantastic team at Penguin/Berkley who designed the cover for The Seventeen Second Miracle?

And by the way, the book will be on shelves September 28th!

Wright Words: I miss my dad, and that's OK

2010-06-14T09:15:00.005-04:00

It started as a journal entry, became something I read aloud at an event in Winchester, VA, and now has become my latest syndicated column. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Wright Words: I miss my dad, and that's OK

My father died when I was 16 after a second bruising round with cancer.

He'd beaten it once four years earlier, only to watch it come back in a different place.

He died on a Friday night in a big hospital bed with me and two of my siblings racing to get there on time. We didn't.

There is a debate as old as time about which is more difficult and which is preferred: To lose a loved one suddenly, in instantaneous ways like car accidents, plane crashes, or in some other suddenly-your-life-is-very-different sort of moment. Sadly you don't have a chance to say goodbye or I'm sorry or I'll see you soon.

Or is it easier in the long-steps way, where you watch your loved one slowly fade from this life to the next, often in pain, sometimes great pain, sometimes straddling the veil? Yes, sometimes it's a painful goodbye. But it is, if nothing else, a chance to say goodbye.

I've had that debate myself, and I never come to any conclusion about which is easier, which hurts less.

I only decide in my mind that I had a little bit of both. I knew because he'd had cancer four years earlier that it could return. But on the other hand, on the night he died in the hospital waiting for another scheduled surgery, it felt like he'd been taken in an instant, a tragedy unforeseen, unpredicted. And certainly I was unprepared; I never saw it coming.

Maybe more than anything I've just decided that what happened, happened. I can't change it, and that's OK.

It wouldn't change the fact that I still miss my dad, even now, 20 years later. Or that I would still miss him a little bit every single day. It also wouldn't change the fact that at every baby birth, every soccer game, every graduation ceremony, I still close my eyes and wish that he were next to me. And, well, that's OK.

My father wasn't a perfect man. He was a terrible golfer, terrible. Seriously, I think there are still courses where his photo is up in the clubhouse. Not for having the course record, but because if he walks in someone is supposed to call security immediately.

No, he wasn't perfect. He raised his voice from time to time; he liked to burp the alphabet; he punished me when I felt like I didn't deserve to be punished. There was advice he gave that I probably didn't need, and other advice that I did need that he didn't share. Perhaps he didn't think I was ready for it.

So he wasn't a perfect man. So what? For me, he was the perfect dad, and there's nothing I wish he'd done any differently expect perhaps linger a little longer on this side. But he didn't. He went when he was called, of course he did, and that's OK.

Some people choose to remember their loved ones who've left this earth through this lens of perfection, where their flaws and faults are edged away, polished by time and scrapbooks, like the rough corners of a block of wood on a sander's belt. You just hold it there long enough, close your eyes, and wait, maybe move it slightly with gentle pressure, and the rough edges will go away. Then what's remembered is that smooth, perfect edge, the edge of a dearly departed loved one's life.

I've chosen to remember my dad differently. I do remember the times that I became frustrated. The times he was impatient when we worked on my science fair projects or as he taught me to drive. And, of course, the times he banged his thumb, his knee, or his elbow and used words that made my mom shout "Willaaaard!" from across the house.

I remember him imperfectly because it gives me hope. I don't have to be the perfect dad to my kids. I just have to be the perfect dad for them.

I smile when I think of the spot of ground that is my father's final resting place. It is like most others, a marker on the surface of the earth that says, "Here they are, here's their name, here are the dates that matter, the day they punched in and the day they punched out."

Sometimes some of us spend time at that place. Mourning, remembering, talking, leaving flowers, notes or pebbles.

When my dad died I didn't go for quite some time, not until a friend finally convinced me it was time and offered to go along. I remember vividly how we kicked snow off markers until we found my dad's.

Honestly? I wished I'd gone a lot sooner and I've beaten myself up plenty about it through the years. But I didn't. And, finally, that's OK.

Sometimes people visit the cemetery often. Every day, every week, once a month, or once a year on the anniversary of their death, or their birth, or on the anniversary of their anniversary. And sometimes I have looked at those people and thought, "Oh, it's too much, too often, too unhealthy, they should move on."

But who are we to judge? If sitting on a patch of grass next to a marker on the ground or a granite tombstone six feet above the memories of a loved one brings them comfort and peace, then isn't that OK?

Some never go back. There are members of my family who haven't been to my dad's grave for years, despite living much closer that I do. They remember him in other ways and they say they know he isn't really there anyway. Instead he's doing some sort of important work on the other side and that is how they find peace and comfort. And what could be more OK than that?

So yes, I do miss my dad. And more than anything in the years since my dad said goodbye, I've learned that there is no right way or wrong way to grieve, there is only your way, and there is my way.

It's been more than 22 years since my father died. Twenty-two Christmases. 22 birthdays. 22 Father's Days. And, of course, countless rounds of bad golf never played.

But after 22 years, I'm no longer afraid to admit that I still miss my dad. And, well, that's OK.

Announcing the winner of my Editor-for-a-Day contest

2010-06-01T09:11:00.001-04:00

Perhaps the most exciting contest I've ever held came to an end at 11:59 PM last night.

Who will be my first ever Editor-for-a-Day? Congratulations to... (drum roll, please)

Chris Dalton!

Chris built a healthy lead in the early weeks and held on for dear life as Cheryl Salzman closed quickly, trimming a lead of over 500 visits to less than 50 in just a week. Congrats Cheryl on closing strong and making Chris sweat his hard-fought victory.

As my exclusive Editor-for-a-Day, Chris will read my latest manuscript, The Seventeen Second Miracle, provide input and edits, and see his name in the acknowledgments.

Thank you to the hundreds of entrants who made this one of the most successful contests I've ever run, and congratulations to our top 25 finishers:

1. Chris Dalton (1,576 visits)
2. Cheryl Salzman (1,529 visits)
3. Stephanie Shirts Robinson
4. Patty Byrd
5. Lisa Kuper
6. Liz Frederick
7. Nancy Greenhouse
8. Sherry Booher Derby
9. Melissa Glad
10. Tabitha Andree
11. Jody Ayres
12. Lisa Sullivan
13. Jana Oomrigar
14. Sarah Van Dam
15. Liz Shoop
16. Christal Burnett
17. Dana Harold
18. Helena Reidhead
19. Paula Bryant
20. Sharen Clarke
21. Molly Edwards
22. Aimee Baldwin
23. Linda Evans
24. Tina Rinker
25. Larene Garlock

I miss my dad, and that's OK

2010-05-30T07:33:00.000-04:00

"Editor-for-a-Day" Contest Leader Board

2010-05-19T10:06:00.003-04:00

With eleven days to go in my Editor-for-a-Day contest, I thought it was time to reveal our Top Eleven on the leaderboard out of hundreds of entries.

Here are your leaders as of 10:00 AM, EST today:

1. Chris Dalton
2. Cheryl Salzman
3. Patty Byrd
4. Lisa Kuper
5. Nancy Greenhouse
6. Stephanie Shirts Robinson
7. Sherry Booher Derby
8. Liz Frederick
9. Melissa Glad
10. Jody Ayres
11. Kathie Marshall

It's not too late! Keep those visits to your pages coming!

How goofy is this on a scale of 1-10?

2010-05-14T17:48:00.001-04:00

Angels Among Us: Not yet

2010-05-06T13:30:00.003-04:00

A short and poignant note from another reader who believes the veil is thin.

Angels Among Us: He clearly whispered, "not yet"
Tony J.

When my Grandpa came home from the hospital for the last 4 days of his life in 2003, he spent the entire time in a hospital bed in his bedroom. The last day or two, he didn't even talk. The night he died, I just assumed it would be his last, so I sat in his bedroom with him for several hours. At the time, I was the only other person in the room, but at one point he raised his hands in the air and clearly whispered "Not Yet". He died a couple hours later.

Angels Among Us: Dad came to get mom

2010-05-03T14:47:00.002-04:00

Another sweet story from a reader who agrees that there are certainly angels among us:

Angels Among Us: Dad came to get mom
Claudia C.

I had experiences with both my Father's passing and my Mother's. Dad came to get Mom. She had thrown up on her way back from the bathroom and then collapsed on the floor. The cute young girl who was taking care of her said that a nice looking dark headed man came into her room and said he was a family member came to get Lou. She told him she needed to clean her up and would be just a little while. He went out the door, but no one ever saw him again, and no one had signed the sign in log at the front door, as a visitor for her. The family all knows that it was Dad coming to take her with him. This has helped me to know that there is life beyond this one and that we will not be alone when our time comes.

