Into the Fire

Wednesday Words

Wishy-washy

Namby-pamby

Dumber than dirt

Snake-spit

Infuriating

Castration

Putrid

Rancid

Cushy

Cheeky

Bridled

Sneaky

Svelte

Cunning

Outlandish

Avarice

Bootlegger

Depraved/depravity

Elegant

God, your words are true, loving, warning, and real always. Jesus, you are the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Amen.

I am just . . . here.

Small. Smallness. Less than the tiniest pinpoint on the entire earth’s surface and netherworld. Expanded into the universe and the heavens, I am just . . . here.

God, I am almost non-existent. Certainly insignificant. A no name for sure. No one to many. Nothing worth mentioning in comparison to just about anyone or anything. Just . . . here.

I ask for the increase in something so miniscule as a novel, knowing my Lord is the only one who brings such things. For the potential money? No. Unequivocally: No. For the message, the heart of the story, the hope it can reach, touch, somehow minister? Yes. Without a doubt: Yes.

Knowing that reaching, touching, ministering are not unimportant. These things encapsulate the very reason for our existence. To bring what little glory my life can shed on the magnificence of our God and King—the ultimate use of one life. My desire. To do what He has asked of me.

He didn’t send me to foreign lands to preach the gospel. He didn’t ask me to attend school to pursue theological positions in the church. He called me like He does every other Christian to share His “old, old story—how a Savior came from Glory”. The Gospel. The one thing all Christians have in common: Acts 1:8. Be His witnesses—in all our various forms, ways, with all of our hearts, giving all of our efforts to be who He has called us to be.

And so I write the stories He has given me to tell. Desiring to fulfill his instructions to me. Inconsequential as I feel and in the bigger scope surely am. Yet He uses me in ways I can’t evaluate and are positively inadequate in all of my estimations. Worthless it seems to me.

But not to Him. To Him I matter and have a place to do things that do somehow account for something in His grand scheme. Unimaginable.

Since I am just . . . here.

Lord of all, you can use the least of us which I am. Thank you, Jesus, for saving my soul. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Too many or not enough?

With the cautions and layoffs directed by publishing companies, authors are hereby warned that said publishers are serious about cutbacks. There will be fewer books published in this devolving economy. Period. Okay.

The reactions, of course, are mixed. Pre-published authors twitch and squirm at these admissions while the veteran authors shift their postures with a hint of uneasiness. The A-list authors consider the possible limitations. Some professionals in the industry spout quips about a much needed opportunity for higher quality with the dwindling number of publications. Others give the standard company line about producing the best of the litter, making us wonder why they haven’t done this all along.

Quality is a state of mind. How else can it be evaluated? And equating quality with bestseller is often an oxymoron.

Some publishers have admitted they’ll cut back and keep their best selling authors in the forefront of production. As I understand it, the number of novels published are broken into groups of so many per genre, depending either on what’s projected to sell the most or the genre which has proved the most effective for them (i.e. historicals for Bethany House).

No one can argue there have been tremendous numbers of novels produced in recent years. They fill shelves in every major bookstore and there are never ending lists of them online. Professionals continue to tell us that “most” books don’t earn out their advances. To me this is a puzzling admission because what it says to me is that the publisher either failed to effectively predict what would sell well or that the marketing for these novels hasn’t worked.

I suspect the average reader or the general public won’t notice any decreases in number of books produced unless they can’t find a newer novel by their favorite author. There are so many books on the shelves from which to select, it won’t be problem for a consumer to find a novel to read, familiar author or not.

Some of us have seen a lack of certain kinds of preferred novels for years, so we have experienced the absence of what we like for a long time (i.e. contemporary sagas, fantasy, sci-fi, literary). I think the literary folks are having less and less to complain about with writers such as Tosca Lee, Lisa Samson, Chris Fabry, and Susan Meissner. Others have never experienced a shortage of their preferred genre(s). Historicals and romance novels can be found anywhere, anytime.

So, what do you think? Will it be a blessing or a curse to reduce the number of novels produced? Are there too many or not enough?

God, what is man to you that you are mindful of him? . . . Sometimes the entire ordeal seems so small in comparison to the present times . . . Yet you call people to write stories, to obey your leading and do as you ask. You give words and stories to writers to declare your glory to a lost and failing people. Help us to tell the "old, old story of how a Savior came from Glory . . ." Help us to tell it with passion, with ordained creativity. Help us, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

I love you, O Lord, my strength.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.
He is my shield and the horn of my salvation,
my stronghold.
I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise,
and I am saved from my enemies.

