Into the Fire

The Hidden Agenda

Well . . . not always so hidden, but sometimes it is. It slithers into our daily lives just like we perceive the “snake” in the garden to have done, and the words aren’t all that different. And the agenda certainly isn’t.

Coming from different families, lifestyles, philosophies, communities, and denominations, we view our conduct and what’s acceptable within that framework formed by opinions and patterns from what we’ve learned and experienced and where we’ve lived and known. To alter those early and ever-forming patterns in our lives takes a reason, an effort, and a lifestyle change of some kind.

It’s been my observation that some individuals raised up in the faith have become mechanical in their overall walk with the Lord. Be sure to notice I said “some”. I used to envy those who knew Jesus at an early age and remained faithful and productive in their faith throughout their lifetimes. The terrible choices I made for a season of my life caused me to have major regrets. However, since it was my road to travel, the severity of focus on those regrets has matured, and I can take joy in having been rescued from a lifestyle I wasn’t raised to lead nor was I designed to embrace. It wasn’t an easy path to salvation for me, but upon finding the Truth, it’s been a walk of passion—wavering here and there under the enemy attacks but remaining solid in the faith of who Jesus is and what He continues to labor in accomplishing in my life. (I often picture him tipping His head back and staring up at the Father, keeping his lips closed but communicating His . . . King James longsuffering.)

The “hidden” agenda surfaces in unique ways, gliding into our thought processes to produce what the military labels “conduct unbecoming”. While not a legal term imposed upon Christians, we do slip into that mode too easily sometimes.

Christian writers—and, oh, how the blogs, etc. have disputed that term for us who are born again and write—are called to a diverse plethora of writing. Some write sweet and some write raw. Within those variables are even more diverse voices and styles. I think the not-so-hidden agenda occurs when these two opposites of the Christian writing world clash and thrash and trash each other. On the one extreme you have the legalists who barely allow for conflict (code for sin) in order to measure up to self-defined holiness as opposed to the other extreme who desire to include profanity and some graphics in multiple areas in order to insure the stories are “real”. At either extreme, it’s tempting to ask: Who are you trying to impress?

The extremes in Christians result in those who are glued to legalism expanding to those who want to live like the world and indulge their vices. Somewhere in between them is a place where Christ ministers and produces grace for our weaknesses but not tolerance for our sinfulness. A yielded will to the Holy Spirit is the only road to true holiness. We can’t “just do it”. Yielding is hard for humans—just look at the battle that takes place between merging vehicles! To complicate matters of the flesh, just as many Christians justify ritualistic rigidity as do Christians who spew profanities as justifiable expressions. Stirring up the controversies, debates, and arguments is the enemy of our souls giving equal time and fuel to both sides and celebrating with amusement the rage produced by the conflict.

The battle between writers is senseless, especially among the ranks of Christian writers. The decision to communicate stories in written form is not a big mystery. A writer writes. He must decide for whom. And once the decision is made and the voice, style, theme, and plot begin to roll, the discussion regarding how it is told remains between the writer and the Lord. It is not for you and me to determine what someone writes about or how they write about it. No one is forced to read literature which they abhor—except in school. There are publishers for all different kinds of books and agents to represent them.

It’s not about the kind of writing and storytelling we produce. It’s more often about not succumbing to the hidden agenda of the enemy by being dragged into controversy and discord with other writers who are Christians.

Father, I’ve been sucked into the controversy myself. I have formed opinions and preferences, but I want to view all things through your precious, wise eyes. Help me not to tear down but to build up when possible. Help me to spot and identify fraud. Help me to be reliable and to rely only on you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please continue to pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Some call it teachable . . .

As you know if you read the multiple blogs and websites of the professionals—agents, editors, publishers, and authors—you will inevitably hear a chorus of the rules of writing, thoughts on “voice”, criticisms of POV shifts, insistent demands for conflict and more conflict, and reasons for just about everything to do with the mechanics of writing and publishing today. Just last week the ongoing argument about using profanity, cussing, swearing, bad language, etc. in CBA novels surfaced on Rachelle Gardner’s blog via a question to her regarding this repeatedly discussed topic.

Those writers who seriously pursue the craft but remain unpublished tackle all these subjects as well, and I’m guessing it’s about an 80/20 split as to the ones who strictly adhere to the opinions of the professionals regarding these subjects—80 % in favor of them, the 20% being somewhat, practically, or diametrically opposed to strict adherence to them. When the goal is publication at all costs, it doesn’t bode well to argue much about anything.

Some call it being teachable. And I won’t argue with that. What I will argue with is the mantra of instructions repeated endlessly about writing novels. While instruction is irrefutably necessary, basic grammar skills had better be learned in school and preferably way before college. Those new to writing a book—and, as usual, we’re talking fiction here—have an available tool necessary to all present, past, and future authors: reading. And I’m not talking about instruction manuals or books written by marketing gurus. I’m talking about the vast number of novels awaiting all ages, types, and appetites for readers who want to graduate to novel writers. The teaching offered by published fiction is invaluable. The writer who chooses to read within their genre, outside their genre, and who has experience with “the classics” of yesteryear—those writers/readers will have savored the spicy tastes of styles and conflicting voices and the innumerable ways to tell stories with the written word.