A truly FAB book club shout-out

2010-04-26T15:23:00.003-04:00

I don't normally do book club shout-outs, but not all book clubs are quite like this one!

It was a thrill today to chat by speaker phone with the FAB (Friends and Books) Book Club in University Place, Washington. I'd met two of the members at a signing last fall, and despite my efforts to scare them off, they contacted me anyway.

Today we discussed The Wednesday Letters and the club's ten gorgeous gals asked some really wonderful questions.

So thanks, ladies, for a swell time! Hope the salad was good ;-)

Wright Words: I am a Mormon

2010-04-16T13:04:00.003-04:00

I am guilty of waiting. For much of my career I have shyly waited for people to ask my religion, waited for the subject to come up, waited to share what I hold most precious.

Because I enjoy weaving spiritual themes into my signings or during more formal speaking engagements, often someone will approach and ask what church I attend. I love the conversations that follow. Frankly, there isn’t much I'd rather talk about than the faith that in many ways defines me.

I am a Christian. I am an imperfect follower of a perfect Savior. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Or, if you prefer the nickname sometimes used to describe members of the Church, I am a Mormon.

If you've read any of my novels, you know that I do not write books specifically about my religion. I write stories that contain the flavor of faith, but do not promote one religion over another. I write about broad themes important to all of us, no matter what church we call home.

I write about Christmas, forgiveness, redemption, family, marriage, charity, miracles, and life-after-death. Admittedly, I've learned and grown more from writing my own books than anyone ever will from reading them.

When I began my career as an author I was involved in frequent discussions about how prominent I should make my religion. Should we mention Brigham Young University in my bio? Should I reference my two-year mission to Brazil? Should we advertise that one of my two publishers is Salt Lake-based, home to Church headquarters and a high concentration of Mormons?

How shameful.

Five years and seven books later, I am ashamed those debates ever took place, and I accept that the blame rests on my shoulders alone. I am embarrassed that for years I simply wanted to be a New York Times bestselling author who you may or may not find out later just happens to be a Mormon. How shallow that I allowed the small percentage of consumers who won't buy a novel by a Mormon to dictate how I was introduced to readers.

Recently I stumbled across a blog that inferred a number of Mormon authors, including me, had been deceitful. The blogger complained that he never would have bought our books had he known we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He even expressed pride at having uncovered the secret through a series of online searches and a complicated game of connect-the-dots. A modern-day Sherlock Holmes, no doubt.

This blogger's theory was that books like mine by Mormon authors, especially in the genre of inspirational fiction, are just thinly veiled attempts to spread our faith. He's half-right, at least in my case. I do hope my books spread my faith that God lives, that He loves us, and that the challenges we face everyday are universal and the occasionally painful lessons absolutely necessary to our growth.

But I also hope they are good ole fashioned page-turners that entertain and beg a second reading. If a reader wants to find inspiration and faith, that's wonderful. If a reader wants nothing more than to sit in a comfortable chair and escape life for a few hours, I'm just as thrilled.

In either case, in the future this well-meaning though misguided blogger won't have to don a black deerstalker hat to uncover my religion. I've added my faith to my website biography and press kits.

I wonder if this blogger or anyone else who won’t buy a work of Christian fiction by a Mormon knows just how much I appreciate his or her own religion. I have dear friends from all corners of religious faith and two of the most trusted people in my day-to-day career are Catholic and Jewish. One is my editor, the other my agent. I trust them both. I love them both.

I wonder if this blogger or anyone else who won’t buy a work of Christian fiction by a Mormon knows how many churches have invited me to speak in their chapels, sanctuaries, etc. Just this month alone I will speak in two Methodist churches and at Trinity Ecumenical Parish, a combined congregation of Episcopalians, Lutherans and Presbyterians. Next month I’ll speak to the Knights of Columbus and in years' past I've spoken to Baptists, Catholics and many more. I cherish those experiences more than any other.

Naturally it is important to know that I am not just a Mormon. I am proud to be a brother, husband, father-of-four, volunteer, neighbor, and friend. I am also a son of a loving Heavenly Father and the son of earthly parents who raised me to embrace my faith and to love the Lord and follow His example.

Perhaps I owe this blogger a thank you for jarring me from my quiet complaisance and for reminding me just how proud I am of my heritage, my faith, and the Church I love so dearly.

So, if you're reading this column and thinking, "I had no idea he was a Mormon," I sincerely apologize.

If you're reading this column and want to know more about what I believe, ask me. I’d love to tell you.

Finally, next time you're in a bookstore and you see a book with my name on the cover, it's buyer beware from this day forward: I am a Mormon.

Meeting the Harveys

2010-04-13T16:28:00.007-04:00

This post begins the telling of one of the neatest stories in our lives. For those of you who have read The Cross Gardner, you will recall where they discuss an apple called the Ginger Gold and the story of how it came to be. For those who haven't had a chance to read the book, this will mean much more to you when you do. But in the meantime, here is one of the references from The Cross Gardener:

EXCERPT:

We chatted on the way about the history of apples in Virginia and how I ended up an orchardist. He was interested in the decision making Scott and I went through after Father’s death. Curious how often I saw my brother. Interested in Tim and whether I thought he might have ended up on the orchard someday.

The Cross Gardener had a way of making everything I said interesting. In his presence my stories and ideas were important. A rare talent, I thought.

“Here we are.” I pulled into the driveway and stopped just shy of the fence.

“Great fence,” he said. “I love picket fences. You build it yourself?”

“With my wife, yes.”

“Wonderful.”

We got out of the truck and I led him down the closest row of apple trees. “There isn’t much to see by way of fruit, obviously, because the harvest is over.”

He reached down and picked up a rotting apple. “Why are there some on the ground?”

“If it’s a mature apple, which that one is, it probably fell during harvest. That happens a lot. Or it could have just fallen from an apple bin. That happens, too.”

“How long can it sit on the ground before it starts to rot?”

“Not long in Valley heat, that’s for sure.”

“And you don’t go by and pick them up?” He placed the apple back on the grass.

“Not usually. They can bruise if they fall. And no one wants a bruised apple.” We walked to another row.

“Are all these trees the same?”

“No, we try to alternate rows. A lot of orchards do. That first
row was Red Delicious. These are Ginger Golds.”

“Ginger Golds. So those aren’t red, one assumes?”

“One assumes correct.” I smiled. Standing there and looking at his curious eyes, almost childlike, I realized that I hadn’t told anyone about my favorite type of apple, or why it was my favorite, in a very long time.

“Ginger Golds are special.” I looked to the end of the long row of appleless trees. “They’re also the first we harvest. These were picked before Emma Jane, my wife, died.”

“I see why they’re your favorite then.”

“It’s not just that, they’ve always been my favorite apple. The Ginger Gold is a result of Hurricane Camille back in the sixties. Nineteen sixty-nine to be exact. The hurricane about washed away the orchard of a man named Clyde Harvey. Almost nothing left but devastation. Some time later when they were saving what trees they could, they came across a tree Mr. Harvey hadn’t ever seen before. It produced a yellow fruit instead of the red on the other trees around it. Eventually they planted more of them and he named it for his wife, Ginger.”

“Thus, the Ginger Gold,” the Cross Gardener said.

“That’s right.”

“What a miracle that something so sweet, something that brings joy to many, came from something as tragic as a hurricane. That’s lovely. One of the sweetest things I’ve heard.”

Back at the end of March the Barnes and Noble in Charlottesville, VA held a discussion and book signing for The Cross Gardner.

Among those in attendance were three very lovely and special ladies: Ginger, Gayle and Debbie Harvey.

Now let me tell you a little bit about these amazing ladies. Ginger Harvey is a beautiful woman inside and out. She is married to the late Clyde Harvey and has two equally beautiful daughters, Gayle and Debbie.

The Harveys owned an orchard in Central Virginia for many years. During their time in the apple world they experienced something not many ever do. They nearly lost the entire orchard to the floods brought on by Hurricane Camille.

There was much tragedy in their little valley, but as they began the recovery process they found a young tree that was not familiar to them. It turns out the tragedy of the floods had brought them a special "Gift from God," as Ginger likes to say. The Harvey family was blessed with a one-of-a-kind tree produced entirely by God and Mother Nature. It yielded a beautiful, tasty apple which later became known as the Ginger Gold.

