Template for Blog Tour 1 Feb 2014 3:12 PM (11 years ago)
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WayFarer, Tales of Faeraven 2 by Janalyn Voigt 30 Jan 2014 8:46 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 31st, 2014
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Harbourlight Books (December 31, 2013)
***Special thanks to Janalyn Voigt for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Janalyn is represented by Sarah Joy Freese of Wordserve Literary. She serves as a literary judge for several international contests and is an active book reviewer. Her memberships include ACFW and NCWA.
When she's not writing, Janalyn loves to find worlds of adventure in the great outdoors.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Elcon, an untried youth, assumes his duties as High King. But as trouble stirs between nations and rebellion threatens Faeraven, his position is far from secure. Can Elcon trust that the Elder youth accompanying Kai is the DawnKing, sent by the High One to deliver his people? Or has something gone horribly wrong?Driven to prove himself, Elcon embarks on a peace-keeping campaign into the Elder lands, where he meets a beautiful Elder princess. But Aewen is betrothed to another, and Elcon has promised to court the princess, Arillia, upon his return. Declaring his love for Aewen would shame them both and tear apart the very fabric of Faeraven.
Elcon’s choices lead him into the Vale of Shadows, where he learns that to deliver his people, he must find redemption himself.
List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 298 pages
Publisher: Harbourlight Books (December 31, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611162920
ISBN-13: 978-1611162929
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Part One: The Bridegroom
1
Return to Torindan
An indrawn breath alerted Kai. Unsheathing his
sword, he peered into the shadows beneath a weilo tree’s curling tresses.
Nothing stirred.
“Show yourself!” His challenge rang through the
vale.
No response.
He stepped closer.
Kai. His
name sighed in a sudden wind that ruffled the waters of the weild. Morning
mists eddied above the river, but the leafy canopy over his head remained still
and silent.
Impossible! And yet he knew that voice. “Shae?”
With his heart beating in his throat, he pressed forward.
Beneath the weilo a many-hued light shimmered,
swirled, and took shape. Shae stood before him, her eyes closed as if in
prayer. Her unbound hair cascaded in burnished curls to her waist. Beneath her
scarlet cloak, she clutched something at the end of the fine chain encircling
her neck. The glint of silverstone between her fingers told him she wore his
locket. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Kai.”
But he backed away. “Are you some dryad come to
enchant me?”
“Please.” She held out her hands imploringly. “Stay.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You have nothing to fear. It’s me—Shae.”
He shook his head. “I saw you vanish from this
world. Do you return by another gateway than Gilead Riann?”
“Gilead Riann is the only Gate of Life, but there
are soft places like this one where I can look into Elderland, if only for a
time. When I saw you near, I called to you over and over.”
Even as a spark of hope flared, he hesitated. “I
heard your voice once only, borne on the wind.”
She clasped her arms about herself and smiled,
although tears glistened in her eyes. “And yet you answered my call.”
“I love you, Shae.”
“No. Release yourself.” Her voice broke on the
whispered words.
The longing to take her into his arms left him
weak. “You ask more than I can give.”
“I can’t bear to see you suffer.”
“Then you must not look.”
Shae’s image shimmered like a reflection in wind-stirred
waters. “I release you.”
“Wait!” As he rushed toward her, she dissolved
into glimmering light that melted into shadow…
Jerking heavy lids open, Kai blinked against the
weak light tilting through swishing weilo leaves. His dream had seemed so real.
A moan sprang to his lips but died behind gritted teeth. Short, swift breaths
relieved the tightness in his chest. His mind, however, knew no ease.
He turned his head and met a pair of dark, rounded
Elder eyes. He let his lids close to shield himself from their penetrating
gaze.
“Kai.”
Emmerich’s murmur called him back from the edge of
thought. He rolled onto his side and pushed to a sitting position. His
companions, their shapes little more than shadows in the gathering mists of
morning, bent over their bedrolls. Behind them the canyon walls of Doreinn
Ravein rose into obscurity.
At the expression of pity on Emmerich’s face, Kai
balled his hands into fists and rode out a surge of heat. Shae might stand
beside him now, but for Emmerich.
As soon as the unworthy thought came, he pushed it
away and forced his hands to unclench. Shae had willingly traded places with
Emmerich at Gilead Riann. She’d sung her own death song by choice. And he, to
his joy and sorrow, had urged her on.
He glanced sideways at Emmerich. “Sometimes, when
the wind blows, I think I hear her calling.”
Emmerich’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps she does.”
Kai waited until he could trust himself to speak
again. “She comes to me in the land of dreams.”
Emmerich tilted his head, and a lock of dark hair
fell across his brow. “Does she speak to you?”
Without answering, Kai bent and rolled up his
bedding.
Emmerich waited.
Kai sighed and looked away. “She tells me to wait
for her no more.”
“I see. And will you heed her?”
He dusted off his hands, lingering over the task,
and then glanced sideways at Emmerich. “At odd moments I expect to see her, to
hear her voice. I can’t stop hoping for a sight of her—looking for her return.”
The words wrenched from him in a rush. “I can’t release myself from loving her.
I don’t know how.”
“Patience does not spring from sorrow with ease.”
All at once, Kai laughed. “You have both wisdom and youth—a fearsome combination.”
“Those with ready ears often hear wisdom, even from
a youth.”
****
“Steady, Fletch.” Kai touched the neck of the
winged horse beneath him and looked out over the frothing weild, which fell to
rapids here. Sudden memory caught at him. He could almost see Shae combing her
hair on the flat-topped rock at water’s edge.
At a restive movement from the other wingabeasts,
Fletch shuddered in sympathy. Kai turned away from the wraith of memory and
gathered his wits before facing his companions. “Thank you for your faithful
service. Each of you went beyond duty. Although we–” He heaved a breath. “Although
we return without Shae, our quest succeeded. In that we can give thanks to Lof
Yuel, the High One, who has kept us in His care.”
He signaled Fletch, and wings rose to enfold him
like a feathered curtain. As the great wings lowered and they lifted on
invisible currents to the top of the canyon walls, draughts rippled across him.
At this height the mists thinned but would still hide their movements from any
stragglers from Freaer’s forces retreating from the siege of Torindan.
How would Lof Shraen Elcon, Faeraven’s new high
king, react when Kai returned without Shae? He put the thought from him and
focused, instead, on navigating the twists and turns of the canyons. They
emerged into a flat land as the horizon blushed and the shadows lengthened to
stain the eastern desert purple.
The ground folded and rose beneath them, and then
crested a rise. In the distance, past the broken peak of Maeg Streihcan
Torindan, fortress of Rivenn, perched on an arm of
rock thrusting into Weild Aenor, the wild river of legend. Kai caught his
breath at the sight. How long ago it seemed since they had left.
****
Raena Arillia stepped toward Elcon in the dance,
jewels and eyes aglitter. Her figure had softened since he’d seen her last, and
the luster of her golden hair echoed the glow of her skin. He captured her by
the hand and waist and turned her toward him. When she smiled at him, he forgot
everything but her beauty.
He clapped his hands in tempo, and Arillia swayed
in a circle that brought her back to him. Dainty, light on her feet, and quick
to smile, she reminded him of Shae.
Shae.
Elcon’s hands stilled, and his smile died. He’d
tried and failed to reach his sister with the shil shael, the hereditary soul
touch they shared. He could only hope she still lived.
Arillia’s smile faltered. “Are you well?”
Without replying, he offered his arm to her. She
took it without hesitation, and he guided her out of the crush of dancers
toward the leaping fire in the nearest of the great hall’s three large hearths.
Arillia’s parents smiled down upon them from the
dais at the end of the long chamber. Shraen Ferran and Raelein Annora had conspired with Elcon’s
mother to thrust Arillia and Elcon into one another’s company all of their
lives. No formal marriage pact existed, but he and Arillia knew they were
expected to wed. As children, they’d laughed at the notion many times.
With a tug on his arm, Arillia brought him up
short. “What ails you?” Such trusting eyes she turned on him, eyes of palest
gray. She knew him well, but he thought she did not guess he used her company
as a balm. In her presence, he found ease for the worries that tormented his
rest.
Her gaze probed his, but he glanced away, out the
tall window behind her to the fieldstone paths that cut through the lush sward
to the inner garden.
Ah, the garden. They’d often whiled away entire
afternoons gathering the roses that nodded beneath twisting strongwood
branches. Side by side, they’d dropped bright petals into the silken waters of
the pool and watched the water cascade in glinting ribbons from the tiered
fountain.
Elcon pushed away his memories and looked down
into Arillia’s troubled face. “Naught but shadows.”
Her expression registered her disbelief, but he
offered nothing more. For Shae’s safety, he couldn’t claim her as his sister.
And how could he explain to Arillia the feeling of doom that weighted him?
And yet, when he looked into the cool depths of
her eyes, he could almost persuade himself she understood. The thought should
draw him to her, but it only made him uneasy. Perhaps he and Arillia shouldn’t
spend so much time together.
“As you please, Elcon.” Irritation edged her
voice. “It’s clear you mean to keep your thoughts private.” Arillia stepped
closer to the fire and gazed into its depths as silence stretched between them.
“But I still wish—”
Elcon took her by the elbow. “Forgive me. I must
return you to your parents.”
Her eyes widened, but as he pushed her through the
crowd toward the dais, she didn’t resist. His perfunctory bow to her parents
included Arillia. He caught the glint of tears trembling on her lashes and
hesitated, but then hurried across the great hall. Arillia, and all the
confusing emotions surrounding her, would have to wait.
By the time he reached the main archway, Weilton,
the second guardian of Rivenn, had joined him. In Kai’s absence, Weilton had
assumed his duties as Elcon’s personal guard. Elcon answered the question in
Weilton’s light gray eyes. “I saw from the window a company of wingabeasts
approaching from the south. Kai and Shae return.”
****
Kai sent Flecht into a spiral and touched down
beside his companions on the arched bridge outside Torindan’s barbican.
Although they could have flown into Torindan, protocol and good sense called
for the guardians to land their wingabeasts outside all strongholds, even their
own, and obtain entrance in the usual manner.
“Who goes there?” A guard called from the parapet
above the barbican.
“Kai of Whellein and a company of weary travelers,
all friends of Torindan.”
With a rasp and screech of metal, the drawbridge
lowered over the moat’s dark waters and the barbican’s timbered metal doors
swung open.
As they passed beneath the iron fangs of the
portcullis, Aerlic drew his silver wingabeast, Argalent, abreast of Kai. Just
behind, Emmerich rode Ruescht while Guaron and Dorann brought up the rear. They
had barely passed through when the doors thudded shut and the bar clanged back
into its rests. Chains clanked, and the portcullis dropped with a squeal and a
thump, sealing them into the treacherous “walls of death.”
Fletch’s hooves clattered on the wooden
floorboards and rang when they found trapdoors above pits. As Kai guided his
wingabeast onward, bars of light penetrating through arrow slits in the outer
walls fell over him. With much clanking and screeching, a second portcullis
gave way, and they emerged before the inner gatehouse.
Kai, blinking in the sudden light, answered
another round of salutations. A small drawbridge lowered across a second
channel of the moat. More doors opened, and they passed beneath twin turrets
into a short corridor.
Footsteps, light and fleet, approached from the
outer bailey. With his eyes adjusting again to dimness, Kai halted Fletch and
his companions gathered around him. Two figures entered by the archway from the
outer bailey. “Kai. You return.”
Kai’s vision cleared, but he’d already recognized
Elcon’s voice.
One of the guardroom doors along the corridor
flung open and Craelin, First Guardian of Rivenn, stepped out, the lines around
his eyes crinkling from the force of his smile. Beside him strode Eathnor,
dressed in the green and gold of the high guard.
Kai dismounted and bowed before Elcon. “I’ve
returned, but without Shae.”
“Rise.”
Kai obeyed.
Elcon looked him over. “You’re too thin, and I’ll
warrant, weary. You look like a strong wind would knock you over. Still, I’m
glad to see you. Has Shae stayed behind with her sister in Graelinn?”
Kai swallowed his surprise at Elcon’s response. “Forgive
me, but I should explain in private.”
“Tell me where she is.”
Kai flinched. “She remains within the gateway of
Gilead Riann.”
Elcon’s eyes narrowed. “What madness is this?”
“Only the truth, I promise. Shae went through the
gateway of her own will.”
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“So that Shraen Brael could enter Elderland.”
“The DawnKing of prophecy has entered Elderland?
But where is Shae?”
Craelin stepped forward. “If I may suggest,
whatever news Kai brings might better be given in private, Lof Shraen.”
Elcon opened his mouth as if to speak but closed
it again. “Yes. Yes, of course.” His glance slid past Kai and landed on
Emmerich, just dismounting. “Tell me, Kai, why you ride with this Elder. Has he
strayed from his path so far it brings him among the Kindren?”
Emmerich lifted his head. “I know well my path,
Elcon, Shraen of Rivenn, Lof Shraen of Faeraven. I follow it to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That is the simple truth.”
Elcon paced before Emmerich, his gaze a challenge.
“Who are you?”
Emmerich stood without flinching. “Are you certain
you wish to know?”
Elcon stared at him, but then looked to Kai. “Bring
him to my meeting chamber, and we’ll discuss these matters at length.” At the
archway to the outer bailey, Elcon shot a final piercing glance at Emmerich. “I
look forward to that conversation.”
Elcon went through the archway with Weilton behind
him. In the small silence that followed his departure, Kai drew his hands into
fists at his side. After all they had suffered and sacrificed, would Elcon now
reject Emmerich?
“Are you all well?” Craelin said near Kai’s ear.
Kai considered the question. “Well enough. We
sustained injuries besides the ones you knew, but most have healed. Some take
longer than others.” And some never heal.
“How did you and Eathnor fare on your return to Torindan?”
A smile lit Craelin’s face. “Well enough, also. We
reached Torindan in advance of Freaer’s charge and just managed to take away a
small group of messengers. We rode like the wind to summon the loyal Shraens of
Faeraven but had to dodge welke riders to save our own lives.”
“Ah.” An
image of dark riders pursuing through the mists of morning came to Kai. “We had
a bit of trouble with them ourselves.”
“If not for Eathnor’s skill as a tracker we would
not have survived to spread the alert.”
Kai nodded to Eathnor. “Well done. And so you have
joined the ranks of the guardians. I commend Craelin’s choice in you.”
Eathnor clasped Kai’s hand. “Thank you. I hope to
prove myself worthy of the company I keep.”
Dorann dismounted in one leap, and the two
brothers gazed upon one another with eyes that shone. At last, Eathnor dipped
his head. “You’ve healed.”
Dorann put a hand to his once-blackened eye as a
slow smile spread across his face. “In truth, I’d forgotten it.” He took in the
garb his brother now wore as part of the lof stapp. “Green suits you.”
Eathnor laughed. “That it does.”
With Eathnor beside him, Dorann led his dark gray
wingabeast, Sharten, through the archway into the outer bailey, where the
stables lay.
“Welcome back.”
At Craelin’s greeting, Kai smiled for the first
time since entering Torindan. But he also felt like weeping. “Thank you. I’m
glad to see you.”
The bright blue eyes nested more deeply in Craelin’s
face. “And I, you.”
Kai cleared his throat. “We should hurry, although
I dread facing Elcon again.” With slumped shoulders, he led Fletch after the
others into the outer bailey, where smoke hung heavy and the stench of charred
meat fouled the air. Dogs snarled and yipped, fighting over a bit of offal
thrown to them. A scarred wooden door hung open in a doorway, through which
emitted the clash and clang of cooking.
With Craelin keeping pace beside him, Kai took the
side path to the stables, which squatted across the sward from the kitchens.
Waiting for a groomsman at the stable door, he breathed in the heavy scent of
hay. Thudding hooves, soft whickerings, and calming voices drifted to him. A
lump formed in his throat. He’d forgotten what it meant to come home.
Craelin touched his arm. “Give it time, Kai. None
but a fool would think you gave less than your all for Elcon or Shae.”
Kai wanted to shout that his all hadn’t been
enough. He’d failed Shae, and he had failed Elcon.
Operation Dark Angel: The Rise of Nicolaitanes by Pam Funke 29 Jan 2014 11:50 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 30th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (June 4, 2013)
***Special thanks to Pam Funke for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Pam Funke is the grand-daughter of a Pastor and was brought up in the church. Her love of reading led her to write for the enjoyment of others. She lives in Hinesville, Georgia with her son and daughter.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
This is the first book in the exciting The Apocalypse series.Our current world is full of chaos, turmoil, hatred, wars, starvation, murders and strife. Every day the world spirals more and more out of control. The people of the world feel helpless and are looking for someone, anyone to save them. Who will save them and bring peace to the world? Can the birth of a single child be the answer to their prayers? Where is God in all of this? Is anyone even searching for Him or are they too caught up in the world to even bother looking?
Nicolaitanes Balac, a man who is quickly gaining political power and reverence, has enlisted the help of General Alexander Ludlow and The Group in an attempt to bring about peace and serenity for the entire world. Hence, the birth of Operation Dark Angel, a military operation designed to bring about world peace. Or is it? Will the operation really bring an end to the turmoil, violence and hatred or will it make matters worse? What can the people of the world do to regain control of the world?
List Price: $14.95
Series: The Apocalyse Series
Paperback: 356 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (June 4, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1482675390
ISBN-13: 978-1482675399
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Just outside of
Washington D.C., Halle Smith was sitting at home alone flipping through the
television channels. There is so much turmoil going on in the world. It
seemed as though every single channel that she turned to was about some
disaster or another. Hurricanes and monsoons killing people, people starving to
death in Africa, North Korea threatening to bomb South Korea, children being
used for warfare, gang violence, serial killers, suicide bombers, the list went
on and on and on. Halle was overcome by
all that she saw.
“Oh Lord, why is
all of this happening? Why is there so much pain and hurt in the world?” Halle
asked.
Tears were steadily
streaming down her face; she was incredibly saddened by what she saw. But what
was worse was the fact that no one seemed to care. The news reporters showed no
emotions whatsoever as they reported the horrible news. Just what is wrong
with people?
She wished that her
husband, Richard, was home from work. She really wanted someone to talk to. She
didn’t really want to be alone, at least not right now. Her heart felt as
though it was breaking. She turned the television off and called some of her
friends to fellowship for a while. Strange, everyone seemed to be busy as all
she got was voicemail after voicemail. She hung the phone up disgusted. Why
is it that whenever I need someone they are never available, but if they need
me I am always available? I don’t understand it.
She walked through
the house tidying up. She glanced at the clock; it would be hours before her
husband came home. She picked up her Bible and drove to the church. Wow, the
parking lot sure is packed this morning. I wonder what is going on. She had
never seen this many cars at the church except on Sundays. It took her over
fifteen minutes to find an available parking spot. She grabbed her Bible and
hurried into the church afraid that she was missing something important.
Inside the church,
the sanctuary was packed with people. Halle wasn’t sure if she was going to be
able to find any place to sit. Bishop Williams was already preaching, for how
long she had no idea. She sat quietly at
the back of the church listening.
“Brothers and
sisters, right now is the time in which you must make a decision! Are you going
to continue living the way that you currently are or will you live for Christ?
Look around at the world around us. The crime rate is skyrocketing through the
roof, the amount of natural disasters is increasing in amount and intensity,
homosexuality is on the rise, our children are becoming desensitized by the
world around them, brother is going against brother, children against their
parents, children are murdering at younger and younger ages, our society is
accepting immoral and ungodly behavior, people are turning their backs on God,
and our economy is in the toilet. These are not things that should alarm you or
scare you, not if you are living for Christ as all these things were foretold
in the Bible. Turn with me in your Bibles to 2 Timothy 3: 1-5, 12-15. When
you’re there say amen, if you need more time say wait,” Bishop Williams
preached.
He looked out over
the congregation waiting for those who were looking for the passages in their
Bible to find them. He smiled to himself, he was glad that so many people had
come to listen. If only he could reach each and every one of them. The
congregation stood as he began to read the scripture.
“But know this,
that in the last days perilous times will come: For men will be lovers of
themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to
parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without
self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers
of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying
its power. And from such people turn away! Brothers and sisters, we see
much of this behavior going on today and it’s getting worse. Unfortunately, we
are even seeing this behavior in the church. But, I am here to tell you today
that there is still hope for you. However, you must repent of your evil ways,
accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior, and live for Him. I pray that you do this
before time runs out,” he looked around the room waiting. The congregation
remained silent.
“Yes, and all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer
persecution. But evil men and impostors will grow worse and worse, deceiving
and being deceived. But you must continue in the things which you have learned
and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them, and that from
childhood you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise
for salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. Yes, as followers of
Christ we can expect to have trials and tribulations even more so than
non-believers, we will also be persecuted in His name. As Jesus himself,
suffered trials and tribulations, and was persecuted how can we expect not to
be? But regardless we will make it through because God is always with us! No
matter what you are going through, nothing. I say again, NOTHING is too great
for God to handle. He will work it all out for our good. Remember that we are going
through so that God will get the glory,” he continued.
“Amen,” replied
several members of the congregation.
Halle was taking
notes as fast as she could. Many questions popped into her head while she was
listening to Bishop Williams. She wrote down all of her questions in the margin
of her notepad so that she could ask him about them after the service.
“Turn with me now
to Mark 13:5-37, And Jesus, answering them, began to say: “Take heed that no
one deceives you. For many will come in My name, saying, 'I am He,' and will
deceive many.” We have seen many deceivers in recent years. For example,
think back to the Waco incident, the priest in Florida that convinced his
entire congregation to tattoo the number of the beast on themselves. There are
many more if you want to look it up for yourselves. But when you hear of
wars and rumors of wars, do not be troubled; for such things must happen, but
the end is not yet. We have heard of war in Iraq, Afghanistan, Ireland,
Africa; and we have heard of rumors of war in Korea, Russia. But we need to be
encouraged brothers and sisters, as Jesus himself said that these things must
happen in the end times. We need to take comfort in knowing that the end is not
yet! Use this time to get right with the Lord! Preach His good news to
everyone. Live your life for Him in every aspect of your life. When people look
at you, they should see the love of God shining through. We are an example to
the world. You are the only Jesus that some people will ever see,” Bishop
Williams preached. He started walking back in forth across the front of the
sanctuary.
“For nation will
rise against nation. We have seen this all throughout history: World War I
and World War II for example. Kingdom against kingdom. Earthquakes in
various places. There have been devastating earthquakes in the past few
years, many in places that are not common for earthquakes. Famines and
troubles. Africa has seen famine for many years. It is also affecting other
areas of the world. We will be persecuted for his sake. The gospel
must be first preached in all the nations. We will be hated by all for His
name’s sake. Continue reading Mark 13 on your own. Let’s move on,” Bishop
Williams said returning to the pulpit.
“Turn with me in
your Bibles to Revelation 6:1-6. When you’re there say amen, if you need more
time say wait,” Bishop Williams preached.
Halle was
mesmerized. She was so excited and couldn’t wait to hear what the pastor was
going to say next.
“Now I saw when
the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the four living creatures
saying with a voice like thunder, "Come and see,” And I looked, and
behold, a white horse. He who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to
him, and he went out conquering and to conquer. When He opened the second seal,
I heard the second living creature saying, "Come and see,” Another horse,
fiery red, went out. And it was granted to the one who sat on it to take peace
from the earth, and that people should kill one another; and there was given to
him a great sword. When He opened the third seal, I heard the third living
creature say, "Come and see,” So I looked, and behold, a black horse, and
he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four
living creatures saying, "A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three
quarts of barley for a denarius; and do not harm the oil and the wine,” We
have been given the different signs of the end of days. What we do with the
information, is up to each and every one of us. I leave you with these questions
to contemplate. How will you continue to live your life? Will you live each day
as though it were your last? Will you live your life serving God and doing His
will? May each of you make the decision to live for Christ and do it willingly?
May God watch over each of you until we meet again,” Bishop Williams said
before turning and leaving the sanctuary.
Wow. There was still so much that she wanted, no needed,
to know. She gathered her things quickly and pushed through the crowd after
Bishop Williams.
“Bishop? Bishop
Williams? Do you have a moment?” Halle called out. Bishop Williams turned
around to see who was calling him.
“Ah, Halle. How are
you my dear?” Bishop Williams asked taking her hand.
“I’m okay. I just
have some questions that I wanted to discuss with you,” Halle replied urgently.
“Well, come into my
office and I’ll see what I can do about answering those questions for you,”
Bishop Williams said.
“Thank you,” Halle
replied following the Bishop into his office.
*****
Meanwhile in Rome,
Italy an unknown young man was rapidly becoming of interest to Italy. He was extremely
good-looking with an incredible speaking ability. When he talked people
listened. He was a direct descendant of the Roman Emperor Nero Germanicus. For
some strange reason, this fact alone impressed many people. He had been born
right there in Rome, Italy. He had taken a fancy to politics at an early age as
he was only 28 years old and had already been advising the Italian President on
many different issues. He was quite pleased with his accomplishments, but they
were only the beginning of things to come. His ultimate goal was not just to
rule Italy, but to become ruler of the entire world. He would accomplish this
goal at any cost.
*****
Gage Cameron was
the top news reporter for ICNN news. He was proud to be the best; he had worked
hard at it. That was probably why he was no longer married. He had worked long
hours and was hardly ever at home. He still had not changed. His wife Carol,
ex-wife actually, used to constantly get on his case about working so hard and
always being gone. She was always telling him how he neglected her and when
were they going to start working on having a family. It used to drive him
crazy. At least he no longer had to worry about such things and he could focus
completely on his job. It was better this way. He kind of liked it by himself
with no one to answer to or to constantly nag him; he was not sure why he had
married Carol in the first place. It was not like he was the marrying kind of
guy anyway. One of these days he would stop lying to himself, but not now. One
day though.
Gage Cameron was
meeting his source at a local café in downtown Bagdad, Iraq. He had just
finished a big story and was looking for his next big break. He was a little
anxious, but a little nervous as well as he had never met his source in person
before. He was kind of curious as to why she had insisted on meeting in person
this time. It must be a really big story. He sat there quietly sipping
his cappuccino and imaging what she must look like. He kept imagining all these
young, beautiful actress-type women. He sat smiling to himself. His smile
disappeared however, when an older, plain woman sat down at the table with him.
He looked at her puzzled.
“May I help you?”
he asked.
“No, Gage. It is I
who will be helping you,” she replied.
“Ros?” he asked.
“Yes, it is nice to
finally meet you face to face, Gage Cameron,” she replied extending her hand.
“It’s nice to meet
you as well,” Gage replied a little disappointed.
“Now, let’s get
down to business,” she said lowering her voice. “I have two stories for you for
now. The first one, Nicolaitanes Balac is going to be named President of Italy.
That’s a story that you will definitely want to cover. The other story, you
will need to go to Israel. There’s going to be a lot of interesting stories
going on over there in the next few weeks that you are going to want to cover
as well. Israel is going to be attacked,” she whispered.
“What? How do you
know these things?” he asked.
“I’m not at liberty
to tell you. All I can say is that if you cover these stories, you will be the
envy of all the other reporters—you will have breaking news stories before
anyone else. They will definitely boost your career,” she said.
She held out her
hand, “I will be in touch. Keep doing me proud with your excellent reports.”
Gage stood up and
shook her hand. “I really do appreciate what you are doing for me, but why me?”
Gage asked.
“Do you doubt your
work Gage?” she asked standing up to leave.
He looked at her offended.
Of course, I don’t doubt my work. What kind of reply is that? He walked
her to her car then walked to his car rental. He was excited with the
information that was just given to him, but he had a lot of questions as well.
He could not wait to get started. He figured that he had better find his camera
man, Byron and head to Rome, Italy. What a story this is going to be, if it
truly happens.
She got into the
back of the Town car. “Did he buy it?” the man asked.
“But of course; he
always does,” she replied.
“Good. Good. We may
have use of him yet,” he replied.
The man smiled to
himself. She had the driver take them back to his private plane. Things were
most definitely going according to plan.
*****
Down in the lab of
the new top secret facility at Fort Stewart, Georgia, a group of scientists had
started working on a new biological experiment. They weren’t the only facility
to begin experiments as all of the facilities had been ordered to do one
experiment or another. They were creating BTX and testing its strengths,
weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Charlie Andrews hated the testing phase of this
as they were testing various stages of the BTX on animals and studying the
effects. Some of the animals had died which made Charlie really sad and angry.
He was an animal lover and despised harming them in any way.
“Charlie, how else
are we going to gain the knowledge we need? We cannot test this on people. You
know that, right? Besides, just think about how many humans and animals that we
will be able to help when we’re done. We will have the cure to reverse the
process,” Grant consoled him.
Charlie just looked
at him. He knew Grant was right, but that didn’t make it right. Charlie just
nodded. He held the animal that had just died gently. He smoothed the fur and
closed its eyes. Then he gently put it in the box and closed the lid. He
labeled the box accordingly and placed it with the others for dissection and
study. He was glad that he was not a part of that portion of the project. He
didn’t have the stomach or the heart for that
*****
Back on the
outskirts of Washington D.C., Richard Smith was finally home from a long, hard
day at work. He couldn’t wait to relax in front of the television and eat his
dinner. He hoped that Halle had dinner waiting as he was extremely hungry, but
he walked into a dark, quiet, empty house. Now just where is Halle? I bet
she’s up at that stupid church again. I don’t know why she even bothers with
that stuff? He plopped down onto the couch and turned the television on to
watch the news.
*****
Nicolaitanes Balac
was in the process of going to Barcelona, Spain for a UN convention. He had
been invited to attend with President Adamo Ricci. Rosalind was also coming
along as Nicolaitanes’ assistant. The meeting was a very important development
for Nicolaitanes’ success Rosalind knew. She doubted if anyone else would know
the significance.
More than 200
delegates from around the world were in attendance. There were people
representing various religions and nationalities from around the world. There
were Catholic, Episcopalian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish and Sikhs present.
There were leaders of countries and religions of both men and women in
attendance. They were all dressed up in their Sunday best. Rosalind was
definitely impressed. She sat proudly in her chair next to Nicolaitanes. It
is wonderful watching a major historical moment in time. I wonder if
Nicolaitanes is going to speak here.
Nicolaitanes laid
his hand on her shoulder. “No, Rosalind. It is not my place to speak here today.
We are here for other purposes,” he whispered quietly. Nicolaitanes is being
compliant. I wonder why?
*****
Back in Rome, the
archdiocese was awaiting the arrival of Patriarch Bartola. Lou Spiel had left half
an hour ago to pick him up from the airport. The room was filled with
excitement; even Pope Paul John had arrived unexpectantly. This is a meeting
that no one will soon forget.
At the airport, Lou
waited near the baggage claim holding a sign with Patriarch Bartola’s name on
it. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect as he had no clue what the man looked
like. He certainly wasn’t expecting the young, handsome gentleman that walked
over to him.
“Patriarch Josef
Bartola?” he asked extending his hand.
“Yes,” the man
replied.
“I am Lou Spiel and
will be driving you to the meeting. I am also your personal assistant while you
are here. Let me know if you need anything at all, okay?” Lou said taking his
bags and placing them in the trunk of the car. He then held the door open for
Josef. This is going to be an interesting assignment.
Lou was excited;
anything to get out once in a while. He had been stuck in “the dungeon” working
on scrolls and biblical prophecy for the church for years. Although, his head
was full of vast knowledge, he hadn’t seen much of the world. This was finally
his chance to.
Half an hour later,
they arrived back at the Vatican. Lou led Josef quietly to the private offices
and knocked softly on the door. A man wearing robes peered at the two men,
before motioning for them to come inside. Another man stepped in front of Lou,
gently placing his palm on the man’s chest stopping him.
“You are dismissed
for now, Mr. Spiel. Please close the door behind you,” he said.
Lou was
disappointed, but he did as he was told. He went to a nearby bench in the
hallway and sat down to wait.
“Please have a
seat,” the man said to Patriarch Bartola.
Josef looked around
the room. There were quite a few people there. But that is not what surprised
him; he was very astonished to see the Pope in attendance. He was pleased, yes
very pleased indeed. After everyone was sitting quietly, a gentleman to the
left of the Pope got up and stood before the group.
*****
The man stood
outside staring up at the Vatican building. He shook his head sadly. “And I
saw three unclean spirits like frogs coming out of the mouth of the dragon, out
of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet. For they
are spirits of demons, performing signs, which go out to the kings of the earth
and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God
Almighty,” he said out loud and was gone.
*****
“Gentlemen, I am
pleased that we could all be here today to meet with our esteemed guest,
Patriarch Josef Bartola. Patriarch Bartola, I am sure that you are wondering
why we had you come so far away from home. We have been watching your work and
needless to say, we are very pleased. I personally am very impressed with your
natural ability to lead and persuade your congregation,” he said.
Josef smiled.
“Thank you very much. I believe that I have a natural ability for this.
Spreading the word of God is my calling. I believe that I was chosen by God
directly for this,” he beamed.
The Pope stood up
slowly for he was extremely old and frail. He gently laid his hand on the
shoulder of the speaker and gestured towards Patriarch Bartola. I don’t know
why, but I feel it in my bones that he is the one that I’ve been waiting for.
He will be my replacement; the one who will be the right hand of The Child,
once we find him. Thank you God for allowing me to live long enough to see
this.
“Patriarch Bartola,
my son, please come forward to me. I wish to bless you,” Pope John said
extending his arm.
Isn’t this
unusual even for him? I mean he just met me and knows absolutely nothing about
me. Doesn’t he usually give his blessings to special people? Josef stood and walked over to the Pope. He kneeled
before him and kissed each of his hands as was the custom. The men in the room
all kneeled before the Pope and extended their hands towards Patriarch Bartola.
Pope John laid his hands on Josef.
“Before the eyes of
God and the men before me, I bless you in the name of the Father, the Son and
the Holy Spirit. May your comings and your goings be blessed. May your works be
acceptable to God Almighty. May God be blessed in all that you do,” Pope John
said.
He helped him to
his feet, “I am old my son. I would like very much for you to remain here in
Rome teaching our congregation and studying to someday take my place here. This
is right in the eyes of God. Will you do this my son?” Pope John asked.
“Yes sir, it would
be an honor,” Josef replied humbly.
“Good. Then here is
your first assignment, I wish for you to go with Lou to attend the UN summit in
Barcelona. Here are your tickets,” the Pope replied handing him two airline
tickets and sitting back down. He felt good about the young man.
The UN summit?
Why on earth do I need to go there? Why is the Pope so interested in the UN? Josef took the tickets. He dared not question the
Pope. It must be extremely important for me to be there. After all, they
already had the airline ticket with my name on it. What would they have done if
I had said no? Josef and Lou left immediately for the airport.
*****
Meanwhile in
Barcelona, the assemblyman stood at the podium and asked for quiet.
“Ladies and
gentlemen of the United Nations (UN), thank you all for coming. I come before
you this morning to propose that we create a United World Religion (UWR). As we
are all aware of the turmoil, violence, war, civil unrest that is taking over
the world at an alarming rate, especially in the Middle East. There are wars
and rumors of wars for the sake of religious beliefs. We must agree that the
majority of it, if not all of it, is due to religious differences—namely Christianity.
Because of the vast diversity of beliefs, it causes humanity to quarrel and
inflict war upon each other. In order to bring about peace we need to get rid
of the hatefulness, the unwillingness to accept one another as brothers and
sisters despite our religious and cultural differences.” he said pausing for
effectiveness.
“If we create the
UWR, it will incorporate all religions into one. All are welcome. By forming a
one world religion we will unify the earth and bring about peace. With a one
world religion, no one will be coerced to participate in any religious rituals
as with the Christian faith. It will accept all religious beliefs. No one will
be made to feel as an outsider. Homosexuals will be welcome here; they will not
be shunned by the people like elsewhere. No one will be made to feel as though
their sinful nature is unforgiveable and not tolerated. This will be a growing
global unity dedicated to enduring daily interfaith cooperation and ending
religiously motivated violence, creating cultures of peace, justice and healing
for all the inhabitants of the earth,” he continued.
Josef could not
believe his ears. That was exactly what he dreamed of doing. How did that
man possibly know? So this was why I’ve been sent to this summit. Now,
how will I get myself implemented into all of this?
“Do not worry
Josef. Your steps have been ordered,” the voice said.
Josef looked
around; no one was paying any attention to him. So who just spoke to me?
*****
The man stood in
the middle of the general assembly. He looked around at all those in
attendance.
“Now the Spirit
expressly says that in latter times some will depart from the faith, giving
heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons, speaking lies in hypocrisy,
having their own conscience seared with a hot iron, forbidding to marry, and
commanding to abstain from foods which God created to be received with
thanksgiving by those who believe and know the truth.,” he spoke with a
loud authoritative voice. No one seemed to pay him any mind. He looked at the
assembly once more and was gone.
*****
“I would like to
introduce to the assembly a young man sent to us by the Administration of the
Patrimony of the Apostolic See. A man who has envisioned peace throughout the
world through a program such as this. I am pleased to introduce you to
Patriarch Josef Bartola. Please would you come forward sir?” the assemblyman
said clapping his hands.
The whole assembly
stood to their feet cheering and clapping. Josef was impressed. How did they
know? Wow, what a warm reception. They love me already. He walked up to the
podium. Surely this must be the will of God.
“Thank you so much
for that warm welcome. It is an honor to be invited here today. I truly believe
that a unified religion is the answer to stopping the majority of the violence
around the world. The UWR will be a world assembly for humanity’s spiritual
traditions. It will incorporate Catholic beliefs, Episcopalian beliefs, Muslim
beliefs, Buddhist beliefs, Hindu beliefs, Jewish beliefs, Sikh beliefs, Wiccan
beliefs, Polytheistic beliefs, Animism beliefs, Pantheism beliefs, and even
atheist beliefs. By incorporating these various religious beliefs and customs
it will serve to bring together a diverse people rather than to segregate them,
thus giving a more unified result. It will reach out and embrace all those who
profess to believe in god, no matter who or what their god may be. We, those
who are chosen to head this new assembly, will create a charter to govern the
UWR. It will be held accountable to you, the UN. This is definitely a step in
the right direction. I propose that we vote today to create the UWR.,” Josef
said.
He took a long
drink of the cool water that was offered to him. He stood watching everyone for
a moment before continuing; he wanted what he was saying to sink in.
“I want the same
things that each of you do, a world free of war, famine, pestilence, hatred, et
cetera. I truly believe that this will accomplish that,” Josef said full of
passion. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the assembly,” Josef continued.
He bowed humbly
before the assembly before returning to his seat. He smiled to himself, things
are going well.
Rosalind was
impressed with the man. So this is why Nicolaitanes is here. I wonder how
Patriarch Bartola will fit in with Nicolaitanes’ plans. She glanced over at
Nicolaitanes; he was sitting quietly, completely emotionless. She couldn’t tell
what he was thinking.
President Ricci
turned to Nicolaitanes, “What do you think about all of this my friend?” he
asked quietly.
Nicolaitanes folded
his hands together in thought. “If it were a perfect world; the idea might
work. Perhaps, with an exceptional leader in charge of the whole world and
their complete freedom to run things as they see fit, I think that it would be
successful. However, there are still many flaws with the idea,” Nicolaitanes
commented quietly. President Ricci and Rosalind looked at Nicolaitanes puzzled.
“I think that it’s
a marvelous idea, Nicolaitanes,” Rosalind said.
Nicolaitanes raised
an eyebrow at her. She closed her mouth and kept quiet. This was not the time
or the place to question Nicolaitanes about his motives. She sat there quietly
listening to the murmur of voices talking amongst themselves.
President Ricci
abruptly stood. “Excuse me, assemblyman, but I would like to second the motion
to create the UWR. I further propose that we set a date to meet for the creation
of the charter and regulations and implement this to the world,” President
Ricci said.
“Are you sure that
you wish to do that my friend?” Nicolaitanes asked concerned.
President Ricci
smiled. “Of course Nicolaitanes, it is a good thing that we do here,” he
replied.
Nicolaitanes smiled
to himself; everything was going according to his plans. Now there are just
a few more things that need taking care of.
The UN assembly
voted unanimously in favor of creating the UWR. It would remain a secret from
the outside world for now until they were ready to announce it to the world.
More or less after they had it up and running and could enforce it.
*****
On the plane ride
back to Rome, President Ricci asked Nicolaitanes to join him in his private
quarters. Nicolaitanes knocked quietly on the door.
“Come in, my
friend,” President Ricci called out. Nicolaitanes entered the room.
“Ah Nicolaitanes, I
am so glad that you were able to accompany me. That was a very enlightening
revelation. When we return I would like for you to help me with a speech for
the people of Italy. What the UN is doing has given me an idea to help our own
country,” President Ricci said. “Come, I wish to show you something,” he
continued, unrolling a parchment onto the desk.
Nicolaitanes walked
over and looked at the parchment. He was looking at plans to convert the entire
country to Christianity. President Ricci had included a persuasive plan to show
how he intended to convince the people that Jesus was truly the only way to
heaven. This is not within my plans. What is President Ricci up to?
Is my friend truly one of them? How did I not see this coming?
“I’m not sure that
I like this,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
President Ricci asked.
He looked over at
Nicolaitanes. What he saw shocked him. For a moment he thought he saw a look of
pure hatred on his friend Nicolaitanes’ face. President Ricci looked pale and
took a few steps back.
Well, that confirms my suspicions. I’ll have to do
something about this. “Are you
alright, my friend?” Nicolaitanes asked reaching out to support President
Ricci.
“Yes, I think so.
Please Nicolaitanes, help me to the sofa. I wish to lie down,” President Ricci
replied. What manner of evil was that?
Something evil glimmered in Nicolaitanes’ eyes for a moment. Is
something trying to take control of my friend? Perhaps I imagined it all. Lying
down for a while should help me to clear my head.
Nicolaitanes helped
his friend to lie down on the sofa. He poured him a glass of cold water from
the pitcher and helped him to drink it before placing the empty glass onto the
table.
“Thank you
Nicolaitanes. You are truly a caring and loving person. I thank you for this,”
President Ricci said warily.
He was feeling
unsure of himself. He kept trying to see a glimmer or hint of what he thought
he saw only a moment ago. But whatever it was, it was now gone.
Nicolaitanes placed
a pillow gently under President Ricci’s head.
“Thank you again,
Nicolaitanes. Please close the door on your way out,” President Ricci said
waving Nicolaitanes away.
Nicolaitanes turned
off the light as he quietly left the room. Although Nicolaitanes didn’t show
it, he was fuming. “No one dismisses me,” he mumbled angrily.
Nicolaitanes
grumbled all the way back to his seat. He plopped down in his seat sulking and
fumbled noisily with the magazine next to him. Rosalind glanced up from the
magazine that she was reading to see what was going on. Nicolaitanes looked livid.
Now what happened? Nicolaitanes
appears to be in one of his foul moods. It’s best to just leave him be
for a while. But I don’t ever remember seeing him so angry before. Rosalind
said nothing and went back to reading her magazine.
“How dare he? Doesn’t
he know who he’s talking to? Where’s my respect?” Nicolaitanes mumbled.
He sat there
drumming his fingers on the armrest, his foot tapping lightly on the floor. He
looked at Rosalind; she wasn’t paying him any mind whatsoever. Good, she’s
distracted. I have to take care of this now. I cannot allow him to get away
with this. He stood up and walked back to President Ricci’s quarters. He
quietly knocked on the door; no answer. He opened the door slightly and peered
inside. President Ricci was sitting on the edge of the couch, pale and hunched
over.
“Nicolaitanes help
me,” President Ricci whispered.
Nicolaitanes walked
over to his friend. He looked into his eyes with pure hatred and contempt. He
laid his hands on President Ricci’s wrists. Fear overcame President Ricci as he
stared into Nicolaitanes’ eyes.
“Nicolaitanes, what
are you doing?” he asked terrified.
Something pure evil
moved from Nicolaitanes’ body into President Ricci. It moved through his veins
quickly stopping his heart and erupting in his brain causing a massive cerebral
hemorrhage. Nicolaitanes smiled to himself. Problem solved. He gently
laid President Ricci’s body down and closed his eyes. He walked out of the room
and gently closed the door. He returned to his seat and looked out of the window.
“Ah, life is good,”
he said.
Rosalind looked at
him questioningly, but Nicolaitanes just ignored her. She turned and looked
down the walkway from where Nicolaitanes had just come. What happened back
there? She turned back around and continued reading her magazine.
A few minutes later
they heard a loud crash before the stewardess screamed. They both raced towards
the President’s quarters.
“What’s wrong my
dear? What’s going on? President Ricci, everything alright in there?”
Nicolaitanes called out with mock concern.
The stewardess came
out of the room tears streaming down her face. She looked scared. Nicolaitanes
grabbed her gently by her shoulders.
“What is it?” he
asked firmly.
“I……………I………..I………”
she stammered.
Nicolaitanes gently
slapped her across her face.
“Get a hold of
yourself woman and tell me what’s the matter?” he replied.
The stewardess
stared at him. She was quiet.
“Well?” he asked
again.
She looked down at
her feet. “I was bringing the President his afternoon tea, as he requested. And……..and…….and”
she said crying all over again.
She moved out of
the doorway. “Well, just see for
yourself,” she said before running away.
Nicolaitanes stared
into the room. He could see where the stewardess had dropped the teapot on the
floor. The china had shattered all over the floor. President Ricci didn’t move.
Is he really dead?
Rosalind pushed
past Nicolaitanes into the room. She saw the President lying on the couch
completely slack. He was extremely pale and turning colors. She reached for him
and checked for a pulse. She found none. She sadly shook her head at
Nicolaitanes.
“I’m so sorry
Nicolaitanes, but I’m afraid that he’s gone,” she said gently. Nicolaitanes
stared at her blankly. “I need to notify his aid and the pilot. They’ll have to
notify the proper authorities prior to landing the plane in Rome,” Rosalind
continued pushing past Nicolaitanes.
She wasn’t sure,
but she thought she saw Nicolaitanes smile for just a moment. Is this what
was bothering Nicolaitanes? Did he somehow know about this ahead of time? He
does seem to know about things before they happen; I still have no idea of how
he even does that. She walked to the cockpit to talk to the pilot.
*****
Gage and Byron
traveled to Rome, Italy, after his meeting with the source. Gage was a little
anxious to see if things were truly in the works to happen as she had
suggested. Their flight arrived in Rome on a gorgeous fall morning. Gage got
off the plane humming to himself.
Gage sure is in
a good mood. Byron smiled to himself.
He hoped that was a good sign. Perhaps he was finally getting over his divorce.
Gage had been in a funk ever since his wife left him. But who could blame her?
Gage hadn’t exactly been the model husband. Granted he had been faithful to his
wife, had treated her with respect, but he was more married to his job than to
her. That’s what had finally broken them apart. She’d had enough one day and
Gage had come home to an empty apartment. Byron had tried to warn him, but
nothing Byron had said had gotten through Gage’s thick headedness. Although
Gage would never admit it, he had wished that he had listened to Byron. But
it is too late now, Carol is gone. I hope that life is treating her well. She
really deserves someone who will treat her like a queen.
They went through customs
and gathered their luggage. Gage was excited about why they were here. He hoped
that they could get started right away, but he wasn’t exactly sure where they
should start. There was a story coming he knew, but he wasn’t sure when it
would take lace—Ros had not given him any specifics. Gage suggested that they
go to their hotel to check-in and freshen up a bit.
“So where do we
start? What’s the story that we are here to scoop out anyway, Gage? Are you
going to give me a hint at least?” Byron asked curiously.
“I don’t know yet.
All I know is that we’ll know it when we see it,” Gage smiled slyly. He put his
bag down on the bed.
“What do you say we
do some sightseeing and get some footage of the city? You never know what we
might find. Besides it’s a beautiful day. Way too nice to stay indoors,” Gage
said grabbing his jacket.
They took a taxi to
the tourist areas of the city. Byron filmed the various attractions they
visited; the Colosseum, The Fountain di Trevi, and The Basilica of San Giovanni
in Latesano. He was awed by the city’s colorful history and beauty. I
definitely have to bring Karin here sometime; she would absolutely love it
here. Byron reviewed the footage that they had taken earlier in the day. It
looked really good. If nothing else, at least I have something of this trip
that I can happily share with the family.
“I think that we
shot some good footage today Gage, although I’m not sure what we can use it for
just yet,” Byron said.
“Perhaps, but the
story we came here for is still in the works somehow,” Gage replied.
*****
Halle had an
enjoyable lunch with her new friend Amy. She had invited Amy to go to church
with her, but once again she had politely turned Halle down. She wouldn’t give
up on her. She drove to the church to meet with Bishop Williams. Halle got
comfortable on the couch in his office before opening her Bible and getting out
her notebook. Bishop Williams looked at her and smiled. She sure has been
absorbing as much as she can lately. She is so eager to hear about
everything. Bishop Williams wished that everyone had her desire. He sat
down in the recliner across from her.
“Tell me about
those questions that you have, Halle,” Bishop Williams asked gently.
“Well, Bishop I
have quite a lot of questions today. Are you sure that you have time to answer
them all?” Halle asked hopefully.
“Take all the time
that you need, Halle,” Bishop Williams replied.
“Okay. First
question: Can anyone go to heaven? What does one have to do to earn it?” Halle
inquired picking up her pen, ready to write down what the Bishop said.
“To answer your
question, yes, Halle anyone who accepts Jesus Christ can go to heaven. John 3:
5 says, ‘Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be
born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.’ One
cannot earn the right to go to heaven, they cannot buy their way into heaven
nor can they pay for it with their good works. Without having first accepted
Jesus, no one can enter the kingdom of heaven,” Bishop Williams replied.
She hurriedly wrote
down everything that was said, especially the scriptures. Satisfied that she
had written everything down, she asked the next question.
“What about someone
that lives a sinful life? Like a liar, adulterer, fornicator, thief, murderer,
etc. Can they go to heaven as well?” Halle continued.
Bishop Williams
thought about it. “Halle, we are all sinners in the eyes of God. That is why we
need Jesus. He died on the cross for our sins. He took the punishment for us.
We need only to ask for forgiveness of our sins, accept Jesus as our Lord and
Savior, and live our lives holy and acceptable to God. We are not perfect
Halle, so we need to study the word daily, pray daily, ask for forgiveness and
allow God to change us,” Bishop Williams replied.
“Okay. So no matter
what someone has done, if they only ask for forgiveness and accept Jesus they
can become a child of God and go to heaven?” Halle asked amazed.
“Yes, my dear. God
loves each and every one of us. He is not want that any should perish. He wants
us all to come to repentance of our sins, accept his beloved Son as our Lord
and Savior and live a holy and acceptable life,” Bishop Williams replied taking
Halle’s hand gently. Halle was in awe.
“God is truly
amazing. He must have a love that surpasses all understanding. I for one
certainly don’t understand it,” she said.
“His ways are not
our own Halle. We won’t understand a lot of why God does some of the things
that He does or why He allows certain things to happen. A lot of it won’t make
any sense to us. But it is okay, Halle as it’s not for us to understand,”
Bishop Williams said.
Halle looked down
at her notes. She was thinking about her husband.
“Is it possible for
one to have a personal relationship with God and how would you do so? “ Halle
asked.
“Yes Halle, we can
all have a personal relationship with God. We do so by reading and studying the
word, praying, going to church to hear the word and meditating on the word. You
can talk to God at any time of the day or night and about anything at all. He
wants us to come to him with not only our good things, but our bad things as
well. He wants us to trust Him completely. He wants to be our best friend. He
loves us like a father and He wants to be a wonderful part of our lives,”
Bishop Williams said passionately. Halle appeared intrigued by this.
“How can I prove
God to someone who doesn’t’ believe in anything they can’t see or touch? How do
you get through to someone like that?” Halle asked.
This question kind
of stumped Bishop Williams, but only for a moment. “You cannot reach anyone
until they are ready to listen. Pray to God about the situation and ask Him to
prepare that person to be ready and willing to listen. Don’t give up on that
person, but you can’t force it on them either. God gave us the freedom to
choose and we must choose Him willingly,” Bishop Williams said.
Halle sighed. “I
know that this can be frustrating at times, but have patience Halle,” he added.
“When is it right
to spread the word of God to others?” Halle asked.
“Any time is right
to spread the good news. God will provide you with many opportunities,” he
said.
“After I have
accepted Jesus and am seeking to live a godly life, can I do whatever I want?”
Halle asked shyly.
“Well Halle, once
you accept Jesus you cannot live any kind of way. Don’t be like the hypocrites,
you can’t be one way on Sunday and the opposite the rest of the week. You will
need to stay away from ungodly things and people. Just like the old folks used
to say, you are what you eat. Don’t get caught up in the world. Be careful who
your friends are. If you watch evil things on television all the time, some of
it will rub off on you and influence you. Don’t become conformed to the world.
Remember the devil is a liar and he has many deceitful ways to try to get you
to not focus on God. For example, he may try to convince you that God is not
real, that a homosexual lifestyle is okay or sleeping with numerous partners
for that matter. That being Goth is okay and not satanic or a cult in nature.
That it’s okay to be married and sleeping around with those who are not your
spouse, that it’s okay to have sex when you are not married, that it’s okay for
the same sex to marry or that it’s okay for an unmarried man and woman to live
together. These things may be acceptable to our society however, it is not
acceptable to God. These things displease God. They are sinful in nature; they
are ungodly. Should we as Christians shun these people or stop loving them or
shame them? The answer is no. Instead, we should pray for them and share the
good news of God with them,” Bishop Williams said.
Wow. I am really glad that I came. There is so much
that I can learn from Bishop Williams. I didn’t realize that there was so much
to learn about living for God. I could sit here and learn all day. There’s just
something about hearing about God that makes me want to hear more. Halle
was eager to learn all that she could.
“First and
foremost, Halle you have to remember that God is a loving God. His love for us
is unconditional. We can show others God’s love in our actions and words.
Remember that you may be the only Jesus that someone may ever see. So let the
light of God shine through you. Allow Him to use you to do His will,” Bishop
Williams added.
“I would like that
very much,” Halle replied enthusiastically. “But first I’m afraid that I have a
lot to learn,” she added quickly.
“We are all still
learning. We are in the construction phase,” Bishop smiled.
“Well I guess that
I have taken up enough of your time for tonight. Do you mind if we do this again
sometime?” she asked eagerly.
Bishop Williams
smiled. “Anytime Halle. My door is always open. Come let me walk you to your
car,” Bishop Williams said heading towards the door.
“Thank you so much
for your time,” Halle said. She shook Bishop Williams’ hand then turned and got
into her car.
*****
Gage and Byron had
been in Rome for a few days now. Nothing exciting had happened yet. They were
more or less playing tourist for the time being. It was kind of nice to be on
vacation at the expense of someone else.
The phone in the
room began to ring. “Now who could that be?” Gage wondered. No one knows
that we are here. Even Ros doesn’t know where we are staying. How
strange? The phone rang again.
“Well, aren’t you
going to answer that?” Byron called from the bathroom. Gage picked up the
phone. It felt strange in his hand. Not quite real.
“Gage?” a woman’s
voice said.
“Yes. Who is this?”
he replied.
“Today is a good
day for a story. Get out and about today; you never know what you might see.
The airport is a good place as any to start,” she said before hanging up. Gage
stared at the phone in his hand.
“Who was that?”
Byron asked walking into the room.
“She didn’t say.
But I think today’s the day,” Gage said getting up. “Get dressed Byron. Today
is going to be a good day for news,” Gage continued.
Byron looked at him
oddly, but hurried back into the bathroom to get dressed. I wonder if that phone call has anything
to do with Gage’s sudden excitement. Who was it anyway?
Ten minutes later, Byron
and Gage were in a taxi driving near the airport when they suddenly heard a
bunch of sirens. The taxi pulled to the side of the road to let them pass.
“I wonder what’s
going on,” the taxi driver said.
A couple of
ambulances and police cruisers went flying passed them towards the airport.
Gage and Byron looked at each other.
“Hey Buddy, change
of plans, follow those cars,” Gage demanded.
The cabbie shrugged
his shoulders then drove after the police cars. He was a little curious anyway
to see what was going on.
A few minutes later
the cab pulled up at the airport. The police cars continued into the restricted
area of the airport. The airport was in a chaotic mess. Polizia di Stato were
trying their best to keep people back from the entrance to the terminal. Gage
and Byron got out of the cab.
“What’s going on?”
Byron asked one of the officers.
“Not quite sure,
but it has something to do with President Ricci,” he said.
The officer noticed
the EMS team hurrying towards them with a gurney. It must be pretty bad if
they need all of us here. I hope the President is alright.
“Please keep back
out of the way sir,” he ordered pushing the reporters back to let EMS pass
through. They watched silently along with everyone else.
Gage turned to
Byron, “Make sure you film all of this. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but
I bet that there’s definitely a news story in all of this somewhere.”
Byron picked up his
camera and started filming the chaos all around him. He noticed some activity
going on near the plane and focused the camera there. A moment later the EMS
team exited the plane with a body covered by a sheet on the gurney. I wonder
who they have under that sheet. It can’t be the President, can it?
They all had their
heads lowered as they exited the plane and walked towards them. All were
extremely quiet. Behind the EMS team, Nicolaitanes Balac and Rosalind Carey
followed with their heads down, a few tears were flowing down Nicolaitanes’
face. Put on a good performance. Nicolaitanes slowed down his stride and
buried his face in his hands.
“Nicolaitanes?
Nicolaitanes? Can you tell us what’s going on here?” a woman with a microphone
asked.
Nicolaitanes paused
for a moment looking at the cameras. I have to make this look good. He
took a deep breath before responding.
“I’m afraid, my good
friend President Adamo Ricci has passed away,” Nicolaitanes said deeply
saddened.
“What’s to become
of Italy? Who will rule her now?” another reporter asked.
“I have been asked
to take President Ricci’s place,” Nicolaitanes replied sadly.
“President Ricci is
dead? That can’t be. What happened to him?” the reporter asked.
“I’m sorry,
Nicolaitanes will not be taking any more questions at this time,” Rosalind said
stepping up to the microphone.
He nodded to
Rosalind and thanked her before pushing his way through the crowd to an
awaiting Town car. Rosalind followed closely behind him.
Gage was ecstatic.
“Byron, come on. I don’t want to miss that ceremony. We are going to go live
with this,” Gage said. This is a little unusual—Nicolaitanes Balac is going
to be sworn in to the Presidency without the people voting for a new President.
Don’t the people have a say in this? How strange.
*****
Gage and Byron
hurried back to their waiting cab. Byron wasn’t sure what he thought about all
of this. Something about all of this didn’t set right in his spirit. What’s
wrong Lord? What has my spirit stirred up so? Is this normal procedure for
Italy? Perhaps they just do things differently here then they would back in the
United States. I guess this is just all a little strange to me.
“So, what happened
over there? Was that a body that I saw them wheel over to the ambulance?” the
cabbie asked.
“I’m afraid so,”
Gage replied.
“I see. So who was
it?” the cabbie asked curiously.
“It’s the body of
President Adamo Ricci,” Byron said quietly.
The cab driver
turned in his seat to look at Byron, “Dio
non voglia. Are you sure
about this?”
“Yes, I am sure. Is
something wrong?” Byron replied.
The cab driver
turned around quiet in his seat. He stared at the cross dangling from his
rearview mirror.
“And so it begins,”
he mumbled.
“I’m sorry, what
was that?” Gage asked.
“Nothing. Where to
now gentlemen?” the cabbie asked.
“Follow that Town
car. I want to be there when they swear in Nicolaitanes Balac for Presidency,”
Gage replied.
The cabbie nodded
and started up the car. He followed behind the Town car being careful not to
drive to closely. Is this the man that you forewarned us about Lord? What
should I do now? I don’t want my family to be exposed to the lies and deceit of
the antichrist. Should we stay here in Italy or do I take my family and flee
now? What do I do Lord?
Byron noticed how
quiet the cabdriver had become. Why is he so affected by the news of
President Ricci’s death? It seems a little extreme to me. I don’t believe this
cabdriver knew him personally so why? Perhaps this has more meaning to him then
we know. Byron watched him quietly as they drove through the streets of
Rome.
A few minutes later
they pulled into a parking lot outside of the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore.
I wonder why they are here. This isn’t where they normally swear in the
President. There sure are a lot of people here. I hope that these gentlemen are
finished with my services as I would like to get back to my family. We have a
big decision to make. He watched as Gage and Byron collected their things
before exiting the cab.
“Will that be all?”
he asked.
“Yes, as I don’t
know how long this ceremony will be. Thank you so much for your services,” Gage
said leaning back in the cab to pay the fare.
The cabbie smiled
at the tip Gage gave him, “Thank you so much. This will certainly help my
family.” He waved before driving away.
Byron stood there
watching the cab drive away. The driver sure seemed eager to get away.
Strange as he had been so interested before. So why the sudden change? Does
he know something we don’t?
He turned to see
where Gage had gone and hurried to catch up. He waited patiently for Gage to
decide what vantage point he wanted before setting up the camera. There
certainly are a lot of people here. How? He looked around at the large
crowd gathering for the ceremony. Wait a minute. Where are all the other
reporters? What happened to the reporters from the airport? Surely, they
followed Nicolaitanes’ car here just as we did. Are we the only ones here? Is
this the exclusive that Gage’s source recommended?
Byron stood there
quietly staring off in the distance. He saw something peculiar. What is
that? What’s going on?
“Byron? Are you ready? I think that we should do this
live? Hey Byron, are you alright?” Gage asked. What on earth has captivated
Byron’s attention.
Gage walked over to
his friend and laid his hand gently on his shoulder. Byron flinched at the
touch.
“Byron?” Gage said
gently.
“Gage, what are you
doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to tape your report?” Byron asked.
“I was waiting for
you. Where were you a minute ago?” Gage asked.
“Sorry, something
just caught my attention. Anyway it looks like they’re getting ready to start
the ceremony. Come on, we didn’t come all this way for you to miss it,” Byron
said turning the camera on.
Gage looked at him
curiously, “Okay, I’m ready.”
{TV Announcement, CNN News}
“Italian President Adamo Ricci was found dead this
morning. The circumstances surrounding his death are currently being
investigated. Nicolaitanes Balac is being sworn in as President of Italy as we
speak. We take you now to the Presidential ceremony already in progress.
Thank you, James. This is Gage Cameron at the
Presidential swearing in of Nicolaitanes Balac. Although, Nicolaitanes Balac is
not the obvious choice to fill the late President Adamo Ricci’s shoes; he seems
to be a choice that the people here are thrilled with. There are thousands of
people here for his ceremony as you can see. They are cheering, waving flags,
and just altogether ecstatic by this. This is just so amazing. You would have
to be here to feel the love and support the people are showing President
Nicolaitanes Balac. This is Gage Cameron, CNN news.”
*****
Outside of
Washington, D.C., Richard sat watching the latest newscast. Something seemed
really odd to him about the whole thing.
“Now that is just
weird. That man, President Adamo Ricci, was just on the television the other
day, something about a summit meeting or something like that. Now, he’s a dead
man. Hmmm, seems downright peculiar. But what do I care as it doesn’t have
anything to do with me. What does this have to do with us anyway? That’s over
in Italy,” Richard Smith said out loud to no one.
He looked over at
the clock on the wall as his stomach grumbled again. Where is that wife of
mine? Doesn’t she know that I’m starving here? How much longer is she going to
make me wait? He returned his attention back to the television and flipped
through the channels until he found a comedy to watch.
*****
“Congratulations,
Nicolaitanes. I knew that you would be chosen,” Rosalind said laying a hand on
Nicolaitanes’ back.
“Thank you,
Rosalind, but this is just the beginning. We have much work to do,”
Nicolaitanes replied. Was there ever any doubt?
He waved once more
to the people, his people, and turned and walked into his new Presidential
office. He sat down behind his new desk and smiled to himself.
“Yes, all is going
according to plan,” he said smiling.
*****
Halle thanked
Bishop Williams for his help and walked back to her car. She was filled with
excitement. The answers that the Bishop had given her were so empowering. She
couldn’t wait to get home so she could share all of this with her husband. She
glanced at her watch. Uh oh he should have gotten home an hour ago and I
haven’t even gotten dinner started yet. He is going to be mad. She decided to
pick up some fast food on her way home.
*****
A few months later,
Nicolaitanes Balac made his bi-annual business trip to the United States. His
architect company had just obtained more contracts to build secret office
buildings for the military; his company also built these buildings for other
countries besides the US. He was pleased with the work that his company had
already accomplished. Their specialty was building elaborate top secret
military office buildings. He had the architectural ability to make them look
like beautiful regular office buildings on the outside. But he like the
military knew better.
He was going to
Washington DC to personally oversee the buildings currently being built near
the Pentagon. Besides, he also had another reason for making this trip
personally. After the trip to DC, he would make his rounds to the various military
posts where he had already built these buildings to ensure that the military
was 100 percent satisfied with the work. He didn’t really care whether they
were or not, but he did need to keep them happy so that he could ensure that he
would continue to obtain the government contracts year after year. He needed
this in order to continue with his plans--it would be helping him in his rise
to power.
It was on this
particular trip that he met Adolphe Christophe, Tara Matthews, Victor Bartola,
Annamaya Varnedoe, Andrew Jackson, Richard Smith, Sampson Perry, Serenity
Lambert, and Caitlin Rogers. He met them at various military posts as well as
at the Pentagon. He was impressed with each of their job capabilities and work
ethics. Each had a specialty that Nicolaitanes required to have his plans
fulfilled. He invited each of them privately to become a part of Operation
Dark Angel. They each agreed without much resistance. Now he needed only to
find one more person to complete his task. Upon reaching Fort Stewart to check
on the status of a building in the process of being built, he met General
Alexander Ludlow.
Although Nicolaitanes
had not met the General on his previous trips to the post, Nicolaitanes liked
him immediately. He had heard from other officers that the General was a
ruthless man. The General had not cared who he had stepped on to get what he
wanted. He had all of the characteristics that Nicolaitanes was looking for, he
was perfect for Nicolaitanes’ plans. Upon meeting the man in person,
Nicolaitanes invited General Ludlow to be in charge of Operation Dark Angel.
The General though, was a little reluctant at first. After much deliberation he
finally agreed to be a part of it. Satisfied, Nicolaitanes returned home to
Italy pleased with himself. Now Nicolaitanes’ special group was complete.
“Now it all truly begins,”
he said smiling and pressing his fingertips together.
*****
The man walked
slowly through the town. Why is it the same, town after town, city after
city? He was so disappointed and saddened by what he saw. All the hateful
graffiti, the young boys hanging on street corners sipping 40s, the young women
standing on the street corners, the homeless wandering the streets in search of
somewhere to sleep, the drug dealers selling drugs to anyone who would buy them
(including children), people eating out of garbage cans because they had
nothing to eat. Where are all the caring people? “What is wrong with the
world? Where is all the love? The man sighed disgusted by all that he had
seen.
He watched people
walking by those who were hurting and needing help without so much as looking
at them nor speaking to them. Most people acted as though they didn’t even
exist. Not one had a kind or encouraging word for them.
“For God so
loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in
Him should not perish but have everlasting life,” the man proclaimed then
was gone.
He walked through
another section of town where all the churches were. It was a more upscale area
of town. There were pretty decent looking homes here, probably middle class.
Strange how there were so many churches here in the nicer neighborhood, but
none where it was needed most—in the neighborhood where he had just left. This
saddened him. The world was in so much turmoil and it was only going to get
worse from here on out. Mankind just didn’t seem to need or care about God.
This saddened him dearly. His heart was incredibly heavy. If it hurt him this
much, he could only imagine how the Master must feel.
He walked closer to
the church of Bishop Williams. Something didn’t feel quite right. Something
indeed was very wrong here. He must warn them.
*****
Bishop Williams was
working late in his office. He had gotten caught up in his new sermon series that
he was doing. He was so excited by how much the congregation seemed to absorb
everything like a sponge. He was proud of himself. He was currently working on
his sermon for tomorrow night.
“In Revelation
11:7, we hear about the beast that comes out of the bottomless pit. He will
declare war against God’s people. He will conquer them and kill them. Many of
us will die for God’s sake during the end times. Many of us will be martyred in
His name. Now the martyrs will not be the Christians who are here today, for we
will be called up to Him when the trumpet sounds. These will be new Christians;
those who come to God during the time of the Tribulation,” he rehearsed in
front of his mirror.