As all of you writers know, writing novels is personal. Solitary. Time consuming. It can be emotional and it can be stoic, but it’s always an experience. Some outline, some sit at their favorite location(s), some use a pen or pencil and paper or pad, and probably nowadays most use a computer keyboard, but those who are too confined by the restrictions of outlines and things of that organizational nature, let the words fly free once they’re situated wherever and with whatever they need to create. Some write the entire story without interference to that first draft, others edit as they go, and some do a mixture of both. At the time of creation, if you’re bound by what you cannot do, you will not be free to do what you can.

Few of us can write our “masterpieces” without revisions. Once we finish a novel, the gamut of emotions probably zooms from relief to panic and everything in between. The step-away time must follow. Give it some time to exist as it is. When you return to it, best done after reading a “good” book, those things which are less than sterling can be eliminated or enhanced. Without having a strong background in diverse literature, it’s difficult to accurately assess interesting writing. And the Lord knows how varied our preferences are. We must write what we enjoy. We must write who we are. And we must write how we are gifted to write.

It’s a given to express we are not perfect, and that goes for our writing as well. It’s innocuous to compare ourselves to others. God in his liberty and total lack of prejudice has created us to be ever conforming to His Son however He is given permission to do. We are His creation, but He allows us to be who we are in our raw forms to choose whether or not we want to be the best we can be—which can only happen when we yield these sin-saturated selves to His loving designer’s hands.

Writing is a gift, a privilege, an honor really. But no moreso than other skills or human kindnesses directed and perfected through Him. It’s simply what we do—honorable because He called us to do it, not because we can do it.

Determining what a professional desires from an author is a journey, and for new authors it is often filled with trepidation and an aim to please. For a true writer, it is a time of reflection and decision. We must identify who the Lord has fashioned us to be—what size, color, texture is this jar of clay? It takes some time and effort to determine this, a lot of writing hours, but we surface somewhere in the midst of words and worry, frustration and trust, fear and resolve. And we find ourselves as writers. When we do, we are released from those binding chains which masquerade as rules but really are only guidelines, and we are grateful to our Lord for guiding us through the maze safely, allowing us our own voice in the never ending winsomeness of words.

It’s not that we become un-teachable. It’s that we become secure in who we have been structured, fashioned, and worked over to be. There must be that place of peace that only Jesus can provide. And in His instruction we must remain teachable.

Father, once again I thank you for allowing me to create with the written word. You give the inspiration and I record what you have given me. I can do nothing apart from you, nothing of worth or value, nothing to take me into eternity with something to offer. Thank you, precious Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember Kristy Dykes and her family during this season of sorrow and joy.*

Sunday's Offerings

Elisha returned to Gilgal and there was a famine in that region. While the company of the prophets was meeting with him, he said to his servant, "Put on the large pot and cook some stew for these men."
One of them went out into the fields to gather herbs and found a wild vine. He gathered some of its gourds and filled the fold of his cloak. When he returned, he cut them up into the pot of stew, though no one knew what they were. The stew was poured out for the men, but as they began to eat it, they cried out, "O man of God, there is death in the pot!" And they could not eat it.
Elisha said, "Get some flour." He put it into the pot and said, "Serve it to the people to eat." And there was nothing harmful in the pot.

2 Kings 4:38-41 (NIV)

Saturday Sample . . .