After meeting the Harveys at the book signing we were eager to spend some time with them. Just last week Gayle and Ginger made the drive up to the Valley to see the orchard that inspired the story.

Meet Tracy, the talented orchardist who shared his knowledge with Jason.

After saying goodbye and sending them on their way, Jason and I kept saying to each other, "How cool is it to meet someone who has an apple named after her growing right now on trees all around the world?"

We feel so honored to know them and we look forward to a long and fruitful (LOL) friendship.

Library Journal Reviews TCG

2010-04-07T15:32:00.002-04:00

Thanks, LJR!

###

Library Journal Reviews
April 15, 2010

SECTION: REVIEWS; Christian Fiction; Pg. 70
LENGTH: 134 words

HEADLINE: The Cross Gardener

BYLINE: Nanci Milone Hill

BODY: Wright, Jason F. The Cross Gardener. Berkley: Penguin Group (USA) . 2010. c.304p. ISBN 978-0-425-23328-3 . $22.95. CF

John Bevan and his young daughter, Lou Lou, try to heal after a tragic accident takes the life of his wife and unborn child. Struggling to understand God's purpose, John erects a small cross on the side of the road where his wife died. One day, he meets a man painting his wife's cross, and the "cross gardener" eventually helps John see that his wife would have wanted him to live his life and enjoy every moment with his surviving child. VERDICT: This latest book by best-selling author Wright (The Wednesday Letters; The Christmas Sweater with Glenn Beck) is sure to be devoured by his large fan base as well as by new readers who enjoy wiping their eyes while reading a great story.

LOAD-DATE: April 6, 2010

Angels Among Us: The Fall

2010-04-06T13:56:00.004-04:00

Another wonderful story from a reader. Thanks for sharing, Bri!

Angels Among Us: The Fall
Bri C.

In 2004 my husband and I were in our first home. Chris began clearing the side lot of our home which was covered in trees. One of those trees was right beside an electric pole. As he climbed his 22 ft ladder high above the previous stumps that were left of the adjacent trees he secured a winch to a tree limb while he prepared to saw (using a chainsaw) away the limb. Later he would say that he felt the Spirit prompt him not to use the winch. He sawed anyways and the limb snapped lodging in his forehead and throwing him to the ground where he landed on a stump. He was unconscious and couldn't see.

When he awoke he was very disoriented. He said he felt someone simply carry him the 75 ft where he landed to the front door. He said that he felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and warmth. The physical proof of this event was the lack of blood. That 75 ft from the door to the spot where he landed was completely free of any blood. There was blood on the front door all over the carpet and in the foyer. But no stains on our paved driveway or the dried dirt under the trees. We have speculated it is a ministering angel. Surely it was something divine.

Interview on News Channel 8's "Let's Talk Live!"

2010-03-18T21:46:00.003-04:00

Wright Words: Failure is an option

2010-03-18T07:55:00.004-04:00

Failure. Look it up in Merriam-Webster's and you'll see more than just my name and mediocre mug. You'll also find my thumbprint, Social Security number and shoe size. I challenge you to find anyone who's failed at more endeavors, large and small, than yours truly.

Did I work at Mr. Donut in high school? Yes. Was I fired for playing basketball in the kitchen with a coconut crumb donut wrapped in scotch tape? Yes.

Months later I took a job at a popular ice cream parlor across the street from the University of Virginia campus in Charlottesville, Virginia. Weeks later I gave a generous discount to an attractive coed buying a single scoop of Moose Tracks. Then just hours later I surrendered my apron and was shown the door. Turns out the cute pre-med student was the shop's owner.

Before graduating from high school, I also worked as a tuxedo-wearing doorman, as the Easter Bunny at the local mall in a giant fuzzy costume that smelled like tobacco and gin, and as a telemarketer selling tickets to a blind circus for children. To this day I have no idea what that actually meant, I just read the script. And, evidently, not so well.

What did these early failures teach me? Only that I hadn't failed enough yet. So over the years these jobs followed: Commercial actor, nightshift at a grocery store, model for a clothing catalogue, pizza delivery guy, construction, singing telegrams with my wife and our St. Bernard, Portuguese teacher, nightshift security guard at a telephone factory, nightshift security guard at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, sales for a time-management seminar company, computer consulting, door-to-door t-shirt sales, co-owner of a company that made paper placemats for restaurants, nightshift cleaning bathroom at BYU, weekend janitor of a dental college, and night watch at a home for troubled teens.

But wait, there's more! I also was the co-founder of one of the web's first sporting goods stores, director of sales for an e-commerce software company, co-founder of an Internet design company, co-owner of two video stores, owner of a cell phone store, candidate for U.S. Congress, founder of a public policy think-tank, founder of a popular political blog, ghost writer to members of Congress, and, finally, a fulltime novelist.

Wedged into that resume meatloaf is also a fulltime mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to Belo Horizonte, Brazil. With the exception of marrying my wife, it remains the single most important decision I've ever made and brings me more satisfaction than any bestseller list.

Each of those career stops, even those that were odd and brief, taught me something about myself. I learned how to be a better employee and a better teammate. I learned what failure tasted like and how to take risks. But I also learned what risks not to take, and how to recognize the taste of success. Perhaps most importantly, I learned how to be a better me.

Admittedly, even my current and hopefully final career has had its share of failures. Some books connect with readers, some don't, and all I can do is to continue telling stories and hope I succeed more often than not, getting better each time.

So yes, I've had dozens of jobs, some ending wonderfully, some ending with failure, but each taught me to identify a new weakness and massage it into a strength.

If I hadn't failed, I never would have written Christmas Jars.

If I hadn't failed, I wouldn't be a New York Times Bestselling author.

If I hadn't failed, I wouldn't now live in one of the world's most beautiful places, the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

If I hadn't failed, I wouldn't be happy and at professional peace for the first time.

Please don't let the world convince you that failure isn't an option. Quite simply, nothing is too big to fail. Not even the guy in the Easter bunny costume.

Angels Among Us: A Visit from Dad

2010-03-13T22:24:00.001-05:00

Another wonderful story from a reader. Thanks for sharing, Edgar!

Angels Among Us: A Visit from Dad
Edgar P.

My father died when I was 16. I carried a lot of guilt for the longest time because I was the last one to see him alive. I saw him on October 30th. Our town had decided to trick or treat that night because the 31st is normally a holiday in Nevada. So instead of having kids with sugar hangovers at school on the 1st of November, they had the kids trick or treat on the day before Halloween.

A couple of friends and I stopped by my father's house that night. He did not recognize me in my mask. I took it off and he grabbed me and kissed me on the cheek. Of course I thought I was too cool to be kissed by my old man, so I pushed him away. He died at work the next day.

A few months after his death, I had a very realistic dream in which he came in to my room and we went for a walk. He knew he was dead. And I knew he was dead. We talked about the moment when he died. He told me that everything became dark for him realizing that he was leaving his children behind. He and my mother had divorced years earlier, but we could still feel his love. We had a good talk that night. I could still feel his love.

The next morning, my mother told me that he had had a very strange dream the night before. She said she woke up because she felt that someone was in her room. When she opened her eyes, she saw my father standing there. She asked him what he wanted. He responded that he was there to see me and wanted her permission. She told him that it was fine. He walked through her door and headed to my room.

I filled her in with the rest.

My father still comes around to talk to me. I see him about once a year.

Checking in from the road

2010-03-13T21:54:00.005-05:00

What's my name again? What city am I in? It's Day 11 of the current tour and it's been an adventure everyday. I've met the most wonderful people and been reminded that while I love writing, it's meeting people and hearing their stories that makes the journey worthwhile.

Earlier today my publisher, Penguin, released this web video. It's a short interview montage we shot in NYC a month ago. Give it a look, and if it trips your trigger, please share!

Zzzzzzzzzzz. The early wake-up call awaits.

Angels Among Us: Taking The Bus

2010-03-02T12:38:00.005-05:00

To celebrate the release of The Cross Gardener, I recently asked friends and readers to send me their stories demonstrating that the veil between this life and the next is thinner than we sometimes realize. If you have an inspirational story of someone passing on, perhaps having help from the other side, please feel to share it by using the contact form at http://www.jasonfwright.com

The first story I'd like to share came from a good friend. I think you'll enjoy it. Others will be added soon.