He paused here
staring at the mirror; there was a reflection of a man he had never seen before
standing behind him. Bishop Williams turned around startled. Where had he come
from? I don’t remember hearing the door open plus the chimes didn’t sound. Did
I forget to turn the system back on?
“I’m sorry, may I
help you with something?” Bishop Williams asked smiling.
The man stood there
quietly for a moment. “Take your flock into hiding for it is not safe for you
to be here. The enemy of God is prowling around here seeking to devour your
sheep. God is not want that any should perish,” the man said firmly then turned
and walked away.
Bishop Williams
stood there stunned. He stared after the man until he couldn’t see him anymore.
He looked at the sermon in his hand before turning and running down the
hallway.
“Hey? Hey! Hey you
stop,” he called out. But he may as well have been talking to the walls, for
the church was empty except for himself.
Strange. Where
had the man come from? I didn’t hear the man come in or leave. Who was he? Was
he serious? Is God warning me about something yet to come?
He walked through
the entire church looking for the man and thinking about what he had said. Although
the message had been strange, could he risk his flock by ignoring the message? He
couldn’t explain it, but with every step he took his heart was filled with
impending doom. This could only have come from God and who am I to doubt it.
He decided strange
or not, it wasn’t worth risking the lives of anyone and decided that they would
continue church services at the safe house from now on. He returned to his
office and called the church secretary at home. He asked her to call all of the
church members and let them know of the new plans effective immediately. No one
was to come back here to the church for any reason. She was puzzled by the
Bishops’ request, but followed his orders nonetheless and began calling
everyone that she had a phone number for. She was sure that he would explain
when the time was right.
Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams Book 1) by Sharlene MacLaren. 29 Jan 2014 1:22 AM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 29th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Whitaker House (January 1, 2014)
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Mercy Evans has known a great deal of heartache and hardship in her 26 years. She lost her mother at a young age and was only 16 when her father was killed in a brawl sparked by a feud with the Connors family that spans several generations. When a house fire claims the lives of her two best friends, Mercy is devastated, but finds comfort in caring for their two sons, who survived thanks to a heroic rescue by Sam Connors, blacksmith in the small town of Paris, Tennessee. Yet the judge is determined to grant custody only if Mercy is married. Mercy loves the boys as her own, and she’ll go to any lengths to keep them—but what if that means marrying the son of the man who killed her father? Set in the 1880’s, Heart of Mercy is the first book in MacLaren’s new Tennessee Dreams series.List Price: $14.99
Series: Tennessee Dreams (Book 1)
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (January 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603749632
ISBN-13: 978-1603749633
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
1890
Paris, Tennessee
“Fire!”
The single word had the power to force a body to drop
his knees and call out to his Maker for leniency. But most took time for
neither, instead racing to the scene of terror with the bucket they kept stored
close to the door, and joining the contingent of citizens determined to battle
the flames of death and destruction. Such was the case tonight when, washing
the dinner dishes in the kitchen sink, Mercy Evans heard the dreaded screams
coming from all directions, even began to smell the sickening fumes of blazing
timber seeping through her open windows. She ran through her house and burst
through the screen door onto the front porch.
“Where’s the fire?” she shouted at the people running
up Wood Street carrying buckets of water.
Without so much as a glance at her, one man hollered
on the run, “Looks to be the Watson place over on Caldwell.”
Her heart thudded to a shattering halt. God, no! “Surely, you don’t mean Herb
and Millie Watson!”
Mercy Evans and Millie Watson, formerly Gifford, had
been fast friends at school and had stuck together like glue in the dimmest of
circumstances, as well as the sweetest. Millie had walked with Mercy through
the loss of both her parents, and Mercy had watched Millie fall wildly in love
with Herb Watson in the twelfth grade. She’d been the maid of honor in their
wedding the following summer.
But her voice was lost to the footsteps thundering
past. Whirling on her heel, she ran back inside, hurried to extinguish all but
one kerosene lamp, snatched her wrap from its hook by the door, and darted back
outside and up the rutted street toward her best friends’ home, dodging horses
and a stampede of citizens. “Lord, please don’t let it be,” she pleaded aloud.
“Oh, God, keep them safe. Jesus, Jesus….” But her cries vanished in the
scramble of bodies crowding her off the street as several made the turn onto
Caldwell in their quest to reach the flaming house, which already looked beyond
saving.
Tongues of fire shot like dragons’ breath out windows
and up through a hole in the roof. Like hungry serpents, flames lapped up the
sides of the house, eating walls and shattering panes, while men heaved their
pathetic little buckets of water at the volcanic monster.
“Back off, everybody. Step back!” ordered Sheriff
Phil Marshall. He and a couple of deputies on horseback spread their arms wide
at the crowd, trying to push them to safety.
Ignoring his orders, Mercy pressed through the
gathering mob until the heat so overwhelmed her that she had no choice but to
stop. Besides, a giant arm reached out and stopped her progress. She shook it
off. “Where are they?” she gasped, breathless. “Where’s the family?”
The sheriff moved his bald head from side to side,
his sad, defeated eyes telling the story. “Don’t know, Miss Evans. No one’s
seen ’em yet. We been scourin’ the crowd”—he gave another shake of the
head—“and it don’t appear anybody got out of that inferno.”
“That can’t be.” A sob caught at the back of her
throat and choked her next words. “They were at my place earlier. I made
supper.”
“Sorry, miss.”
“Someone’s comin’ out!” A man’s ear-splitting shout
rose above the crowd.
Dense smoke enveloped a large figure
emerging—staggering rather like a drunkard—from the open door and onto the
porch, his arms full with two wriggling bundles wrapped in blankets and
screaming in terror. Mercy sucked in a cavernous breath and held it till
weakness overtook her and she forced herself to let it out. Could it be? Had
little John Roy and Joseph survived the fire thanks to this man?
“Who is it?” someone asked.
All stood in rapt silence as he passed through the
cloud of smoke. “Looks to be Sam Connors, the blacksmith,” said the sheriff,
scratching his head and stepping forward.
“Sure ’nough is,” someone confirmed.
Mercy stared in wonder as the man, looking dazed and
almost ethereal, strode down the steps, then wavered and stumbled before
falling flat on his face in a heap of dust and bringing the howling bundles
with him.
Excited chatter erupted as Mercy and several others
ran to their aid. Mercy yanked the blankets off the boys and heaved a sigh of
relief to find them both alert and apparently unharmed, albeit still screeching
louder than a couple of banshees. Through their avalanche of tears, they
recognized her, and they hurled themselves into her arms, knocking her
backward, so that she wound up on her back perpendicular to Mr. Connors, with
both of the boys lying prone across her body. In all the chaos, she felt a hand
grasp her arm and help her up to a sitting position.
“Come on, Miz. You bes’ git yo’self an’ them
chillin’s out of the way o’ them flames fo’ you all gets burned.” She had the
presence of mind to look up at Solomon Turner, a former slave now in the employ
of Mrs. Iris Brockwell, a prominent Paris citizen who’d donated a good deal of
money to the hospital fund.
Mercy took the man’s callused hand and allowed him to
help her to a standing state. By the lines etched in his face from years of
hard work in the sweltering sun, Mercy figured he had to be in his seventies,
yet he lifted her with no apparent effort. “Thank you, Mr. Turner.”
Five-year-old John Roy stretched his arms upward,
pleading with wet eyes to be held, while Joseph, six, took a fistful of her
skirt and clung with all his might. “Come,” she said, hoisting John Roy up into
her arms. “We best do as Mr. Turner says, honey. Follow me.”
“But…Mama and Papa….” Joseph turned and gave his
perishing house a long perusal, tears still spilling down his face. John Roy
buried his wrenching sobs in Mercy’s shoulder, and it was all she could do to
keep from bolting into the house herself to search for Herb and Millie, even
though she knew she’d never come out alive. If the fire and smoke didn’t kill
her, the heat would. Besides, before her eyes, the flames had devoured the very
sides of the house, leaving a skeletal frame with a staircase only somewhat
intact and a freestanding brick fireplace looking like a graveyard monument.
Her heart throbbed in her chest and thundered in her ears, and she wanted to
scream, but the ever-thickening smoke and acrid fumes burned to the bottom of
her lungs.
With her free hand, she hugged Joseph close to her.
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m so, so sorry.” Her words drowned in her own sobs as
the truth slammed against her. Millie and Herb, her most loyal friends. Gone.
Sheriff Marshall and his deputies ordered the crowd
to move away from the blazing house, so she forced herself to obey, dragging a
reluctant Joseph with her. At the same time, she observed three men carrying a
yet unconscious Sam Connors across the street to a grassy patch of ground.
Several others gathered around, trying to decide what sort of care he needed.
Of course, he required medical attention, but Mercy felt too weak and dizzy to
tend to him. Best to let the men put him on a cart and drive him over to Doc
Trumble’s. Besides, she highly doubted he’d welcome her help. He was a Connors,
after all, and she an Evans—two families who had been fighting since as far
back as anyone could remember.
She’d heard only bits and pieces of how the feud had
started, with a dispute between Cornelius Evans, Mercy’s grandfather, and
Eustace Connors over property lines and livestock grazing in the early 1830s.
There had been numerous thefts of horses and cattle, and incidents of barn
burnings, committed by both families, until a judge had stepped in and defined
the property lines—in favor of Eustace Connors. Mercy’s grandfather had gotten
so agitated over the matter that his heart had given out. Mercy’s grandmother,
Margaret, had blamed the Connors family, fueling the feud by passing her hatred
for the entire clan on to her own children, and so the next generation had
carried the grudge, mostly forgetting its origins but not the bad blood. The animosity
had reached a peak six years ago, when Ernest Connors had killed Oscar
Evans—Mercy’s father.
“That man’s a angel,” Joseph mumbled into her skirts.
“What, honey?”
“John Roy was wailin’ real loud, ’cause he saw
somethin’ orange comin’ from upstairs, so he got in bed with me, and after a
while that angel man comed in and took us out of ar’ bed.”
She set John Roy on the ground, then got down on her
knees to meet Joseph’s eyes straight on. His were still red, his cheeks
blotchy. She thought very carefully about her next words. “Where were your
parents?”
Joseph sniffed. “They tucked us in and went upstairs
to their bedroom. John Roy an’ me talked a long time about scary monsters an’
stuff, but then, after a while, he went to sleep, but I couldn’t, so I got up
t’ get a drink o’ water, and that’s when I heard a noise upstairs. I looked
around the corner, and I seed a big round ball o’ orange up there, and smoke
comin’ out of it, and I thought it was a dragon come to eat us up. I runned
back and jumped in bed with Joseph and tol’ him a mean monster was comin’ t’
get us, and I started cryin’ real loud.”
John Roy picked up the story from there. “And so we
waited and waited for the monster to come after us, but instead the angel saved
us. I think Mama and Papa is prolly still sleepin’. Do you think they waked up
yet?”
Mercy’s throat burned as powerfully as if she’d
swallowed a tablespoonful of acid. Her own eyes begged to cut loose a river of
tears, but she warded them off with a shake of her head while gathering both
boys tightly to her. “No, darlings, I don’t believe they woke up in bed. I
believe with all my heart they awoke in heaven and are right now asking Jesus
to keep you safe.”
“And so Jesus tol’ that angel to come in the house
and get us?” Joseph pointed a shaky finger at Sam Connors. The big fellow lay
motionless on his back, with several men bent over him, calling his name and
fanning his face.
Mercy smiled. “He’s not an angel, my sweet, but
that’s not to say that God didn’t have something to do with sending him in to
rescue you.”
“Is he gonna die, like Mama and Papa?” John Roy asked
between frantic sobs.
“Oh, honey, I don’t know.”
She overheard Lyle Phelps suggest they take him over
to Doc Trumble’s house, but then Harold Crew said he’d spotted the doctor about
an hour ago, driving out to the DeLass farm to deliver baby number seven.
A few sets of eyes glanced around until they landed
on Mercy. She knew what folks were thinking. She worked for Doc Trumble, she
had more medical training and experience than the average person, and her house
was closest to the scene. But their gazes also indicated they understood the
awkwardness of the situation, considering the ongoing feud between the two
families. Although the idea of caring for him didn’t appeal, she’d taken an
oath to always do her best to preserve life. Besides, the Lord commanded her to
love her neighbor as herself, making it a sin to walk away from someone in
need, regardless of his family name.
She dropped her shoulders, even as the boys snuggled
close. “Put him on a cart and take him to my place,” she stated.
As if relieved that his care would fall to someone
other than themselves, several men hurried to pick him up and carried him to
Harold Crew’s nearby buggy.
“What about us?” Joseph asked.
The sheriff stepped forward and made a quick study of
each boy. “You can stay out at my sister’s farm. She won’t mind adding a couple
o’ more young’uns to her brood.”
Joseph burst into loud howls upon the sheriff’s
announcement. Mercy hugged him and John Roy possessively. “Their parents were
my closest friends, Sheriff Marshall. I’d like to assume their care.”
He frowned and scratched the back of his head. “Don’t
know as that’s the best solution, you bein’ unwed an’ all.”
“That should have no bearing whatever on where they
go. Their parents were my closest friends. They’re coming home with me.” She
took both boys by the hands, turned, and led them back down Caldwell Street,
away from the still-smoldering house and the sheriff’s disapproving gaze.
Overhead, black smoke filled the skies, obliterating any hope of the night’s
first stars or the crescent moon making an appearance.
30 Meditations on Rest by Marilyn Hickey and Sarah Bowling 23 Jan 2014 8:25 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 24th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Whitaker House; Pap/Crds edition (September 2, 2013)
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
30 Meditations on Rest is the first of a meditation series by well known Bible teacher Dr. Marilyn Hickey and her daughter and ministry partner, Sarah Bowling. In this volume, readers learn how to meditate and focus on the importance of rest. The authors maintain that rest begins in the mind and offer 30 supportive biblical meditations designed to renew and refresh world-weary readers. Convenient tear-away Scripture cards are included to help people maintain focus amid the busyness of life. Dr. Hickey, over 80 and going strong, says she and Sarah launched the series to challenge those who associate the word meditate with drudgery, saying, “It’s our desire for the reader to experience a life transformation that will take place as these principles are applied.”List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 160 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House; Pap/Crds edition (September 2, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603749012
ISBN-13: 978-1603749015
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Meditating: The #1 Key to Success
Hide-and-seek was a fun game. I can hear the refrain: “Ready
or not, here I come!” One child was “it,” and he would cover his eyes on home
base as all the other children ran and hid. The object was for those who were
hiding to get “home” before they were found.
It was great entertainment, and amusing, but there’s a “hiding”
that is essential to our walk as Christians that I want to present here.
I’m referring to hiding the Word in our hearts, and the “who,
what, when, where, and how” of doing this. The Bible says, “Your word I have hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against You!” (Psalm 119:11). When
we hide the Word in our hearts, it not only keeps us from sin, as the psalmist
said, but it also will bring success.
Most promises in the Bible relate to specific actions:
“Honor your father and mother,” which is the first commandment
with promise: “that it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth.”
(Ephesians 6:2–3)
The command (action) involves honoring your parents, and it
is accompanied by a specific promise: that you may be well and “live long on the earth.”
God gave a command to Joshua. It was given because of God’s promise
to lead Israel into the Promised Land. After forty years in the wilderness, Joshua was chosen
to fulfill the hundreds-of-years-old pledge. In Joshua 1:8, he
received a command to meditate. The instruction was for all people, as you’ll see from reading further Scriptures on meditation,
and it carries a promise that goes with everything in your life. This Scripture
enlightens us about hiding the Word. It says,
This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you
shall meditate in it day and night, that you may observe to do according to all
that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you
will have good success.
(Joshua
1:8)
God said, in effect, “If you meditate on My Word, day and
night, and if you speak that Word and obey it, everything in your life will be
prosperous and successful!”
I’ve discovered that God has a lot to say about meditating, and
I’ve become excited about what meditating on His Word accomplishes. It is
important that you understand what meditation is and what it will do for you.
Meditating on God’s Word changes lives—in fact, it is life.
I’ve heard many testimonies regarding the effects of
medication. If you know me, I’m sure most of you know Sarah Bowling. She’s a
wife, a mother, a teacher of the Word, a pastor, and my television cohost on Today with Marilyn and Sarah. And, if
you did not know, she is my daughter. She ministers alongside Reece Bowling,
her husband, who is senior pastor of Orchard Road Christian Center, in
Greenwood, Colorado. The crux of her heart’s cry is a ministry she founded,
called Saving Moses, which concentrates on saving young children, from newborns
to the age of five.
Sarah’s life has been strongly affected by meditation. This
is what she says:
The most powerful experience I’ve had meditating on the Bible was when
I was in my early twenties. I was spending the summer doing missions work in
Hong Kong. At the time, I was a schoolteacher and had made some bad decisions
in my personal life during the preceding school year. During my time there, I
was not only involved in missions work but I also was trying to get past the
dilemma created by those choices. Thankfully, I had supportive people around me
and made great friendships.
Over the course of that summer,
what helped my thinking the most was my experience with memorizing and
meditating on Colossians 3. I found that the longer I memorized and meditated
on those verses, the more healthy my mind and thoughts became. As I continued
to progress through the chapter, it felt as though the verses I memorized were
figuratively washing out all the garbage those bad decisions had deposited in
my mind. Furthermore, it felt like those verses were not
only cleaning my mind, but they also were replacing destructive mind-sets with
more truth-oriented thoughts and convictions.
I’ve never forgotten that
experience and the transforming power of meditating on the Bible. Subsequently,
I’ve used the principles of meditating over the course of my life with equally
powerful results and transformations.
I’m sure most of you are familiar with Rick
Warren’s book, The Purpose Driven Life.
Rick is the founder and senior pastor of Saddleback Church, in Forest Lake,
California. This is what he said in his book about meditation:
Meditation is “thinking about God”—His essence, His desires, His plans,
His mercy, etc.—throughout each day. And the only way a Christian can do this
is by knowing God—and the only way a Christian can know God is through His Word. Meditation
(similar to the process of “worrying”), which is only “focused thinking,” is
accomplished when one mulls over (contemplates, ponders) God’s Word continually
during the day.
Meditation allows God to share His secrets (revelations) with His
children—to speak to His children in a close and personal way. To properly
meditate requires a life of studying God’s thoughts recorded in the Bible. It
also means that a Christian should continuously review biblical truths when
they are presented in sermons, radio broadcasts, Bible studies, etc.”[1]
Meditation isn’t always easy, and it’s no small wonder the
enemy has desperately tried to mask the topic of meditation on God’s Word. He’s
brought in many counterfeits, such as transcendental meditation, and all kinds
of distraction. Whenever you see the devil putting up a smokescreen, you can be
sure he’s counterfeiting something real. The devil never created anything. All
he can do is falsify and imitate what already exists.
The
“Who” of Meditation
I mentioned earlier God’s promise for success in Joshua 1:8.
What is success? Let’s look at the Hebrew word for “prosperous”: tsalach.
It means:
1. to
rush
2. to
advance, prosper, make progress, succeed, be profitable
3. to
make prosperous, bring to successful issue, cause to prosper
4. to
show or experience prosperity, prosper
You
see how success and prosperity go hand in hand? This Hebrew word has the
correct signification. When I read “to advance,” I think of wading across a
river or pushing forward toward a goal. Proverbs 13:19 says, “A desire accomplished is sweet to the soul.”
Another meaning of this word is “to fall upon.” Picture God’s
riches falling upon you. Also hidden in this good word is the meaning “to
finish well.” God’s Word has happy endings.
Lastly, it can be translated as “promote.” The Hebrew
connotation means it brings promotion.
If you so desired, you could place meditate before each
meaning and make an equation straight across the line. Do you want to prosper
as a wife, a husband, a mother, an employer, an employee, a friend, a sweetheart,
a neighbor, a minister, or as a Christian? Meditation on God’s Word is the unusual
key that unlocks all of His success. It is the solution, and we need to know what it is and
how to do it.
Many will say that this passage was only written for Joshua.
They may say, “Well, God gave Joshua success because he had to take the
Promised Land.” But I want to tell you that God did more than tell us to take
the Promised Land—He told us to take the world for Jesus.
Meditation can dramatically change your life. In this
passage, God is talking about a “blessed man.” He says:
Blessed is the man who walks not in the
counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the path of sinners, nor sits in the seat
of the scornful; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be
like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its
season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper.
(Psalm 1:1–3)
If you meditate on the Word day and night, you’ll implement
the key element of being blessed, prosperous, and successful in every area of
your life.
“Oh,” you say, “there’s that ugly word meditate.” I think some Christians have this word confused with medicate. I think they associate it with
a task that is time-consuming and difficult. However, meditation does not need
to be drudgery. Rather, I have discovered that it adds a refreshing quality to my study of God’s Word. It is my desire for
you to see transformation take place when you begin applying the principles of
meditation to your own life. As Rick Warren suggested, if you know how to
worry, you already know how to meditate!
In the passage above, we run into the same idea
found in Joshua 1:8. “Blessed is the man….”
The man who meditated on the Word will be prosperous and successful in all that
he does. Shall we embrace the truth of meditating? Or shall we simply stand
aside and, with words and acts, watch other Christians meditate? We are too
busy, too old, or too “out of it” to be bothered.
However, you see, Psalm 1 whets every believer’s appetite for
meditation. It states, “Blessed is the
man who…meditates” (Psalm 1:1–2). The word blessedness is not found in the Hebrew text, because there is no
such thing as a singular blessing, only plural blessings. Psalm 1 says that
meditating will give you vitality “like a
tree” (Psalm 1:3). It will give you security, for you will be “planted” (verse 3). Your capacity will
be unlimited because His sources are “the
rivers [plural] of water” (verse
3). You will be fertile, because
meditating “brings forth its fruit” (verse
3). You will have seasons and perpetuate, because your “leaf…shall not wither” (verse 3). What prosperity! Everything you
do “shall prosper” (verse 3).
Can you look into the mirror of these words and see
yourself?
Because of the blessings, successes, and revelations I’ve
received, I’ve condensed hours of study, practical experience, and character
studies on meditation, which I believe will compel you to meditate on His Word—letting
it dominate and change your life for the better. I pray the Lord will throw
open the shutters of your spiritual understanding so that you may receive all
the blessings He has for you in the fullness of His Word.
Let this truth be gladly received in your mind and your
will. Embrace this truth. There’s only one way to go—forward!
Call of the Prairie (Pioneer Promises Series Book 2) by Vickie McDonough 22 Jan 2014 7:34 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 23
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Whitaker House (January 1, 2014)
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
In her 22 years, Sophie Davenport’s overprotective parents have taken every possible measure to keep her from exacerbating her asthma—she feels like a prisoner in her own house with her activities limited to reading and needlework. Yet Sophie longs for adventure and love, so when an aunt living in Windmill, Kansas, falls ill, she volunteers to travel from St. Louis to help out. Sophie’s new role brings her into contact with two children boarding at her aunt’s home, along with their handsome uncle, Josh Harper. Josh has worked for his family’s stagecoach stop on the Santa Fe Trail for most of his life, but he’s far more bookish than his brawny brothers. It’s his book smarts that recently landed him a job in Windmill managing his uncle’s bank. Josh also looks after his niece and nephew who are living in Windmill to attend school. Josh loves spending time with them, but yearns for a family of his own.List Price: $12.99
Series: Pioneer Promises (Book 2)
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (January 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603749624
ISBN-13: 978-1603749626
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
April
1873
St.
Louis, Missouri
Sophie
Davenport held back the curtain and peered out the front window, her heart
jolting as a handsome man exited the carriage. He paid the driver, then turned
and studied her house. He was taller and nicer looking than she’d expected. She
dropped the curtain and stepped back, hoping he hadn’t seen her spying. She
pressed her hands together and tapped her index fingers against her lips,
unable to hold back her grin. Blake had finally arrived!
A
knock of confidence, not apprehension, sounded at the main entrance. Sophie
hurried to her bedroom door, which opened onto the main entryway, then held her
breath and listened. Blake stood on her porch, introducing himself to the
butler. Sophie could barely hold back her giddiness. She bounced on her toes as
Blake told the butler he had an appointment with her. His voice, deeper than
she’d imagined, floated through the open transom window above her like a
beautiful cello solo at the symphony.
She
patted her hair, hoping the humidity of the warm day hadn’t sent it spiraling
in rebellious curls. The swish of silk accompanied her as she hurried across
the room to the full-length oval mirror that stood in one corner. Pressing a
hand over her chest to calm her pounding heart, she surveyed her deep purple
gown. Was the fabric too dark? She’d chosen the violet silk taffeta because her
brightly colored day dresses made her appear younger, but today, she wanted to
look the twenty-two-year-old woman she was. Turning sideways, she checked her
bustle and bow, making sure they were straight. Everything was as orderly as it
could be. Would Blake like what he saw? Would he think her too short? Her light
brown hair too nondescript?
Flicking
a piece of lint off her bodice, she turned and faced the door. She would know
soon enough. After more than a year of correspondence, Blake knew everything
about her, and he had adamantly insisted that none of it mattered. He’d fallen
in love with her through her enchanting missives, and he wanted her for his
wife.
A
vicious knock rattled the glass in the transom, and Sophie jumped. The
apprehension racing through her was less about meeting Blake and more about the
fact that she hadn’t told her parents about him. They would have cut off her
correspondence faster than their gardener could lop off the head of a snake.
But it was too late now. She attempted to swallow the lump lodged in her
throat, but it refused to move.
Her
mother walked in, her whole face pinched like a prune, and quickly closed the
door. She stood there facing it for a long moment, her head down, then heaved a
loud, exaggerated sigh.
Not
a good sign.
Finally,
her mother turned. “You have a guest, Sophia—a male guest.” One eyebrow lifted.
“Would you care to explain to me how you are acquainted with this man,
especially since neither your father nor I have ever met him?”
Sophie
pressed a hand to her throat. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. “His name is
Blake Sheppard. He and I have been corresponding for over a year.”
Her
mother’s brown eyes widened. “A year? But how? I’ve never seen a letter from
him in the mail.”
Ducking
her head, Sophie stilled her hands and held them in front of her. “Ruthie sent
and received them for me. Blake is her cousin—and a gentleman.”
“A
gentleman doesn’t go behind the backs of a young woman’s parents to contact
her.” Maintaining her stiff stance, her mother puckered her lips. “So, you’ve
been deceiving your father and me?”
Wincing,
Sophie turned toward the front window. “Would you have allowed me to correspond
with Blake if I’d told you about him?”
“Proper
ladies don’t exchange letters with men they’ve never been introduced to, and
certainly not without parental approval.”
Drawing
a steadying breath, Sophie turned to face her mother. She’d known this would be
a battle. “Mother, please. Blake is a good man. Ask me anything about him.”
“There’s
no need. We will go out to the parlor, share a cup of tea, and then you’ll make
excuses that will send him on his way. Is that clear?”
Sophie
gasped. “But he’s traveled so far, and I’ve waited so long to meet him.” She
despised the pleading in her voice. Why couldn’t her parents let her grow up
like her sister? A wheeze squeaked out of her throat. She had to stay calm. The
last thing she wanted was to have an attack in front of Blake.
Her
mother moved closer, her expression softening. She took Sophie’s hand. “You
know how things are, dear. You had no business getting that young man’s hopes
up.”
“That
young man is my fiancé, Mother.”
“Fiancé—why,
that’s absurd! You know you can’t lead a normal life.”
Closing
her eyes, Sophie fought back tears. Why did her parents seek to limit her?
Given the chance, she was certain she could be a proper wife and mother, but
her parents just wanted to coddle her and keep her close. “You have to face the
fact that I’m grown up. I want to live a normal life.” She hurried past her
mother and reached for the door handle.
“But
you are not normal, dear. Your father and I only want to protect you. We
couldn’t bear to lose you, and you know we’ve come close to doing that very
thing on several occasions.”
Sophie
shuddered at the declaration. Her mother’s words rang in her ears: You are not normal. Yes, she had a
breathing problem; but, as she’d gotten older, the spells had happened less
often. Maybe in time, they’d go away altogether. Her parents were afraid to let
her live as her sister did. If she didn’t get away from them, she’d become a
spinster—if she wasn’t one already. She stiffened her back and pasted on a
smile, trying to ignore the pain of her mother’s chastisement. Blake was
waiting.
She
opened the door and stepped into the entryway, her gaze searching for the man
she’d dreamed about so many times. Blake stood in front of the parlor sofa,
speaking with her father. He hadn’t noticed her yet.
“I’m
sorry you’ve wasted your time traveling all this way, Mr. Sheppard,” her father
said. “But, as I’ve already stated, my daughter is not in the habit of
receiving male visitors.”
Blake’s
eyebrows drew together, his shoulders slumping, as he looked down at the
carpet. Sophie blew out several breaths and tried to calm herself, then hurried
through the entryway into the parlor, avoiding her father’s glare. Her gaze
latched onto Blake’s, and she saw the confusion in his hazel eyes. He offered a
tentative smile. “Miss Davenport, a pleasure to finally meet you.”
She
smiled, her cheeks warming, as she curtsied. “I’ve looked forward to this
moment for a very long time.” She waved a hand toward her father, and noticed
that her mother had followed her into the room. “I apologize, but I failed to
tell my parents about your arrival.” Because
I knew just how they would respond. “I fear they are both a bit surprised.”
An understatement of mammoth proportions, if ever there was one.
Sophie
gathered her courage and turned to her father. “I see you’ve met Blake,
Father.” Her throat tightened at his stern stare. Another wheeze squeaked out.
“B-Blake is my fiancé.”
Her
father’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. A pomegranate color climbed
up his neck, turning his ears red. He turned his fiery gaze on Blake. “You
presume a lot, young man. Did Sophie not inform you that she is not fully well?
She is not in a position to accept an offer of marriage.”
Blake
cleared his throat and straightened, as if he wasn’t ready to give up the
battle. “Yes, sir, she told me, but I thought—” His gaze captured Sophie’s, and
then he glanced at the floor again. He shuffled his feet, as if he were trying
to figure out a new dance step. “I thought Sophie—uh, Miss Davenport—was free
to make her own decisions, sir. I’m sorry that she failed to inform you of my
interest in her.”
“Inform
me?” Her father puffed up like a tom turkey whose hens were in danger. “A
daughter doesn’t ‘inform’ a father that she is planning to marry a stranger. A
decent fellow seeks permission before
approaching a man’s daughter.”
Blake
swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry, sir.”
As
if an angry fist clutched Sophie’s throat, she felt it closing. She expelled a
wheeze, and Blake shot a glance in her direction. Her father’s tirade blended
with the words her mother had uttered, causing an ache within her so painful,
she didn’t know if she could bear it. She was losing Blake, and they’d only
just met. Was she doomed to live with her overprotective parents the rest of
her life?
No!
She
wouldn’t.
She’d
fight for Blake. He was worth it.
She
opened her mouth to defend her fiancé, but the sound that came out more resembled
the bleat of an ailing goat than her own voice. Humiliation blistered her
cheeks.
Blake
took a step backward, away from her, his handsome face drawn in a scowl.
“You
see, Mr. Sheppard, the slightest excitement can set off one of my daughter’s
attacks.” Father turned to Sophie’s mother. “Ring for some coffee, if you will.
It seems to help our Sophie’s spells.”
Spells. Attacks. What would Blake think?
Sophie
held out her hand to him. Instead of taking it, he cast another worried glanced
at her father. She sucked in another wheezy breath, struggling to stay clam in
the midst of such turmoil. The room tilted. Sophie closed her eyes until the
spinning stopped. All was silent for several long moments, except for her
screeching breaths.
When
her eyelids fluttered open, Blake met her gaze with an apology in his eyes. She
knew in that moment she’d lost him.
He
sighed. “Perhaps I have been too hasty. I sincerely apologize, Miss Davenport,
but I must withdraw my offer of marriage. I hope you and your parents can forgive
me for troubling you so.”
Tears
stung Sophie’s eyes. She held out her hand again, hoping—praying—he’d take hold
of it. “No, please—”
He
skirted around her as if she were a leper, nodded to her mother, then snatched
his hat off the hall tree and rushed out the door.
Sophie
collapsed in the nearest chair and watched her dreams march down the sidewalk
and out of sight. Tears blurred her vision as all hope of a future with Blake
died. How could her parents be so cruel as to not even allow Blake to express
his interest in her? How could they embarrass her so?
Her
father walked to her and leaned over. “Try to calm down, Sophia.”
She
jumped up so fast, her head almost rammed his chin. He stumbled backward. The
room swerved as she struggled for a decent breath. “How c-could you, Father?”
A
wave of guilt washed over his face. “It’s for your own good, you know.”
She
clutched the end table for support for a moment, then stumbled past him.
He
took her arm. “Here, let me help you, precious.”
“No!
Please.” She yanked away. “I can…take care of…myself. I’m a grown woman, and
you both need to f-face that fact.” She inhaled a decent breath and then
charged on, by pure willpower. “I’m twenty-two and not your little girl
anymore. Stop sheltering me…let me live my life. It’s mine to live, not yours
to stifle.”
The
flash of pain in her father’s eyes only made her feel worse. Her shoes tapped
across the entryway as she hurried back to her room—the former library, where
her parents had relegated her, as if she were a pariah. She shut the door and
collapsed on her bed, wanting to cry but knowing that doing so would only make
breathing harder. She slammed her fist against her pillow. “Why, God? Why can’t
my parents let me grow up?”
She’d
had such hopes. Thought that when her parents met Blake, they’d see what a
quality man he was. But they hadn’t even given him a chance. Could she have
been mistaken about him? She smacked the bed, a futile outlet for her
frustrations and disappointments. Blake hadn’t bothered to fight for her one
bit; he’d fled out the door the first chance he’d gotten. She’d tried to
prepare him—to warn him about her episodes—but she must have failed.
She
barked a cough that sounded like a seal she’d once seen at the menagerie in New
York City’s Central Park. Sophie pushed up into a sitting position, in order to
breathe better. Blinking, she attempted to force away her tears, but new ones
came like the spring rains that flooded the banks of the Mississippi River. Why
had God cursed her with this hateful condition?
The
door opened, and her mother entered, carrying a tray. Coffee. She despised the
foul-tasting stuff, but it was thought to be helpful to people with asthma, as
were garlic, whiskey, and a number of other nasty-tasting concoctions.
“How
are you, dear?”
Sophie
slid back down on the bed and turned to face the wall. She didn’t want to
talk—couldn’t talk.
“Don’t
be that way. You need to drink this coffee.”
She
shook her head.
“Turn
over, Sophia.” Her mother’s tone left no room for refusal.
She
obeyed but didn’t look at her mother. Instead, she started counting the thin,
blue lines in the wallpaper—all nine hundred sixteen of them—as she’d done a
thousand other times. Focusing on the task would keep her from weeping and from
lashing out in anger.
Her
mother blew out a loud breath, then held out the coffee cup. “Drink this.”
Sophie
shook her head. “Doesn’t help.” She sucked in a breath, thankful that this
episode was a mild one and already beginning to pass, in spite of the day’s
traumatic events.
Her
mother set the cup back on the tray with a loud clatter and stared across the
room. “Whatever made you do such a thing? Don’t you know that young man must
have spent hard-earned money to come here? Taken time away from his job,
assuming he has one? You gave him false hopes, Sophia, and now he’s wasted a
year of his life pursuing a woman he can never have.”
Sophie
clenched her eyes shut, losing count of the lines. Did her mother not care that
her heart was breaking?
Guilt
nibbled its way into her mind like a mouse in a sack of grain. She hadn’t
thought how things would affect Blake if they turned sour. She’d been so
certain everything would work out in their favor. So certain that she could
persuade her parents to let them marry, that she hadn’t considered the negative
side. But her mother was right about one thing. Blake had taken leave from his
job as bookkeeper for a shoe factory in Chicago so that he could travel to St.
Louis to meet her. He had wasted his time and money to come here.
And
it was all her fault.
She
sucked in a sob.
Her
mother patted her shoulder. “There, there. Things will work out.”
Yes,
her father would go back to running his company. Her mother would attend her
social clubs and church functions. Her sister would continue as a happily married
wife and soon-to-be mother, while Sophie would continue her boring existence as
a lonely spinster living in her parents’ home.
The
bed lifted on one side as her mother stood and quietly left the room. After the
door closed, Sophie sat up and stared out the window, at the very place she’d
first seen Blake. She hated feeling sorry for herself, and she normally didn’t,
but today, her emotions were raw.
She
rose from the bed and crossed the room to her desk, where her Bible lay. She
picked it up and hugged it to her chest as she gazed out at the garden. Bright
yellow butterflies flitted from flower to flower. A big bumblebee disappeared
in a clump of pink azaleas. The beauty of God’s creation never failed to cheer
her, even on the saddest of days.
Sophie
blew out a loud sigh. “Forgive me, Lord, if I’ve been selfish.” She hugged the
Bible tighter. “But please, Father, make a way for me to break free from my
parents. To prove to them—and to myself—that I can stand on my own. That I can
take care of myself. And please, Lord, if it be Your will, send me a man
someday who will love me for the woman I am and overlook my…flaws.”
Tears
pooled in her eyes, and her throat tightened. “But if it is Your will for me to
remain in my parents’ home and to never marry, help me to accept that and to be
content.”
If
that was the Lord’s will, He certainly had a monumental task ahead.
The Blood that Cries in the Ground by Gregory Bellarmine 21 Jan 2014 8:05 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 22
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Christian Books Today Ltd (October 22, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jason Richardson for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
happy though sometimes sleepless life in the UK with his wife, two children and rather
cheeky Parson Russell Terrier.:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
The Greatest Myth ever dispelled. Italy. A tough master of novices, Father Dante encounters the bold young priest Antonio who challenges his identity and accuses him of being the Saint Nicholas. But despite the Father faking his death, a determined Antonio discovers a rather alive Dante arrayed in kilt and armor.In return for Antonio’s silence—and to protect the town from attracting all manner of darkness—Dante agrees to tell his life story. Without explanation, Dante orders Antonio to meet him at night in the abandoned Cathedral, the site of a former battle that the Church has kept secret for a generation.
Until today.
The Criskindl. Ice Steeds. The Unborn. Saint.
From the Dark Ages’ when Poet-Sorcerers ruled kings, to the Holy Land when a new civilization was rising, to Revolutionary France where love is lost and gained, Father Dante pursues the one responsible for both his master and his mother’s deaths: Black Peter, his brother.
List Price: $14,99
Series: the Father Dante Journals
Paperback: 218 pages
Publisher: Christian Books Today Ltd (October 22, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1907436472
ISBN-13: 978-1907436475
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Please go here and press 'Look Inside' to see the chapter.
Life Stinks...And Then You Die: Living Well in a Sick World by Bob Hostetler 16 Jan 2014 8:10 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 17th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Leafwood Publishers (November 12, 2013)
***Special thanks to Ryan Self for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Life Stinks . . . And Then You Die is a gritty, honest look at the world around us and the world inside us. It is based on an ancient book of wisdom that many consider to be the Bible's most perplexing book, Ecclesiastes, to a man who seemed to have every advantage--wealth, education, and power could possibly offer--but still struggled to find happiness and meaning. It does not offer platitudes. No easy fixes. It doesn't spackle over the rough reality of life in the twenty-first century. But it does offer perspective. And hope. And a plan for living well in spite of all that's wrong with the world and with us.List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Leafwood Publishers (November 12, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0891123776
ISBN-13: 978-0891123774
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Life’s
Just a Bowl of Cherries.
Rotten
Cherries.
It begins with a single, beautiful butterfly. A monarch
butterfly, or perhaps its look-alike, a viceroy.
The
butterfly lands on the side mirror of a large SUV, setting off the car’s
anti-theft alarm. The noise startles a squirrel, which loses its perch on a
branch and drops into a bowl of nuts or grapes next to a sunbathing woman.
Frightened, she leaps up and screams, distracting the man across the street,
who is washing his car. He inadvertently sprays the operator of a front loader,
who loses control of his machine and launches a large rock into the air. The
rock flies over a building and lands on the tongue of a boat trailer. The boat
on the trailer flips into the air like a missile and crashes through the roof
of a house as the home’s resident stands in front fixing his mailbox. Hearing
the clatter behind him, the man slowly turns around to see a gaping boat-shaped
hole in the roof of his house. The television commercial ends with an
announcer’s voice: “Life comes at you fast. Nationwide. Investments.
Retirement. Insurance.”
That
effective advertisement was one in a series of Nationwide Insurance commercials
that ran for five years, each bearing the tag line, “Life comes at you fast.” Some of
the commercials featured celebrities such as MC Hammer, Fabio, and Kevin
Federline. Many became big hits, and the series spawned numerous parodies on
YouTube. By any measurement, the commercials were a success.
The ad
campaign worked, of course, because the commercials were funny. But they also
tapped into a nearly universally recognized truth: life does come at you fast.
Sometimes blindingly fast. And it often leaves gaping holes and burning embers
in its wake.
When Life
Goes South
No one who has lived very long can deny that life is not all
fun and games. It comes at you fast and often leaves a mark. That is the reason
for the title of this book: Life Stinks .
. . and Then You Die. But that’s not to suggest that life lacks all
pleasure. Not at all. There is much in life that is beautiful and wonderful—a
baby’s laugh, a friend’s hug, a mountain lake, a pie pulled fresh from the
oven. As songwriters Bob Thiele and George David Weiss wrote (and Louis
Armstrong famously sang), many lovely features of this world—trees of green,
red roses, “the bright blessed day” and “dark sacred night”—can prompt a person
to think, “What a wonderful world.”[i]
And, truth
be told, many people do seem to skip blithely through the meadows of this world
with nary a wound or scar. Day after day seems to shine on them. They wake up
each morning with a smile on their face. They meet and marry the person of
their dreams. Their children are always clean and obedient. Their cars never
break down, their friends never betray them, and their jobs never get
“outsourced” or “downsized.”
But it
seems to me that most of those people are still quite young. The longer a
person lives, the more pain he or she experiences. The older a person gets, the
more tempting it is to become cynical. Jaded. Or, as some might put it, simply
realistic.
Though I
write full time these days, I have in my short lifetime been the pastor of four
churches—one in southeast Ohio, one in northeast Ohio, and two in southwest
Ohio. Being a pastor is, in some ways, like having a front row seat to life’s
highest highs and lowest lows. Pastors are present not only at jubilant events
like baptisms and weddings, but also at less-happy moments in hospitals,
nursing homes, and funeral homes.
I suppose
I’ll always remember July 4, 1985, when my wife and I were called to the
hospital room of two dear friends. We expected to hear the news that Bud and
Becky had welcomed their first child into the world. But we learned instead
that their baby boy, whom they had named Jonathan, was stillborn. We cried
together, cradled that tiny lifeless form in our arms, and held a bedside
memorial service for that precious child—and for his parents’ countless hopes
and plans for him.
Another
entry in my pastoral records is for a young man named Jason. Just weeks into
his senior year of high school, eighteen-year-old Jason was killed in an
automobile accident on his way to school. The honor student planned to take his
girlfriend to their senior homecoming celebration, which was to take place the
next weekend.
Bill was a
man in the church my wife and I had helped to start in Oxford, Ohio. He had
recently moved to the area in secret, having escaped his former high position
in a satanic coven in Pennsylvania. He found our church, became a follower of
Jesus, and made many new friends. He was baptized on the Sunday before
Christmas 2002. Just two months later, however, one of his new friends went to
call on him at his apartment. Bill didn’t answer. He had died of a massive
heart attack in the middle of the night.
Those are just three of many people
with whom I have hurt and cried over the years. The worst of it is, their
experiences are not unique. Many others could share tales of one heartbreak
after another, stories of disease, divorce, depression, abuse, addiction,
poverty, and pain. Even if your life has been largely pleasant and generally
positive to date, you have certainly endured some painful experiences—if you
are old enough to read this book, that is. And while those experiences may not
yet have pierced your optimism and sunny disposition, you may someday wonder
(as many others do) if it is possible to live well when life seems to curdle
and sour. You may hunger for hope. For answers. For something more real and
lasting than well-meaning platitudes.
That is what I hope to supply in the
coming pages of this book. However, I won’t be alone in that endeavor. I will
rely on another guide, someone who experienced more of life, wealth, wisdom,
and experience than I could ever claim.
Wiser Than
Anyone
He lived roughly one thousand years before the birth of
Jesus Christ. His father was king. And not just any king, but a man who molded
a kingdom out of a bunch of fractious tribes and warring factions. The father’s
name was David; the son was given the name Solomon. The father was a shepherd,
a poet, and a warrior; the son’s very name was “peace,” a form of the word shalom.
Upon the death of King David,
Solomon became the king in Jerusalem, sometime around 967 BC. He reigned for forty years,
presiding over a period in Israel’s history that is routinely called the
“Golden Age.” His kingdom extended from the Euphrates River in present-day
Syria to the Arabian Desert and the Gulf of Aqabah in the south. His crowning
achievement was the construction of the Temple in Jerusalem. He was renowned
for his wisdom, wealth, and accomplishment, some of which is described in 1
Kings 4:25–34:
During the lifetime of Solomon, all
of Judah and Israel lived in peace and safety. And from Dan in the north to
Beersheba in the south, each family had its own home and garden.
Solomon
had 4,000 stalls for his chariot horses, and he had 12,000 horses.
The
district governors faithfully provided food for King Solomon and his court;
each made sure nothing was lacking during the month assigned to him. They also
brought the necessary barley and straw for the royal horses in the stables.
God gave
Solomon very great wisdom and understanding, and knowledge as vast as the sands
of the seashore. In fact, his wisdom exceeded that of all the wise men of the
East and the wise men of Egypt. He was wiser than anyone else, including Ethan
the Ezrahite and the sons of Mahol—Heman, Calcol, and Darda. His fame spread
throughout all the surrounding nations. He composed some 3,000 proverbs and
wrote 1,005 songs. He could speak with authority about all kinds of plants,
from the great cedar of Lebanon to the tiny hyssop that grows from cracks in a
wall. He could also speak about animals, birds, small creatures, and fish. And
kings from every nation sent their ambassadors to listen to the wisdom of
Solomon.[ii]
Some of King Solomon’s proverbs are preserved in the book of
Proverbs, in our Bible. At least one of his songs—the Song of Songs, or Song of
Solomon—is also a part of our Bible. The ancient rabbis, as well as many more
recent authorities, suggested that Song of Songs was written when Solomon was a
young man, and Proverbs was written (and perhaps compiled) in the middle years
of his life. But a third book is often considered to have been the product of
Solomon’s mind in his latter years, when he had seen it all, done it all, and
bought the T-shirt, so to speak.
A
Fine-Hammered Steel of Woe
The book of Ecclesiastes is often described as the strangest
book of the Bible. George S. Hendry called it “Disjointed in construction,
obscure in vocabulary, and often cryptic in style.”[iii] F.
C. Jennings referred to it as “an enigma” and an “arsenal” for attacks against
the Bible as God’s Word.[iv]
On the other hand, Herman Melville, in Moby
Dick, praised it as “the truest of all books . . . the fine-hammered steel
of woe.”[v]
And novelist Thomas
Wolfe said, “Ecclesiastes is the greatest single piece of writing I have ever
known.”[vi]
Dr. A. F. Harper says that
“Ecclesiastes is . . . like a diary in which a man has recorded his impressions
from time to time,”[vii]
and Dr. Charles Swindoll describes it as the journal of Solomon’s “mid-life
crisis.”[viii]
However, it is not universally
agreed that Solomon wrote it. He is never identified by name in the book.
Instead, the first verse ascribes the book to “the Teacher, son of David, king
in Jerusalem.”[ix]
It is a clear reference to Solomon, though some scholars say he couldn’t have
written the book, because of some of the words and phrasing it uses. In any
case, there is no doubt that not only the first verse but the entire book
refers to and relies on the life, wisdom, and experience of King Solomon.
The author is identified by a Hebrew
word, Qoheleth (or Koheleth), which,
when it was translated into Greek, became “Ecclesiastes,” and in English is rendered
“Teacher.” Hendry explains: “The word is connected with qahal, the public assembly, and it suggests the kind of wisdom
delivered by the speaker to those in the outer court, as distinguished from the
‘hidden wisdom’ which is known only to those who have been admitted to the
mystery of God (1 Cor. 2:7).”[x]
It combines connotations of
“prophet,” “priest,” and “king.” But there may also be a broader intention in
the use of that word—and in the way the entire book is presented, according to
Ronald B. Allen, senior professor of Bible exposition at Dallas Theological
Seminary: “Solomon might have written this wisdom book as a tract for
other nations. . . . Solomon had entertained many dignitaries from other
nations, including the queen of Sheba. The queen’s questions concerning the
basic meaning of life might have prompted him to write Ecclesiastes to teach
the Gentiles about the living God.”[xi]
For all these reasons, I will most
often refer to the author as Qoheleth
in these pages. In doing so, I hope to preserve the author’s apparent intention
to evoke the king’s wisdom and authority while simultaneously assuming an added
aura of mystery and universality. I will also conclude each of the chapters in
this book with a prayer, to help you apply and internalize the content of the
preceding chapter at a deeper level. I truly believe the inspired words of
Ecclesiastes can change your life, and those prayers are key to that process. I
hope you won’t skip them. In fact, I hope you will do more than simply read
them. I invite you to take the time and thought to pray each one, even aloud,
because I believe that sincerely praying those words (and, ideally, even adding
to them, according to how the Holy Spirit of God is moving you at that moment)
will make you a partner with God in applying his Word to your life and bringing
about real and lasting change, which is the purpose for which I write.
In any case, Ecclesiastes is of
great value, and perhaps never more so than in this day and age, for people
like you and me. Dr. John Paterson writes, “It would have been a great pity and
a serious loss if a book that is meant to be the Bible of all men made no
reference or failed to deal with the mood of scepticism which is common to all
men.”[xii]
Swindoll adds, “I am pleased that we have this
ancient book available today to set the record straight. All around us are
people who are buying into [an] empty, horizontal, who-needs-God perspective.
Their . . . whole frame of reference is humanistic. We see it lived out in soap
operas every afternoon and on prime time every night. We hear it in political
speeches. We learn it in the halls of academia, on the streets of any city.”[xiii]
Is this life all there is? Is it
best summed up as, “Life stinks . . . and then you die”? Is it inevitable for
the potential and optimism of youth to falter and fade in the harsh light of
disease, divorce, depression, abuse, addiction, poverty, and pain? Or is it
possible to live well in spite of such dangers and disasters? Does the wisest
man who ever lived have any wisdom to impart to us, thirty centuries later?
I think so. And I can’t wait to show
you why.
* * *
Lord God,
I am ready. I am open. I am willing and waiting to hear your voice speaking to
me through the words of Qoheleth. Please use
this “fine-hammered steel of woe”—this book of Ecclesiastes—as well as the
pages of this book that follow and the time and attention I invest in them to
shine a light on my experiences, struggles, disappointments, defeats—and
victories. Use this book to teach me how to live well when life seems to curdle
and sour. Use these pages to speak far more than well-meaning platitudes—speak
your truth and your will to my listening ears and waiting heart. Impart hope.
Give insight. Meet needs—not only my needs in this moment, but those that you
know will arise in the days and weeks and months ahead. Guide me through this
book so that when I have finished reading it will have been far, far more than
an interesting intellectual exercise. Please make it a life-changing
experience, in Jesus’ name, amen.
[i] Bob
Thiele and George David Weiss, “What a Wonderful World,” 1967, Memory Lane
Music Group, Carlin Music Corp., and Bug Music, Inc.
[ii] 1 Kings
4:25–34 nlt.
[iii] George
S. Hendry, “Ecclesiastes,” The New Bible
Commentary: Revised (London: Inter–Varsity Press, 1970), 570.
[iv] F. C.
Jennings, Old Groans and New Songs: Being
Meditations on the Book of Ecclesiastes (London: S. Bagster and Sons, Ltd.,
1920), 1.
[v] Herman
Melville, Moby Dick (New York: Pocket
Books, 1999), 424–425.
[vi] Thomas
Wolfe, You Can’t Go Home Again (New
York: Scribner, 2011), 628.
[vii] A. F.
Harper, “Ecclesiastes,” Beacon Bible
Commentary (Kansas City: Beacon Hill Press, 1967), 549.
[viii] Charles
R. Swindoll, Living on the Ragged Edge
(Waco: Word Books, 1985), 17.
[ix]
Ecclesiastes 1:1.
[x] Hendry,
570.
[xi] Ronald B. Allen, “Ecclesiastes,” Nelson’s New
Illustrated Bible Commentary (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1999), 779.
[xii] John
Paterson, The Book That Is Alive (New
York: Charles Scribner and Sons, 1954), 120.
[xiii]
Swindoll, 16.
Tessa by Melissa Wiltrout 14 Jan 2014 6:53 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 16th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (September 3, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jeremiah M. Zeiset for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Melissa Wiltrout lives in west-central Wisconsin with her two dogs, an energetic terrier named Daisy and a Sheltie named Chester. During the summer months she keeps busy at the family nursery and landscaping business. Writing is her favorite activity, but she also enjoys relaxing with a good book, playing guitar, breeding goldfish, and gardening.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Is there no way out?
Tessa loathes being forced to work in her father’s illegal drug business. Yet her ill-fated attempts at running away only deepen the abuse. Guilt and shame press in, pushing away her real friends and reinforcing her own criminal tendencies.
Tessa yearns for freedom – and something else. Then a neighbor introduces her to God and salvation through Christ. But will faith be enough? Can she overcome the forces that bind her before it’s too late?
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 292 pages
Publisher: LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (September 3, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1622450876
ISBN-13: 978-1622450879
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
“Stop! Thief!”
Fear stabbed my chest. I dodged in
front of a loaded shopping cart and shoved through the outer set of glass doors
at Allen’s Super Foods. The plastic bag of hot dogs and bread knocked against
my leg as I took a sharp left and sprinted down the dark sidewalk.
“Stop, you punk!” Footsteps pounded
close behind me. I could hear heavy breathing. I ran faster, willing all my
energy into my legs. My breath came in ragged gasps. I kept my eyes fixed on
the lights of the busy street half a block ahead. I sure hope there’s a break
in the traffic. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to stop
if there isn’t…
I had cleared the far end of the
building and was racing across the final stretch of parking lot when the clerk
caught up with me. He grabbed my shoulders and kicked me in the legs, slamming
me to the pavement. I screamed as pain ripped through my right ankle and leg.
He threw himself on top of me, closing huge hands around my neck and shoulders.
“I got you now, you punk.”
His sudden weight on my back left
me breathless. I struggled to roll him off, but he tightened his grip. His knee
pressed into my back and his fingernails dug into my shoulder like claws. “Oh
no you don’t.”
“I . . . can’t breathe,” I gasped.
“Get . . . off of me.”
“That’s what you all say. I’ll get
off of you all right – when the police get here.” As he spoke, he shifted his
weight higher on my back. My chest began to hurt.
“No,” I pleaded. “Stop. You’re . .
. killing me.”
“Shut up,” he said. I heard a faint
beep, beep as he pressed the buttons on his cell phone. I was crying. Sharp
pains shot up my leg from my twisted ankle, and I was helpless to relieve them.
Cold pavement bit into my chin. I tasted blood where I’d cut my lip falling. I
made one more attempt to free myself, but it was no use. The guy must’ve
weighed two hundred pounds. At last a police cruiser pulled up with its lights
flashing, and an officer stepped out.
“You Bruce Sommerfeld?” he said to
the clerk.
“I am.”
“You can let go now. I’ve got her.”
Bruce surrendered his grip on me
reluctantly. “I caught this little punk red-handed. And it’s not the first time
she’s pulled this. I can prove it.”
I took a breath and started to push
myself up, but the officer stopped me, pulling my hands behind my back. Cold
metal clamped around my left wrist, then my right. What on earth was he doing?
Handcuffing me? I hoped nobody was watching.
Fresh pain shot through my ankle as
the officer pulled me to my feet. “So you were shoplifting, huh?” he said.
It wasn’t a dream this time. I was
being arrested.
“I didn’t do nothin’. I swear!”
Frantically I tried to wrench free of the steel cuffs. “He’s lying. He hates
me. You all hate me!”
“That’s enough. Settle down.” A
second officer, a woman, stepped close and took my other arm. She began
steering me toward the black and white car. “My name’s Pat. And you are . . .
?”
I didn’t answer. My wrists stung
from my fight with the cuffs. I had never felt so helpless and humiliated in my
life.
Pat opened the rear door of the
cruiser. “Okay, in you go.”
I hesitated as my eyes took in the
hard black seat, the bars over the window, the mesh divider. This was for
criminals, not for somebody like me. Did I have to get in? But the firm
pressure on my arm told me I had no choice. I dropped into the seat, my face
hot, wincing as my hurt ankle bumped the door frame.
I fit in there – sort of. There
wasn’t more than eight inches of knee room in front of that seat, and with my
hands squashed behind my back, I was miserable to say the least. They didn’t
really expect me to ride like this, did they?
Tears pricked my eyes. I bit my lip
hard to restrain them. Through the barred window, I saw Bruce enter the store
with my bag of food. As if he needed it. My stomach growled, reminding me I
hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
“How old are you, kid?” Pat twisted
around to look at me from the driver’s seat.
“Old enough.”
“Old enough to be on your own?”
In the darkness, I felt my face
flush. Is it that obvious I’m a runaway? I thought of the stains on my jeans,
the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of my purple sweatshirt, and the shiny wire
I’d used to reattach the soles of my worn tennis shoes – all things I had
convinced myself no one would notice. I must’ve been crazy.
Heat blew into the back of the car,
raising a smell of sweat and dirty clothes. I tried to flip back the tangled
locks of dark hair that kept falling across my face. My teeth chattered, but
not from cold. I was scared of being put in jail.
The ride to the Northford Police
Station was short. Pat pulled into the garage. From there, she marched me into
a long narrow room. I squinted against the glare of fluorescent lights. Pat
removed the handcuffs and directed me to one of the plastic chairs at a small
table.
I sank into the chair, glad to get
off my hurt ankle. By now it had swollen to the size of a small grapefruit. The
pain was agonizing. Had I broken it? I leaned forward and with one hand
loosened my shoelaces. Even that was a painful operation. Making it all the way
back to the garage where I was staying would be impossible.
“Did you hurt your ankle?” Pat
asked. She pulled the other chair around to sit facing me.
I stiffened. “It’ll be okay.” Did
she have to sit so close to me?
“You sure? You were limping on the
way in.”
I hesitated, torn by the sympathy
in her voice. But did I dare confide in a cop?
“It’s nothing, really. I-I got a
charley horse.”
“I see. How long has it been since
you left home?”
“Awhile.” My eyes traced the green and white
tiles at my feet. If only I could get rid of that lump in my throat that
threatened to make me cry.
“Like a week? Ten days?”
“Yeah, maybe.” It had been longer,
but she didn’t need to know that.
“That’s a long time. Have you been
stealing food this whole time?”
“Some of it.”
“Yes?” she pressed. “How much is
‘some’?”
“Most of it, I guess.”
“You know stealing is a crime,
don’t you? You can be fined and even imprisoned for it. If you need food, there
are better ways to get it.”
“Well yeah, but—”
“No buts. Maybe no one’s ever told
you this, but stealing is wrong. It’s serious. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I could feel the heat rising in my
cheeks. What did Pat know? She’d never gone hungry or spent the night under a
deck in the drizzling rain. It wasn’t like I’d hurt somebody. The store would
never miss what little I’d taken.
Pat shuffled a few papers on her
lap. “I understand the store is not pressing charges this time. However…” She
paused for emphasis. “If this sort of thing happens again, you will be charged
with retail theft. You’ll have to go to court and pay the consequences. Plus it
will get on your record. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.” I felt a tiny glimmer of
hope. “Does this mean you’re gonna let me go?”
“It means your parents will have to
come get you. I take it you’re not on the best terms with them just now. Am I
right?”
I exhaled slowly. My sweaty hands
clenched in my lap. I should’ve known they’d call my parents.
I felt Pat eyeing me. “It’s that
bad, huh? Want to talk about it?”
My mind raced. For a second I
considered it, but then I shook my head. Talking would only make things worse.
Much worse.
Pat was still watching me. “I’ve
got the time,” she said.
I shook my head harder. “Can’t you
just let me go? It’s not like I’m gonna do this again or something.”
“Sorry, but it’s not my call. Rules
are rules.” Pat laid her papers on the table. “You’re Tessa Miner, am I right?
And your parents are Walter and Julie Miner?”
I gulped. How did she know that?
“Is this phone number correct?”
I had to stop her somehow. “Look,
you don’t hafta call them, okay? I-I’ll just walk home.”
Pat stood up.
“Can’t I? I’ll go right home, I
promise. It’s not that far, and…”
“Ten miles with a hurt ankle isn’t
far, huh?” There was sarcasm in her voice now. She shook her head. “It doesn’t
work that way, Tessa.”
I was trapped. There was no way
out. Even supposing the doors weren’t locked, I’d never escape with this ankle.
The muscles in my chest constricted, suffocating me. I leaned my elbows on the
table and forced myself to breathe. I needed to be at my best to face Walter.
Walter. The name dredged up images
I didn’t want to remember. I could see my father standing there, his hands on
his hips as he screamed at me.
“You idiot, what’d you do that
for!”
“You’re coming if I gotta drag you
there! Now get out here!”
“Guess you didn’t listen, did you.
Well, this time I’ll make you!”
I could see the home place – the
shabby white house with its sagging porch, the huge junk heap in the back yard,
and my dad’s green, almost-brand-new pickup truck parked in the driveway. I
could smell the cigarette smoke and the coffee. I could see, too, the secret
garden by the back fence that was my dad’s special concern. He allowed Mom to
plant hibiscus and hollyhocks along the edge, but the rest was off limits. I
learned this the day I tried to capture a baby rabbit that was trapped inside
the fence. Walter caught me in there and beat me bloody, even though I hadn’t
damaged anything.
I could see the old shed near the
garden, where Walter had locked me up for two days after my last attempt at
running away. I recalled the torture of spending a night leaning up against the
lawnmower, my back aching like fire while I tried to ignore the rodents
scurrying and chewing in the walls around me. I’d be lucky if that was all I
had to face this time.
A sudden noise in the room caused
me to start in fear. Had my father come already? But it was only Pat dropping a
pen. I sank back, my heart still pounding. If only I could awaken from this
nightmare. But try as I did, I could not suppress the memories which played
like a bad movie across my mind.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Tessa, your father’s here.”
Living Separate Lives, a novella by Paulette Harper Johnson 14 Jan 2014 12:16 AM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 15th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Thy Word Publishing (November 9, 2013)
***Special thanks to Paulette Harper for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Four Friends, One Secret and The Weekend That Changed Their DestinyCandace Walker, Kaylan Smith, Jordan Tate, and Tiffany Thomas have their share of sorrows, but neither of them realizes how deep the sorrow goes. What happens when they agree to meet for a weekend of relaxation in beautiful Napa County? Which one will leave the same or worse?
For Candace Walker, life has left her battered and bruised. Kaylan Smith has struggled with prejudice from her in-laws. After fifteen years of marriage, bitterness is trying to raise its ugly head for Jordan Tate, whose husband wants to call it quits. And for Tiffany Thomas, dealing with rejection has never been one of her greatest feats.
Although they have been friends for years, they thought they knew each other well. But will a secret destroy their relationship and bring the sisterhood to a complete halt? Will they be able to forgive and allow God to mend that which might be torn?
List Price: $8.10
Paperback: 146 pages
Publisher: Thy Word Publishing (November 9, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 098996910X
ISBN-13: 978-0989969109
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
“Who
cares anyway if I die? I hate my life; I curse the day I was born,” said
Candace as she rolled out of her twin bed to face yet another day of sheer
disappointments. Her feet landed on the beige, shaggy, dirty carpet that had
seen better days. As she sat on the edge
of her bed, she looked around the small apartment as though she was expecting
to see something different, but nothing had changed.
“Lord, can I get a break? Can something good happen in my life?”
she cried as her head collapsed in her hands. She knew within
herself that today would be like all the rest: gloomy, sad, and most of all,
lonely. After all she had experienced in life, how could she think today would
be any different?
Candace
lived in a small studio apartment off of School Street in the city of
Pittsburg, California, a city surrounded by the beautiful San Francisco Bay
Area. Her apartment had enough room for
only one dresser and a nightstand, which she got at the neighborhood Goodwill
store.
The
walls of her apartment were dirty from years of cigarette smoke that didn’t
escape out of the window. Her kitchen table was made of plywood, which she
covered with a red table cloth. The table was encompassed by two chairs, one
for her and the other one she had hoped would be occupied by someone who
genuinely wanted to be with her. The blue and cream décor in her kitchen came
from visiting the neighborhood garage sales.
Her neighbors knew her so well because of the frequent visits she made
to their sales. Although Candace always had a roof over her head, she did not
like the environment in which she lived. After looking intently at her dwelling
place, she lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts shifted
from her disappointing apartment to her anger about the issues she had to deal
with, problems that had been with her for years, issues with her family.
Since
high school, life was hard for Candace. Almost every decision she made never
retuned a good dividend. The men in her life came and went, except for
Derrick. He stayed the longest, but his
bout with kidney failure ended whatever dreams she had of getting out of what
she called the “ghetto.” Derrick was her sure ticket to a better life, she
hoped. The only consolation to his memory was the pictures on the stained walls
and a locket she wore around her neck.
Candace
grew up with both parents and two siblings. Her sister, Monique, was three
years younger than her; her brother, Zach, was two years younger. Candace
always felt that she got the worse end of the stick when it came to Monique.
Monique was light-skinned with long, black, wavy hair, which belonged to her,
by the way. Candace’s skin tone was a few shades darker
than Monique. She was short in stature; five feet, three inches tall, to be
exact. She wore her hair down and straight, although it mostly contained black
hair extensions, which she bought from the neighborhood beauty supply store.
Monique
was the image of her mother minus a few inches of hair. She stood five feet,
eleven inches with a small frame; she could have been chosen as America’s Next
Top Model. But Monique decided to study law, passing the bar on her first
attempt; she then started her own practice and moved it to Los Angeles. Monique and her parents could not figure out
how Candace didn’t make more of herself. To them, Candace was merely existing
and taking up space. They wrote Candace
off years ago.
Her
parents would say they didn’t show favoritism to any of their children, but let
Candace tell the story; she would disagree. Candace didn’t have a great
relationship with her parents, nor did she have one with her sister. She longed
to connect with her mother, Vivian, even dreaming of having meaningful
conversations with her, but that never materialized. Vivian grew up without
love, so showing love was not something she did or knew how to do.
Nothing
Candace did was ever good enough for her parents. She realized long ago that
they would never validate or accept her for who she was. And that always
bothered her. The only relative that
Candace found solace in was her baby brother.
Zach
was the comic relief in the family and the only one who tried to keep Candace
from running away from home when they were teenagers. Despite what he saw from
his family, he found laughter to be a source of comfort. A joke at the right time would always make
Candace laugh instead of crying many days.
Now that he was older, his life revolved around school, his baby, and
opening up his own barber shop.
Zach
had similar features like his dad. He had a body like LL Cool J, muscular in
built, which required him to spend more time in the gym and less time getting
into trouble. His skin tone was the same as Candace’s, and his hair was black
and curly, which he kept cut low.
Their
dad, Robert, didn’t care about too much except a good home-cooked meal and the
wrestling matches that he saw nightly. He was content to spend his time sitting
in his brown leather recliner with a blanket next to the wooden table that had
enough room to hold his can of soda, the remote control, and the cordless
phone.
While reminiscing about one’s family may bring happiness to
others, memories of her family only angered Candace even more. The longer she
lay there, the angrier she got. In order
to avoid another day filled with anger, she started thinking about how much her
life would change for the better if only she could win the lotto or meet a rich
man. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, especially if she continued
to linger in the bed all day like she had been doing for the last few days.
Candace sighed and finally decided to climb out of bed. Maybe today would be her lucky day.
