I’ve often said that I have to pedal as fast as I can to keep up with the Lord and what He’s doing in my life.

He keeps me in a perpetual state of wonder.

As I’ve watched Him begin to unfold His plan for my recent book release–They Almost Always Come Home–He’s startled me with His attention to detail.

It was my joy to be interviewed for ACFW’s Featured Author page this month. The link to that archived interview is here: http://www.acfw.com/cgi-bin/authorinterviews.pl?record=118

Every interview reminds me how dependent I am on His grace to place this book in the hands of those who need to read it, those whom He wants to connect with its story.

If you’ve had opportunity to read the book, I’d appreciate hearing your comments, but also your stories of who you gave it to when you were done…and why. Or how some passage of the story reached out to you.

Thanks for stopping by. I intend to meet you here more often, even though I’m pedaling as fast as I can!

I feel a little like a new mom. I’m holding my debut novel in my hands but oddly miss the feel of its kicks within me. Since They Almost Always Come Home’s release on May 1st, I’m cradling the “child” in my arms, though, and watching the reaction of readers who bend over it to see if it has its mother’s eyes and the Father’s heart.

Connecting with readers who’ve read or want to read the book stirs something warmly maternal in me. It’s like watching the child interact and feeling blessed when it makes them smile.

As my mind flips through the pages, I wonder what readers will think about that scene or this pivotal moment. I try to imagine readers’ responses to main character Libby’s attitude and her longing.

If you’d like to follow the journey of They Almost Always Come Home, please join me on the Cynthia Ruchti Reader Fan Page on Facebook, where I post exciting news about where the book has been spotted or blog-sightings and interviews.

It took me a long time to get the nursery ready, but the baby’s here. Come peek over the side of the crib. Better yet, pick her up and hold her to your heart.

(She’s available wherever

It will be like this for a while, I’m told. I’ll pick up the phone to call my mom and get halfway through dialing before I remember she’s not taking calls. I’ll finish reading a book and put it on the pile to go to her next, but she’s not accepting book recommendations. I’ll turn onto the road that leads to the Hospice House or maybe even into the parking lot before realizing she doesn’t live there anymore. After a long, trying, traumatic battle with congestive heart failure, her pulse faded to nothing a little more than a week ago.

Every day since, I’ve found something I want to share with her, tell her, ask her about, do for her. She’s no longer taking calls.

The day we spoke with her pastor about the structure of her funeral service, we exited the church just as the sun was setting. Spectacular colors. A sweet sunset.

I took out my camera phone and aimed it toward the radiance so I could snap a picture to show Mom how awesome the sky looked on the day we planned her funeral. As if she didn’t have a better vantage point than I did. And as if that magnificent color palette wouldn’t seem pale compared to what she was enjoying.

I slipped the camera phone back into my pocket without taking the photo. It seemed unnecessary. Now I wished I’d captured the shot.

For me, not for her.