Angels Among Us: Taking The Bus
Angie B., Winchester, VA

Most people look at death as a very sad and final thing when it can be a joyful and eternal. Everyone has to deal with death at some point in their life. Many of us have dealt with lots of death during our lifetime. A few years back, we lost 5 family members within 18 months.

I have had the experience of being with both of my grandparents as they left this world. It was one of the most spiritual experiences I have witnessed.

In the days leading up to my grandmother’s death she kept talking about people she saw, people that were waiting for her, that were there, in the room, to get her. Several days before she died she kept telling everyone that a bus was coming and that she was going to get on the bus. The evening she died a winter storm was taking place outside, however her room was warm and filled with many family members. There were only 3 people physically in the room, my grandmother, my aunt and myself, but it felt like there was not space for anyone else in that small nursing home room. I know that family and friends came to greet and escort my grandmother as she passed through the veil into the spirit world.

The next day on the news we heard that there had been a bus accident with many casualties. I guess there was a bus coming to take her home to her Father in Heaven.

I believe we are never alone even in death, there is someone on the other side waiting for us, beckoning us to come, to take us by the hand and lead us home. I also believe that we will be reunited with our loved ones after this life, that knowledge makes death a lot less difficult. Don’t get me wrong I miss my grandparents, but I know I will see them again and that they are preparing a place for me when the time comes. I am grateful for my Father in Heaven and his son Jesus Christ, who make it all possible.

Is it finally March 2?

2010-03-02T06:25:00.003-05:00

It's hard to describe what it's like for an author after so many months on Release Day.

I submitted the manuscript eight months ago on July 7, 2009. Since then we've edited, fine tuned, published, printed, shipped, planned tours, planned advertising, planned media, and waited...

And waited...

And at long last, the book is born in stores across the country.

After seven books, it's just as exciting!

I hope you'll give The Cross Gardener a spin. It's my most personal story to-date and it means the most to me. I hope, perhaps, it will mean something to you, too.

Oh, and always remember to take the long way.

Two weeks and counting to The Cross Gardener

2010-02-16T08:00:00.004-05:00

Exactly two weeks to go until the release of The Cross Gardener. So why not give away another Advance Reading Copy?

In TCG, the Shenandoah County Fair plays a prominent role. In the comments below, tell us your very first memory of visiting a County Fair, Carnival, Disney park, etc.

I'll pick a random winner tomorrow. Good luck!

A third trailer for The Cross Gardener, my new favorite!

2010-02-13T14:28:00.001-05:00

New Trailer for The Cross Gardener

2010-02-11T10:06:00.005-05:00

Big thanks to my good friend, Aaron "Al" Lee, for another lovely book trailer.

Click here to watch it on YouTube.

Photo Caption Contest

2010-02-09T11:18:00.004-05:00

Write a funny caption for the photo below. Author of the funniest caption will win a free advance copy of The Cross Gardener three weeks before it goes on sale.

Captions will be judged by a panel of prestigious judges. (Jason, Kodi and Pilgrim.)

Winner announced Wednesday. Good luck!

SnOw SNOW snow!!!!

2010-02-07T17:14:00.001-05:00

Everything outside is white, white, white. It is absolutely incredible! So here is a small tribute to the snow.

Snow can be pretty...

It can be heavy...

It can be confusing... why is the snow hanging off the car like that?

but most of all snow can be FUN FUN FUN...

Pilgrim is loving it... he loves it even more when Papa J plays with him.

He really loves it when he flattens Papa J in the snow...

but his favorite by far is dive bombing off the deck... and frankly when this is coming at you... SNOW CAN BE SCARY!!!

The winner of Jason's Snowmageddon Super Bowl Snow Prediction Contest is...

2010-02-06T20:00:00.001-05:00

The measurements are in, the numbers crunched, the highly scientific yardstick analysis complete. Under my watchful eye, my trusty assistant Jadi measured three spots in the front yard, and the average was:

26.0 inches!

That means our winner is shaunnab18, who guessed 25.9. Honorable mention goes to MarySue, Patty, IndianaRaven and Michleatherman, all were very close as well.

Congrats to our winner! Please drop me a note and I'll get your address for your box of goodies.

And stay tuned for another contest, perhaps sooner than you think...

Introducing Jason's Snowmageddon Super Bowl Snow Prediction Contest

2010-02-06T10:17:00.007-05:00

Let's just consider this morning's Snow Prediction Contest the Pro Bowl, the warm-up act that's fun to watch, but pales in comparison to the Super Bowl.

Introducing Jason's Snowmageddon Super Bowl Snow Prediction Contest:

In the comments below, predict the total snowfall total as of 8:00 PM, EST. (Latest NWS warning predicts the snow ends by 8:00.)

Once again, I will measure three places in my front yard and take the average. Entries are due by 5:00 PM, EST.

If I'm going to call it Jason's Snowmageddon Super Bowl Snow Prediction Contest, I better have a pretty fantastic prize, right?

How about the biggest box of goodies I've ever given away? Closest to actual total (without going over) will receive:

-The James Miracle (hardcover)
-Christmas Jars (hardcover)
-Christmas Jars Reunion (hardcover)
-Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle (hardcover)
-The Wednesday Letters (hardcover)
-Recovering Charles (hardcover)
-The Cross Gardener (advance copy)
-The Cross Gardener (audio CD's)
-A Christmas Jar for Santa (limited edition Christmas card)
-Christmas Jar bookmarks
-Christmas Jar wraps

Winner will be announced here on the blog shortly after 8:00 PM. We'll figure out a tie-breaker if we need one.

Good luck!

The winner of the 10:00 AM "Predict the Snow" contest is...

2010-02-06T10:06:00.004-05:00

The first measurements are complete! With so much wind and drifting, I decided to measure in three places across the front yard and take the average. The total as of 10:00 AM (EST) is 19.5 inches.

And the winner is: MTeacress! He or she guessed 19.3, the closest without going over, and has won a copy of The Cross Gardener on audio CD. Congrats!

And now for our next contest...

Predict the snow totals, win The Cross Gardener on audio

2010-02-05T19:59:00.008-05:00

Snowmageddon is here! One of the biggest storms in the history of the Shenandoah Valley is upon us. Since we had so much fun with our last snow prediction contest, it would be a complete travesty to let an even bigger storm come and go without an even bigger contest!

Here's the scoop:

In the comments below, predict how much snow I will have in my front yard at 10:00 AM tomorrow (Saturday) morning. (entries due by 8:00 AM, EST). Closest to the actual total (without going over) wins a free copy of The Cross Gardener on CD three weeks before it goes on sale.

Entries must include at least first name and last initial, plus your snow prediction.

Winner will be revealed at 10:00 AM, then a second contest will be announced.

Good luck!

16 years and I finally get the hint...

2010-02-02T19:08:00.006-05:00

So as the story goes, for as long as I have been married to Jason, he would always ask for a go-kart on his birthday, for Christmas, for Easter, for Valentine's Day, for Father's Day and if that wasn't enough, he would write it on the grocery list every chance he got. Twice in the past two years he thought he was getting one... only to be disappointed by no go-kart under the tree...

Well this birthday proved to be the right time for me to shock his socks off.

I'm not sure who is more excited, Kason or Jason...

I think maybe I need to turn the throttle down on this little blue devil.

Jadi is being taught how to properly handle a go-kart... I think she keep yelling "slow down Dad."

"Now Dad this is the safe way to drive the go-kart." Notice she is going so slow that even Kason can outrun her... LOL

I'm just counting my blessings that it's not a real car... I have a few more years before that happens.

She keep her speed in check... good girl!

A very happy man!!!

"Faster Dad faster!!!"

Okay now that's my baby in there... slow down a bit...

All in all they had a great time and I am sure we will be getting lots of go-kart riding in in the next few days.

One month to release... tick tock...

2010-02-02T11:43:00.004-05:00

It's hard to believe that after so long, the release of The Cross Gardener is actually in sight! It will finally be available everywhere books are sold one month from today.

I've enjoyed writing my first six books, but I must admit that this one means more to me than any other. It's the most personal, and I truly hope the story and message will resonate with you.

To celebrate the one-month countdown, let's give away a paperback Advance Reader's Copy. In the comments below, tell me the very first novel you remember reading. Catcher in the Rye? To Kill A Mocking Bird? Huck Finn? Something else?

I'll randomly select from among the comments 24-hours from now. Winner gets a free book a month before the rest of the world. Good luck!