Candace made her way to the small kitchen and began fixing
breakfast. Today’s meal consisted of a slice of toast and coffee. Once she finished her breakfast, she stepped
into the shower and let the warm water sooth her. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt,
and headed out the door.
Outside her apartment she could hear the normal chanting from the
neighborhood kids. “There she goes,” the kids began to yell. Candace was often
referred to as “crazy Candi” because many times while
walking to the corner store to pick up her soda, cigarettes, and a lottery
ticket, they often observed her muttering to herself. Whenever they mocked her,
she would turn around and yell back at them.“I ain’t crazy,” she would yell. “I
know y’all think I am, but I’m not. I’m talking to God. That’s something y’all
young hoodlums should think about doing sometimes.”
While walking along the street, Candace decided to do something
differently. Instead of passing by the church on the way to the store, she
decided to go in and pray. She made
herself comfortable in one of the pews. The soft music that played inside the
church made her thoughts wander to the first time she went to church.
Candace
was introduced to Christ by one of her friends, Kaylan, To Candace, going to
church was the last thing on her mind or on her agenda. But she figured church
couldn’t be any worse than being home with people who didn’t give love or show
love. “I’ll give church a try,” she said to herself. “Maybe I could find some
answers to my probing questions as to why God didn’t give me a loving family and
why nothing good happened to me. Maybe the church folks would love me and help
me, but most importantly, pray for me,” she said to herself.
She
remembered the first time she walked into New Life Christian Center on
Christmas day. All the people were raising their hands, which was so foreign to
her. It didn’t seem real. She was feeling something, but didn’t know exactly
what to call “it” or if “it” had a name.
This was one feeling she couldn’t identify.
The
church décor was beautifully decorated with poinsettias placed around the stage
area. For the first time in Candace’s
life, she thought that maybe this was exactly the thing she needed. When she and Kaylan entered the sanctuary,
the usher wanted to sit them close to the front of the church, but Candace
would not have it. She leaned toward Kaylan and said, “Oh no, can’t we sit near
the back? I might need to go to the restroom.” Kaylan agreed. Seating them in
the front was not a good idea for more reasons than one. And Kaylan didn’t want Candace’s first visit
to New Life to be her last.
Kaylan
motioned to the usher, “We’d like to sit in the back, if that’s okay.” With
reservations, the usher directed them to the empty seats in the back of the
church. During service, the choir did not sing songs that Candace had ever
heard. Luckily, the words were plastered on the screen for people like her, the
un-churched. Yet the sound that came
from the choir calmed her apprehension.
The choir leader invited everyone to stand and join along. Kaylan turned to Candace, as she stood up to
join in on the praise.
“Come
on, Candace; it’s okay. Let go and let God.” Candace looked skeptical.
“Let
go and let God,” Candace muttered. “What in the world does that mean?” Maybe Kaylan will educate her on the church
lingo later, she thought. Candace slowly stood on her feet and
joined Kaylan and all the church folks who didn’t have the same problem as her.
Not feeling as comfortable as Kaylan, Candace left her arms by her side.
As
the music continued, people began clapping, shouting, and running around the
church. Candace’s brown eyes widened as big as saucers as she watched all this,
and her focus went from the choir to the little lady doing what appeared to be
some type of praise dance. All Candace
could do was laugh. A nudge from Kaylan on her arm got her attention back on
the choir. After thirty minutes into the singing, the Pastor emerged and took
the podium. “That’s Pastor Jonathon Williams,” Kaylan proudly announced to
Candace “That’s my Pastor,” she said
with excitement.
“Good
morning, saints. This is the day the Lord has made; let us be glad and
rejoice,” Pastor Williams said in a baritone voice.
“Praise
the Lord,” echoed the congregation to the pastor; well, everyone except for
Candace.
“First,
the usher wanted to seat us in the front of the church. Then they wanted us to
stand. Now we get to yell back to the Pastor?” Candace whispered right before
Kaylan let out a loud “Glory to God.” More claps and more shouting came, and
the applauses became louder. The roar reminded Candace of a sports game when
the winning team finally scored. She
remembered that, but had no idea “church” was anything like that.
“Today’s
text comes from John 3:16. You may be seated,” said Pastor Williams.
Candace and Kaylan
exchanged glances, and Candace’s voice let out a soft “Praise the Lord.” They
immediately started smiling and took their seats.
Candace’s
five-inch, black stilettos were not the ideal pair of shoes to wear to church.
They were cute, but being cute was not good enough. Candace didn’t realize that
it took preparation to come to church, something she’d have to really consider
next time.
Kaylan
reached down into her purse that was located on the floor and pulled out her
notebook, a Bible, and a pen— all of which Candace had none.
“You
taking notes?” Candace inquired. “You
didn’t tell me to bring a notebook.”
“Don’t
worry. Here you go.” Kaylan quietly tore out several pieces of paper from her
notebook and handed them to Candace along with a pen.
“The
words will be up on the screen, or we can share my Bible,” Kaylan said as they
moved closer together on the seat. In his message, Pastor Williams talked about
the reason why Jesus came to the world and why people needed to be saved; in
his message, he explained the real meaning of love. While Pastor was speaking, the ushers were
walking around the sanctuary, offering Kleenex to those who were apparently
shedding tears. Candace declined the offer. Instead, she wiped the tear from
her face with the back of her hand when the Pastor began to talk about love,
something she yearned for from her family and men.
“God
is love, and God showed His love by given the ultimate sacrifice by sending His
son, Jesus,” said the Pastor. At one
point in his message, he stated, “We try to find love in all the wrong places;
the void in our lives can only be filled by God’s love.”
During
his message, Candace’s mind traveled back to all the times she wanted to be
loved by her family, excluding Zach because he did love her. Her mind wondered
about the men who had been in and out of her life. The Pastor was right; she had been looking
for love in all the wrong places. Unable
to stop the flow of tears, she realized the reasons why her life was in such
chaos.
Loud
shouts of “Amens” startled her, and brought her back from her reverie. At the end of the message, Pastor Williams
gave what Kaylan called “an invitation to salvation.” Before Kaylan could ask
Candace if she wanted to accept Christ, Candace was already making her way down
to the altar.
Yes, it truly had been a while since Candace first felt that love
and acceptance from others. After the death of Derrick, it was hard for her to
see that God really loved her. But as she walked into the church this dreadful
afternoon, she decided that it was finally time to make a change.
Dying to Grow by Nathan Lorick 8 Jan 2014 6:49 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 10th
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***************************************************************************
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
ANEKO Press (September 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jeremiah M. Zeiset for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
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Never before have we seen the church degenerate at such a rapid pace. This is largely due to the church pursuing congregational growth instead of kingdom growth. The church is dying because our growth isn’t based on strategies to reach the lost with the gospel. The time to change is now, we can’t wait any longer. People’s eternities are at stake.What is your church’s priority? Are you more concerned with filling your building or furthering the Kingdom? This book will challenge you to evaluate just how important gospel-based evangelism is to you and your church, and call on you to restore an intentional evangelism strategy within the body. Hell will tremble when churches once again make evangelism the central theme of their strategy.
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 171 pages
Publisher: ANEKO Press (September 1, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1622451074
ISBN-13: 978-1622451074
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Introduction
I hate to admit it now.
It’s all so subtle; it happens so naturally. Some of it was even driven by good intentions. I was living my life so that I would be considered “successful” in ministry – or, as I say in a later chapter, I was pursuing the ministerial version of the American dream. I wanted plaques and accolades, I desired power and position, I hoped to be the next big thing. I admit it … I was pursuing my own kingdom over His.
And I was a pastor!
I worked tirelessly and went to great lengths to see my church grow. There was nothing I wouldn’t do or at least try, to see the numbers rise. I was consumed with church growth, even to the point of neglecting my own spiritual growth.
There I was, a young up-and-comer, yet I was miserable. I had seen God do amazing things. I had experienced some great moments as a pastor, but at the end of the day all I cared about was if my church was growing. I simply became addicted to the concept of church growth and lost my vision for kingdom growth.
This book is a simple and concise challenge to abandon the desire for church growth and to embrace the heart of growing Christ’s kingdom. We know through the Scriptures that when the King and His kingdom are the focus, the church will grow. Many pastors and church leaders have gone astray from the very thing that caused the church to explode with growth – evangelism. They have chased misguided dreams of ministerial success and in the process have lost the very purpose for which churches exist: to fulfill the Great Commission. In exchange for drawing a crowd of church hoppers and curiosity seekers, too many churches have failed to preach a transforming gospel message of faith, repentance, and hope beyond this cursed creation.
We have good news – the best news ever – and it’s not a mere self-improvement message. It’s so much better than that.
I implore you as you read this book to recapture the zeal for what God wants to do in your church through a renewed strategy and passion for evangelism. God desires to orchestrate providential moments in your community. As you pray and obey, God will do more than you can ask or imagine.
Chapter 1
A Realistic Diagnosis:
Living with an Unknown Disease
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.
– Matthew 5:14
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
I sat with my dad on the tailgate of my truck in a hospital parking lot, staring off at the star-filled sky at 3:00 a.m. wondering what the future would hold. Never expected it, never desired it. It was a conversation no one wants to have. Ever.
Earlier that day, my stepmom Maria went in for a routine checkup. She was experiencing some minor discomfort near her abdomen, not anything to be overly concerned about. In fact, from the outside she was the portrait of good health. The doctors figured her problems stemmed from nothing more than a grouchy gallbladder – which is easily treatable with a simple surgery that would have her on her way in a couple of days. At least that’s what we thought!
Upon examining her and running tests that included everything from blood to ultrasounds, the unimaginable happened: Maria had developed what the oncologists call stage IIIC ovarian cancer, a type of cancer involving one or both ovaries that had spread to the lymph nodes or to tumors larger than 2 cm that had attached to the inner abdomen. It was the most devastating news our family had ever received. In the blink of an eye, our happy and hopeful expectations turned into uncertainty, and our lives were turned upside down.
Maria was a trooper. She fought a long and hard battle with this wicked disease. She trusted in the Lord while at the same time submitting to His plan. On February 4, 2010, she entered into His eternal presence. You see, on the outside everything looked great. No one would have ever guessed that anything was wrong. However, on the inside, this deadly cancer was waging war with her body.
So many churches today find themselves in the condition that Maria did. Everything seems stable and secure, yet because of an exodus from the biblical model of evangelism, the church is crumbling internally. The church is harboring a disease that is killing it but is unaware of the fact. I am not necessarily talking about attendance or giving. I am speaking of the reality that the church is dying in its enthusiasm and burden. It may look like a growing church and appear healthy, but the reality is the church is slumping on a foundation made of sand, and its walls are ready to tumble to the ground.
On the other hand, the church that we see in the book of Acts is a thriving church. We know according to Acts 2:47 that the Lord was adding to their number day by day those who were being saved. This church was on fire after its experience with the gospel. There was an explosion of people coming to faith in Christ after Peter’s sermon, and this awakening set the course, propelling the early church to turn the world upside down. Out of this movement, missions and organized discipleship were launched, and the world saw the power of the gospel. It was a movement spreading at a rate that churches today could only hope for.
But the reason the church was growing so rapidly wasn’t some new strategy put forth by the apostles. It wasn’t a program designed in the dimly lit upper room. It wasn’t even some model quickly packaged and manufactured after Pentecost. It was much simpler and much more spiritual than these. The church grew so rapidly because of the power of the gospel! That’s it. There is no fancy way of saying it. The church grew because Jesus had just given His life as the penalty for our sins. The gospel was the answer, the method, and the model.
Churches today have incorporated so many models and methods and programs that our dependence upon the execution of those things often overshadows our dependence on God to show up and do something supernatural. We have bought into the lie of the enemy that we must have something for everyone in order to grow. Unfortunately, we forsake the gospel in the process of trying to appease everyone, and in this process, we end up dying in our pursuit of growing.
Churches today need to find their way back to the gospel by ignoring the newest self-help church growth books and following the example of the fastest growing and most effective church that history has ever seen – the church in Acts. We must make the tough decision to forsake anything that pulls our attention and pursuit away from the gospel. What we really need is a realistic diagnosis of where we are.
Statistics tell us that each year 3,500 to 4,000 churches in America close their doors for the final time . That is about seventy-five churches each week. This should be alarming to believers today who invest their lives into a local body of Christ. This should be excruciating to ministers who selflessly give themselves daily for the church’s advancement. This should be humiliating to the Christian church as a whole, as we have seen a shift in the priority of the church in our lives.
We must wake up and take note. We must see where we are and determine where it is God wants us to go! I believe we see a great picture of this in Mark 10. The story is of a blind beggar named Bartimaeus. He was both physically and financially impaired. Bartimaeus stayed on his street corner day after day, begging for enough money to buy his next meal. On the outside, it looked as if he had no future and no hope. It seemed that his life would never amount to anything more than his current state of being blind and poor. However, this would soon change.
One day on his dusty street corner, he began to hear a rumble. I’m sure he felt the vibration on the ground as a large group of people proceeded through town together. In no time, Bartimaeus heard that Jesus from Nazareth was walking through town. This was the Jesus who had already healed the lame, walked on water, fed five thousand, and even caused another blind man to see. Bartimaeus had to go through this self-diagnosis that we are talking about. He had to walk through a process in his mind and heart before Jesus left the town.
In looking at this story we can understand that Bartimaeus had to go through a three-stage process that ultimately led to him living life in a more fulfilling way than he ever had imagined. This is a great pattern for us and our churches to go through today as well. We will examine these three stages over the next few chapters.
Stage 1: Reality Check
In those brief moments, Bartimaeus had to have a reality check. He had to realize where he was in order to know where he wanted to go. He had to have a difficult discussion with himself, acknowledging his lowly state. I can imagine Bartimaeus reminding himself that he could stay on the same corner every day, continuing to beg for his next meal. I can imagine him thinking through the possibilities his life could have if he could only meet Jesus. But first he had to get real about where he was on that day.
It is really no different for our churches. We must realize that perhaps we are not where God wants us to be right now. We must get to the place where we look past the lights and curtains and realistically see our condition. Our future could depend on our present dose of reality.
This happened in a church that I pastored. Full of incredible people, they loved me and my family and followed my leadership. In fact, they even met in a tent outside for six weeks in December and January while we were remodeling our sanctuary. These are the types of people you would want to pastor.
In my first couple of years, the church exploded in growth. Things couldn’t have gone better. I was on top of the world in many people’s minds. Yet when I laid my head on my pillow at night, I was unfulfilled. I wondered every day how someone in my position could feel that way. I struggled to understand why I didn’t feel like we were doing what God wanted us to do.
Then the day came. The same kind of day that Bartimaeus had. A day of honest evaluation about where we were and where I knew God wanted us to be. We were spending our time planning to attract people, when we should have been out ministering to people. We were investing in programs and methods, when we should have been utilizing our resources to meet needs and share the gospel. I spent most of my time speaking about church growth, when my conversations and sermons should have been about kingdom growth.
This view of reality for me was painful. I didn’t want to change the way I did ministry. I didn’t want to lead my church away from the very things that were causing us to grow so quickly. However, I resolved in my heart that it would be far greater to be what God wanted us to be than what we wanted to be.
This was the heart of Bartimaeus. He knew that he had problems. He knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He knew that he was all he was ever going to be apart from an encounter with the Master. This is where many churches are today. You are what you are always going to be unless you experience a new vision from God. I challenge you to take a good, honest evaluation and get a realistic understanding of where you are and where you need to be. Once I did this in our church, we began to see where God was leading us.
Church leaders, take an honest, unbiased look at where you are. Look at what you are filling your time with as a church. Look at where you are investing your money. Listen to what you are talking about most among your people. Run the tests and see if you are mirroring the church in Acts. This church was built on the gospel. That was its strategy. That was its model. That was its method. That is why we need to embrace the reality of where we are and look to the future with anticipation.
I hate to admit it now.
It’s all so subtle; it happens so naturally. Some of it was even driven by good intentions. I was living my life so that I would be considered “successful” in ministry – or, as I say in a later chapter, I was pursuing the ministerial version of the American dream. I wanted plaques and accolades, I desired power and position, I hoped to be the next big thing. I admit it … I was pursuing my own kingdom over His.
And I was a pastor!
I worked tirelessly and went to great lengths to see my church grow. There was nothing I wouldn’t do or at least try, to see the numbers rise. I was consumed with church growth, even to the point of neglecting my own spiritual growth.
There I was, a young up-and-comer, yet I was miserable. I had seen God do amazing things. I had experienced some great moments as a pastor, but at the end of the day all I cared about was if my church was growing. I simply became addicted to the concept of church growth and lost my vision for kingdom growth.
This book is a simple and concise challenge to abandon the desire for church growth and to embrace the heart of growing Christ’s kingdom. We know through the Scriptures that when the King and His kingdom are the focus, the church will grow. Many pastors and church leaders have gone astray from the very thing that caused the church to explode with growth – evangelism. They have chased misguided dreams of ministerial success and in the process have lost the very purpose for which churches exist: to fulfill the Great Commission. In exchange for drawing a crowd of church hoppers and curiosity seekers, too many churches have failed to preach a transforming gospel message of faith, repentance, and hope beyond this cursed creation.
We have good news – the best news ever – and it’s not a mere self-improvement message. It’s so much better than that.
I implore you as you read this book to recapture the zeal for what God wants to do in your church through a renewed strategy and passion for evangelism. God desires to orchestrate providential moments in your community. As you pray and obey, God will do more than you can ask or imagine.
Chapter 1
A Realistic Diagnosis:
Living with an Unknown Disease
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.
– Matthew 5:14
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
I sat with my dad on the tailgate of my truck in a hospital parking lot, staring off at the star-filled sky at 3:00 a.m. wondering what the future would hold. Never expected it, never desired it. It was a conversation no one wants to have. Ever.
Earlier that day, my stepmom Maria went in for a routine checkup. She was experiencing some minor discomfort near her abdomen, not anything to be overly concerned about. In fact, from the outside she was the portrait of good health. The doctors figured her problems stemmed from nothing more than a grouchy gallbladder – which is easily treatable with a simple surgery that would have her on her way in a couple of days. At least that’s what we thought!
Upon examining her and running tests that included everything from blood to ultrasounds, the unimaginable happened: Maria had developed what the oncologists call stage IIIC ovarian cancer, a type of cancer involving one or both ovaries that had spread to the lymph nodes or to tumors larger than 2 cm that had attached to the inner abdomen. It was the most devastating news our family had ever received. In the blink of an eye, our happy and hopeful expectations turned into uncertainty, and our lives were turned upside down.
Maria was a trooper. She fought a long and hard battle with this wicked disease. She trusted in the Lord while at the same time submitting to His plan. On February 4, 2010, she entered into His eternal presence. You see, on the outside everything looked great. No one would have ever guessed that anything was wrong. However, on the inside, this deadly cancer was waging war with her body.
So many churches today find themselves in the condition that Maria did. Everything seems stable and secure, yet because of an exodus from the biblical model of evangelism, the church is crumbling internally. The church is harboring a disease that is killing it but is unaware of the fact. I am not necessarily talking about attendance or giving. I am speaking of the reality that the church is dying in its enthusiasm and burden. It may look like a growing church and appear healthy, but the reality is the church is slumping on a foundation made of sand, and its walls are ready to tumble to the ground.
On the other hand, the church that we see in the book of Acts is a thriving church. We know according to Acts 2:47 that the Lord was adding to their number day by day those who were being saved. This church was on fire after its experience with the gospel. There was an explosion of people coming to faith in Christ after Peter’s sermon, and this awakening set the course, propelling the early church to turn the world upside down. Out of this movement, missions and organized discipleship were launched, and the world saw the power of the gospel. It was a movement spreading at a rate that churches today could only hope for.
But the reason the church was growing so rapidly wasn’t some new strategy put forth by the apostles. It wasn’t a program designed in the dimly lit upper room. It wasn’t even some model quickly packaged and manufactured after Pentecost. It was much simpler and much more spiritual than these. The church grew so rapidly because of the power of the gospel! That’s it. There is no fancy way of saying it. The church grew because Jesus had just given His life as the penalty for our sins. The gospel was the answer, the method, and the model.
Churches today have incorporated so many models and methods and programs that our dependence upon the execution of those things often overshadows our dependence on God to show up and do something supernatural. We have bought into the lie of the enemy that we must have something for everyone in order to grow. Unfortunately, we forsake the gospel in the process of trying to appease everyone, and in this process, we end up dying in our pursuit of growing.
Churches today need to find their way back to the gospel by ignoring the newest self-help church growth books and following the example of the fastest growing and most effective church that history has ever seen – the church in Acts. We must make the tough decision to forsake anything that pulls our attention and pursuit away from the gospel. What we really need is a realistic diagnosis of where we are.
Statistics tell us that each year 3,500 to 4,000 churches in America close their doors for the final time . That is about seventy-five churches each week. This should be alarming to believers today who invest their lives into a local body of Christ. This should be excruciating to ministers who selflessly give themselves daily for the church’s advancement. This should be humiliating to the Christian church as a whole, as we have seen a shift in the priority of the church in our lives.
We must wake up and take note. We must see where we are and determine where it is God wants us to go! I believe we see a great picture of this in Mark 10. The story is of a blind beggar named Bartimaeus. He was both physically and financially impaired. Bartimaeus stayed on his street corner day after day, begging for enough money to buy his next meal. On the outside, it looked as if he had no future and no hope. It seemed that his life would never amount to anything more than his current state of being blind and poor. However, this would soon change.
One day on his dusty street corner, he began to hear a rumble. I’m sure he felt the vibration on the ground as a large group of people proceeded through town together. In no time, Bartimaeus heard that Jesus from Nazareth was walking through town. This was the Jesus who had already healed the lame, walked on water, fed five thousand, and even caused another blind man to see. Bartimaeus had to go through this self-diagnosis that we are talking about. He had to walk through a process in his mind and heart before Jesus left the town.
In looking at this story we can understand that Bartimaeus had to go through a three-stage process that ultimately led to him living life in a more fulfilling way than he ever had imagined. This is a great pattern for us and our churches to go through today as well. We will examine these three stages over the next few chapters.
Stage 1: Reality Check
In those brief moments, Bartimaeus had to have a reality check. He had to realize where he was in order to know where he wanted to go. He had to have a difficult discussion with himself, acknowledging his lowly state. I can imagine Bartimaeus reminding himself that he could stay on the same corner every day, continuing to beg for his next meal. I can imagine him thinking through the possibilities his life could have if he could only meet Jesus. But first he had to get real about where he was on that day.
It is really no different for our churches. We must realize that perhaps we are not where God wants us to be right now. We must get to the place where we look past the lights and curtains and realistically see our condition. Our future could depend on our present dose of reality.
This happened in a church that I pastored. Full of incredible people, they loved me and my family and followed my leadership. In fact, they even met in a tent outside for six weeks in December and January while we were remodeling our sanctuary. These are the types of people you would want to pastor.
In my first couple of years, the church exploded in growth. Things couldn’t have gone better. I was on top of the world in many people’s minds. Yet when I laid my head on my pillow at night, I was unfulfilled. I wondered every day how someone in my position could feel that way. I struggled to understand why I didn’t feel like we were doing what God wanted us to do.
Then the day came. The same kind of day that Bartimaeus had. A day of honest evaluation about where we were and where I knew God wanted us to be. We were spending our time planning to attract people, when we should have been out ministering to people. We were investing in programs and methods, when we should have been utilizing our resources to meet needs and share the gospel. I spent most of my time speaking about church growth, when my conversations and sermons should have been about kingdom growth.
This view of reality for me was painful. I didn’t want to change the way I did ministry. I didn’t want to lead my church away from the very things that were causing us to grow so quickly. However, I resolved in my heart that it would be far greater to be what God wanted us to be than what we wanted to be.
This was the heart of Bartimaeus. He knew that he had problems. He knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He knew that he was all he was ever going to be apart from an encounter with the Master. This is where many churches are today. You are what you are always going to be unless you experience a new vision from God. I challenge you to take a good, honest evaluation and get a realistic understanding of where you are and where you need to be. Once I did this in our church, we began to see where God was leading us.
Church leaders, take an honest, unbiased look at where you are. Look at what you are filling your time with as a church. Look at where you are investing your money. Listen to what you are talking about most among your people. Run the tests and see if you are mirroring the church in Acts. This church was built on the gospel. That was its strategy. That was its model. That was its method. That is why we need to embrace the reality of where we are and look to the future with anticipation.
__________________________
Ed Stetzer and Warren Bird, Vital Churches: Helping Church Planters Become Movement Makers (San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass-Wiley, 2010).
Dead Eye Will by R. Frederick Riddle 7 Jan 2014 8:04 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date : January 9th
When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!
Grab the HTML for the entire post (will look like the post below):
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
R Frederick Riddle; 1 edition (December 5, 2013)
***Special thanks to R Frederick Riddle for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
In 1962 he joined the United States Navy and served as a radioman aboard two cruisers. After leaving the Navy, he worked in the telecommunications for 25 years. Owned Internet bookstore (Christian Writ Bookstore) for four years (2005-2009), while pursuing his writing career.
Mr. Riddle and his wife currently reside in Port Charlotte, Florida.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
William Riddle quickly earned the moniker of 'Dead Eye' in the War of 1812. Whether serving in the army or after the war as a special agent, he proved himself to be a hero. But it wasn't until he trusted Christ that he became an American hero.List Price: $2.99
File Size: 704 KB
Print Length: 223 pages
Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
Publisher: R Frederick Riddle; 1 edition (December 5, 2013)
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
Language: English
ASIN: B00H5Z5MEW
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
September 1813
It was a beautiful autumn day. Except for the robust singing of the marching soldiers, it would have been an equally quiet day. The voices were not particularly soothing to the ear, not that the birds were complaining. Moments before, the birds suddenly took flight from their tree roosts and flew away.
The suddenness of the flight caused the men to pause. Silence hung in the air as the troops waited in dread expectation.
Thus the flight of a single arrow and its impact on soft flesh was heard by all.
The 134th Regiment had been marching through the Ohio woods with each soldier trying his best to keep pace and stay in line. Yesterday, they were in southwestern Pennsylvania, leaving in high spirits with songs in their hearts, as well as on their lips. The idea of war sparked their imagination, each man thinking in terms of honor, glory, and fame.
Now, on the second day of marching, the songs having ceased, subdued with a quiet unease, the silence was broken by the sound of the arrow striking flesh and then a sudden barrage of arrows and bullets assailed them. A sense of panic filled the air with the men looking about for a place to run.
As whooping Indians on horseback charged out of the nearby forest, the officers began shouting orders. The sound of their voices, calm and demanding settled the soldiers' nerves.
“Indians! Defensive formation!”
The soldiers quickly formed two lines.
"Steady. Aim."
The soldiers in the first line raised their muskets, each man taking aim at a charging Indian.
“Fire!”
A volley of shots rang out over the fields with many Indians shot from their horses. Then the first line stepped backward and the second line moved forward.
Fortunately these soldiers were used to shooting; some were actual woodsmen. The Indian attack had been sudden, violent and noisy, but the soldiers returned fire with a vengeance, breaking the attack before it really got started. The second line, now the first, fired.
Many of the Indians were shot off their horses, mortally wounded. Some had their horses shot from under them, forcing them to flee on foot. But when their chief was shot point blank, the remaining Indians turned and fled. As they rode away, many reached down and grasped the outstretched hands of their fellow Indians, who immediately leaped with fluid grace upon the backs of the horses. Peace once again settled over the Ohio fields.
The air was filled with smoke and one could smell the mixture of gun powder and death that hung in the air about them. Some brave Indians rode into the field to help their wounded. The soldiers watched uneasily, suspecting another attack.
The Indians were not the only ones to have wounded warriors. Several soldiers had been wounded as well. Even so, all but one of them were able to get up, rejoin their fellow soldiers, and resume the march. But one fallen soldier did not move. Lying still, barely conscious, he sensed them moving away.
“Where’s James?” he whispered.
Turning his head, he immediately felt dizzy. Everything looked hazy to him as he looked for his older brother. Trying to lift himself up, he saw the familiar shape approaching. Then everything turned dark.
&&&
When James spotted his wounded brother, he ran over and knelt beside him.
“Will. William Riddle, do you hear me?”
Only a moan and glassy stare met his inquiry. Fear gripped his gut as he considered that his brother may be dying.
But he felt immediate relief when he saw that his thirteen-year old brother was still breathing. Carefully examining Will's body, he looked for blood or a sign of injury. It was with another sigh of relief that James discovered there was only one wound and it was only a gash made upon the boy's head. Just a scratch. Good thing you have such a hard head, Will.
“He gonna live son?”
Startled, James looked up. His eyes immediately took in the beautiful brown horse bearing an officer sitting ramrod straight in the saddle. The officer was dressed in a blue waistcoat with a high white collar, blue stripes and oversized cuffs. James’ eyes moved up to the face and sudden recognition lit his eyes. It was Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Hosack, the commander of the 134th, looking down at him with his familiar frown. Leaping to his feet, James saluted.
“Yes, sir.”
A slight smile played on the colonel's face as he studied the fallen soldier. He looked up and watched as his men were marching toward the forest.
“Then let's get a move on, soldier. Make him as comfortable as you can and leave his weapon. If he is able, he can rejoin us later. Right now, we have need of you.”
Without another word the colonel spurred his horse and rode away. James watched in admiration. The Colonel was well known for both bravery and smarts.
Looking down at his brother, James considered his options. Will's only thirteen. Tall for his age and stronger than most thirteen year-old boys, but he'll be all alone here in a strange land. Not to mention Indians. He looked in the direction the Indians had fled, then back at Will. He sighed, An order is an order. He'll know what to do.
He pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote a quick note.
Kneeling alongside his brother, he moved William into a more comfortable position. Setting him against a tree, he placed the boy's musket by his side and stuck the note in his coat pocket. Looking at the battlefield, he considered the possible return of the Indians. Without their leader, it is unlikely that they will come back here soon. At least not until they get a new leader.
Standing and saying a silent prayer for his brother's safety, he grabbed his own musket and hurried back to find his regiment. When he caught up to them, he saw that Colonel Hosack had the men once again marching in formation. Only this time they each carried their muskets at the ready position. James couldn't help but look back toward Will, but trees and distance now separated them.
He'll be all right.
Even though he felt confident that his brother would be all right, a hint of worry persisted in the back of his mind.
&&&
William Riddle had more than his father's last name, he also bore a striking similarity to Edward Riddle. Whereas Edward stood 5'3" tall, William was already at 5' 6" with many years of growth still ahead. But it was the red hair and the facial features that most struck anyone who saw them together.
Having served in the Pennsylvania Artillery during the Revolutionary War, Edward was a hero in all of the boys' eyes, but perhaps more so in William's. As a child, he had never grown tired of hearing his father's war stories. That was part of the reason why he now lay against a tree, alone in an Ohio forest.
Now, as the darkness of his mind settled into a dream, his father was sitting on a stool and telling him about a place called Stony Point.
“It all began son when Sir Henry Clinton, the Red Coats Commander-in-Chief, decided he wanted to take West Point, which controlled the Hudson. Well, he ordered his men to take two of our posts, one on each side of the Hudson River. One was called Fort Lafayette on Verplanck's Point, while the other was called Stony Point, which was a fortified peninsula jutting out into the river.
“Well, the garrison at Stony Point saw them coming, burned the blockhouse, and abandoned the works without firing a shot. Fort Lafayette was forced to surrender.
“You want to know what the weakness of the Red Coats is? Pride. Yep, pride. That Sir Clinton was real prideful. He was so full of pride and confidence that he started calling Stony Point 'Little Gibraltar'.
“Well, he figured without taking General George Washington into consideration. General Washington decided to attack and retake Stony Point. That son, is how I ended up at Stony Point. I had been temporarily transferred from the Pennsylvania Artillery to the Forlorn Hope, actually the 6th Pennsylvania, which was led by Lt. James Gibbons.
“Just before midnight on July 15th, we moved forward. Our job was to precede the attacking force. Twenty men strong, we led the way, cutting gaps through the felled trees, (they called them abates) to eliminate the advance sentries. It was deadly business.
“We soon came under heavy fire, but we pushed ahead. We'd been chopping the trees, when suddenly a soldier to my right was shot in the shoulder. He refused to quit and continued chopping. The soldier to my left was killed only minutes later. Still, we continued. Then the soldier on my right was shot again, this time fatally.
“Except for a minor wound in the thigh, I was unscathed. When we were done, there were only three of us left. But we had done our job. That, son, is what soldiers do; no matter the danger, soldiers fight on and do their job.
“We won that battle and we won the war because men performed their duty!”
Will tried to respond, but the vision of his father was vanishing until nothing was left.
&&&
Two hours after the regiment left him, William awoke to a silent world. He lay there looking up at the bright sky, listening for a sound. But there was no tramping of feet, no boisterous singing, and certainly no sound of whooping Indians. Just total silence!
But the words "no matter the danger, soldiers fight on and do their job" kept repeating themselves in his mind.
Slowly turning his head, he saw his musket leaning against the tree right by his side. Reaching out and grabbing it, he immediately felt safer. But other than his musket, there was no sign or sound of war. He was alone.
Easing himself into a better sitting position, he felt better. He checked his uniform for blood and found nothing. I seem all right. Might as well get up and move on.
Finding a note in his coat pocket, he pulled it out and read it.
“Will,
You'll be OK. Catch up as soon as possible. I’ve got to go.
James”
His mind still a little cloudy, he had to read the note several times before understanding its message. Then he folded the paper in half and stuck it back into his pocket.
Rising to his feet, he suddenly felt dizzy and started losing his balance. Quickly grabbing the tree and clinging to it, he waited for the dizziness to clear. It took several moments before he felt normal again.
“Where am I?”
His voice sounded unusually loud in the glen. Looking around quickly, he remembered the possibility of Indians.
“Ohio,” he said in a softer voice. “And we were just south of Lake Erie. I was with my brother James.
“That’s right! We were, I mean, are part of the 134th Regiment of Pennsylvania commanded by Lieutenant Hosack. We were attacked by Indians. I remember we formed lines. I was in the first line.
"I fired and was about to move to the back when I must have been shot. I don’t remember anything else. Except this aching head.”
Still feeling a little lightheaded and weak, he sat and leaned back against the tree. A weak smile played on his lips as he remembered how he’d gotten into this mess. Alexander and James were both old enough to join, but Mother wanted me to stay home. Said I was too young.
Dad would have convinced Mom eventually, but I couldn't wait. A month later I slipped away and followed my brothers to their camp. James ordered me home, but I refused saying I would join with or without his help. That was only weeks ago, but it sure seems longer!
In spite of himself, he chuckled. I wonder if Mother's Irish temper got the best of her when she learned I'd slipped out and joined the army. Immediately, his conscience struck him. He loved his mother and had never wanted to hurt her. But I belong in the military!
He sighed as he remembered his mother. Her refusal to allow him to join had been of fear he would die. She'd just seen two of her sons leave for war and didn't want him leaving also.
At first his father had not interfered, but after a couple days of observing mother and son at odds, he decided it was time for action. He took his son aside.
“Son, I know how you feel. I want you to know that I have complete confidence in you. I also want you to understand that I will do everything I can to change your mother's will, but it will take time. When I was your age, I would have slipped away in the night. But that is obviously not going to happen.
“Be patient. This war's not ending anytime soon. You'll get your chance.”
That very night, Will climbed out of his bedroom window, and left. He thought about taking a horse, but he was afraid of making a noise. With a long sigh, he began walking in the same direction he had seen his brothers take two days earlier.
Now as Will sat against a tree, alone and still weak, he looked in the direction he knew the regiment must have taken as they marched. His regiment was heading north to Lake Erie to fight the British. He'd heard the British might attack the small American Fleet protecting America's Army. The army was hoping to retake Fort Detroit, which the British had recently captured. But to succeed, the Americans needed to control Lake Erie.
He suddenly felt an overpowering desire to sleep.
“I can’t sleep. I’ve got to find the regiment.”
But sleep came anyway.
&&&
The battle for Lake Erie was raging in Put-in-Bay on the western end of Lake Erie. There, Commodore Perry, aboard his flagship Lawrence, was engaged in a battle with the British fleet. Everyone knew that this battle was critical to winning the war. Lose Lake Erie and they might be doomed. Win and the war might end!
The 134th Regiment, out of Mercer County of Pennsylvania, was rushing to the Ohio shore to join the fight against the British. James and Will had joined the regiment back in Pennsylvania. While both were excellent marksmen, neither one had ever shot at another man or been shot at. Still, the whole experience had been exciting.
As Will slept, he dreamed of James, Samuel, and himself taking on the whole British army. As the dream progressed, he could hear the roar of cannons. That's when he awoke.
In the distance he could hear thunder. Sitting up, he looked to the sky and was surprised that it was a clear blue with hardly a cloud. Suddenly, a thought struck him. Could that be cannon fire? Straining to hear the sound, he could not determine its exact nature. Were they army guns, naval or a coming storm? He couldn’t tell.
Once again he got up, this time keeping his feet. Grabbing his musket, a Springfield 1795, he slowly made his way northwestward. Fortunately there were hoof prints near his tree. Kneeling, he examined them and determined that they were left by shod horses. This could only mean one thing to him, they belonged to his regiment.
Excitement filled him and he broke into a trot, which moments later came to an abrupt halt. His head felt dizzy again. He slowly moved over to another tree and leaned against it, waiting for his head to clear.
Once the dizziness was gone, he resumed following the trail, albeit at a much slower pace.Feeling much better, he felt the urge to run, but common sense prevailed. He continued following the trail until night made it impossible to continue on. Reluctantly, he found a small knoll with a single tree and settled down, wearily allowing sleep to overtake him.
&&&
In a matter of days Commodore Perry would score a major victory over the British. While he lost his ship, he won the battle. He would write to General Harrison: “We have met the enemy and they are ours: Two Ships, two Brigs, one Schooner & one Sloop.” Lake Erie now belonged to the Americans!
&&&
But the young man was oblivious to all this exciting news. In the morning, he arose and checked his appearance. Like any soldier in this war, he was dressed in a uniform coat, a white linen shirt, a black neck stock, and straight bottom trousers. To complete the look he had half gaiters, low quarter shoes, and a shako (U.S. Army hat that had a felt body with leather edge, Brim, sweatband and drawstring liner). In addition, he still had a cartridge box with white buff sling, a white buff baldric for bayonet scabbard, a haversack, a knapsack, and a wooden canteen. A tall thirteen (he often was mistaken for eighteen), he looked like a real soldier!
Satisfied, he opened his knapsack, looking for food. All he had was a small loaf of dry, hard bread. Considering himself lucky, he bit into it. To his hungry soul, it tasted wonderful!
It was a beautiful autumn day. Except for the robust singing of the marching soldiers, it would have been an equally quiet day. The voices were not particularly soothing to the ear, not that the birds were complaining. Moments before, the birds suddenly took flight from their tree roosts and flew away.
The suddenness of the flight caused the men to pause. Silence hung in the air as the troops waited in dread expectation.
Thus the flight of a single arrow and its impact on soft flesh was heard by all.
The 134th Regiment had been marching through the Ohio woods with each soldier trying his best to keep pace and stay in line. Yesterday, they were in southwestern Pennsylvania, leaving in high spirits with songs in their hearts, as well as on their lips. The idea of war sparked their imagination, each man thinking in terms of honor, glory, and fame.
Now, on the second day of marching, the songs having ceased, subdued with a quiet unease, the silence was broken by the sound of the arrow striking flesh and then a sudden barrage of arrows and bullets assailed them. A sense of panic filled the air with the men looking about for a place to run.
As whooping Indians on horseback charged out of the nearby forest, the officers began shouting orders. The sound of their voices, calm and demanding settled the soldiers' nerves.
“Indians! Defensive formation!”
The soldiers quickly formed two lines.
"Steady. Aim."
The soldiers in the first line raised their muskets, each man taking aim at a charging Indian.
“Fire!”
A volley of shots rang out over the fields with many Indians shot from their horses. Then the first line stepped backward and the second line moved forward.
Fortunately these soldiers were used to shooting; some were actual woodsmen. The Indian attack had been sudden, violent and noisy, but the soldiers returned fire with a vengeance, breaking the attack before it really got started. The second line, now the first, fired.
Many of the Indians were shot off their horses, mortally wounded. Some had their horses shot from under them, forcing them to flee on foot. But when their chief was shot point blank, the remaining Indians turned and fled. As they rode away, many reached down and grasped the outstretched hands of their fellow Indians, who immediately leaped with fluid grace upon the backs of the horses. Peace once again settled over the Ohio fields.
The air was filled with smoke and one could smell the mixture of gun powder and death that hung in the air about them. Some brave Indians rode into the field to help their wounded. The soldiers watched uneasily, suspecting another attack.
The Indians were not the only ones to have wounded warriors. Several soldiers had been wounded as well. Even so, all but one of them were able to get up, rejoin their fellow soldiers, and resume the march. But one fallen soldier did not move. Lying still, barely conscious, he sensed them moving away.
“Where’s James?” he whispered.
Turning his head, he immediately felt dizzy. Everything looked hazy to him as he looked for his older brother. Trying to lift himself up, he saw the familiar shape approaching. Then everything turned dark.
&&&
When James spotted his wounded brother, he ran over and knelt beside him.
“Will. William Riddle, do you hear me?”
Only a moan and glassy stare met his inquiry. Fear gripped his gut as he considered that his brother may be dying.
But he felt immediate relief when he saw that his thirteen-year old brother was still breathing. Carefully examining Will's body, he looked for blood or a sign of injury. It was with another sigh of relief that James discovered there was only one wound and it was only a gash made upon the boy's head. Just a scratch. Good thing you have such a hard head, Will.
“He gonna live son?”
Startled, James looked up. His eyes immediately took in the beautiful brown horse bearing an officer sitting ramrod straight in the saddle. The officer was dressed in a blue waistcoat with a high white collar, blue stripes and oversized cuffs. James’ eyes moved up to the face and sudden recognition lit his eyes. It was Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Hosack, the commander of the 134th, looking down at him with his familiar frown. Leaping to his feet, James saluted.
“Yes, sir.”
A slight smile played on the colonel's face as he studied the fallen soldier. He looked up and watched as his men were marching toward the forest.
“Then let's get a move on, soldier. Make him as comfortable as you can and leave his weapon. If he is able, he can rejoin us later. Right now, we have need of you.”
Without another word the colonel spurred his horse and rode away. James watched in admiration. The Colonel was well known for both bravery and smarts.
Looking down at his brother, James considered his options. Will's only thirteen. Tall for his age and stronger than most thirteen year-old boys, but he'll be all alone here in a strange land. Not to mention Indians. He looked in the direction the Indians had fled, then back at Will. He sighed, An order is an order. He'll know what to do.
He pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote a quick note.
Kneeling alongside his brother, he moved William into a more comfortable position. Setting him against a tree, he placed the boy's musket by his side and stuck the note in his coat pocket. Looking at the battlefield, he considered the possible return of the Indians. Without their leader, it is unlikely that they will come back here soon. At least not until they get a new leader.
Standing and saying a silent prayer for his brother's safety, he grabbed his own musket and hurried back to find his regiment. When he caught up to them, he saw that Colonel Hosack had the men once again marching in formation. Only this time they each carried their muskets at the ready position. James couldn't help but look back toward Will, but trees and distance now separated them.
He'll be all right.
Even though he felt confident that his brother would be all right, a hint of worry persisted in the back of his mind.
&&&
William Riddle had more than his father's last name, he also bore a striking similarity to Edward Riddle. Whereas Edward stood 5'3" tall, William was already at 5' 6" with many years of growth still ahead. But it was the red hair and the facial features that most struck anyone who saw them together.
Having served in the Pennsylvania Artillery during the Revolutionary War, Edward was a hero in all of the boys' eyes, but perhaps more so in William's. As a child, he had never grown tired of hearing his father's war stories. That was part of the reason why he now lay against a tree, alone in an Ohio forest.
Now, as the darkness of his mind settled into a dream, his father was sitting on a stool and telling him about a place called Stony Point.
“It all began son when Sir Henry Clinton, the Red Coats Commander-in-Chief, decided he wanted to take West Point, which controlled the Hudson. Well, he ordered his men to take two of our posts, one on each side of the Hudson River. One was called Fort Lafayette on Verplanck's Point, while the other was called Stony Point, which was a fortified peninsula jutting out into the river.
“Well, the garrison at Stony Point saw them coming, burned the blockhouse, and abandoned the works without firing a shot. Fort Lafayette was forced to surrender.
“You want to know what the weakness of the Red Coats is? Pride. Yep, pride. That Sir Clinton was real prideful. He was so full of pride and confidence that he started calling Stony Point 'Little Gibraltar'.
“Well, he figured without taking General George Washington into consideration. General Washington decided to attack and retake Stony Point. That son, is how I ended up at Stony Point. I had been temporarily transferred from the Pennsylvania Artillery to the Forlorn Hope, actually the 6th Pennsylvania, which was led by Lt. James Gibbons.
“Just before midnight on July 15th, we moved forward. Our job was to precede the attacking force. Twenty men strong, we led the way, cutting gaps through the felled trees, (they called them abates) to eliminate the advance sentries. It was deadly business.
“We soon came under heavy fire, but we pushed ahead. We'd been chopping the trees, when suddenly a soldier to my right was shot in the shoulder. He refused to quit and continued chopping. The soldier to my left was killed only minutes later. Still, we continued. Then the soldier on my right was shot again, this time fatally.
“Except for a minor wound in the thigh, I was unscathed. When we were done, there were only three of us left. But we had done our job. That, son, is what soldiers do; no matter the danger, soldiers fight on and do their job.
“We won that battle and we won the war because men performed their duty!”
Will tried to respond, but the vision of his father was vanishing until nothing was left.
&&&
Two hours after the regiment left him, William awoke to a silent world. He lay there looking up at the bright sky, listening for a sound. But there was no tramping of feet, no boisterous singing, and certainly no sound of whooping Indians. Just total silence!
But the words "no matter the danger, soldiers fight on and do their job" kept repeating themselves in his mind.
Slowly turning his head, he saw his musket leaning against the tree right by his side. Reaching out and grabbing it, he immediately felt safer. But other than his musket, there was no sign or sound of war. He was alone.
Easing himself into a better sitting position, he felt better. He checked his uniform for blood and found nothing. I seem all right. Might as well get up and move on.
Finding a note in his coat pocket, he pulled it out and read it.
“Will,
You'll be OK. Catch up as soon as possible. I’ve got to go.
James”
His mind still a little cloudy, he had to read the note several times before understanding its message. Then he folded the paper in half and stuck it back into his pocket.
Rising to his feet, he suddenly felt dizzy and started losing his balance. Quickly grabbing the tree and clinging to it, he waited for the dizziness to clear. It took several moments before he felt normal again.
“Where am I?”
His voice sounded unusually loud in the glen. Looking around quickly, he remembered the possibility of Indians.
“Ohio,” he said in a softer voice. “And we were just south of Lake Erie. I was with my brother James.
“That’s right! We were, I mean, are part of the 134th Regiment of Pennsylvania commanded by Lieutenant Hosack. We were attacked by Indians. I remember we formed lines. I was in the first line.
"I fired and was about to move to the back when I must have been shot. I don’t remember anything else. Except this aching head.”
Still feeling a little lightheaded and weak, he sat and leaned back against the tree. A weak smile played on his lips as he remembered how he’d gotten into this mess. Alexander and James were both old enough to join, but Mother wanted me to stay home. Said I was too young.
Dad would have convinced Mom eventually, but I couldn't wait. A month later I slipped away and followed my brothers to their camp. James ordered me home, but I refused saying I would join with or without his help. That was only weeks ago, but it sure seems longer!
In spite of himself, he chuckled. I wonder if Mother's Irish temper got the best of her when she learned I'd slipped out and joined the army. Immediately, his conscience struck him. He loved his mother and had never wanted to hurt her. But I belong in the military!
He sighed as he remembered his mother. Her refusal to allow him to join had been of fear he would die. She'd just seen two of her sons leave for war and didn't want him leaving also.
At first his father had not interfered, but after a couple days of observing mother and son at odds, he decided it was time for action. He took his son aside.
“Son, I know how you feel. I want you to know that I have complete confidence in you. I also want you to understand that I will do everything I can to change your mother's will, but it will take time. When I was your age, I would have slipped away in the night. But that is obviously not going to happen.
“Be patient. This war's not ending anytime soon. You'll get your chance.”
That very night, Will climbed out of his bedroom window, and left. He thought about taking a horse, but he was afraid of making a noise. With a long sigh, he began walking in the same direction he had seen his brothers take two days earlier.
Now as Will sat against a tree, alone and still weak, he looked in the direction he knew the regiment must have taken as they marched. His regiment was heading north to Lake Erie to fight the British. He'd heard the British might attack the small American Fleet protecting America's Army. The army was hoping to retake Fort Detroit, which the British had recently captured. But to succeed, the Americans needed to control Lake Erie.
He suddenly felt an overpowering desire to sleep.
“I can’t sleep. I’ve got to find the regiment.”
But sleep came anyway.
&&&
The battle for Lake Erie was raging in Put-in-Bay on the western end of Lake Erie. There, Commodore Perry, aboard his flagship Lawrence, was engaged in a battle with the British fleet. Everyone knew that this battle was critical to winning the war. Lose Lake Erie and they might be doomed. Win and the war might end!
The 134th Regiment, out of Mercer County of Pennsylvania, was rushing to the Ohio shore to join the fight against the British. James and Will had joined the regiment back in Pennsylvania. While both were excellent marksmen, neither one had ever shot at another man or been shot at. Still, the whole experience had been exciting.
As Will slept, he dreamed of James, Samuel, and himself taking on the whole British army. As the dream progressed, he could hear the roar of cannons. That's when he awoke.
In the distance he could hear thunder. Sitting up, he looked to the sky and was surprised that it was a clear blue with hardly a cloud. Suddenly, a thought struck him. Could that be cannon fire? Straining to hear the sound, he could not determine its exact nature. Were they army guns, naval or a coming storm? He couldn’t tell.
Once again he got up, this time keeping his feet. Grabbing his musket, a Springfield 1795, he slowly made his way northwestward. Fortunately there were hoof prints near his tree. Kneeling, he examined them and determined that they were left by shod horses. This could only mean one thing to him, they belonged to his regiment.
Excitement filled him and he broke into a trot, which moments later came to an abrupt halt. His head felt dizzy again. He slowly moved over to another tree and leaned against it, waiting for his head to clear.
Once the dizziness was gone, he resumed following the trail, albeit at a much slower pace.Feeling much better, he felt the urge to run, but common sense prevailed. He continued following the trail until night made it impossible to continue on. Reluctantly, he found a small knoll with a single tree and settled down, wearily allowing sleep to overtake him.
&&&
In a matter of days Commodore Perry would score a major victory over the British. While he lost his ship, he won the battle. He would write to General Harrison: “We have met the enemy and they are ours: Two Ships, two Brigs, one Schooner & one Sloop.” Lake Erie now belonged to the Americans!
&&&
But the young man was oblivious to all this exciting news. In the morning, he arose and checked his appearance. Like any soldier in this war, he was dressed in a uniform coat, a white linen shirt, a black neck stock, and straight bottom trousers. To complete the look he had half gaiters, low quarter shoes, and a shako (U.S. Army hat that had a felt body with leather edge, Brim, sweatband and drawstring liner). In addition, he still had a cartridge box with white buff sling, a white buff baldric for bayonet scabbard, a haversack, a knapsack, and a wooden canteen. A tall thirteen (he often was mistaken for eighteen), he looked like a real soldier!
Satisfied, he opened his knapsack, looking for food. All he had was a small loaf of dry, hard bread. Considering himself lucky, he bit into it. To his hungry soul, it tasted wonderful!
Endowed by Our Creator: How Christians Can Preserve God's Gift of Freedom through Political Activity by Keith Johnson 5 Jan 2014 7:02 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: January 8th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Endowed by Our Creator: How Christians Can Preserve God's Gift of Freedom through Political Activity
LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (August 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jeremiah M. Zeiset for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
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Endowed by our Creator asserts that our constitutional rights are not merely political but are gifts from God, and that we have a responsibility to exercise stewardship to preserve them. It is particularly important for Christians to promote a political environment which allows them to carry out the Great Commission, be salt and light in society, experience religious freedom, and be personally obedient to God. The author maintains that a Christian worldview as presented in the scriptures is the most important consideration in defining the proper role of government – one which provides for life on earth being lived most closely to the way God intended, and which permits individuals to follow God's will. Such a "worldview" has ramifications for all political issues, many of which are discussed in Endowed by our Creator. The author also presents a Christian perspective on "The Religious Right", "The Religious Left", the courts, globalism, the Afghan and Iraq wars, "The Global War on Terror", and the role of conspiracy in political developments.You will discover:
The critical role of God’s gift of liberty in a society.
Why it is proper for Christians to be involved in political affairs.
How a Christian worldview relates to political philosophies and issues.
A Christian perspective on the appropriate role of government.
What’s right and wrong with the right and the left?
· Our current political and social environment exhibits all the signs of the end times.
List Price: $19.95
Paperback: 365 pages
Publisher: LIFE SENTENCE Publishing (August 1, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1622450426
ISBN-13: 978-1622450428
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Yet, I doubt not thro’ the ages one increasing purpose runs and the thoughts of men are widen’d with the process of the suns. – Alfred Lord Tennyson, Locksley Hall
I have lived, Sir, a long time; and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth, that God governs in the affairs of men. – Benjamin Franklin
To assess the role Christians should play in politics, it is helpful to look at the purposes God has for human life on earth. Christians know this life will not last forever, and those who believe in Him look toward a future time quite different from those who don’t. Since God, until now, has chosen to continue this earthly existence, we know He has things He wishes to accomplish before terminating it. While His people remain here, God has roles for us to help further His objectives.
In this chapter, I will cover some of God’s purposes and how believers have, and should, participate politically in achieving His ends. This will include a short look at the colonial period in America as well as the time of our country’s founding. The next chapter will address more specifically how Christians’ involvement in politics relates to facilitating the Great Commission, carrying out commands from Scripture, and providing salt and light for society.
A Review of End-Times Beliefs
Christians differ in their views of what the chain of events will be in the end times. I will make a number of points in this chapter and other places in the book based on my beliefs regarding eschatology. Before I launch into a discussion of God’s working in history, I will offer a quick review of the various end-time views and what I believe, to provide a foundational understanding of why I make certain assertions. Of course, if you don’t agree with my eschatological beliefs, you may also not agree with the ideas upon which I have based them.
The Bible describes a one-thousand year period of rule by Jesus Christ known as the millennium. Believers who hold to a postmillennial view assert that He will return to earth after a thousand years of ruling from heaven. Others do not believe in a literal millennium (amillenialists). Some from both of these camps believe it is the duty of Christians to take dominion and establish the rule of Christ on earth. Believers who advocate this view follow what is called dominion theology.
What I believe is the correct view is called premillennialism. Those who hold this view believe Jesus will return to earth and then reign for a thousand years. This period will be preceded by a terrible seven-year period called the tribulation. Some in this group think He will return prior to the tribulation to remove Christians from earth in an event called the rapture (a pre-trib view), others believe He will perform this rescue around the middle of the tribulation (mid-trib), and still others believe this will happen at the end of the tribulation (post-trib). I believe in the pre-trib scenario, although I think a case can be made for a rapture at the middle of the tribulation.
Many, if not most, premillennialist advocates, see events in recent decades pointing to the likelihood of the end times being close at hand based on biblical prophecy. I see evidence of that possibility. Since I am neither an amillennialist nor a postmillennialist, I do not think we as believers should be taking over the world for Christ. So, when I talk about applying Christian principles to government, I am not advocating an effort to build the kingdom of God on earth. However, I believe that if Christian worldview ideas were followed to a large degree in the political realm, we would likely see a great transformation of our society.
Christian Participation in God-Ordained Government
God Moves in History
Most Christians believe, as Tennyson said in the quote at the beginning of the chapter, that an increasing purpose runs throughout the ages, and God guides the course of history to bring about His desired ends. Many believe the ultimate denouement of His workings will be a millennial kingdom ruled by Jesus Christ which, in time, will be succeeded by the new heaven and earth where His followers will dwell with Him forever.
This does not mean things on earth have increasingly improved in a deterministic way as implied by Tennyson, and as believed by some historians and philosophers. Civilizations have risen and fallen; nations and governments have come and gone. For several centuries, it appeared to many that Western Civilization would result in the pinnacle of life on Planet Earth; however, perceptive believers recognize the West has actually been in a period of decline for some time.
In spite of the ebbs and flows of civilizations over the years, most Christians believe God is accomplishing His purposes through history. In this way, we could say history is deterministic – it is ultimately determined by God, and it is moving toward an end: His end. That doesn’t mean all that has and will take place necessarily relates to God’s larger objectives. We do not always know how God uses certain events to further His desired outcomes, although we may recognize, after the fact, how they have contributed to furthering His kingdom and, thus, appear to have been engineered by Him.
Whatever God’s wishes may be for man-centered earthly governments, they are not of ultimate importance since all human institutions will eventually pass away. His desires for them are subordinate to His eternal purposes. However, various human authorities are tools who have been, are, and will be, used by Him to further the establishment of the heavenly kingdom that will replace all temporal rulers.
God’s Direct Rule on Earth
In Genesis 1:26, 28, God commands men to rule over the earth. Since it was issued right after creating the first man and woman, it appears this instruction is intended for all humans and their descendants. It is not completely clear how much of that job is to fall to governments, but presumably they should at least be involved in maintaining the political environment that would facilitate the task. Of course, it was given while God was still directly in control of what happened here on earth and before separate nations existed. The command appears to be intended to give the humans He created authority over the earth. It is not likely that He would want to exclude those who are believers from having a role in that rule.
In the times succeeding the giving of this mandate, God ruled the nation of Israel directly. This went beyond the definition of a theocracy where a government is ruled using God’s principles. Since God Himself was in control, it could almost be considered a super-theocracy.
When God chose Moses to lead Israel out of Egypt He initiated a more formal type of government. In Exodus 18, at the suggestion of his father-in-law, Jethro, Moses established leaders and judges over groups of ten, fifty, a hundred and a thousand. The Ten Commandments issued through Moses were rules directly from God about how individuals were to live their personal lives. The many additional laws specified in Exodus and the other historical books draw on these commandments and, in effect, flesh them out. Specific punishments laid out for many of these laws indicate they were to be enforced by Israel’s government.
Since God created the rules, human legislators were not needed. Men were called upon to administer the laws, although not too much is said about how that was done, or how those wielding executive power were picked – except for main leaders like Moses whom God personally chose. In cases of major disobediences like the incident of the golden calf and Korah’s rebellion (Numbers 16), God directly acted as a judge and meted out punishment through leaders such as Moses. Presumably, in cases of individual violations of the laws, a system of justice to judge and punish lawbreakers existed.
In a later period, God used judges to rule over Israel. One assumes the rules He laid down in Moses’ time remained in effect. It is likely those judges had some type of judicial and penal system that used Israelites in its administration. God dealt directly through the judges on matters affecting the whole nation. We have the biblical reference to chiefs of the various tribes in Judges, but we are told little about their rule over civil society. The book of Judges primarily discusses the role of the appointed judges as head of the military.
Kings and Prophets
After the period of the judges, God established a system where kings were the rulers. This was not His choice , but the result of the Israelites' request for a king. God warned them of how such rulers would abuse their power. From this, we know the vesting of authority in one person was not His ideal. Much later in history, when some adopted the doctrine of the divine right of kings, they were not following God’s Word.
It didn’t take long for God to be proven right about kings. The very first, Saul, was disobedient to the point where God intervened to replace him with David. God’s warnings were borne out by the actions of other kings of Judah and Israel – only a few of whom were obedient to Him. Some also oppressed their subjects as God had indicated they would. Rehoboam, for example, against the advice of his elders, put a heavy burden on the people which resulted in a rebellion that divided Israel (I Kings 12), and Ahab, with the aid of his wife Jezebel, caused the death of Naboth in order to acquire his vineyard (I Kings 21).
Even the best of Israel and Judah’s kings, David, who was described as a man after God’s own heart, abused his power by having sex with Bathsheba, the wife of one of his military men. He then set up a situation where that military man, Uriah, would be killed in battle, effectively murdering him.
If kings wouldn’t follow God when He was dealing with them personally and through His prophets, we certainly cannot expect them to rule in accordance with His laws now that He is no longer speaking to them as directly.
Many of God’s warnings about kings equally hold true for oligarchies where a small group of people rule or, actually, for any system where a central government has unchecked authority to do as it wishes. Throughout history, we have seen countless examples of how kings and oligarchs have abused their power, oppressed their subjects, and ruled in a way not pleasing to God. We certainly can see what He meant when He warned the Israelites about kings.
During this period God used prophets to communicate His desires to Israel’s leaders. Most often the kings did not listen to them or heed their warnings. Again, it can be assumed that laws given earlier by God were still in force. In looking at Old Testament times as a whole, we can say that God, as legislator, established all the laws for Israel, and that both He and its leaders participated in the executive and judicial functions of government.
God’s rule over Judah and Israel was a very special case since they were His chosen people. God did not assert as direct a control over other nations in Old Testament times. He did, however, use them in various ways, such as punishing both Israel and Judah – which were also used, in turn, to punish those nations for their evil and idolatrous ways.
Will Nations Continue?
God really established separate nations when He scattered the people at the Tower of Babel by causing them to speak different languages. Most nations in this time were ruled monolithically, but we have no evidence God approved this. In fact, when the people of Israel asked for a king to rule over them, their reason was so they would be like the other nations, and He clearly warned them this would not be a good idea.
It seems separate nations are God’s intention as long as this present earth remains. Not much is said about their role in the millennial rule. However, at the end of the thousand years when Satan is released from the pit, he will deceive the nations from the four corners of the earth and gather them for war against the saints (Revelation 20: 8, 9). Those nations are said to include Gog and Magog which are mentioned in Scripture references to times before the millennium. This indicates not only the existence of nations during Christ’s reign, but also shows that at least some of them may be continuations of those that exist prior to the establishment of His rule.
Government in New Testament Times
God's Word indicates that He expected separate nations to exist in New Testament times. The term "Gentiles" used so frequently actually means “nations” in Greek. Roman hegemony over much of the Middle East and Europe at the time probably disguised the fact that many nations and cultures existed. When Paul took the gospel to the Gentiles, he was going to places that, although ruled by Rome, still thought of themselves as separate countries. That was certainly true of Judea itself.
By New Testament times, the situation had changed dramatically. While the Jews were still involved with the ceremonial and moral law, they had only a limited role in the civil law. Rather, those rules were primarily set and administered by the occupying Roman authorities. Nothing in the New Testament indicates God would re-institute a direct rule over the Jews or any other country, until the time of the millennium when Jesus would reign over the whole earth.
Of the types of law God established in the Old Testament, the sacrificial law is no longer needed after Christ’s death. And men and women are responsible to God for keeping of the moral laws. What remains to be enforced by human governments is the civil law.
Some suggest that the New Testament does not counsel Christians to be involved in politics and that examples of believers participating in such affairs are nonexistent, and because of this we should not be involved either. However, at that time, Israel was under the iron-fisted rule of Rome with little opportunity for individuals to affect the law. That fact should not preclude such involvement by believers where it is possible. Nor does it mean Christians shouldn’t be a part of the establishment of a new government system for a nation, as they were at the founding of the United States.
The rationale some Christians use for saying believers shouldn’t be involved in politics is very similar to that employed by believers to justify slavery. In both cases, the justification is provided by citing societal situations that were in play in the biblical ages as being normative for all periods of time. In the case of slavery, it has been said by some Christians that since it was practiced during the time when scripture was being written, and was not specifically condemned, that God, therefore, condones it, and it should be acceptable in all societies. Yet, most believers recognize this type of thinking as fallacious and applaud the efforts of Christians like William Wilberforce in ending the practice. It is instructive to note that to be in the position where he was able to further this change, Wilberforce had to be involved in politics as a member of the English Parliament.
Just as the cultural and political climate in New Testament times included slavery, it also did not provide opportunities for believers to participate in politics. Since such activity was not specifically prescribed in the Bible, some say it is prohibited in any era – regardless of whether conditions in a later cultural period allow for it. This is similar to how some have tried to justify slavery, because it was prevalent when the Bible was written. But history has shown that Christians involved in politics have furthered God’s kingdom – most notably through the establishment of the United States and the influence American Christians have had throughout the world.
It is apparent that what is written in the New Testament about government (as in Paul’s discussion in Romans 13) is intended to apply to civil rule over nations and their subordinate political jurisdictions. It seems to assume believers will live under a variety of different polities. It does not state or imply that Christians should try to re-establish the type of theocratic government we see in the Old Testament. In fact, unless God starts speaking again to believers directly or through prophets, it wouldn’t be possible to operate in the manner practiced in Old Testament times.
God’s Use of Human Authorities
Today, Christians who assert believers should not be involved in politics at all frequently say such efforts are unnecessary or futile because God raises up government and its leaders. That is true. It says in Daniel 2:21, It is He who changes the times and the epochs; He removes kings and establishes kings. But God does not send angels down to earth to establish governments or take positions in existing jurisdictions. He uses flesh and blood humans in these efforts – just as He does in other things He wishes to accomplish.
Some Christians think that because God will achieve His purposes, believers can sit back and watch as He works, and that they need not participate at all in what He is doing – at least in anything beyond evangelism. It is true God will achieve His goals with or without the cooperation of Christians, but it does not follow that we should not be involved in working toward those goals. It would certainly seem that some of the people God raises up to govern would be His believers.
God also raises up people to positions in His church. That does not mean Christians should not seek His will, and, when finding it, should not either take on such leadership positions themselves or prepare others for them. The church is God’s primary vehicle for carrying out His command to go into all the world and make disciples. However, just as God ordained the church, He also ordained government. Both institutions serve His purposes. If Christians are not involved in governments, they will be totally controlled by unbelievers. Does it make sense to say that He has or will in the future raise up only non-Christians as governmental authorities?
Christians should be in receptive to God’s will and respond to His leading. When believers are in tune with God and involved in the political process, it is more likely the outcome will be what He desires. Of course, God will accomplish His ultimate purposes, and He does use unbelievers, although we don’t really know how He gets them to do His bidding. However, would he not also use His people who are sensitive to His wishes? May He not even prefer to use us?
Looking at history, we can see certain nations have worked to thwart God’s purposes. Some have tried to prevent the propagation of the gospel within their borders. Others have conquered nations previously open to the salvation story, and within nations, leaders and groups have worked to suppress the spread of God’s kingdom. But some countries have allowed God’s message to be disseminated freely – most notably in the United States.
God’s chief purpose for earthly life is to propagate the gospel and bring as many people as possible into His kingdom. Arguably, the establishment of the United States has contributed as much to that goal as any development in history. Does it not seem that those involved in creating and maintaining our nation were doing God’s work by enabling the spread of the gospel?
It is God’s intent to use government to further His larger purposes. It is also certainly true that believers are expected to advance God’s objectives. If government is one tool He uses to achieve these objectives, it should go without saying that some Christians would be involved in political affairs. To assert otherwise would be to say that God would use government to promote His purposes solely with those who do not believe in Him.
It is stated in scripture that believers will rule with Christ during the millennium. We do not know the details of how that rule will be carried out. We do know this will not be a time of perfection since many will rebel against God at the end of the thousand years. So, some type of political structure and laws will be needed to try to restrain unregenerate men and women who are part of the earth’s population. We do not know how much of the political structure that exists at the time of Christ’s return will be carried over into the millennium. We do know Jesus will be the head ruler, but if nations with governments are still in place (either as constituted at the beginning of the period or as reorganized by Christ), believers will likely serve in them. It is possible that our role will be based on our experiences on earth before the millennium. If so, our life now could be partially a preparation for our rule with Christ. In that case, involvement with politics now is an important activity for at least some Christians.
A small number of Christians have promoted the view that Christians should establish a theocracy where all the non-ceremonial laws of the Old Testament would be implemented and that Christ will not return until this is substantially accomplished. This movement is known as Christian reconstructionism. However, I see nothing in the New Testament that suggests the purpose of government should be to impose God’s complete moral law on all people through human law. We are not even told for certain that Jesus Christ will establish such a government or governments when He returns to rule the earth for 1,000 years in the millennium.