Psalm 18:1-3 (NIV)

Saturday Sample

CHAPTER SIX

“Matt, telephone,” his mother called up the stairs. “It’s a female voice,” she added, and Matt could hear the hopeful note in his mother’s voice.
Since he was in his dad’s office, he called down the stairs that he’d get it up there. The moment he said hello his mom hung up the phone.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Matt. You may not remember me—I’m a friend of CM’s. My name is Charlene Benchford—I work with CM. The reason I’m calling is to tell you that CM’s dad was killed in a car accident a couple of days ago. I thought you might want to know,” her voice faded somewhat at the end, and he could sense she was nervous about calling him.
“I remember you, Charlene. If I’m not mistaken, you like to be called ‘Char’?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did CM ask you to call?”
She was silent for a moment before she answered. “Well, no. She didn’t want to bother you, but to tell you the truth, she’s really hurting, and, well, I guess I just thought you might want to know about it—about her.”
“You’re right, Char. I do. When’s the funeral?”
“It’s a memorial service the day after tomorrow at a church called True Life Center in the Greenwood district.”
“Can you give me the address and time of the service?”
“Sure.”
Matt got the information and charged down the staircase.
“What’s up?” his mother asked with concern, seeing his serious expression.
“CM’s dad was killed in a car crash a couple days ago. I’ve got to get up there for the funeral the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, Matt, that’s too bad. I’m so sorry,” she said, tears immediately coming to her eyes.
Seeing her tender expression, he put his arms around his mom. “Me, too, Mom.”

James found him immediately as he walked into the baggage claim. “Hey, Matt.”
“Hey. Thanks for coming, James.”
“Sorry about CM’s dad.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He spotted his solitary bag, grabbed it, and the two men went to his brother’s car.
“You want to talk about why you came up?” James asked quietly after they were on the freeway headed to the apartment.
“You know I love her, right?” he answered with a question.
“Yeah. I’ve known it almost from the beginning, maybe before you did.”
Matt looked over at his brother appreciatively. James was the sensitive one, the less outgoing of the two brothers, more like their mother. He had a keen sense of people’s intentions and motives, and he always gave others the benefit of the doubt for their decisions. Girls had always been drawn to the Preston brothers but for differing reasons. James was good looking with his short light brown hair, moustache, and almost golden brown eyes like their Mom’s which seemed to identify him as kind and considerate. He stood 5’11”, slender but athletic, and generally girls who cared deeply about things were drawn to him. In contrast, his brother Matt always drew the knockouts, the ones who tended to be trophies instead of soul mates—until he found CM.
“You know what’s happened to Mom and Dad?” Matt asked out of the blue.
“Yeah. They’re Jesus freaks,” he answered, smiling over at his older brother.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Good. I’m happy for them. They didn’t just all of a sudden jump into it, you know.”
Matt sat stunned by his brother’s response. Then it hit him. “Not you too?!”
“What?” his brother laughed. “You a God-o-phobic like the rest of the world, Matt?”
“C’mon, James! Don’t you think this is just a little bit crazy? I mean, you know how we were raised. Dad wasn’t exactly a model citizen when it came to magazines and movies and stuff—he told me how ashamed he was of all of it, but I’m supposed to just ignore all that stuff like it never existed in our lives?” he retorted, the aggravation present.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to imply you could just accept it like it was no big deal. You’re right. We have a lot of history to overcome.” James paused. “But for me, Matt, I was so hungry for something, anything, meaningful in this life of mine, so when Mom and Dad explained their experience to me, it just made so much sense, I had to look into it on my own.”
“And?”
“And Jesus Christ is it, man. He’s the truth the world doesn’t want to see—He’s everything a person needs to survive and thrive on this earth. That’s where I’m at, Matt. I’ll answer anything you want to know and I won’t force you into any conversations you don’t want to have, but I’m a born again Christian now, and I’m so thankful for it,” he concluded with a catch in his voice.
What in the world is going on with my family? Have I just jumped universes?
“I know it’s bizarre to hear about all this, Matt, but you’ve always been the kind of guy who investigated stuff. Moreso than myself. You’ve always been the one who really wanted all the information before making a decision. Well, now’s your chance,” James offered in that particular and unique tone of voice he always used when he spoke to Matt like the big brother he held in utmost respect. He’d been doing it since he was a little kid, always looking up to his older brother. Thoughtful silence permeated the rest of the ride.