CHAPTER 1

Faith Daniels looked up as the tiny bell over the door tinkled quietly. He was the first customer of the morning, the darkness remaining outside as he walked in and closed the door.
“Good morning,” she acknowledged him as he looked past her and above her at the menu of coffees, teas, and other beverages.
He gave her a hint of a smile to indicate he wasn’t trying to ignore her. She waited, not wanting to pester him. He’d come to a conclusion soon enough. They always did. The customers who couldn’t choose were almost always friendly, outgoing, bubbly even. He wasn’t one of them. She’d seen that kind of look before but wasn’t sure if she could place where or when. When it dawned on her, she blushed in spite of herself. She’d seen it multiple times looking in the mirror.
She busied herself with the pastries, putting the remaining selections in the case.
“Uh, I’ll take a double espresso and one of those,” he said finally, pointing to an éclair.
“Cream or whipped cream?” she asked quietly.
“Oh. Yeah. A little cream, please.”
She began to fix the espresso and put the éclair on a plate. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring it right out to you, sir.”
He smiled slightly—surprised a bit by the “sir”, she supposed. He sat at a faraway table for two at the other end of the shop, folded his hands on the table and stared out the window into the dark, rainy morning.
When the coffee was ready, she took it, the éclair, a fork and some extra cream to his table.
“Thank you,” he said, finally looking directly at her. “What do I owe ya?”
“Four dollars and 50 cents,” she said quietly. “But you can pay on the way out if you like.”
Instead, he pulled out his wallet from a hip pocket of his faded Levis and handed her $6.00. “It smells good,” he said gratefully.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Anything else I can get you?” she added quietly.
“I wish,” he said almost inaudibly, then smiled up at her again. “I’m fine.”
Faith walked away reluctantly. It wouldn’t be long and the rush would hit. Marnie would be in for her shift in about 15 minutes. Jackie would be along in a half hour. The day would be underway, busy for a few hours, then a calm, then charge up again during the lunch hours at which time Reb would arrive. Another day at the office, she mused.
When she got behind the counter, she glanced back at the man, surprised to see him looking at her. Another blush occurred as a result of his brief attention. She couldn’t remember blushing in years. Not even once, let alone twice. Crazy. She began the morning inventory, re-stocked some coffee beans, and went to the kitchen to check on the pastry supply, bringing out another éclair to replace the one she’d sold. When she’d tallied the orders she needed to place, the faithful early customers began arriving just as Marnie walked out of the back room ready to make and serve all kinds of coffees and teas and miscellaneous other beverages for those who liked to indulge in specialty drinks to get their days started or enhance their days with flavorful treats.
“Hi, Faith. How’re you this morning?” she asked cheerfully.
“Hangin’ in there, Marnie. How ‘bout you?” she responded, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
“Not too tired this morning, for a change. I went to bed at 8 o’clock. Can you believe that?”
“For me, yes. For you, no.” Faith smiled at the young woman, knowing Marnie’s social life was usually full of boyfriends and girlfriends and all the activities that accompanied that youthful lifestyle.
“Hi, Faith, Marnie. The usual, please.”
“Mr. Johnson,” Faith greeted the man who was usually the first customer.
Marnie went right to work on his triple mocha with whipped cream.
John Johnson glanced around the shop. “I can’t believe I’m not the first customer,” he said half to himself.
Marnie looked around as a result of his comment. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t even see him.” Then she lowered her voice. “Who’s that, Faith? You know him?”
“No. First timer, I think.”
“Kinda handsome for an older guy, huh?” she whispered.
Faith rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s ‘older’ compared to you,” Faith teased the 21 year old.
Marnie giggled at that and then took care of Mr. Johnson.
“See you ladies tomorrow then,” he said pleasantly as he headed for the door after leaving Marnie a generous tip.
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. Have a great day.”
“See ya tomorrow, John,” Faith added.
As John Johnson was leaving, several people filed in and business was clearly on its way for the day. Jackie joined Marnie from the back room and began taking orders and making the customers’ requests. During the course of the next 25 minutes, the man who’d come into the shop first this morning made his way to the door. Faith happened to look up as he put his hand on the door knob and looked over at her, his eyes almost smiling but not quite and hers doing the same. Then he was gone, and she felt a tinge of sadness, the continual emptiness that dominated her life rising up in her like a concrete wall, nearly impenetrable in its size and fortitude. Oh well.
“You guys call me if it gets too busy out here. I’m going to make some purchase orders,” Faith instructed the girls.
“Too busy for us? No way,” Jackie joked.
Faith touched Jackie’s arm with an effort at a smile as she walked back into her tiny office. Once inside and seated at her desk, she started spreading out her purchase orders. Then she stopped, putting her elbows on the desk and resting her chin on her hands. What was it about that man that grabbed her attention? Why are you doing this, Faith? You know you don’t trust yourself with any man. Besides, life wasn’t set up for you to enjoy it, remember? She continued to berate herself which she did frequently but was still unable to get the image of the man’s face out of her mind, complete with the 3-day growth of whiskers, she estimated. Blue eyes, too—intense blue eyes, she recalled. Sandy blonde short-cropped hair, some gray below his temples. Broad shoulders. Enough, Faith! Get to work. She sighed heavily and obeyed herself, losing her life in the world of ordering coffees, teas, and multiple other supplies for the shop.
Before she knew it, Reb had arrived and, as was his custom, he found her to say hello before starting work.
“How’s Reb today?” she smiled.
“Better than chocolate—at least that’s what I’ve been told,” he joked.
“Now who would make such a claim?” Faith laughed.
“My mother,” he teased, feigning disappointment.
Faith laughed again. “She would know, huh?”
“I guess,” he smiled. “See ya later.”
Faith loved Reb. A 25 year old man with his head on straight—what a novelty. Where were you when I was that age, Reb? Faith had spent many hours talking with Reb over the last two years that he’d worked at the shop. He could do all of it now—even ordering if she needed to get away, like that would ever happen. Faith’s life was comprised of working at the shop, watching movies at home, or reading novels with her fat cat perched on her lap. That was the extent of Faith Daniels’ life. Borrring.
“Faith?” Reb poked his head inside her door.
“What’s up?”
“Mrs. Darmon is here wondering if her order came in.”
Faith stood. “Yes, it did. C’mon. I’ll get it for ya.”
Reb followed her to the small back room. “Here we go,” Faith handed the bag of special orders to him. “Got here last night just before we closed.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Faith stayed in the back and rearranged some merchandise and checked to make sure the people whose special orders had arrived had all been contacted. When she was done with that little chore, she felt the melancholy work its way up through her thoughts and threaten to disable her functionary work mode. God, I hate living like this. Why do I even say “God”? What would He want with someone like me? “If you’re even there,” she said in a sarcastic whisper.
“Who needs a break?” she asked as she walked out to the front of the shop.
“I’ll cover, Faith,” Reb offered. “You don’t need to. We’re cool out here.”
Clearly the young people had everything under control. “Well, alright then. Guess I’ll run over to the grocery store so I don’t have to do it tonight.”
Faith went back to grab her coat and left through the back door. The rain assaulted her as soon as she was free of the door. My goodness, it’s miserable out here. So what’s the difference—it’s miserable most of the time, rain or shine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like that. Faith always argued with herself, putting herself down without end. She’d never once considered suicide but she certainly could understand why some people did. Life seemed to gnaw at her, taking its piece of flesh every so often, leaving only gaping wounds with no source of healing ointment or soothing balm to treat the open sores. She shook her head at her thoughts as she walked across the parking lot in the hard rain.
She shopped without enthusiasm, sick of cooking for herself. After picking up a few groceries, she braved the weather and returned to the shop putting her perishables in the fridge in the kitchen.
“Faith, Mrs. Welles called. Said for you to call her back before you leave,” Jackie called into the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
Shedding her wet coat and hanging it on the coat rack in her office, she dialed the shop owner’s number.
“Hi, Shirley. It’s Faith.”
“Hi, sweetie. Just wanted to let you know we’re actually leaving on time this year.” The older woman laughed. “Can you beat that? Of course, it isn’t tomorrow morning yet now, is it? There’s always time for spoiling our departure, but if everything continues as it seems right now, we’ll be on our way at 6 o’clock tomorrow for Arizona.”
“That’s great, Shirl. I hope you have a wonderful few months. Bet you can’t wait to leave this rain.”
“I must say it is wet this winter, isn’t it? One extreme to the other, huh? It’s supposed to be in the 90’s down there right now, if you can believe that. Anyway, dear, I’ll miss you. I’ll try to check in once in awhile—only because I’ll want to hear your voice. Fair enough?”
“I’ll miss you, too, Shirl. You and Mack have a wonderful time, alright?”
“I’m sure we will. Thank you for all you do. Find a nice man while I’m gone, will you, dear? You’re too wonderful a woman to be alone—and much too young as well.”
Faith smiled at the older woman who was so much like a doting relative as much as she was a very good friend. “I’m not young anymore, Shirl.”
“Well, that must make me and Mack ancient then!”
“You know what I mean.”
“What you mean doesn’t matter. You have your whole life ahead of you. It’s time for you to reinvent it—don’t waste this precious time you’ve been given. I’m counting on you finding someone, Faith. You hear me?”
Faith paused. “They’re going to have to find me, Shirl. I don’t have the energy to go looking for them.”
Shirley paused on the other end. “Honey, just promise me this, when he does find you, don’t shut him out. Everyone should have a little happiness on this earth,” she concluded sincerely. “Now take care, and we’ll see you when we return—all tanned and beautiful.”
Faith laughed. “Have a wonderful time. Give my love to Mack.”

