About Me

  Patricia Hammell Kashtock

Aka: Pat Kashtock. Mother of three, wife of one. BA in Social Work and Biblical Studies. Graduate work at Virginia Tech interrupted, then derailed by oldest child’s brain tumor...

My life has not followed the course I planned. But I am not complaining. Pain is to be expected in a world broken apart from its Creator.

The miracle resides in the ability to find joy when least expected...


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Blogs of Note

Windows to the Woman’s Soul (W2WSoul)
Hope's Home
A Redeemed Life
The Writing Life
Kendall Harmon Titus 1:9
A Mom's Life
Robin's Nesting Place

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For What It's Worth

Each life is a journey. The voices of many guides try to direct us, saying, “This is the path – walk in it!” Yet each one leads in a different direction.

I believe only one Voice can be true. That Voice will lead us in ways most unexpected, into worlds yet undiscovered. It will lead us up the hill, around the river and through the forest. And sometimes, it will lead without mercy.

Or so it seems.

I have made listening for that Voice and following it, my life’s quest. I will share some of what I have heard that Voice say with you. But I am not in the business of telling people how to think or what to believe. Each has to decide for himself. Only you can decide if you find the truth of the Voice in these words. And only you can decide how much it is worth to know the Voice, and follow.

But for me, it is worth the whole world.

And then some…

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Gone Fishing

Father's Day. Right before the Father's Day sermon this year, Mike and our middle child, Justin sang a song called "My Old Man" by David Mallet. I created a power point presentation with pictures of the fathers in the congregation and when possible, their fathers. When it came to the line about going fishing once a year, I couldn't resist. I used this picture of my Grandfather, our son Justin now grown, and Heidi. He taught both of them as much about fishing as he could during our stay that year. Grandpa was not well, and we had traveled to Florida to see him. Heidi was worried about him and it shows in this picture.


I did not realize how it would get to me. My Grandpa -- long dead. My father died. And of course, Heidi.


But there really is no of course about that. At least not here in the US. And maybe never.


Today I read in the Post about a nine-year-old Afghani girl who was hit by a Taliban bomb. Only perhaps the story is more about her father. In a part of the world that seems to value boys above girls, he cradled the shattered body of his daughter and ran to the American base for help. While the medics searched for signs of life, the father stooped down out side. Burying his face in his hands, he prayed for his little girl as the rain poured down to wash her blood from his tunic. It did not matter that some see girls as having less value. When the medic told him Akhtarbabi had died, his father's heart also shattered.


Even in a place torn by war and bombs, parents do not expect their children to die before them.

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