The church, a modern structure with a sanctuary which maxed out at probably 300 people, was jammed to capacity with a diverse crowd come to pay their last respects. In one section of the front two rows on the right there was a group of people who tried to dress for the occasion. The long stringy hair of some of the men looked as though they’d tried to make it presentable. Some of their long shirt sleeves looked a little short for their arms. A few held especially sad expressions while some of them seemed unnaturally nervous.
Matt scanned the front rows for CM and her mother. When he spotted CM, his heart tripped over itself and adrenaline surged through him unexpectedly. It doused him like a wave how much he’d missed her in just the short time apart. A dark haired man in a suit holding a memorial program approached CM and her mother and spoke several minutes with them. Matt watched CM blot under her eyes with a Kleenex and felt tears surface in his own eyes. He spotted Char Benchford a couple of rows back from the three of them so when he was sure CM wouldn’t see him, he walked up to sit down by Char.
“Does she know you’re here?” Char asked him quietly when he sat down.
“No.”
“She could probably really use your shoulder to cry on, Matt,” Char offered.
“I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.”
“Matt, I’m serious. I think she needs you.”
“Honestly?”
“Completely.”
As soon as the man speaking with CM and her mother departed, her mom squeezed her daughter’s hand and walked away. Matt stood and made his way forward, not allowing the uneasiness to deter him. When he sat down beside her, she turned to see who it was.
“Oh God, Matt. Thank you,” she whispered, reaching over to embrace him as she began to cry.
“I’m so sorry, CM,” he managed to say through his own tears as he held her. “I’m so sorry.”
CM cried for several minutes in his loving and welcome embrace. When she was able to gather herself together, she glanced back at Char with a crooked and accusing but grateful smile. Matt stood and walked over to embrace Millie who’d returned. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Rutheford.”
“Thank you, Matt. So thoughtful of you to come all this way,” she smiled with tears in her eyes.
Matt sat down next to CM and she took his hand in hers. He gently squeezed her hand, thankful for her touch.
After Millie went back to check on her older sister Elizabeth and brother-in-law John who came from Idaho to handle the set up and catering, she noticed a couple of Eric’s old girlfriends as she walked up the aisle and returned to the front row of the church. In spite of her sadness she felt vindicated at last. Eric had truly died a changed man, and the only woman he wanted to see in the end was her. She assured him she’d never stopped loving him and when he’d asked for her forgiveness, she’d wept out loud and gladly forgiven him. His last words to her before CM had come would bring her peace for the rest of her days.
“You’re everything to me, Millie. I’ve totally wasted my life apart from you. My only hope now is to spend eternity with you in heaven.”
Once upon a time in her youth, Millie had known the Lord. Not well, but she had known Him. In high school when the handsome rogue Eric David Rutheford took a fancy to her, she got farther and farther away from what she did know and became totally involved in the fantasy of love with Eric. Just out of high school she gave him all she had and as a result, she became pregnant with Claudia, the little girl who looked so much like her father when she was born except she had her mother’s sweet and innocent blue eyes.
Although Eric agreed to get married, he teetered on the edge of unfaithfulness, always flirtatious and a natural female eye catcher. Finally when Claudia was just two years old, Eric spent a weekend with a coworker and if it hadn’t been for his daughter’s excited cry of “Daddy!” when he walked in the door that Sunday night and the utter shame he felt when he saw his wife’s sorrowful eyes, Millie knew he would have gone for good. She sensed the empowerment it gave him when he could take any female he wanted to bed—it hadn’t changed from his high school days.
The pastor walked up to the podium and ended Millie’s thoughts of the past.
“Good afternoon,” he began quietly. “Today we’re here to remember someone and give honor to his life. I have to tell you this is particularly difficult for me because I will miss this man immensely.” The pastor paused and looked up, closing his eyes briefly. “We only met nine months ago, but when we became friends, it was like we’d known each other all our lives. I told his family when he met Jesus Christ personally, we became brothers. We only had a few coherent moments together after his accident and before the doctors tried to repair the damage to his body. It’s imperative that I convey to you what he said to me. ‘Bill,’ he said, and the intense pain was in his eyes as he labored to speak. ‘Tell them that my entire life was a waste of my selfish indulgence into sin. Help them understand the only part of my entire life that has any merit is my love for Jesus Christ, for Millie, and for my daughter Claudia. Let them know how ridiculous it is to think that anything done for ourselves in this life has any value outside of God’s design. Tell them, Bill. Promise me, you’ll tell them.’” The pastor paused again and pulled a white handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his black and dark grey pinstriped suit jacket and dabbed at his eyes. He looked up again and said aloud, “I told them, Bill. Just like you said.”
CM shook with silent weeping. Matt let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders as the tears he’d tried to hold back slithered down his face.
“Some of Eric’s and my friends have agreed to share a few thoughts with you about their relationship with Eric.” The pastor then took a handheld microphone down to the section on the right and handed it the tallest of the nervous looking group of men who stood to receive it.