Taken from Wounds . . . and Healings (2005; written by Nicole Petrino-Salter)

Friday Folly . . .

Some of the most beautiful women in the world . . .

Catherine Bell, Keri Russell, Elizabeth Rohm, Catherine Zeta-Jones

Some of the most handsome men in the world . . .

My husband, Johnny Depp, Tom Selleck, David James Elliot

Some of the best love stories (novels) . . .

Redeeming Love (Francine Rivers), Secrets, Unforgotten (Kristen Heitzmann), The Famous One (hey, I can’t help it—I think it’s a beautiful story)

Some of the best love stories (films) . . .

Benny and Joon, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, Pride and Prejudice, The Notebook

Some of the best thriller novels . . .

Comes A Horseman, Germ, Deadfall (Robert Liparulo), Adam (Ted Dekker)

Some of the best supernatural thrillers . . .

This Present Darkness, Piercing the Darkness, The Oath, The Visitation (Frank Peretti)

Some of the best murder mysteries . . .

Eyes of Elisha, Dread Champion, Dead of Night, Brink of Death (Brandilyn Collins) Shoofly Pie, Chop Shop (Tim Downs)

Just to name a few . . .

Father, you are the source of creation. Thank you for your beauty, your love, your awesome power. How great you are! I worship you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember to pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Marveling . . .

Sometimes I marvel at how unimportant we are in the big picture. When we blog, we have our loyal friends, we have our once in a blue moon drop-ins, we have our seasonal stop-bys, we have our “Oops, why am I here?” fleeting drive-bys, and we have our occasional visitors. Some remain anonymous. Lurkers. One time commenter. Once in awhile something-to-say people. And if you’re a blogger, you look forward to each one. That is unless you’re insanely popular and don’t have time to even read all the comments.

Summertime and attendance drops. Interest wanes in pursuit of outdoorsy activities, vacations, entertainment, and the need to escape the confines of computer access.

Those of us sensitive types—make that over-sensitive types—see the decline and figure we have become uninteresting . . . again or still. Never one to give up, we press on with our drivel and our efforts at reviewing the books we’ve signed on to read and some that we haven’t but wanted to share. The only time it kind of matters that there are no responses is when I read a novel that warrants attention, i.e. Zora and Nicky for one, Perfect for another. Feedback makes it feel worthwhile.

The opinions I present here are not going to matter a whole lot in the big picture. They might resonate with a few of you, but they might not, too. I’ve read a lot of opinions on the blogs of professionals that ring hollow to me, so in the story of life one has to decide what is important to use and apply or at least consider. It is our choice, our decision.