One belief that is quite prevalent among believers is that since God ordains all government, we should, therefore, make no effort to oppose evil regimes or rulers, that such action is actually thwarting His will. While God allows such people as Hitler, Stalin et al. to gain and maintain power for a time, and He will sometimes use these leaders and their governments to accomplish certain aspects of His ends, this does not necessarily mean He desires that type of tyranny to be in place. We, as believers, should always oppose evil wherever we find it.
God’s Purpose for Civil Government
Although God’s ultimate objective is to bring as many people as possible to be with Him in eternity, in conjunction with that goal, He works to bring history to a culmination that will lead to the millennial rule. He also has a vision for how government can aid life on earth in the meantime.
The passage of scripture that talks most directly about this is Romans 13:1-7. In these verses, God tells us through Paul what those purposes are and what our responsibilities are to be to those who govern. He tells us that all authority is actually established by Him to be a minister of God for you for good (Romans 13:4). In doing so, it punishes evil.
Surely He would want his children to assume roles in an institution He has prescribed. If we don’t, control of governments will be completely in the hands of those who have not experienced God’s redemptive power, do not understand His laws, and have not subordinated their wills to Him. Such governments will likely not do good, but rather oppress their citizens. History is replete with examples of tyrannical governments void of Christian influence. In the Romans passage, rulers are also said to be servants of God. Who better to perform that function than Christians who, if being obedient to Him, are already His servants?
We get further ideas of why government is ordained by God in I Timothy 2:1-2, where we are asked to pray for kings and those in authority, so that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity. This indicates that government must punish evil men and women because they disrupt order in society and, in so doing, prevent us from having an environment where we can live such lives. For Christians, this is a society where we are free to be obedient to God, and if governments are to restrain those who would prevent us from living a tranquil quiet life, it should go without saying that they themselves should not take actions that disrupt our ability to lead such lives.
Christians’ Roles in Government
Governments that carry out their mandate properly are not very prevalent in the world’s history. Rather, the tendency for government leaders has been to grasp power and restrict freedom. A Christian who understands the nature of the world and human beings will have a better idea of how to construct a government with a greater likelihood of maximizing liberty. If believers actually serve in government leadership posts, they are not as likely to abuse power and squelch freedom. Christians, who should have as a priority being obedient to God, have a vested interest in maintaining a political environment where they have the freedom to do so.
A government based on God’s principles and a proper notion of man will be more likely to best carry out the appropriate functions of government. It is possible there could be such a government without believers participating in any way – where no Christian has a position in it, nor has given any input into its formation. But is that likely? A government could exist that is good because those in authority, although not necessarily believers, are not power-hungry and sincerely seek to do the right things. However, unless the form of that government discourages the obtaining of power, the reins of that government in the future will likely pass into the hands of those who will use their positions for personal gain or power.
The best chances for a government that allows the unbridled growth of God’s kingdom will occur with involvement from believers. That would include counsel and input in the process of actually founding a government as well as advice in ensuring its continued adherence to founding principles. Christians should have the discernment to recognize when government moves away from sound ideas and practices. In order to do so, they must keep themselves informed about what is going on in political affairs. I believe Christians have an obligation to do that and also to inform others about threats they see to the polity under which they live.
If Christians engage in commentary on issues and influence people politically, but none of them are willing to actually get involved in the political process, it would likely be perceived as adopting a superior attitude. It communicates an attitude of “let us tell you how it should be done,” while also saying, “we’re not going to get our hands dirty doing any of the actual work.” Such an attitude is similar to what James related about a believer encountering a needy person: If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, Go in peace, be warmed and be filled, and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that? (James 2:15, 16). This does not mean that all Christians must actually be actively involved in politics. But if we, as a body, comment on political issues, we should also acknowledge that some of our number should be willing to participate.
If God does, indeed, ordain nations and uses them to further His ends, it doesn’t seem like He would want all of His children sitting on the sidelines and not taking part – like spectators at a dramatic performance. This is particularly true when He has given them gifts through the Holy Spirit that could aid in what He is trying to accomplish. Does it also not make sense to use those who are attuned to His will?
The United States has been used mightily by God throughout our history. Christians put forth much effort in the setting up of the nation. God has used even those who disobey Him to achieve His purposes. So, it is possible that everything done by Christians to the end of freeing us from Britain and setting up a new nation was displeasing to Him. However, what cannot be denied is the considerable (even monumental) amount of involvement on the part of believers in the forming of our country. Is it likely God was unhappy with all those believers who contributed in some way to the establishment of America? It resulted in a nation that produced unprecedented freedom to worship God, and which has sent missionaries all over the world to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Doesn’t it seem more likely that believers were obedient to God by participating in His raising up a government like none other in history – one that has facilitated mightily the promulgation of the Word?
Political Involvement that Fits God’s Timing
We cannot know for certain what God is working to accomplish in a given time in history, or how He intends for Christians to contribute to his plans for that era. However, it is possible that whether and how He wants believers to participate in the political arena depends on His objectives for that period. In New Testament times, it may be that God did not wish for His people to be involved in politics not only because of the difficulty in doing so under Roman rule, but also because His most important objective at that time was to firmly establish His church and have it provide a witness to the various parts of the world.
In later centuries in Europe, it may be that God wanted believers to be active in governments to develop Western Civilization as a prelude to causing the gospel to spread throughout the world. In our colonial and founding eras, He may have wished to create a nation which would be used as a base for sending missionaries to all points on the earth. Today His interest may include having Christians oppose the coming world system described in Revelation.
Responsibility for God’s Gift of Freedom
When believers find themselves in a political situation that fosters considerable freedom to grow the kingdom of God, it seems He would want them to expend effort to maintain that ability. That is the position in which believers in America found themselves after our government had been firmly established. Christians did a reasonably good job of contributing to the preservation of our liberty for a while, but over the passage of time, believers have paid less attention to political affairs – particularly in recent decades when the insights of believers were needed as our freedoms were slipping away.
Whatever has gone on in the past, when we reach a place where freedom is severely threatened, as it is now, Christians should not just sit idly by until it is gone completely, since we know that the loss of liberty will also greatly curtail our efforts at furthering the kingdom. Believers should have seen this situation coming years ago and worked to prevent it from getting this bad. It is irresponsible to see a danger and allow it to become so serious, without making efforts to stop it. It may be said many believers did nothing since they did not recognize the threat, but my contention is that if they were really paying attention to what was going on in the world and truly looking at those events through the lens of Scripture, they would have seen the approaching perils. If, as the Declaration of Independence states, and I assert throughout this book, freedom is a gift from God, then we believers have a responsibility to care for it. Such care surely includes the establishment and maintenance of governments that protect this freedom and which do not infringe on it.
I feel particularly bad when I break or lose an item I received as a gift. I am especially bothered if the loss was due to carelessness on my part. It shows a lack of regard, not only for the item, but for the person who gave it to me.
A couple of years after college, my mother gave me a set of silverware that our family used for years, but which she no longer needed. In one of my many moves at the time, I placed all the utensils in that set in a bag, intending to take them to the car just before leaving. Somehow, I forgot them and didn’t realize it until much later. This incident troubled me for years and still does somewhat, even though my mother has been gone for more than six years. I doubt if it would have bothered me if it had been something I had purchased myself, but it just seemed like I had slighted her by not caring for the silverware properly.
I may be more sensitive than necessary about such things or at least more so than the average person. However, I think many people feel a particular responsibility for taking care of something given to them. Certainly, we should feel that type of responsibility to an even greater degree for the gifts God has given us – particularly when the gift is such an important one as freedom. To have a lackadaisical attitude toward it demonstrates ungratefulness to, and a lack of regard for, the God who gave it to us.
Politics in the End Times
Some say that since the return of Christ is so imminent, we should do nothing to try to salvage society or its governments; rather, we should put all our efforts into saving souls. One cannot argue with the priority of evangelism. However, it is not an either/or choice. We should be active in politics for a number of reasons – even if facing the impending end of the world as we know it. First, we do not know God’s exact timeline. The signs have been such that it seems to me (and I’m sure, others) that the rapture should have already happened, but it hasn’t. It appears God may be moving at a slower pace than many of us expect. What if the Lord delays His coming for another fifty or a hundred years (or more)? At the speed events are happening in the world, being able to hold off efforts to control Christians for that number of years could mean a big difference in our ability to proselytize in the time remaining.
Second, we as individual Christians and as the church are to be Christ’s witnesses on earth. That is equally true whether the world goes on for thousands of years or it ends next week. The likelihood of Christ’s return should not change that. If we are to be involved in political affairs, then it should not matter how long we have to do it. This does not mean we should not have an increased sense of urgency about evangelism as we see the time grow seemingly short.
As the end does approach, conditions in the world will likely worsen considerably. Non-believers will be looking for answers. Christians should not be surprised to see problems escalating. But if our attitude is that we are not going to help address these problems because “we’re out of here, you guys are going to have to stay and clean up the mess,” it is not going to attract anyone to Christ. Many who see this cavalier attitude may, as a result, never be open to the gospel message. So, we need to involve ourselves in trying to straighten out a world which we believe may not last long. It is possible the opportunity for the church to be a corporate witness in the world will never be greater than near the end.
Third, we are to oppose evil in the world. As the end approaches, we should expect more strong signs of a developing evil world government which will be working against God. Moves toward establishing that government should be actively resisted by Christians.
Historical Perspective on Christian Involvement in Politics
Political Environment of the Old Testament
In the discussion of “Christian Participation in God-Ordained Government” above, we looked at how God governed Judah and Israel in Old Testament times. I will now discuss the roles of some of God’s people in other governments during that time.
Joseph ultimately became the de facto ruler of Egypt. Daniel was in the governments of Babylonia and the Medo-Persian Empire at a high level. Both of these men were very strong witnesses based on how they did their jobs and how they remained true to God.
Esther is another example. Although she lacked any real authority, her influence saved the Jewish people in Persia. Mordecai, her uncle, was an advisor to the king, Ahasuerus.
Joseph was plucked from prison and placed in the government of Pharaoh. He didn’t apply for the job, and it doesn’t appear he really had a choice in whether he wanted the position he received. Daniel was in Babylonia as a member of the Jewish captive people. It is questionable whether he had any choice about serving in the positions he held. Mordecai was in Ahasuerus’ government of Persia as part of the Jewish captive people, and his service likely was also not voluntary. So, we probably shouldn’t use any of these Old Testament people as examples in answering the question as to whether a believer should choose to be involved in governmental affairs.
In looking at the New Testament, we don’t really see examples of believers involved in politics. Given that all the areas where Christians lived at that time were part of the very authoritarian Roman Empire, one would not expect any of them to have had opportunities for such activity.
The American Experience
It is instructive to look at the beginning of the colonies in the New World – particularly the one settled by the Pilgrims at Plymouth. If they would have followed the counsel that Christians should not be involved in politics, they would have made no effort to establish a government. They also could have said they didn’t need to do so, since God would raise one up and provide it with leadership.
That does raise the question of where God was to get the people to run His government. We never know for certain which individuals are true believers in Christ, since we cannot see inside the hearts of others. But from what we do know, it is likely that most of the Pilgrims were born-again believers. If they had been thinking like some Christians today, they would have considered those who came forward to organize a government as disobedient believers. If such a view is right, then from God’s perspective it would have been best if those setting up the government were actually unbelievers, since then none of the Christians would have been disobedient.
It is possible that among the Pilgrims, as in most Christian bodies, some were not true believers – that tares lived among the wheat. If the true believers thought political involvement to be wrong and, therefore, obediently declined to be involved in the running of the colony, God would have had only a few colonists (the phony Christians) to work with to raise up a government. The Mayflower did have a crew that may have included those who were not believers. It might have been possible to put together a government from the crew and non-believing Pilgrims, but that would have resulted in an essentially Christian colony being ruled by unbelievers.
It is also possible that if the Pilgrims had not established authority over the colony, God could have raised up the Indians as their government by having them conquer the Pilgrims and rule over them.
Maybe they could have placed advertisements in European newspapers such as:
Wanted: Men and women to establish and run the government of Plymouth Colony in America
Qualification: Must not be a believer in Jesus Christ
The problem is that even the effort to seek governors for their colony would be involvement with politics, which they weren’t supposed to do, remember?
The only option they had, if they wanted to be obedient to God, was to do nothing. This is close to what was initially done at the Jamestown colony in Virginia, and the results were disastrous. Although it had a government of sorts, with little organization or Christian influence, it suffered from disease, starvation, theft, fire, Indian attacks, and much loss of life.
I have been intentionally facetious in presenting these various options for Plymouth Colony based on the assumption that God does not want His people to be politically active. My objective was to show a contrast between those alternatives and what was actually done. Doesn’t it make more sense to believe that the Pilgrims recognized the need for order in their colony, and in acting to meet that need, those who became their leaders were the people God raised up to establish the governmental authority He prescribes for civil society? The Pilgrims actually began their effort to create a government before they even left the ship by drafting and signing the Mayflower Compact. It became one of the precursors for the government eventually founded for the United States.
To be consistent, opponents of Christian political involvement would have to believe the Pilgrims were disobedient in setting up a government for their colony. But, realistically, if they were to have a government as called for in God’s Word, it would have had to be established by believers. It is likely that even the most ardent opponents of political activity by Christians would acknowledge that, in this highly exceptional case, it was okay for believers to be involved, because no government previously existed, and primarily only Christians were available to create one. But, again, if they were to be consistent, they would have to question continuing involvement when a government was well-established. At what point would they feel comfortable turning it over to unbelievers?
Is the United States a Christian Nation?
What Does it Mean to Be a Christian Nation?
Whether the United States is a Christian nation is a question addressed frequently in recent years by both believers and non-believers. However, rarely do those answering that question define what they mean by “A Christian Nation.” Most often, they just launch into a discussion of why we either have or have not been a Christian nation.
What are some of the possible definitions of a Christian nation? Does it mean a majority of people in the nation are true believers in Jesus Christ? The problem with that definition is that one cannot see inside another’s heart. Orthodox Christianity says that a Christian is one who has received the gift of salvation. It is particularly difficult to look back more than two centuries to determine who was and who was not truly a believer.
Is a Christian nation one where a majority of residents profess to be Christians? What if 95 percent of the people claimed to be Christians but only a small minority lived their lives according to the principles of the Bible? It doesn’t seem like we would be justified on that basis to designate the country as Christian.
Is a nation Christian if its culture reflects Christian principles and acknowledges the God of the Bible in its public institutions? Under that definition, we might say the United States was a Christian nation at the time of our founding, but it has experienced a marked change in recent decades. Due to recent Supreme Court rulings, the Ten Commandments are no longer in many classrooms. In many schools, Christmas programs or concerts are called holiday or winter concerts. Many Bible verses remain in public buildings, because they are chiseled in stone, but they mostly serve as a reminder of when the Christian religion was dominant in the United States. We could, legitimately, have been called a culturally Christian country in the past, but little evidence warrants that classification today.
The questions I have been asking deal primarily with the culture and the beliefs of the people of America at the time of the founding. People who ask whether the United States is a Christian nation are most often addressing whether our government was established as Christian. A better question would be: “Was the United States founded as a Christian nation?” However, even that question has different answers depending on what one means by “founded.” Some would say it would only be founded as a Christian nation if its basic law was intended to carry out the mandates of the Bible. Such a government would involve passing laws against activities prohibited in Scripture. This would truly be a theocracy. If that is what is meant, I believe few of any political or theological stripe would say we were founded as a Christian nation. I think few believers would want our nation to operate in that manner.
Before returning to the question of whether we were founded as a Christian nation, let’s examine some of the issues discussed by those dealing with the question.
Reasons Some Say the United States is Not a Christian Nation
Many who deny we were established as a Christian nation say important founders were deists – not orthodox Christians. Some cite the fact that God is not mentioned in the Constitution. Others suggest many of the presuppositions underlying the government our founders set up were based on ideas from the Enlightenment. Others believe many of the founders were elitists. These points are made by those who are quite conservative, including Christians. Is there any validity to such claims? Let’s look at them individually.
1. Certainly, there were founders whose religious views could be categorized as being deist – a belief that God created the world, but then let it operate without His direction. Those include some well-known names associated with our nation’s founding – like Jefferson and Franklin. However, of the other men who contributed their thinking to the formation of our governmental system, some were Christians, though they may not be known as well as some of those identified as deists. Nevertheless, they had a profound impact on the form of our government. These included: Samuel Adams, Patrick Henry, John Jay, Roger Sherman, and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney.
Several signers of the Constitution had been students of John Witherspoon at the College of New Jersey (now Princeton) and were deeply influenced by him. Witherspoon was a Presbyterian pastor and a very orthodox Christian. His pupils included James Madison whose influence at the Constitutional Convention earned him the appellation of “Father of the Constitution.” Witherspoon himself was a member of Congress and the New Jersey Senate, and was a signer of the Declaration of Independence.
Franklin, in urging that daily prayer be instituted at the Constitutional Convention said:
“I have lived, Sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth – that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, Sir, in the sacred writings, that 'except the Lord build the House they labour in vain that build it.' I firmly believe this; and I also believe that without his concurring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better than the Builders of Babel.”
He certainly doesn’t sound like a deist who believes God leaves men to their own devices and doesn’t intervene in their world.
2. God actually is mentioned in the Constitution. It is indicated as being signed "in the year of our Lord.” Some defenders of the idea that we were founded as a Christian nation cite that as partial proof, but I believe that is stretching a point. At the time of the writing of the Constitution, such a designation was in general use.
However, the lack of any substantive mention of God in the Constitution does not indicate we were not founded as a Christian nation – nor should it be considered surprising. A constitution is basically a technical document which lays out the nuts and bolts of how an organization conducts its affairs.
It is really in the Declaration of Independence where the philosophic underpinnings of our system were laid down, and that document very specifically declares our rights come from God. This statement has far-reaching ramifications that are dealt with throughout this book.
It is interesting that many of the state constitutions did have specific references to God. They also had requirements that office-holders be Christians. In fact, at the time the Constitution was being debated, several states had established religions. If one looks at the America of 1787, as not the federal government, but rather the sum of the various states, then a better case could be made for saying we were a Christian nation – even that we were founded as one. There is some justification for such a view. People tended to look at themselves more as Virginians, Pennsylvanians, etc. than as Americans. They saw the national government they had created as very limited – rather than one that would command greater loyalty than their state. It may be the desire to leave the question of religion to the individual states is one reason for the lack of any mention of God in the Constitution.
3. Was the United States based on principles of the Enlightenment rather than Christianity? There certainly was some of that thinking among founders. However, many assume all the ideas of the Enlightenment were in direct conflict with Christian beliefs – that a strict dichotomy exists between Christianity and those ideas. But in reading about the Enlightenment it is difficult even to come up with a hard-and-fast definition for what the term means. Many who write on the topic view it quite differently.
Isaac Newton and John Locke (who are considered Christians) are two names associated with the Enlightenment. Locke had a particularly large amount of influence on the ideas of several founders. Born into a Puritan family, Locke did move away from their religious views. His ideas on religion (as well as many of his other thoughts) are somewhat complicated. However, he did not reject Christianity.
Montesquieu is another person who has been identified with the Enlightenment. He was a Frenchman who advocated the separation of powers in government in his major work The Spirit of the Laws. He was very influential in colonial America, being one of the most frequently quoted thinkers prior to the Revolution. Separation of powers is an idea many founders – particularly Christians – recognize as necessary due to the tendency of fallen men and women to increase their power through government. This is one example which illustrates how ideas that influenced our founding from an Enlightenment thinker were actually very compatible with Christian thinking.
In general, one could say that the Enlightenment was a movement toward more use of the mind to evaluate ideas, rather than merely accepting the authority of the state and church, which had dominated European society for some time. There is nothing implicitly anti-Christian about using the mental facilities which God gave us, and we should not, as believers, uncritically accept the pronouncements from human institutions – be they church, state, or other. Of course, when we elevate our minds to the point that we accept ideas in conflict with God’s Word, we are going too far.
Merely because some philosophic concepts were arrived at by developing ideas that came out of the Enlightenment does not, in and of itself, make those concepts anti-Christian. We need to hold up all thinking against God’s Word to see if it is consistent with it.
The Enlightenment liberated thinking from human institutions. This led to more people thinking for themselves. One would expect some would use this freedom to oppose God but others to develop ideas consistent with a Christian worldview.
4. Some assert that many founders were elitists looking out for the interests of the well-situated and not that concerned about the common man. Some who have called them elitists have done so because they come to the discussion with a social-leveling or Marxist perspective. They believe the function of a government is to equalize the economic statuses of society’s members, and they assert that the structure laid out by the Constitution militates against government assuming such a role. That is true, but that doesn’t make the founders elitists. They merely believed that an open-ended constitution that permitted government to do whatever those who gain control of it wish is detrimental to freedom. They were actually protecting the interests of the common man that tend to get overrun by the power of big government.
If one believes government should provide for people, then one could look at the system set up by our fathers as protecting the interests of the powerful and mighty and those who set it up as elitists. However, as asserted throughout this book, that is not what government should be doing.
If our founders were primarily elitists who had their own interests in mind, why would they have set up a form of government where the power was so dispersed? Why wouldn't they have concentrated power in a way they could more easily use to maintain control? Since they were highly respected and had the confidence of so many people, they may have gotten away with establishing such a system. But they, in effect, gave away their power, rather than arrogating it onto themselves. Also, many of the signers of the Declaration of Independence paid a heavy price for opposing England. They suffered losses of members of their families, possessions, and their health. Elitists don’t normally make such sacrifices for the good of others.
A More Relevant Question
This raises a more important question that needs to be asked about our country. Are the basic documents upon which our national and state governments were founded based on biblical principles? Do they reflect a Christian understanding of the nature of man and the world? Are they consistent with a Christian worldview?
One of the main ideas incorporated into our government was the concept of limited, specified functions. Another was the recognition of the need for the separation of powers among the various branches of government. These ideas sprung from the Christian conception of man – the belief that humans have a fallen nature. Because they are flawed, men tend to gain and maintain power in their own self-interest. Recognizing this, the founders created a government with limited, specified functions – one where attempts to gain power would be difficult, and where power would be divided.
Even Thomas Jefferson, who was not an orthodox Christian, recognized this when he said, “In matters of power let no more be heard of the confidence in man but bind them down from mischief by the chains of the constitution." Although he may have been a deist, he recognized that men were fallible – which accorded with the Christian view of human nature prevalent at the time.
It is because of this view of human nature that the founders recognized the necessity of limiting government and not concentrating its power. Although not all those who shaped the form of our government believed in the presence of a sin nature in man, the pervasiveness of such a view at that time certainly caused a majority of them to see the need for placing restrictions on governmental power.
The question regarding Christianity and our founding has been phrased wrongly. Rather than asking whether we are a Christian nation or whether we were founded as one, we should ask if we were founded on Christian principles – particularly with a Christian understanding of the nature of men and women. If the question is asked that way, the answer is definitely in the affirmative.
Perhaps the best indication that political involvement is proper for the Christian is the testimony of American history. Christians played predominant roles in establishing this country on biblical principles, and we have been blessed as no other nation in history. If God had been displeased with the efforts of those early American Christians, would He have allowed us to prosper as we have? Would He have blessed us as He has?
In reality, the proper way to look at this situation is that human government is an essential part of life on earth – just like many other institutions and occupations. We, as believers, are “in this world, but not of it.” It is unrealistic to think Christians will not have a part in all legitimate activities that take place here on earth – including those that involve politics.
I have lived, Sir, a long time; and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth, that God governs in the affairs of men. – Benjamin Franklin
To assess the role Christians should play in politics, it is helpful to look at the purposes God has for human life on earth. Christians know this life will not last forever, and those who believe in Him look toward a future time quite different from those who don’t. Since God, until now, has chosen to continue this earthly existence, we know He has things He wishes to accomplish before terminating it. While His people remain here, God has roles for us to help further His objectives.
In this chapter, I will cover some of God’s purposes and how believers have, and should, participate politically in achieving His ends. This will include a short look at the colonial period in America as well as the time of our country’s founding. The next chapter will address more specifically how Christians’ involvement in politics relates to facilitating the Great Commission, carrying out commands from Scripture, and providing salt and light for society.
A Review of End-Times Beliefs
Christians differ in their views of what the chain of events will be in the end times. I will make a number of points in this chapter and other places in the book based on my beliefs regarding eschatology. Before I launch into a discussion of God’s working in history, I will offer a quick review of the various end-time views and what I believe, to provide a foundational understanding of why I make certain assertions. Of course, if you don’t agree with my eschatological beliefs, you may also not agree with the ideas upon which I have based them.
The Bible describes a one-thousand year period of rule by Jesus Christ known as the millennium. Believers who hold to a postmillennial view assert that He will return to earth after a thousand years of ruling from heaven. Others do not believe in a literal millennium (amillenialists). Some from both of these camps believe it is the duty of Christians to take dominion and establish the rule of Christ on earth. Believers who advocate this view follow what is called dominion theology.
What I believe is the correct view is called premillennialism. Those who hold this view believe Jesus will return to earth and then reign for a thousand years. This period will be preceded by a terrible seven-year period called the tribulation. Some in this group think He will return prior to the tribulation to remove Christians from earth in an event called the rapture (a pre-trib view), others believe He will perform this rescue around the middle of the tribulation (mid-trib), and still others believe this will happen at the end of the tribulation (post-trib). I believe in the pre-trib scenario, although I think a case can be made for a rapture at the middle of the tribulation.
Many, if not most, premillennialist advocates, see events in recent decades pointing to the likelihood of the end times being close at hand based on biblical prophecy. I see evidence of that possibility. Since I am neither an amillennialist nor a postmillennialist, I do not think we as believers should be taking over the world for Christ. So, when I talk about applying Christian principles to government, I am not advocating an effort to build the kingdom of God on earth. However, I believe that if Christian worldview ideas were followed to a large degree in the political realm, we would likely see a great transformation of our society.
Christian Participation in God-Ordained Government
God Moves in History
Most Christians believe, as Tennyson said in the quote at the beginning of the chapter, that an increasing purpose runs throughout the ages, and God guides the course of history to bring about His desired ends. Many believe the ultimate denouement of His workings will be a millennial kingdom ruled by Jesus Christ which, in time, will be succeeded by the new heaven and earth where His followers will dwell with Him forever.
This does not mean things on earth have increasingly improved in a deterministic way as implied by Tennyson, and as believed by some historians and philosophers. Civilizations have risen and fallen; nations and governments have come and gone. For several centuries, it appeared to many that Western Civilization would result in the pinnacle of life on Planet Earth; however, perceptive believers recognize the West has actually been in a period of decline for some time.
In spite of the ebbs and flows of civilizations over the years, most Christians believe God is accomplishing His purposes through history. In this way, we could say history is deterministic – it is ultimately determined by God, and it is moving toward an end: His end. That doesn’t mean all that has and will take place necessarily relates to God’s larger objectives. We do not always know how God uses certain events to further His desired outcomes, although we may recognize, after the fact, how they have contributed to furthering His kingdom and, thus, appear to have been engineered by Him.
Whatever God’s wishes may be for man-centered earthly governments, they are not of ultimate importance since all human institutions will eventually pass away. His desires for them are subordinate to His eternal purposes. However, various human authorities are tools who have been, are, and will be, used by Him to further the establishment of the heavenly kingdom that will replace all temporal rulers.
God’s Direct Rule on Earth
In Genesis 1:26, 28, God commands men to rule over the earth. Since it was issued right after creating the first man and woman, it appears this instruction is intended for all humans and their descendants. It is not completely clear how much of that job is to fall to governments, but presumably they should at least be involved in maintaining the political environment that would facilitate the task. Of course, it was given while God was still directly in control of what happened here on earth and before separate nations existed. The command appears to be intended to give the humans He created authority over the earth. It is not likely that He would want to exclude those who are believers from having a role in that rule.
In the times succeeding the giving of this mandate, God ruled the nation of Israel directly. This went beyond the definition of a theocracy where a government is ruled using God’s principles. Since God Himself was in control, it could almost be considered a super-theocracy.
When God chose Moses to lead Israel out of Egypt He initiated a more formal type of government. In Exodus 18, at the suggestion of his father-in-law, Jethro, Moses established leaders and judges over groups of ten, fifty, a hundred and a thousand. The Ten Commandments issued through Moses were rules directly from God about how individuals were to live their personal lives. The many additional laws specified in Exodus and the other historical books draw on these commandments and, in effect, flesh them out. Specific punishments laid out for many of these laws indicate they were to be enforced by Israel’s government.
Since God created the rules, human legislators were not needed. Men were called upon to administer the laws, although not too much is said about how that was done, or how those wielding executive power were picked – except for main leaders like Moses whom God personally chose. In cases of major disobediences like the incident of the golden calf and Korah’s rebellion (Numbers 16), God directly acted as a judge and meted out punishment through leaders such as Moses. Presumably, in cases of individual violations of the laws, a system of justice to judge and punish lawbreakers existed.
In a later period, God used judges to rule over Israel. One assumes the rules He laid down in Moses’ time remained in effect. It is likely those judges had some type of judicial and penal system that used Israelites in its administration. God dealt directly through the judges on matters affecting the whole nation. We have the biblical reference to chiefs of the various tribes in Judges, but we are told little about their rule over civil society. The book of Judges primarily discusses the role of the appointed judges as head of the military.
Kings and Prophets
After the period of the judges, God established a system where kings were the rulers. This was not His choice , but the result of the Israelites' request for a king. God warned them of how such rulers would abuse their power. From this, we know the vesting of authority in one person was not His ideal. Much later in history, when some adopted the doctrine of the divine right of kings, they were not following God’s Word.
It didn’t take long for God to be proven right about kings. The very first, Saul, was disobedient to the point where God intervened to replace him with David. God’s warnings were borne out by the actions of other kings of Judah and Israel – only a few of whom were obedient to Him. Some also oppressed their subjects as God had indicated they would. Rehoboam, for example, against the advice of his elders, put a heavy burden on the people which resulted in a rebellion that divided Israel (I Kings 12), and Ahab, with the aid of his wife Jezebel, caused the death of Naboth in order to acquire his vineyard (I Kings 21).
Even the best of Israel and Judah’s kings, David, who was described as a man after God’s own heart, abused his power by having sex with Bathsheba, the wife of one of his military men. He then set up a situation where that military man, Uriah, would be killed in battle, effectively murdering him.
If kings wouldn’t follow God when He was dealing with them personally and through His prophets, we certainly cannot expect them to rule in accordance with His laws now that He is no longer speaking to them as directly.
Many of God’s warnings about kings equally hold true for oligarchies where a small group of people rule or, actually, for any system where a central government has unchecked authority to do as it wishes. Throughout history, we have seen countless examples of how kings and oligarchs have abused their power, oppressed their subjects, and ruled in a way not pleasing to God. We certainly can see what He meant when He warned the Israelites about kings.
During this period God used prophets to communicate His desires to Israel’s leaders. Most often the kings did not listen to them or heed their warnings. Again, it can be assumed that laws given earlier by God were still in force. In looking at Old Testament times as a whole, we can say that God, as legislator, established all the laws for Israel, and that both He and its leaders participated in the executive and judicial functions of government.
God’s rule over Judah and Israel was a very special case since they were His chosen people. God did not assert as direct a control over other nations in Old Testament times. He did, however, use them in various ways, such as punishing both Israel and Judah – which were also used, in turn, to punish those nations for their evil and idolatrous ways.
Will Nations Continue?
God really established separate nations when He scattered the people at the Tower of Babel by causing them to speak different languages. Most nations in this time were ruled monolithically, but we have no evidence God approved this. In fact, when the people of Israel asked for a king to rule over them, their reason was so they would be like the other nations, and He clearly warned them this would not be a good idea.
It seems separate nations are God’s intention as long as this present earth remains. Not much is said about their role in the millennial rule. However, at the end of the thousand years when Satan is released from the pit, he will deceive the nations from the four corners of the earth and gather them for war against the saints (Revelation 20: 8, 9). Those nations are said to include Gog and Magog which are mentioned in Scripture references to times before the millennium. This indicates not only the existence of nations during Christ’s reign, but also shows that at least some of them may be continuations of those that exist prior to the establishment of His rule.
Government in New Testament Times
God's Word indicates that He expected separate nations to exist in New Testament times. The term "Gentiles" used so frequently actually means “nations” in Greek. Roman hegemony over much of the Middle East and Europe at the time probably disguised the fact that many nations and cultures existed. When Paul took the gospel to the Gentiles, he was going to places that, although ruled by Rome, still thought of themselves as separate countries. That was certainly true of Judea itself.
By New Testament times, the situation had changed dramatically. While the Jews were still involved with the ceremonial and moral law, they had only a limited role in the civil law. Rather, those rules were primarily set and administered by the occupying Roman authorities. Nothing in the New Testament indicates God would re-institute a direct rule over the Jews or any other country, until the time of the millennium when Jesus would reign over the whole earth.
Of the types of law God established in the Old Testament, the sacrificial law is no longer needed after Christ’s death. And men and women are responsible to God for keeping of the moral laws. What remains to be enforced by human governments is the civil law.
Some suggest that the New Testament does not counsel Christians to be involved in politics and that examples of believers participating in such affairs are nonexistent, and because of this we should not be involved either. However, at that time, Israel was under the iron-fisted rule of Rome with little opportunity for individuals to affect the law. That fact should not preclude such involvement by believers where it is possible. Nor does it mean Christians shouldn’t be a part of the establishment of a new government system for a nation, as they were at the founding of the United States.
The rationale some Christians use for saying believers shouldn’t be involved in politics is very similar to that employed by believers to justify slavery. In both cases, the justification is provided by citing societal situations that were in play in the biblical ages as being normative for all periods of time. In the case of slavery, it has been said by some Christians that since it was practiced during the time when scripture was being written, and was not specifically condemned, that God, therefore, condones it, and it should be acceptable in all societies. Yet, most believers recognize this type of thinking as fallacious and applaud the efforts of Christians like William Wilberforce in ending the practice. It is instructive to note that to be in the position where he was able to further this change, Wilberforce had to be involved in politics as a member of the English Parliament.
Just as the cultural and political climate in New Testament times included slavery, it also did not provide opportunities for believers to participate in politics. Since such activity was not specifically prescribed in the Bible, some say it is prohibited in any era – regardless of whether conditions in a later cultural period allow for it. This is similar to how some have tried to justify slavery, because it was prevalent when the Bible was written. But history has shown that Christians involved in politics have furthered God’s kingdom – most notably through the establishment of the United States and the influence American Christians have had throughout the world.
It is apparent that what is written in the New Testament about government (as in Paul’s discussion in Romans 13) is intended to apply to civil rule over nations and their subordinate political jurisdictions. It seems to assume believers will live under a variety of different polities. It does not state or imply that Christians should try to re-establish the type of theocratic government we see in the Old Testament. In fact, unless God starts speaking again to believers directly or through prophets, it wouldn’t be possible to operate in the manner practiced in Old Testament times.
God’s Use of Human Authorities
Today, Christians who assert believers should not be involved in politics at all frequently say such efforts are unnecessary or futile because God raises up government and its leaders. That is true. It says in Daniel 2:21, It is He who changes the times and the epochs; He removes kings and establishes kings. But God does not send angels down to earth to establish governments or take positions in existing jurisdictions. He uses flesh and blood humans in these efforts – just as He does in other things He wishes to accomplish.
Some Christians think that because God will achieve His purposes, believers can sit back and watch as He works, and that they need not participate at all in what He is doing – at least in anything beyond evangelism. It is true God will achieve His goals with or without the cooperation of Christians, but it does not follow that we should not be involved in working toward those goals. It would certainly seem that some of the people God raises up to govern would be His believers.
God also raises up people to positions in His church. That does not mean Christians should not seek His will, and, when finding it, should not either take on such leadership positions themselves or prepare others for them. The church is God’s primary vehicle for carrying out His command to go into all the world and make disciples. However, just as God ordained the church, He also ordained government. Both institutions serve His purposes. If Christians are not involved in governments, they will be totally controlled by unbelievers. Does it make sense to say that He has or will in the future raise up only non-Christians as governmental authorities?
Christians should be in receptive to God’s will and respond to His leading. When believers are in tune with God and involved in the political process, it is more likely the outcome will be what He desires. Of course, God will accomplish His ultimate purposes, and He does use unbelievers, although we don’t really know how He gets them to do His bidding. However, would he not also use His people who are sensitive to His wishes? May He not even prefer to use us?
Looking at history, we can see certain nations have worked to thwart God’s purposes. Some have tried to prevent the propagation of the gospel within their borders. Others have conquered nations previously open to the salvation story, and within nations, leaders and groups have worked to suppress the spread of God’s kingdom. But some countries have allowed God’s message to be disseminated freely – most notably in the United States.
God’s chief purpose for earthly life is to propagate the gospel and bring as many people as possible into His kingdom. Arguably, the establishment of the United States has contributed as much to that goal as any development in history. Does it not seem that those involved in creating and maintaining our nation were doing God’s work by enabling the spread of the gospel?
It is God’s intent to use government to further His larger purposes. It is also certainly true that believers are expected to advance God’s objectives. If government is one tool He uses to achieve these objectives, it should go without saying that some Christians would be involved in political affairs. To assert otherwise would be to say that God would use government to promote His purposes solely with those who do not believe in Him.
It is stated in scripture that believers will rule with Christ during the millennium. We do not know the details of how that rule will be carried out. We do know this will not be a time of perfection since many will rebel against God at the end of the thousand years. So, some type of political structure and laws will be needed to try to restrain unregenerate men and women who are part of the earth’s population. We do not know how much of the political structure that exists at the time of Christ’s return will be carried over into the millennium. We do know Jesus will be the head ruler, but if nations with governments are still in place (either as constituted at the beginning of the period or as reorganized by Christ), believers will likely serve in them. It is possible that our role will be based on our experiences on earth before the millennium. If so, our life now could be partially a preparation for our rule with Christ. In that case, involvement with politics now is an important activity for at least some Christians.
A small number of Christians have promoted the view that Christians should establish a theocracy where all the non-ceremonial laws of the Old Testament would be implemented and that Christ will not return until this is substantially accomplished. This movement is known as Christian reconstructionism. However, I see nothing in the New Testament that suggests the purpose of government should be to impose God’s complete moral law on all people through human law. We are not even told for certain that Jesus Christ will establish such a government or governments when He returns to rule the earth for 1,000 years in the millennium.
One belief that is quite prevalent among believers is that since God ordains all government, we should, therefore, make no effort to oppose evil regimes or rulers, that such action is actually thwarting His will. While God allows such people as Hitler, Stalin et al. to gain and maintain power for a time, and He will sometimes use these leaders and their governments to accomplish certain aspects of His ends, this does not necessarily mean He desires that type of tyranny to be in place. We, as believers, should always oppose evil wherever we find it.
God’s Purpose for Civil Government
Although God’s ultimate objective is to bring as many people as possible to be with Him in eternity, in conjunction with that goal, He works to bring history to a culmination that will lead to the millennial rule. He also has a vision for how government can aid life on earth in the meantime.
The passage of scripture that talks most directly about this is Romans 13:1-7. In these verses, God tells us through Paul what those purposes are and what our responsibilities are to be to those who govern. He tells us that all authority is actually established by Him to be a minister of God for you for good (Romans 13:4). In doing so, it punishes evil.
Surely He would want his children to assume roles in an institution He has prescribed. If we don’t, control of governments will be completely in the hands of those who have not experienced God’s redemptive power, do not understand His laws, and have not subordinated their wills to Him. Such governments will likely not do good, but rather oppress their citizens. History is replete with examples of tyrannical governments void of Christian influence. In the Romans passage, rulers are also said to be servants of God. Who better to perform that function than Christians who, if being obedient to Him, are already His servants?
We get further ideas of why government is ordained by God in I Timothy 2:1-2, where we are asked to pray for kings and those in authority, so that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity. This indicates that government must punish evil men and women because they disrupt order in society and, in so doing, prevent us from having an environment where we can live such lives. For Christians, this is a society where we are free to be obedient to God, and if governments are to restrain those who would prevent us from living a tranquil quiet life, it should go without saying that they themselves should not take actions that disrupt our ability to lead such lives.
Christians’ Roles in Government
Governments that carry out their mandate properly are not very prevalent in the world’s history. Rather, the tendency for government leaders has been to grasp power and restrict freedom. A Christian who understands the nature of the world and human beings will have a better idea of how to construct a government with a greater likelihood of maximizing liberty. If believers actually serve in government leadership posts, they are not as likely to abuse power and squelch freedom. Christians, who should have as a priority being obedient to God, have a vested interest in maintaining a political environment where they have the freedom to do so.
A government based on God’s principles and a proper notion of man will be more likely to best carry out the appropriate functions of government. It is possible there could be such a government without believers participating in any way – where no Christian has a position in it, nor has given any input into its formation. But is that likely? A government could exist that is good because those in authority, although not necessarily believers, are not power-hungry and sincerely seek to do the right things. However, unless the form of that government discourages the obtaining of power, the reins of that government in the future will likely pass into the hands of those who will use their positions for personal gain or power.
The best chances for a government that allows the unbridled growth of God’s kingdom will occur with involvement from believers. That would include counsel and input in the process of actually founding a government as well as advice in ensuring its continued adherence to founding principles. Christians should have the discernment to recognize when government moves away from sound ideas and practices. In order to do so, they must keep themselves informed about what is going on in political affairs. I believe Christians have an obligation to do that and also to inform others about threats they see to the polity under which they live.
If Christians engage in commentary on issues and influence people politically, but none of them are willing to actually get involved in the political process, it would likely be perceived as adopting a superior attitude. It communicates an attitude of “let us tell you how it should be done,” while also saying, “we’re not going to get our hands dirty doing any of the actual work.” Such an attitude is similar to what James related about a believer encountering a needy person: If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, Go in peace, be warmed and be filled, and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that? (James 2:15, 16). This does not mean that all Christians must actually be actively involved in politics. But if we, as a body, comment on political issues, we should also acknowledge that some of our number should be willing to participate.
If God does, indeed, ordain nations and uses them to further His ends, it doesn’t seem like He would want all of His children sitting on the sidelines and not taking part – like spectators at a dramatic performance. This is particularly true when He has given them gifts through the Holy Spirit that could aid in what He is trying to accomplish. Does it also not make sense to use those who are attuned to His will?
The United States has been used mightily by God throughout our history. Christians put forth much effort in the setting up of the nation. God has used even those who disobey Him to achieve His purposes. So, it is possible that everything done by Christians to the end of freeing us from Britain and setting up a new nation was displeasing to Him. However, what cannot be denied is the considerable (even monumental) amount of involvement on the part of believers in the forming of our country. Is it likely God was unhappy with all those believers who contributed in some way to the establishment of America? It resulted in a nation that produced unprecedented freedom to worship God, and which has sent missionaries all over the world to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Doesn’t it seem more likely that believers were obedient to God by participating in His raising up a government like none other in history – one that has facilitated mightily the promulgation of the Word?
Political Involvement that Fits God’s Timing
We cannot know for certain what God is working to accomplish in a given time in history, or how He intends for Christians to contribute to his plans for that era. However, it is possible that whether and how He wants believers to participate in the political arena depends on His objectives for that period. In New Testament times, it may be that God did not wish for His people to be involved in politics not only because of the difficulty in doing so under Roman rule, but also because His most important objective at that time was to firmly establish His church and have it provide a witness to the various parts of the world.
In later centuries in Europe, it may be that God wanted believers to be active in governments to develop Western Civilization as a prelude to causing the gospel to spread throughout the world. In our colonial and founding eras, He may have wished to create a nation which would be used as a base for sending missionaries to all points on the earth. Today His interest may include having Christians oppose the coming world system described in Revelation.
Responsibility for God’s Gift of Freedom
When believers find themselves in a political situation that fosters considerable freedom to grow the kingdom of God, it seems He would want them to expend effort to maintain that ability. That is the position in which believers in America found themselves after our government had been firmly established. Christians did a reasonably good job of contributing to the preservation of our liberty for a while, but over the passage of time, believers have paid less attention to political affairs – particularly in recent decades when the insights of believers were needed as our freedoms were slipping away.
Whatever has gone on in the past, when we reach a place where freedom is severely threatened, as it is now, Christians should not just sit idly by until it is gone completely, since we know that the loss of liberty will also greatly curtail our efforts at furthering the kingdom. Believers should have seen this situation coming years ago and worked to prevent it from getting this bad. It is irresponsible to see a danger and allow it to become so serious, without making efforts to stop it. It may be said many believers did nothing since they did not recognize the threat, but my contention is that if they were really paying attention to what was going on in the world and truly looking at those events through the lens of Scripture, they would have seen the approaching perils. If, as the Declaration of Independence states, and I assert throughout this book, freedom is a gift from God, then we believers have a responsibility to care for it. Such care surely includes the establishment and maintenance of governments that protect this freedom and which do not infringe on it.
I feel particularly bad when I break or lose an item I received as a gift. I am especially bothered if the loss was due to carelessness on my part. It shows a lack of regard, not only for the item, but for the person who gave it to me.
A couple of years after college, my mother gave me a set of silverware that our family used for years, but which she no longer needed. In one of my many moves at the time, I placed all the utensils in that set in a bag, intending to take them to the car just before leaving. Somehow, I forgot them and didn’t realize it until much later. This incident troubled me for years and still does somewhat, even though my mother has been gone for more than six years. I doubt if it would have bothered me if it had been something I had purchased myself, but it just seemed like I had slighted her by not caring for the silverware properly.
I may be more sensitive than necessary about such things or at least more so than the average person. However, I think many people feel a particular responsibility for taking care of something given to them. Certainly, we should feel that type of responsibility to an even greater degree for the gifts God has given us – particularly when the gift is such an important one as freedom. To have a lackadaisical attitude toward it demonstrates ungratefulness to, and a lack of regard for, the God who gave it to us.
Politics in the End Times
Some say that since the return of Christ is so imminent, we should do nothing to try to salvage society or its governments; rather, we should put all our efforts into saving souls. One cannot argue with the priority of evangelism. However, it is not an either/or choice. We should be active in politics for a number of reasons – even if facing the impending end of the world as we know it. First, we do not know God’s exact timeline. The signs have been such that it seems to me (and I’m sure, others) that the rapture should have already happened, but it hasn’t. It appears God may be moving at a slower pace than many of us expect. What if the Lord delays His coming for another fifty or a hundred years (or more)? At the speed events are happening in the world, being able to hold off efforts to control Christians for that number of years could mean a big difference in our ability to proselytize in the time remaining.
Second, we as individual Christians and as the church are to be Christ’s witnesses on earth. That is equally true whether the world goes on for thousands of years or it ends next week. The likelihood of Christ’s return should not change that. If we are to be involved in political affairs, then it should not matter how long we have to do it. This does not mean we should not have an increased sense of urgency about evangelism as we see the time grow seemingly short.
As the end does approach, conditions in the world will likely worsen considerably. Non-believers will be looking for answers. Christians should not be surprised to see problems escalating. But if our attitude is that we are not going to help address these problems because “we’re out of here, you guys are going to have to stay and clean up the mess,” it is not going to attract anyone to Christ. Many who see this cavalier attitude may, as a result, never be open to the gospel message. So, we need to involve ourselves in trying to straighten out a world which we believe may not last long. It is possible the opportunity for the church to be a corporate witness in the world will never be greater than near the end.
Third, we are to oppose evil in the world. As the end approaches, we should expect more strong signs of a developing evil world government which will be working against God. Moves toward establishing that government should be actively resisted by Christians.
Historical Perspective on Christian Involvement in Politics
Political Environment of the Old Testament
In the discussion of “Christian Participation in God-Ordained Government” above, we looked at how God governed Judah and Israel in Old Testament times. I will now discuss the roles of some of God’s people in other governments during that time.
Joseph ultimately became the de facto ruler of Egypt. Daniel was in the governments of Babylonia and the Medo-Persian Empire at a high level. Both of these men were very strong witnesses based on how they did their jobs and how they remained true to God.
Esther is another example. Although she lacked any real authority, her influence saved the Jewish people in Persia. Mordecai, her uncle, was an advisor to the king, Ahasuerus.
Joseph was plucked from prison and placed in the government of Pharaoh. He didn’t apply for the job, and it doesn’t appear he really had a choice in whether he wanted the position he received. Daniel was in Babylonia as a member of the Jewish captive people. It is questionable whether he had any choice about serving in the positions he held. Mordecai was in Ahasuerus’ government of Persia as part of the Jewish captive people, and his service likely was also not voluntary. So, we probably shouldn’t use any of these Old Testament people as examples in answering the question as to whether a believer should choose to be involved in governmental affairs.
In looking at the New Testament, we don’t really see examples of believers involved in politics. Given that all the areas where Christians lived at that time were part of the very authoritarian Roman Empire, one would not expect any of them to have had opportunities for such activity.
The American Experience
It is instructive to look at the beginning of the colonies in the New World – particularly the one settled by the Pilgrims at Plymouth. If they would have followed the counsel that Christians should not be involved in politics, they would have made no effort to establish a government. They also could have said they didn’t need to do so, since God would raise one up and provide it with leadership.
That does raise the question of where God was to get the people to run His government. We never know for certain which individuals are true believers in Christ, since we cannot see inside the hearts of others. But from what we do know, it is likely that most of the Pilgrims were born-again believers. If they had been thinking like some Christians today, they would have considered those who came forward to organize a government as disobedient believers. If such a view is right, then from God’s perspective it would have been best if those setting up the government were actually unbelievers, since then none of the Christians would have been disobedient.
It is possible that among the Pilgrims, as in most Christian bodies, some were not true believers – that tares lived among the wheat. If the true believers thought political involvement to be wrong and, therefore, obediently declined to be involved in the running of the colony, God would have had only a few colonists (the phony Christians) to work with to raise up a government. The Mayflower did have a crew that may have included those who were not believers. It might have been possible to put together a government from the crew and non-believing Pilgrims, but that would have resulted in an essentially Christian colony being ruled by unbelievers.
It is also possible that if the Pilgrims had not established authority over the colony, God could have raised up the Indians as their government by having them conquer the Pilgrims and rule over them.
Maybe they could have placed advertisements in European newspapers such as:
Wanted: Men and women to establish and run the government of Plymouth Colony in America
Qualification: Must not be a believer in Jesus Christ
The problem is that even the effort to seek governors for their colony would be involvement with politics, which they weren’t supposed to do, remember?
The only option they had, if they wanted to be obedient to God, was to do nothing. This is close to what was initially done at the Jamestown colony in Virginia, and the results were disastrous. Although it had a government of sorts, with little organization or Christian influence, it suffered from disease, starvation, theft, fire, Indian attacks, and much loss of life.
I have been intentionally facetious in presenting these various options for Plymouth Colony based on the assumption that God does not want His people to be politically active. My objective was to show a contrast between those alternatives and what was actually done. Doesn’t it make more sense to believe that the Pilgrims recognized the need for order in their colony, and in acting to meet that need, those who became their leaders were the people God raised up to establish the governmental authority He prescribes for civil society? The Pilgrims actually began their effort to create a government before they even left the ship by drafting and signing the Mayflower Compact. It became one of the precursors for the government eventually founded for the United States.
To be consistent, opponents of Christian political involvement would have to believe the Pilgrims were disobedient in setting up a government for their colony. But, realistically, if they were to have a government as called for in God’s Word, it would have had to be established by believers. It is likely that even the most ardent opponents of political activity by Christians would acknowledge that, in this highly exceptional case, it was okay for believers to be involved, because no government previously existed, and primarily only Christians were available to create one. But, again, if they were to be consistent, they would have to question continuing involvement when a government was well-established. At what point would they feel comfortable turning it over to unbelievers?
Is the United States a Christian Nation?
What Does it Mean to Be a Christian Nation?
Whether the United States is a Christian nation is a question addressed frequently in recent years by both believers and non-believers. However, rarely do those answering that question define what they mean by “A Christian Nation.” Most often, they just launch into a discussion of why we either have or have not been a Christian nation.
What are some of the possible definitions of a Christian nation? Does it mean a majority of people in the nation are true believers in Jesus Christ? The problem with that definition is that one cannot see inside another’s heart. Orthodox Christianity says that a Christian is one who has received the gift of salvation. It is particularly difficult to look back more than two centuries to determine who was and who was not truly a believer.
Is a Christian nation one where a majority of residents profess to be Christians? What if 95 percent of the people claimed to be Christians but only a small minority lived their lives according to the principles of the Bible? It doesn’t seem like we would be justified on that basis to designate the country as Christian.
Is a nation Christian if its culture reflects Christian principles and acknowledges the God of the Bible in its public institutions? Under that definition, we might say the United States was a Christian nation at the time of our founding, but it has experienced a marked change in recent decades. Due to recent Supreme Court rulings, the Ten Commandments are no longer in many classrooms. In many schools, Christmas programs or concerts are called holiday or winter concerts. Many Bible verses remain in public buildings, because they are chiseled in stone, but they mostly serve as a reminder of when the Christian religion was dominant in the United States. We could, legitimately, have been called a culturally Christian country in the past, but little evidence warrants that classification today.
The questions I have been asking deal primarily with the culture and the beliefs of the people of America at the time of the founding. People who ask whether the United States is a Christian nation are most often addressing whether our government was established as Christian. A better question would be: “Was the United States founded as a Christian nation?” However, even that question has different answers depending on what one means by “founded.” Some would say it would only be founded as a Christian nation if its basic law was intended to carry out the mandates of the Bible. Such a government would involve passing laws against activities prohibited in Scripture. This would truly be a theocracy. If that is what is meant, I believe few of any political or theological stripe would say we were founded as a Christian nation. I think few believers would want our nation to operate in that manner.
Before returning to the question of whether we were founded as a Christian nation, let’s examine some of the issues discussed by those dealing with the question.
Reasons Some Say the United States is Not a Christian Nation
Many who deny we were established as a Christian nation say important founders were deists – not orthodox Christians. Some cite the fact that God is not mentioned in the Constitution. Others suggest many of the presuppositions underlying the government our founders set up were based on ideas from the Enlightenment. Others believe many of the founders were elitists. These points are made by those who are quite conservative, including Christians. Is there any validity to such claims? Let’s look at them individually.
1. Certainly, there were founders whose religious views could be categorized as being deist – a belief that God created the world, but then let it operate without His direction. Those include some well-known names associated with our nation’s founding – like Jefferson and Franklin. However, of the other men who contributed their thinking to the formation of our governmental system, some were Christians, though they may not be known as well as some of those identified as deists. Nevertheless, they had a profound impact on the form of our government. These included: Samuel Adams, Patrick Henry, John Jay, Roger Sherman, and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney.
Several signers of the Constitution had been students of John Witherspoon at the College of New Jersey (now Princeton) and were deeply influenced by him. Witherspoon was a Presbyterian pastor and a very orthodox Christian. His pupils included James Madison whose influence at the Constitutional Convention earned him the appellation of “Father of the Constitution.” Witherspoon himself was a member of Congress and the New Jersey Senate, and was a signer of the Declaration of Independence.
Franklin, in urging that daily prayer be instituted at the Constitutional Convention said:
“I have lived, Sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth – that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, Sir, in the sacred writings, that 'except the Lord build the House they labour in vain that build it.' I firmly believe this; and I also believe that without his concurring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better than the Builders of Babel.”
He certainly doesn’t sound like a deist who believes God leaves men to their own devices and doesn’t intervene in their world.
2. God actually is mentioned in the Constitution. It is indicated as being signed "in the year of our Lord.” Some defenders of the idea that we were founded as a Christian nation cite that as partial proof, but I believe that is stretching a point. At the time of the writing of the Constitution, such a designation was in general use.
However, the lack of any substantive mention of God in the Constitution does not indicate we were not founded as a Christian nation – nor should it be considered surprising. A constitution is basically a technical document which lays out the nuts and bolts of how an organization conducts its affairs.
It is really in the Declaration of Independence where the philosophic underpinnings of our system were laid down, and that document very specifically declares our rights come from God. This statement has far-reaching ramifications that are dealt with throughout this book.
It is interesting that many of the state constitutions did have specific references to God. They also had requirements that office-holders be Christians. In fact, at the time the Constitution was being debated, several states had established religions. If one looks at the America of 1787, as not the federal government, but rather the sum of the various states, then a better case could be made for saying we were a Christian nation – even that we were founded as one. There is some justification for such a view. People tended to look at themselves more as Virginians, Pennsylvanians, etc. than as Americans. They saw the national government they had created as very limited – rather than one that would command greater loyalty than their state. It may be the desire to leave the question of religion to the individual states is one reason for the lack of any mention of God in the Constitution.
3. Was the United States based on principles of the Enlightenment rather than Christianity? There certainly was some of that thinking among founders. However, many assume all the ideas of the Enlightenment were in direct conflict with Christian beliefs – that a strict dichotomy exists between Christianity and those ideas. But in reading about the Enlightenment it is difficult even to come up with a hard-and-fast definition for what the term means. Many who write on the topic view it quite differently.
Isaac Newton and John Locke (who are considered Christians) are two names associated with the Enlightenment. Locke had a particularly large amount of influence on the ideas of several founders. Born into a Puritan family, Locke did move away from their religious views. His ideas on religion (as well as many of his other thoughts) are somewhat complicated. However, he did not reject Christianity.
Montesquieu is another person who has been identified with the Enlightenment. He was a Frenchman who advocated the separation of powers in government in his major work The Spirit of the Laws. He was very influential in colonial America, being one of the most frequently quoted thinkers prior to the Revolution. Separation of powers is an idea many founders – particularly Christians – recognize as necessary due to the tendency of fallen men and women to increase their power through government. This is one example which illustrates how ideas that influenced our founding from an Enlightenment thinker were actually very compatible with Christian thinking.
In general, one could say that the Enlightenment was a movement toward more use of the mind to evaluate ideas, rather than merely accepting the authority of the state and church, which had dominated European society for some time. There is nothing implicitly anti-Christian about using the mental facilities which God gave us, and we should not, as believers, uncritically accept the pronouncements from human institutions – be they church, state, or other. Of course, when we elevate our minds to the point that we accept ideas in conflict with God’s Word, we are going too far.
Merely because some philosophic concepts were arrived at by developing ideas that came out of the Enlightenment does not, in and of itself, make those concepts anti-Christian. We need to hold up all thinking against God’s Word to see if it is consistent with it.
The Enlightenment liberated thinking from human institutions. This led to more people thinking for themselves. One would expect some would use this freedom to oppose God but others to develop ideas consistent with a Christian worldview.
4. Some assert that many founders were elitists looking out for the interests of the well-situated and not that concerned about the common man. Some who have called them elitists have done so because they come to the discussion with a social-leveling or Marxist perspective. They believe the function of a government is to equalize the economic statuses of society’s members, and they assert that the structure laid out by the Constitution militates against government assuming such a role. That is true, but that doesn’t make the founders elitists. They merely believed that an open-ended constitution that permitted government to do whatever those who gain control of it wish is detrimental to freedom. They were actually protecting the interests of the common man that tend to get overrun by the power of big government.
If one believes government should provide for people, then one could look at the system set up by our fathers as protecting the interests of the powerful and mighty and those who set it up as elitists. However, as asserted throughout this book, that is not what government should be doing.
If our founders were primarily elitists who had their own interests in mind, why would they have set up a form of government where the power was so dispersed? Why wouldn't they have concentrated power in a way they could more easily use to maintain control? Since they were highly respected and had the confidence of so many people, they may have gotten away with establishing such a system. But they, in effect, gave away their power, rather than arrogating it onto themselves. Also, many of the signers of the Declaration of Independence paid a heavy price for opposing England. They suffered losses of members of their families, possessions, and their health. Elitists don’t normally make such sacrifices for the good of others.
A More Relevant Question
This raises a more important question that needs to be asked about our country. Are the basic documents upon which our national and state governments were founded based on biblical principles? Do they reflect a Christian understanding of the nature of man and the world? Are they consistent with a Christian worldview?
One of the main ideas incorporated into our government was the concept of limited, specified functions. Another was the recognition of the need for the separation of powers among the various branches of government. These ideas sprung from the Christian conception of man – the belief that humans have a fallen nature. Because they are flawed, men tend to gain and maintain power in their own self-interest. Recognizing this, the founders created a government with limited, specified functions – one where attempts to gain power would be difficult, and where power would be divided.
Even Thomas Jefferson, who was not an orthodox Christian, recognized this when he said, “In matters of power let no more be heard of the confidence in man but bind them down from mischief by the chains of the constitution." Although he may have been a deist, he recognized that men were fallible – which accorded with the Christian view of human nature prevalent at the time.
It is because of this view of human nature that the founders recognized the necessity of limiting government and not concentrating its power. Although not all those who shaped the form of our government believed in the presence of a sin nature in man, the pervasiveness of such a view at that time certainly caused a majority of them to see the need for placing restrictions on governmental power.
The question regarding Christianity and our founding has been phrased wrongly. Rather than asking whether we are a Christian nation or whether we were founded as one, we should ask if we were founded on Christian principles – particularly with a Christian understanding of the nature of men and women. If the question is asked that way, the answer is definitely in the affirmative.
Perhaps the best indication that political involvement is proper for the Christian is the testimony of American history. Christians played predominant roles in establishing this country on biblical principles, and we have been blessed as no other nation in history. If God had been displeased with the efforts of those early American Christians, would He have allowed us to prosper as we have? Would He have blessed us as He has?
In reality, the proper way to look at this situation is that human government is an essential part of life on earth – just like many other institutions and occupations. We, as believers, are “in this world, but not of it.” It is unrealistic to think Christians will not have a part in all legitimate activities that take place here on earth – including those that involve politics.
Love Our Vets: Restoring Hope for Families of Veterans with PTSD by Welby O'Brien 19 Dec 2013 11:07 AM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: December 20
When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Deep River Books (November 1, 2012)
***Special thanks to Emily Woodworth for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
You may not have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), but if you are living with a veteran who does, you're suffering from it as well. Love Our Vets is dedicated to addressing the needs of the loved ones. It answers over 60 heartfelt questions, and provides tips for taking care of yourself. Sharing as a counselor and from her personal experience of living with a 100% disabled veteran with PTSD, Welby O'Brien gives hope, encouragement, and advice for the caregivers and families effected by this disorder. This is not a just book about PTSD, but a resource for those who struggling with the challenges it presents.List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 216 pages
Publisher: Deep River Books (November 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1937756645
ISBN-13: 978-1937756642
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
PART ONE
REAFFIRM
Our Questions
What is your dream? We all want something. We long for it. Always have.
What do you want―really want? What makes your heart ache, and what drives you to keep going? I have always longed for an enduring and fulfilling marriage. I want what I see in the movies. I want the hon¬eymoon to last forever.
Well, now that I am all grown up and have experienced a failed marriage, as well as several years of a happy one, my dream is now subject to the confines of reality. We all know that no matter how wonderful the marriage, the honeymoon does not last forever. That is just a fact of human nature. But we do know that really great, successful, and fulfilling marriages are possible. But is that true for those with PTSD? All of us who are married to, or in a relationship with, a vet with PTSD are asking, “Is it possible for us to have a happy and fulfilling relationship?”
What about those who are related in other ways to their veteran? Parents, siblings, children, friends, partners, and even coworkers. We all desire positive relationships with those we care about. Is there hope in all the craziness?
After many years of wrestling with that question and seeking the perfect key, I finally realize it does not exist. There is no easy way. No magic formula. But what I have found in my own life and the lives of those around me is a principle that seems to be consistent. For all relationships.
The most successful marriages and healthiest individuals seem to have more of this than those who don’t. Amazingly simple. But also a continuous goal. It is in the day¬to¬day living that we have the opportunities to experience the blessings of these two treasures: faith and love―shown by actions, and not dependent on feelings.
Faith is connection with God; love is connection with others. It is in connecting that healing and growth triumph. The comfort and closeness heals and nourishes. Ultimately, it is faith and love that provide the life-line we so desperately need. The pain and struggles do not go away. But where there is comfort there is hope. Truly we can find hope and practical help for ourselves personally and for our relationships.
For the remainder of this book, I’ve chosen to use male pronouns in the interest of consistency. Please know that when I refer to “he” or “him,” these same strategies and words of encouragement apply if your brave loved one happens to be female. Men or women―this devastating disorder doesn’t play favorites.
The following pages contain a gold mine of practical help and hope for all who care for a veteran with PTSD. Although my own experience is in the context of marriage to a Vietnam veteran, the wisdom shared applies to all from all conflicts. Your loved one may even still be serving in the military. My hope is that this book will support and encourage all of you who struggle to love the vet in your life who has PTSD. You are the wives, the husbands, the parents, the children, and the dear friends who have made a courageous commitment to love your vet as well as humanly possible. He or she is your hero, but you are a hero too.
1. What is PTSD?
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder occurs as a result of a severe trauma. According to the Mayo Clinic, it is a “mental health condition that’s trig¬gered by a terrifying event.” Wikipedia defines it as a “severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one’s own or someone else’s physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual’s ability to cope.” It may be an automobile accident, an assault, the tragic loss of a loved one, witnessing a horrific event, or anything that is horrible and shocking.
From the beginning of civilization as early as the first wars, PTSD has haunted its victims and their loved ones. Throughout history it has had other names, such as battle fatigue or shell shock. Up until the last few decades, PTSD went relatively undiagnosed and unacknowledged by our government. Now we know better. It is a serious problem affecting many of our men and women, particularly those who have experienced combat.
The atrocities our veterans experienced are often too horrendous to even talk about―and in many cases, are locked away “safely” in the deepest parts of their memory. For the rest of their lives, they will live as if the impending crisis could reoccur at any moment. And what com¬passion it stirs in us to realize that most of them were just young men, boys at the time.
There are many ways to describe PTSD and the effect it has. It can be likened to a reserve tank of coping skills for stress. Most people have a ready supply on hand for emergencies. With PTSD, however, the tank is about ninety¬five percent full, due to the brain operating in impending crisis mode at all times. The remaining five percent is all they have to handle real stress. Therefore, when something triggers them, they have no reserve with which to handle it in a healthy way as others might. Some terms used are that they get “triggered,” “activated,” or “hijacked.”
Some of the typical symptoms include flashbacks, avoidance, numbing, withdrawing, hyper¬vigilance, irritability, being easily startled, memory blocks, sudden bursts of anger or other emotions, difficulty sleeping, nightmares, fear, depression, anxiety, substance abuse and other addictive behaviors, difficulty holding a job, and relationship problems.
I encourage everyone to take advantage of every opportunity to learn more about PTSD and its effects. It is also related to Traumatic Brain Injury. Include TBI in your research also. We are fortunate to have an abundance of resources, including classes, the VA, books, support groups, the internet, and those who live it firsthand.
2. Can his PTSD affect me?
Hard as we try to not let it, it does. It is inevitable for two reasons. First, ever notice that when two people live together and are close on any level, they can’t help but rub off on each other? Conscious and subconsciously we affect each other. This goes for both positive and negative (sorry…I was hoping to just give out good news today).
The other reason we are affected by their PTSD is the nature of the disorder. Having lived with it ourselves, we do not need to be psychologists to know that those around are indeed impacted. The effects vary because each situation and each person is unique. However, the following may be considered typical when living with a PTSD vet: anxiety, fear, anger, mood¬matching, taking on their obsessive¬compulsive behaviors, trying too hard to fix them, being diligent to avoid anything that triggers them, sleep disturbances and deprivation, depression, isolation, avoidance, mood swings, hyper¬vigilance (sound like someone you know?), negativity, wanting to run away, wanting to throw in the towel, wondering if you made a mistake, feeling trapped, entertaining thoughts of suicide, filling your life with busy activities to distract, finding yourself trying to try harder, wishing someone understood, dreading going to sleep at night and dreading getting up in the morning, feeling terribly alone, feeling unloved, experiencing road rage, getting triggered yourself, trying really hard to figure things out, seeing things with a distorted perspective, poor self¬esteem, feeling irritable, struggling with food or other comfort addictions, feeling callused with walls up, wondering when you stopped living, feeling hopeless, questioning your faith, feeling drained and exhausted―and the list goes on.