“Uh, I ain’t no public speaker, but I felt I should say this because Eric was a friend of mine.” The tall thin man with medium brown and gray stringy shoulder length hair shifted his weight and ran his left hand through his long straight hair. “I came to the shelter downtown when Eric was serving food. I was wasted and I could hardly hold my tray. Eric was afraid I was going to spill my food so he told me to go find a seat and he’d bring me some food. He fixed me a nice plate of food and brought it out and he asked me if that was enough and would it be alright if he ate his meal with me. I didn’t think anyone would want to eat with the likes of me, but he seemed pleased when I told him I didn’t mind. When he sat down with me, he asked me about myself—and he seemed to really want to know about me. I could tell he was real about it—out on the street you find out fast who’s real and who ain’t, you know. When I said I was ashamed about what I’d become, he told me he was ashamed of himself, too. He said it didn’t matter if a person was a drunk or not. He said from what he could tell from Pastor Bill, the only thing that made a man right was if he knew Jesus Christ. Then everything that was wrong could be put right but without Jesus, nothing was ever going to be right. He told me he was thinking he should accept Jesus because he’d never done anything right in his whole life. Nothing ever seemed so right on to me than when he said that. We came to know the Lord about the same time. I been straight for 15 weeks because of Eric sittin’ down and talkin’ to me like that. I thank God for Eric, and there’s no doubt he’s in heaven right now.” The man sort of nodded his head and sat down after handing the mike back to the pastor. To his surprise there was applause all across the sanctuary.
Pastor Bill handed the mike to another man who was only about 5’5’’ tall and also quite thin. It was impossible to tell the age of the man, but it was safe to guess he was old beyond his years. He spoke quietly and looked down often as he spoke. “I just wanted to say that Eric was a kind man. I kept showin’ up at the shelter bombed outa my mind in one fashion or another, nearly starved to death half the time. Every time Eric saw me, he greeted me by name and told me I was worth so much more than I realized. He told me he knew I had the guts to do what was right, but that I just needed a little jump start from Jesus because Jesus had fixed his life and would be glad to do the same with mine. He told me he’d have a job waitin’ for me if I could just reach out and let Jesus fix me up.” The man paused and hurriedly wiped at his eyes. “I gave my life to Jesus a couple days after he told me that, and true to his word, Eric got me a janitorial job in his building where he worked. Jesus delivered me from drugs—I know I don’t look so good, but you gotta understand my body took a beating over the years. In only a few weeks I was given a raise. You just never know what a miracle is until Jesus gets aholda your heart. I thank God for Eric because he cared about me and God used him to show me Jesus. Now in all my spare time I try to do the same for those guys like myself who don’t know what Jesus can do for them until you show them.” He sat down abruptly, and there was more applause.
After shaking the men’s hands and giving them a manly pat on the shoulder, the pastor took the microphone across the sanctuary to another man about 5’8” tall with silver hair in an expensive grey suit. Apparent that he was accustomed to speaking before a crowd, he stood poised before the crowd.
He cleared his throat quickly before he spoke. “My name is Edgar Robinson. I’ve been Eric’s boss for nearly 20 years. He was an asset to our company, an astute executive, a people person, and our clients responded well to him. I never received a complaint about Eric,” he said, lowering his voice sadly. “Even when he had to lean on some of them—somehow he was always gracious enough so they responded appropriately. I can understand what those two gentlemen just said about him. He could be very kind.”
The older man paused for a moment and those near him could see his eyes tear up. “He came into my office about a month ago and told me about the changes he’d been through, and he asked me to forgive him for his lifestyle. He told me he was embarrassed about his playboy lifestyle, and he wanted me to know how deeply he regretted leaving his family.”
The man turned toward Millie and CM and spoke quietly, holding the mike down at his side. “Millie, CM, you probably didn’t know this, but he kept several pictures of you and himself in his top desk drawer. They were the only photographs he kept in his office. Of course they’re older snapshots, but he’s kept them there as long as I can remember.”
The older man lowered his gaze and completed his thoughts bringing the mike to his mouth. “I forgave Eric because he wanted me to—he needed me to do so. His simple request and his incredible personal turnaround have caused me to have second thoughts about my own eternity. I’ve always been a family man, devoted to my wife of 37 years,” he said smiling down at her, “and my sons and daughter. But then, I never looked like Eric Rutheford either,” and he laughed briefly without mirth. “We think we’re doing what’s right for ourselves all along the way, but I’ve come to consider that maybe Eric was right. Maybe nothing really does matter without Jesus Christ.” He paused again and was barely able to speak the last words. “I intend to find out for myself.” He handed the mike back to the pastor and sat down by his wife, taking her hand in his and looking down at the carpet.