I have seen some imbalance at various places I visit, so I try to take another view of some things which have been stated as directives or “laws”. Ultimately it’s up to each of us to figure out what has value in our individual pursuits.

While I believe in the importance of writing novels, I know the most important part about the endeavor is being yielded to God. If we consider our life efforts—the ones which directly affect those around us—we will understand how much obedience is involved. In order to love effectively and produce its byproduct, we must submit to Love. Since God is love, learning the reality of the fullness of this astounding Creator is no simple task. Our perceptions of His intentions are often untrue. We think we have things wired for sound and ready to plug in when we discover our plans are of our own making. And if we think our plans are vital to our success in this life, we shall receive our come-uppance which really should be our come-downance one would think.

There are no important plans outside of God’s will for our lives. Jesus gave everything, releasing His brief life on earth in an outrageous death to provide for the privilege of salvation we can easily embrace. I say “easily” because to give back our lives to Him is certainly easy compared to daily taking up the cross and making the sacrifice to remain faithful. A worthy and noble sacrifice to be sure but not an easy one for us sin-plagued, self-centered human beings.

Lest we get too zoned in on our own efforts, marvel with me if you dare on how narrow our little piece of time is on planet earth. Yes, we are important to the Lord, thank God! Yes, He is intricately involved in our everyday lives when we allow Him to be. Yes, He treasures every act of obedience and values what we do from the smallest to the largest activities when He is at the center of them. He wants the best for us, but that best can only come through Him. If it doesn’t come through Him, no matter how glossy, how rich, how seemingly grand it all is, it’s chaff. Chaff that the wind blows away. Chaff that is burned at the Judgment Seat of Christ. Meaningless. A waste of valuable and limited time. Wow. Marvel at that.

Father, our lives are but a breath. As we submit them to you, we ask that you build our legacy of giving glory to you, honoring you, and worshipping you in Spirit and in Truth. Apart from you, we can do nothing. Help us always to remember that and live accordingly. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Moved . . . to tears.

There’s a process to everything, isn’t there? From beginning to end of life, there is a process of learning, adapting, applying, and resolving, and so many things in between. It seems we are constantly “in the process” of something.

A familiar process to me is one that is not easy to pass through, but it is necessary for increasing the intensity of the walk with Christ. I call it “The Breaking”, but you might have other names for the process. The best I can do to describe it is to say that God decides how much you can take and then spiritually accomplishes his goal for you. In the midst of it there is weeping, sorrowing, revelation, and prayer. In other words we are moved by the Spirit of God to change yet again to become more like our Lord. It’s tough to experience.

“The Breaking” can be subtle, but it is never insignificant or unnoticeable. Emotion is heightened and elevated. Sensitivity to injustice, pain, suffering, sinfulness, and other human situations is intensified. The reliance on God’s abilities is strengthened out of pure necessity when one’s own pitiful ability surfaces and declares its overall ineffectiveness.

Experiencing this breaking process is all about letting go of our independence and reestablishing our total dependence on the One who desires to direct this life He has supplied to us. The goal is total submission to His plan. The objective is obedience acquired from the glimpse at our helplessness from the perspective of heavenly wisdom.

How long has it been since you were truly moved by the Spirit of God? Moved in the smallest way? Moved by an overwhelming sense of ineptitude? Moved to tears? Moved to action? Moved away from self-serving ways? Moved away from self-focused endeavors? Moved toward focused obedience? If it’s been too long to pinpoint, chances are it’s time to submit yourself to being moved . . .

I’m convinced the most “moving” literature arises from the deepest depths of the spirit, the places of true suffering, real learning, raucous laughter, and the most meaningful of experiences. Those come from soulful visitation with the God of the universe. You can’t get there taking short cuts. You can’t get there superfluously. You can’t get there by mistake. It is a destination arrived at with intent and determination. You simply won’t settle for anything less than an Encounter. God knows your desire, and He waits until you’re committed to it. Then He shows up, and you’re changed. For the better because of Him. It’s a true triumph. Worth all the time it takes. Worth the wait. Worth it all. Because of Him.

Is it time? Time to be moved . . . to tears? To . . . whatever He has in mind for you?

Father, we wait upon you. We need you, to hear from you. Move us into action and deliberation. Wake us up. Remind us of what’s really important and of great value. For sure it involves you and your plans and directions for us. We are desperate for you. Help us to be obedient in heart, soul, and actions. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Zora and Nicky . . . and You and Me

We can't hush it up, and we all know it. If not overtly admitting to it, we still understand it exists. No matter what part of the country we're from and no matter what part of the world we're from, it shows up. Maybe not like we know it to be, but it's there just the same. The ugly thing is racism. Alive and well all over this world. Why? Because of sin: the curse of our self-serving, independent thinking which is so often corrupted by our upbringing, by our societies and cultures, by our religions, by whatever we allow to stain us with ugly thoughts, attitudes, and actions. Hypocrisy/Racism: one and the same.

Before you read any farther, please review this and let it soak into your heart:

"There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." Galatians 3:28 (NIV)

Do you believe that?