*****

Can't wait? Pre-order right now from our friends at Amazon or BN.com

http://www.amazon.com/Cross-Gardener-Jason-F-Wright/dp/0425233286/

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Cross-Gardener/Jason-F-Wright/e/9780425233283/

You Can Keep Him, by Matt Birch

2010-01-20T09:07:00.004-05:00

I can't wait for Matt's book to be published. I've read most of it, and I can tell you it will make you laugh, cry, and want to be a better person.

Check out the first trailer:

Taking a moment to vent about AT&T's terrible service

2010-01-14T14:24:00.005-05:00

Yes, I know I'm on deadline. Yes, I know I am supposed to be in hibernation. Yes, I have to get this off my chest.

I've been with AT&T for approximately 10 years. I have spent, very conservatively speaking, at least $25,000 with them through the years on phones and service. Now with four phones on my plan, my bill averages $270 a month.

I won't get into how terrible their coverage is. You've certainly seen the Verizon ads poking fun at AT&T's coverage. "There's a map for that."

Obviously they struck a nerve because AT&T now has their own ads touting the speed of their 3G network. Newsflash AT&T: Speed is great if you just happen to be standing next to a cell tower having a sandwich, but does you little good if you have no signal at all.

AT&T's argument is like saying: "Look at us! We make the fastest sports cars on the planet, but they don't always start! But zooooooom, when they do, baby watch out!"

Back to venting. A few weeks ago I added a line to my account for a "family phone", a phone available to the kids but tightly controlled by Mom and Dad. They have access to it when they babysit, when we're gone, field trips, etc.

If only it worked.

Within two weeks the phone was dead. No problem, right? Just take it back? Sure, if you have the original box. When I went to AT&T, I was told they couldn't replace it without every stitch of the original packaging, even though I was well within the 30-day return window.

My options?

1. Purchase a replacement model for $299. (That's the price you pay when you're not activating service, which is where wireless carriers make their real profits. Phones are just a means to a contract.)

2. Roll the dice and purchase a used phone with no warranty on eBay from some guy in a "Finding Nemo" bathroom logging on from his mother's half-finished basement.

3. Pay an early termination fee of $175.

4. Throw the dead phone in the Shenandoah River and pay for the service, without actually using it, until the contract expires. Then renew my contract and get a phone at the "new customer" discount.

So I tried calling. What did AT&T say?

"No box, no replacement. No box, no canceling. No box, no soup for you."

Frustrated, I sent an admittedly "aggressive" e-mail through their web site. To their credit, a polite woman called from customer service, reiterated their policy, but made an enticing offer to keep me from leaving. AT&T would credit my account for up to $40 if I replaced the dead phone with one of their cheapo pre-paid models available at finer convenience stores everywhere.

I wonder if she'd also cover my Big Gulp.

Whew. I feel better already. Now it's back to comparison shopping at Verizon and Sprint.

Deadlines, cabins and hotels, oh my!

2010-01-07T10:07:00.003-05:00

Well it's that time again. A deadline is racing toward me at 1,000 miles-per-hour and I'm steadying myself for impact.

When I signed with Penguin/Berkley, we decided to try two novels in 2010. The first, THE CROSS GARDENER, will be released nationally on March 2. The second should hit stores in the fall, presumably late August or early September.

The first, which I'm very proud of, has been polished and in production since August. The second is -- well -- um -- well -- much of the second is still lodged in my noggin.

If you've followed me or the blog in the past, you know that I work best under the pressure of deadlines. With the exception of CHRISTMAS JARS, every manuscript has been a very late bloomer. Such will (hopefully) be the case (gulp) with the new one.

Since March of last year, I will have written CHRISTMAS JARS REUNION, PENNY'S CHRISTMAS JAR MIRACLE, THE CROSS GARDENER, spent the fall on the road promoting the first two, and finished my fall 2010 release.

I need a nap.

But, sadly, no nap. Unless writing hibernation counts.

As of Monday (1/4) I've said goodbye to e-mail, Facebook, and showering until the latest manuscript is in. I'll spend time at a dear friend's cabin in the mountains of West Virginia, long days at my office in Woodstock, and, if history is any guide, a few nights at a local hotel in protective custody.

This might all sound a little strange. But, actually, with few exceptions, most writers operate this way. Everyone works a little differently, but many of my full-time author chums plug away slowly day-by-day until the agent or editor start pressing, and then they go into Hulk Hogan lockdown mode until the last page is written.

And now it's my turn. I'll try to come up for air as time permits, but it's time to generate high daily word counts and purple prose.

If you've emailed, called, or Tweeted me this week, rest assured I'm not ignoring you. Unless you're you-know-who, in which case I'm absolutely ignoring you and considering a restraining order.

Stay warm. Read a good book. And, as my mother used to say, remember who you are and what you stand for.

Christmas Jar Story: 'I didn't think anyone really cared about me'

2009-12-31T14:34:00.001-05:00

Charlotte Court House, Virginia:

I received a Christmas jar, this past Christmas eve. I haven't stopped crying since. My life had been until I lost everything. My family, my husband and my home were gone. I lived in my car for at least 6 months. My job was cut from full time to less than part time. Depression overcame me. What did i have to live for? I decided to remain strong in character and faith. I dragged myself back to church and in turn received many new friends and blessings from them. Still times were tough, hard to make ends meet. I decided that with God's love I would continue to be strong and do the best I could. The Christmas spirit was not in me but I continued to be steadfast in Christ's love. He never turned from me. He never left. He continued to pour out His love, grace and mercy upon me but I was blind.

Christmas Eve morning I woke early. I was going through the "routine" of morning tea and depression when I looked outside. The sun was just coming up and it was then I saw a sitting on the hood of my car ...a gift....a present for me? I didn't think anyone really cared about me. Most were wrapped up in their own lives preparing for their families and their celebrations together. I grabbed my shoes and ran outside. What a blessing ...a jar filled with money. It must be a mistake!!! Inside was a novel about the Christmas Jar. It explained it all.

Tears welled and then streamed down my face. This jar was meant for me !!!! My faith in mankind was truly restored.My God is so good!!! I will keep the jar going to restore others faith. Truly, my life has changed.

Christmas Jar Story: 'Bless you back'

2009-12-30T14:34:00.001-05:00

As I've said, I have received more CJ stories than I have time to post. Hope to slowly catch up.

Houston, TX:

Christmas Eve 2009:

Discovered a mason jar filled with coins in the back of my work truck. No note or anything, just www.ChristmasJars.com written on the lid.

To the person who blessed me with this, thank you very much. Everybody knows times are getting tough lately, and my wife and I appreciate your kindness and generosity very much.

Bless you back.

Christmas Jar Story: 'We lost our home friday night to fire''

2009-12-26T13:54:00.003-05:00

Every Christmas Jar story is special, but this one really stands out, doesn't it? To whomever gave this jar, I add my thanks to Dan and Jody's.

Dayton, Ohio

Hello, My name is Dan and my wife is Jody. We lost our home friday night to fire it was so devastating to us because we have five children who lost everything they had, we just had triplets and when we were sitting there watching our house burn to the ground all I could think about is what are we going to do then we started getting calls one right after the other with total strangers wanting to help, while we were staying at a friends house someone left a christmas jar on there back step in the middle of the night along with your book, you cant imagine the warm feelings that this made me feel, its amazing the way the community has took us in and made this so much easier.

thank you

Dan & Jody

Christmas Jars on Fox & Friends

2009-12-26T12:21:00.001-05:00

In case you missed it. Lori and Jack did an amazing job!

Christmas Jar Story: 'God answered both of our prayers'

2009-12-25T11:41:00.004-05:00

Merry Christmas! Inspirational stories are coming in faster than we can post them. Eventually all will be available online, but in the meantime, read this standout that came in overnight. It brought tears to my eyes all three times I read it. I bet your experience is the same.

Fairfax, VA

To the beautiful mother with three young boys. I wanted you to know that I prayed to be guided to you. And God answered my prayer. I tucked my kids in bed before I left. I listened for promptings from the Spirit as I pulled away from my house and went to a nearby grocery store. It was Christmas eve and it was late in the evening. The grocery store had closed hours ago. It was cold and dark and the ground was covered in heavy snow. I saw a few people walking home after working all day. But they weren't the ones I was sent to find. I kept driving and found myself at a K-Mart that was about to close. I waited in the parking lot for almost 30 minutes watching for someone. I even thought I had found the right family when I saw a young couple with a child park their car and walk into the store.