The rest of the service glided on for CM and Matt in some alternate form of reality. The words seemed faraway and echoed around separately in different ways in their minds. Matt never let go of CM, keeping his arm secured around her shoulders, supporting her with his physical strength, but in his mind there was chaos and anything but strength. For the first time he realized he was just like Eric Rutheford before the man’s life changed—the man could’ve been him in a lot of ways before he met CM. Matt had only met him once, and he’d liked the man a lot. Eric had taken him and CM to dinner at Canlis, the luxurious restaurant just on the southeastern side of the Aurora Bridge as it had been tagged by the locals. Eric’s date was stunning, a raven-haired beauty who had dressed with taste but clearly to entice. The dinner scrumptious, pleasant and enjoyable, but afterward CM became moody and went home shortly after arriving back at Matt’s apartment.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I love my Dad, but I hate his lifestyle. I always feel like I’ve betrayed my mother every time I go somewhere with him and a girlfriend. Seriously, I almost feel dirty. I’ve gotta go—I won’t be good company for a day or so. I’m sorry.”
Smartly, Matt had reserved comment, but he’d thought at the time that the guy was single and attractive—why shouldn’t he be free to date whoever he wanted. Suddenly everything was changing—his parents, CM’s Dad, his own brother . . . What next?
CM realized as she leaned up against Matt’s strong frame and attempted to listen to the final moments of the service she was in love with him. It was Matt she thought of when her Dad was in surgery, wishing he was there with her, wishing she hadn’t been so stubborn about her attraction and feelings for him—always in denial because she couldn’t bear feeling as though she was just like her father in an illicit romance. All those feelings about failing to hold on to her virginity and giving in to Matt, becoming exactly what she perceived her dad’s girlfriends to be—the reason she’d never let herself invest in her love for Matt. He’d up and leave her just like her Dad left her Mom. After giving everything you have to give, he’ll just want out, and he’ll walk away. And there you’ll be: a shell of the woman you once were. Totally empty and with no one to pick up the pieces of your life. The one you loved just ended all your hopes of having a good life. History, as it were. It was almost more than she could comprehend at the closing moments of her dad’s memorial ceremony. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and at this point she wondered if she would ever understand the depths of the emotions swirling around in her mind right now. In spite of herself, she leaned harder against Matt, and he instantly responded, caressing her arm with his firm but tender touch. Tears formed again in her eyes. I love you, Matt.
As the reception drew to a close, he held her hand as they walked outside the church and headed to his brother’s car.
“My folks and James send their condolences, CM,” he said as they arrived at the car.
She tried to smile up at him. “Please thank them for me. I never thought about how much it meant to know people cared.”
He gathered her into another hug. “Man, I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
The tears continued to brim up and fall from her eyes. It was no use even attempting to hold back anything. “I’m sorry, Matt,” she said, barely above a whisper, pulling back slightly from his embrace and looking directly into his eyes.
She loved the look on his face when he didn’t understand something she’d said. “What do you mean?” he finally asked after pondering her statement.
“For the way I’ve been to you. I was afraid,” she said with a catch in her throat.
His tender concern for her was evident as he searched her eyes. “Afraid? Of what?” he asked with a quiet bewilderment.
“I don’t expect you to understand, but I guess I was afraid of being like one of my dad’s girlfriends. I’d fall so in love with you and then you’d dump me. Like he did my mom. I had nothing special to offer to keep you around. I was used. Like they were. Then if I moved in with you, our relationship was just like his were. Here today. Gone tomorrow.” She paused briefly. “I guess I wanted to be better than that. Than them. Only I couldn’t. It was wrong to want that anyway, I guess. They weren’t terrible women. They were probably lonely—I don’t know.
“I’m sorry for rambling, Matt. Some of this is just coming to mind today. I haven’t figured it all out yet. I don’t know if I ever will,” she concluded sadly with more tears.
Matt was overcome with emotion. She doesn’t get it. I love her! “CM, the only reason I took that job was because I hoped you’d go with me. I want to marry you, CM. I love you!” His urgency stressed each sentence.
The words bounced around in her brain until she translated what he’d just said to her.
He saw the utter confusion in her expression. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked softly. “I want to marry you, CM. You’re the one I love.”
“Oh, Matt, I love you, too,” she finally admitted to herself as much as to him. “But I know I’m not ready for it. I mean, for love or marriage. I’m just so confused, Matt.”
“CM, I have to go back to California early tomorrow afternoon. Is there any way I can see you tonight or tomorrow morning before I leave. Can we at least talk about this?” he asked hopefully. “James said I can use his car. He’s working at the apartment today.”
“Um, come over to my house tonight. I’ll fix dinner—it’ll probably be a late one. How about 7 o’clock? That way I’ll have a little bit of time with Mom and my aunt and uncle. I already told Mom I was going home around 6 or 6:30.”
“Are you sure you’re up to cooking? I could bring something,” he offered.
She smiled for the first time since coming out to the car. “I’m sure, Matt.”
He smiled at her and held her once again. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Sweet Release (Romance/Women's Fiction)