Claudia Mair Burney, aka the Ragamuffin Diva, has written several novels. She is a "black" American author who is achieving considerable success in the CBA. Zora and Nicky is the first of her books that I've read. It is also the first novel I've read by an African American author. This particular novel is exceptional, and when a writer pens one as powerful as this, I gotta say it'll be hard to top it, although I'm quite sure she's up to the task of equaling it.

Zora, the daughter of a wealthy black hyper-faith preacher, and Nicky, the blond wayward/prodigal son of a white Baptist "established" family, find one another irresistible from the moment they set eyes upon each other at a home prayer meeting containing an unusual bunch of prayer warriors in attendance. Nicky, a recovering lust-o-holic, is smitten with this gorgeous black woman but is having trouble believing it could be anything other than what he's been running from since putting a halt to his lustful adventures after returning home from Berkeley with a degree unrelated to the acceptable pastoral studies. Nicky has been seeing model perfect Christian girl, Rebecca, and his parents practically have them engaged. Zora is dating her parents' accepted choice for her future, Denzel Washington look-alike and her father's imitation, Miles.

Just before meeting each other for the first time, these two 20-somethings walk out on their individual father's sermons, knowing something is wrong with what is happening--or more like what is not happening--within the walls of their respective churches. Searching for a real relationship with the God, Lord Jesus, and Holy Spirit who is personal to them, they discover through their very brief and confrontational introduction at the prayer meeting, that their lives need a drastic change.

When the independent Zora walks out on a dinner engagement with her parents and Miles, her father repossesses all "his" possessions in her apartment along with her Lexus, leaving her with just the pajamas she's wearing after he arrives with some of the young men from his church to haul every bit of her clothing and furniture away. When Zora turns to the leaders of the avant-garde prayer meeting, they assign Nicky to the task of gathering some basic clothing and supplies for her in this time of need. Zora and Nicky's tumultuous but profound relationship begins at this point.

Claudia Mair Burney, who refers to herself as Mair, put together an astounding story filled with humor, hurt, and "homogenized" religion which became distasteful to these two individuals in different ways. Their individual and unique struggle to find themselves a viable faith which could change their lives plunges them into the unlikely place of falling in love and facing racism head on within themselves and certainly within their parents.

Mair's voice is not subtle. It is in your face, out loud, intense, and lovely, touching, honest, and poetic all at the same time. If you've never really had to face racism from a "civilized" perspective, feast on this story. I guarantee you will learn some things about yourself, about others, and about how the Lord desires to work within each of us regarding the matter of Galatians 3:28. We as a people, and I mean that as a whole: we need this book. Yes, it's "just" a novel, but non-fiction couldn't have demonstrated what we all know--and try to shun--as racism more truthfully than this story of two young people who not only come face to face with each other but with hidden things inside themselves they had no idea were there. God has a way of exposing us, does He not?

The cover of this David C. Cook novel is both striking and attractive. I guess if I had to find a fault here it would be in not making the cover guy a blond since Nicky's blondness in the story was contrasted to the deep berry darkness of Zora's skin.

So well done, Mair. A wonderful book I recommend for everyone, male and female--from dating age and way beyond. Mair has a brand new blog where you can find her thoughts: http://claudiamairburneybooks.blogspot.com

Father, you know Mair's situation better than anyone else. You know what makes her hurt, what makes her laugh, what inspires her to reach the heights and depths of your love. I pray you would be close to her, giving her what she needs on a daily basis. I pray you would continue to give her a heart after you and that she would be filled by your Spirit to overflowing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember to pray for Kristy Dykes.*

Passing the buck—or—The buck stops here.

You know it has occurred to me amidst all the websites and blogs in this big bully-pulpit of a publishing industry that there is a certain amount of buck-passing going on in the profession. And lest this come off as “bitter”, I just want you to know I’m not. In fact, it doesn’t matter to me personally that I am self-published with no alternative in the immediate future because I’ve long resolved my issues with being professionally published. Sure it would be great to be published by a “royalty publisher” as they are called, but finally it no longer has the value it once possessed for me. I know, I know! For some of you it is vital to your goals of making a living writing novels or even eventually perhaps a memoir. For some of you it remains the only possible way you can visualize your novels reaching out and touching a large audience, and for many of you it is your dream. As well it should be.

Here is where I think the publishing industry has passed the buck. We all know we authors are an eclectic lot. From the shy, reclusive, and quirky to the gregarious, rambunctious, and outspoken types, we come in all flavors, colors, and temperaments. We write from romance to horror and everything in between. We look sedate to flamboyant, and we talk with three-syllable vocabularies to hiphop vernacular. We are writers. And by the very nature of what we are called, that is what we do best. So, if the publishing industry wanted to use us to their best advantage, they would select what tiny part of marketing we do best and design a strategy to fit the individual author. How many of you potentially published authors would forego an advance if that money would be directly applied to marketing your book or hiring a publicist to do it for you? I certainly would.

While publishers hire teams of marketing strategists or departments for marketing books, they require an author to design or suggest his own marketing schemes, emphasizing the need for said author to expect to pull his weight in this venue (code for spend his own money on marketing ventures). The question I continue to repeat (yes, insatiably) is why? Why when they have supposed pros in place to do just that—pros that sit on the pub boards and play a part in the selection process of who gets published—why aren’t they sufficient to get the job done? And done with “excellence” like the writing is supposed to be to have gotten this far in the first place?