It has been said that there is such a thing as secondary PTSD. Similar to getting cancer from second¬hand smoke. It has also been labeled “vicarious trauma.” As loving, caring individuals, we have over time been exposed indirectly to their trauma. It will affect us on every level: emotionally, physically, spiritually, and psychologically.
Camille’s vet came home from a lunch meeting with his fellow vet¬erans. At the restaurant, a lady had come up to them and started bragging about what she did to help the other side during the war. The enemy! He got so enraged (understandably so!) he stormed out and sped home. All the rest of that day he spilled his anger on her. Trying to be a good wife and to be supportive, she listened. That night she could not sleep. It was an awful night.
The following day, she was perplexed (and exhausted), trying to figure out why she was such a wreck. At her next visit to her counselor, he explained what is called “limbic contagion.” Like vicarious trauma, the limbic system (part of the brain) gets activated under acute stress. In severe cases, this leads to PTSD. For those of us who live with it, we can indeed be affected by it. Camille was experiencing her husband’s PTSD. His encounter at the restaurant put him back in the war. To him and his brain he was literally there. Again. In battle. Fighting to survive against the enemy. What she had not realized was that she was there as well.
It will affect me when he is triggered. The question is not how to keep it from affecting me, but how is it affecting me? My key lies in tuning in to what is going on inside of me―learning to be more attentive to my needs and internal signals, and not just working hard to try to make it all go away. Here is some of the wisdom from Camille’s journal that she gleaned from her counselor:
“When I feel something is wrong, tune in to it. Name it. Feel it and experience it. Feel the sensation (stomach, neck, heart, short breaths, etc.). Ask myself: What part of my body is not right at this moment? For me, it usually is that I stop breathing or breathe shallowly and am stooped over forward. Hunched. Tight neck. I feel like crying inside. Stay with it. Don’t rush or try to fix it. Breathe!!!!!!!!! It may move. Do a body¬scan mentally. Slowly go from top of my head to the bottom of my toes and feel every sensation. No analyzing. Just notice the sensations. Then, still relaxing, ‘go’ to a place where I love to be. A happy place where I can feel good, and find comfort.
“My goal is not to not have it affect me but to be aware of the effect. Tune in! Feel it and release it. Not being aware of it creates the tension that is destructive. Differentiate and acknowledge. His pain. His trauma. My pain. My trauma. Talk about it. As I take care of me and feel and communicate, it helps him. Do not do it only in order to help him, but know that it will benefit him.”
As loved ones, our challenge, along with Camille, is how do we get ourselves back to where we are not hijacked emotionally? Learn to calm ourselves. We need to learn how to regulate our emotions by identifying them and getting ourselves back to a place where we can think. Clearly. Soundly. Our safety skills are to regulate us, not to stop others from affecting us. Our theme should be “feel; don’t fix.” I like to think of it in three steps:
1. Feel my body: Where do I feel it physically?
2. Feel my emotion: Name it. “I feel ticked off.”
Pause here as long as you want. Take time. Don’t rush to figure or fix.
3. Feel my need: What do I need right now that would nurture and comfort me in a healthy way?
Whatever labels one may select, the bottom line is that we are indeed affected. No question about it. But there is hope. Don’t stop here. Just know you are not alone. You are going in the right direction with people who care and understand.
3. Is there a cure or can it improve?
Sort of, and possibly. (I could have said, “Of course. Take this green pill and in six days everything will be super duper.” Wouldn’t that be nice?} But seriously, there is hope. When I went into this, I thought we were stuck. Forever. Just deal with it. (And unfortunately that is what some professionals are saying.) But now that I have personally experienced growth and healing and have seen it in others, I am excited to say, “Yes!” There are all sorts of possibilities.
Our vets we love will never totally get over it. PTSD will always be present in them. Even in the best cases, it does not ever totally go away. But, they and we can learn how to handle it better and how to have a healthy relationship in spite of it. There are many professionals working on it every day, and new information continues to surface. New insights and therapies are proving to be very hopeful.
As far as what we can do at home, Debbie shares some hope with us: “When we first learned about PTSD, all I spent my energy on was analyzing and trying to understand it all. Just daily functioning in our marriage was overshadowed constantly by the awareness of the influence of the PTSD. For many years I worked at making it work. I journaled, got counseling, read everything I could get my hands on, joined the support group, took classes, etc. And it helped. It was intense and hard work. I am glad that he got help too and was willing to talk with me about stuff.
“But recently I have noticed that things are going better without all the conscious effort. All the work we put into understanding it and each other, and doing the things that were good for us and the relationship, are finally paying off. The intensity is lifted. The good things we put into place are starting to take hold without so much focused effort. I did not know it would get better.
“We are laughing more and discovering silly moments (we could have our own comedy show if rating was not an issue)! We are enjoying passion and sex (when things work) more than ever. We pray together, which is huge. It is so wonderful to be able to enjoy each other rather than analyzing all the time. I know the PTSD will always be there. And I keep on guard for triggers. But what a nice place to finally be in, where we can experience joy and love and peace for the first time in our lives.
“At our group support meetings, I notice those who have fulfilling (not perfect) marriages and relationships with their vets are those who have been at it for years. And are doing the right things. Those who struggle are mostly those who are new to PTSD. So be encouraged that the hard work will pay off. It does get better as long as we make good choices and he is willing to do his part too. Even if he is not, our good choices will pay off.”
Both our vets as well as those of us who love them wake up each day with new opportunities for growth. Faith and love seem to be central in the successful process of growing with PTSD. Connection with God and connection with others who care are the common threads woven into the lives of those who are finding fulfillment while living with PTSD.
4. Can I help him?
Simply put, you can help him, but you cannot fix him. Curious how it seems that those of us who are drawn to vets are also very caring people. It would be an interesting study to follow the lives of those who fell in love with vets either with or without knowledge of their PTSD. I often wonder if there is something at the subconscious level that identifies the disorder and resonates with it. Maybe we are more of a match than we realize. Most of the people I have met who love their vets are by nature very loving and caring people, the type I would want around if I had a problem.
The drawback to being of that nature is that we are wired to care, as well as to fix the problem. It is in our nature to find the problem and solve it. How simple. But alas, here we are with a lifelong problem that does not have a fix. The good news is that it is not a black and white issue with only two extreme options. There is plenty of middle ground where we can indeed be of help. The key is to hold on to ourselves as we reach out. Do not kill yourself in trying to fix him. As we take care of ourselves and remain mindful of our own needs, we have more strength from which to draw. It is a balance. We have to stay nourished and nurtured ourselves on a continuous basis if we are to be able to give and encourage and help them.
It is very meaningful to our vets when they see us wanting to understand them. Anything we can do to learn more about PTSD and about them will help. Be willing to talk with them about it whenever they’re open. It is also helpful to refer to the PTSD as “The PTSD,” rather than just “PTSD.” Somehow that label keeps it separate and objective rather than infused with him.
One of the things we can do is to love him physically. For wives, this is not just making love (which is really good too!), but it can be lots of hugs, and pats, and foot rubs, and hand squeezes, and kisses on the cheek, etc. You might run up to him (be careful not to alarm him) and say, “Oh, this came for you in the mail today.” And then give him a big hug and slurpy kiss. Or, as you pass in the hallway, just grab him and squeeze him and say, “Have I told you today how much I love you?” Spontaneity and randomness are really fun! You will find a wellspring of love that you never knew you had. Funny how it is that when we give we also get a blessing ourselves!
Another way we can be helpful is in relation to anniversaries. Have you ever asked him about his anniversaries? These are the dates that were significant in his time of serving and very likely significant in his trauma. Ask him to share those times with you and anything about them that he feels comfortable sharing. Make notes of them for yourself. Then throughout the year, keep these in mind. It may be helpful to draw his attention to them when the time comes if you see him starting to have more severe problems; or it may just be helpful for you, as you remember these times are harder for him whether he is conscious of it or not. I have found that sometimes our vets are very keenly aware of these anniversaries; other times they are relieved to be reminded since that offers an explanation for their unusually acute difficulty. And a bit of hope that things will ease up a little after the date has passed.
Words of affection and affirmation are huge to them also. One of the drawbacks of PTSD is how it erodes one’s self¬esteem. Anything you can do to build him up is really important. Tell him how much you appreciate how he keeps the family safe. Or thank him for doing chores, or for hugging you when you need it, or paying bills, etc. Let him know how much you admire his tender heart or the kind words he said to someone. For some it may be a stretch, but getting into the habit will eventually begin to help him as well as you. We tend to get nitpicky and negative. That is just being human. If we can keep our sense of humor a little better and let go of the things that really don’t matter, we’ll feel much better.
Anna was feeling irritable around her husband’s sixtieth birthday (maybe hormones, or lack of sleep, or not feeling loved, lack of chocolate, etc.). Whatever the reason, she was not really in the mood for a happy birthday. So she decided to try to come up with a homemade card, listing all the things she loves about him.
She thought it would be a good exercise but was kind of doubtful that she could do it. She sat down to write, hoping to come up with sixty things in a week’s time. Twenty minutes later she had sixty and could not stop. Do you know how much she fell in love with him all over again that week? And when she gave him the card, his eyes welled up with tears. “No one has ever given me a card like that before. Thank you.” They both were deeply touched. And he has that card to look at when he feels discouraged or depressed or unloved.
Be creative. Whether you’re a parent, friend, spouse, or other loved one, the sky’s the limit to your expression of affection for your vet. For instance, if you don’t mind a little cleanup afterward, you might try what Bethany did. She noticed her vet was really down one morning, so she took advantage of the steamed¬up bathroom mirror to do some artwork. She wrote something affectionately cute and drew something naughty. He loved it! Good thing the kids were gone.
Most vets feel unsafe. They long for someone they can trust. Any¬thing you can do to help him feel safe is a huge help to him. One way I have seen is through listening. Really hear him. Encourage him to talk when he feels like it. To share his dreams or nightmares. To share his memories, whether pleasant or horrific. Do not interrupt. Do not judge. Any criticism will shut him down. One wife I knew was constantly put¬ting down her man. He was really shut down. No way would he ever feel safe enough to open up to her. Another wife I knew was a non¬stop talker. She, apparently, was incapable of listening. Words went just one way. Don’t tell, but once when I was on the phone with her, she was just babbling on and on. I couldn’t get a word in, or if I did, she just changed the subject back to herself. So I set the phone down, went and did something, then came back and picked it up. She was still talking. If I were her husband, I would want to live in my cave too.
Another way you can help him is to encourage him to get the help he needs. This can be tricky because you do not want to nag, just encourage. It may be going to a counselor, a VA support group, a Pointman group, AA, taking a walk, or reading something beneficial, etc. You cannot do this alone, and the more help he can surround himself with, the better for both of you. Ultimately it is his choice. Unless, please take note, unless he is abusing substances detrimentally and/or people are in danger. If he is in any way harming you or anyone else, then it is essential to have an intervention of some kind. The family and other loved ones need to rally around him in love, tough love, to ensure he receives the treatment he needs.
It may seem like an uphill battle, but be encouraged that your love and support can go further than you realize.
5. What about his constant negativity? It really gets to me.
Understanding goes a long way toward helping one tolerate another’s negative behavior. Why are our vets plagued with such negativity? Why are they prone to being skeptical and fearful and angry and irritable? Sometimes it helps to brush up a bit on our PTSD information. Then allow ourselves to journey back in our minds as if we were there with them in their trauma. Sit with it. Feel the terror. The aloneness. The dread. The shock! The stench of death.
That exercise can be painful and evoke a variety of feelings in us. But that is good every now and then in order to retain our compassion. And compassion is a companion to understanding.
It is also necessary for us to remind ourselves that we cannot fix them. It is not our job–even if it were possible. But we can help. Talking with them is good. Bringing their attention to the constant negativity can be an eye¬opener to them. Often they are not even aware of their downward spiral. Asking questions is also good in that they help preempt defensiveness on their part.
Vickie and her husband had a routine of starting the day by dis¬cussing all the things that were on the day’s agenda. Without fail, every time, he ended up reciting all the things that could possibly go wrong. His mind was encumbered with visualizing every potential disastrous scenario. In contemplating his trip to the bank, he anxiously talked about dying in a car accident, having to wait in long, horrible lines, getting a new inexperienced teller who took forever, and then getting robbed on the way out to the car. (At that moment some of us might have been inclined to grab him and shake him and scream, “Snap out of it, Eeyore!”)
Fortunately, Vickie’s approach was much more effective. Calmly, without getting riled herself, she gently called it to his attention. “Are you aware that your thoughts are spiraling downward? Can we think about the good things in store today? And we have so much to be thankful for.” She wrapped her arms around him and told him how much she loved him. “I know you have a hard time with anxiety, but sometimes I feel pulled down when you talk like that.” She was able to draw his attention to it and at the same time express her feelings in the form of an “I” message.
Staying aware of our feelings is crucial to keeping ourselves from being consumed by negativity. We have the choice to be thankful and do things that are going to uplift us physically and emotionally.
Rachelle took a different approach. There were times when she felt like she was the recipient of a dump truck load of garbage. Ken would rant and spew out all sorts of anger and frustration. Pure negativity. It was not always aimed at her, but she happened to be the nice person with a good heart who cared enough to listen. And take it. And take it some more. Over and over.
One day she realized it was not healthy for either of them. She did not like the way she herself was becoming negative. She felt the downward drag. And she often felt obligated to try to cheer him up at those times. If only she could say the right thing, perhaps she could fix him. Neither was a healthy response.
One thing they both enjoyed was a good sense of humor (which, by the way, often goes a long way in resolving conflict). So she shared with him that when he spouted off his garbage she felt like he was a dump truck. And she did not want him to do it anymore. Her tone of voice and caring heart were well received. He admitted that he did not like doing it. As a result, they agreed that when he started dumping, she would make the noise of a truck backing up: “Beep! Beep! Beep!” It worked. Now they can smile when he starts to dump. By the way, he got her a toy dump truck for Christmas.
Our vets will always struggle with the downward pull of impending doom. We cannot eradicate that. But we can come alongside them and love them in it. And we can provide so much encouragement to them by our positive outlook and our reminders of the many blessings we do have.
6. Why am I sometimes overcome with this awful fear? How do I handle it?
All of us are fearful of something. Usually it is what we dread losing the most. For some it may be losing a child, our marriage, losing love, or losing the man we so deeply love. For others it may be loss of independence, health, freedom. And for all of us losing our life―or anything else that is precious to us.
Like pain, fear is our body trying to warn us. To inform us. To alert us of danger. And as difficult as it may be, we need to listen to it. Stop. Feel it. Tune in and try to understand what our inner self is needing.
Our vets are often plagued or consumed with fear themselves. As trauma survivors, they are still in survival mode. Much of that wears off on us, even if we do not realize it. So not only do we carry their fear, we compound it by adding our own.
The first step in handling our fear is to own it. Name it. Recognize it. And accept it. There is nothing inherently bad about being afraid. The danger comes either by ignoring and stuffing it, or by feeding it.
After we acknowledge our fear, then we need to think about it. Why am I afraid? Is it rational? Can I reason myself through this? Some have benefited from journaling and others by talking. Just like all our unwelcome feelings, we have the choice to process it in a healthy way―to find healthy outlets for it.
If there is something worthy of our attention, such as an abusive situation, then we need to immediately do something about that. If it is just a nebulous feeling hanging over us like a heavy fog, then we can explore it further. Good counselors are very helpful in aiding us as we dig down to the deeper layers and get to the stuff we can work with.
Talking with other vet wives and loved ones is truly a lifesaver. Brandi was in a new relationship with her vet. Although a bit uneasy, she went to meet with some other ladies who were also involved with PTSD vets. What a relief for her to hear that her fear was common.
“I just am overwhelmed at times with this awful fear. My stomach gets to churning and sometimes I just want to bail.” The discussion centered around the fact that we never can be quite sure when our vets will react. And when they do, what the fallout will be. That is just something we learn to accept. As loved ones living with them, we are the first to get it. So it is understandable that we carry some level of fear. Our bodies are helping us stay alert and on guard.
But sometimes that is not good for us. So it is crucial that we learn to be aware of when our fear is consuming us and putting a barrier between us and our vet. “Perfect love casts out fear.” On the flipside, fear casts out love. When I am fearful, I am focused on me. When I am loving, I am focused on someone else. Reaching out and caring will mysteriously dispel the fear.
In a nutshell, the best thing we can do with our fear is to protect ourselves from real danger, feel the feelings, process them in a healthy way, and love our vets.
7. How can I get friends and family to understand?
You can’t. Even with as much information as is available about PTSD, one really cannot know what it is like to live with it until they do it. One evening a new lady who had been a vet wife for more than thirty years came to our Love Our Vets support group for the first time. She just sat quietly observing as we all talked. No expression. Just listened. When it was her turn to share, she just burst out in tears. “You all know! You understand!” She sobbed with relief. “You really know what I’ve been going through!”
Our hearts went out to her as she tearfully told her story and how hard she had tried to get her grown children and her friends to understand. It was like she was dying alone in the desert, shriveled up from thirst. Along we came in our desert¬ready tour bus with gallons and gallons of water and tons of love.
It does help to educate those around us who are significant in our lives. There are some good classes available through the VA and veterans’ assistance centers. Some counseling facilities also offer classes and support groups. There are new resources popping up every day online. Books, groups, websites. Any information you can pass on is helpful.
But it is probably not possible or necessary that they totally get it. In one sense, it is a relief that maybe you can stop trying so hard. Also perhaps it will lighten your already overbearing load to have one less task to worry about. Ask yourself, Why do I want them to understand? Do I need sympathy? Do I need help? Do I need an excuse for some¬thing? Do I feel I have to defend him?
After thinking about it more, I have come to realize it is easiest to more or less just let it go where others are concerned. You and I can find the support and understanding we need from those who also live in our shoes. We find comfort and hope when we connect with others who know and feel and care. And we can offer mutual encouragement and practical help as we connect together.
When I do decide to offer some sort of “explanation” to others, the best way I have found to communicate it is with a nice short statement. And then leave it there. Something that will offer enough of an explanation to relieve myself and to help them. Then let it go. A few things you might consider using are as follows:
“Yeah, he really has a hard time being around people.”
“It has not been a good day around here.”
“The PTSD makes it hard for him to _____.”
“His stress tank is full and there is no room for anything more. Any¬thing stressful will put him over the top.”
“It is a baffling and frustrating disorder.”
“We have good days and bad days.”
“He can’t handle loud noises.”
“He does better with______”
“Thanks for caring.”
In your mind and heart, bless them for caring and trying to under¬stand, but give them grace that they will never experientially know what you are going through. And that is okay. It hurts. It feels lonely and scary. But it is okay.
REAFFIRM
Our Questions
What is your dream? We all want something. We long for it. Always have.
What do you want―really want? What makes your heart ache, and what drives you to keep going? I have always longed for an enduring and fulfilling marriage. I want what I see in the movies. I want the hon¬eymoon to last forever.
Well, now that I am all grown up and have experienced a failed marriage, as well as several years of a happy one, my dream is now subject to the confines of reality. We all know that no matter how wonderful the marriage, the honeymoon does not last forever. That is just a fact of human nature. But we do know that really great, successful, and fulfilling marriages are possible. But is that true for those with PTSD? All of us who are married to, or in a relationship with, a vet with PTSD are asking, “Is it possible for us to have a happy and fulfilling relationship?”
What about those who are related in other ways to their veteran? Parents, siblings, children, friends, partners, and even coworkers. We all desire positive relationships with those we care about. Is there hope in all the craziness?
After many years of wrestling with that question and seeking the perfect key, I finally realize it does not exist. There is no easy way. No magic formula. But what I have found in my own life and the lives of those around me is a principle that seems to be consistent. For all relationships.
The most successful marriages and healthiest individuals seem to have more of this than those who don’t. Amazingly simple. But also a continuous goal. It is in the day¬to¬day living that we have the opportunities to experience the blessings of these two treasures: faith and love―shown by actions, and not dependent on feelings.
Faith is connection with God; love is connection with others. It is in connecting that healing and growth triumph. The comfort and closeness heals and nourishes. Ultimately, it is faith and love that provide the life-line we so desperately need. The pain and struggles do not go away. But where there is comfort there is hope. Truly we can find hope and practical help for ourselves personally and for our relationships.
For the remainder of this book, I’ve chosen to use male pronouns in the interest of consistency. Please know that when I refer to “he” or “him,” these same strategies and words of encouragement apply if your brave loved one happens to be female. Men or women―this devastating disorder doesn’t play favorites.
The following pages contain a gold mine of practical help and hope for all who care for a veteran with PTSD. Although my own experience is in the context of marriage to a Vietnam veteran, the wisdom shared applies to all from all conflicts. Your loved one may even still be serving in the military. My hope is that this book will support and encourage all of you who struggle to love the vet in your life who has PTSD. You are the wives, the husbands, the parents, the children, and the dear friends who have made a courageous commitment to love your vet as well as humanly possible. He or she is your hero, but you are a hero too.
1. What is PTSD?
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder occurs as a result of a severe trauma. According to the Mayo Clinic, it is a “mental health condition that’s trig¬gered by a terrifying event.” Wikipedia defines it as a “severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one’s own or someone else’s physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual’s ability to cope.” It may be an automobile accident, an assault, the tragic loss of a loved one, witnessing a horrific event, or anything that is horrible and shocking.
From the beginning of civilization as early as the first wars, PTSD has haunted its victims and their loved ones. Throughout history it has had other names, such as battle fatigue or shell shock. Up until the last few decades, PTSD went relatively undiagnosed and unacknowledged by our government. Now we know better. It is a serious problem affecting many of our men and women, particularly those who have experienced combat.
The atrocities our veterans experienced are often too horrendous to even talk about―and in many cases, are locked away “safely” in the deepest parts of their memory. For the rest of their lives, they will live as if the impending crisis could reoccur at any moment. And what com¬passion it stirs in us to realize that most of them were just young men, boys at the time.
There are many ways to describe PTSD and the effect it has. It can be likened to a reserve tank of coping skills for stress. Most people have a ready supply on hand for emergencies. With PTSD, however, the tank is about ninety¬five percent full, due to the brain operating in impending crisis mode at all times. The remaining five percent is all they have to handle real stress. Therefore, when something triggers them, they have no reserve with which to handle it in a healthy way as others might. Some terms used are that they get “triggered,” “activated,” or “hijacked.”
Some of the typical symptoms include flashbacks, avoidance, numbing, withdrawing, hyper¬vigilance, irritability, being easily startled, memory blocks, sudden bursts of anger or other emotions, difficulty sleeping, nightmares, fear, depression, anxiety, substance abuse and other addictive behaviors, difficulty holding a job, and relationship problems.
I encourage everyone to take advantage of every opportunity to learn more about PTSD and its effects. It is also related to Traumatic Brain Injury. Include TBI in your research also. We are fortunate to have an abundance of resources, including classes, the VA, books, support groups, the internet, and those who live it firsthand.
2. Can his PTSD affect me?
Hard as we try to not let it, it does. It is inevitable for two reasons. First, ever notice that when two people live together and are close on any level, they can’t help but rub off on each other? Conscious and subconsciously we affect each other. This goes for both positive and negative (sorry…I was hoping to just give out good news today).
The other reason we are affected by their PTSD is the nature of the disorder. Having lived with it ourselves, we do not need to be psychologists to know that those around are indeed impacted. The effects vary because each situation and each person is unique. However, the following may be considered typical when living with a PTSD vet: anxiety, fear, anger, mood¬matching, taking on their obsessive¬compulsive behaviors, trying too hard to fix them, being diligent to avoid anything that triggers them, sleep disturbances and deprivation, depression, isolation, avoidance, mood swings, hyper¬vigilance (sound like someone you know?), negativity, wanting to run away, wanting to throw in the towel, wondering if you made a mistake, feeling trapped, entertaining thoughts of suicide, filling your life with busy activities to distract, finding yourself trying to try harder, wishing someone understood, dreading going to sleep at night and dreading getting up in the morning, feeling terribly alone, feeling unloved, experiencing road rage, getting triggered yourself, trying really hard to figure things out, seeing things with a distorted perspective, poor self¬esteem, feeling irritable, struggling with food or other comfort addictions, feeling callused with walls up, wondering when you stopped living, feeling hopeless, questioning your faith, feeling drained and exhausted―and the list goes on.
It has been said that there is such a thing as secondary PTSD. Similar to getting cancer from second¬hand smoke. It has also been labeled “vicarious trauma.” As loving, caring individuals, we have over time been exposed indirectly to their trauma. It will affect us on every level: emotionally, physically, spiritually, and psychologically.
Camille’s vet came home from a lunch meeting with his fellow vet¬erans. At the restaurant, a lady had come up to them and started bragging about what she did to help the other side during the war. The enemy! He got so enraged (understandably so!) he stormed out and sped home. All the rest of that day he spilled his anger on her. Trying to be a good wife and to be supportive, she listened. That night she could not sleep. It was an awful night.
The following day, she was perplexed (and exhausted), trying to figure out why she was such a wreck. At her next visit to her counselor, he explained what is called “limbic contagion.” Like vicarious trauma, the limbic system (part of the brain) gets activated under acute stress. In severe cases, this leads to PTSD. For those of us who live with it, we can indeed be affected by it. Camille was experiencing her husband’s PTSD. His encounter at the restaurant put him back in the war. To him and his brain he was literally there. Again. In battle. Fighting to survive against the enemy. What she had not realized was that she was there as well.
It will affect me when he is triggered. The question is not how to keep it from affecting me, but how is it affecting me? My key lies in tuning in to what is going on inside of me―learning to be more attentive to my needs and internal signals, and not just working hard to try to make it all go away. Here is some of the wisdom from Camille’s journal that she gleaned from her counselor:
“When I feel something is wrong, tune in to it. Name it. Feel it and experience it. Feel the sensation (stomach, neck, heart, short breaths, etc.). Ask myself: What part of my body is not right at this moment? For me, it usually is that I stop breathing or breathe shallowly and am stooped over forward. Hunched. Tight neck. I feel like crying inside. Stay with it. Don’t rush or try to fix it. Breathe!!!!!!!!! It may move. Do a body¬scan mentally. Slowly go from top of my head to the bottom of my toes and feel every sensation. No analyzing. Just notice the sensations. Then, still relaxing, ‘go’ to a place where I love to be. A happy place where I can feel good, and find comfort.
“My goal is not to not have it affect me but to be aware of the effect. Tune in! Feel it and release it. Not being aware of it creates the tension that is destructive. Differentiate and acknowledge. His pain. His trauma. My pain. My trauma. Talk about it. As I take care of me and feel and communicate, it helps him. Do not do it only in order to help him, but know that it will benefit him.”
As loved ones, our challenge, along with Camille, is how do we get ourselves back to where we are not hijacked emotionally? Learn to calm ourselves. We need to learn how to regulate our emotions by identifying them and getting ourselves back to a place where we can think. Clearly. Soundly. Our safety skills are to regulate us, not to stop others from affecting us. Our theme should be “feel; don’t fix.” I like to think of it in three steps:
1. Feel my body: Where do I feel it physically?
2. Feel my emotion: Name it. “I feel ticked off.”
Pause here as long as you want. Take time. Don’t rush to figure or fix.
3. Feel my need: What do I need right now that would nurture and comfort me in a healthy way?
Whatever labels one may select, the bottom line is that we are indeed affected. No question about it. But there is hope. Don’t stop here. Just know you are not alone. You are going in the right direction with people who care and understand.
3. Is there a cure or can it improve?
Sort of, and possibly. (I could have said, “Of course. Take this green pill and in six days everything will be super duper.” Wouldn’t that be nice?} But seriously, there is hope. When I went into this, I thought we were stuck. Forever. Just deal with it. (And unfortunately that is what some professionals are saying.) But now that I have personally experienced growth and healing and have seen it in others, I am excited to say, “Yes!” There are all sorts of possibilities.
Our vets we love will never totally get over it. PTSD will always be present in them. Even in the best cases, it does not ever totally go away. But, they and we can learn how to handle it better and how to have a healthy relationship in spite of it. There are many professionals working on it every day, and new information continues to surface. New insights and therapies are proving to be very hopeful.
As far as what we can do at home, Debbie shares some hope with us: “When we first learned about PTSD, all I spent my energy on was analyzing and trying to understand it all. Just daily functioning in our marriage was overshadowed constantly by the awareness of the influence of the PTSD. For many years I worked at making it work. I journaled, got counseling, read everything I could get my hands on, joined the support group, took classes, etc. And it helped. It was intense and hard work. I am glad that he got help too and was willing to talk with me about stuff.
“But recently I have noticed that things are going better without all the conscious effort. All the work we put into understanding it and each other, and doing the things that were good for us and the relationship, are finally paying off. The intensity is lifted. The good things we put into place are starting to take hold without so much focused effort. I did not know it would get better.
“We are laughing more and discovering silly moments (we could have our own comedy show if rating was not an issue)! We are enjoying passion and sex (when things work) more than ever. We pray together, which is huge. It is so wonderful to be able to enjoy each other rather than analyzing all the time. I know the PTSD will always be there. And I keep on guard for triggers. But what a nice place to finally be in, where we can experience joy and love and peace for the first time in our lives.
“At our group support meetings, I notice those who have fulfilling (not perfect) marriages and relationships with their vets are those who have been at it for years. And are doing the right things. Those who struggle are mostly those who are new to PTSD. So be encouraged that the hard work will pay off. It does get better as long as we make good choices and he is willing to do his part too. Even if he is not, our good choices will pay off.”
Both our vets as well as those of us who love them wake up each day with new opportunities for growth. Faith and love seem to be central in the successful process of growing with PTSD. Connection with God and connection with others who care are the common threads woven into the lives of those who are finding fulfillment while living with PTSD.
4. Can I help him?
Simply put, you can help him, but you cannot fix him. Curious how it seems that those of us who are drawn to vets are also very caring people. It would be an interesting study to follow the lives of those who fell in love with vets either with or without knowledge of their PTSD. I often wonder if there is something at the subconscious level that identifies the disorder and resonates with it. Maybe we are more of a match than we realize. Most of the people I have met who love their vets are by nature very loving and caring people, the type I would want around if I had a problem.
The drawback to being of that nature is that we are wired to care, as well as to fix the problem. It is in our nature to find the problem and solve it. How simple. But alas, here we are with a lifelong problem that does not have a fix. The good news is that it is not a black and white issue with only two extreme options. There is plenty of middle ground where we can indeed be of help. The key is to hold on to ourselves as we reach out. Do not kill yourself in trying to fix him. As we take care of ourselves and remain mindful of our own needs, we have more strength from which to draw. It is a balance. We have to stay nourished and nurtured ourselves on a continuous basis if we are to be able to give and encourage and help them.
It is very meaningful to our vets when they see us wanting to understand them. Anything we can do to learn more about PTSD and about them will help. Be willing to talk with them about it whenever they’re open. It is also helpful to refer to the PTSD as “The PTSD,” rather than just “PTSD.” Somehow that label keeps it separate and objective rather than infused with him.
One of the things we can do is to love him physically. For wives, this is not just making love (which is really good too!), but it can be lots of hugs, and pats, and foot rubs, and hand squeezes, and kisses on the cheek, etc. You might run up to him (be careful not to alarm him) and say, “Oh, this came for you in the mail today.” And then give him a big hug and slurpy kiss. Or, as you pass in the hallway, just grab him and squeeze him and say, “Have I told you today how much I love you?” Spontaneity and randomness are really fun! You will find a wellspring of love that you never knew you had. Funny how it is that when we give we also get a blessing ourselves!
Another way we can be helpful is in relation to anniversaries. Have you ever asked him about his anniversaries? These are the dates that were significant in his time of serving and very likely significant in his trauma. Ask him to share those times with you and anything about them that he feels comfortable sharing. Make notes of them for yourself. Then throughout the year, keep these in mind. It may be helpful to draw his attention to them when the time comes if you see him starting to have more severe problems; or it may just be helpful for you, as you remember these times are harder for him whether he is conscious of it or not. I have found that sometimes our vets are very keenly aware of these anniversaries; other times they are relieved to be reminded since that offers an explanation for their unusually acute difficulty. And a bit of hope that things will ease up a little after the date has passed.
Words of affection and affirmation are huge to them also. One of the drawbacks of PTSD is how it erodes one’s self¬esteem. Anything you can do to build him up is really important. Tell him how much you appreciate how he keeps the family safe. Or thank him for doing chores, or for hugging you when you need it, or paying bills, etc. Let him know how much you admire his tender heart or the kind words he said to someone. For some it may be a stretch, but getting into the habit will eventually begin to help him as well as you. We tend to get nitpicky and negative. That is just being human. If we can keep our sense of humor a little better and let go of the things that really don’t matter, we’ll feel much better.
Anna was feeling irritable around her husband’s sixtieth birthday (maybe hormones, or lack of sleep, or not feeling loved, lack of chocolate, etc.). Whatever the reason, she was not really in the mood for a happy birthday. So she decided to try to come up with a homemade card, listing all the things she loves about him.
She thought it would be a good exercise but was kind of doubtful that she could do it. She sat down to write, hoping to come up with sixty things in a week’s time. Twenty minutes later she had sixty and could not stop. Do you know how much she fell in love with him all over again that week? And when she gave him the card, his eyes welled up with tears. “No one has ever given me a card like that before. Thank you.” They both were deeply touched. And he has that card to look at when he feels discouraged or depressed or unloved.
Be creative. Whether you’re a parent, friend, spouse, or other loved one, the sky’s the limit to your expression of affection for your vet. For instance, if you don’t mind a little cleanup afterward, you might try what Bethany did. She noticed her vet was really down one morning, so she took advantage of the steamed¬up bathroom mirror to do some artwork. She wrote something affectionately cute and drew something naughty. He loved it! Good thing the kids were gone.
Most vets feel unsafe. They long for someone they can trust. Any¬thing you can do to help him feel safe is a huge help to him. One way I have seen is through listening. Really hear him. Encourage him to talk when he feels like it. To share his dreams or nightmares. To share his memories, whether pleasant or horrific. Do not interrupt. Do not judge. Any criticism will shut him down. One wife I knew was constantly put¬ting down her man. He was really shut down. No way would he ever feel safe enough to open up to her. Another wife I knew was a non¬stop talker. She, apparently, was incapable of listening. Words went just one way. Don’t tell, but once when I was on the phone with her, she was just babbling on and on. I couldn’t get a word in, or if I did, she just changed the subject back to herself. So I set the phone down, went and did something, then came back and picked it up. She was still talking. If I were her husband, I would want to live in my cave too.
Another way you can help him is to encourage him to get the help he needs. This can be tricky because you do not want to nag, just encourage. It may be going to a counselor, a VA support group, a Pointman group, AA, taking a walk, or reading something beneficial, etc. You cannot do this alone, and the more help he can surround himself with, the better for both of you. Ultimately it is his choice. Unless, please take note, unless he is abusing substances detrimentally and/or people are in danger. If he is in any way harming you or anyone else, then it is essential to have an intervention of some kind. The family and other loved ones need to rally around him in love, tough love, to ensure he receives the treatment he needs.
It may seem like an uphill battle, but be encouraged that your love and support can go further than you realize.
5. What about his constant negativity? It really gets to me.
Understanding goes a long way toward helping one tolerate another’s negative behavior. Why are our vets plagued with such negativity? Why are they prone to being skeptical and fearful and angry and irritable? Sometimes it helps to brush up a bit on our PTSD information. Then allow ourselves to journey back in our minds as if we were there with them in their trauma. Sit with it. Feel the terror. The aloneness. The dread. The shock! The stench of death.
That exercise can be painful and evoke a variety of feelings in us. But that is good every now and then in order to retain our compassion. And compassion is a companion to understanding.
It is also necessary for us to remind ourselves that we cannot fix them. It is not our job–even if it were possible. But we can help. Talking with them is good. Bringing their attention to the constant negativity can be an eye¬opener to them. Often they are not even aware of their downward spiral. Asking questions is also good in that they help preempt defensiveness on their part.
Vickie and her husband had a routine of starting the day by dis¬cussing all the things that were on the day’s agenda. Without fail, every time, he ended up reciting all the things that could possibly go wrong. His mind was encumbered with visualizing every potential disastrous scenario. In contemplating his trip to the bank, he anxiously talked about dying in a car accident, having to wait in long, horrible lines, getting a new inexperienced teller who took forever, and then getting robbed on the way out to the car. (At that moment some of us might have been inclined to grab him and shake him and scream, “Snap out of it, Eeyore!”)
Fortunately, Vickie’s approach was much more effective. Calmly, without getting riled herself, she gently called it to his attention. “Are you aware that your thoughts are spiraling downward? Can we think about the good things in store today? And we have so much to be thankful for.” She wrapped her arms around him and told him how much she loved him. “I know you have a hard time with anxiety, but sometimes I feel pulled down when you talk like that.” She was able to draw his attention to it and at the same time express her feelings in the form of an “I” message.
Staying aware of our feelings is crucial to keeping ourselves from being consumed by negativity. We have the choice to be thankful and do things that are going to uplift us physically and emotionally.
Rachelle took a different approach. There were times when she felt like she was the recipient of a dump truck load of garbage. Ken would rant and spew out all sorts of anger and frustration. Pure negativity. It was not always aimed at her, but she happened to be the nice person with a good heart who cared enough to listen. And take it. And take it some more. Over and over.
One day she realized it was not healthy for either of them. She did not like the way she herself was becoming negative. She felt the downward drag. And she often felt obligated to try to cheer him up at those times. If only she could say the right thing, perhaps she could fix him. Neither was a healthy response.
One thing they both enjoyed was a good sense of humor (which, by the way, often goes a long way in resolving conflict). So she shared with him that when he spouted off his garbage she felt like he was a dump truck. And she did not want him to do it anymore. Her tone of voice and caring heart were well received. He admitted that he did not like doing it. As a result, they agreed that when he started dumping, she would make the noise of a truck backing up: “Beep! Beep! Beep!” It worked. Now they can smile when he starts to dump. By the way, he got her a toy dump truck for Christmas.
Our vets will always struggle with the downward pull of impending doom. We cannot eradicate that. But we can come alongside them and love them in it. And we can provide so much encouragement to them by our positive outlook and our reminders of the many blessings we do have.
6. Why am I sometimes overcome with this awful fear? How do I handle it?
All of us are fearful of something. Usually it is what we dread losing the most. For some it may be losing a child, our marriage, losing love, or losing the man we so deeply love. For others it may be loss of independence, health, freedom. And for all of us losing our life―or anything else that is precious to us.
Like pain, fear is our body trying to warn us. To inform us. To alert us of danger. And as difficult as it may be, we need to listen to it. Stop. Feel it. Tune in and try to understand what our inner self is needing.
Our vets are often plagued or consumed with fear themselves. As trauma survivors, they are still in survival mode. Much of that wears off on us, even if we do not realize it. So not only do we carry their fear, we compound it by adding our own.
The first step in handling our fear is to own it. Name it. Recognize it. And accept it. There is nothing inherently bad about being afraid. The danger comes either by ignoring and stuffing it, or by feeding it.
After we acknowledge our fear, then we need to think about it. Why am I afraid? Is it rational? Can I reason myself through this? Some have benefited from journaling and others by talking. Just like all our unwelcome feelings, we have the choice to process it in a healthy way―to find healthy outlets for it.
If there is something worthy of our attention, such as an abusive situation, then we need to immediately do something about that. If it is just a nebulous feeling hanging over us like a heavy fog, then we can explore it further. Good counselors are very helpful in aiding us as we dig down to the deeper layers and get to the stuff we can work with.
Talking with other vet wives and loved ones is truly a lifesaver. Brandi was in a new relationship with her vet. Although a bit uneasy, she went to meet with some other ladies who were also involved with PTSD vets. What a relief for her to hear that her fear was common.
“I just am overwhelmed at times with this awful fear. My stomach gets to churning and sometimes I just want to bail.” The discussion centered around the fact that we never can be quite sure when our vets will react. And when they do, what the fallout will be. That is just something we learn to accept. As loved ones living with them, we are the first to get it. So it is understandable that we carry some level of fear. Our bodies are helping us stay alert and on guard.
But sometimes that is not good for us. So it is crucial that we learn to be aware of when our fear is consuming us and putting a barrier between us and our vet. “Perfect love casts out fear.” On the flipside, fear casts out love. When I am fearful, I am focused on me. When I am loving, I am focused on someone else. Reaching out and caring will mysteriously dispel the fear.
In a nutshell, the best thing we can do with our fear is to protect ourselves from real danger, feel the feelings, process them in a healthy way, and love our vets.
7. How can I get friends and family to understand?
You can’t. Even with as much information as is available about PTSD, one really cannot know what it is like to live with it until they do it. One evening a new lady who had been a vet wife for more than thirty years came to our Love Our Vets support group for the first time. She just sat quietly observing as we all talked. No expression. Just listened. When it was her turn to share, she just burst out in tears. “You all know! You understand!” She sobbed with relief. “You really know what I’ve been going through!”
Our hearts went out to her as she tearfully told her story and how hard she had tried to get her grown children and her friends to understand. It was like she was dying alone in the desert, shriveled up from thirst. Along we came in our desert¬ready tour bus with gallons and gallons of water and tons of love.
It does help to educate those around us who are significant in our lives. There are some good classes available through the VA and veterans’ assistance centers. Some counseling facilities also offer classes and support groups. There are new resources popping up every day online. Books, groups, websites. Any information you can pass on is helpful.
But it is probably not possible or necessary that they totally get it. In one sense, it is a relief that maybe you can stop trying so hard. Also perhaps it will lighten your already overbearing load to have one less task to worry about. Ask yourself, Why do I want them to understand? Do I need sympathy? Do I need help? Do I need an excuse for some¬thing? Do I feel I have to defend him?
After thinking about it more, I have come to realize it is easiest to more or less just let it go where others are concerned. You and I can find the support and understanding we need from those who also live in our shoes. We find comfort and hope when we connect with others who know and feel and care. And we can offer mutual encouragement and practical help as we connect together.
When I do decide to offer some sort of “explanation” to others, the best way I have found to communicate it is with a nice short statement. And then leave it there. Something that will offer enough of an explanation to relieve myself and to help them. Then let it go. A few things you might consider using are as follows:
“Yeah, he really has a hard time being around people.”
“It has not been a good day around here.”
“The PTSD makes it hard for him to _____.”
“His stress tank is full and there is no room for anything more. Any¬thing stressful will put him over the top.”
“It is a baffling and frustrating disorder.”
“We have good days and bad days.”
“He can’t handle loud noises.”
“He does better with______”
“Thanks for caring.”
In your mind and heart, bless them for caring and trying to under¬stand, but give them grace that they will never experientially know what you are going through. And that is okay. It hurts. It feels lonely and scary. But it is okay.
The Simplified Guide: Paul's Letters to the Churches by David Hazelton 10 Dec 2013 3:42 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: December 12th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Deep River Books (September 5, 2013)
***Special thanks to Emily Woodworth for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
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Paul wrote to "all those everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (I Cor. 1:2). Far from works of abstract theology, his letters provide practical instruction to people without any special theological training or educational credentials––regular people like you and me. In The Simplified Guide, David Hazelton collects Paul’s instructions on specific issues as faithfully and completely as possible. Rather than promoting a particular interpretation, Hazelton guides readers to make their own observations about applying Paul's instructions to their lives.List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 216 pages
Publisher: Deep River Books (September 5, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 193775684X
ISBN-13: 978-1937756840
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
PART I: RIGHT BELIEFS
Paul explains the essentials of the gospel message of salvation
in simple and straightforward terms. Rather than focusing on a rigid set of
rules, or a detailed set of rituals, or a complex system of theology, Paul
focuses on the person of Jesus Christ, his death on the cross, and his
resurrection from the dead. If we understand the gospel correctly, everything
else will follow. Before we worry about any other issue, Paul wants us to understand
the gospel in all of its clarity, beauty and majesty.
We therefore begin in chapter 1 with
Paul’s explanation of this pure and simple gospel. Due to its central
importance, Paul issues strong warnings against any additions to or
subtractions from this gospel as discussed chapter 2. While insisting on strict
faithfulness to the essentials of the gospel, chapter 3 discusses Paul’s
declaration of our freedom in practices and personal convictions on secondary
matters. Chapter 4 next explains that Paul relies on Scripture as the
foundation for understanding the gospel and, more generally, what we believe as
Christians. In chapter 5, we conclude Part I of our study by discussing how
Paul takes a practical approach to “theological” issues, which brings us back,
again and again, to the gospel.
CHAPTER 1
The Pure and Simple Gospel
This is the most important chapter in this book. As Paul makes
clear, the gospel is the basis for our salvation. It is the foundation on which
all of his other instructions are built. If we build on any other foundation,
everything else that we believe or do will crumble in the end.
The gospel
message as declared by Paul is easy to understand but often hard to accept.
Almost everyone can readily grasp the essential elements of the gospel at a
basic level. But many want to make it more complex than it is, perhaps because
it is difficult to accept that something so important can be so simple. Paul is
very clear, however, that the gospel message of salvation is simple,
straightforward, and available to all who come in faith. Let’s examine the
foundation for Paul’s teaching—and our faith—and what it means for us today.
WHAT ARE THE ESSENTIALS OF THE GOSPEL
MESSAGE OF SALVATION?
In 1 Corinthians 15:1–4, Paul states
plainly the gospel by which we are saved:
I want to remind you of the gospel I
preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By
this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you.
Otherwise, you have believed in vain.
For what I received I passed on to you
as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the
Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according
to the Scriptures.
Paul provides quite a
buildup before identifying the essentials of the gospel message. “By this
gospel you are saved” (1 Cor. 15:2). It is the “gospel I preached to you,” the
gospel “you received and on which you have taken your stand,” the gospel to
which you must “hold firmly,” and it is a matter of “first importance” (1 Cor.
15:3). Having emphasized its importance, Paul states the essential elements of
the gospel in a few simple words: “Christ died for our sins according to the
Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according
to the Scriptures” (2 Cor. 15:3–4). Clearly, nothing is more important to Paul
than the person of Jesus Christ, his death, and his resurrection.
The book of
Acts documents that Paul preached this very gospel message to the churches when
he was with them in person. When arriving in a city, it was the “custom” of
Paul to go to the synagogue where “he reasoned with them from the Scriptures,
explaining and proving that the Messiah had to suffer and rise from the dead.
‘This Jesus I am proclaiming to you is the Messiah,’ he said” (Acts 17:2–3). Thus,
in his sermon recorded in Acts 13:13–41, Paul presented the “message of
salvation” (v. 26) and “the good news” (v. 32) by focusing on the historic
events of Jesus Christ’s death and resurrection. Specifically, he proclaimed:
The people of Jerusalem and their rulers
did not recognize Jesus, yet in condemning him they fulfilled the words of the
prophets that are read every Sabbath. Though they found no proper ground for a
death sentence, they asked Pilate to have him executed. When they had carried
out all that was written about him, they took him down from the cross and laid
him in a tomb. But God raised him from the dead, and for many days he was seen
by those who had traveled with him from Galilee to Jerusalem. (Acts 13:27–31)
Similarly, when put on trial for
preaching the gospel, Paul explained: “I am saying nothing beyond what the
prophets and Moses said would happen—that the Messiah would suffer and, as the
first to rise from the dead, would bring the message of light to his own people
and to the Gentiles” (Acts 26:22–23). We are often tempted to complicate the
gospel, but when his back was to the wall, Paul stood firm on a simple
statement about Jesus Christ, his death, and his resurrection.
Paul’s insistence on this
pure and simple gospel wasn’t limited to his preaching. In his letters to the
churches, Paul repeats again and again the simple gospel that he had preached.
In 1 Corinthians 2:1–2, he explains: “When I came to you, I did not come with
eloquence or human wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I
resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”
Similarly, Paul declares in 1 Corinthians 1:23 that “we preach Christ
crucified.” He identifies “the message concerning faith that we proclaim: If
you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that
God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Rom. 10:8–9).
When
describing the message that he preached to the Galatians, Paul declared:
“Before your very eyes, Jesus Christ was clearly portrayed as crucified” (Gal.
3:1). Again, in 2 Timothy 2:8, Paul instructs: “Remember Jesus Christ, raised
from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel.”
WHAT IS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE
CRUCIFIXION OF JESUS CHRIST?
Jesus was crucified by the Romans, a regional empire that
occupied and controlled Palestine at the time. It seemed like a matter of local
politics in a backwater province, where the local Roman governor—a man named
Pilate—sought to placate Jewish religious leaders who had a vendetta against
Jesus. Yet there was a much deeper meaning to the crucifixion of Jesus—a Godordained
plan to restore the relationship between humans and their Creator, a
relationship that was fractured when sin entered the world. It was this deeper,
divine plan that compelled Paul.
In his death on the cross, Jesus
Christ—who lived a life without sin—took our sin upon himself and accepted the
punishment that we deserved. As Paul explains in Romans 5:6–11:
You see, at just the right time, when we
were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die
for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to
die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still
sinners, Christ died for us.
Since we have now been justified by his
blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if,
while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his
Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!
Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ,
through whom we have now received reconciliation.
Paul addresses
this spiritual reality again and again in Romans, which contains his most indepth
discussion of the gospel and its implications for our lives. After explaining
in Romans 1:18 to 3:20 that every person is a sinner who is without excuse
before God and under God’s wrath, Paul declares that we have access to
forgiveness through Christ’s death on the cross:
For all have sinned and fall short of
the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the
redemption that came by Christ Jesus. God presented Christ as a sacrifice of
atonement, through the shedding of his blood—to be received by faith. (Rom.
3:23–25)
To ensure that his readers understood
the eternal significance of the crucifixion, Paul returns to it again and
again. Romans 4:25 states: “He was delivered over to death for our sins and was
raised to life for our justification.” In Romans 6:6–7, we read: “For we know
that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be
done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin—because anyone who
has died has been set free from sin.”
The lifechanging power of Christ’s atoning death is emphasized
in Paul’s other letters as well. Ephesians 1:7 explains: “In him we have
redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the
riches of God’s grace.” In Colossians 2:13–14, Paul declares again that “you
were dead in your sins” but:
God made you alive with Christ. He
forgave us all our sins, having canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness,
which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to
the cross.
Thus, as Paul
states emphatically, the fact that “Christ died for our sins according to the
Scriptures” is a matter of “first importance” (1 Cor. 15:3) because his death
provides the basis for God’s forgiveness of our sins.
WHAT IS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF JESUS CHRIST’S
RESURRECTION FROM THE DEAD?
We humans are afraid of countless things. We fear spiders,
clowns, heights, public spaces, public speaking, and a thousand other terrors.
From the silly to the serious, fear is an unavoidable part of what it means to
be human.
Yet there is one fear that rises like a
specter above all others, that sounds a sinister echo in the background of our
daily lives: the fear of death. Nothing is so terrifying as the realization
that we will, sooner or later, die and confront the uncertainty about what will
happen to us on the other side of this life. The inevitability of death makes
it no easier to accept; its permanence forces us to come to grips with
fundamental issues.
It is in this profoundly human context
that Christ died as a man, just as every man, woman and child will eventually
die. Yet Christ conquered death through his resurrection. As sons and daughters
of God, we share in Christ’s victory over death and his promise of eternal
life.
Paul’s most extensive discussion of the significance of Christ’s
resurrection is in 1 Corinthians 15:12–57. In that passage, he begins by
correcting those who deny the resurrection, explaining that “if Christ has not
been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith” (v. 14) and “if
Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins”
(v. 17). He then declares in verses 20–22:
But Christ has indeed been raised from
the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came
through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in
Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.
On the day of
our resurrection to eternal life, our decaying material bodies will be
exchanged for glorified and imperishable bodies. Christ “will transform our
lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (Phil. 3:21). Much as
a seed is planted or sown in one form but then emerges from the earth as
something new and better, Paul explains:
So will it be with the resurrection of
the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is
sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised
in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is
a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. (1 Cor. 15:42–44)
He compares our current mortal bodies to
“jars of clay” (2 Cor. 4:7) and an “earthly tent” which we will exchange for
“an eternal house in heaven” (2 Cor. 5:1). The glory of what God has in store
for us is beyond our comprehension. “‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has
heard, and what no human mind has conceived’—the things God has prepared for
those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).
This
resurrection power not only has eternal significance, it also has the power to
transform our lives today. Emphasizing the connection between the resurrection
and the power to live a holy life today, Paul explains in Romans 6:4–10 that:
We were therefore buried with him
through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the
dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. For if we
have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united
with him in a resurrection like his. For we know that our old self was crucified
with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should
no longer be slaves to sin—because anyone who has died has been set free from
sin. Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.
For we know that since Christ was raised from the dead, he cannot die again;
death no longer has mastery over him. The death he died, he died to sin once
for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God.
Again, Paul explains in Romans 8:11
that: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he
who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies
because of his Spirit who lives in you.”
Jesus Christ took our sins upon himself
when he was crucified on the cross, but it was his glorious resurrection that
conquered death and prepared the way for our resurrection and eternal life. The
great human fear of death is conquered in the triumphant resurrection of
Christ. His victory over death changed everything.
WHO IS JESUS CHRIST THAT HIS DEATH AND RESURRECTION
COULD HAVE THIS SIGNIFICANCE?
Paul emphasizes the primary importance of the death and
resurrection of Jesus Christ in all his teaching. Yet crucifixions were all too
common during that period of human history. And while resurrections were
exceedingly rare, the Bible records others such as Lazarus who were raised from
the dead. What was it about Jesus Christ that, above anyone else who ever
lived, his crucifixion and resurrection could have such eternal and
earthshaking significance?
Paul states
the answer plainly in Colossians 2:9: “For in Christ all the fullness of the
Deity lives in bodily form.” While Jesus “as to his earthly life was a
descendant of David” (Rom. 1:3), he is also “in very nature God” (Phil. 2:6).
He “is the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). Detailing several of the
fundamental characteristics that distinguish Jesus Christ from the rest of
humanity, Paul continues in Colossians 1:15–20:
The Son is the image of the invisible
God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created:
things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers
or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him.
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the
head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among
the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was
pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to
himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making
peace through his blood, shed on the cross.
In Ephesians 1:19–21, Paul explains how
God’s “incomparably great power” was demonstrated when God raised Christ from
the dead and “seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above
all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every name that is invoked, not
only in the present age but also in the one to come.” Paul continues in verses
22 and 23: “And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be
head over everything for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who
fills everything in every way.”
As declared by Paul, Jesus Christ’s unique nature as sinless God
who became man is the reason why his death could pay the price for our sins and
thus provide the basis for our salvation. Outside of Jesus, there has never
been a death that could provide forgiveness for our sins, and there has never
been a resurrection that could conquer death and pave the way for our
resurrection.
HOW DO WE RECEIVE THE GIFTS OF
FORGIVENESS AND ETERNAL LIFE AVAILABLE THROUGH THE GOSPEL?
Christ paid the price for our
forgiveness and conquered death so we could have eternal life. We are helpless
without him. Salvation is therefore a gift received freely in faith, not
something we earn through good works. Paul’s letter to the Romans again
contains his most systematic discussion of the role of faith in receiving
salvation through the gospel. Emphasizing this important distinction between
faith and works, he declares in Romans 4:4–5 that:
Now to the one who works, wages are not
credited as a gift but as an obligation. However, to the one who does not work
but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as
righteousness.
Paul emphasizes the important role of
faith for salvation again and again in Romans. “For in the gospel the
righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from
first to last, just as it is written: ‘The righteous will live by faith’”
(Rom. 1:17). “This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ
to all who believe” (Rom. 3:22). Explaining that we “are justified freely by
his [God’s] grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus,” Paul
declares that “God presented Christ as a sacrifice of atonement, through the
shedding of his blood— to be received by faith” (Rom. 3:24–25). “For we
maintain that a person is justified by faith apart from the works of the
law” (Rom. 3:28). “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we
have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained
access by faith into this grace in which we now stand” (Rom. 5:1–2).
Driving the point home
that faith has always been the basis by which people are justified before God,
Paul points in Romans 4 to Abraham, the forefather of the Jews who lived more
than 2,000 years before Christ’s crucifixion, as a model of someone justified
by faith. “‘Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness’”
(Rom. 4:3). “Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed” in God’s promise that
he would be the father of many nations (Rom. 4:18). “Without weakening in his
faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a
hundred years old” (Rom. 4:19). “Yet he did not waver through unbelief
regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory
to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.
This is why ‘it was credited to him as righteousness’” (Rom. 4:20–22).
Paul is emphatic that salvation in
Christ must be received in faith. Indeed, in Romans and his other letters to
the churches, he refers to “faith” more than 100 times. For example: “We live
by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor. 5:7). “The life I now live in the body,
I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me”
(Gal. 2:20). “Clearly no one who relies on the law is justified before God,
because ‘the righteous will live by faith’” (Gal. 3:11). “He redeemed us
in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through
Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the
Spirit” (Gal. 3:14). “In him [Jesus] and through faith in him we may
approach God with freedom and confidence” (Eph. 3:12).
In his personal testimony, Paul declares
that he is found “not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law,
but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes
from God on the basis of faith” (Phil. 3:9). This small sampling of
Paul’s references to “faith” reflects his conviction that Christ has done it
all, that we cannot save ourselves, and that we only can accept salvation in
Christ through faith.
Perhaps the best
definition of “faith” is found in the New Testament book of Hebrews. “Now faith
is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Heb.
11:1). “And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who
comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly
seek him” (Heb. 11:6). Unless received in faith, the gospel message has little
meaning for the one who hears it. “For we also have had the good news
proclaimed to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value
to them, because they did not share the faith of those who obeyed” (Heb. 4:2).
Faith does not
require that we understand the mystery of the gospel in its fullness to accept
it. When explaining “the message concerning faith that we proclaim,” Paul
states the simplicity of the expression of faith required for salvation:
If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus
is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will
be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it
is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. (Rom. 10:8–10)
When we genuinely believe in our hearts
and confess with our mouths, it is the Spirit of God at work in us. For “no one
can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3).
WHAT DO PAUL’S
INSTRUCTIONS MEAN FOR US TODAY?
How does this gospel—the unbelievable, lifetransforming,
historyshaping good news declared by Paul—affect our lives today? As we close
this first chapter, we pause to reflect on the practical implications of Paul’s
instructions. This opportunity for reflection is not intended to prescribe
specifically what we need to do or how we need to change in light of the truths
declared by Paul. Instead, these few questions can encourage us to come before
God and seek his guidance on how to respond to the truths taught by Paul.
1. Why should God let us into heaven?
2. What would be our eternal destiny if God gave us what we
deserved rather than the forgiveness we can have through Christ?
3. Can we be saved by following rules and performing rituals?
Why not?
4. What is the significance of the fact that salvation is a gift
to be received in faith rather than something to be earned through good works?
What is the significance of this fact to our daily walk as Christians?
5. What is the significance of the fact that the gospel is
centered on Christ and what he did, rather than on us and our efforts? How
should this reality affect our daily walk as Christians?
6. What does it mean to accept the gospel in faith? At an intellectual
level, how do we accept the gospel? How does receiving the gospel in faith go
beyond intellectual acceptance?
7. Can we fully understand the mystery and miracle of the
gospel? Why not?
8. If we cannot be saved by our own good works, what is the role
of good works in a Christian’s life (which will be discussed at length in Part
II of our study)?
9. What is your relationship with Christ? Is he both your Lord
and Savior?
10. How should we live differently in light of the gospel?
Bethlehem's Baby, Book Six of the Five-Minute Bible Story Series by Sheila Deeth 8 Dec 2013 7:03 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: December 11th
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You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Cape Arago Press (September 2, 2013)
***Special thanks to Edward Lewis for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
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Ms. Deeth was born in England and earned a Bachelor and Master’s Degree in Mathematics from Cambridge University. She now lives with her husband in the Pacific Northwest where she enjoys reading, writing, and running the Coffee Break Bible Studies and the Writers’ Mill writing group when not meeting her neighbors’ dogs on the green.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
With the introduction of Bethlehem's Baby, Biblical author, Sheila Deeth, turns her prodigious writing talents to familiar tales from the New Testament. This Sixth Volume in the ever-popular Five Minute Bible Story Series looks at the characters and events leading up to and immediately following the birth of the Christ Child...from Caesar Augustus and Herod to John the Baptist, Mary, Joseph, Elizabeth and many more.This series of 40 linked short stories is aimed at the Middle Grade Reader. Each one is chock full of insights, information, and her trademarked quirky humor, making them a joy for youngsters to read or hear. Each story contain Biblical references and ends with a prayer, making them work equally well for reading to younger children, or grandchildren, at bedtime or naptime. Like all books in the Five-Minute Bible Stories Series they'll have your children begging for “just one more.” Fully Illustrated and Contain Author’s Notes.
List Price: $3.99
File Size: 725 KB
Print Length: 123 pages
Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
Publisher: Cape Arago Press (September 2, 2013)
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
Language: English
ASIN: B00EY172MA
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
IN THE BEGINNING
~ 1 ~
GOD
(The Old Testament)
In the beginning, God created
the universe. He made stars and planets. He made the sun, moon and earth. He
made mountains and seas, flowers and trees, birds and bees, and animals and
people. And everything was good.
God made the world like a
painter creating a beautiful picture. He mixed its colors together, designed
its patterns, and added light and dark in all the right places. When God
finished painting, the earth was good enough to hang on the wall of heaven.
God made the world like an
author writing a book. He worked out the details, solved all the mysteries, and
linked all the pieces together. When God finished writing, he gave us his words
in the Bible so we could read them. Meanwhile angels rejoiced to know what he’d
done.
God made the world like a
programmer designing a computer game. He set up all the scenes, made voices for
the characters, and planned how all the rules would make everything work. But
computer games often have bugs in them. Our world was so good when God finished
making it, there wasn’t a single mistake in it anywhere.
But God didn’t hang the world on
a wall when he’d finished. He didn’t leave the Bible on a bookshelf to look
nice. And he didn’t sell his program to people who wanted to play humans on
their computer. Instead, God made the world like a gardener who works in a
park. When he’d finished planning and planting everything, God stepped right
into the park to help the people look after it. God’s park was a beautiful
place called the Garden of Eden.
God worked in his Garden of Eden
every day, feeding animals, helping bees, watering flowers, cleaning the
rivers, and pouring sweetness into beautiful berries hanging from the trees.
God walked and talked with the people in Eden, loving them like a father loves
his children. He taught them to play and he kept them perfectly safe. No one
was ever hungry in the Garden of Eden. No one was tired or sick. Nobody ever
had to work too much and no one was ever bored. Even plants and animals were
perfectly safe in Eden, everything beautifully in balance, living and dying in
due season with no sickness, no loneliness, no sorrow and no pain.
But then the people in God’s
garden, the people God had chosen to be his very own children, broke God’s rules.
They didn’t care that the rules were there to keep them safe, or else they
didn’t remember. They just wanted to do as they pleased and have fun and
pretend they were in charge. So they ate the fruit of a special tree that
wasn’t theirs to eat.
Now God’s Garden of Eden began
to change. With people making their own rules nothing ever worked like it
should. Seeds weren’t planted at the right time, and crops were harvested too
soon. Farmers didn’t store enough food. They didn’t take proper care of the
animals. They didn’t move when the weather changed, and they built their houses
in foolish places then complained when their buildings burned down. What a
mess! But God was still watching and helping his people. He hadn’t finished
with them then, and he hasn’t finished with us yet.
God sent his people out of the
broken garden, out into the world where we have to work for a living, and fight
for freedom, and struggle for safety and space. God still protects us of
course, but he can’t keep us completely safe because then he’d have to make us
always do exactly as we’re told, and most of us aren’t very good at that.
Still, one day, when the time
was perfectly, wonderfully right, when everything was just as ready as it could
ever be, when everyone was in the perfect place at the perfect time, God came
into his world as a baby boy called Jesus. Like a painter stepping into his
picture, or an author talking to his characters, or a computer programmer
trapping himself inside the world of his game, God became Jesus and lived as a
human child, just like you and me.
Because of
Jesus, the world really is going to be perfect one day. No one will be hungry.
No one will be sad. No one will get sick or scared. There’ll be just enough
food and drink for all the people and animals, just enough rain and sun, just
enough laughter and fun, just enough of everything good, and nothing of
everything bad, all because God became man and saved us all.
Thank
you God for our beautiful universe and the lovely planet we live on.
Thank you for caring so much for your
creation and for caring so much for us.
Thank you for sending Jesus to live among us
and save us.
And
thank you for your Spirit who helps us live how you want us to.
Bound To A Promise - A True Story of Murder, Love and Redemption by Bonnie Floyd 4 Dec 2013 4:48 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: Friday, December 6, 2013
Book Title: Bound to a Promise
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You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Creative Enterprises Studio; 1ST edition (2013)
***Special thanks to Rick Roberson for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
For more than seventeen years, Bonnie has taken her contagious zeal for the Lord and her authentic love for people to various conferences, retreats and churches throughout the United States and beyond. Her powerful and dynamic messages bring the Scriptures alive to audiences of all ages and offer useful and practical ways to apply them to everyday living. For several years, Bonnie served in various capacities with Women of Faith and is currently an administrator for Barry & Sheila Walsh. More importantly, she has a deep love and respect for God's Word that is born out of her service as a teacher and small group leader for over 23 years.
Bonnie has been married to "her Donnie" since 1987. Both California natives, they now make their home in Celina, TX - a home which provides a perfect setting to delight children and to share Bonnie's passion for cooking by entertaining family and friends. They make their church home at Genesis Metro Church in Frisco, TX where Donnie serves as an elder and Bonnie, who was ordained a Minister of the Gospel in 2010, is an active member in women's ministries.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Bound to a Promise tells the amazing true story of God's faithfulness in the face of unimaginable loss. Bonnie Floyd's father and stepmother had been living a dream life-serving as caretakers of a private tropical island and traveling the world in a sailboat. That life was cut short when three young men boarded their yacht as it was anchored off the coast of Antigua. Determined that there should be "no witnesses" of their theft and brutality, the assailants shot all four people on board. Bound to a Promise includes the fascinating account of the Antiguan trial that brought her parents' killers to justice, featuring some dashing Scotland Yard detectives, a criminal in search of redemption, and many other memorable characters from the island. Bonnie's colorful descriptions of her parents' adventures abroad and her time in Antigua lighten the mood and add a touch of travelogue to the true crime drama. In a truly inspirational twist, Bonnie arranges a meeting with one of the confessed attackers, a man who would eventually claim her as family.List Price: $22.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Creative Enterprises Studio; 1ST edition (2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 098905215X
ISBN-13: 978-0989052153
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
February 1, 1994: It was six o’clock in the morning on what seemed a normal, cold, foggy day in Fresno, California. Then the phone rang. Donnie was already up and in the shower, so I sprang up in bed, cleared my throat, and answered the phone with my cheery, “Good morning!” as though I had been up for hours.
“Is this Mrs. Bonnie Clever-Floyd?”
I suddenly froze as a cold chill of fear crawled up my spine.
The voice on the other end of the phone was unfamiliar, his question strange, and it sent a shiver through me. For the first time in my thirty-three years, the last person I wanted to be was Bill Clever’s daughter.
“Mrs. Floyd, my name is Paul Howard, and I’m calling from the United States embassy in Antigua. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to ask you again, are you Bonnie Clever-Floyd?”
I stood motionless, still confused about why I was afraid to admit to this man who I was. I knew his question must pertain to my dad. Why else would he have been asking if I was Bonnie Clever-Floyd? I had never hyphenated my name, and as hard as it was to give up the name Clever, when I married Don Floyd, I became a Floyd through and through.
After a long pause, I firmly replied with a cracking voice, “No!”
By that time, I was sure Mr. Howard had discerned that the phone call was not going to go well. But then again, do those types of calls ever go well? “Mrs. Clever-Floyd, are you the daughter of William Norman Clever?”
He asked for the third time.
I simply could not reply. I was pacing the floor; dread had filled the room, fear had taken up residency, and confusion had consumed my mind. I heard Mr. Howard say, “Mrs. Floyd, Mrs. Floyd, are you still there?”
I knew I had to answer this Mr. Howard. I could not hang up and pre- tend the phone had never rung; it was far too late for that now.