Friday Five

I smoked for ten years and started with Cigarillos, went to Virginia Slims, and graduated with honors to Winstons. At one time a friend and I sampled just about every cigarette known to man at the time just for “fun”. Some of them were downright wretched. Dumb, I know.

My husband started smoking when he was nine years old. He smoked Camel Straights for years and years. When he got saved, the Lord delivered him from smoking one morning just as he was about to light one up. Just like that, it was over. The Lord still delivers people.

My brother has been smoking for most of his life and now suffers the effects of that habit. He’s tried everything to quit, but it’s very, very hard for him.

Every now and then the whiff of cigarette smoke smells good to me. Not the kind that fills a room or sticks to your clothes, hair, towels, upholstery. Just a whiff.

If you want to know the ugly truth, I started smoking so I could learn to inhale marijuana. It took me a long time before I even considered doing drugs. Like with everything I do, when I made up my mind, I dove right in. Not proud of it. Not at all. For ten years I did just about everything I knew was wrong. Then I met Jesus, and he righted my weary soul.

Thank you, Jesus. I love you.

No Secret

There are things we speak and reveal to friends, to relatives, to pastors, to acquaintances, to bosses, to employees, to teachers, to strangers. Other things we show without anything more than body language, a look, a sigh, a sob. Some people read those things as well as they do spoken words. I know I try to take in the whole person whether it’s face to face, over the phone, by the written words in a novel or over the internet on various blogs.

Sometimes it’s easy to do because some individuals lay themselves out there, provide no cover, and simply show who they are. Others of us are more guarded but over time as trust develops we allow bits and pieces of ourselves to be revealed. And still others hide under rhetoric and clichés until something incites us enough to blast out of our façades and unravel in front of whoever provoked us.

Our writing says a lot about us . . . often how we think, how we translate our experiences and philosophies to the written word. Sometimes it shows if we are random or logical in our thought processes . . . if we are whimsical or fatalistic . . . if we are concrete or surreal.

When writing a blog, we set a tone. Are we serious, humorous, sarcastic? Do we address all areas of life, stick to current events, discuss a specific area of expertise, make it a potpourri of topics? At any point, our approach can aggravate someone. Of course the hotbed issues are politics and religion, so when we venture into those areas, the risk for confrontation escalates depending upon who our readers happen to be.

Yesterday I posted a political rant. It’s not the first one I’ve ever done. I doubt it will be the last. I used the asterisks, the cautionary warnings to notify anyone who might venture this way that they could be offended by the post. But there’s yet another reason for the warnings. Frankly, I want to ward off the views of those readers who might disagree with me politically. This blog isn’t a place for debate. It never has been, and it never will be. That’s not its format. I’m not a debater.

If I care enough about something to post about it, chances are I’m dedicated enough to it not to flinch or change my opinion. My tagline is “Passionate: right or wrong”. Indeed. When it comes to politics and my faith, I’m rock solid. For that reason I don’t need to hear opposing “opinions” to fortify my own by mounting defenses for them. God needs no defense, certainly not mine. And I gratefully give way to those who are both articulate and diplomatic enough, who possess the intelligence, patience, and wisdom, and have the track records (Mike Duran and Rebecca Luella Miller) to handle those who love the challenge of debate and to conduct orderly conversations with disagreeing bloggers. I don’t.

Those who truly know me will tell you I love the Lord God Almighty with my whole heart and desire to serve Him to the best of my ability. Jesus is my Lord and Savior, my beloved, and the Holy Spirit does lead me when I choose to follow. Jesus confronted the Pharisees because they were arrogant and religious. He scorned their attitudes and pompous displays of self-righteousness. His words cut to the quick. He always knew what to say and when to say it and who to say it to. He was, is, and always will be perfect.

I really don’t wish to offend, to hurt, or to anger anyone, but I suspect at some point when I tackle politics or religion, someone is going to get their toes stepped on. I know I’ve been offended by others. It’s an unfortunate part of discussing these polarizing topics.

This is my little portion of the internet where I get to be me. Little by little allowing who I am to penetrate cyberspace. I’ve made some wonderful friends, real friends. Mark, Dayle, Mike, Becky, Jessica, Jason, and others. You guys and gals are terrific people, and I appreciate you. Thank you for being my friends.

If I’ve irritated you with my political posts or posts on faith or posts about writing and publishing, it was never my intent. However, it happens. I regret that it does, but I’ve lived a lot of years and at times it can’t be avoided if we intend to speak the truths of who we are, if we intend to stand for things.

It’s no secret who I am.

Father, help me to be truthful, careful, cunning like a fox, gentle as a dove. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

**Ranting and Raving**

CAUTION: Anger management, politically incorrect, and pointed questions!