I waited for the prompting to give them our jar that we had carefully filled week by week.

But the prompting was to wait, they were not the family I was looking for.
Then you came out of the store with your three boys. You hadn't bought anything. Your boys were quick to get to the car and you pulled away before I could get across the parking lot to talk to you. So I followed your van as you drove away. I would never do that, except that the Spirit prompted me to follow. You drove less than a half mile to the nearest bank. (The same one that I went to earlier in the week to get a few extra bills that went in the jar.) It was very late at this point and I worried that you would panic when you saw me waiting in my van while you visited the ATM. I tried to stand in the light as you came out. I noticed that you only withdrew a single bill from the ATM.

It took a lot of courage for me to speak up and ask if you would accept our gift. I'm not an extroverted type. You looked at me cautiously. I tried to explain how my kids had entrusted me to deliver the jar on Christmas eve. They had all gone to bed and I could not return home before finishing my duty of love.

As I held out the jar, you looked at me again and then reached up and received it. And then you gave me a great big hug. My heart was overjoyed and I cried. And then your beautiful boys climbed out of the van to run over and thank me with pure joy that only a child can share. And I cried again as I made my way back home.

Thank you so much for receiving our gift. I am so grateful to have witnessed the awesome power of God in the lives of both of our families this evening. God answered both of our prayers.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas Jar Story: Two back-to-back stories that make you smile

2009-12-24T18:16:00.004-05:00

These two stories came in exactly five minutes apart. I hope both the giver and receiver read these and smile as big as I did.

What's the real miracle? That the recipient will never know who her angel is... That's the beauty of the Christmas Jars tradition. It doesn't always have to be anonymous, but it sure it special when it is.

Oregon:

I just had the true & pure pleasure of giving away my 1st ever Christmas jar! I am so excited & cannot start next year's jar too soon! I cannot give details because I know my recipient will be looking for me!!!

I waited for the intended victim (hehe) to leave her business to go to the bank & when she went in, I quickly placed her jar on her business' doorstep...she would have to move it to even get back in! It was simple, in a plastic bag, nothing to give away the precious contents.

I had not heard of this idea until I saw it on Glen Beck a few weeks ago & I immediately knew who was to get one from me. She is such a wonderful lady, she started a business this year, and it has been awfully slow, I know she is struggling just to pay her rent. She has no family nearby, but many of us love her & treasure her friendship. God spoke to me so clearly that He wanted to bless her this way! Thank you for the miracle I have in MY heart today because of this idea!

Oregon:

I arrived at my shop this morning and went to the bank to make a small deposit, when I came back to open the door I found this jar of change on the porch. I went next door to Out West Designs to ask if they had seen anyone? Nancy said no.

When I explained what had happened I started to cry. I am crying now because this is such a wonderful gift and I never in a million years would have expected anyone to do this for me.

I am the one doing this kind of thing.

Whoever you are I thank you with the bottom of my heat for feeling I am worthy of this. You have made my year and now the new year to come in. Again thank you and blessings be with you and yours forever.

Christmas Jar Story: 'wondering where rent would come from'

2009-12-23T08:33:00.001-05:00

You wouldn't believe how many Christmas Jar stories I'm getting this week. Here's another miraculous one.

Orem, Utah:

Story: I heard a knock on my door last night, we have been struggling so much lately, even wondering where rent would come from. Being from Utah I am a mormon, and I was given a promise that if I would pay my tithing that I would be blessed. I can not believe the things that have transpired since that day in my bishop's office when I put my tithing into the envelope. We have been blessed beyond belief, last night as I was wondering how I would get my kids something for Christmas a knock came on my door, I opened it and there was a jar full of coins, and a book Christmas Jars. This is a blessing beyond belief! I will be able to take care of our families needs, and not feel so much pressure as we approach the day of our Savorior's birth. I am so grateful to whom ever left this gift on my door step. I pray that I will be in a position that I can pay it forward someday. This is truly one of the greatest blessings that could have come to my family.

Christmas Jar Story: 'I am emotionally speechless'

2009-12-22T12:28:00.001-05:00

Declo, Idaho:

I AM EMOTIONALLY SPEECHLESS!

WE just had the most "AWESOME'EST" thing done! We heard a small knock at the door. I thought the kids were playing and paid no attention to it. Casey was in his office and got up to check it out. When he opened the door no one was there, but he noticed someone had left a quart size jar on our porch, Casey picked it up and then looked around to see who left it, he noticed someone in a hoodie walking away. Casey said THANK YOU, and the person kept walking! SO Cas came inside and immediately I heard my name called. He was yelling throughout the house, HON look what someone just left us!

It was a jar filled with MONEY that had a note attached that read CHRISTMAS JAR! Oh wow, what a blubbering baby I am right now. I have such a grateful heart, that someone, or some family thought to save their money up until right before Christmas and then to deliver it to us! I am speechless and overcome with emotion. It's so powerful to see that so many people do live and celebrate the true meaning of CHRISTMAS, being a true example of our Saviour, giving and sacrificing all for the sake of someone else benefit! Wow, my heart is FULL!

The ironic part to this story is that we moved a month ago, TODAY I thought I would unpack and organize my husband office. I came across a book given to me a year ago called, "CHRISTMAS JARS". I immediately put it aside and thought to myself this will be great to read to the kids right before Christmas. After we found our own jar, my husband came in and said, the book you pulled out today to read, that's what it's all about. THE CHRISTMAS JARS. I must admit I can't wait for our family to be able to fill a jar next year and to adorn someone with it! Thanks to a wonderful book with a life changing and meaningful concept.

Fort Myers mom calls Christmas Jar a Christmas miracle

2009-12-22T07:03:00.000-05:00

Christmas Jar Story: 'We still struggle with the tears'

2009-12-21T10:01:00.002-05:00

Perhaps more than any Christmas Jars story I've ever received, this one reminded me of my dad and how we felt 22 years ago this week when he passed on. Much like for this wonderful woman, the Christmas Jar has been a blessing for my family to remember the struggles of others when usually it's much easier to focus on our own heartache.

Broken Arrow, Oklahoma

Last November I lost the most wonderful and loving husband to cancer. I have been given the awesome task of raising righteously our seven beautiful children, ages 14-2. We miss him horribly, you could not find a more devoted husband and daddy.

We still struggle with the tears, they will surely flow for years to come. But this, the second Christmas season without Duane we needed to try and focus on others and not just our own sorrow.

That is when the Christmas Jar popped into my mind! As much as we still mourn for our father/husband I know others out there too are struggling with their own sorrow, poverty, or loneliness. Thank you for the inspiration, for sharing your talent with the world, for listening to the spirit and writing the Christmas Jars.

Christmas Jar Story: 'My husband is dying of leukemia'

2009-12-20T18:37:00.003-05:00

Simply amazing! This is what the tradition of the Christmas Jar is all about.

Hagerstown, MD

My husband is dying of leukemia and one night I was sitting in the bedroom beside him looking at my deceased mother's photo album when I heard the doorbell. When I answered it, nobody was there but on the doormat was a book with a jar tied to it with a red gingham ribbon. I took it inside and ran to the window to see if I could see anyone outside. I did not. About that time the phone rang and a girl said for me to open my door there was a gift for me and she hung up.

I went back to the bedroom and began reading the Christas Jars book to find out the meaning of this gift. I was shaking and in disbelief that anyone would do such a king and generous act for us.

The next day about noontime, I finally decided to open the jar and count the contents. To my amazement, there was over $500 in the jar! I believe my mother was my angel that night that caused this wonderful act of kindness to come to us. Not knowing how to properly thank an anonyomous giver, I decided that the best thing I could do would be to start my own Christmas jar so that next year I can lift someone's spirits the way mine was this Christmas when things were so difficult. It's something I will never forget.

God's love did come down at Christmas.

Christmas Jar Story: 'I sat in my car and sobbed'

2009-12-17T09:39:00.002-05:00

Alvin, Texas

My husband and I have had a very rough year. First, hurricane Ike destroyed our hom. Then, in May, my husband had an emergency quadruple bypass operation. We have two young boys, ages 9 and 4. My husband lost a lot of hours at his second job and we have been struggling. Today, I was at the end of my rope. I am a Christian. I love the Lord and know that He is in control, but today, I was feeling very sorry for myself. I didn't have enough money to pay the water bill, let alone presents for our children for Christmas. I was leaving work (my church is also my employer) and when I got to my car, there was a gift on my front seat. It was a jar with around $130 inside. Attached to the jar was a note that said "may you be blessed this Christmas". I sat in my car and sobbed. I have never felt the presence of Christ more than I did at that moment. I cannot wait until we are back on our feet so that I may touch someone's life the way I was touched today. What a remarkable, miraculous gift.