Passing the buck in this additional form is perhaps the most annoying to me: ridiculous platitudes. Why can’t they just stop saying that only “excellent” writing will be published? This mantra is as nauseating as they come. By demanding “excellence” from those who submit manuscripts, they are ignoring the mediocre publications they have all produced and have placed the onus for their decisions on the writers who have yet to be published, insisting that only the best are selected. Honestly, we have all read novels that make that statement of “excellence” laughable. How ‘bout “fresh voice”, “unique”, “compelling”? I’m a firm believer in the outstanding power of “voice”. As you read in my review of Perfect by Harry Kraus, M.D., his voice has always appealed to me—it’s his own and no one else’s is quite like it. Much like Peretti, Liparulo, and a novel I’m reading right now which I can’t wait to review for you! Outstanding. Does everyone like these authors? No, not everyone. It’s all subjective, isn’t it? How much marketing do you think Dr. Kraus can do from east Africa? Frank Peretti has suffered from some hearing issues in the past which made it nearly impossible for him to do much of anything for some time, and, let’s face it, Peretti is good when there’s any kind of creative expression involved such as videos or dramas (and writing, of course), but he’s not a great marketer. Robert Liparulo is active, busy, and contributes with appearances and contests, but he’s not fond of marketing—he’d much rather be writing. And as readers/fans, wouldn’t we much rather these guys be writing, too?

Okay, we all know what the pros are talking about when they verbalize these things (fresh voice, etc.), but we also know there is nothing new under the sun, and to pretend there is with the same old phrases repeated ad nauseam by not only agents, editors, and publishing bigwigs but by authors themselves is . . . well . . . annoying at best. Each publisher knows what they’re looking for at any given time, i.e. no to fantasy, yes to historical romance, no to contemporary romance, yes to cozy mystery, etc. Each editor/agent has his/her own taste in literature. To imply that subjectivity doesn’t play a major part in shelling out the big dollars is like saying there are no risks in publishing. It’s all a risk. Writing is a risk.

The buck stops at the publisher’s door. Whatever they decide to publish, by so doing they are proclaiming this novel passed all of their tests, and the author has successfully squeezed through or jumped over all the hoops and obstacles. Think about this for a minute. Go in a bookstore. Any bookstore. Then go in the local Christian bookstore—one that stocks a fair amount of fiction. Only my previously described (in the post “Types of Readers”) “voracious” types of readers will recognize the new arrivals on the shelves of book after book. The featured books on the end-caps will draw the average reader’s attention, but many a reader will be stymied looking for a new novel, a new author, “something different”, without a recommendation from someone they “trust”. How is your new book going to get their attention?

Well, nowadays, that’s become up to you. You are a designated marketer as much as you are an author. So you better be one outstanding writer because if your marketing suggestions are lame, the chances of your ability to convince a publisher to produce your book are lessening all the time. If your book doesn’t sell in sharp fashion, it’s your fault—whether it is or not. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Everybody at the publishing house signed on to your book. They loved it. They gave you a contract and encouragement and some meager marketing help. Then the sales don’t happen as quickly as necessary to give that encouragement some weight and you some hope. Tension and worry replace euphoria and glee. Uh-oh. You loved the cover, you’re marketing the best you know how. Why isn’t the book selling well?

It’s probably because people haven’t found it yet. There are so many books out there to read. Yes, you’ve alerted everyone you’ve ever marginally communicated with on the internet, at the grocery store, even including your third cousins twice removed. You’ve done a local book signing, appeared at the library, sent out over 100 custom bookmarks, e-newsletters, and blogged your socks off displaying pictures of your novel, getting a few interviews on others’ blogs, done the blog tours, even gotten a few great reviews and some wonderful comments from those who’ve read this novel. But it’s not selling. The buck has stopped. Or at least it isn’t flowing into the coffers with your inscription on them. Interesting business, huh?

For a change it would be nice to hear a few integrity-laden confessions from every level of the publishing industry. Such as: “We don’t have the staff to effectively market your book—we try, but sometimes we just miss the mark.” “We can’t describe exactly what we like, but we know it when we see it. We like the less conspicuous presence of the gospel but embrace godly principles.” “We favor glib or humorous writers, and we like intense thrillers.” “We actually produce a lot of mediocre books that sell big time. Our audience ranges from very average book readers to the elite literary readers.” “We know it’s not fair to make those who submit manuscripts wait endlessly for our replies, but we’re swamped with submissions and can’t afford to hire the people we need to effectively and constructively deal with them.”

