What do you do when you're harboring a bag full of postal contraband. Nine-year-old Dylan has a problem. What’s worse, he can’t tell anyone about it. When Brandie and her son, Dylan, move into their new house, Dylan finds a bag of mail in the attic. He knows it isn’t legal to keep mail not addressed to him, so he embarks on a mission to deliver every piece of mail to its proper address. The problem? The mail is seventy-five years old! When Dylan comes to class exhausted and falling asleep on his desk each day, Jack Vincenzo has a talk with the boy’s mother, and together, they discover… absolutely nothing. Well, except that Dylan does not have Leukemia. Not that she was worried about that or anything. Ahem. But as the weeks pass and the end of the school year hits, Dylan becomes desperate. He can’t find one of the streets, his mom is freaking out over everything, and his teacher’s grandpa, who lives across the street, is suspicious. He must finish “Operation Posthaste,” well, posthaste! { Operation Posthaste } is Chautona Havig’s contribution to the Yesterday’s Mail collection.
Author
**fingers skittle across the keyboard. Stop. Eyelids blink over the top** Oh, was this bio day? Oops! I forgot. I was lost in my latest manuscript. Umm... bio. Yeah. Hi! I’m Chautona Havig. (for those who care, that’s Shuh-TONE-uh HAVE-ig). Yeah. Just work with me here. I should have used a pseudonym, but when you grow up with a name like Chautona, it kind of sticks. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful; and let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another; and all the more as you see the day drawing near. ~ Hebrews 10: 23–25 Those aren’t just words on a page for me–they’re why I write. I write to encourage my brothers and sisters in Christ. The stories I create are to make people laugh, cry, question, consider. They’re for you. When the world screams for hope, I try to point you to the true Source of hope–Jesus. Sometimes life in the church no longer seems a refuge from the pain of a self-serving world around us, but through my stories, I try to point you to the only Refuge that can truly help–the Father’s Everlasting Arms. And sometimes we just need an escape from the monotony, the emptiness we see around us. We need joy, laughter–what I like to call “just the write escape.” Christian fiction without apology or pretense–lived, not preached. What does that even mean? It means I care–about you. About your walk with Jesus. I care about the words you put before your eyes, the mental pictures those words conjure. It’s difficult to express just how much I love my brothers and sisters in Christ. It’s difficult to share just how much I love you. But I do. And I write for you. I sit in my little house in California’s Mojave Desert and I write to show you why one sister believes one thing, why a brother believes another. I write to show you how some Christians handle trials or triumphs–for you. So when you’re faced with something–good or bad, it doesn’t matter–maybe it’ll spark a memory. Maybe that memory will smolder until you pull out your Bible and see what the Lord said about it–about His great love for you. For YOU! And maybe, just maybe, you’ll share that love with another hurting, confused, or blessed-with-more-than-she-knows-what-to-do-with soul. I just happen to think that’s the most blessed giving anyone could hope to receive.