“Yes, Mr. Howard, I am still here.”
With relief in his voice, he asked for the last time, “Mrs. Floyd, are you the daughter of William Norman Clever?”
After a long silence, I answered solemnly, “Yes, Mr. Howard, I am.”
So now the inevitable was about to be spoken. My life was about to change in ways no one in their wildest imaginations could have ever dreamed. But it was not a dream; it was a nightmare, and I was wide awake!
Chapter 1
Growing Up In Two Different Eras
As I stood paralyzed in time by the dread of what was coming next, highlights of my life that led to this terrifying moment played through my mind like a B-rated movie trailer in the old theater on a Saturday afternoon.
I grew up in Columbia, California, which is a historic state park in the Mother Lode Country. Columbia was founded during the gold rush days back in 1850 by a small party of prospectors who discovered the lode or main vein of gold in that region, the mother lode. News of their discovery spread, and a flood of miners soon joined them.
Unlike many settlements that have changed with the times, Columbia seems to be frozen in the 1800s. Growing up there was wonderful! How many kids get to grow up in two different eras at the same time?
Within the state park my family owned two popular saloons and the Columbia House restaurant, which was opened by my grandpop in 1958. Then in 1960 Dad took it over after moving to California from New Jersey with Mom and my two sisters, Susan and Linda. I came along in December of 1961, so unlike the rest of my family, I am a native Californian.
The Columbia House was a favorite place among the locals as well as visiting tourists. Everything on the menu was scrumptious, and all our recipes were originals and made from scratch. Dad’s navy bean soup actually made him a local celebrity—so much so that the townspeople called him “Billy Bean Soup.”
Dad began calling me “Bonnie Bean Soup” after himself, and eventually I became just “Bean.” I loved being called Bean better than Bonnie. Every time Dad called me Bean, I heard him say, “I love you.” Since it was my dad who nicknamed me Bean, it was the same honor to me as a son who is named after his father. After all, I secretly wished I had been born a boy so I could be even more like my daddy!
One of my favorite spots in town was the stagecoach. You could always find me at the counter selling tickets, riding shotgun with the driver or on horseback with the stagecoach bandit. Robbing those unsuspecting tourists was so much fun. It’s a good thing I had to wear a bandana over my face because I couldn’t keep myself from laughing.
I had a great life as a child, and I cherish my memories of those days. I would not trade one moment of my childhood. I felt secure in my parents’ love for me and for each other. But the climate soon began to change.
To think their fighting could possibly lead to a divorce was definitely not a place I wanted to go in my mind. I had seen too many of my friends go through that, and the end result was always the same—the parents hated each other, and my friends wound up spending every other weekend with their dads. I was determined that was not going to happen to this “daddy’s girl.”
Don’t get me wrong; I love my mom. She is a wonderful mother who was always about her family and found her fulfillment in just being Mom. There has never been a time when Mom was not there for my two sisters and me. My dad was adventurous, handsome, intelligent, and successful. He was determined to live life to the fullest, and unlike my mom, he didn’t seem content with just being a dad. He was eternally yearning, trying new things.
To keep himself content, Dad began accumulating businesses. He also started buying “toys,” such as boats and motorcycles. His first purchase was a ski boat, and then a twenty-four-foot pleasure boat he and Mom named the Bonnie Sue Lin. One thing was becoming apparent—Dad was never content for long. Soon the Bonnie Sue Lin was not enough. He had to go for something bigger.
The Sarsaparilla was a beautiful, thirty-six-foot Grand Banks yacht, and because it was an ocean-going vessel, Dad started making plans for the big trip he always talked about taking. His dream was to go out hundreds, even thousands of miles beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. And what he really wanted to do was stay out for a few months, instead of a few days. His plan was to sail the coast of California into Baja, Mexico, down and around the tip of Cabo San Lucas, and up to La Paz into the Sea of Cortez.
And that is exactly what we did.
Our Mexico trip was more wonderful than any of us could have imagined. Even my sister Linda, who was in the prime of her teens and not one bit happy about taking an extended vacation, had the time of her life. We grew close as a family in ways we had never experienced before. All we had was each other, and we found that each other was all we needed. Laughter always filled the sea life air. I believe one of the greatest things children can experience is watching their parents laugh together and love on each other. Within just a few short months after returning home, our close-knit family started unraveling. How I wish we could have just returned to the sea.
Healing Grace by Beth Shriver 3 Dec 2013 6:30 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: Thursday, December 5, 2013
Book Title:
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Realms (October 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Althea Thompson for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
She became interested in writing about the Amish when researching her family history and found she was related to the the Glick families in Europe. Beth also freelances for the local papers in her area, writes columns, devotionals, and novels in a variety of genres in both fiction and nonfiction. Beth followed her passion and now writes full time.
Beth has plenty of company when she writes, with her two cats and a beagle. She visits Amish communities in her area and Lancaster, Pennsylvania. When not spending time with her family or friends she helps feed the homeless in South Dallas.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
List Price: $14.99
Series: Touch of Grace (Book 3)
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 1, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1621362973
ISBN-13: 978-1621362975
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
"This is all I have.” Abby flashed the money at the horse trader. It was more than she had planned to spend, but the filly was worth it. Did this man know the value of what he had, or did he just feel sorry for her? It hadn’t been all that long since her mother passed away, but he and everyone else in town knew her dad was a swindler. He wouldn’t be empathetic.
“That’s what they all say.” He grinned. “You know your horses.” He leaned back against a wooden post by the stall.
She studied him for a moment, trying to decide if she trusted him. Abby did have a knack for picking horses. Focusing on conformation, temperament, and breed, she also had a good eye to go with her knowledge and experience. All of this told her that this equine had bloodlines for excellent breeding. Abby had learned the process from her father, Jim, who once was one of the best breeders around. But Abby’s dream was to train them for shows, something Jim thought was ridiculous. With a horse like this, they could make it happen.
The last bit of sunlight disappeared, darkening the old barn. She didn’t like this part of town, and she was still unsure about this dealer, but he had the horse she wanted. She flipped her long blonde ponytail behind her and studied the filly before locking eyes with the trader. “She hasn’t been used on the track, has she?”
When he hesitated, Abby moved toward the horse.
“’Course not,” he scoffed.
She lifted the filly’s upper lip. No tattoo, the mark of a racer. She didn’t want a three-year-old burned-out horse. “Just checking.”
His dark eyebrows drew together, changing along with his demeanor. “I’m an honest horse seller, unlike your old man.”
Abby froze and stared at the horse until the heat in her face cooled down. She tried to think of how to respond, but she knew he was right, so she decided to ignore the comment. “Can I see the papers?”
“Sure.” He pulled some folded documents out of his back pocket and handed them to her. “Sign this one, and our business is done.” He pointed to the line where she was to write her name.
Abby paused. This was all the money her mother had given her—money Jim didn’t know about. How would she be able to explain this?
She looked over at the bay-colored mare. The brown tones contrasted beautifully with the white socks on all four of her legs, and her sleek body structure was the making of a fine competitor.
“Second thoughts?” His tone was flat, not friendly, but not flippant either.
“No…I—”
“You can wait and come back another time and see if she’s still here.” He almost sounded sincere.
She looked up at him to see a confident smirk appear. She knew the lines and had heard every spiel. Jim was the master of horse-selling tactics.
“You know better.” There was something about him she didn’t trust, so she stuck the money back in her pocket. “And so do I.” He was getting a good deal, and Abby hoped she was too.
He grunted, amused, then conceded with a nod.
She signed the papers and kept her copy. “This way you’ll know I’ll be back,” she said. Abby took one more look at the filly. “Yeah, this is the one,” she whispered, and she walked out of the barn.
“That’s what they all say.” He grinned. “You know your horses.” He leaned back against a wooden post by the stall.
She studied him for a moment, trying to decide if she trusted him. Abby did have a knack for picking horses. Focusing on conformation, temperament, and breed, she also had a good eye to go with her knowledge and experience. All of this told her that this equine had bloodlines for excellent breeding. Abby had learned the process from her father, Jim, who once was one of the best breeders around. But Abby’s dream was to train them for shows, something Jim thought was ridiculous. With a horse like this, they could make it happen.
The last bit of sunlight disappeared, darkening the old barn. She didn’t like this part of town, and she was still unsure about this dealer, but he had the horse she wanted. She flipped her long blonde ponytail behind her and studied the filly before locking eyes with the trader. “She hasn’t been used on the track, has she?”
When he hesitated, Abby moved toward the horse.
“’Course not,” he scoffed.
She lifted the filly’s upper lip. No tattoo, the mark of a racer. She didn’t want a three-year-old burned-out horse. “Just checking.”
His dark eyebrows drew together, changing along with his demeanor. “I’m an honest horse seller, unlike your old man.”
Abby froze and stared at the horse until the heat in her face cooled down. She tried to think of how to respond, but she knew he was right, so she decided to ignore the comment. “Can I see the papers?”
“Sure.” He pulled some folded documents out of his back pocket and handed them to her. “Sign this one, and our business is done.” He pointed to the line where she was to write her name.
Abby paused. This was all the money her mother had given her—money Jim didn’t know about. How would she be able to explain this?
She looked over at the bay-colored mare. The brown tones contrasted beautifully with the white socks on all four of her legs, and her sleek body structure was the making of a fine competitor.
“Second thoughts?” His tone was flat, not friendly, but not flippant either.
“No…I—”
“You can wait and come back another time and see if she’s still here.” He almost sounded sincere.
She looked up at him to see a confident smirk appear. She knew the lines and had heard every spiel. Jim was the master of horse-selling tactics.
“You know better.” There was something about him she didn’t trust, so she stuck the money back in her pocket. “And so do I.” He was getting a good deal, and Abby hoped she was too.
He grunted, amused, then conceded with a nod.
She signed the papers and kept her copy. “This way you’ll know I’ll be back,” she said. Abby took one more look at the filly. “Yeah, this is the one,” she whispered, and she walked out of the barn.
The Preacher's Wife by Brandi Boddie 20 Nov 2013 6:14 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: Friday, November 22, 2013
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Realms (October 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Althea Thompson for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Civil War veteran and preacher Rowe Winford arrives in town intent on leaving the tragic memories of his deceased family behind. Although Rowe has no plans to fall in love anytime soon, the plans of God rarely match those of man.
Faced with adversity and rejection from the town and Rowe’s family, can Marissa overcome her past, renew her faith, and experience the life of love that God has planned for her?
List Price: $13.99
Series: Brides of Assurance (Book 1)
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 1, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616388439
ISBN-13: 978-1616388430
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter 1
July 1870, Kansas Plains
What did I get myself into? Rowe Winford carried his three large valises from the passenger train to the station wait area. He had arrived in Claywalk, Kansas, sooner than he expected. Then again, he had been daydreaming the entire trip, from the carriage ride in Richmond, Virginia, all the way west on the tracks of the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad.So this was to be his new home, away from the war reformations, away from the bittersweet memories of his late wife, Josephine, and their stillborn son. The land seemed to engulf every living thing in its wide-ranging vastness. He felt like a tiny speck upon the face of the green, rolling earth.
“Over here, sir.” A tall, lean man in rugged canvas trousers, work shirt, and Stetson hat waved him over to the other side of the wait area. A small schooner and horse awaited him.
“Welcome to Kansas, Rev’ren.” The man’s white teeth flashed in his tanned face as he grinned. “We wouldn’t have expected you this early if you hadn’t sent that letter. I’m Dustin Sterling.” He stuck out his hand. “My friends call me Dusty. David Charlton sent me to come get you and take you to our lil’ town of Assurance down the road.”
Rowe shook his hand. It was rough with calluses. He guessed him to be a horseman or rancher of sorts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dusty. My name is Rowe Winford, but how did you know I was the new minister?”
He pointed to Rowe’s overcoat and gray trousers. “Clothes don’t get that fancy in these parts. I knew you must be one of them city preachers back East.”
“Richmond.”
“Yep, I was right.” He picked up Rowe’s valises and hoisted them into the schooner. “Well, you’ll get used to this place soon enough, if you have the mind to.”
Dusty drove him away from the train station. The trip toward the “lil’ town of Assurance down the road” turned out to be more along the lines of sixty minutes. Rowe passed the time taking in the nearly treeless plains and the endless open sky. To his left and right he found himself surrounded in a sea of green grass.
“We just got rain last night, after a dry spell.” Dusty chatted amiably along the way about the land. “You have to watch out for the July wind.”
“Wind? There’s barely a breeze out.” As the words escaped Rowe’s lips, a sudden gust blew in his face. He grabbed hold of his hat before it flew from his head. “Where did that come from?” He coughed as the wind forced air down his throat.
Dusty chuckled. “Some say the devil’s in the wind. That’s how come it knocks you off your feet.”
“Well, as long as we can keep him in the wind and out of town, things should be alright.”
The wiry man cast him a wry glance. “’Fraid you might be getting here too late then, Rev’ren’. The devil’s come and set up shop in Assurance. And, sadly, business is sure boomin’.”
“What do you mean?”
Dusty shook his head. “There’s a saloon run by a businessman named Jason Garth. He can get a man to part with his wallet faster than a rattler strikes your heel. His girls help, with their short skirts and paid services.”
“You mean prostitution.”
Dusty shrugged. “I went to the dancehall before it got bad the last year or so. I haven’t been lately, but you’ll hear things. You’ll get your fill of gossip in Assurance.”
Rowe thought about the people who hired him. “What about the church? Haven’t they tried to put a stop to what the saloon is doing?”
“They grumble mostly. Folks here believe they shouldn’t sully their hands with the things of the world. Much easier to judge from a distance, I suspect, but I’m just a hired worker.”
“Aren’t you also a town citizen?”
He shook his head. “I’m all the way from San Antone. David Charlton hired me to tend his cattle, but I used to drive longhorns up here to the railroad.”
“Well, it sounds like the people of the church don’t want to confront corruption.”
The cowboy gave him another look. “Maybe that’s why they hired you.”
Rowe chewed on the inside of his jaw. His first position as head of a church. An apathetic one, from what Dusty implied. He could prove himself by going after the saloon and its seedy practices, but what would be harder, doing that or convincing the church to get their hands dirty along with him?
“Get thee clothed, heathen woman!” A man yelled down at her from the raised dais of the town square. “Thou art the scourge of this fine land, with your harlot’s garments!” He shook his fists.
“I’m not a harlot. I’m just a saloon and dancehall girl.” Words she had repeated all too often.
Marissa Pierce recognized the man as a traveling speaker, clutching his worn Bible to his chest. She hurried along the edge of the main road toward the bank, doing her best to hide her face from the disapproving looks from several of Assurance’s finest and upstanding populace.
They would be right to judge me if I was an evening lady, she thought. I wish they knew the truth.
She walked faster, adjusting her headpiece in a selfconscious attempt to push down the high feathers. Jason Garth, proprietor of the town’s only saloon, sent her out on a last-minute errand while she was getting dressed for the weekly Wednesday Night Revue. The money had to be deposited in the bank before it closed today, he stressed. Well, he could have let her know that earlier, before she changed into the tawdry costume!
More than a few men eyed her in her knee-length ruffled skirt and soft-soled dance boots peeking out from her coat. She knew a number of them as patrons. Those walking with wives, mothers, or another respectable woman had the presence of mind to avert their gazes.
“Have you no shame, lady of the night?” The orator cried in the profession’s flowery prose.
“More than you’ll ever know,” she muttered.
Marissa kept her back straight and face forward, tightly gripping the leather money satchel that held the saloon’s illbegotten earnings. Would that she could put a stop to the corruption and leave the shady establishment today, but soon she would be away from it all. Her saloon contract with Jason was about to end, and she had some money saved for room and board.
She considered her investment in a small share of the general goods store in Claywalk that was up for sale. If she received all the money due her, it would be enough to live off of until she found employment in the nearby town.
A rush of excitement surged through her as she contemplated a new life elsewhere. She would be free, in a respectable position where no one knew of her horrible past.
Marissa slowed her steps as a schooner rolled down the street. A dark-suited man seated atop peered about curiously, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.
“That must be our new preacher.” Linda Walsh, the town’s young seamstress, walked up beside Marissa. Always eager for conversation, Linda would speak to anyone who stopped to listen, as Marissa had learned since coming back to Assurance a couple years ago. “We weren’t expecting him for another two weeks. I wonder what made him take off from home so fast.”
Marissa groaned at the thought of meeting another preacher. Every preacher she came across had turned her away once they discovered her profession.
She watched the small schooner pull up to the local inn. She recognized the driver Dusty Sterling seated beside the other man. Dusty hopped down and tethered the horses. The man in black stepped onto the dusty curb. His recently polished boots gleamed.
“Fancy one, he is,” Linda continued. “I hear he comes from a city somewhere in Virginia.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It was in the paper a month ago. Our advertisement for a new preacher was answered from a man back East.”
Marissa focused again on what was in front of her. The traveler indeed looked foreign to the prairie. Not a hint of travel dust stuck to his long, black frock coat and four-inhand necktie, probably changed into just before departing the train. His gray pants were new and expertly tailored. He removed his hat briefly to wipe his brow, and Marissa saw the dark, wavy hair cropped close to his head.
“He doesn’t have a wife or children with him. Such a shame.” Linda clucked her tongue. “He’s a handsome fellow, for certain.”
Marissa agreed with her on that. He must have stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a powerful build. The man’s profile was strong and rigid, his square jaw and straight nose a true delight for the eyes. Assurance’s former preacher, Reverend Thomas, did not look like this.
“Would having a wife and children make him a better preacher?”
Linda tossed her a look. “That’s got nothing to do with it. One ought to be settled down at a certain age, wouldn’t you say so? Instead of running wild with the barmen?”
Marissa absorbed the sting of emotional pain. Anything she said in response would not sway Linda or anyone else’s notion that she was just a beer-serving streetwalker. She put on a polite stoic face. “I’m sure the ladies of this town will clamor for his attention. Will you excuse me, Miss Linda? I should be going.”
She left the seamstress just as Dusty carried the new preacher’s valises inside the inn. The preacher moved to follow then stopped short, pausing for Marissa to walk past. Marissa saw his blue eyes widen and take in her entire form, from the feathered hat on her head to the dainty-heeled boots on her feet. By his expression she didn’t know whether he admired or disapproved.
His lips settled into a firm line of what looked to be distaste, and she got her answer.
The preacher hadn’t been there for an hour and already she drew out his scorn. Marissa returned the stare until her image of him blurred with beckoning tears.
He jolted from his perusal. His low, straight brows flicked. “Good day to you, ma’am.” He amiably tipped his hat to her.
She paused, not used to being addressed in that fashion. Kindness was in his greeting, not the sarcasm she normally heard from others. Marissa tilted her head to get a clear look at him. His eyes were friendly, calm deep pools. The rest of his face, with its strong, angular lines, remained cordial.
“Good day,” she replied, hoarse. Awkwardness seized her person. Marissa hastily continued on her way to the bank.
Rowe stared after the brightly costumed woman, not noticing Dusty come from the inn until he stood in front of him, blocking the view.
“Your cabin by the lake is still bein’ cleared. The Charltons will pay for your stay here since they don’t have room at the farmhouse.”
“That’s kind of them, Dusty. Who is that saloon woman? I hoped she didn’t think me impertinent for stepping in her path.”
Dusty squinted in the distance. “Oh, Arrow Missy? She’s a dancer down at Jason’s.”
Dancer. That explained the light-stepping gait. “Why do you call her that?”
“She’s got a sharp tongue and even sharper aim with the drinks. That is, before I stopped going there.” Dusty scratched his chin.
“I think I upset her. She looked sad.” Rowe studied her shrinking form as she went inside the bank. She was a lovely young woman, tall and raven-haired. Her features carried an exotic lilt. He guessed her to be in her early twenties.
If he wasn’t the one who caused her to be upset, then what made the tears brim in her eyes?
“You carrying that last bag in, or you want me to do it?”
Rowe picked up his valise. “I’ve got it, Dusty.” He went inside the inn, glancing one more time in the direction of the bank, his mind still on the melancholy woman with the dancing boots.
For Love or Loyalty Book 1, MacGregor Legacy by Jennifer Hudson Taylor 19 Nov 2013 6:31 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: November 21, 2013
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Abingdon Press (November 5, 2013)
***Special thanks to Jennifer Hudson Taylor for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
One conquest could destroy her, but avenge his family.Scotland to Carolina, 1760
Malcolm MacGregor vows to free his family and exact revenge against Duncan Campbell. When the opportunity arises, Malcolm decides to use Duncan’s daughter as the bargaining price. Lauren Campbell is the perfect answer, until she begins chipping away at the bitterness in Malcolm’s heart and changing everything. Her bold faith and forgiveness ignites guilt he would rather avoid and a love he doesn't deserve.
Lauren Campbell never expected to discover such a caring and protective man behind the façade of Malcolm MacGregor’s fierce reputation. When they arrive in America, things turn against them, and Lauren finds herself in a fate worse than death. Now Malcolm has the dilemma of freeing the rest of his family or rescuing Lauren, but time is short and with little means, he needs a miracle
List Price: $14.99
Series: The Macgregor Legacy
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Abingdon Press (November 5, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1426714696
ISBN-13: 978-1426714696
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
A feeling of foreboding crawled over Malcolm MacGregor like a colony of insects picking at his skin. He gripped the reins as he inhaled the crisp March air, but it burned his lungs with the residue of tainted fire. A cloud of dark smoke hovered over the wee village of Inverawe—home. Fear coiled inside Malcolm’s gut as he urged his mount forward.
His brother kept pace beside him. At a score and four, Thomas was two years Malcolm’s junior. He favored Malcolm with the same stubborn chin and broad shoulders from hard work.
Distant moors lined the overcast sky. Morning fog hovered over the glen, blending with heavy smoke. As they drew near, their eyes stung and the burnt smell accosted them until they coughed. Keening scraped his ears like a tormented bagpipe.
They reached the stone huts, packed with dirt and straw roofs. At least the village homes weren’t on fire, as he originally feared. Piles of furniture and personal items burned in front of each hut. Sad faces and weeping echoed from every direction.
Malcolm’s throat constricted.His chest tightened in a mixture of compassion and fear for his family. He maneuvered his horse between the huts heading toward the center of the village, seeking the home where he had grown from a lad into a man. Engulfed in flames, itblazed to the sky.
“Mither an’ Carleen . . .” The words fell from Malcolm’s swollen tongue, stalling in the air as his thoughts shifted to their youngest brother, Graham. At only twenty, the lad would have done aught to protect the women in their absence.
“Malcolm, ye’re back!” Heather strode toward him, her eyes red and swollen. Words stalled upon her tongue, increasing his anxiety as he waited for her to collect her emotions and continue.
“What happened?” Malcolm asked, pulling his horse to a stop and dismounting. It was an effort to keep his voice calm, but he tried for Heather’s sake, though his insides quaked.
“‘Tis the worst.” Heather succumbed to tears, shaking with grief.
“What is it, lass?” Malcom shook her hoping to force her out of her temporary stupor.
“Where’s Mither an’ Carleen?” Thomas strode toward them, his voice betraying his fears.
Heather sobbed, falling against Malcolm’s chest. On instinct, his arms slipped around her.He looked up, his eyes questioning the rest of the villagers approaching with sorrowful expressions.
“The Campbells were here.” Roy strode foward, his red eyes weary with similar grief—his right eye swollen and his lip cut. Even in his late fifties, Roy was healthy and robust. It would have taken several men to bring him low. “They took Iona an’ Carleen.”
“Took them?” Thomas gave the elder man a look of disbelief. “Where?”
“How long ago?” Malcolm pressed Heather into the arms of her mother who came up behind her. He turned back to his horse and prepared to mount.
“Nay! There’s too many o’ them. Sixty or more.” A strong hand grabbed his shoulder. “Listen to me, lad. Ye canna help yer mither an’ sister if ye’re dead.”
“I’ve time to catch them if I leave now.” Malcolm pulled away. More hands grabbed him. He didn’t want to fight his own kinsmen, but they wouldn’t deter him from his mission. He had to act now before it was too late.
“Let me go!” Thomas yelled, fighting a similar battle.
“I’ve got ’im, Da.” Strong arms belted around Malcolm’s neck and jerked him backward, cutting off his air. Malcolm coughed. He swung his elbow into Alan’s ribs.
“Argh!” Alan relaxed his hold, but didn’t let go.
“Listen to reason, lad. The rest o’ us are too auld an’ wounded to be fightin’ ye.” A fist from another angle slammed into his jaw. “But fight ye, we will, if it’s the only way to save yer life.” Roy’s voice echoed over the multiple hands and arms keeping him down.
Never had the villagers fought him like this. More dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he realized there had to be a reason for their adamancy. What had they not yet told him? They were right. How could he and Thomas expect to best sixty or more Campbell men? This feat would require his wits, and he wasn’t thinking, only reacting.
“All right.” He clenched his teeth, willing his body to relax against their resistance. “Tell me why I shan’t go after them. It does not make sense to lose precious time.”
Following Malcolm’s example, Thomas also surrendered.
“Duncan Campbell came to collect the rents,” Roy said. “But he arrived with an army of warriors. He did not come hither on business as he claimsHis purpose was to cause trouble an’ he chose yer family to be the example.”
“They were not supposed to come for another fortnight.” Malcolm jerked away from Alan who sported a bloody lip, already swelling, and a long sword gash upon his arm. Malcolm frowned. Only the Campbells would have been carrying broadswords. Blood soaked Alan’s sleeve, probably more so from his skirmish with Malcolm. Guilt lacerated Malcolm’s emotionally scarred heart. How long must they go on living like peasant pawns for the Campbells’ entertainment?
“They did all this over unpaid rents?” Malcolm lifted his hands in disbelief. “We took the cattle to market an’ we now have the rent. ‘Tis all for naught!” His voice cracked as he ran a hand through his hair. A deep ache twisted his gut.
“Listen to Da.” Alan wiped the back of his hand across his lip. “We need a plan. The Campbells want us to come after them in a mad rage. They have the king’s favor an’ all the wealth they need. We canna fall into their trap again.”
“We can gather more MacGregors an’ break into Kilchurn Manor.” Thomas walked over. The others stepped aside to let him through. “We’ll get Mither an’ Carleen out.” “We canna abandon them.”
“‘Tisn’t that simple. I wish it were.” Roy rubbed a wrinkled hand over his weathered face with a broken sigh. “Even if we gather more MacGregors from other parts of Argyll, we may not be strong enough to break through Duncan Campbell’s forces. He has too many allies. If we succeed an’ bring them home, how will we stop them from coming again?”
Roy and Alan stood still, watching Malcolm and Thomas as though they would tackle them again if need be. More villagers crowded around. All of them looked like a sorry lot, the men having been beaten, the women wearing expressions of grief and sorrow. Soot layered their faces, arms, and clothing.
‘Tis possible they have taken them to a debtor’s prison,” Mary MacGregor maneuvered around her husband and son, “since yer mither did not have the rent money.”
“If that is the case,” Malcolm said. “They will have to release Mither an’ Carleen once I pay the rent.”
“Duncan raised the rents again, plus he’s charging interest,” Mary said. “He took our furniture an’ burned what he did not want.” Tears filled her eyes. “William an’ Graham are young an’ foolish to try to fight them. They killed William this day. How many more do ye think we can stand to lose?”
“An’ Graham?” Malcolm staggered at the news. He closed his eyes, rubbing his brows. William and Graham were inseparable. Had Graham suffered the same fate? Heather broke into more weeping and Malcolm’s chest tightened. The lass had been sweet on their youngest brother as soon as they could walk. Now he understood the extent of her grief. “Where is Graham? Did they take him, too?” Malcolm clenched his fists at his sides, attempting to calm the rising tide of anxiety. “Is he alive?”
“Aye, but barely,” Roy said. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. We tried to fight them, but there were too many . . .”
“Take us to ‘im,” Thomas said in a gruff voice, moving to stand beside Malcolm.
“Greg and Colin are tendin to ‘im. The Campbells beat him bad an’ hung ’im on a tree.” Roy’s voice faltered. “To make an example out o’ ‘im.”
“By the neck?” Malcolm followed Roy and Alan to their hut. Fear clawed at his heart and gripped his lungs, stealing the breath from him.
“Nay,” Alan said. “With his arms spread out. We think both shoulders are dislocated.”
They stopped before entering Roy’s hut. “They left us only one bed, so that is where we put ’im.” Roy held up a palm and shook his head. “Prepare yerself, lads.”
Malcolm bent through the threshold and blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. Their small huts contained no windows for daylight to filter inside. He walked across the dirt floor to the tiny bed. Graham’s long legs hung over the side. His height matched Malcolm’s at six-four. Among the three brothers, Thomas was the shortest, shy of them by a couple of inches.
Colin looked up from where he hunched over stitching a wound in the lad’s side. Greg cleaned his bruised face from the other side. Neither of them spoke as they concentrated on their tasks.
Both Malcolm and Thomas dropped to their knees. Thomas groaned and gulped back a threatening cry. Malcolm searched for his voice, but it lodged in his throat as a sickening pain clutched his soul and wouldn’t let go. They stayed that way for several moments, trying to make sense of it all.
Colin cleared his throat. “The lad fought bravely, like a Highland warrior if ever I saw one.”
Graham disliked fighting. Unlike the rest of them, who thrived upon the sword, Graham had preferred his wits to outsmart the wretched Campbells. He held out in stubborn pride believing forgiveness and reason would bridge the great divide between the Campbells and MacGregors. Today, he had discovered the truth and his faith had almost cost him his life.
“Is he . . .” Still unable to say it, Malcolm laid a hand on Graham’s chest. A faint heartbeat pulsed beneath his palm. Malcolm closed his eyes in relief.
“He passed out from the pain when I reset his shoulders back into the sockets,” Greg said. “As soon as Colin stitches his side, we’ll bind his ribs.”
“At least he’s alive,” Thomas said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I always teased him about being the bonny son. Now look at ’im. I fear he won’t ever be the same again.”
“Graham was never vain.” Malcolm gripped Graham’s limp hand. “I worry ’bout the lad’s spirit an’ his broken ideals. He will blame himself for not saving Mither an’ Carleen. No doubt, he will feel naïve he ever thought reconciliation with the Campbells was possible.”
“Aye, ’twill take him a while to recover,” Thomas said with a sigh. “Did Mither an’ Carleen see what happened to ’im?”
“Nay,” Colin shook his head. “The Campbells split up. Scott Campbell took them away, while his father stayed behind to cause more damage.” Colin rubbed his eyebrows and sat back. “That one has the heart of the devil, he does.”
“I shall get revenge for our family an’ the whole MacGregor Clan. The Campbells have wronged us for two centuries. They have tried to wipe out the MacGregor Clan, an’ here we survive against all odds.” Malcolm raised a fist and growled. “This time, I care not what it takes.” Malcolm turned to Roy. “We shall send a scout to Kilchurn Manor to see if Mither an’ Carleen are being held thereand the nearest debtor’s prison. We will move our family to Glenstrae under the protection of the MacGregor Clan Chief.” He shoved a hand on his hip and rubbed his eyebrow, fighting the onslaught of a headache and too much regret. “Should have done it a long time ago after Da died.”
“Ye were but a wee lad.” Roy shook his head. “Do not do this to yerself. ’Tisn’t yer fault.”
“Aye, ’tis time. I’ve tarried long enough. I almost lost my family because of it.” Malcolm glanced down at Graham, fear spiking inside him. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
* * *
“Where ye going?”
Lauren Campbell jumped with a start, throwing a hand over her hammering chest. She placed a finger across her lips to shush her sister of ten and two. A quick glance around the busy kitchen assured her no one paid them any attention. Cook put away uneaten food, while the rest of the servants cleaned up where the Campbells had broken their morning fast.
“Do I have yer word to say naught?” Lauren peeked at her sister’s wide brown eyes, curious as Blair twisted her lips into a mischievous grin.
“If ye take me with ye.” Blair nodded, her sandy, brown hair slid over her face. She brushed the long strands out of her eyes with an impatient sigh.
“I canna.” Lauren shook her head, biting her lower lip as she placed biscuits in a basket. “’Tis dangerous where I’m going.”
“Where?” Blair sidled up to the counter beside Lauren, excitement building in her tone.
“I’m going to the ancient castle of Kilchurn.” Lauren’s heart swelled as her sister’s eyes widened in admiration.
“All alone? Ye know Da would not approve if he was home.” Blair lowered her voice to a whisper. “He will be angry if ye do not take cousin Keith.”
“Keith is studying to take orders next week and will give his first sermon.” Lauren whispered, touching the tip of her sister’s nose and grabbing a block of cheese. “I canna interfere with the Lord’s work. Besides, Kilchurn Castle is part of our estate. ‘Tisn’t as if I’m leaving the grounds.”
“But ye’re leaving Kilchurn Manor,” Blair said.
“’Tis only a short ride.” Lauren covered the basket with a cloth and tucked in the edges. She paused, considering her sister’s hopeful expression.
“I want to go, please.” Blair linked her fingers as if she was about to pray. She wore the Campbell plaid over a dark blue dress and frowned with a sulky pout as she crossed her thin arms. “Lauren?”
“Run along and get ready. Meet me at the stables,” Lauren said. “I shall see that your horse is saddled and ready.”
Blair disappeared. Her footsteps pattered down the hall. Lauren chuckled and shook her head, knowing the child ran in haste. She hoped Blair would not tumble into one of the servants. With her basket of goods in tow, Lauren let herself out the side door and made her way to the stables.
It was a crisp morning, bright with sunshine and promise. Lauren loved the ancient relic of Kilchurn Castle now crumbling on the far side of Loch Awe. The short journey would take them less than an hour on horseback. On the days she walked the grounds, Lauren loved imagining what it must have been like centuries ago when the castle passed from the MagGregors to the Campbells through marriage.
Lauren entered the shaded stables. “Aidan?” Lauren called to the stable lad. “Are ye there? Blair are going for a ride.” No one answered. Strange. Lauren shrugged and stepped back, trampling on a pair of booted feet. A man’s hand clamped over her mouth, shoving a piece of cloth inside to silence her scream. Another hand pulled her by the hair and jerked her back against his hard body. Her basket of goods went flew over a nearby stall. The horse inside stomped and snorted.
“I took care o’ the lad,” said a gruff voice at her ear. “Just needed to get ’im out o’ the way. ’Tis Duncan Campbell’s daughter I want.”
Lauren’s heart pounded in her ears as she kicked behind her, but he slammed a fist against her temple. Pain sliced through her head. He wrapped an arm around her neck, cutting off her air, and dragged her into a dark corner.
“Lauren?” Blair called. Her footsteps came closer. “Are ye here?”
Closing her eyes, Lauren stopped struggling, praying God would spare her sister. The man breathed heavy at her ear, his grip intense. To Lauren’s relief, he appeared to be alone, and he did not go after Blair.
“Aidan?” Her sister sighed with frustration. “Where did everyone go?” She stomped out of the stables and back toward the manor.
As soon as Blair disappeared , the man slipped a knife to Lauren’s throat. “Go.” The blade nicked her skin as he pushed her forward, leading her out of the stables on the other side. The gag tied in her mouth made her jaw ache and dried her tongue. He dragged her into the woods where a horse waited.
Lauren tripped over a fallen branch, but he caught her and shoved her against a tree. Her bruised hip stung as he pulled her arms behind her and bound her hands. The man slung her over his horse and mounted up behind her. Between a dizzy spell and a wave of nausea, she caught a glimpse of his MacGregor plaid.
They rode toward Inverawe where Lauren often visited the poor and brought them food. Iona and Carleen MacGregor always welcomed her and shared their faith. Iona’s sons were not quite as friendly, but Graham was open-minded and kind. As the youngest, Lauren supposed he wasn’t as set in his ways as the other two. He was closer to Lauren’s age at twenty.
When they arrived at the village, Lauren wasn’t prepared for the devastation she witnessed. Ashes simmered in gray piles. Grief-stricken faces glared at her with hatred. Several people spit at her and one threw a rotten onion at her. The putrid smell made her stomach roll.
They came to a pile of rubble that should have been Iona and Carleen’s hut. Hot smoke still pumped from the smoldering remains. Lauren’s stomach tightened as tears sprang to her eyes. Her father and brother were supposed to arrive here and collect the rents. Surely, they were not responsible? Her heart ached, fearing it was the truth she wanted to deny.
Her abductor stopped at one of the huts, pumping smoke through the chimney. He grabbed Lauren by the arm and yanked her down. She stumbled to her feet, finding it hard to regain her balance. He pushed her toward the door as others surrounded them.
“Why did ye bring a Campbell ’ere?” a woman asked. “Do ye not think they have caused enough trouble?”
“Aye,” a man said. “The whole lot o’ them will come looking for ’er.”
“Malcolm! Thomas!” Lauren’s captor ignored them and banged on the worn wooden door. “Open up. I have Lauren Campbell.”
The door swung open and Malcolm’s tall form ducked under the threshold. He crossed his arms with a menacing scowl. “Colin, ye were supposed to find my mither an’ sister, not bring back a hostage.”
“Iona an’ Carleen were not at Kilchurn.” Colin’s words came out in a rush, as he tightened his grip on her. “But she was.”
“What are we supposed to do with her?” Malcolm pointed at Lauren, venom coating his tone. “This was not the plan.”
“We have no plan since they were not at Kilchurn,” Thomas said, coming to stand behind Malcolm. “Mayhap, she can be the plan. Who else is goin’ to be as important to Duncan?”
“She canna stay here,” another man said. “Her father will destroy the whole village lookin’ for her.”
“Aye, but she’s here now Mary MacGregorsaid. “The damage is done. Ye should best make the best o’ her situation. Could we exchange her for Iona or Carleen?”
Shock vibrated through Lauren. What had her father done? While the MacGregors had never been cruel to her, most were wary and reluctant to befriend her except Iona and Carleen. Now that the villagers had good reason to be seething in anger and resentment, she had no idea how far they would go in using her. She wondered if anyone at home had discovered her disappearance.
“What if he comes back an’ burns the rest o’ our homes?” a woman asked.
“Heather, he owns all these huts. If he burns them all, he canna rent them out.” Malcolm scratched his temple and glanced at Lauren. “Remove her gag. She may know something.”
“How ye plan to get ‘er to talk?” Colin asked, jerking at her bindings. The cloth fell from around her head, and Lauren spit out the other piece.
“Speak up, lass.” Malcolm stepped toward her, his height more like a tower than a mere man. “Where did yer da take my mither an’ sister? The sooner we find out, the sooner negotiations can begin an’ ye can go home.”
“All I know is that he intended to collect the rents and go to the harbor.”
“The harbor?” Thomas joined his brother, his palm up against the side of his head, pondering the possibilities. “Why would he do that?”
“Only one explanation,” an older man said, lifting a finger. All eyes turned to him. “To sell them. What else?”
The women gasped, some wept, while the men groaned and complained in outrage. Colin jerked Lauren by the arm and shoved her to the center. “We have one of their own!” She stumbled and fell to her knees. He pulled her hair. Fire burned her scalp. She prayed her neck wouldn’t break from the pressure. Tears stung her eyes. Lord, I thank you for sparing Blair.
“What would Duncan do to save this bonny face?” An elderly woman bent to squeeze Lauren’s cheeks. The others came at her all at once with raised hands. Lauren closed her eyes, expecting a beating.
“Stop!” Malcolm’s firm voice sliced through the mob like a king. With the MacGregors scattered throughout Campbell lands that used to belong to the MacGregors, none of them had a clan chief.The exception was Glenstrae farther north in the heart of the Scottish highlands. Yet, no one laid a hand on her. They obeyed Malcolm out of respect.
“Let us think about our actions an’ how the Campbells might retaliate.” Malcolm lifted his hands and pointed in the direction of Kilchurn Manor. “As long as the lass lives an’ remains unharmed, we have something to bargain. None o’ us wanna worry ’bout being murdered in our beds at night or forced to flee to the hills again.”
Eyes widened, mouths dropped open, and heads shook back and forth in slow motion. Some of the villagers’ skin turned paler. They backed away from her.
“Duncan an’ Scott Campbell have a good head start. At this point, we would be guessing which harbor they went to an’ taking the lass at her word,” Malcolm said.
“Taynuilt Harbor is the closest,” Roy said. Lauren had heard one of the others call him by name. He was a middle-aged man who looked at her with so much malice her skin itched and burned. “’Tis on Loch Etive an’ leads out to sea.”
“Aye.” Malcolm nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “First, I want to ensure Graham’s safety ’til he heals, as well as the villagers. I shall find her wretched father.” His boiling gaze landed on Lauren and their eyes met. If the good Lord hadn’t been holding her together, she might have crumbled in fear, but Lauren not only found the courage she needed, but managed to lift her chin and kept her peace. Later in solitude she would bear her burdensome fear to the Lord.
“Let us bring her inside while we tend to Graham an’ make our plans,” Malcolm said, turning to the others.
Colin shoved her. Lauren stumbled into Malcolm. He reached out a steady hand and gripped her arm. She assumed the action was only out of instinct, not for her welfare.
“What happened to Graham?” The words tumbled through her lips. Of all the MacGregor men, he had always been kind to her.
Malcolm paused, his lips twisting in anger. “Yer da ordered him beaten. They tied him to a tree, pulled an’ tortured him ’til his shoulders snapped out o’ the sockets. They murdered his best friend, William.”
Lauren cringed as her mouth drained dry and her stomach twirled. The temptation to deny his words frayed at the edge of her mind, as she followed him inside.
Malcolm directed her over to a large figure lying motionless on a small bed. A candle burned on a makeshift table beside him. She took small steps, her heart pounding into her throat.
“Graham?” Lauren leaned over him, taking in the sight of his bruised and disfigured face. The memory of his handsome features were like a vision. Graham didn’t respond. Deep sorrow filled her soul as she imagined what agony he must be enduring. “My . . . da . . . did this?”
“Aye,.” Malcolm’s tone dripped with bitterness. “I was not here, but they tell me he tried to protect my mither an’ sister—yer friends.” He emphasized the last words as if she had betrayed them herself.
“They are my friends,” she whispered, unable to wipe at her tears with her hands bound behind her. Bile rose to the back of Lauren’s throat, threatening to overcome her. Graham’s wounds would be branded in her brain forever. What would become of Iona and Carleen? She slid to her knees as grief wracked her body. Lauren had never been able to deny the emotional tug of compassion. While she wondered what was to become of her, Graham’s grave condition weighed upon her heart along with the spiritual state of the souls within her father and brother.
Lauren turned and tried to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. Malcolm strode toward her, his mouth set in a grim expression. She resisted the desire to cower and forced her muscles to remain still.
His brother kept pace beside him. At a score and four, Thomas was two years Malcolm’s junior. He favored Malcolm with the same stubborn chin and broad shoulders from hard work.
Distant moors lined the overcast sky. Morning fog hovered over the glen, blending with heavy smoke. As they drew near, their eyes stung and the burnt smell accosted them until they coughed. Keening scraped his ears like a tormented bagpipe.
They reached the stone huts, packed with dirt and straw roofs. At least the village homes weren’t on fire, as he originally feared. Piles of furniture and personal items burned in front of each hut. Sad faces and weeping echoed from every direction.
Malcolm’s throat constricted.His chest tightened in a mixture of compassion and fear for his family. He maneuvered his horse between the huts heading toward the center of the village, seeking the home where he had grown from a lad into a man. Engulfed in flames, itblazed to the sky.
“Mither an’ Carleen . . .” The words fell from Malcolm’s swollen tongue, stalling in the air as his thoughts shifted to their youngest brother, Graham. At only twenty, the lad would have done aught to protect the women in their absence.
“Malcolm, ye’re back!” Heather strode toward him, her eyes red and swollen. Words stalled upon her tongue, increasing his anxiety as he waited for her to collect her emotions and continue.
“What happened?” Malcolm asked, pulling his horse to a stop and dismounting. It was an effort to keep his voice calm, but he tried for Heather’s sake, though his insides quaked.
“‘Tis the worst.” Heather succumbed to tears, shaking with grief.
“What is it, lass?” Malcom shook her hoping to force her out of her temporary stupor.
“Where’s Mither an’ Carleen?” Thomas strode toward them, his voice betraying his fears.
Heather sobbed, falling against Malcolm’s chest. On instinct, his arms slipped around her.He looked up, his eyes questioning the rest of the villagers approaching with sorrowful expressions.
“The Campbells were here.” Roy strode foward, his red eyes weary with similar grief—his right eye swollen and his lip cut. Even in his late fifties, Roy was healthy and robust. It would have taken several men to bring him low. “They took Iona an’ Carleen.”
“Took them?” Thomas gave the elder man a look of disbelief. “Where?”
“How long ago?” Malcolm pressed Heather into the arms of her mother who came up behind her. He turned back to his horse and prepared to mount.
“Nay! There’s too many o’ them. Sixty or more.” A strong hand grabbed his shoulder. “Listen to me, lad. Ye canna help yer mither an’ sister if ye’re dead.”
“I’ve time to catch them if I leave now.” Malcolm pulled away. More hands grabbed him. He didn’t want to fight his own kinsmen, but they wouldn’t deter him from his mission. He had to act now before it was too late.
“Let me go!” Thomas yelled, fighting a similar battle.
“I’ve got ’im, Da.” Strong arms belted around Malcolm’s neck and jerked him backward, cutting off his air. Malcolm coughed. He swung his elbow into Alan’s ribs.
“Argh!” Alan relaxed his hold, but didn’t let go.
“Listen to reason, lad. The rest o’ us are too auld an’ wounded to be fightin’ ye.” A fist from another angle slammed into his jaw. “But fight ye, we will, if it’s the only way to save yer life.” Roy’s voice echoed over the multiple hands and arms keeping him down.
Never had the villagers fought him like this. More dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he realized there had to be a reason for their adamancy. What had they not yet told him? They were right. How could he and Thomas expect to best sixty or more Campbell men? This feat would require his wits, and he wasn’t thinking, only reacting.
“All right.” He clenched his teeth, willing his body to relax against their resistance. “Tell me why I shan’t go after them. It does not make sense to lose precious time.”
Following Malcolm’s example, Thomas also surrendered.
“Duncan Campbell came to collect the rents,” Roy said. “But he arrived with an army of warriors. He did not come hither on business as he claimsHis purpose was to cause trouble an’ he chose yer family to be the example.”
“They were not supposed to come for another fortnight.” Malcolm jerked away from Alan who sported a bloody lip, already swelling, and a long sword gash upon his arm. Malcolm frowned. Only the Campbells would have been carrying broadswords. Blood soaked Alan’s sleeve, probably more so from his skirmish with Malcolm. Guilt lacerated Malcolm’s emotionally scarred heart. How long must they go on living like peasant pawns for the Campbells’ entertainment?
“They did all this over unpaid rents?” Malcolm lifted his hands in disbelief. “We took the cattle to market an’ we now have the rent. ‘Tis all for naught!” His voice cracked as he ran a hand through his hair. A deep ache twisted his gut.
“Listen to Da.” Alan wiped the back of his hand across his lip. “We need a plan. The Campbells want us to come after them in a mad rage. They have the king’s favor an’ all the wealth they need. We canna fall into their trap again.”
“We can gather more MacGregors an’ break into Kilchurn Manor.” Thomas walked over. The others stepped aside to let him through. “We’ll get Mither an’ Carleen out.” “We canna abandon them.”
“‘Tisn’t that simple. I wish it were.” Roy rubbed a wrinkled hand over his weathered face with a broken sigh. “Even if we gather more MacGregors from other parts of Argyll, we may not be strong enough to break through Duncan Campbell’s forces. He has too many allies. If we succeed an’ bring them home, how will we stop them from coming again?”
Roy and Alan stood still, watching Malcolm and Thomas as though they would tackle them again if need be. More villagers crowded around. All of them looked like a sorry lot, the men having been beaten, the women wearing expressions of grief and sorrow. Soot layered their faces, arms, and clothing.
‘Tis possible they have taken them to a debtor’s prison,” Mary MacGregor maneuvered around her husband and son, “since yer mither did not have the rent money.”
“If that is the case,” Malcolm said. “They will have to release Mither an’ Carleen once I pay the rent.”
“Duncan raised the rents again, plus he’s charging interest,” Mary said. “He took our furniture an’ burned what he did not want.” Tears filled her eyes. “William an’ Graham are young an’ foolish to try to fight them. They killed William this day. How many more do ye think we can stand to lose?”
“An’ Graham?” Malcolm staggered at the news. He closed his eyes, rubbing his brows. William and Graham were inseparable. Had Graham suffered the same fate? Heather broke into more weeping and Malcolm’s chest tightened. The lass had been sweet on their youngest brother as soon as they could walk. Now he understood the extent of her grief. “Where is Graham? Did they take him, too?” Malcolm clenched his fists at his sides, attempting to calm the rising tide of anxiety. “Is he alive?”
“Aye, but barely,” Roy said. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. We tried to fight them, but there were too many . . .”
“Take us to ‘im,” Thomas said in a gruff voice, moving to stand beside Malcolm.
“Greg and Colin are tendin to ‘im. The Campbells beat him bad an’ hung ’im on a tree.” Roy’s voice faltered. “To make an example out o’ ‘im.”
“By the neck?” Malcolm followed Roy and Alan to their hut. Fear clawed at his heart and gripped his lungs, stealing the breath from him.
“Nay,” Alan said. “With his arms spread out. We think both shoulders are dislocated.”
They stopped before entering Roy’s hut. “They left us only one bed, so that is where we put ’im.” Roy held up a palm and shook his head. “Prepare yerself, lads.”
Malcolm bent through the threshold and blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. Their small huts contained no windows for daylight to filter inside. He walked across the dirt floor to the tiny bed. Graham’s long legs hung over the side. His height matched Malcolm’s at six-four. Among the three brothers, Thomas was the shortest, shy of them by a couple of inches.
Colin looked up from where he hunched over stitching a wound in the lad’s side. Greg cleaned his bruised face from the other side. Neither of them spoke as they concentrated on their tasks.
Both Malcolm and Thomas dropped to their knees. Thomas groaned and gulped back a threatening cry. Malcolm searched for his voice, but it lodged in his throat as a sickening pain clutched his soul and wouldn’t let go. They stayed that way for several moments, trying to make sense of it all.
Colin cleared his throat. “The lad fought bravely, like a Highland warrior if ever I saw one.”
Graham disliked fighting. Unlike the rest of them, who thrived upon the sword, Graham had preferred his wits to outsmart the wretched Campbells. He held out in stubborn pride believing forgiveness and reason would bridge the great divide between the Campbells and MacGregors. Today, he had discovered the truth and his faith had almost cost him his life.
“Is he . . .” Still unable to say it, Malcolm laid a hand on Graham’s chest. A faint heartbeat pulsed beneath his palm. Malcolm closed his eyes in relief.
“He passed out from the pain when I reset his shoulders back into the sockets,” Greg said. “As soon as Colin stitches his side, we’ll bind his ribs.”
“At least he’s alive,” Thomas said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I always teased him about being the bonny son. Now look at ’im. I fear he won’t ever be the same again.”
“Graham was never vain.” Malcolm gripped Graham’s limp hand. “I worry ’bout the lad’s spirit an’ his broken ideals. He will blame himself for not saving Mither an’ Carleen. No doubt, he will feel naïve he ever thought reconciliation with the Campbells was possible.”
“Aye, ’twill take him a while to recover,” Thomas said with a sigh. “Did Mither an’ Carleen see what happened to ’im?”
“Nay,” Colin shook his head. “The Campbells split up. Scott Campbell took them away, while his father stayed behind to cause more damage.” Colin rubbed his eyebrows and sat back. “That one has the heart of the devil, he does.”
“I shall get revenge for our family an’ the whole MacGregor Clan. The Campbells have wronged us for two centuries. They have tried to wipe out the MacGregor Clan, an’ here we survive against all odds.” Malcolm raised a fist and growled. “This time, I care not what it takes.” Malcolm turned to Roy. “We shall send a scout to Kilchurn Manor to see if Mither an’ Carleen are being held thereand the nearest debtor’s prison. We will move our family to Glenstrae under the protection of the MacGregor Clan Chief.” He shoved a hand on his hip and rubbed his eyebrow, fighting the onslaught of a headache and too much regret. “Should have done it a long time ago after Da died.”
“Ye were but a wee lad.” Roy shook his head. “Do not do this to yerself. ’Tisn’t yer fault.”
“Aye, ’tis time. I’ve tarried long enough. I almost lost my family because of it.” Malcolm glanced down at Graham, fear spiking inside him. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
* * *
“Where ye going?”
Lauren Campbell jumped with a start, throwing a hand over her hammering chest. She placed a finger across her lips to shush her sister of ten and two. A quick glance around the busy kitchen assured her no one paid them any attention. Cook put away uneaten food, while the rest of the servants cleaned up where the Campbells had broken their morning fast.
“Do I have yer word to say naught?” Lauren peeked at her sister’s wide brown eyes, curious as Blair twisted her lips into a mischievous grin.
“If ye take me with ye.” Blair nodded, her sandy, brown hair slid over her face. She brushed the long strands out of her eyes with an impatient sigh.
“I canna.” Lauren shook her head, biting her lower lip as she placed biscuits in a basket. “’Tis dangerous where I’m going.”
“Where?” Blair sidled up to the counter beside Lauren, excitement building in her tone.
“I’m going to the ancient castle of Kilchurn.” Lauren’s heart swelled as her sister’s eyes widened in admiration.
“All alone? Ye know Da would not approve if he was home.” Blair lowered her voice to a whisper. “He will be angry if ye do not take cousin Keith.”
“Keith is studying to take orders next week and will give his first sermon.” Lauren whispered, touching the tip of her sister’s nose and grabbing a block of cheese. “I canna interfere with the Lord’s work. Besides, Kilchurn Castle is part of our estate. ‘Tisn’t as if I’m leaving the grounds.”
“But ye’re leaving Kilchurn Manor,” Blair said.
“’Tis only a short ride.” Lauren covered the basket with a cloth and tucked in the edges. She paused, considering her sister’s hopeful expression.
“I want to go, please.” Blair linked her fingers as if she was about to pray. She wore the Campbell plaid over a dark blue dress and frowned with a sulky pout as she crossed her thin arms. “Lauren?”
“Run along and get ready. Meet me at the stables,” Lauren said. “I shall see that your horse is saddled and ready.”
Blair disappeared. Her footsteps pattered down the hall. Lauren chuckled and shook her head, knowing the child ran in haste. She hoped Blair would not tumble into one of the servants. With her basket of goods in tow, Lauren let herself out the side door and made her way to the stables.
It was a crisp morning, bright with sunshine and promise. Lauren loved the ancient relic of Kilchurn Castle now crumbling on the far side of Loch Awe. The short journey would take them less than an hour on horseback. On the days she walked the grounds, Lauren loved imagining what it must have been like centuries ago when the castle passed from the MagGregors to the Campbells through marriage.
Lauren entered the shaded stables. “Aidan?” Lauren called to the stable lad. “Are ye there? Blair are going for a ride.” No one answered. Strange. Lauren shrugged and stepped back, trampling on a pair of booted feet. A man’s hand clamped over her mouth, shoving a piece of cloth inside to silence her scream. Another hand pulled her by the hair and jerked her back against his hard body. Her basket of goods went flew over a nearby stall. The horse inside stomped and snorted.
“I took care o’ the lad,” said a gruff voice at her ear. “Just needed to get ’im out o’ the way. ’Tis Duncan Campbell’s daughter I want.”
Lauren’s heart pounded in her ears as she kicked behind her, but he slammed a fist against her temple. Pain sliced through her head. He wrapped an arm around her neck, cutting off her air, and dragged her into a dark corner.
“Lauren?” Blair called. Her footsteps came closer. “Are ye here?”
Closing her eyes, Lauren stopped struggling, praying God would spare her sister. The man breathed heavy at her ear, his grip intense. To Lauren’s relief, he appeared to be alone, and he did not go after Blair.
“Aidan?” Her sister sighed with frustration. “Where did everyone go?” She stomped out of the stables and back toward the manor.
As soon as Blair disappeared , the man slipped a knife to Lauren’s throat. “Go.” The blade nicked her skin as he pushed her forward, leading her out of the stables on the other side. The gag tied in her mouth made her jaw ache and dried her tongue. He dragged her into the woods where a horse waited.
Lauren tripped over a fallen branch, but he caught her and shoved her against a tree. Her bruised hip stung as he pulled her arms behind her and bound her hands. The man slung her over his horse and mounted up behind her. Between a dizzy spell and a wave of nausea, she caught a glimpse of his MacGregor plaid.
They rode toward Inverawe where Lauren often visited the poor and brought them food. Iona and Carleen MacGregor always welcomed her and shared their faith. Iona’s sons were not quite as friendly, but Graham was open-minded and kind. As the youngest, Lauren supposed he wasn’t as set in his ways as the other two. He was closer to Lauren’s age at twenty.
When they arrived at the village, Lauren wasn’t prepared for the devastation she witnessed. Ashes simmered in gray piles. Grief-stricken faces glared at her with hatred. Several people spit at her and one threw a rotten onion at her. The putrid smell made her stomach roll.
They came to a pile of rubble that should have been Iona and Carleen’s hut. Hot smoke still pumped from the smoldering remains. Lauren’s stomach tightened as tears sprang to her eyes. Her father and brother were supposed to arrive here and collect the rents. Surely, they were not responsible? Her heart ached, fearing it was the truth she wanted to deny.
Her abductor stopped at one of the huts, pumping smoke through the chimney. He grabbed Lauren by the arm and yanked her down. She stumbled to her feet, finding it hard to regain her balance. He pushed her toward the door as others surrounded them.
“Why did ye bring a Campbell ’ere?” a woman asked. “Do ye not think they have caused enough trouble?”
“Aye,” a man said. “The whole lot o’ them will come looking for ’er.”
“Malcolm! Thomas!” Lauren’s captor ignored them and banged on the worn wooden door. “Open up. I have Lauren Campbell.”
The door swung open and Malcolm’s tall form ducked under the threshold. He crossed his arms with a menacing scowl. “Colin, ye were supposed to find my mither an’ sister, not bring back a hostage.”
“Iona an’ Carleen were not at Kilchurn.” Colin’s words came out in a rush, as he tightened his grip on her. “But she was.”
“What are we supposed to do with her?” Malcolm pointed at Lauren, venom coating his tone. “This was not the plan.”
“We have no plan since they were not at Kilchurn,” Thomas said, coming to stand behind Malcolm. “Mayhap, she can be the plan. Who else is goin’ to be as important to Duncan?”
“She canna stay here,” another man said. “Her father will destroy the whole village lookin’ for her.”
“Aye, but she’s here now Mary MacGregorsaid. “The damage is done. Ye should best make the best o’ her situation. Could we exchange her for Iona or Carleen?”
Shock vibrated through Lauren. What had her father done? While the MacGregors had never been cruel to her, most were wary and reluctant to befriend her except Iona and Carleen. Now that the villagers had good reason to be seething in anger and resentment, she had no idea how far they would go in using her. She wondered if anyone at home had discovered her disappearance.
“What if he comes back an’ burns the rest o’ our homes?” a woman asked.
“Heather, he owns all these huts. If he burns them all, he canna rent them out.” Malcolm scratched his temple and glanced at Lauren. “Remove her gag. She may know something.”
“How ye plan to get ‘er to talk?” Colin asked, jerking at her bindings. The cloth fell from around her head, and Lauren spit out the other piece.
“Speak up, lass.” Malcolm stepped toward her, his height more like a tower than a mere man. “Where did yer da take my mither an’ sister? The sooner we find out, the sooner negotiations can begin an’ ye can go home.”
“All I know is that he intended to collect the rents and go to the harbor.”
“The harbor?” Thomas joined his brother, his palm up against the side of his head, pondering the possibilities. “Why would he do that?”
“Only one explanation,” an older man said, lifting a finger. All eyes turned to him. “To sell them. What else?”
The women gasped, some wept, while the men groaned and complained in outrage. Colin jerked Lauren by the arm and shoved her to the center. “We have one of their own!” She stumbled and fell to her knees. He pulled her hair. Fire burned her scalp. She prayed her neck wouldn’t break from the pressure. Tears stung her eyes. Lord, I thank you for sparing Blair.
“What would Duncan do to save this bonny face?” An elderly woman bent to squeeze Lauren’s cheeks. The others came at her all at once with raised hands. Lauren closed her eyes, expecting a beating.
“Stop!” Malcolm’s firm voice sliced through the mob like a king. With the MacGregors scattered throughout Campbell lands that used to belong to the MacGregors, none of them had a clan chief.The exception was Glenstrae farther north in the heart of the Scottish highlands. Yet, no one laid a hand on her. They obeyed Malcolm out of respect.
“Let us think about our actions an’ how the Campbells might retaliate.” Malcolm lifted his hands and pointed in the direction of Kilchurn Manor. “As long as the lass lives an’ remains unharmed, we have something to bargain. None o’ us wanna worry ’bout being murdered in our beds at night or forced to flee to the hills again.”
Eyes widened, mouths dropped open, and heads shook back and forth in slow motion. Some of the villagers’ skin turned paler. They backed away from her.
“Duncan an’ Scott Campbell have a good head start. At this point, we would be guessing which harbor they went to an’ taking the lass at her word,” Malcolm said.
“Taynuilt Harbor is the closest,” Roy said. Lauren had heard one of the others call him by name. He was a middle-aged man who looked at her with so much malice her skin itched and burned. “’Tis on Loch Etive an’ leads out to sea.”
“Aye.” Malcolm nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “First, I want to ensure Graham’s safety ’til he heals, as well as the villagers. I shall find her wretched father.” His boiling gaze landed on Lauren and their eyes met. If the good Lord hadn’t been holding her together, she might have crumbled in fear, but Lauren not only found the courage she needed, but managed to lift her chin and kept her peace. Later in solitude she would bear her burdensome fear to the Lord.
“Let us bring her inside while we tend to Graham an’ make our plans,” Malcolm said, turning to the others.
Colin shoved her. Lauren stumbled into Malcolm. He reached out a steady hand and gripped her arm. She assumed the action was only out of instinct, not for her welfare.
“What happened to Graham?” The words tumbled through her lips. Of all the MacGregor men, he had always been kind to her.
Malcolm paused, his lips twisting in anger. “Yer da ordered him beaten. They tied him to a tree, pulled an’ tortured him ’til his shoulders snapped out o’ the sockets. They murdered his best friend, William.”
Lauren cringed as her mouth drained dry and her stomach twirled. The temptation to deny his words frayed at the edge of her mind, as she followed him inside.
Malcolm directed her over to a large figure lying motionless on a small bed. A candle burned on a makeshift table beside him. She took small steps, her heart pounding into her throat.
“Graham?” Lauren leaned over him, taking in the sight of his bruised and disfigured face. The memory of his handsome features were like a vision. Graham didn’t respond. Deep sorrow filled her soul as she imagined what agony he must be enduring. “My . . . da . . . did this?”
“Aye,.” Malcolm’s tone dripped with bitterness. “I was not here, but they tell me he tried to protect my mither an’ sister—yer friends.” He emphasized the last words as if she had betrayed them herself.
“They are my friends,” she whispered, unable to wipe at her tears with her hands bound behind her. Bile rose to the back of Lauren’s throat, threatening to overcome her. Graham’s wounds would be branded in her brain forever. What would become of Iona and Carleen? She slid to her knees as grief wracked her body. Lauren had never been able to deny the emotional tug of compassion. While she wondered what was to become of her, Graham’s grave condition weighed upon her heart along with the spiritual state of the souls within her father and brother.
Lauren turned and tried to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. Malcolm strode toward her, his mouth set in a grim expression. She resisted the desire to cower and forced her muscles to remain still.
When A Woman Finds Her Voice: Overcoming Life's Hurts to Make a Difference by Jo Ann Fore 17 Nov 2013 10:07 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: Nov. 20th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Leafwood Publishers (October 8, 2013)
***Special thanks to Ryan Self for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
In When A Woman Finds Her Voice, author Jo Ann Fore engages your heart and mind as one who knows your fears and frustrations. As a certified life coach, she unpacks a message of hope and freedom with a gentle boldness that can only come from one who has walked the journey.With straight talk, insightful biblical truths, and heart-aching stories of hope, Jo Ann leads you on the unparalleled adventure of finding your voice and using it to make a difference. Jo Ann helps you find healing, then leads you to help others do the same. You will learn how to overcome life's hurts. You will be moved to share the stories you’ve been hesitant to share—those healing stories that have the power to change both your life and the lives of others.
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Leafwood Publishers (October 8, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0891123873
ISBN-13: 978-0891123873
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
When Silence Fell
A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used . . .
powerlessness and silence go together.
—Margaret Atwood
I inched my way down the long hall, afraid to exhale. As I turned my head to make certain no one saw me, my shoulder brushed the cheap reproduction of the Creation painting hanging on the wall. I froze. My eyes locked onto the exit-door, a short five feet away from me.
I hope no one heard. I took a deep breath and another step forward.
“There you are.” My co-worker, Karen Trigg, stepped into the hallway wearing a warm smile that wrapped through to her hazel eyes. “A few of us are heading out for lunch in a bit; want to join us?”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I simply wanted to sneak out, grab something to eat without anyone noticing. I cannot believe I left my lunch at home—how stupid. I silently scolded myself—a habit that came all too easily.
“No, thanks.” I shifted my eyes toward the door and fumbled for my keys. “My lunch is in the car—forgot to bring it in this morning.”
A few weeks back, Karen had joined our office at the faith-based, non-profit organization where I worked. Things were much easier before she came; the executive director deferred to my preference to be alone. But then bubbly, I-have-a-perfect-life Karen showed up. Karen, who had a strong faith, a strong support system, and a strong marriage. Karen, who was making friends with everyone in record time.
The sun didn’t shine quite so brightly for me. Life was hard. I was married to a real Jekyll and Hyde who was sweet and charming one day and emotionally and physically abusive the next. He would ask for forgiveness and I’d give in, wanting to believe he would change. And he would . . . but not for long. I was convinced the abuse would end—that we would heal and have a good Christian marriage. But lately I questioned if anything I believed could be trusted.
My skittish circle-making around Karen’s repeat invitations continued. I dismissed her with a new excuse at every turn. Whatever it took—even if it was a lie.
As a peer, Karen was great. She was enthusiastic, detailed, punctual. Our joint projects ran smoothly; that was important to me. But those times she wanted to go deeper, that made me extremely uncomfortable.
One day, Karen stood in my office doorway. “I’m glad we were paired together on this new project. Wanna grab a cup of coffee after work? It would be nice to know each other better.”
I’d rather run, hide.
I managed to conceal my anxiety and addressed her matter-of-factly. “Karen, I just don’t have time for friendships.” I tucked my head down, looking at my day-planner, rubbing my hand over its open pages. I shifted uncomfortably in my rolling desk chair, hoping she would realize I wanted her to drop this whole connecting thing.
“Maybe there’s something I can help you do? Something that would free your schedule?”
“Thank you,” I said. “But this is stuff I have to do myself.”
“If you change your mind, I’m right down the hall.”
Don’t I know it. And how I wish you weren’t.
Words That Whisper from Within
Secretly, I envied women like Karen who were connectors. Women who had the fortunate knack of seeming to love everyone. Women with a stable husband and loving family. Women who seemed to connect with their husbands, with their children, and with, well, almost anyone, with relative ease. And perhaps what I envied most about connecty women was that they weren’t afraid to meet other women for lunch or coffee for fear of their secrets leaking out.
Karen could never understand what I’m going through, nor could anyone else. They would think it’s my fault. I was embarrassed, ashamed.
What if someone finds out, questions my position in ministry? I was a professional, a woman who held the attention of board members, CEO’s, and affluent donors at important meetings and fundraisers. I could never admit I was one of “those women”—battered wives whom others judged and whispered about, saying things like, “What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she just leave the jerk?”
My secret-guarding continued as I made countless excuses for why my family didn’t join the after-work get-togethers, and why I had so many hushed phone conversations with my husband during the day.
Karen’s obtrusive kindness and desire to connect ignited a familiar anxiety within me—I did not want to be “found out.”