Christmas Jar Story: 'terribly injured in a motorcycle accident'

2009-12-16T10:45:00.000-05:00

Elko, NV

Story: My husband was terribly injured in a motorcycle accident on November 5th, 2009. Although his back and neck were broken, he miraculously was not paralyzed. He also suffered severe facial lacerations. He was flown by air ambulance to our local hospital, and then to a bigger hospital in another city.

While we have good insurance with his job, the medical costs of meeting deductibles and paying for what wasn't covered, along with cost of time being off work added up quickly.

Family and friends organized a huge benefit, with a dinner, auction, and fundraising rodeo.

We received our Christmas Jar, along with the book, from someone who just stopped by the dinner and gave it to one of the organizers.

It is such a beautiful and inspring gesture to know that someone we didn't even know, who presumably read about our situation in the local paper, took the time to care.

Christmas Jar Story: 'Its hard spiritually as well as financially'

2009-12-16T10:17:00.002-05:00

It's impossible to pick favorite Christmas Jar stories, but if I did, this would be a contender!

Las Vegas, Nevada:

I am a pregnant, single mother, with a son who has autism. As many families of the spectrum, we have a broken home. Its hard spiritually as well as financially. We were to have a meager Christmas, as I am pregnant, and saving for the birth of my second child. I opened the front door, to take my son to one of his many appointments, and to my suprise found a giftbag waiting for us. There was a simple note that said "Have a very merry Christmas". in the bag we found a jar filled with change, dollar bills, and a book "Christmas Jars". I took the money as a sign to get my beautiful son the best Christmas he would remember. I thank the angel that made our holiday so the much better!!

Christmas Jar Story: 'we plan to give away a jar ourselves now'

2009-12-15T13:25:00.002-05:00

Stephens City, VA

We are a struggling family of 6, myself, Andy and our four children, Cat 8, Teagan 6, Bella 3, and Joshua 1. I was laid of last May, Andy just lost his job last Friday. Last night, Monday Dec. 14th, while I was at work, we received a Christmas Jar. Andy was in the kitchen and there was a knock at the front door. Our oldest daughter Cat didn't wait for Andy to open it, which would normally make us mad, but not this time. Someone driving a white car handed her the book, and a jar full of change. When I came home from work Andy showed it to me and it made me cry. I am halfway done with the book, should finish it today, and we plan to give away a jar ourselves now. Thank you Jason Wright for sharing this miracle with our family, bless you and your family always!!!!

Christmas Jar Story: 'She was the one'

2009-12-14T17:37:00.000-05:00

Rochester, New York

What was it about her that made us know? She was the one. Our first recipient of our Christmas Jar. We saw her on the way to search for someone "worthy". She walked int he middle - blond curly locks moving slowly but surely - two little girls on each side - her guardians. Simply dressed - no purs- was her face sad? pensive? tired? One thing I know - it was beautiful and for one moment - uncomplicated. We handed her the book Christmas Jars,the wegman's bag with our jar of money, said "Merry Christmas" and got in our car. One of the little ones responded to our greeting with vocal awe of a child. All 3 gazed into the bag, the woman flipped through the pages of the book, her face flushed, a look of surprise turned to happy as she genuinely smiled, perhaps gratefully. I'd like to think she needed that money. I'd like to know she will use it well. She was the right person. The deep satisfaction and joy we felt tell us so. Her smile was a great gift to us!

Christmas Jar Story: 'You have saved our Christmas'

2009-12-14T12:09:00.000-05:00

Coraopolis, Pennsylvania

Story: This year has been a tough one for my husband and I. Being a military family we were forced to move to an unfamiliar place. Finances were running very low and after being relocated to a place without family or friends we had lost a lot of our faith in people and in life. Today we recieved a Christmas Jar on our doorstep and our hearts were filled with such immense joy we could hardly contain them. We had prayed all week for a miracle and God had sent us and angel. To think that a person could be so selfless and kind as to present such a random act of kindness and not even take credit for their generousity. Whoever you are you have saved our Christmas and warmed our hearts. We are eternally grateful and look forward to sharing such an amazing tradition next year ourselves. God bless!

Life, Love and the Pursuit of Indie Bookstores

2009-12-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

Friday was the last official book signing for the season along with it came a great little place called Winchester Book Gallery. I don't often get to accompany Jason on these little indie bookstore book signings but this one was close to home so I went along. What a great little place with wonderful people, a warm atmosphere and not to mention the fact that it's located in old downtown Winchester.

Now I don't know about you but these kind of bookstores make my heart go pitter-patter... I love, love, love them... the books... oh the books. I just want to pick up each and every one and read a little excerpt from them... the colors what great happy colors... the chairs the oh so soft and comfortable chairs... I could get lost in here for hours...

I know you want to grab a book off the shelf... go ahead don't be shy... oh wait it's only a picture

Oh and these... calling all babies I just want some babies to read to... anyone?... anyone?... I promise to return them to you when the story is over.

But alas we are not here for me and my solo trips to indie bookstores... although I will say they don't happen very often... instead today we are here for these books

and this author who is signing said books in said indie bookstore that I just happen to be in... oh wait I came with said author

Now these two young girls... I must tell you about these two beautiful girls.

Earlier in the day, said author and myself were in a local Wal-mart in the Winchester area. On our way out of the store the beautiful brunette in the picture walked up to said author and asked "Are you Jason Wright?" I think she was a bit surprised to see us in the local Wal-mart in her town. She asked for a picture which we snapped on her cell phone and then I let her in on a little secret... I said "Hey he's doing a book signing in town tonight." And later that night she showed up to get her book signed and to take a picture with a better camera and she brought along her beautiful sister. Thanks ladies for coming by it was great to meet you both.

Well as the year wraps up I must say I am so grateful to have my husband back home we have missed him this season as he has traipsed around the countryside. Thanks to all of you who have come to the signings, shared your experiences and reminded us that each day of our lives is made just a little bit better by sharing stories that bring us closer together. May you all be blessed this Christmas season and into the New Year.

Christmas Jar Story: 'I am in awe over the kindness of people'

2009-12-13T14:56:00.001-05:00

(Name withheld)

I am in awe over the kindness of people around me. I have 2 young kids and am currently seperated seeking divorce from a man who is not who I thought he was. He is losing his job over what he has done, so I was left wondering what I was going to do for my kids at Christmas. 2 Days ago my son called me at work to tell me someone left a gift outside. I told him to take it in and leave it on the table. When I got home and opened it, I nearly fell to the floor. I just couldn't believe it. A jar filled with more than enough to make sure my kids have a very Merry Christmas. I don't know who did this for us, but I hope you are reading this because my words are all I have to thank you right now. I want you to know that my life now will be spent 'paying it forward', so that others may feel the hope, security and love I have felt from SO MANY during this extremely sad and difficult time in my kids and my life. God Bless you.

Christmas Jar Story: 'We are forever grateful'

2009-12-13T08:31:00.002-05:00

(Name withheld)

Our second child was born in June. Two months later, I began having minor complications "leftover" from delivery. As of date, I've had two surgeries and one more scheduled. On top of all of the medical bills, I am paying for school for my Masters degree. Our heater went out and we had a $1000 bill for that. Needless to say, we were taking a serious look at our budget. We wanted to be able to do Christmas for our two boys and a birthday for our oldest born in December. Our coworkers (we both teach at the same school) put together a fast Christmas Jar to help us out this month. The Christmas Jar and Reunion books were both included. I read both books in one week and absolutely loved them. We are so humbled and blessed by our coworkers' thoughtfulnes. Right away, we got a jar of our own and started it so that it will be full by next year. I can't wait to do this tradition with my boys as they get older. We are forever grateful to our wonderful "family" at work and will never forget their generosity.

Christmas Jar Story: Even in pain and ruin, this man starts a Christmas Jar with $1.95

2009-12-12T08:45:00.004-05:00

(Name withheld)

I just finished watching you on the Glenn Beck show and was greatly blessed by what you do, or more properly, have created. If I may, I would like to share with you my circumstances right now as I sit at this computer.