Can you name me one state in the United States of America where there are no multi-million dollar homes? One state. Didn’t think so. Can you name me one state where there aren’t areas of poverty or “ghetto-ism”? One state. Didn’t think so.

Okay, so I’m gonna take a bus and load it up with “average” citizens and drive it to these poorer areas and chant, “Get a job! Quit taking bail-out money! What have you done to deserve the money you’re taking from the government every month?!” Uh-huh.

What has happened to people?! There have always been the rich, and there have always been those who came by it honestly by working hard and those who’ve swindled people to get theirs. So what’s new, people?

There have always been the poor, and there will always be the poor. As long as there are government imposed or self-imposed or circumstantially imposed barriers to earning a decent living, the world will have the poor among us. This is a stated fact by none other than Jesus Christ who is able to see all things past, present, and future. “You will always have the poor among you.” His contingency plan for this was to serve the “least” of them in His name, to provide for “widows and orphans” to demonstrate true Christianity. To give from the heart of love and concern, not to pick one person’s pocket to provide for another.

People on the left have lost their minds. They want what isn’t theirs! And they want the government to take it from their neighbors and give it to them. Why?!

There is no recorded utopia in the history of the world outside the Garden of Eden, and guess what man was able to do with that? He ruined it.

So how can anyone truly believe that any government can provide solutions to sick souls who covet what other people have earned?

There will always be someone who knows more than you do. Someone who earns more than you do. Someone who is smarter than you. Someone who is more athletic than you. Someone who has access to more than you. Get used to it. And while you’re at it: grow up!

These bumper stickers came in an email. Enjoy.

“So how’s that ‘hope’ and ‘change’ working out for you?”

“Because everyone deserves some of what you’ve worked hard for.”

“Keep the Change: I’ll keep my freedom, my guns, and my money!”

“DANGER—You are entering a NO OBAMA zone. Mention his name and I’ll drop you where you stand!”

“Don’t spread my wealth . . . spread my work ethic!”

“Annoy a Liberal: Use Facts and Logic!”

“I will give your President the same respect you gave mine.” (Amen to this one.)

“Warning! I’m a bitter Christian clinging to my gun!”

“How will Democrats stand up to terrorists when they can’t even face Fox News?”

“You can’t blame Bush anymore!”

“Look out taxpayers: Obama thinks you’re rich.”

“You think healthcare is expensive now? Wait ‘til it’s ‘FREE’!”

“The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other peoples’ money.”
Margaret Thatcher

God help us all. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Unusual Therapy

Most of us have read some kind of self-help book be it secular or spiritual. One of the best marriage books I’ve ever read is Dr. Emerson Eggrich’s Love and Respect which amplifies the very last verse of the fifth chapter of Ephesians to a profound and practical level. Since he’s an entertaining writer giving us examples from his own life and marriage, it’s one of the few non-fiction books of this type I finished and enjoyed. Excellent book for those anticipating and those in the trenches of marriage.

People assume that the “Christian Living” sections of Christian bookstores hold all the keys to adapting, flourishing, healing, and practicing Christianity in its finest form. Not for me. You might say I have a problem with “authority”. Telling me what I have to do doesn’t bode well with me. When someone does that, I have a tendency to examine them and wonder how they arrived at their conclusions. Within that examination I will undoubtedly assess their weaknesses and mentally dispute the logic of their assertion(s). I wasn’t always this way.

You see the problem is that not all problems can be solved the same way for all people. Biblical principles are faultless, but their applications are flexible with grace to include all kinds of us.

So, here’s my suggestion for unusual therapy: fiction. Novels present nearly every possible problem and situation short of unique and specific perversions—and you can certainly find those in the secular market, but I doubt they’re therapeutic. Christian fiction offers a non-intrusive source of identifiable characters immersed in circumstances which most of us face at some time during our lives—the challenges of temptation, indulgence, sinful choices, addictions . . . But by selecting a story to read instead of a manual no one looks at the title and wonders what you’re doing with that book which has “sinner”, “addict”, “deep trouble” written all over its title.

Depression, alcoholism, infertility, rape, incest, murder, mental illness, aging, lust, abortion, addictions, pride, lying, sexual and physical abuse, adultery, homosexuality, prostitution, and you-name-it appear within the pages of thoughtful and meaningful Christian fiction often told from first person POVs. Point being: whatever you’ve endured, you’re not alone. Someone has written it into a story because he/she either experienced firsthand knowledge of such a thing or intimately knows someone who has. The author tells the story and hopes to reach the right audiences, providing a safe place to go for emotional exposure and perhaps create a road to healing.

Story reveals some truths without demands. Story gives potentials without a list of to-do instructions. Story provides similarities which touch or prod or suggest possibilities. Imperfection resides in stories just as it does in real lives. Not a cure per se but maybe therapy.

