Tingling all over with the announcement of the second book in my Status Updates series, It's Over, releasing April 19!
HOW CAN YOU MOVE ON WHEN IT'S OVER?
When four college roommates lose pieces of their lives, the pain isolates and the tension rises. Emotions are hard to hide and even harder to tackle. How can the girls move forward, when there is so much pain in letting go? Together, Claire, Kat, Palmer and Hannah learn to lean on God and each other, and through it all they learn loss is a part of life.
"In It's Over, Laura L. Smith confirms the truth we've been told that we are never alone in the midst of heartache and struggle. In fact, she takes us to a place where we not only get to see, but feel deeply the truth of the fact that every single one of us has a story. Every single one of has experienced pain. But more importantly, that every single one of us has great hope. Laura L. Smith's writing strikes a deep chord in my heart. It makes sense. It's real--and in my opinion, that transparency makes all the difference." ~Holly Starr, Christian recording artist
"Laura Smith speaks for the broken. With a voice that’s warm and true, Laura gives words to those rendered speechless by issues that high school and college girls should never have to deal with—but so many of them do. In writing that’s raw, relevant, and real, Smith goes where few authors dare to go: straight into the heart of today’s young woman."
~Amy Parker, bestselling author of Courageous Teens
"YA author, Laura L. Smith crafts another story that will appeal to all girls, because no one is untouched by heartache in all its forms. The grace Smith extends the four girls in It's Over will touch readers in deep ways, as they follow these characters through some of the worst parts of life. Best of all, they'll cheer when the girls lean on one another and find ways to be thankful in everything. This is a fantastic read, one that will resonate with teens, college girls and their mothers."
~Laura Kurk, author of Glass Girl
I’m a planner, an organizer, and a calendar maker extraordinaire. I have four kids, which means a fun-filled crazy, busy life. If I don’t stay on top of all the practices, assignments, to-dos and errands they crawl on top of me, and smother me.
However, despite all of my color-coding and lists, I have to remember that I am not the one in control.
On a family trip to Italy we needed to check out of our apartment in Florence prior to the proprietor’s arrival to make our train to Venice on time. We dutifully took out our trash, stripped our sheets and dropped our keys in the drop box.
We rolled our suitcases thumpety-thump down the cobblestone streets to the metro, took the metro to the train station and boarded our train, surprised to see an entire class of Italian school children filling our car and our seats. I spoke with a lovely teacher whose English was even worse than my Italian. We exchanged tickets, but couldn’t figure out how we all had the same seat assignments. Together we searched for a conductor, who just as the train began its departure told us to sit tight. We’d sort it all out en route.
We situated ourselves in corners and nooks, plugged in our ear buds and flipped through books until about an hour into the ride when the conductor came to punch the tickets I’d ordered months ago on the Eurorail website.
“Ecco.” Here you go. I presented ours to him, proud of my Italian expression.
He shook his head with a sneer. “These are for tomorrow.”
“Today is Wednesday. These are for Thursday.” He said briskly, not feeling my panic, my pain, and my well-executed plans in a tangle.
“How- how could that be?” The words tumbled from my mouth. My brain churned. He pointed to the date on the tickets, which were indeed for the next day. I grabbed my travel file and frantically flipped through the itineraries. I turned to my hubby and gasped in a stressed whisper, “How did this happen? I don’t understand? Where will we stay in Venice tonight? We’ll be a day early.”
“You cannot continue to Venice.” The conductor’s voice was freakishly flat for an Italian.
Silently he pulled out his calculator and typed in seemingly hundreds of numbers. Eventually he turned the display to me. “This is your fine for riding the train without a proper ticket. You must depart at the next stop - Bologna. You may use your ticket tomorrow to get you from Bologna to Venice.”
A lengthy list of questions from me to the train worker didn’t clear up any of my concerns. The fine was enormous. We knew no one in Bologna and had no hotel booked for our four children, my mom and ourselves. We’d forfeited a prepaid night in Florence. Not to mention the blow to my ego that I’d majorly botched our travel plans and let my family down!
