Deana Dickerson, the author of I’m Going to Run Until I’m Done and Selling Montana, writes from her life experiences. Her first book is about confronting her husband’s late-stage prostate cancer diagnosis. In contrast, her second book, Selling Montana, unfolds the surprising events that fall into place when she decides to sell the Montana property she and her late husband owned for many years. Deana lives on a marsh in a Minneapolis suburb, where her windows open to all kinds of birds and wildlife. Retired now, she fills her days with writing, walking the nearby Luce Line, participation in the Minnesota Christian Writers Guild, a critique group, Bible studies, and a gardening club. In addition, she delights in mentoring, volunteering, and sometimes even knitting and felting a purse.
Introducing My First Book
I’m going to run until i’m done
A true story recounting the wonder of God-orchestrated events.
Widowed and alone, she had a daunting task. Where will her help come from?
The author was left to manage a Montana property she and her husband of 43 years had purchased nearly twenty years earlier. She loved that picturesque getaway and hoped to enjoy it for a long time. Yet, visiting it one summer, she suddenly sensed the Lord was telling her it was time to sell. The task of selling a house full of furniture, art pieces, and Western paintings in a remote Montana valley overwhelmed her. Furthermore, she knew very little about the garage full of machinery her late husband used to manage their forested property. She could only leave this impossible situation in the hands of God. In this story, you’ll follow the journey of a woman who daily abandons herself to God, knowing she is helpless to pull this off herself. What follows is a story only God could write.
“Who is this guy? Is this guy an angel? Do angels have phone numbers?”
Publisher: Salmon Prairie Press
More About Me
Wrestling with my husband’s cancer invasion, I asked God many questions. Journaling was my conversation with God. I wanted to keep those words private. But as the months ticked by after my husband’s passing, I knew I had to let them out. Drawing on my experiences in Stephen Ministry, women’s mentoring, GriefShare, and Bible study groups, I pose a perspective that rests in God’s Word.
After my husband passed, I wanted to preserve the peaceful Montana place we had enjoyed for many years. This escape provided much-needed rest and renewal every time I visited it. Four years after my husband passed, I was struck with the idea that it was time to sell. Little did I know what God had in store for me.
Expressing my emotions in writing about my husband’s illness and selling our much-loved Montana place is far from my background in cardiovascular research. Trained in biological sciences and preventive medicine, I was more about facts and results than expressing feelings and emotions.
From humble beginnings in a small, primarily Mennonite town, I have an attachment to the land. You see, I am a farmer at heart. I love to touch the soil. No, I did not grow up on a farm, but farms populated the countryside around my community. We were not Mennonite; that is a story for another time. Presently, I am part of a gardening group. When I was young, everyone had a garden in my hometown. They canned vegetables and fruit, preserving them for winter use. I learned to cook early, and maybe that is why I love cooking for guests. Spending a fair amount of time researching ideas for the menu, I have no qualms about trying new recipes on unsuspecting guests. I had an early education for that. In the summer after my first year of college, I took a three-month job working as a Girl Friday in a well-to-do home on Chicago’s North Shore. When the lady of the house explained my duties, like answering the door, dusting, and making beds in her proper way, she asked at the end, “Do you cook?”
“Of course,” I answered. My upbringing included taking turns cooking everything homegrown. At my answer, my new employer informed me their cook was off for the summer.
“Could you follow my recipes?”
“Sure.” Being naïve about what that might entail, I agreed. That summer, preparing recipes never eaten at my mother’s humble table, I served quail stuffed with apple wrapped in bacon, wild rice rings surrounding a bed of peas with baby onions, and many other dishes foreign to my repertoire.
Following a recipe requires attention to ingredients, order of preparation, and technique.
Writing involves all of those elements but much more. It uncovers profound emotions I never knew I had. I share my thoughts and experiences, hoping to encourage others facing life-altering circumstances.