I lost 3/4 of my 401k and withdrew the remainder before I was totally wiped out.
Major structural collapse of the foundation of my home took the remainder; insurance did not cover it.

I am 68 years old, worked all my life, am a bible believing Christian and a giver.

I live on social security, a small pension and a VA disability.

I blew out my right hip last year and it took months of aftercare to get back on my feet.

This summer while mowing the lawn, the mower smacked into an exposed tree root which was like 6" thick.

I was stiff armed on the steering wheel, this mishap ripped 3 of the 4 muscles from my left shoulder rotator cuff.

I had the surgery, wear a sling and am in pain all the time.

I can handle it, I know that eventually "this too shall pass."

I am unable to meet my bills, filed insolvency, have $1.95 in my change jar and maybe $15.00 in cash to get me from today to the end of the month.

Today is Wednesday, Nov 25th.

I care for my 91 year old mother who is in a nursing home and I am committed to taking her out for Thanksgiving.

Somehow, one way or another, I will do it and I will do it without fanfare or begging.
I have one credit card and it shows about $20.00 remaining credit.

My car has less than a quarter of a tank of gas.

Guess what Jason, I took my $1.95 in change and started a Christmas Jar with it.

God bless you brother.

Thanks, CBN, for the opportunity to spread the Christmas Jars message

2009-12-10T22:12:00.001-05:00

Christmas Jar Story: Short, sweet, moving

2009-12-09T22:30:00.002-05:00

(Name withheld)

It isn't a stretch to say I have had a tough year, but let me tell you about something that happened last night. I went to work like every other night. After lunch I had to get something out of my locker. Someone had put an anonymous Christmas present in my locker. It was VERY heavy. I figured it was a joke. Anyway I took it home and my son "convinced" me to open it. I did a little while ago. I am still a little choked up. I just want everyone to know this...I am blessed to have kind, decent, Christian guys to work around, with, and for. They are hilarious, disgusting (lol), smart, good men. I will never forget this, and I will always appreciate it. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Jar Story: Best line ever

2009-12-08T08:47:00.001-05:00

(Name withheld)

I read the book earlier this year and decided to give out a jar.

My wife just had a baby two months ago and I was let go from my job of 9 years the Monday before Thanksgiving.

Although we could probably use all the change for formula or diapers, I have decided to put at least $100 in the jar and give it to my daughter's Sunday School Teacher.

Sister M. has struggled all year while working only part time jobs (sometimes three at a time) to make ends meet. I know the amount she will get will not go very far, but I know it will come in handy.

I wish I could see her face when she gets the jar. Her tears would be like diamonds to me.

Christmas Jar Story: A Christmas Jar in a box to a most worthy recipient

2009-12-08T08:34:00.002-05:00

(Name withheld)

This year has been very difficult on my children and I. The one I thought was my eternity turned out to be something quite different and for safety and other reasons, he was removed from our home. Things had been bad awhile, but courage finally came. We have struggled on several planes. Things had been particulary difficult recently. Sunday found me sobbing often. When I arrived at church there was a hefty box where I usually sit with my family's name on it. I took it out to my van and went into the service. For the first time in my life I got up and went to the restroom and shut myself in a stall and bawled. My mother's loving arms somehow found me and I made it back into the meeting. When I arrived home my children were bustling to get changed and I took a moment and opened the box.

The writing on the box looked familiar. I found a copy of the book, Christmas Jars tucked inside of tissue paper and with a little struggle exhumed a 20lb jar of coins from the box. So many needs were met all at once. I am so blessed. The years will tell a story that we will never know. Thank you.

Christmas Jar Story: A sweet reminder that there is always someone else in greater need

2009-12-07T16:27:00.002-05:00

(Name withheld)

My brother showed up at Thanksgiving with two full Christmas Jars. He handed them to me and asked me to find someone to donate them to.

Two years ago his wife lost her job. She is the bread winner and he stays home with their three boys, twin 13 year olds and a 6 year old. She found a part time job that obviously didn't pay nearly what she was making before. For the past two years they have literally scraped by unbeknownst to the rest of the family.

My sister-in-law started a new job three weeks ago. This was something we had all been hoping and praying for. Although the job will financially get them back to being "ok" their debts are astronomical. It will take years to pay them off. There have been surgeries, a house payment, two car payments and of course five mouths to feed. Several days after giving me his two full jars he called me to let me know they were probably going to lose one of their cars because they were so behind on the payment!

But yet.....he had the heart to fill two jars with his boys and donate them to someone else in need! I think his situation deserves a Christmas Jar but his spirit shows there is always someone worse off or more needy.

Christmas Jar Story: Amazing story proves you don't need to wait until Christmas to give out your Christmas Jar

2009-12-06T12:17:00.004-05:00

(Name withheld)

This year, I gave my jar early, I gave it today. I met a wonderful lady at a new job I started in March 2008, we quickly became fast friends. In September of that same year she was fired because "she was too slow in fullfilling her duties." This woman was at the end of the seventh month of her pregnancy, of course she slowed down, they didn't care.

This September I was fired from the same company because "I expected too much from the others when I was the Charge Nurse for the day." Actually I was due for a large bonus to be paid if I was still there on a certain date. They made sure I wasn't.

So needless to say, I wasn't sure I would be able to pass out that jar this year. Well I did today, my friend called me in tears, she was being evicted if she didn't have full rent by Monday. So I crawled a little further down into the center of my saftey net and found a little more, you see, the only thing my friend wanted for Christmas, was a roof over her children's head on Christmas morning. As of today, she can relax a little knowing for at least this month, they will be safe and warm.

Nets are ment to catch those who have fallen, but you know what happens everytime someone hits that net? They bounce back up. I hope that during that trip back up, my friend will get a glimpse of the brighter days to come.

God Bless and Merry Christmas to all!

How do I determine who should get my Christmas Jar?

2009-12-05T22:10:00.009-05:00

"How do I determine who should get my Christmas Jar?"

This is the most common question I hear this time of year. Every single day someone comments that they have a jar ready to give, but don't know how to find the right recipient.

My family has given away several jars since first experimenting with the tradition in 2004. Every year has been a little different.

2004: We gave our jar to a young man leaving the country to do volunteer church work.
2005: We mailed our jar to a family suffering the loss of a loved one.
2006: We gave our jar to a father and his young children who'd recently lost their mother.
2007: We gave our jar to a trucker at a truck stop on Christmas Eve.
2008: We gave our jar to a family who days earlier had lost their father.

Each situation was a little different. In 2006, 2007 and 2008, we didn't even know the families who received our jars. We simply asked friends if they knew of others in need.

As I like to say, there is no right way or wrong way to give a jar away. Sometimes the need is financial, sometimes it's emotional, sometimes it's spiritual. This year if you're struggling to find someone worthy, you might try some of these ideas:

-Watch your local paper for stories about house fires or car accidents.

-Read your local obituaries.

-Walk into the pediatric wing of your local hospital.

-Ask your pastor or other church leaders if they know of someone with a special need.

-Ask your boss or supervisor in confidence if they know someone with a special need.

-Ask teachers or principals if there are special needs with a particular teacher or family.

-Hand your jar to someone in a parking lot who looks as if the jar could bless their life.

-Give your jar to the director of a homeless shelter, women's shelter or other non-profit organization.

Also, remember that while many people give their jars on Christmas Eve, there is no wrong time to deliver yours. Let the magic of the jar guide you!

Finally, when in doubt, pray for the right recipient. There's no doubt you'll find the perfect person to bless.

(Do you have an idea? Feel free to leave it in the comments below.)

Win an autographed copy of all 7 books

2009-12-05T17:25:00.004-05:00

When one contest ends, another begins!

This one is the easiest contest I've ever run:

1. Take a picture of your Christmas Jar.
2. E-mail picture to contests@jasonfwright.com
3. Wait to be randomly selected no later than December 21st.

What's the new Grand Prize?

7 free books! The winner will receive autographed/personalized hardcover copies of:

The James Miracle (currently out-of-print)
Christmas Jars
Christmas Jars Reunion
Penny's Christmas Jar Miracle
The Wednesday Letters
Recovering Charles
The Cross Gardener (rare advance reading copy, paperback)

Easy enough?

Just take a picture of your Christmas Jar (people and pets welcome in the shots!) and e-mail it today. Cell phone pics, low quality pics, all are welcome!

Then sit back and wait to see if yours is randomly selected.

Good luck!