This protective silence fell early in life, claiming its role as my closest companion. At ten-years-old, I wasn’t like the others. With my washed-out skin, freckle-blotched face, and reddish-orange hair, I was sometimes a target for the mean kids’ jokes. Oh I had friends; it’s just that I always seemed to shadow the “popular kids,” desperately wanting to be part of the “in” crowd.
But I had differences that ran much deeper than any physical appearance. I harbored some harrowing secrets about my father, and I was taught early on you don’t tell secrets. So, I faked a normalcy that hid the pain—a normalcy I would never feel.
For years silence was my willing guardian, shielding me from the shame of an abusive father, the disgrace of revealing family secrets, and the pain of a low self-worth. And now, with Karen pressing in, silence was once again my natural and welcome default—the familiar pain suppressing my heart.
There’s something that happens when silence hangs like shadows, when brokenness stains the spirit, when the lining of hope sheds from the heart.
The painful after-effects of emotional wounds permeate our souls, negatively impacting the choices we make and the way we live. When we abandon healthy boundaries at the first sign of resistance, always put ourselves last, or flat give up on our dreams, this should serve as a warning signal—an infectious silence that requires attention.
When we push aside certain wounds, they can become contaminated. Infected. These wounds then weep, leaking and spreading into other areas, requiring additional care and taking much longer to heal. Gone unchecked, these infections often become much worse than the original wound.
Do you still struggle with the fallout of a painful life event? I wonder if you have a weeping wound, an area in your life that is still contaminated.
Stepping into Our Scars
Life leaves scars—we all have our stories. But healed scars don’t hurt; they’re closed, insensitive to touch. A reminder of something that once was. I have places on my body from bike wrecks, surgeries, and maybe even a dog bite, but those wounds are healed, closed off by scars. Not too long ago though, I had an open wound on my body and when I touched it, it hurt like crazy. I was obnoxiously overprotective of my sore spot, not allowing anyone near for fear they would bump it and make me hurt all over again.
If there is something in the recesses of our minds (those places we don’t let others see) that shoots pain when it is “touched,” we are still wounded. The best way to clean this sort of wound like this is to properly flush it out.
Nature could tutor us in this area, this healing of hurts. In his book Waking the Tiger, therapist and educator Dr. Peter Levine suggests we could learn a valuable lesson from the instinctive behavior of animals. Those in the wild apparently hold an innate capacity to both process and transform traumatic life experiences.
There is a healing power that lies in the release of bound emotions.
A gradual, intentional release of energy must take place before we can be healed. Contrary to what we’ve heard, this licking our wounds is not always a self-pity thing. It is appropriate, necessary, to give ourselves room to address emotional pain so that we can heal and move forward.
In his studies, Dr. Levine noticed how most animals experience physical tremors after surviving a near death pursuit. Once they escaped becoming someone’s dinner, they ran around, shook, cried aloud—whatever it took to release the enormous amount of negatively charged emotions that had overpowered them during the chase.
If for some reason the animal failed to process this compressed energy, and tried to return to his regular life still hyped up, he simply couldn’t survive. If he didn’t do this release-dance, these fragments of trauma eventually destroyed his ability to live a normal life.
“(There has to be a) mechanism that's there to bring us back from the brink of insanity, the brink of fear and experience of threat to balance,” Dr. Levine said. “A threatened human must discharge all the energy mobilized . . . this residual energy does not simply go away.”1
Ever hope if we ignore things long enough they will eventually go away?
Are we lying to ourselves? Suppressing unresolved hurts, believing that’s what we’re supposed to do?
If we deny our emotions long enough, our hearts eventually line up with the lie that we have to keep this pain hidden. But we can’t.
It’s simply not possible to disconnect ourselves completely from those people and things which comprise our past just by salvation or the years between us . . . they can still be affecting our attitudes, behaviors, personalities, fears, relational ability, health, or view of the world, and of God. 2
I have my days when I feel a little crazy myself, out of balance, fearful and hyped-up. It’s then I know that I’ve stuffed something, failed to process a hurt. Like adjusting a rear-view mirror to eliminate those pesky blind spots, sometimes we have to take a look back at our scars to make sure there’s nothing coming, nothing sneaking up on us that could cause a crash.
Not that we look back to hyper analyze, or to get stuck in the pain, we look back only to better understand the link between what’s happened and any negative influences that are making their way into our lives.
Those things we stuff and try so hard to ignore, they are the very things begging for release—the things that hold the promise of hope, the flame of freedom.
Winning Best-Dressed at the Masquerade Ball
“I was three when I bit my four-year-old step-sister for taking my tricycle,” my friend Lisa Easterling recently shared. “My step-father, Jim, came out of nowhere. He kept hitting me over and over; I didn’t know if he was ever going to stop. I turned black and blue from the waist down and although my mother cried, she feared crossing him. I feared Jim more than I’d ever feared anything, and hated him even more than that.”
The original lie, sewn by Jim but watered by Lisa’s wounded thinking: “I dare not open my mouth in protest. Ever.”
If any remnant of Lisa’s voice remained after Jim’s angry beating, it would soon be wiped out. Starting at age six, another family member sexually abused Lisa for five years.
If you tell on me, they’ll send me to jail—and that will upset everyone. The lie of Lisa’s abuser played repeatedly in her mind, frightening her and guilting her into silence.
That lie set the stage for a lifelong aversion to confrontation of any kind, the emotional paralysis lingering into her later years.
“Either I feared retaliation, or I felt guilty for upsetting someone or getting them into trouble. My nurturing nature was twisted like a gun-barrel back into my face. Silence was safer and kept everyone happy—or at least not angry at me.”
Manipulative fear often neutralizes the rational voice, rendering it ineffective.
Why do we so easily buy into lies? These falsehoods that paralyze us, make us feel insignificant or confused—the ones that come so easy? The things we learn at an early age can determine life-attitudes. We have to “unlearn” these things, develop new attitudes based on truth.
This fatal falling for lies was modeled for us long ago in a beautiful garden where Eve was tricked, deceived.3 Eve—the first woman, first wife, first mother, and the first one of us to fall for an ugly lie. That day Satan met Eve in the garden, he brought a convincing argument, one intended to lead her, and any of us who would follow, away from God’s truth.
I mean, really—the woman was in a beautiful, perfect environment with the perfect man. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than a clean house and a hot husband who loves you. Eve had both. And there wasn’t another woman alive that she had to compare herself with. Can we say heaven on earth? Yet Satan found a way to convince her she deserved more. That somehow she didn’t measure up, and God was holding out on her.
Unfortunately Eve’s choice to believe that lie was one emotionally expensive lesson with some far-reaching consequences.
She fell right into Satan’s plan.
She influenced someone else (Adam) to accept a lie.
She re-routed God’s plans for her, and her family.
She gave in to fear.
She withdrew from God.
She blamed someone else for her mistakes.
She, and her family, suffered long-term emotional pain.
Sound familiar? Ah, the cancerous power of lies: shame and blame, deceit and manipulation, fear and control. A life lived outside of God’s plan. How many of us are doing the same thing? Cowering to fear, falling for lies?
Sometimes we cling to silence (no matter how terrible) simply because it’s familiar. While miserable, life is at least predictable, and if we try to change, it may prove too painful, right? This is a lie; the same sort of lie that tripped Eve.
God’s not holding out on us—his plan is good. We’ve got to learn to trust him. It’s time to stop masquerading, to drop our happy-face masks and confront reality. To take a 180-degree turn toward freedom and genuine joy.
Ironically, the masks we hide behind were originally associated with freedom—the very thing we’re chasing. Masquerade balls go back to medieval times where royal families and upper class were laced in glamour and drama. Anonymously hidden behind elaborate masks, royalty escaped the strict etiquette of the day-to-day rules.
Today’s masks carry no such freedom, only a crippling pretense. Convinced we must behave a certain way to get our needs met, we stand with a closet full of ready-to-wear painted disguises.
Recognize yourself in any of these?
The People Pleaser—I will do whatever it takes to make you happy, to keep the environment calm, safe, and stress-free. I will sacrifice my own needs in order to meet yours. When I do, you will love me.
The Approval Addict—I need you to think highly of me, to always accept me. I will, at all costs, seek your approval. The more you validate me, the more I am motivated to pursue your praise.
The Performer—I need to be productive. I cannot fail, especially in front of you. I often fake a super-competency I don’t feel, because, after all, my worth is determined by my success.
The At-All-Costs Attractive—To gain your acceptance or love, I must be beautiful—or as close as I can get anyway. It is my duty. I must hide any flaws, imperfections, and anything that would not be pleasing to you.
The Perfectionist—I must stay in control. Do everything right. Regardless of the burden of responsibility I take on, I press forward. I won’t ask you to help me, for I fear you won’t be able to do it right. Yet, I crave your help. Your love. Your acceptance.
How elaborately we dance, pretending to be anyone but ourselves, spinning alongside others we think we know but really don’t. Performing for acceptance, compromising for love. Always wondering if we’re good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.
We’re not-so-secret wrecks. We all know it, but we don’t talk about it. Instead, we grab the mask that hides what we lack. And if one mask doesn’t work, we mask our masks. Everyone does it. We expect them to. If they stopped, we might have to.
We intend to hide our shortcomings and the fear inside our hearts; instead we hide our beauty, our true selves.
The View from Behind the Mask
Lord, I prayed one morning driving to work, I feel so cut off from everyone. Especially you. Don’t you see what I’m going through? How can you not intervene? Can’t you help me find a way out of this? If you are everywhere, and can do anything, where are you now?
Many times anger and confusion have driven me right into Satan’s plans, into his waiting arms where I believed his lies. Just as many times, I’ve reached for my masks.
No, really, things are okay. I can do this. Lots of people have it worse than me; this isn’t so bad. I’m capable, confident. I’m a survivor. I don’t need anyone.
False beliefs and soul-scars from my childhood had convinced me I could never measure up, but my masks promised otherwise. I could be that person others expected me to be. I could be calm and always happy. Meticulously put-together. Syrupy sweet. Wildly successful without ever being afraid.
So, I ignored the face behind these masks, the real live me. And I traded my real self for a substitute. An artificial me that cared nothing about my dreams, about who I really was.
When wounds cut deep, the opinion of others sometimes matters most.
If we aren’t careful, we will allow these triggered-by-others insecurities to rewrite our life story. Just ask Adam and Eve. Remember that fateful day Satan convinced them God was lying, that he didn’t have their best interests at heart?
Later that evening when the breeze fell among the trees in the garden, God decided it was time to talk through the mess the couple had created. Adam tried to rationalize what he had done, but God holds him accountable.4
God wants to instill a holy confidence in us that keeps us from being deceived.
“I was afraid . . . I was naked and I hid,” Adam said.
“Who told you that?” God asked.
I just love the question. God well knew the source of their shackling guilt but I believe he wanted them to consider that someone else, a shrewd and conniving Enemy, had influenced their beliefs.
Today, God asks us the same thing, “Who told you that?”
Who has lied to us, diminishing or ignoring our true worth?? Patronized or belittled us?
Who told you that you are worthless? Not good enough? Unlovable? That what you say doesn’t matter?
What life-messages are we responding to? Criticism from a cynical “friend”? A family-imposed silence? Shame from an abusive spouse? Close relationships with narcissists, know-it-alls, controlling or belittling people? A toxic religious system, even?
No matter who the messenger is, we must wrest ourselves from these grips of shame and fear that keep us from truth We must ask ourselves if these messages line up with what God says about us, with who he says we are?
Christian author and speaker Mary Demuth understands the fears of one who has had lies of worthlessness whispered to her soul. When she was only five, Mary was repeatedly raped by two neighborhood boys.
“Growing up, I had a monster-like fear of death,” Mary said. “At night, I shivered as I prayed prayers to ward off ghosts.”
A consuming fear followed Mary into her adult life, holding her hostage for years. Most nights, instead of sleeping, she imagined horrific things happening to her. Emotionally isolated and relationally inept, she walked many painful years in repressive denial—until she was willing to accept truth. Facing the truth changed her heart. Her mind. Her life.
“I avoided intimacy as much as I could so I wouldn’t rip open a festering wound I couldn’t handle,” Mary said. “But you need to be willing to ‘go there’ with Jesus. So many people aren’t healed because they are afraid to open up the can of worms of their past. I’m here to say, yes it will hurt, but that kind of hurt is what heals.
“We'll never drink from the forest's mountain spring if we don't go through the tunnel. But most of us feel too afraid to step inside for fear of the dark; and the barren land—bleak as it is—has a staid familiarity about it. The truth? It's dark in the tunnel. The hurt is intensified, especially when we can't see the other side.”5
There are those times we’re afraid of the dark, but our fear doesn’t mean there is actually danger. God is in the darkness with us, and he can see. His very presence illuminates the dark, driving it out.
When One Lie Is Not Enough
When Satan asked Eve “Did God really say . . .” he was laying a foundation of doubt, something he could build on. From the beginning Satan whispered deception, attacking Eve’s confidence, making her question her ability to hear and understand God. With only four words he ripped a gaping hole in the first woman’s relationship with her Creator, and he’s been reopening that same wound in women ever since.
If Eve, tucked away in the realms of paradise, can be deceived, consider how much easier it is for those of us walking out ordinary, everyday lives.
Satan uses life’s hurts. From our wounds, he fashions a manipulative lie and wraps it secure around our hearts (the core of our souls). These deeply imbedded lies, planted as truth, shape our beliefs (our personalities).These lies grow invisibly in our root system, manipulating our behaviors.
What we believe dictates our behavior, training us to act, or react, in a certain way. If we are still controlled by the fallout of a particular event in our lives, chances are we never reached the bottom layer—the core lie from which everything is shaped.
I’m a recovering perfectionist. My default core lie is that I’m not good enough. My pursuit of perfection is actually a journey to somehow prove my worth. I often drive myself (and those around me) batty trying to be a super-achiever, controlling things I have no business controlling. All because of unreasonably high standards I long ago placed on myself.
While excellence is a respected virtue, it’s more than that with me. Those times I don’t have it all together, I sure want you to think I do. It’s actually painful for me to fail. (That’s when you know you’re out of bounds.) When I fail, my belief system tells me, “You see, you aren’t good enough!”
Truth is, we all make mistakes. I have to give myself grace, and respect. Do my best and not be afraid to grow publically.
The lies we believe stand behind every negative thought percolating in our minds. These beliefs limit what we think we deserve because of who we think we are.
Emotional wounds have their own convincing language, and too often we make decisions based on the voice of those wounds. It’s a survival code of sorts. For example, if someone we love betrays us, we may commit to never trust again. If someone rejects us, we decide we’ll never fit in no matter how hard we try. These crippling covenants we make with ourselves aren’t always cognizant choices, but they are choices still, and they have the power to separate us from the life God intends us to live.
Like weeds in a garden, Satan loves planting these little lies that choke out truth. And he’s thrilled when he manages to make the weeds so cute that it’s hard for us to tell the difference, hard to tell they are lies until they’ve already taken root.
I’m no gardener but I’ve learned the trick for getting rid of pesky weeds. Start with soft soil; the softer the soil the easier the process (bring your hearts tender as we dig in). Then, trace the roots back to where they first broke ground (ask God, when did I first believe this?). Gently twist the weeds and pull upwards—but not so hard they snap (allow truth to replace the lie). If you snap them off without going to the root, it only eliminates them temporarily and we don’t want these things growing back (allow God to complete the work).
The truth of God’s word cuts through the good and bad of our lives like a trowel digging up hard-to-remove weeds without damaging the plant.
Why Trusting Our Feelings Is Sometimes Dangerous
“Please, come away with me—bring your children with us.” Becky Spencer’s eyes met the plea of the songwriter she had worked closely with over the past months. Like a spike of water frozen in place, the words pierced her hungry heart. Becky had fallen in love and longed to run away.
There was a slight problem, though—her upcoming tenth wedding anniversary with her husband.
Various church projects had pitted a vulnerable Becky and her songwriter friend together. Conversations grew longer, deeper, and eventually intimate. Because of her love for God, she felt guilty, but the desire was stronger. Becky caved to the succulent feelings of validation and comfort, and found herself in an emotional affair. Unwilling to turn her back on God, she chose to remain in her marriage—but the choice infuriated her.
“God, you are a trickster—you duped me into marrying my husband. You don’t care about my feelings,” Becky said. “I’ll still read my Bible, but I don’t believe you will speak to me. Even if you do, I won’t believe you.”
Our lives are shaped by our thoughts. Focusing on miserable things makes one miserable, keeps us stuck in the hard places. There is an alternative when negativity overtakes our minds. We can switch the focus. We can allow God’s intentions to change our perspective. We must stop rehearsing the negative and reframe our lives with truth.
God’s truth dismantles a lie. Strips away its false sense of power.
I use a simple question when I’m stuck, when I need to redirect my thoughts: Is there another way to think about this?
How about we practice this? (Yes, it’s that important.)
Let’s consider some common faulty-thinking traps and reframe them with scriptures taken from The Message translation of the Bible.
Self-defeating thinking: When we default to automatic negative thoughts, when we sabotage the potential good.
Mental Trap: I simply can’t change.
Reframed Thought: When I fix my attention on God, I will be changed from the inside out (Romans 12:2).6
Emotional reasoning: When our feelings dictate our situation; if we feel it, it must be true.
Mental Trap: I must deserve this.
Reframed Thought: Through the grace of Jesus’ sacrifice, I am worthy of love. Whoever hurts me hurts God, and that can’t be good (Zechariah 2:8b).7
Conclusion-jumping: Without facts to support our assumption, we interpret things negatively and anticipate the worst.
Mental Trap: People will think I’m dumb; they will never listen to me.
Reframed Thought: God himself gives me wisdom (1 Corinthians 1:30).8
Over-generalizations: When we think “always” and “never.” We tend to consider one event as the catalyst to an on-going, never-changing pattern.
Mental Trap: I can never say anything right; I may as well not ever speak up.
Reframed Thought: God will give me the words and wisdom that will reduce my accusers to stammers and stutters (Luke 21:15).9
All-or-Nothing thinking: When we think in extremes, view everything as black or white, good or bad—no gray areas. The times a simple setback seems a complete failure.
Mental Trap: I messed up again; I may as well give up.
Reframed Thought: I may not have it together, but I am well on my way . . . God is beckoning me forward. I’m off and running and not turning back (Philippians 3:13-14).10
Please don’t write this exercise off as simple inspiration, as another good-girl “to-do.” No matter how bad the hurt in your life is or has been, this is our kickoff to emotional wholeness. We will learn to control our emotions by reframing lies with God’s truth. Being equipped with the truth will give us the power to change our lives.
My friend Becky made a powerful choice in spite of her feelings—she maintained communication with God.
“That (connection) allowed me to process the pain and find answers, much like a new mother who eats properly and takes her vitamins. As a mother processes the food, she provides nourishment for her own health and her suckling baby,” Becky said. “My wounds became a window to my soul, then a door of invitation for God to move.
“God gave me promises for my marriage. And, he showed me how we can be taught, as women, to love our husbands. I didn’t know that could be taught. I thought you either did or didn’t love your husband and that was that.
“God instructed me to do for my husband the things I wanted to do for the other man I’d fallen in love with. Honestly, it made me sick to my stomach. But God blessed my obedience. My feelings toward my husband changed; and I eventually fell in love with him—and learned that God had my best interest at heart all along.”
God is greater than our feelings—the Bible tells us so.
Conditioning Ourselves for an Optimal Life
Over the years, I’ve noticed a surprising link between the numbers of women who have been emotionally wounded that also suffer with a chronic illness.
That equation includes me.
A war between lies and truth led me to my own ultimate battle for not just my emotional health, but my physical well-being.
My life had spun out of control like some tornado-ravished midwestern town. Joy-thief that he is, a chronic illness mocked my attempts at maintaining a normal life, stole my ability to travel, poisoned personal aspirations, and threatened intimate relationships. Robbed of much, I gravitated toward a dark discouragement.
Many times I recited to God, slowly and emphatically, all the hard places I’d been, all the tight spots I’d endured. I paraded before him my trophies of survival: physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, depression and post-trauma stress. And now, this illness that was threatening my life?
How much can a woman be expected to endure, God?
It was time to untwist my thinking. But how?
One day as I flipped through a magazine, an article caught my attention. The author, Bill Irwin, was a certified Counselor who practiced his profession by merging a former discipline of Clinical Chemistry with counseling skills and his faith in God. In the feature, Bill explained how most health issues are directly linked with a non-satisfying personal relationship, the adverse stress serving as a negative modulator on our immune systems. Bill went on to suggest that we have considerably more control than we realize over the way we act and think, and that our total outlook directly impacted our health.
We could choose to think differently.
For someone struggling with ongoing disappointment and negativity, that sounded a little too good to me. I contacted Bill to further examine his theory; luckily he agreed to chat.
“The body has a unique ability to heal itself from most anything provided we line it up under God’s mandated balance,” Bill said. “We must bring all the elements of our basic needs into balance, the body, mind, psyche, and spirit.”
How much was I sacrificing with my out-of-balance life? The fatigue, the pain, the frustration—were they a strong enough motivator for me to consider real change?
“You have to make intentional choices,” Bill said. “The type of choices that bring your life into balance spiritually, physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s going to take discipline. But if you can learn to hold to the promises of scriptures and make certain behavioral changes, you will effectively take control of your life.”
Living like we matter is an intentional step, one that gets us where we need to be.
For years, my thinking was skewed. I wanted to change, but I didn’t have the tools to do it on my own. A hand of hope grabbed my heart—here was my how. Bill would help me. Bill who was faith-filled, passionate, inspiring.
And blind.
Yes, God’s plan was for a blind man to help me see. Made sense, really. I had many of my own blind spots; unruly raw-to-the-core emotions tucked in deep places that discredited any budding hope of emotional wholeness. But if Bill didn’t use blindness as an excuse, how could I?
How Right-Thinking Fuels Our Dreams
Although blind and dependent on others, Bill enjoyed a unique level of freedom most of us only dream of. He was the only blind person to ever thru-hike the 2,168 miles of the Appalachian Trail.
Blindness wasn’t Bill’s first taste of a handicap, though. Alcoholism, loneliness, and childhood abuse substantially impaired his earlier years. But his life was radically altered when he learned he could make a conscious choice to think different thoughts about past experiences, and that this new perspective would dramatically impact the quality of his life.
More proof (in case we need it) that our thoughts shape our reality.
It’s not our external circumstances that dictate our quality of life, but rather our response to those circumstances,” Bill said.
Every day we have a choice, and the choices we make dictate our future.
Bill’s words wrapped hope fresh around a painfully raw heart. For years, I nurtured a decided bent toward self-defeating thoughts and behaviors. I focused on my misery as I complained of powerlessness. I felt ashamed. Silenced.
To think I was somehow contributing to that unhappiness? Imagine—a chosen misery. How does one respond to news like that?
Will we focus on our weakness, the powerlessness, or will we consider it an opportunity?
I won’t patronize (I wouldn’t dare). Escaping negatively charged, emotionally disruptive memories is hard. All firsts are hard. But do you desire real change? Long to grow?
For me, a recovering control-freak and type-A over-achiever, it was difficult to accept that emotional healing was not some task-driven process. That I couldn’t just check this one off my list as I completed the necessary steps. But I could make better choices. And if God’s essential truths governed those choices, I would walk in the freedom and joy I have long craved.
I’m sharing my story and others to offer you credentials. A resume of sorts. We get it—we’ve been there. We’ve made it through this, and so can you.
But not alone.
When we’ve been hurt, it’s hard to trust. When I trusted folks I got hurt, so I learned to depend on myself. To lean on what I could do on my own. I tried to convince myself (and others) how very capable I was.
It didn’t work.
God already knew I would develop this stubborn streak. Thousands of years ahead of me, he planted instruction in a little quiet Proverb: Trust in me. Do not lean on yourself. (See Proverbs 3:5.)
Those times we think we can make it through life’s hurts without leaning on God, trusting him—how prideful of us. We can do nothing meaningful without him. Nothing. When we truly understand that, we find it much easier to lean into him, lean like we mean it.
As we fully surrender to God’s working in our lives, he somehow molds these hurts of life, uses them to chisel our voice. A voice that later inspires others to do the same.
Seeking God
God, are you there? I imagine we should talk.
There are these words that sit lodged in my throat, clutching at my heart, begging for release. This pain, it’s always on the verge of speaking, even when I try to silence it. These hopes and dreams for my future, I can remember them even now, though life has tried its best to stamp them out.
But I’m afraid, Lord.
It’s easier to be what I “should be,” say what I “should say,” hide away, lying to myself and trusting wrong feelings.
I need your help. Really, I’m desperate for your intervention, your healing. I want to be that woman, the one who made it through to the other side of the craziness in her life. The one who, yes, may have been hurt, but because you reworked her heart she stands whole. Emotionally whole. Free.
I don’t understand these things that have happened in my life. How do I trust you—fully trust you the way you ask—with this lingering pain, doubt, and confusion in the recesses of all that I think and do?
Help me to gently probe these deep pockets of pain that remain. Not so I can linger in the pain of the scars, but so that I can identify these negative behaviors that are blocking me from the freedom you designed for me to live in. Help me to stop living my life based on my feelings. To replace lies with truth.
I want to be whole. In fear, I commit this healing journey to you. With you leading, I will walk it. Please bring me out of the other side free. Safe, validated, and respected. Significant. Worthy. Authentic, secure, and emotionally whole.
Thank you, Lord, for the work you are about to do in me.
With an open heart I pray. Amen.
The Voice Studio: Responding to God’s Call to Develop Our Voice
Recognizing the Powerlessness of Silence
Have you ever felt forced to keep a secret? Intimidated or shamed into keeping something quiet? What was it? How does it make you feel to write it out now? Does that secret filter into your daily life—the way you see things, choices you make?
How do you handle shame? A sense of powerlessness and frustration?
Do you ever feel like you should “be over this by now?” If so, why do you think you aren’t over it? Is the push to be “over this” external (coming from someone else) or internal (coming from within yourself)? Does the notion discourage you? What is your response to this idea?
Did you recognize yourself in any of the masks—the people-pleaser, perfectionist, or others? How do these masks seem to help you cope with any lingering pain?
What mental traps are you aware of? What action steps can you take to overcome those?
Have you made any sort of covenant with yourself? Never to trust? Never to love again? What lie triggered that response?
What is your most common default thinking pattern? Example: There’s no need to try and change. Do you feel like that thought-pattern is in line with God’s Word? Why or why not?
What boundaries would you put into place if you felt like you could?
Are you ready to go beyond a routine relationship with God into a genuine healing experience? Can you think of some ways you could prepare yourself for this journey?
Why does your voice matter? Locate and memorize one scripture that reminds you of the importance of using your voice for God.
1 Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger (Berkeley: North Atlantic Books, 1997), 20.
2 Jimmy Evans, Marriage Today broadcast
3 See Genesis. 3
4 “Genesis 3:11(The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%203:11&version=MSG
5 Mary DeMuth, “Opening the Door to Healing,”Marriage Partnership, accessed 1/14/2013, http://www.todayschristianwoman.com/articles/2008/september/14.38.html
6 “Romans 12:2 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%2012:2&version=MSG
7 “Zachariah 2:8b (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zac%202:8&version=MSG
8 1 Corinthians 1:30
9 “Luke 21:15 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=luke%2021:15&version=MSG
10 “Philippians 3:13-14 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=philippians%202:13-14&version=MSG
A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used . . .
powerlessness and silence go together.
—Margaret Atwood
I inched my way down the long hall, afraid to exhale. As I turned my head to make certain no one saw me, my shoulder brushed the cheap reproduction of the Creation painting hanging on the wall. I froze. My eyes locked onto the exit-door, a short five feet away from me.
I hope no one heard. I took a deep breath and another step forward.
“There you are.” My co-worker, Karen Trigg, stepped into the hallway wearing a warm smile that wrapped through to her hazel eyes. “A few of us are heading out for lunch in a bit; want to join us?”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I simply wanted to sneak out, grab something to eat without anyone noticing. I cannot believe I left my lunch at home—how stupid. I silently scolded myself—a habit that came all too easily.
“No, thanks.” I shifted my eyes toward the door and fumbled for my keys. “My lunch is in the car—forgot to bring it in this morning.”
A few weeks back, Karen had joined our office at the faith-based, non-profit organization where I worked. Things were much easier before she came; the executive director deferred to my preference to be alone. But then bubbly, I-have-a-perfect-life Karen showed up. Karen, who had a strong faith, a strong support system, and a strong marriage. Karen, who was making friends with everyone in record time.
The sun didn’t shine quite so brightly for me. Life was hard. I was married to a real Jekyll and Hyde who was sweet and charming one day and emotionally and physically abusive the next. He would ask for forgiveness and I’d give in, wanting to believe he would change. And he would . . . but not for long. I was convinced the abuse would end—that we would heal and have a good Christian marriage. But lately I questioned if anything I believed could be trusted.
My skittish circle-making around Karen’s repeat invitations continued. I dismissed her with a new excuse at every turn. Whatever it took—even if it was a lie.
As a peer, Karen was great. She was enthusiastic, detailed, punctual. Our joint projects ran smoothly; that was important to me. But those times she wanted to go deeper, that made me extremely uncomfortable.
One day, Karen stood in my office doorway. “I’m glad we were paired together on this new project. Wanna grab a cup of coffee after work? It would be nice to know each other better.”
I’d rather run, hide.
I managed to conceal my anxiety and addressed her matter-of-factly. “Karen, I just don’t have time for friendships.” I tucked my head down, looking at my day-planner, rubbing my hand over its open pages. I shifted uncomfortably in my rolling desk chair, hoping she would realize I wanted her to drop this whole connecting thing.
“Maybe there’s something I can help you do? Something that would free your schedule?”
“Thank you,” I said. “But this is stuff I have to do myself.”
“If you change your mind, I’m right down the hall.”
Don’t I know it. And how I wish you weren’t.
Words That Whisper from Within
Secretly, I envied women like Karen who were connectors. Women who had the fortunate knack of seeming to love everyone. Women with a stable husband and loving family. Women who seemed to connect with their husbands, with their children, and with, well, almost anyone, with relative ease. And perhaps what I envied most about connecty women was that they weren’t afraid to meet other women for lunch or coffee for fear of their secrets leaking out.
Karen could never understand what I’m going through, nor could anyone else. They would think it’s my fault. I was embarrassed, ashamed.
What if someone finds out, questions my position in ministry? I was a professional, a woman who held the attention of board members, CEO’s, and affluent donors at important meetings and fundraisers. I could never admit I was one of “those women”—battered wives whom others judged and whispered about, saying things like, “What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she just leave the jerk?”
My secret-guarding continued as I made countless excuses for why my family didn’t join the after-work get-togethers, and why I had so many hushed phone conversations with my husband during the day.
Karen’s obtrusive kindness and desire to connect ignited a familiar anxiety within me—I did not want to be “found out.”
This protective silence fell early in life, claiming its role as my closest companion. At ten-years-old, I wasn’t like the others. With my washed-out skin, freckle-blotched face, and reddish-orange hair, I was sometimes a target for the mean kids’ jokes. Oh I had friends; it’s just that I always seemed to shadow the “popular kids,” desperately wanting to be part of the “in” crowd.
But I had differences that ran much deeper than any physical appearance. I harbored some harrowing secrets about my father, and I was taught early on you don’t tell secrets. So, I faked a normalcy that hid the pain—a normalcy I would never feel.
For years silence was my willing guardian, shielding me from the shame of an abusive father, the disgrace of revealing family secrets, and the pain of a low self-worth. And now, with Karen pressing in, silence was once again my natural and welcome default—the familiar pain suppressing my heart.
There’s something that happens when silence hangs like shadows, when brokenness stains the spirit, when the lining of hope sheds from the heart.
The painful after-effects of emotional wounds permeate our souls, negatively impacting the choices we make and the way we live. When we abandon healthy boundaries at the first sign of resistance, always put ourselves last, or flat give up on our dreams, this should serve as a warning signal—an infectious silence that requires attention.
When we push aside certain wounds, they can become contaminated. Infected. These wounds then weep, leaking and spreading into other areas, requiring additional care and taking much longer to heal. Gone unchecked, these infections often become much worse than the original wound.
Do you still struggle with the fallout of a painful life event? I wonder if you have a weeping wound, an area in your life that is still contaminated.
Stepping into Our Scars
Life leaves scars—we all have our stories. But healed scars don’t hurt; they’re closed, insensitive to touch. A reminder of something that once was. I have places on my body from bike wrecks, surgeries, and maybe even a dog bite, but those wounds are healed, closed off by scars. Not too long ago though, I had an open wound on my body and when I touched it, it hurt like crazy. I was obnoxiously overprotective of my sore spot, not allowing anyone near for fear they would bump it and make me hurt all over again.
If there is something in the recesses of our minds (those places we don’t let others see) that shoots pain when it is “touched,” we are still wounded. The best way to clean this sort of wound like this is to properly flush it out.
Nature could tutor us in this area, this healing of hurts. In his book Waking the Tiger, therapist and educator Dr. Peter Levine suggests we could learn a valuable lesson from the instinctive behavior of animals. Those in the wild apparently hold an innate capacity to both process and transform traumatic life experiences.
There is a healing power that lies in the release of bound emotions.
A gradual, intentional release of energy must take place before we can be healed. Contrary to what we’ve heard, this licking our wounds is not always a self-pity thing. It is appropriate, necessary, to give ourselves room to address emotional pain so that we can heal and move forward.
In his studies, Dr. Levine noticed how most animals experience physical tremors after surviving a near death pursuit. Once they escaped becoming someone’s dinner, they ran around, shook, cried aloud—whatever it took to release the enormous amount of negatively charged emotions that had overpowered them during the chase.
If for some reason the animal failed to process this compressed energy, and tried to return to his regular life still hyped up, he simply couldn’t survive. If he didn’t do this release-dance, these fragments of trauma eventually destroyed his ability to live a normal life.
“(There has to be a) mechanism that's there to bring us back from the brink of insanity, the brink of fear and experience of threat to balance,” Dr. Levine said. “A threatened human must discharge all the energy mobilized . . . this residual energy does not simply go away.”1
Ever hope if we ignore things long enough they will eventually go away?
Are we lying to ourselves? Suppressing unresolved hurts, believing that’s what we’re supposed to do?
If we deny our emotions long enough, our hearts eventually line up with the lie that we have to keep this pain hidden. But we can’t.
It’s simply not possible to disconnect ourselves completely from those people and things which comprise our past just by salvation or the years between us . . . they can still be affecting our attitudes, behaviors, personalities, fears, relational ability, health, or view of the world, and of God. 2
I have my days when I feel a little crazy myself, out of balance, fearful and hyped-up. It’s then I know that I’ve stuffed something, failed to process a hurt. Like adjusting a rear-view mirror to eliminate those pesky blind spots, sometimes we have to take a look back at our scars to make sure there’s nothing coming, nothing sneaking up on us that could cause a crash.
Not that we look back to hyper analyze, or to get stuck in the pain, we look back only to better understand the link between what’s happened and any negative influences that are making their way into our lives.
Those things we stuff and try so hard to ignore, they are the very things begging for release—the things that hold the promise of hope, the flame of freedom.
Winning Best-Dressed at the Masquerade Ball
“I was three when I bit my four-year-old step-sister for taking my tricycle,” my friend Lisa Easterling recently shared. “My step-father, Jim, came out of nowhere. He kept hitting me over and over; I didn’t know if he was ever going to stop. I turned black and blue from the waist down and although my mother cried, she feared crossing him. I feared Jim more than I’d ever feared anything, and hated him even more than that.”
The original lie, sewn by Jim but watered by Lisa’s wounded thinking: “I dare not open my mouth in protest. Ever.”
If any remnant of Lisa’s voice remained after Jim’s angry beating, it would soon be wiped out. Starting at age six, another family member sexually abused Lisa for five years.
If you tell on me, they’ll send me to jail—and that will upset everyone. The lie of Lisa’s abuser played repeatedly in her mind, frightening her and guilting her into silence.
That lie set the stage for a lifelong aversion to confrontation of any kind, the emotional paralysis lingering into her later years.
“Either I feared retaliation, or I felt guilty for upsetting someone or getting them into trouble. My nurturing nature was twisted like a gun-barrel back into my face. Silence was safer and kept everyone happy—or at least not angry at me.”
Manipulative fear often neutralizes the rational voice, rendering it ineffective.
Why do we so easily buy into lies? These falsehoods that paralyze us, make us feel insignificant or confused—the ones that come so easy? The things we learn at an early age can determine life-attitudes. We have to “unlearn” these things, develop new attitudes based on truth.
This fatal falling for lies was modeled for us long ago in a beautiful garden where Eve was tricked, deceived.3 Eve—the first woman, first wife, first mother, and the first one of us to fall for an ugly lie. That day Satan met Eve in the garden, he brought a convincing argument, one intended to lead her, and any of us who would follow, away from God’s truth.
I mean, really—the woman was in a beautiful, perfect environment with the perfect man. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than a clean house and a hot husband who loves you. Eve had both. And there wasn’t another woman alive that she had to compare herself with. Can we say heaven on earth? Yet Satan found a way to convince her she deserved more. That somehow she didn’t measure up, and God was holding out on her.
Unfortunately Eve’s choice to believe that lie was one emotionally expensive lesson with some far-reaching consequences.
She fell right into Satan’s plan.
She influenced someone else (Adam) to accept a lie.
She re-routed God’s plans for her, and her family.
She gave in to fear.
She withdrew from God.
She blamed someone else for her mistakes.
She, and her family, suffered long-term emotional pain.
Sound familiar? Ah, the cancerous power of lies: shame and blame, deceit and manipulation, fear and control. A life lived outside of God’s plan. How many of us are doing the same thing? Cowering to fear, falling for lies?
Sometimes we cling to silence (no matter how terrible) simply because it’s familiar. While miserable, life is at least predictable, and if we try to change, it may prove too painful, right? This is a lie; the same sort of lie that tripped Eve.
God’s not holding out on us—his plan is good. We’ve got to learn to trust him. It’s time to stop masquerading, to drop our happy-face masks and confront reality. To take a 180-degree turn toward freedom and genuine joy.
Ironically, the masks we hide behind were originally associated with freedom—the very thing we’re chasing. Masquerade balls go back to medieval times where royal families and upper class were laced in glamour and drama. Anonymously hidden behind elaborate masks, royalty escaped the strict etiquette of the day-to-day rules.
Today’s masks carry no such freedom, only a crippling pretense. Convinced we must behave a certain way to get our needs met, we stand with a closet full of ready-to-wear painted disguises.
Recognize yourself in any of these?
The People Pleaser—I will do whatever it takes to make you happy, to keep the environment calm, safe, and stress-free. I will sacrifice my own needs in order to meet yours. When I do, you will love me.
The Approval Addict—I need you to think highly of me, to always accept me. I will, at all costs, seek your approval. The more you validate me, the more I am motivated to pursue your praise.
The Performer—I need to be productive. I cannot fail, especially in front of you. I often fake a super-competency I don’t feel, because, after all, my worth is determined by my success.
The At-All-Costs Attractive—To gain your acceptance or love, I must be beautiful—or as close as I can get anyway. It is my duty. I must hide any flaws, imperfections, and anything that would not be pleasing to you.
The Perfectionist—I must stay in control. Do everything right. Regardless of the burden of responsibility I take on, I press forward. I won’t ask you to help me, for I fear you won’t be able to do it right. Yet, I crave your help. Your love. Your acceptance.
How elaborately we dance, pretending to be anyone but ourselves, spinning alongside others we think we know but really don’t. Performing for acceptance, compromising for love. Always wondering if we’re good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.
We’re not-so-secret wrecks. We all know it, but we don’t talk about it. Instead, we grab the mask that hides what we lack. And if one mask doesn’t work, we mask our masks. Everyone does it. We expect them to. If they stopped, we might have to.
We intend to hide our shortcomings and the fear inside our hearts; instead we hide our beauty, our true selves.
The View from Behind the Mask
Lord, I prayed one morning driving to work, I feel so cut off from everyone. Especially you. Don’t you see what I’m going through? How can you not intervene? Can’t you help me find a way out of this? If you are everywhere, and can do anything, where are you now?
Many times anger and confusion have driven me right into Satan’s plans, into his waiting arms where I believed his lies. Just as many times, I’ve reached for my masks.
No, really, things are okay. I can do this. Lots of people have it worse than me; this isn’t so bad. I’m capable, confident. I’m a survivor. I don’t need anyone.
False beliefs and soul-scars from my childhood had convinced me I could never measure up, but my masks promised otherwise. I could be that person others expected me to be. I could be calm and always happy. Meticulously put-together. Syrupy sweet. Wildly successful without ever being afraid.
So, I ignored the face behind these masks, the real live me. And I traded my real self for a substitute. An artificial me that cared nothing about my dreams, about who I really was.
When wounds cut deep, the opinion of others sometimes matters most.
If we aren’t careful, we will allow these triggered-by-others insecurities to rewrite our life story. Just ask Adam and Eve. Remember that fateful day Satan convinced them God was lying, that he didn’t have their best interests at heart?
Later that evening when the breeze fell among the trees in the garden, God decided it was time to talk through the mess the couple had created. Adam tried to rationalize what he had done, but God holds him accountable.4
God wants to instill a holy confidence in us that keeps us from being deceived.
“I was afraid . . . I was naked and I hid,” Adam said.
“Who told you that?” God asked.
I just love the question. God well knew the source of their shackling guilt but I believe he wanted them to consider that someone else, a shrewd and conniving Enemy, had influenced their beliefs.
Today, God asks us the same thing, “Who told you that?”
Who has lied to us, diminishing or ignoring our true worth?? Patronized or belittled us?
Who told you that you are worthless? Not good enough? Unlovable? That what you say doesn’t matter?
What life-messages are we responding to? Criticism from a cynical “friend”? A family-imposed silence? Shame from an abusive spouse? Close relationships with narcissists, know-it-alls, controlling or belittling people? A toxic religious system, even?
No matter who the messenger is, we must wrest ourselves from these grips of shame and fear that keep us from truth We must ask ourselves if these messages line up with what God says about us, with who he says we are?
Christian author and speaker Mary Demuth understands the fears of one who has had lies of worthlessness whispered to her soul. When she was only five, Mary was repeatedly raped by two neighborhood boys.
“Growing up, I had a monster-like fear of death,” Mary said. “At night, I shivered as I prayed prayers to ward off ghosts.”
A consuming fear followed Mary into her adult life, holding her hostage for years. Most nights, instead of sleeping, she imagined horrific things happening to her. Emotionally isolated and relationally inept, she walked many painful years in repressive denial—until she was willing to accept truth. Facing the truth changed her heart. Her mind. Her life.
“I avoided intimacy as much as I could so I wouldn’t rip open a festering wound I couldn’t handle,” Mary said. “But you need to be willing to ‘go there’ with Jesus. So many people aren’t healed because they are afraid to open up the can of worms of their past. I’m here to say, yes it will hurt, but that kind of hurt is what heals.
“We'll never drink from the forest's mountain spring if we don't go through the tunnel. But most of us feel too afraid to step inside for fear of the dark; and the barren land—bleak as it is—has a staid familiarity about it. The truth? It's dark in the tunnel. The hurt is intensified, especially when we can't see the other side.”5
There are those times we’re afraid of the dark, but our fear doesn’t mean there is actually danger. God is in the darkness with us, and he can see. His very presence illuminates the dark, driving it out.
When One Lie Is Not Enough
When Satan asked Eve “Did God really say . . .” he was laying a foundation of doubt, something he could build on. From the beginning Satan whispered deception, attacking Eve’s confidence, making her question her ability to hear and understand God. With only four words he ripped a gaping hole in the first woman’s relationship with her Creator, and he’s been reopening that same wound in women ever since.
If Eve, tucked away in the realms of paradise, can be deceived, consider how much easier it is for those of us walking out ordinary, everyday lives.
Satan uses life’s hurts. From our wounds, he fashions a manipulative lie and wraps it secure around our hearts (the core of our souls). These deeply imbedded lies, planted as truth, shape our beliefs (our personalities).These lies grow invisibly in our root system, manipulating our behaviors.
What we believe dictates our behavior, training us to act, or react, in a certain way. If we are still controlled by the fallout of a particular event in our lives, chances are we never reached the bottom layer—the core lie from which everything is shaped.
I’m a recovering perfectionist. My default core lie is that I’m not good enough. My pursuit of perfection is actually a journey to somehow prove my worth. I often drive myself (and those around me) batty trying to be a super-achiever, controlling things I have no business controlling. All because of unreasonably high standards I long ago placed on myself.
While excellence is a respected virtue, it’s more than that with me. Those times I don’t have it all together, I sure want you to think I do. It’s actually painful for me to fail. (That’s when you know you’re out of bounds.) When I fail, my belief system tells me, “You see, you aren’t good enough!”
Truth is, we all make mistakes. I have to give myself grace, and respect. Do my best and not be afraid to grow publically.
The lies we believe stand behind every negative thought percolating in our minds. These beliefs limit what we think we deserve because of who we think we are.
Emotional wounds have their own convincing language, and too often we make decisions based on the voice of those wounds. It’s a survival code of sorts. For example, if someone we love betrays us, we may commit to never trust again. If someone rejects us, we decide we’ll never fit in no matter how hard we try. These crippling covenants we make with ourselves aren’t always cognizant choices, but they are choices still, and they have the power to separate us from the life God intends us to live.
Like weeds in a garden, Satan loves planting these little lies that choke out truth. And he’s thrilled when he manages to make the weeds so cute that it’s hard for us to tell the difference, hard to tell they are lies until they’ve already taken root.
I’m no gardener but I’ve learned the trick for getting rid of pesky weeds. Start with soft soil; the softer the soil the easier the process (bring your hearts tender as we dig in). Then, trace the roots back to where they first broke ground (ask God, when did I first believe this?). Gently twist the weeds and pull upwards—but not so hard they snap (allow truth to replace the lie). If you snap them off without going to the root, it only eliminates them temporarily and we don’t want these things growing back (allow God to complete the work).
The truth of God’s word cuts through the good and bad of our lives like a trowel digging up hard-to-remove weeds without damaging the plant.
Why Trusting Our Feelings Is Sometimes Dangerous
“Please, come away with me—bring your children with us.” Becky Spencer’s eyes met the plea of the songwriter she had worked closely with over the past months. Like a spike of water frozen in place, the words pierced her hungry heart. Becky had fallen in love and longed to run away.
There was a slight problem, though—her upcoming tenth wedding anniversary with her husband.
Various church projects had pitted a vulnerable Becky and her songwriter friend together. Conversations grew longer, deeper, and eventually intimate. Because of her love for God, she felt guilty, but the desire was stronger. Becky caved to the succulent feelings of validation and comfort, and found herself in an emotional affair. Unwilling to turn her back on God, she chose to remain in her marriage—but the choice infuriated her.
“God, you are a trickster—you duped me into marrying my husband. You don’t care about my feelings,” Becky said. “I’ll still read my Bible, but I don’t believe you will speak to me. Even if you do, I won’t believe you.”
Our lives are shaped by our thoughts. Focusing on miserable things makes one miserable, keeps us stuck in the hard places. There is an alternative when negativity overtakes our minds. We can switch the focus. We can allow God’s intentions to change our perspective. We must stop rehearsing the negative and reframe our lives with truth.
God’s truth dismantles a lie. Strips away its false sense of power.
I use a simple question when I’m stuck, when I need to redirect my thoughts: Is there another way to think about this?
How about we practice this? (Yes, it’s that important.)
Let’s consider some common faulty-thinking traps and reframe them with scriptures taken from The Message translation of the Bible.
Self-defeating thinking: When we default to automatic negative thoughts, when we sabotage the potential good.
Mental Trap: I simply can’t change.
Reframed Thought: When I fix my attention on God, I will be changed from the inside out (Romans 12:2).6
Emotional reasoning: When our feelings dictate our situation; if we feel it, it must be true.
Mental Trap: I must deserve this.
Reframed Thought: Through the grace of Jesus’ sacrifice, I am worthy of love. Whoever hurts me hurts God, and that can’t be good (Zechariah 2:8b).7
Conclusion-jumping: Without facts to support our assumption, we interpret things negatively and anticipate the worst.
Mental Trap: People will think I’m dumb; they will never listen to me.
Reframed Thought: God himself gives me wisdom (1 Corinthians 1:30).8
Over-generalizations: When we think “always” and “never.” We tend to consider one event as the catalyst to an on-going, never-changing pattern.
Mental Trap: I can never say anything right; I may as well not ever speak up.
Reframed Thought: God will give me the words and wisdom that will reduce my accusers to stammers and stutters (Luke 21:15).9
All-or-Nothing thinking: When we think in extremes, view everything as black or white, good or bad—no gray areas. The times a simple setback seems a complete failure.
Mental Trap: I messed up again; I may as well give up.
Reframed Thought: I may not have it together, but I am well on my way . . . God is beckoning me forward. I’m off and running and not turning back (Philippians 3:13-14).10
Please don’t write this exercise off as simple inspiration, as another good-girl “to-do.” No matter how bad the hurt in your life is or has been, this is our kickoff to emotional wholeness. We will learn to control our emotions by reframing lies with God’s truth. Being equipped with the truth will give us the power to change our lives.
My friend Becky made a powerful choice in spite of her feelings—she maintained communication with God.
“That (connection) allowed me to process the pain and find answers, much like a new mother who eats properly and takes her vitamins. As a mother processes the food, she provides nourishment for her own health and her suckling baby,” Becky said. “My wounds became a window to my soul, then a door of invitation for God to move.
“God gave me promises for my marriage. And, he showed me how we can be taught, as women, to love our husbands. I didn’t know that could be taught. I thought you either did or didn’t love your husband and that was that.
“God instructed me to do for my husband the things I wanted to do for the other man I’d fallen in love with. Honestly, it made me sick to my stomach. But God blessed my obedience. My feelings toward my husband changed; and I eventually fell in love with him—and learned that God had my best interest at heart all along.”
God is greater than our feelings—the Bible tells us so.
Conditioning Ourselves for an Optimal Life
Over the years, I’ve noticed a surprising link between the numbers of women who have been emotionally wounded that also suffer with a chronic illness.
That equation includes me.
A war between lies and truth led me to my own ultimate battle for not just my emotional health, but my physical well-being.
My life had spun out of control like some tornado-ravished midwestern town. Joy-thief that he is, a chronic illness mocked my attempts at maintaining a normal life, stole my ability to travel, poisoned personal aspirations, and threatened intimate relationships. Robbed of much, I gravitated toward a dark discouragement.
Many times I recited to God, slowly and emphatically, all the hard places I’d been, all the tight spots I’d endured. I paraded before him my trophies of survival: physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, depression and post-trauma stress. And now, this illness that was threatening my life?
How much can a woman be expected to endure, God?
It was time to untwist my thinking. But how?
One day as I flipped through a magazine, an article caught my attention. The author, Bill Irwin, was a certified Counselor who practiced his profession by merging a former discipline of Clinical Chemistry with counseling skills and his faith in God. In the feature, Bill explained how most health issues are directly linked with a non-satisfying personal relationship, the adverse stress serving as a negative modulator on our immune systems. Bill went on to suggest that we have considerably more control than we realize over the way we act and think, and that our total outlook directly impacted our health.
We could choose to think differently.
For someone struggling with ongoing disappointment and negativity, that sounded a little too good to me. I contacted Bill to further examine his theory; luckily he agreed to chat.
“The body has a unique ability to heal itself from most anything provided we line it up under God’s mandated balance,” Bill said. “We must bring all the elements of our basic needs into balance, the body, mind, psyche, and spirit.”
How much was I sacrificing with my out-of-balance life? The fatigue, the pain, the frustration—were they a strong enough motivator for me to consider real change?
“You have to make intentional choices,” Bill said. “The type of choices that bring your life into balance spiritually, physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s going to take discipline. But if you can learn to hold to the promises of scriptures and make certain behavioral changes, you will effectively take control of your life.”
Living like we matter is an intentional step, one that gets us where we need to be.
For years, my thinking was skewed. I wanted to change, but I didn’t have the tools to do it on my own. A hand of hope grabbed my heart—here was my how. Bill would help me. Bill who was faith-filled, passionate, inspiring.
And blind.
Yes, God’s plan was for a blind man to help me see. Made sense, really. I had many of my own blind spots; unruly raw-to-the-core emotions tucked in deep places that discredited any budding hope of emotional wholeness. But if Bill didn’t use blindness as an excuse, how could I?
How Right-Thinking Fuels Our Dreams
Although blind and dependent on others, Bill enjoyed a unique level of freedom most of us only dream of. He was the only blind person to ever thru-hike the 2,168 miles of the Appalachian Trail.
Blindness wasn’t Bill’s first taste of a handicap, though. Alcoholism, loneliness, and childhood abuse substantially impaired his earlier years. But his life was radically altered when he learned he could make a conscious choice to think different thoughts about past experiences, and that this new perspective would dramatically impact the quality of his life.
More proof (in case we need it) that our thoughts shape our reality.
It’s not our external circumstances that dictate our quality of life, but rather our response to those circumstances,” Bill said.
Every day we have a choice, and the choices we make dictate our future.
Bill’s words wrapped hope fresh around a painfully raw heart. For years, I nurtured a decided bent toward self-defeating thoughts and behaviors. I focused on my misery as I complained of powerlessness. I felt ashamed. Silenced.
To think I was somehow contributing to that unhappiness? Imagine—a chosen misery. How does one respond to news like that?
Will we focus on our weakness, the powerlessness, or will we consider it an opportunity?
I won’t patronize (I wouldn’t dare). Escaping negatively charged, emotionally disruptive memories is hard. All firsts are hard. But do you desire real change? Long to grow?
For me, a recovering control-freak and type-A over-achiever, it was difficult to accept that emotional healing was not some task-driven process. That I couldn’t just check this one off my list as I completed the necessary steps. But I could make better choices. And if God’s essential truths governed those choices, I would walk in the freedom and joy I have long craved.
I’m sharing my story and others to offer you credentials. A resume of sorts. We get it—we’ve been there. We’ve made it through this, and so can you.
But not alone.
When we’ve been hurt, it’s hard to trust. When I trusted folks I got hurt, so I learned to depend on myself. To lean on what I could do on my own. I tried to convince myself (and others) how very capable I was.
It didn’t work.
God already knew I would develop this stubborn streak. Thousands of years ahead of me, he planted instruction in a little quiet Proverb: Trust in me. Do not lean on yourself. (See Proverbs 3:5.)
Those times we think we can make it through life’s hurts without leaning on God, trusting him—how prideful of us. We can do nothing meaningful without him. Nothing. When we truly understand that, we find it much easier to lean into him, lean like we mean it.
As we fully surrender to God’s working in our lives, he somehow molds these hurts of life, uses them to chisel our voice. A voice that later inspires others to do the same.
Seeking God
God, are you there? I imagine we should talk.
There are these words that sit lodged in my throat, clutching at my heart, begging for release. This pain, it’s always on the verge of speaking, even when I try to silence it. These hopes and dreams for my future, I can remember them even now, though life has tried its best to stamp them out.
But I’m afraid, Lord.
It’s easier to be what I “should be,” say what I “should say,” hide away, lying to myself and trusting wrong feelings.
I need your help. Really, I’m desperate for your intervention, your healing. I want to be that woman, the one who made it through to the other side of the craziness in her life. The one who, yes, may have been hurt, but because you reworked her heart she stands whole. Emotionally whole. Free.
I don’t understand these things that have happened in my life. How do I trust you—fully trust you the way you ask—with this lingering pain, doubt, and confusion in the recesses of all that I think and do?
Help me to gently probe these deep pockets of pain that remain. Not so I can linger in the pain of the scars, but so that I can identify these negative behaviors that are blocking me from the freedom you designed for me to live in. Help me to stop living my life based on my feelings. To replace lies with truth.
I want to be whole. In fear, I commit this healing journey to you. With you leading, I will walk it. Please bring me out of the other side free. Safe, validated, and respected. Significant. Worthy. Authentic, secure, and emotionally whole.
Thank you, Lord, for the work you are about to do in me.
With an open heart I pray. Amen.
The Voice Studio: Responding to God’s Call to Develop Our Voice
Recognizing the Powerlessness of Silence
Have you ever felt forced to keep a secret? Intimidated or shamed into keeping something quiet? What was it? How does it make you feel to write it out now? Does that secret filter into your daily life—the way you see things, choices you make?
How do you handle shame? A sense of powerlessness and frustration?
Do you ever feel like you should “be over this by now?” If so, why do you think you aren’t over it? Is the push to be “over this” external (coming from someone else) or internal (coming from within yourself)? Does the notion discourage you? What is your response to this idea?
Did you recognize yourself in any of the masks—the people-pleaser, perfectionist, or others? How do these masks seem to help you cope with any lingering pain?
What mental traps are you aware of? What action steps can you take to overcome those?
Have you made any sort of covenant with yourself? Never to trust? Never to love again? What lie triggered that response?
What is your most common default thinking pattern? Example: There’s no need to try and change. Do you feel like that thought-pattern is in line with God’s Word? Why or why not?
What boundaries would you put into place if you felt like you could?
Are you ready to go beyond a routine relationship with God into a genuine healing experience? Can you think of some ways you could prepare yourself for this journey?
Why does your voice matter? Locate and memorize one scripture that reminds you of the importance of using your voice for God.
1 Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger (Berkeley: North Atlantic Books, 1997), 20.
2 Jimmy Evans, Marriage Today broadcast
3 See Genesis. 3
4 “Genesis 3:11(The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%203:11&version=MSG
5 Mary DeMuth, “Opening the Door to Healing,”Marriage Partnership, accessed 1/14/2013, http://www.todayschristianwoman.com/articles/2008/september/14.38.html
6 “Romans 12:2 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%2012:2&version=MSG
7 “Zachariah 2:8b (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zac%202:8&version=MSG
8 1 Corinthians 1:30
9 “Luke 21:15 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=luke%2021:15&version=MSG
10 “Philippians 3:13-14 (The Message)” on Bible Gateway, accessed 1/13/2013, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=philippians%202:13-14&version=MSG
Keeper of Reign (Book 1) by Emma Right 13 Nov 2013 3:09 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: November 15th
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Emma Rightt an imprint of Telemachus Press (May 19, 2013)
***Special thanks to Emma Right for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
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Right worked as a copywriter for two major advertising agencies and won several awards, including the prestigious Clio Award for her ads, before she settled down to have children.
Visit Emma Right at her home site and blog for tips and ideas about books, homeschooling, bible devotions, and author helps of various sorts: http://www.emmaright.com
and follow her on facebook emma.right.author and "like" her fan page at http://www.facebook.com/keeperofreign
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Books written in blood. Most are lost, their Keepers with them. A curse that befell a people. A Kingdom with no King. Life couldn’t get more harrowing for the Elfies, a blend of Elves and Fairies. Or for sixteen-year-old Jules Blaze. Or could it?For Jules, the heir of a Keeper, no less, suspects his family hides a forgotten secret. It was bad enough that his people, the Elfies of Reign, triggered a curse which reduced the entire inhabitants to a mere inch centuries ago. All because of one Keeper who failed his purpose. Even the King’s Ancient Books, did not help ward off that anathema.
Now, Gehzurolle, the evil lord, and his armies of Scorpents, seem bent on destroying Jules and his family. Why? Gehzurolle’s agents hunt for Jules as he journeys into enemy land to find the truth. Truth that could save him and his family, and possibly even reverse the age-long curse. Provided Jules doesn't get himself killed first.
List Price: $17.99
Paperback: 340 pages
Publisher: Emma Rightt an imprint of Telemachus Press (May 19, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1939337690
ISBN-13: 978-1939337696
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue: Beginning
“Sire, you’re running out of blood.” Eleazer’s voice quivered as he addressed the only other occupant in the royal chamber. He tried to veer his eyes from the King’s bruised arm but could not pull his gaze away.
The young King grunted a response, his attention focused on the red words whispering out of his plumed pen.
Glancing at his cupbearer, he said, “I am aware, Eleazer.” His velvet lapels caught the golden gleam flickering from the lanterns hung on the columns and gave it a rich burgundy sheen.
“Perhaps the wine will help?” Eleazer poured scarlet juice into a goblet and held the fluted stem out, his eyes drawn to the highness’ pale wrist. His master’s pallid face sent a shiver up his spine, and a knot of worry formed above Eleazer’s brows. Palm clammy, he set the goblet next to his master’s arm.
The room was dim despite the golden sparkle of the dragonfly lanterns hooked to the four columns of alabaster that flanked the two draped windows. Books, their golden spines atop each other, were stacked on the mahogany table. Copper wires forming two “X”s upon each spine bound the leaves of the magnificent Books.
“The new star,” the King said, “will be birthed tomorrow, so I must finish writing the Sacred Tomes.” He paused and shot Eleazer a smile. “Why don’t you bind this remaining stack? You can include this end page I am finishing later.” He waited for Eleazer to reply, but the servant only stared at the floor. “My instructions are in the Master Books, but you must inform the others to keep the matter to yourselves.”
“I know— Gehzurolle must not find out.”
“More importantly, do not let him deceive you.”
“I promise.”
“You are a most faithful servant—friend, Eleazer. Thank you.”
“It has been my honor, Your Highness. I should thank you.” Eleazer wanted to say more but his throat strangled the words. He swallowed hard a few times and bowed, as a sigh slipped from his lips.
“Do you comprehend my wishes?” The King’s eyes rested on Eleazer’s face.
“Completely.” Eleazer dared not add anything further lest his voice break entirely. His hands busied with the binding of the closing chapters, whilst his master penned the final paragraphs.
All those books yet not a single ink pot on that writing desk, or, on any other furniture in that library. Too soon Eleazer would have to bid his master adieu. What if he failed the King?
“Master, I wish you didn’t have to d—”
“Don’t start this again, Eleazer — no other way exists. You must trust me. If all of you heed the Words, you will end up better off.” Without looking up, the King said, “Once you’ve completed the binding you must leave me alone. I am almost finished.”
Afraid he might forget the Majesty’s visage, Eleazer’s eyes flitted to the King’s face and drank in the dark brows, the high cheekbones, the soft lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but only shook his head, bowed a fraction, and exited through the double doors.
Alone in the chamber, the King pierced his bruised vein a last time and completed the closing paragraph.
1. ONE NIGHT
The last thing Jules Blaze thought of before he closed his eyes was how he, how anyone, could undo the curse his people were under. He was in the middle of a dream, a nightmare as far as he was concerned, begging Grandpa Leroy and Grandma Bonnie not to leave, when someone banged on their front door, shaking their entire treehouse.
Who’d be crazy enough to disturb them at this hour? He sat up on his bed and cocked his head. His mother’s soft tread tap-tapped on the wood floor of their treehouse.
“Who’s there?” her muffled voice asked, harsh and whispery from sleep.
The banging stopped.
“Erin, open up.” Mr. Saul’s voice, gruff and loud, jolted the last fog of sleepiness from Jules. He peered over at his brother sleeping noiselessly in the bunk below him, and quietly slipped down the ladder. On tip toe he sneaked to the trap door opening that led down to the living room where Mr. Saul stood dripping from the rain.
“Is everything okay?” Erin said.
“Would I visit now if it were?” Saul said. Then in a gentler voice he added, “I’m sorry. Please, let’s take a seat, Erin.” He nodded at Jules who’d slipped down the pull down ladder to join them. “Jules.”
Jules thought about his father at the war front and swallowed a lump in his throat. Was this why Dad hadn’t sent any word to them for the last months? Because he couldn’t?
Saul held Erin by the arm. He led her to the dining room chairs behind the sofa covered with knitted shawls and afghan throws.
Jules trudged to the window and peered at the branches outside. The arm of the oak tree grew so thick they could easily live in it, although getting up there could be a problem, especially since he was afraid of heights. These days they didn’t even live in stone houses, or even wooden ones, unless living under a tree counted as a wooden home. Elfies lived in trees, or burrowed under rocks, in the forest of Reign.
“Take a seat, Jules.” Mr. Saul locked eyes on him for an instant. “I just received word from the river front patrol—Leroy and Bonnie’s boat capsized in the storm. They’re searching for the bodies, but it doesn’t look good.”
Erin let out a gasp and brought a fist to her mouth. “No!”
“Boat? How can they be sure it was them?” Jules leaned forward in his chair.
“Some of their belongings floated to shore, and I identified the wreck—the pieces drifted to the bank.”
Erin looked at him blankly.
Saul said, again, “The boat…was a wreck.”
“Boat?” Erin said.
“I’d loaned it to them.”
“Why?”
Saul looked at the ceiling. “They’d wanted to get across to Handover.”
“Handover? That’s preposterous. After telling us never to cross the river and saying how dangerous Handover is?” Erin’s voice sounded angry amidst her sobs.
Saul pushed his chair back and stood. He reached into the cloak of his pocket, brought out a few items and laid them on the dining table. “Some things to remember your folks by.” And with that he turned and stalked back out into the dripping night.
Jules stared at his grandpa’s pocket watch, the green felt hat the old man always wore, especially on damp days, and his grandma’s silk scarf she donned when the wind ruffled her snowy white hair. Erin sobbed more violently, and Jules stood behind his mother’s back, leaned over and hugged her trembling shoulders.
“Sire, you’re running out of blood.” Eleazer’s voice quivered as he addressed the only other occupant in the royal chamber. He tried to veer his eyes from the King’s bruised arm but could not pull his gaze away.
The young King grunted a response, his attention focused on the red words whispering out of his plumed pen.
Glancing at his cupbearer, he said, “I am aware, Eleazer.” His velvet lapels caught the golden gleam flickering from the lanterns hung on the columns and gave it a rich burgundy sheen.
“Perhaps the wine will help?” Eleazer poured scarlet juice into a goblet and held the fluted stem out, his eyes drawn to the highness’ pale wrist. His master’s pallid face sent a shiver up his spine, and a knot of worry formed above Eleazer’s brows. Palm clammy, he set the goblet next to his master’s arm.
The room was dim despite the golden sparkle of the dragonfly lanterns hooked to the four columns of alabaster that flanked the two draped windows. Books, their golden spines atop each other, were stacked on the mahogany table. Copper wires forming two “X”s upon each spine bound the leaves of the magnificent Books.
“The new star,” the King said, “will be birthed tomorrow, so I must finish writing the Sacred Tomes.” He paused and shot Eleazer a smile. “Why don’t you bind this remaining stack? You can include this end page I am finishing later.” He waited for Eleazer to reply, but the servant only stared at the floor. “My instructions are in the Master Books, but you must inform the others to keep the matter to yourselves.”
“I know— Gehzurolle must not find out.”
“More importantly, do not let him deceive you.”
“I promise.”
“You are a most faithful servant—friend, Eleazer. Thank you.”
“It has been my honor, Your Highness. I should thank you.” Eleazer wanted to say more but his throat strangled the words. He swallowed hard a few times and bowed, as a sigh slipped from his lips.
“Do you comprehend my wishes?” The King’s eyes rested on Eleazer’s face.
“Completely.” Eleazer dared not add anything further lest his voice break entirely. His hands busied with the binding of the closing chapters, whilst his master penned the final paragraphs.
All those books yet not a single ink pot on that writing desk, or, on any other furniture in that library. Too soon Eleazer would have to bid his master adieu. What if he failed the King?
“Master, I wish you didn’t have to d—”
“Don’t start this again, Eleazer — no other way exists. You must trust me. If all of you heed the Words, you will end up better off.” Without looking up, the King said, “Once you’ve completed the binding you must leave me alone. I am almost finished.”
Afraid he might forget the Majesty’s visage, Eleazer’s eyes flitted to the King’s face and drank in the dark brows, the high cheekbones, the soft lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but only shook his head, bowed a fraction, and exited through the double doors.
Alone in the chamber, the King pierced his bruised vein a last time and completed the closing paragraph.
1. ONE NIGHT
The last thing Jules Blaze thought of before he closed his eyes was how he, how anyone, could undo the curse his people were under. He was in the middle of a dream, a nightmare as far as he was concerned, begging Grandpa Leroy and Grandma Bonnie not to leave, when someone banged on their front door, shaking their entire treehouse.
Who’d be crazy enough to disturb them at this hour? He sat up on his bed and cocked his head. His mother’s soft tread tap-tapped on the wood floor of their treehouse.