My stomach was like a pulverized pizza. My face hotter than the Tuscan sun. My hands shook like our train car on rickety tracks.
We paid our fine, gathered our group and got off the train in Bologna, the beautiful city of Bologna, home of robust spaghetti alla Bolognese, one of the oldest Universities in Europe, an active political community and ancient basilicas.
In Bologna we stayed in the nicest hotel of our trip, complete with luxury air conditioning and an all you could eat breakfast buffet piled high with Italian pastries and made to order cappuccino. We witnessed a heated protest by impassioned university students, noshed on zesty pizza margarita (for a fraction of a price of what we paid for it in Florence) strolled through the historic university and visited the crowning jewel, San Luca.
San Luca, named for Saint Luke, as in the gospel writer, sits at the top of approximately 300 steps covered by romantic porticoes supported by 666 arches and overlooks the lush city of Bologna from its hilltop perch.
On a 70 degree, sunny day breathing in the architecture, gazing at the sapphire blue sky, marveling at history dating back to the gospels, intoxicated by a strong spiritual presence and surrounded by the people I love most in the world, I couldn’t imagine anything lovelier. Then, two young boys pulled out their violins and played an impromptu hauntingly beautiful concert in the grassy area outside the church, providing the soundtrack for my moment.
My planner said I should be in Florence that day. I thought I was supposed to be in Venice that day. But God knew, there was no place on earth better for me on that day than in Bologna.
I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. Jeremiah 29:11 MSG
Tell me below - where are you planning to go this week? Where will you let God take you if only you let Him?
I’ve been warned.
I’ve been leery.
I’ve read stories about them and have even been charmed by the Artful Dodger in Oliver Twist and even more so by Bo, Prosper and Scipio in The Thief Lord.
I’ve had a few close calls – people coming too quickly at me from a strange angle, someone else’s fingers headed towards my husband’s pocket, someone pressing uncomfortably against me in a crowd. But in those instances, I swerved, I ran up to my husband, hugging him and I abruptly turned away, avoiding potential crimes. Today, I witnessed a pick pocket in action.
My family was on maybe our sixty-fourth metro ride since we’ve been in Barcelona this summer. My husband gave me the look and shoved his hands deep in his pockets – our sign to each other to be extra wary of pick pockets, or as our seven-year old calls them, pocket-pickers.
On the subway the group cloistered around a set of the poles people hold onto for balance seemed overly pushy, like they were separating our family. A young lady, quite attractive, headed to another car, and then came back, preening, almost posing for the crowd. I grabbed our two youngest children and plopped into an available seat. Moments later yelling, scuffling, slapping, grabbing.
This group of four twenty-somethingers seemed to be traveling separate, but they weren’t, and they had a system. The girls were distractions and immobilizers. One guy was the living deposit box in the corner. The other guy was the actual pick pocket. He snatched a traveler’s wallet. A random woman on the subway witnessed it, slapped the thief’s hand, the wallet went flying and the skirmish began (an odd foreign coin I couldn’t identify hit me on the eyebrow. I returned it to the victim). In the end the man got back his wallet, but the band of pick pockets got away.
So, if you’re backpacking, touring, traveling and/or vacationing in Europe this summer. Be smart. Be careful.
· Wear a money belt, tucked into your pants or skirt, so that a pick pocket cannot access your stuff. It seems a little weird at first, but I promise it won’t show, unless you’re wearing jeggings. And, you get used to it.
· Do not carry your passport, just a copy of it (keep the original in your apartment or safe at your hotel).
· Do not carry more than 50 Euro at any time, better to lose a little than a lot.
· Wear your backpack as a front pack. Again, not a super fashion statement, but you’ll be glad you have all your stuff at the end of the day.
· Keep your own hands in your pockets, so no one else’s can find their way in.
· AND MOST IMPORTANTLY - be aware of your surroundings – any distraction, fight, performance, drama can be used to divert your attention away from your things.
Enjoy your travels by taking precautions, so you can enjoy the amazing sights, flavors and spectacles around the world.
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