It’s difficult to share our pasts, presents, or futures when they contain ugly things. We may or may not be responsible for them. There seems no logical or non-threatening place to bring them up even to friends. Reading a novel where a character expresses the pain of a similar experience can be cathartic. A harmless course to gain a remedy. Probably not immediate solutions but perhaps an exploration into the previously forbidden territory.

Just a thought . . .

Father, you direct steps toward resolution and you desire your people to become whole. You take us on journeys to provide us with tools for our healings and to gain wisdom in this life. May we heed the steps you’ve ordained for us. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Awards Time

The 2009 Christy Awards nominees have been announced, and the winners will receive their awards during the International Christian Retail Show in Denver this July. I don’t pretend to know the criteria for judging the nominated novels, but I do believe the publishers pay a fee to submit them to compete. In a distant post after the awards were announced a couple of years ago, you can read my feelings about this and other competitions. It is generally understood that the novels vying for the Christy Award are considered to be those known for a more literary tone which translates to “lovely prose” or “great writing”. If you want to learn more about the Christy Award, you can visit their website (www.christyawards.com) or join them on Facebook under the Official Christy Awards Group.

Most of you know I’ve read a lot of CBA fiction, but I think it’s telling to say that in the past I had read very few of the Christy nominees or winners. It isn’t because I read drivel. On the contrary, but it’s telling to note that the publisher has to nominate the entries. The criteria for each category must also tell the tale of why some novels are picked over others. It’s an uncelebrated fact that winning a Christy Award does little or nothing for sales, but it’s still considered an honor to win it probably because it’s a competition with several judges and if you win it, you’re generally considered to be a good writer.

This year I’ve read more of the nominees than ever. Here they are:

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE:

Beyond the Night by Marlo Schalesky (WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group)
Finding Stephanie by Susan May Warren (Tyndale House Publishers)
Zora and Nicky by Claudia Mair Burney (David C. Cook)**

CONTEMPORARY SERIES, SEQUELS, AND NOVELLAS

Sisterchicks Go Brit! by Robin Jones Gunn (Waterbrook Multnomah Publishing Group)
Summer Snow by Nicole Bart (Tyndale House Publishers)
You Had Me at Good-bye by Tracey Bateman (Faith Words)

CONTEMPORARY STANDALONE

Dogwood by Chris Fabry (Tyndale House Publishers)**
Embrace Me by Lisa Samson (Thomas Nelson)
Tuesday Night at the Blue Moon by Debbie Fuller Thomas (Moody Publishers)

FIRST NOVEL

Blue Hole Back Home by Joy Jordan-Lake (David C. Cook)
Rain Song by Alice J. Wisler (Bethany House Publishers)
Safe at Home by Richard Doster (David C. Cook)

HISTORICAL
Shadow of Colossus by T. L. Higley (B&H Publishing Group)
Until We Reach Home by Lynn Austin (Bethany House Publishers)
Washington’s Lady by Nancy Moser (Bethany House Publishers)

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Calico Canyon by Mary Connealy (Barbour Publishers)
From a Distance by Tamera Alexander (Bethany House Publishers)
The Moon in the Mango Tree by Pamela Binnings Ewen (B&H Publishing)

SUSPENSE
By Reason of Insanity by Randy Singer (Tyndale House Publishers)**
The Rook by Steven James (Revell)**
Winter Haven by Athol Dickson (Bethany House Publishers)**

VISIONARY

The Battle for Vast Dominion by George Bryan Polivka (Harvest House Publishers)
Shade by John B. Olson (B&H Publishing Group)
Vanish by Tom Pawlik (Tyndale House Publishers)

YOUNG ADULT

The Fruit of My Lipstick by Shelley Adina (Faith Words)
I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires by Cathy Gohlke (Moody Publishers)
On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson (WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group)

**I have read these novels, and they are all reviewed on this blog.

Noticeably absent from the nominees are books published by Zondervan. No surprise that the majority of nominees in the historical categories are from Bethany House.

This year in the Suspense category the nominees are truer to “suspense” than in the past, although The Rook is more of a thriller than suspense just as when Robert Liparulo’s Comes A Horseman was included with Athol Dickson’s River Rising—totally opposite kinds of novels. The three suspense novels all deserve to be read as does Zora and Nicky which is far more complex than simple “romance”.

The topic of the Christy Awards is just an interesting side note in the world of publishing—a coveted and prestigious honor but limited in its true scope.

Father, thank you for those who dare to write, who spend the necessary hours with the pen or keyboard to create. To exercise a gift given by you is by far the noblest of deeds, for to gaze at it without action is to disobey the intent. You are generous to give, we need to use that which you’ve given us for your glory. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.