“Who’s there?” her muffled voice asked, harsh and whispery from sleep.
The banging stopped.
“Erin, open up.” Mr. Saul’s voice, gruff and loud, jolted the last fog of sleepiness from Jules. He peered over at his brother sleeping noiselessly in the bunk below him, and quietly slipped down the ladder. On tip toe he sneaked to the trap door opening that led down to the living room where Mr. Saul stood dripping from the rain.
“Is everything okay?” Erin said.
“Would I visit now if it were?” Saul said. Then in a gentler voice he added, “I’m sorry. Please, let’s take a seat, Erin.” He nodded at Jules who’d slipped down the pull down ladder to join them. “Jules.”
Jules thought about his father at the war front and swallowed a lump in his throat. Was this why Dad hadn’t sent any word to them for the last months? Because he couldn’t?
Saul held Erin by the arm. He led her to the dining room chairs behind the sofa covered with knitted shawls and afghan throws.
Jules trudged to the window and peered at the branches outside. The arm of the oak tree grew so thick they could easily live in it, although getting up there could be a problem, especially since he was afraid of heights. These days they didn’t even live in stone houses, or even wooden ones, unless living under a tree counted as a wooden home. Elfies lived in trees, or burrowed under rocks, in the forest of Reign.
“Take a seat, Jules.” Mr. Saul locked eyes on him for an instant. “I just received word from the river front patrol—Leroy and Bonnie’s boat capsized in the storm. They’re searching for the bodies, but it doesn’t look good.”
Erin let out a gasp and brought a fist to her mouth. “No!”
“Boat? How can they be sure it was them?” Jules leaned forward in his chair.
“Some of their belongings floated to shore, and I identified the wreck—the pieces drifted to the bank.”
Erin looked at him blankly.
Saul said, again, “The boat…was a wreck.”
“Boat?” Erin said.
“I’d loaned it to them.”
“Why?”
Saul looked at the ceiling. “They’d wanted to get across to Handover.”
“Handover? That’s preposterous. After telling us never to cross the river and saying how dangerous Handover is?” Erin’s voice sounded angry amidst her sobs.
Saul pushed his chair back and stood. He reached into the cloak of his pocket, brought out a few items and laid them on the dining table. “Some things to remember your folks by.” And with that he turned and stalked back out into the dripping night.
Jules stared at his grandpa’s pocket watch, the green felt hat the old man always wore, especially on damp days, and his grandma’s silk scarf she donned when the wind ruffled her snowy white hair. Erin sobbed more violently, and Jules stood behind his mother’s back, leaned over and hugged her trembling shoulders.
Four Blood Moons by John Hagee 12 Nov 2013 6:36 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: November 14th
When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!
Grab the HTML for the entire post (will look like the post below):
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Worthy Publishing (October 8, 2013)
***Special thanks to Leeanna Case for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
http://worthypublishing.com/books/Four-Blood-Moons/
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Inspired by NASA projections and recorded history, Pastor John Hagee reveals direct connections between four upcoming blood-moon eclipses and what they portend for Israel and all of humankind.
Over the last 500 years, blood-red moons have fallen on the first day of Passover three separate times. These occurrences were connected to some of the most significant days in Jewish history: 1492 (the final year of the Spanish Inquisition when Jews were expelled from Spain), 1948 (statehood for Israel and the War of Independence) and 1967 (the Six-Day War). Every heavenly body is controlled by the unseen hand of God, which signals coming events to humanity. There are no solar or lunar accidents. The next series of four blood moons occurs at Passover and Sukkot in 2014 and 2015. In this riveting book, Hagee explores what these blood moons mean and why Christians must understand these signs and what they bode both for Israel and the world.
Joel 2 and Acts 2 both state: "And I will show wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood and fire and pillars of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness [eclipse] and the moon into blood [eclipse] before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes."
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Worthy Publishing (October 8, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1617952141
ISBN-13: 978-1617952142
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Signs in the Heavens
There will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars. . . . Then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to happen, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption draws near.
—Luke 21:25, 27–28
As the jet plane gracefully circled over the majestic beauty of Puget Sound, I looked out of the window at the tall and perfectly shaped spruce trees that surrounded a series of glis- tening lakes. Along the shoreline stood elegant homes with boat ramps and fishing docks extending from beautifully
#bloodmoons
manicured lawns. It was the American paradise that is the gorgeous state of Washington.
The wheels of the jet touched down on the runway with their familiar screech, which is always music to my ears. Every safe landing is a great landing!
The jet rolled to a stop. I unbuckled my seat belt, climbed down the steps, and was refreshingly jolted by the cool breeze on my face. I knew then we were far from the sweltering Texas heat! I began to focus on the reason I was here and what I was to say to the thousands that were gathering for the statewide Night to Honor Israel rally that evening.
Six years earlier, on February 6, 2006, I had invited four hundred of America’s foremost evangelical leaders to join me at Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, Texas, to form a na- tional organization called Christians United for Israel. The purpose of our organization is to bring Christians and Jews together in an atmosphere of mutual respect and brotherly love, in order to emphasize that what we have in common is far greater than the differences we have allowed to separate us over the centuries.
If you are not currently a member of Christians United for Israel and desire to stand with Israel and the Jewish people, I strongly encourage you to join us today by going to CUFI.org.
King David said, “You will arise and have compassion on
Zion, for it is time to show favor to her; the appointed time has come” (Psalm 102:13 niv). . . . The appointed time is now!
4
Signs in the Heavens
why Should we Support iSrael?
If we are to correctly understand heavenly signs and wonders, it’s imperative we grasp the full scope of Scripture and history. The following are five biblical reasons why Christians should be grateful to, and show support for, the nation of Israel and the Jewish people:
1. god proMiSeS to BleSS thoSe who BleSS iSrael “I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you” (Genesis 12:3). This is God’s pledge to Abraham and the Jewish people for all generations to come. God has promised to bless nations, churches, and individuals who do practical acts of kindness to bless Israel and the Jewish people.
Biblical evidence of God’s promised blessing is found in Luke 7, where a Roman centurion who had a sick servant wanted the Rabbi from Nazareth to come into his home and heal his servant. Jesus was an observant Jew; yet He would have to break the laws of Moses to enter the house of a Gen- tile, who was considered unclean.
The centurion—commander of a hundred soldiers—sent the Jewish elders to intercept Jesus. The elders begged Jesus earnestly, saying that the Roman centurion request was de- serving of Jesus’ healing, “for he loves our nation, and has built us a synagogue” (Luke 7:5).
Jesus healed the sick servant because a Gentile had
5
#bloodmoons
performed a practical act of kindness to bless Israel and the
Jewish people.
The Bible further supports God’s blessing on those who bless Israel with the evidence of Cornelius. Why were Cor- nelius and his household the first Gentiles to hear the gospel and to receive the outpouring of the Holy Spirit? The answer is found in Acts 10:22, which describes Cornelius the centurion as “a just man, one who fears God and has a good reputation among all the nation of the Jews.”
God performed a miracle to motivate the apostle Peter to go to the house of this unclean Gentile. Peter had a vision of a sheet (a prayer shawl) filled with unclean animals (Gentiles), and God commanded him not to call unclean what God had pronounced as clean (Acts 10:9–16). Peter obeyed the mes- sage of the vision and went, against religious tradition, to the house of a Gentile to present the gospel.
When Peter shared the gospel with the household of Cor- nelius, they all received salvation and were filled with the Holy Spirit, and then Peter commanded them to be baptized in wa- ter (Acts 10:44–48).
The Holy Spirit was poured out on Cornelius and his household because a Gentile did practical acts of kindness to bless the Jewish people, and true to His promise, God blessed him beyond measure.
I can testify personally that there is no human explana-
tion for the unprecedented blessing of God on Cornerstone
6
Signs in the Heavens
Church and John Hagee Ministries other than the fact that more than thirty years ago we decided to show practical acts of kindness for Israel and the Jewish people. Since that time, God has opened the windows of heaven and blessed us be- yond measure.
God’s promise is a fact: “I will bless those who bless you.”
2. we are coMManded to pray for the peace of JeruSaleM
Praying for the peace of Jerusalem is not a request—it’s a command! “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: may they prosper who love you” (Psalm 122:6).
From God’s perspective, Jerusalem is the center of the uni- verse. Jerusalem is the city David conquered from the Jebusi- tes three thousand years ago, and it became the capital of Isra- el forever. May it always be the eternal and undivided capital of Israel, and may peace be within her walls and prosperity within her palaces (Psalm 122:7).
Jerusalem is where Abraham offered Isaac on Mount Mo- riah. Jerusalem is where Jeremiah and Isaiah penned prin- ciples of righteousness that became the moral compass for Western civilization. And outside of its gates Jesus Christ, the Son of David, was crucified for the sins of the world.
According to biblical prophecy, Jerusalem is the past, present, and future of the world! From this city, Jesus will rule
planet earth with a rod of iron, and of His kingdom there shall
7
#bloodmoons
be no end (Isaiah 9:7; Luke 1:33).
When you pray for Jerusalem, you are praying for world peace. History proves that when there is peace in Jerusalem, there is peace in the world. When there is war in Jerusalem, the blood flows on planet earth. The universe revolves around Jerusalem. I quote my friend Dr. Graham Lacey, “As long as there is Jerusalem there is God; and as long as there is God there is Jerusalem.”
3. we are coMManded to Be watchMen on the
wallS of iSrael
God commands us through the prophet Isaiah to be watch- men on the walls of Jerusalem (62:6). We are commanded by God, through the prophet Isaiah, to speak up and defend Is- rael and the Jewish people when they are slandered, attacked by their enemies, and are subjected to any callous act of anti- Semitism. Isaiah writes:
For Zion’s sake I will not hold My peace, And for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest. . . .
I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem; They shall never hold their peace day or night.
You who make mention of the Lord, do not keep silent.
(62:1, 6)
8
Signs in the Heavens
4. we are coMManded to MiniSter to iSrael in
Material thingS
Another biblical reason we support Israel is given by the apostle Paul: “For if the Gentiles have been partakers of their spiritual things [the Jewish people], their duty [the Gentiles] is also to minister to them [the Jewish people] in material things” (Romans 15:27).
What are the “spiritual things” Paul is referring to?
• The Jewish people have given to us the written Word of God.
• The Jewish people have given to us the patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
• The Jewish people have given to us the Old Testament prophets: Ezekiel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habak- kuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi.
• The Jewish people have given to us the first family of Christianity: Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. Take Jesus out of Christianity and there is no Christianity.
• The Jewish people have given to us the twelve disciples and the apostle Paul.
Consider the monumental contribution given to us by the seed of Abraham. For this reason Jesus said in John 4:22, “For salvation is of the Jews.”
9
#bloodmoons
If you take away the Jewish contribution to Christianity, there would be no Christianity. Judaism does not need Chris- tianity to explain its existence; Christianity, however, cannot explain its existence without Judaism.
When I refer to Christianity I am referencing the teach- ings of Christ, which were based on the principles of Juda- ism—not the deeds of polluted historic Christianity.
Historic Christianity has left an evil legacy. It is responsible for the Crusades, in which Jewish people from Europe to Je- rusalem were slaughtered in seven major pogroms (crusades). The first crusade was declared by Pope Urban II in 1095. The Crusaders were rapists and thieves, forgiven in advance by the reigning pope for any sins they might commit while on their holy campaign to liberate Jerusalem from the “infidels.”
Not one Christian in a hundred today can answer the ques- tion: “How is it that Christianity, born through the teachings of a Jewish rabbi named Jesus of Nazareth, could three hundred years later kill Jews in the name of God?”
There is a dramatic difference between historic Christian- ity and the teachings of Jesus Christ. I publicly state that I am not a follower of historic Christianity; I am a follower of Jesus Christ!
5. JeSuS entreated the church to Support iSrael We should support Israel and the Jewish people because it was Jesus’ final request to His church. Jesus said in Matthew 25:40:
10
Signs in the Heavens
Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren [the Jewish people], you did it to Me.
Jesus never called the Gentiles His brethren until after the cross. Before the cross we were, as described by the apostle Paul, outside the covenants of Israel, without God and with- out hope, of all men most miserable (Ephesians 2:12; 1 Cor- inthians 15:19).
Gentile Christians can look at the day of the cross and shout for joy. It was there we were grafted into the original olive tree (Romans 11:17). It was there our sins were forgiven, buried in the deepest sea, never to be remembered anymore (Jeremiah 31:34). It was there that our sicknesses and diseas- es were removed and we received divine health, for “by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).
It was at the cross that Jesus took our poverty and gave to us the riches of Abraham. We who were “not a people” (1 Pe- ter 2:10) were adopted and became “kings and priests to His God” (Revelation 1:6), “ambassadors for Christ” (2 Corinthi- ans 5:20), and have been taken from rags to royalty through the precious blood of the virgin-born, “the only begotten Son of God” (John 3:18). The curse of death, hell, and the grave was broken, and we were given eternal life; hallelujah for the cross!
God’s Gentile assignment toward the Jewish people is to
show them what they have not seen from historic Christianity
11
#bloodmoons
in two thousand years—the pure and unconditional love of
God!
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works [practical acts of kindness] and glo- rify your Father in heaven.
(Matthew 5:16)
Jesus said, “I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me” (Matthew
25:35–36).
Jesus makes it very clear that it’s not what you feel about the Jewish people that is the acid test, for Jesus didn’t say, “I was hungry and you felt sorry for Me; I was thirsty and you felt concern for Me; I was a stranger and you felt pity for Me.” I often hear pastors, evangelists, and Christians say, “I really like Israel” or “I like the Jewish people.” Jesus couldn’t care less what you like or don’t like; He’s looking for action. What will you do? What practical acts of kindness have you or your church done to demonstrate your love for Israel as mentioned in Matthew
25:40? What action have you taken to support Israel?
Stop talking about what you feel . . . and start taking action by showing practical acts of kindness toward God’s chosen people. Simply put, “Don’t tell me you love me. Show me!”
12
There will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars. . . . Then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to happen, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption draws near.
—Luke 21:25, 27–28
As the jet plane gracefully circled over the majestic beauty of Puget Sound, I looked out of the window at the tall and perfectly shaped spruce trees that surrounded a series of glis- tening lakes. Along the shoreline stood elegant homes with boat ramps and fishing docks extending from beautifully
#bloodmoons
manicured lawns. It was the American paradise that is the gorgeous state of Washington.
The wheels of the jet touched down on the runway with their familiar screech, which is always music to my ears. Every safe landing is a great landing!
The jet rolled to a stop. I unbuckled my seat belt, climbed down the steps, and was refreshingly jolted by the cool breeze on my face. I knew then we were far from the sweltering Texas heat! I began to focus on the reason I was here and what I was to say to the thousands that were gathering for the statewide Night to Honor Israel rally that evening.
Six years earlier, on February 6, 2006, I had invited four hundred of America’s foremost evangelical leaders to join me at Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, Texas, to form a na- tional organization called Christians United for Israel. The purpose of our organization is to bring Christians and Jews together in an atmosphere of mutual respect and brotherly love, in order to emphasize that what we have in common is far greater than the differences we have allowed to separate us over the centuries.
If you are not currently a member of Christians United for Israel and desire to stand with Israel and the Jewish people, I strongly encourage you to join us today by going to CUFI.org.
King David said, “You will arise and have compassion on
Zion, for it is time to show favor to her; the appointed time has come” (Psalm 102:13 niv). . . . The appointed time is now!
4
Signs in the Heavens
why Should we Support iSrael?
If we are to correctly understand heavenly signs and wonders, it’s imperative we grasp the full scope of Scripture and history. The following are five biblical reasons why Christians should be grateful to, and show support for, the nation of Israel and the Jewish people:
1. god proMiSeS to BleSS thoSe who BleSS iSrael “I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you” (Genesis 12:3). This is God’s pledge to Abraham and the Jewish people for all generations to come. God has promised to bless nations, churches, and individuals who do practical acts of kindness to bless Israel and the Jewish people.
Biblical evidence of God’s promised blessing is found in Luke 7, where a Roman centurion who had a sick servant wanted the Rabbi from Nazareth to come into his home and heal his servant. Jesus was an observant Jew; yet He would have to break the laws of Moses to enter the house of a Gen- tile, who was considered unclean.
The centurion—commander of a hundred soldiers—sent the Jewish elders to intercept Jesus. The elders begged Jesus earnestly, saying that the Roman centurion request was de- serving of Jesus’ healing, “for he loves our nation, and has built us a synagogue” (Luke 7:5).
Jesus healed the sick servant because a Gentile had
5
#bloodmoons
performed a practical act of kindness to bless Israel and the
Jewish people.
The Bible further supports God’s blessing on those who bless Israel with the evidence of Cornelius. Why were Cor- nelius and his household the first Gentiles to hear the gospel and to receive the outpouring of the Holy Spirit? The answer is found in Acts 10:22, which describes Cornelius the centurion as “a just man, one who fears God and has a good reputation among all the nation of the Jews.”
God performed a miracle to motivate the apostle Peter to go to the house of this unclean Gentile. Peter had a vision of a sheet (a prayer shawl) filled with unclean animals (Gentiles), and God commanded him not to call unclean what God had pronounced as clean (Acts 10:9–16). Peter obeyed the mes- sage of the vision and went, against religious tradition, to the house of a Gentile to present the gospel.
When Peter shared the gospel with the household of Cor- nelius, they all received salvation and were filled with the Holy Spirit, and then Peter commanded them to be baptized in wa- ter (Acts 10:44–48).
The Holy Spirit was poured out on Cornelius and his household because a Gentile did practical acts of kindness to bless the Jewish people, and true to His promise, God blessed him beyond measure.
I can testify personally that there is no human explana-
tion for the unprecedented blessing of God on Cornerstone
6
Signs in the Heavens
Church and John Hagee Ministries other than the fact that more than thirty years ago we decided to show practical acts of kindness for Israel and the Jewish people. Since that time, God has opened the windows of heaven and blessed us be- yond measure.
God’s promise is a fact: “I will bless those who bless you.”
2. we are coMManded to pray for the peace of JeruSaleM
Praying for the peace of Jerusalem is not a request—it’s a command! “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: may they prosper who love you” (Psalm 122:6).
From God’s perspective, Jerusalem is the center of the uni- verse. Jerusalem is the city David conquered from the Jebusi- tes three thousand years ago, and it became the capital of Isra- el forever. May it always be the eternal and undivided capital of Israel, and may peace be within her walls and prosperity within her palaces (Psalm 122:7).
Jerusalem is where Abraham offered Isaac on Mount Mo- riah. Jerusalem is where Jeremiah and Isaiah penned prin- ciples of righteousness that became the moral compass for Western civilization. And outside of its gates Jesus Christ, the Son of David, was crucified for the sins of the world.
According to biblical prophecy, Jerusalem is the past, present, and future of the world! From this city, Jesus will rule
planet earth with a rod of iron, and of His kingdom there shall
7
#bloodmoons
be no end (Isaiah 9:7; Luke 1:33).
When you pray for Jerusalem, you are praying for world peace. History proves that when there is peace in Jerusalem, there is peace in the world. When there is war in Jerusalem, the blood flows on planet earth. The universe revolves around Jerusalem. I quote my friend Dr. Graham Lacey, “As long as there is Jerusalem there is God; and as long as there is God there is Jerusalem.”
3. we are coMManded to Be watchMen on the
wallS of iSrael
God commands us through the prophet Isaiah to be watch- men on the walls of Jerusalem (62:6). We are commanded by God, through the prophet Isaiah, to speak up and defend Is- rael and the Jewish people when they are slandered, attacked by their enemies, and are subjected to any callous act of anti- Semitism. Isaiah writes:
For Zion’s sake I will not hold My peace, And for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest. . . .
I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem; They shall never hold their peace day or night.
You who make mention of the Lord, do not keep silent.
(62:1, 6)
8
Signs in the Heavens
4. we are coMManded to MiniSter to iSrael in
Material thingS
Another biblical reason we support Israel is given by the apostle Paul: “For if the Gentiles have been partakers of their spiritual things [the Jewish people], their duty [the Gentiles] is also to minister to them [the Jewish people] in material things” (Romans 15:27).
What are the “spiritual things” Paul is referring to?
• The Jewish people have given to us the written Word of God.
• The Jewish people have given to us the patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
• The Jewish people have given to us the Old Testament prophets: Ezekiel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habak- kuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi.
• The Jewish people have given to us the first family of Christianity: Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. Take Jesus out of Christianity and there is no Christianity.
• The Jewish people have given to us the twelve disciples and the apostle Paul.
Consider the monumental contribution given to us by the seed of Abraham. For this reason Jesus said in John 4:22, “For salvation is of the Jews.”
9
#bloodmoons
If you take away the Jewish contribution to Christianity, there would be no Christianity. Judaism does not need Chris- tianity to explain its existence; Christianity, however, cannot explain its existence without Judaism.
When I refer to Christianity I am referencing the teach- ings of Christ, which were based on the principles of Juda- ism—not the deeds of polluted historic Christianity.
Historic Christianity has left an evil legacy. It is responsible for the Crusades, in which Jewish people from Europe to Je- rusalem were slaughtered in seven major pogroms (crusades). The first crusade was declared by Pope Urban II in 1095. The Crusaders were rapists and thieves, forgiven in advance by the reigning pope for any sins they might commit while on their holy campaign to liberate Jerusalem from the “infidels.”
Not one Christian in a hundred today can answer the ques- tion: “How is it that Christianity, born through the teachings of a Jewish rabbi named Jesus of Nazareth, could three hundred years later kill Jews in the name of God?”
There is a dramatic difference between historic Christian- ity and the teachings of Jesus Christ. I publicly state that I am not a follower of historic Christianity; I am a follower of Jesus Christ!
5. JeSuS entreated the church to Support iSrael We should support Israel and the Jewish people because it was Jesus’ final request to His church. Jesus said in Matthew 25:40:
10
Signs in the Heavens
Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren [the Jewish people], you did it to Me.
Jesus never called the Gentiles His brethren until after the cross. Before the cross we were, as described by the apostle Paul, outside the covenants of Israel, without God and with- out hope, of all men most miserable (Ephesians 2:12; 1 Cor- inthians 15:19).
Gentile Christians can look at the day of the cross and shout for joy. It was there we were grafted into the original olive tree (Romans 11:17). It was there our sins were forgiven, buried in the deepest sea, never to be remembered anymore (Jeremiah 31:34). It was there that our sicknesses and diseas- es were removed and we received divine health, for “by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).
It was at the cross that Jesus took our poverty and gave to us the riches of Abraham. We who were “not a people” (1 Pe- ter 2:10) were adopted and became “kings and priests to His God” (Revelation 1:6), “ambassadors for Christ” (2 Corinthi- ans 5:20), and have been taken from rags to royalty through the precious blood of the virgin-born, “the only begotten Son of God” (John 3:18). The curse of death, hell, and the grave was broken, and we were given eternal life; hallelujah for the cross!
God’s Gentile assignment toward the Jewish people is to
show them what they have not seen from historic Christianity
11
#bloodmoons
in two thousand years—the pure and unconditional love of
God!
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works [practical acts of kindness] and glo- rify your Father in heaven.
(Matthew 5:16)
Jesus said, “I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me” (Matthew
25:35–36).
Jesus makes it very clear that it’s not what you feel about the Jewish people that is the acid test, for Jesus didn’t say, “I was hungry and you felt sorry for Me; I was thirsty and you felt concern for Me; I was a stranger and you felt pity for Me.” I often hear pastors, evangelists, and Christians say, “I really like Israel” or “I like the Jewish people.” Jesus couldn’t care less what you like or don’t like; He’s looking for action. What will you do? What practical acts of kindness have you or your church done to demonstrate your love for Israel as mentioned in Matthew
25:40? What action have you taken to support Israel?
Stop talking about what you feel . . . and start taking action by showing practical acts of kindness toward God’s chosen people. Simply put, “Don’t tell me you love me. Show me!”
12
Journey's End by Dora Hiers 12 Nov 2013 6:18 PM (11 years ago)
Tour Date: Nov 13, 2013
When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!
Grab the HTML for the entire post (will look like the post below):
***************************************************************************
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
White Rose Publishing (May 20, 2011)
***Special thanks to Dora Hiers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
When Dora isn’t writing, she enjoys reading, family gatherings, and mountain cabin getaways. She despises traffic, bad coffee, technological meltdowns, and a sad ending to a book. Her books always end with a happily-ever-after!
Readers can connect with Dora:
Website - www.dorahiers.com
Email - Dora(at)DoraHiers(dot)com
Blogs - http://seriouslywrite.blogspot.com/ & http://dorahiers.blogspot.com/
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/dorahiers
Twitter - https://twitter.com/DoraHiers
Pinterest - http://pinterest.com/dorahiers/boards/
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Devastated after the brutal murder of her husband, Chelsea Hammond vows never to love another lawman.Intent on rebuilding her shattered life, she turns her focus to helping troubled teens. But when an angry father bent on retaliation, threatens her, Chelsea must turn to the one man she never thought to trust: Deputy U.S. Marshal Trey Colten.Trey wants only to protect Chelsea, but she blames him for her husband’s death. Trey can relate. He blames himself, also. As danger lurks, Trey begs Chelsea to heed his warnings. He let down one Hammond. He won’t let down another—especially one who now holds his heart.
When Chelsea is snatched from her home, can she put aside her fear, and trust Trey with her life? Can she forgive him for destroying her past and let him help to rebuild her future?
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 232 pages
Publisher: White Rose Publishing (May 20, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611160804
ISBN-13: 978-1611160802
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The mystery man with haunted eyes was back.
Chelsea Hammond placed the lawn chairs next to the cooler in the trunk, but kept her eyes on the man. He stood alone, farther up the hill, tucked under some towering maple trees. Far enough away that she couldn’t make out all his features, but close enough for Chelsea to glimpse his pain. The slight slumping of his expansive shoulders; the hands clenched at his sides; the haunted eyes that stared out into the distance when he removed his sunglasses; the lips set in a straight, hard line.
And the words “Deputy U.S. Marshal” that blazed from the front of his polo shirt. It had taken her three years, but this year she determined to talk to him, to rid her dreams of those haunted eyes. To hear his story. To offer closure if his version somehow connected to hers.
Chelsea closed the trunk of the old Cadillac and turned to her in-laws. “There you go, Henry. You’re all set.”
“Thank you, dear. We appreciate you lugging those lawn chairs for us.” Henry opened the door for his wife while she wrestled to get into the car, sweat beading on her upper lip. Henry and Stella always made a day of it when they visited their two sons.
“You’re welcome. You take it easy going home.” Chelsea peered overhead at the steely gray clouds, swirling into angry puffs. “Looks like a storm is brewing.”
Henry followed her gaze, then turned to look at her. “Oh, we will, dear. We don’t have far to go. Will we see you next year?”
Her stomach lurched. She couldn’t let Doug’s elderly parents face this day alone. Besides, where else would she be on the anniversary of her husband’s death? “Same time, same place, Henry.” Chelsea smiled and leaned into the car to give Stella a peck on her moist cheek. “Bye, Stella.”
Chelsea straightened and Henry wrapped his frail arms around her for a hug. “Glad to see you with a smile on your face this year.”
She slipped away from his embrace, blinking, until Henry started the engine. The giant sedan glided away, their hands flapping through the open windows. She lifted her hand in return, the smile still firmly planted across her lips. Henry was right. This was the first year she hadn’t cried on his shoulder.
Thunder rumbled across the sky, and she jumped, feeling the echo vibrate against the ground. Fat raindrops splashed against her bare legs.
She glanced up the hill. The mystery man was gone.
Disappointment sliced through her chest. Maybe next year.
Chelsea hurried toward her truck and dived in through the open door. Now she wished she’d taken the time to change from her sundress into jeans after the graduation ceremony this morning.
She exited the memorial gardens and headed south on the interstate toward Charlotte. Dark gray clouds dumped rain from the sky, but even the stormy skies couldn’t dampen her spirits. Her sunglasses and an unopened tissue box sat on the seat next to her. She dared a glance in the rear-view mirror. Nope. Not bloodshot. Wonder blossomed in her chest.
Life was turning around. Finally.
She hunched forward and strained to see, the windshield wipers swishing at their maximum speed, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. She slowed down to exit the interstate and released a pent-up breath.
She pulled to a stop in front of the barn and cut the engine. Two streaks of lightning pierced the sky, snapping into electrical balls a few feet away. She sucked in a deep breath and pulled the keys from the ignition, chuckling at her shaky hands.
Thunder couldn’t be too far behind.
One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. A long crack of thunder boomed through the silence, the ground trembling in its wake.
Whew. That was close.
Chelsea waited, peering through the rain pelting the windshield, feeling the truck sway with the heavy winds. She didn’t want to go out in this, but she had to check on Molly. Kalyn, her live-in housekeeper, had fed the fawn earlier but Chelsea wanted to settle her in for the night. Besides, this rain didn’t appear to be lessening. She couldn’t stay in the truck all night.
She glanced to the passenger seat, deciding to leave her purse in the truck for now. She reached under the seat for the umbrella. She couldn’t use it now, but maybe the rain would dwindle enough where she could use it from the barn to the house. She slipped her sandals off. No need to ruin them.
Jerking the door open, she bolted for the barn, gripping her sundress, the wind all but whipping it over her head. Good thing it was just her and Kalyn out here.
She reached the barn and screeched to a halt, digging toes in the wet grass. The door stood slightly ajar. Alarm snaked up and down Chelsea’s spine. Hadn’t she closed it when she left this morning? She knew she had. She’d been worried about Molly roaming around, so she’d locked her up in a stall. A baby deer without a mama was easy prey.
Chelsea shook her head. Enough. Wondering wasn’t keeping her dry. She slid the barn door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. Mustiness and humidity slammed her in the face, along with the comfortable smells of leather and hay. Chelsea flipped on the light switch, but nothing happened.
She squeezed back the apprehension that rippled through her chest. The storm had clearly knocked out the power; she’d seen the fireballs.
Water rolled down the middle of her back. She shook her head, bouncing wet curls to get some of the water off, then gathered long hair in her hands and squeezed. That would have to do until she got inside where she had access to a dry towel. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms to generate some warmth.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. OK, so the barn smelled normal, but something didn’t feel right. Chelsea scanned the cool interior. The riding lawn mower and a few garden tools. Some extra straw for Molly’s stall. Looked about the same as it did every other day.
She was acting like a baby. She needed to get over it. Kalyn had probably come out to feed Molly, then left the door open. End of story.
Chelsea gritted her teeth and pushed shoulders back. She wasn’t scared. She couldn’t be. When Journey’s End opened next week, a bunch of teenagers would look to her as a role model for strength and courage. Teenagers could sense cowardice. They wouldn’t see it in her. No way.
Rain pummeled the barn roof. The wind howled, screaming through the open door of the barn and hurling straw pieces from one wall to the other. Another deafening crack of thunder boomed outside. She jumped, a nervous giggle escaping from her throat.
So, maybe she was just a little scared. She’d feel better if she were inside the house sipping a cup of coffee. Something to warm up her insides.
She would check on Molly. Get inside and dry off. Then whip up the latest recipe for apple pie that she’d been dying to try. Oh yeah. She grinned. Sounded good.
With quick steps, she headed toward Molly’s stall and pulled the latch to open the gate.
A streak of lightning flashed from the open door, lighting up the inside of the barn, and she turned to look outside. Blinded, Chelsea blinked and waited for her eyes to readjust, expecting to see Molly cowering in the corner.
But she didn’t. Molly snuggled comfortably next to something.
Someone?
Chelsea gasped, hearing the wild pounding of her pulse over the rain hammering on the roof.
A pencil-thin teenager scrambled to his knees, grabbing something from the straw next to him. Drool oozed from his open mouth, and straw poked out of his black hair. With sleepy brown eyes, he crouched on one knee and brandished a pitch fork at her like it was a rifle. “Don’t co-come any cl-closer.”
Chelsea did what any rational female would have done under the circumstances.
She screamed and threw hands in the air, the umbrella banging against her forearm.
He frowned and shook his head. “I…I’m not go-going to hurt you, lady.” Squeaky Voice said. He brushed the lone tear sliding down one cheek with his shirt sleeve. “I wouldn’t.”
“I believe you.” Chelsea took a step closer. The umbrella zinged open. Whoosh.
Chelsea rolled her eyes to the open umbrella, then back to the teenager.
Surprise distorted Squeaky Voice’s face until he dropped the pitchfork to the straw and doubled over, laughing. He laughed like he couldn’t imagine a tomorrow, like he couldn’t bear to look at yesterday, like he didn’t want to face today. Tears streamed down his face.
She knew that laugh. Recognized the tears.
Shock.
She needed to get him inside and assess the situation. She lowered her hands, slow and easy, and tossed the umbrella into the corner of the stall. She held out a hand with more confidence than she felt. “I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.”
He waited a few beats before standing up to his full six foot plus height. In what seemed like slow motion, his hand slid into hers. “I’m Jacob Carpocelli.”
Her stomach threatened to give up the hamburger she had devoured on the drive home. The stall started to spin. She reached out with a hand to steady herself against the door. Maybe she was the one who would need medical attention. “Did you say Jacob Carpocelli?”
He nodded while his face blanched, almost like he didn’t want to be known by his last name. She could understand that. Jacob tugged his hand away from her wet, slimy one and stepped back. “Jacob’s my real name, but I just go by Jake.”
“Jake?” Was that harsh whisper her voice?
Tony Carpocelli’s son?
God, why would you do this to me?
OK. Maybe she wasn’t so ready for closure after all.
****
It wasn’t too late to turn around.
Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around, but he wouldn’t have a job to turn around to. His boss had made that clear.
Trey Colten spotted the end of the snaking road and blew out a long breath. “Looks like we’re here. I don’t see any signs for the shelter, but this is the right address.”
Renner Crossman, his partner, glanced up from studying the case file and looked at him, sympathy oozing from his face. “Sorry about what happened with the chief, buddy.”
“Yeah.” Trey’s hands clenched the steering wheel. He turned into the clearing used for parking, pulling the Suburban to a stop in front of a house tucked deep in the middle of a forest. Hundreds of chirping birds drowned out any noise that might otherwise have filtered through the trees, like the neighbor’s dog from two miles back that ran back and forth barking at their car. Good ol’ Nowhere, USA.
The chugging of a lawn mower sounded nearby although they couldn’t see it.
Hammond’s widow?
Trey’s gut churned, and he reached in the center console for his roll of antacids, popping one into his mouth with a loud sigh. “Tell me again how Carpocelli’s kid found this place.”
“Chelsea Hammond’s brother.”
“Her brother?”
“Yeah, indirectly. It says here that”—Renner flipped the page in the folder to read the notes—“Chelsea’s brother is the resource officer at Jake’s school.”
“Chelsea’s brother sent him here?” Trey frowned. What kind of brother would send trouble to his sister in the form of Jake Carpocelli? Trey might go looking for her brother when he got back to Raleigh. Sit down and have a friendly little chat with him. Instruct him on the do’s and don’ts of brotherhood. Do not send a kid related to the mob to your sister’s house.
“No. Her brother didn’t send him here.”
Trey rolled his eyes and opened his door, his legs not cooperating. “So if Chelsea’s brother didn’t send Jake…”
“Jake was chatting with the resource officer in his office. The officer was called out for a fight.”
“Let me guess. He left Jake sitting in his office while he took care of business?”
“Yep. Chelsea’s advertising fliers were on his desk.”
“Ah. Pretty slick kid.” Trey still wanted that chat with the brother. It was due to his negligence that Carpocelli’s kid had landed here. That burned his gut. He popped another antacid in his mouth before stuffing the roll in his pocket.
Renner grinned and opened his door wide. “Let’s go, cowboy. Home sweet home.”
Trey glared at his partner. Renner’s joking manner only set him further on edge. Didn’t he know who they were up against? Tony Carpocelli? He wouldn’t put anything past that scum. His drug money would buy anything. Or anybody. Trey knew not to trust Carpocelli, even if Carpocelli was locked up, but nobody else seemed inclined to take Trey seriously.
“Maybe it’s time for a new partner.”
Renner scoffed. “Yeah, right. Nobody else will put up with you like I do.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
Renner threw his head back and laughed. “Could be. But after your conversation with the chief this morning, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
Trey gritted his teeth and forced his legs out of the car. “Don’t remind me. I should have tendered my resignation. While I still had a job.”
Renner walked around the car to join him, his dark eyebrows raised. “Meaning you won’t have one after this is over?”
“You never know.” Trey mumbled, looking away from the troubled eyes of his partner to scan the yard.
Two other agents were staged at vantage points around the perimeter, but this area was his worry. He wanted to make sure he knew what he was up against before trouble came knocking. And he was fairly sure it would. It was just a matter of time.
His eyes settled on the wrap-around front porch. Water gurgled softly down the side of a ceramic pot. Giant green ferns swayed gently in the breeze. Rocking chairs, Adirondacks and a swinging bench beckoned visitors to step onto the porch, to relax and embrace the solitude, the serenity.
He took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of freshly mowed grass.
This place whispered peace, quiet, and tranquility. He could see how it would be a beacon to a troubled soul. His lips twisted in a grimace. Too bad it had to attract the likes of Carpocelli’s son.
Most of the time Trey liked kids. But this was Carpocelli’s son. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the chief had given him responsibility for the widow.
Trey licked his dry lips.
“Nervous, buddy?” Renner said.
Trey shot him another annoyed glance. “Shove it, Renner.”
His gaze jerked back to the front door. Their trip from Raleigh had taken a little over two hours, but now it didn’t seem nearly long enough. With his eyes focused on the front door, he took the first step and willed his mind to cooperate. His boots felt weighted down with mud. Renner’s movement from behind forced him forward.
He licked his lips again. The widow Hammond would be standing in front of him in about four minutes.
Three years and he still wasn’t ready for this. How could he explain the knot in his stomach that grew tighter every time he heard the name Hammond? Like a sucker punch to the belly that produced more pain with every blow.
He had considered quitting after the chief refused to take him off this assignment, even up until he got in the car today. Days like this, he didn’t like his job. Where was the justice in all this?
He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts, to shake off this pathetic attitude. An attitude that could get him killed if he wasn’t careful.
He slowed his steps further, glanced back at Renner. How could he explain to his partner the sudden, urgent desire to…uh, take an extended vacation? Trey reached the end of the sidewalk and started up the steps. It wasn’t too late. They could be in the Suburban and out of here before anybody knew different. But where would they—?
“Looking for Journey’s End, gentlemen?”
That wasn’t good. She already caught him off guard, and he hadn’t even rung the doorbell. How was he ever going to focus on this assignment? He took a deep breath before turning around, hands fisted at his sides.
Renner pushed his back and propelled him forward, but Trey dug his heels in the ground a few feet away from the widow. He’d never seen her this close.
Chelsea Hammond’s simple beauty knocked the breath out of his lungs. Curly auburn locks cascaded gently onto a cream-colored shirt, and faded jeans graced gentle curves. Her lips formed a slight smile, and freckles peeked out from under a hint of makeup. A fawn nestled at her side, enhancing her sweetness and gentle aura.
Panic rippled through his chest at the war going on between guilt and attraction. His memories—and he hated to admit—his dreams hadn’t captured her essence. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t the beauty standing in front of him.
Trey tipped his head forward in a slight nod. “Ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.” She extended her hand, graceful, poised.
And him? He needed to get his act together before he lost his job. Reaching out to shake her hand required all of Trey’s willpower. “Trey Colten. Deputy U.S. Marshal.” Trey flashed his badge briefly, as he always did.
She tugged her hand from his grasp. Heart racing, he studied her through hooded lids, not wanting his eyes to mirror his own thoughts but wanting, no, needing, to know hers.
Trey tilted his head sideways to introduce Renner, never taking his eyes off Chelsea’s face. “And this is my partner, Renner Crossman.”
Renner shook hands with Chelsea and flashed his badge.
“Please forgive me, but may I take a closer look at your badges?”
“Sure.” Trey reached for Renner’s badge and handed both to Chelsea for closer identification. “We appreciate your caution. You’re tucked out here in the wilderness pretty far.” An understatement for sure. Two miles from her nearest neighbor? The chief had mentioned Chelsea installed a security system specifically designed for the shelter. He made a mental note to ask her about that later.
“Not so far out that Jake couldn’t find me, I guess.”
She had a point there. He caught her biting her lower lip while she studied the badges, and his stomach clenched. Did she recognize him from her husband’s graveside? He visited Hammond’s grave every year, around the same time as her, but he always stayed far enough away where she couldn’t recognize him.
Or maybe she recognized his name from the newspaper? He’d scoured the newspaper for weeks after Hammond’s death, relieved that the Marshal’s office hadn’t coughed up his name to the press.
She couldn’t possibly know him, could she?
Trey stuffed an antacid in his mouth, almost swallowed it whole.
She handed back their badges without a word, and he released the pressure that had been building in his lungs. “I believe you spoke with Joshua Hamilton, our Deputy Supervisor from the Raleigh office who worked out the details of our visit?”
Chelsea nodded.
“Would you mind if we continued this conversation inside?” The hair on the back of Trey’s neck stood on end. Standing outside, exposed, made him feel like a sitting duck. A big, open target, screaming, “Shoot me.”
Chelsea blinked and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, sure. I’m sorry. Come on in. Do you need me to call Jake in?”
“Let me guess. Jake’s the one mowing the lawn?” Renner’s voice expressed the disbelief that threatened to clog Trey’s arteries.
Jake, their key witness, was outside mowing the lawn? In broad daylight?
“Is there anything sweeter than a teenager mowing the lawn?” Summer and sunshine sparkled in Chelsea’s smile. She scooted passed him to wave at Jake, leaving the fawn lazing in the grass. The light scent of jasmine floated around Trey’s head.
Trey had anticipated other emotions from Chelsea. Like coldness. Anger. Contempt. Even had prepared himself for hatred. Those he could deal with, would actually make his job easier. But this sweetness and sugar? It would kill him. If one of Carpocelli’s thugs didn’t get to him first.
Trey waited while their witness, the one they were supposed to be protecting, rumbled over to Chelsea and cut the motor, casting a furtive glance in their direction. Chelsea spoke quietly to Jake before he hopped off the lawn mower. Trey didn’t miss the look that passed between them or the way she placed her hand protectively on Jake’s back while she led the way indoors.
Trey caught Renner’s raised eyebrows and his cocky grin before following Chelsea inside. Once inside the reception area, he allowed his eyes to wander. In the connecting room, sofas and recliners arranged in different settings throughout the massive area beckoned them to relax, and a 52-inch flat screen television played softly over a beautiful stone fireplace. He could imagine the flames frolicking quietly in the fireplace during the winter, adding a touch of warmth to the large room. Balls were racked on a nearby pool table, set and ready, inviting them to play.
Chelsea, still with her hand against Jake’s back, propelled them around, her quiet spirit a healing balm. No wonder Jake had found his way to Journey’s End.
Maybe there were some perks to staying here after all.
Something about Jake’s profile blasted through Trey’s consciousness, reminding him of Carpocelli. Did Chelsea know who this kid was? Did she know that Jake’s last name was Carpocelli? As in Tony Carpocelli’s son? Tony Carpocelli, the murderer who killed her husband? Why hadn’t they thought of asking the chief that important detail?
OK, go with the flow. No sense in giving away Jake’s last name or trying to fabricate one at the last minute. He would never be able to keep up with the lie. All the lies.
He could hardly live with the truth.
Trey stuck out his hand. “I’m Trey Colten, and this is Renner Crossman. We’re from the U.S. Marshal’s office. You must be Jake.”
“Yeah.” The kid squawked, sliding his sweaty palm into Trey’s. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, Jake didn’t come across as a wealthy fourteen year old. All the money in the world couldn’t help the kid now. He was scared to death. Scared of them? Or retaliation from his father?
Trey would find out eventually. “Jake, I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” The kid swiped at his eyes with the back of his arm.
Trey turned his head away to give Jake a chance to pull himself together. “We’ll need to sit down and talk with you for a few minutes. Ask you a few questions about what happened and discuss the schedule for the next few weeks.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Another squawk.
“You guys can make yourselves comfortable in here.” Chelsea led them to the seating area in front of the fireplace and then disappeared. Trey sank down into one of the leather recliners and closed his eyes for a moment.
He opened his eyes to see Jake settle on the couch, his white knuckles gripping the arm, while Renner plunked down in the other recliner.
Trey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t want to be too comfortable. He had a job to do. “You’ll be spending most of your time with Agent Crossman.”
Renner grinned at the kid. “Just call me plain old Renner.”
“And you can call me Trey.”
“OK.”
So far so good. “Do you have any specific questions we might be able to answer right now?”
“Do you guys know when my mom’s funeral is?”
O-K. That didn’t take long to go south. Trey glanced at Renner, hoping he might want to field that question.
Renner took the bait. “It’s planned for Monday at two.”
“Will I be able to go?” Hopeful brown eyes flicked warily from him to Renner, scanning the two of them for the response he wanted.
Trey measured his answer. Let the kid think about the danger in going to the funeral. “Do you think that would be a wise thing to do?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed and filled. “I don’t care if it’s the wise thing to do. She’s my mom.”
Trey settled back in the recliner at Jake’s sudden hostility and reached for his roll of antacids. He popped one in his mouth.
Chelsea walked into the great room carrying a tray of glasses filled with ice and a full pitcher. She placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Jake, glancing at the three of them as she poured. “Iced tea?”
“Sure, thanks.” Trey reached to take hold of the glass she offered, then watched Renner and Jake do the same.
Trey took a sip. Sweet, with just the right amount of sugar. Good stuff.
No one said anything. Chelsea looked up, an uncomfortable expression settling on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on this conversation.” She started to stand.
Jake stopped her with his free hand. He coughed and seemed to fight to keep control of his emotions. He wasn’t winning. “They’re trying to tell me that I can’t go to my mom’s funeral.” His voice faltered, then exploded, sorrow making his words sound angry. “My own mother’s funeral.”
Chelsea’s censure flitted from Trey to Renner, leaving both of them aware of how she felt. Mama bear.
“How could there be a problem with Jake attending his mother’s funeral?”
A problem? Couldn’t she see that attending the funeral would create just a tiny little problem? As in ambush? “You do realize Jake’s dad doesn’t work by himself? There’s probably six or seven guys waiting for word from him, happy to do his dirty work.”
He heard her soft intake of breath. So he scared her. Good. Now if he could only scare Jake. “Have either of you considered that Jake’s mom’s funeral would be the first place one—”
“Maybe you guys would like to freshen up? Give Jake a chance to catch his breath. I believe your rooms are ready.” Chelsea interrupted. She stood, pointing toward the stairwell. “If you’ll follow me—”
“We have a lot to go over and not much time—” Renner stopped her mid-sentence.
Chelsea flashed her teeth, something between a smile and a warning. “You’re at Journey’s End now. In our little corner of the world we have all the time we need. Right, Jake?”
Chelsea Hammond placed the lawn chairs next to the cooler in the trunk, but kept her eyes on the man. He stood alone, farther up the hill, tucked under some towering maple trees. Far enough away that she couldn’t make out all his features, but close enough for Chelsea to glimpse his pain. The slight slumping of his expansive shoulders; the hands clenched at his sides; the haunted eyes that stared out into the distance when he removed his sunglasses; the lips set in a straight, hard line.
And the words “Deputy U.S. Marshal” that blazed from the front of his polo shirt. It had taken her three years, but this year she determined to talk to him, to rid her dreams of those haunted eyes. To hear his story. To offer closure if his version somehow connected to hers.
Chelsea closed the trunk of the old Cadillac and turned to her in-laws. “There you go, Henry. You’re all set.”
“Thank you, dear. We appreciate you lugging those lawn chairs for us.” Henry opened the door for his wife while she wrestled to get into the car, sweat beading on her upper lip. Henry and Stella always made a day of it when they visited their two sons.
“You’re welcome. You take it easy going home.” Chelsea peered overhead at the steely gray clouds, swirling into angry puffs. “Looks like a storm is brewing.”
Henry followed her gaze, then turned to look at her. “Oh, we will, dear. We don’t have far to go. Will we see you next year?”
Her stomach lurched. She couldn’t let Doug’s elderly parents face this day alone. Besides, where else would she be on the anniversary of her husband’s death? “Same time, same place, Henry.” Chelsea smiled and leaned into the car to give Stella a peck on her moist cheek. “Bye, Stella.”
Chelsea straightened and Henry wrapped his frail arms around her for a hug. “Glad to see you with a smile on your face this year.”
She slipped away from his embrace, blinking, until Henry started the engine. The giant sedan glided away, their hands flapping through the open windows. She lifted her hand in return, the smile still firmly planted across her lips. Henry was right. This was the first year she hadn’t cried on his shoulder.
Thunder rumbled across the sky, and she jumped, feeling the echo vibrate against the ground. Fat raindrops splashed against her bare legs.
She glanced up the hill. The mystery man was gone.
Disappointment sliced through her chest. Maybe next year.
Chelsea hurried toward her truck and dived in through the open door. Now she wished she’d taken the time to change from her sundress into jeans after the graduation ceremony this morning.
She exited the memorial gardens and headed south on the interstate toward Charlotte. Dark gray clouds dumped rain from the sky, but even the stormy skies couldn’t dampen her spirits. Her sunglasses and an unopened tissue box sat on the seat next to her. She dared a glance in the rear-view mirror. Nope. Not bloodshot. Wonder blossomed in her chest.
Life was turning around. Finally.
She hunched forward and strained to see, the windshield wipers swishing at their maximum speed, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. She slowed down to exit the interstate and released a pent-up breath.
She pulled to a stop in front of the barn and cut the engine. Two streaks of lightning pierced the sky, snapping into electrical balls a few feet away. She sucked in a deep breath and pulled the keys from the ignition, chuckling at her shaky hands.
Thunder couldn’t be too far behind.
One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. A long crack of thunder boomed through the silence, the ground trembling in its wake.
Whew. That was close.
Chelsea waited, peering through the rain pelting the windshield, feeling the truck sway with the heavy winds. She didn’t want to go out in this, but she had to check on Molly. Kalyn, her live-in housekeeper, had fed the fawn earlier but Chelsea wanted to settle her in for the night. Besides, this rain didn’t appear to be lessening. She couldn’t stay in the truck all night.
She glanced to the passenger seat, deciding to leave her purse in the truck for now. She reached under the seat for the umbrella. She couldn’t use it now, but maybe the rain would dwindle enough where she could use it from the barn to the house. She slipped her sandals off. No need to ruin them.
Jerking the door open, she bolted for the barn, gripping her sundress, the wind all but whipping it over her head. Good thing it was just her and Kalyn out here.
She reached the barn and screeched to a halt, digging toes in the wet grass. The door stood slightly ajar. Alarm snaked up and down Chelsea’s spine. Hadn’t she closed it when she left this morning? She knew she had. She’d been worried about Molly roaming around, so she’d locked her up in a stall. A baby deer without a mama was easy prey.
Chelsea shook her head. Enough. Wondering wasn’t keeping her dry. She slid the barn door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. Mustiness and humidity slammed her in the face, along with the comfortable smells of leather and hay. Chelsea flipped on the light switch, but nothing happened.
She squeezed back the apprehension that rippled through her chest. The storm had clearly knocked out the power; she’d seen the fireballs.
Water rolled down the middle of her back. She shook her head, bouncing wet curls to get some of the water off, then gathered long hair in her hands and squeezed. That would have to do until she got inside where she had access to a dry towel. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms to generate some warmth.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. OK, so the barn smelled normal, but something didn’t feel right. Chelsea scanned the cool interior. The riding lawn mower and a few garden tools. Some extra straw for Molly’s stall. Looked about the same as it did every other day.
She was acting like a baby. She needed to get over it. Kalyn had probably come out to feed Molly, then left the door open. End of story.
Chelsea gritted her teeth and pushed shoulders back. She wasn’t scared. She couldn’t be. When Journey’s End opened next week, a bunch of teenagers would look to her as a role model for strength and courage. Teenagers could sense cowardice. They wouldn’t see it in her. No way.
Rain pummeled the barn roof. The wind howled, screaming through the open door of the barn and hurling straw pieces from one wall to the other. Another deafening crack of thunder boomed outside. She jumped, a nervous giggle escaping from her throat.
So, maybe she was just a little scared. She’d feel better if she were inside the house sipping a cup of coffee. Something to warm up her insides.
She would check on Molly. Get inside and dry off. Then whip up the latest recipe for apple pie that she’d been dying to try. Oh yeah. She grinned. Sounded good.
With quick steps, she headed toward Molly’s stall and pulled the latch to open the gate.
A streak of lightning flashed from the open door, lighting up the inside of the barn, and she turned to look outside. Blinded, Chelsea blinked and waited for her eyes to readjust, expecting to see Molly cowering in the corner.
But she didn’t. Molly snuggled comfortably next to something.
Someone?
Chelsea gasped, hearing the wild pounding of her pulse over the rain hammering on the roof.
A pencil-thin teenager scrambled to his knees, grabbing something from the straw next to him. Drool oozed from his open mouth, and straw poked out of his black hair. With sleepy brown eyes, he crouched on one knee and brandished a pitch fork at her like it was a rifle. “Don’t co-come any cl-closer.”
Chelsea did what any rational female would have done under the circumstances.
She screamed and threw hands in the air, the umbrella banging against her forearm.
He frowned and shook his head. “I…I’m not go-going to hurt you, lady.” Squeaky Voice said. He brushed the lone tear sliding down one cheek with his shirt sleeve. “I wouldn’t.”
“I believe you.” Chelsea took a step closer. The umbrella zinged open. Whoosh.
Chelsea rolled her eyes to the open umbrella, then back to the teenager.
Surprise distorted Squeaky Voice’s face until he dropped the pitchfork to the straw and doubled over, laughing. He laughed like he couldn’t imagine a tomorrow, like he couldn’t bear to look at yesterday, like he didn’t want to face today. Tears streamed down his face.
She knew that laugh. Recognized the tears.
Shock.
She needed to get him inside and assess the situation. She lowered her hands, slow and easy, and tossed the umbrella into the corner of the stall. She held out a hand with more confidence than she felt. “I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.”
He waited a few beats before standing up to his full six foot plus height. In what seemed like slow motion, his hand slid into hers. “I’m Jacob Carpocelli.”
Her stomach threatened to give up the hamburger she had devoured on the drive home. The stall started to spin. She reached out with a hand to steady herself against the door. Maybe she was the one who would need medical attention. “Did you say Jacob Carpocelli?”
He nodded while his face blanched, almost like he didn’t want to be known by his last name. She could understand that. Jacob tugged his hand away from her wet, slimy one and stepped back. “Jacob’s my real name, but I just go by Jake.”
“Jake?” Was that harsh whisper her voice?
Tony Carpocelli’s son?
God, why would you do this to me?
OK. Maybe she wasn’t so ready for closure after all.
****
It wasn’t too late to turn around.
Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around, but he wouldn’t have a job to turn around to. His boss had made that clear.
Trey Colten spotted the end of the snaking road and blew out a long breath. “Looks like we’re here. I don’t see any signs for the shelter, but this is the right address.”
Renner Crossman, his partner, glanced up from studying the case file and looked at him, sympathy oozing from his face. “Sorry about what happened with the chief, buddy.”
“Yeah.” Trey’s hands clenched the steering wheel. He turned into the clearing used for parking, pulling the Suburban to a stop in front of a house tucked deep in the middle of a forest. Hundreds of chirping birds drowned out any noise that might otherwise have filtered through the trees, like the neighbor’s dog from two miles back that ran back and forth barking at their car. Good ol’ Nowhere, USA.
The chugging of a lawn mower sounded nearby although they couldn’t see it.
Hammond’s widow?
Trey’s gut churned, and he reached in the center console for his roll of antacids, popping one into his mouth with a loud sigh. “Tell me again how Carpocelli’s kid found this place.”
“Chelsea Hammond’s brother.”
“Her brother?”
“Yeah, indirectly. It says here that”—Renner flipped the page in the folder to read the notes—“Chelsea’s brother is the resource officer at Jake’s school.”
“Chelsea’s brother sent him here?” Trey frowned. What kind of brother would send trouble to his sister in the form of Jake Carpocelli? Trey might go looking for her brother when he got back to Raleigh. Sit down and have a friendly little chat with him. Instruct him on the do’s and don’ts of brotherhood. Do not send a kid related to the mob to your sister’s house.
“No. Her brother didn’t send him here.”
Trey rolled his eyes and opened his door, his legs not cooperating. “So if Chelsea’s brother didn’t send Jake…”
“Jake was chatting with the resource officer in his office. The officer was called out for a fight.”
“Let me guess. He left Jake sitting in his office while he took care of business?”
“Yep. Chelsea’s advertising fliers were on his desk.”
“Ah. Pretty slick kid.” Trey still wanted that chat with the brother. It was due to his negligence that Carpocelli’s kid had landed here. That burned his gut. He popped another antacid in his mouth before stuffing the roll in his pocket.
Renner grinned and opened his door wide. “Let’s go, cowboy. Home sweet home.”
Trey glared at his partner. Renner’s joking manner only set him further on edge. Didn’t he know who they were up against? Tony Carpocelli? He wouldn’t put anything past that scum. His drug money would buy anything. Or anybody. Trey knew not to trust Carpocelli, even if Carpocelli was locked up, but nobody else seemed inclined to take Trey seriously.
“Maybe it’s time for a new partner.”
Renner scoffed. “Yeah, right. Nobody else will put up with you like I do.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
Renner threw his head back and laughed. “Could be. But after your conversation with the chief this morning, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
Trey gritted his teeth and forced his legs out of the car. “Don’t remind me. I should have tendered my resignation. While I still had a job.”
Renner walked around the car to join him, his dark eyebrows raised. “Meaning you won’t have one after this is over?”
“You never know.” Trey mumbled, looking away from the troubled eyes of his partner to scan the yard.
Two other agents were staged at vantage points around the perimeter, but this area was his worry. He wanted to make sure he knew what he was up against before trouble came knocking. And he was fairly sure it would. It was just a matter of time.
His eyes settled on the wrap-around front porch. Water gurgled softly down the side of a ceramic pot. Giant green ferns swayed gently in the breeze. Rocking chairs, Adirondacks and a swinging bench beckoned visitors to step onto the porch, to relax and embrace the solitude, the serenity.
He took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of freshly mowed grass.
This place whispered peace, quiet, and tranquility. He could see how it would be a beacon to a troubled soul. His lips twisted in a grimace. Too bad it had to attract the likes of Carpocelli’s son.
Most of the time Trey liked kids. But this was Carpocelli’s son. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the chief had given him responsibility for the widow.
Trey licked his dry lips.
“Nervous, buddy?” Renner said.
Trey shot him another annoyed glance. “Shove it, Renner.”
His gaze jerked back to the front door. Their trip from Raleigh had taken a little over two hours, but now it didn’t seem nearly long enough. With his eyes focused on the front door, he took the first step and willed his mind to cooperate. His boots felt weighted down with mud. Renner’s movement from behind forced him forward.
He licked his lips again. The widow Hammond would be standing in front of him in about four minutes.
Three years and he still wasn’t ready for this. How could he explain the knot in his stomach that grew tighter every time he heard the name Hammond? Like a sucker punch to the belly that produced more pain with every blow.
He had considered quitting after the chief refused to take him off this assignment, even up until he got in the car today. Days like this, he didn’t like his job. Where was the justice in all this?
He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts, to shake off this pathetic attitude. An attitude that could get him killed if he wasn’t careful.
He slowed his steps further, glanced back at Renner. How could he explain to his partner the sudden, urgent desire to…uh, take an extended vacation? Trey reached the end of the sidewalk and started up the steps. It wasn’t too late. They could be in the Suburban and out of here before anybody knew different. But where would they—?
“Looking for Journey’s End, gentlemen?”
That wasn’t good. She already caught him off guard, and he hadn’t even rung the doorbell. How was he ever going to focus on this assignment? He took a deep breath before turning around, hands fisted at his sides.
Renner pushed his back and propelled him forward, but Trey dug his heels in the ground a few feet away from the widow. He’d never seen her this close.
Chelsea Hammond’s simple beauty knocked the breath out of his lungs. Curly auburn locks cascaded gently onto a cream-colored shirt, and faded jeans graced gentle curves. Her lips formed a slight smile, and freckles peeked out from under a hint of makeup. A fawn nestled at her side, enhancing her sweetness and gentle aura.
Panic rippled through his chest at the war going on between guilt and attraction. His memories—and he hated to admit—his dreams hadn’t captured her essence. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t the beauty standing in front of him.
Trey tipped his head forward in a slight nod. “Ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.” She extended her hand, graceful, poised.
And him? He needed to get his act together before he lost his job. Reaching out to shake her hand required all of Trey’s willpower. “Trey Colten. Deputy U.S. Marshal.” Trey flashed his badge briefly, as he always did.
She tugged her hand from his grasp. Heart racing, he studied her through hooded lids, not wanting his eyes to mirror his own thoughts but wanting, no, needing, to know hers.
Trey tilted his head sideways to introduce Renner, never taking his eyes off Chelsea’s face. “And this is my partner, Renner Crossman.”
Renner shook hands with Chelsea and flashed his badge.
“Please forgive me, but may I take a closer look at your badges?”
“Sure.” Trey reached for Renner’s badge and handed both to Chelsea for closer identification. “We appreciate your caution. You’re tucked out here in the wilderness pretty far.” An understatement for sure. Two miles from her nearest neighbor? The chief had mentioned Chelsea installed a security system specifically designed for the shelter. He made a mental note to ask her about that later.
“Not so far out that Jake couldn’t find me, I guess.”
She had a point there. He caught her biting her lower lip while she studied the badges, and his stomach clenched. Did she recognize him from her husband’s graveside? He visited Hammond’s grave every year, around the same time as her, but he always stayed far enough away where she couldn’t recognize him.
Or maybe she recognized his name from the newspaper? He’d scoured the newspaper for weeks after Hammond’s death, relieved that the Marshal’s office hadn’t coughed up his name to the press.
She couldn’t possibly know him, could she?
Trey stuffed an antacid in his mouth, almost swallowed it whole.
She handed back their badges without a word, and he released the pressure that had been building in his lungs. “I believe you spoke with Joshua Hamilton, our Deputy Supervisor from the Raleigh office who worked out the details of our visit?”
Chelsea nodded.
“Would you mind if we continued this conversation inside?” The hair on the back of Trey’s neck stood on end. Standing outside, exposed, made him feel like a sitting duck. A big, open target, screaming, “Shoot me.”
Chelsea blinked and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, sure. I’m sorry. Come on in. Do you need me to call Jake in?”
“Let me guess. Jake’s the one mowing the lawn?” Renner’s voice expressed the disbelief that threatened to clog Trey’s arteries.
Jake, their key witness, was outside mowing the lawn? In broad daylight?
“Is there anything sweeter than a teenager mowing the lawn?” Summer and sunshine sparkled in Chelsea’s smile. She scooted passed him to wave at Jake, leaving the fawn lazing in the grass. The light scent of jasmine floated around Trey’s head.
Trey had anticipated other emotions from Chelsea. Like coldness. Anger. Contempt. Even had prepared himself for hatred. Those he could deal with, would actually make his job easier. But this sweetness and sugar? It would kill him. If one of Carpocelli’s thugs didn’t get to him first.
Trey waited while their witness, the one they were supposed to be protecting, rumbled over to Chelsea and cut the motor, casting a furtive glance in their direction. Chelsea spoke quietly to Jake before he hopped off the lawn mower. Trey didn’t miss the look that passed between them or the way she placed her hand protectively on Jake’s back while she led the way indoors.
Trey caught Renner’s raised eyebrows and his cocky grin before following Chelsea inside. Once inside the reception area, he allowed his eyes to wander. In the connecting room, sofas and recliners arranged in different settings throughout the massive area beckoned them to relax, and a 52-inch flat screen television played softly over a beautiful stone fireplace. He could imagine the flames frolicking quietly in the fireplace during the winter, adding a touch of warmth to the large room. Balls were racked on a nearby pool table, set and ready, inviting them to play.
Chelsea, still with her hand against Jake’s back, propelled them around, her quiet spirit a healing balm. No wonder Jake had found his way to Journey’s End.
Maybe there were some perks to staying here after all.
Something about Jake’s profile blasted through Trey’s consciousness, reminding him of Carpocelli. Did Chelsea know who this kid was? Did she know that Jake’s last name was Carpocelli? As in Tony Carpocelli’s son? Tony Carpocelli, the murderer who killed her husband? Why hadn’t they thought of asking the chief that important detail?
OK, go with the flow. No sense in giving away Jake’s last name or trying to fabricate one at the last minute. He would never be able to keep up with the lie. All the lies.
He could hardly live with the truth.
Trey stuck out his hand. “I’m Trey Colten, and this is Renner Crossman. We’re from the U.S. Marshal’s office. You must be Jake.”
“Yeah.” The kid squawked, sliding his sweaty palm into Trey’s. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, Jake didn’t come across as a wealthy fourteen year old. All the money in the world couldn’t help the kid now. He was scared to death. Scared of them? Or retaliation from his father?
Trey would find out eventually. “Jake, I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” The kid swiped at his eyes with the back of his arm.
Trey turned his head away to give Jake a chance to pull himself together. “We’ll need to sit down and talk with you for a few minutes. Ask you a few questions about what happened and discuss the schedule for the next few weeks.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Another squawk.
“You guys can make yourselves comfortable in here.” Chelsea led them to the seating area in front of the fireplace and then disappeared. Trey sank down into one of the leather recliners and closed his eyes for a moment.
He opened his eyes to see Jake settle on the couch, his white knuckles gripping the arm, while Renner plunked down in the other recliner.
Trey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t want to be too comfortable. He had a job to do. “You’ll be spending most of your time with Agent Crossman.”
Renner grinned at the kid. “Just call me plain old Renner.”
“And you can call me Trey.”
“OK.”
So far so good. “Do you have any specific questions we might be able to answer right now?”
“Do you guys know when my mom’s funeral is?”
O-K. That didn’t take long to go south. Trey glanced at Renner, hoping he might want to field that question.
Renner took the bait. “It’s planned for Monday at two.”
“Will I be able to go?” Hopeful brown eyes flicked warily from him to Renner, scanning the two of them for the response he wanted.
Trey measured his answer. Let the kid think about the danger in going to the funeral. “Do you think that would be a wise thing to do?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed and filled. “I don’t care if it’s the wise thing to do. She’s my mom.”
Trey settled back in the recliner at Jake’s sudden hostility and reached for his roll of antacids. He popped one in his mouth.
Chelsea walked into the great room carrying a tray of glasses filled with ice and a full pitcher. She placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Jake, glancing at the three of them as she poured. “Iced tea?”
“Sure, thanks.” Trey reached to take hold of the glass she offered, then watched Renner and Jake do the same.
Trey took a sip. Sweet, with just the right amount of sugar. Good stuff.
No one said anything. Chelsea looked up, an uncomfortable expression settling on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on this conversation.” She started to stand.
Jake stopped her with his free hand. He coughed and seemed to fight to keep control of his emotions. He wasn’t winning. “They’re trying to tell me that I can’t go to my mom’s funeral.” His voice faltered, then exploded, sorrow making his words sound angry. “My own mother’s funeral.”
Chelsea’s censure flitted from Trey to Renner, leaving both of them aware of how she felt. Mama bear.
“How could there be a problem with Jake attending his mother’s funeral?”
A problem? Couldn’t she see that attending the funeral would create just a tiny little problem? As in ambush? “You do realize Jake’s dad doesn’t work by himself? There’s probably six or seven guys waiting for word from him, happy to do his dirty work.”
He heard her soft intake of breath. So he scared her. Good. Now if he could only scare Jake. “Have either of you considered that Jake’s mom’s funeral would be the first place one—”
“Maybe you guys would like to freshen up? Give Jake a chance to catch his breath. I believe your rooms are ready.” Chelsea interrupted. She stood, pointing toward the stairwell. “If you’ll follow me—”
“We have a lot to go over and not much time—” Renner stopped her mid-sentence.
Chelsea flashed her teeth, something between a smile and a warning. “You’re at Journey’s End now. In our little corner of the world we have all the time we need. Right, Jake?”