Eva Marie Everson is the bestselling, multiple award-winning author of both fiction and nonfiction. She is the president of Word Weavers International and the director of Florida Christian Writers Conference and the North Georgia Christian Writers Conference.
 
Eva Marie is a popular speaker at writers conferences and women’s groups across the United States.
 
 
 

 

 

Award-winning author Eva Marie Everson wraps up a Christmas story of hope, love, and forgiveness just in time for the holidays. 
 
The Ornament Keeper, a contemporary Christmas novella, features Felicia and Jackson Morgan who are spending their first Christmas apart after twenty years of marriage. But a lifetime of gifted ornaments helps Felicia piece together the story of their marriage and the one mistake of unforgiveness she made before they said, “I do.” 
 
Can these memory-filled ornaments reunite this family before Christmas? Only time will tell.
 
 
 

 

 

 

Snippet:
Christmas Season, 1999 Jackson ambled up beside me, his thickly muscled arms laden with plastic bags of this and that we’d already purchased. “Leesha,” he said. “Do we need this?”
“Oh, Jackson,” I breathed out, my fingertips lightly touching her delicate  features. “And look at how sweet the baby Jesus is laying there.”
Jackson nudged me. “And there’s poor Joseph leaning on his staff,” he teased. “Poor man doesn’t have a clue what’s hit him.”
I frowned up at my six-foot-six husband of nearly one year. “Very funny, Jackson Morgan. And completely sacrilegious. I’m sure he knew.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” Jackson raised his arms, the plastic bags coming with them. “Now, listen. You’ve spent all we can afford to spend right now on these old
bowls,” he said. “And why, I’ll never know.”
 I pouted, hoping to get my way with him. If I’d learned one thing in our brief marriage, it was how to get my way. “They’re not old. They’re antiques. And think how pretty they’ll look on our cute little table on Christmas day when we have your mom and my dad over.” I linked my arm with his and squeezed. “Besides, you can’t get new stuff like this.”
“None of it matches,” he said, his brow furrowed.
I kissed his shoulder, then nibbled at it. “It’s called eclectic.”
Jackson bent down to give me a kiss. “That’s called dirty pool.”
“Does that mean I can have the nativity set?”
He kissed me again. “No. It means we can’t afford it, no matter how cute you try to be.”
I let out a deep sigh, and stroked the top of the stable. Jackson was right. Our budget was limited, more than I’d ever dream of before Sara was born. I walked away. But the crèche found its way under the tree that year, along with the
annual ornament nestled in the toe of my stocking.
Christmas Season 2018
“Oh, Jackson,” I whispered past the knot in my chest and in the silence of the guest room as I unwrapped the mother of our Lord. “How you surprised me.”

 


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