The average person who holds down a job is often asked to exceed their job descriptions for the same wage. Things escalate in a business and more is required. There are definitely those who refuse to give anything extra without compensation of some kind, but a lot of us who had depression era survivors as parents learned how to work hard and will do so without complaint or extra money unless there is a tyrant who is using us and needs to be set straight. If the publishing industry is under-staffed for the volume of the business needs to be performed with excellence and consideration, why is that? Taking into consideration that a lot of time consuming reading is involved, that there are stacks and stacks of submissions to trim down into just a few publishable titles, what will it take to make this industry produce a better machine for dealing with their potential work load? I have never seen so many typos and other mistakes in the books produced by these professionals as I have in the last five years. Before I’m even into a novel for a hundred pages, I have run across more than one error. How do you think that would work in retail if every product sold contained a flaw? This is one of the reasons why the hype about excellence is difficult to take seriously—when the final products contain multiple mistakes or a copycat cover. And still the big houses are laying off people.

Now it’s possible that the jobs these people held were superfluous, not helpful to the big picture or wherever it is that these publishers get bogged down in their production of “excellence”. However, if the professionals were such hotshots at predicting the trends of the reading public, wouldn’t their products be selling off the shelves necessitating the hiring of more people, not the letting go of them?

I’m not criticizing the novels produced or the authors who penned them. I’m not even really criticizing the publishers. What I am doing here is saying there seems to be a lot of buck passing going on the industry exemplified with a smokescreen of words professing how wonderful and difficult the publishing business is all at the same time. The prestige of making decisions for x amount of titles being produced in a year also produces irresponsible platitudes about books that sometimes don’t back up the claims.

Published authors have a tendency to get defensive at a post like this. It’s probably a good thing not too many high-falutin’ authors stop by here regularly to browse my words. This isn’t about the quality of writing by published authors anyway. For the best of them, there will still be somebody who won’t like their work. This business is so about who likes what and is willing to pay for it. Published authors should be valued. They've worked hard, but more importantly, God has ordained their books see print form. They deserve a hearty congratulations.

Take the controversial novel The Shack (no, I haven’t read it). People seem to love it or hate it. But they’re buying it to find out why everyone is talking about it. It was self-published. As I understand it, the writer(s) created his/their own “publishing company” to get it into book form and are making a killing off it. It’s notorious for being “poorly written”. Much like The Da Vinci Code. Oops. A bestseller is poorly written. Again. These kinds of books turn the publishing industry upside down. The platitudes wind up on the cutting room floor along with self-imposed paper cuts from those “in the know” within elite publishing circles.

Wouldn’t you just once like to hear, “We dropped the ball. Heck, we don’t know what sells. We just like certain books better than others. Maybe it’s because they ‘seem’ easier to sell. And it sure seems a heckuva lot easier to sell books where the author’s bio doesn’t read like a stay-at-home Mom’s daily lesson plan for her 2.5 children.”? I would. I can’t tell you how refreshing that would be. And honest. No more passing the buck. The buck definitely would stop right there at the heart of the matter. And I might have just a tad bit more respect for the powers that be in the industry.

Father, we answer to you alone. Help all of us to be forthright, to speak honestly, to admit our failings, and to submit our errors to you for correction and reproof. Lord, we desire to please you above all. Help us to strive for obedience at all levels of whatever we do, and please help us to realize when we make a mistake so that we can bring it to you—into the throne room for mercy after our repentance. Apart from you we can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Sunday's Offerings

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
He rises to show you compassion.
For the Lord is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for Him!

Isaiah 30:18 (NIV)

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.
His love endures forever.

Psalm 136:1 (NIV)

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.
Praise the Lord.

Psalm 150:6 (NIV)

*Please continue to pray for Kristy Dykes.*

Guest Reviewer: Mark Harbeson

(A Review of “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” by Mark Harbeson)

A regular guest here at Into the Fire, Mark is a film buff and a good movie reviewer. So in my absence . . . heeerrre’s Mark!

Indiana Jones Rides Again

"Raiders of the Lost Ark" was a seminal moment in my childhood. I was 7 years old at the time it was released, and I had no idea what the movie was about when my parents took me to the theater to see it in the summer of 1981. For two hours or so, I was enthralled by the action, suspense, humor, adventure, and Biblical underpinnings of the classic film—27 years later, it remains my all-time favorite movie. Indiana Jones was my childhood hero. The sequels didn't quite recapture that magic, although I have a great deal of affection for "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" and even the darker, more horrific "Temple of Doom" has its moments.

So, when I heard that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg had finally embarked on making a fourth Indiana Jones movie, my reaction was mixed: thrilled to be able to see my hero on the big screen again but worried that somehow it wouldn't work. After all, the main players had drifted in various directions since Crusade was released in 1993. Spielberg had moved on to more adult, serious dramas and hadn't tried to make blockbuster entertainment in years. Lucas had toiled on the largely panned and inferior "Star Wars" prequels. Even Harrison Ford, whose presence virtually guaranteed a terrific movie in the 1980's, had become mired in mediocre-to-lousy films through the latter 90's and the 2000's, looking increasingly bored in each new role. It would have been easy for them to misplace the magic in "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull".

It pleases me to report that my fears were mostly unfounded. This fourth entry in the series is largely an entertaining diversion that delivers 2 hours of summer fun in a movie theater. It has its flaws, and I don't think it's as good as Crusade, let alone Raiders, but I enjoyed it more than Temple of Doom and was glad to have seen it.

The story involves Indy battling Russians in 1957 as they search for a (surprise!) crystal skull that may lead to a lost city in the Amazon jungle. The Russians appear to think that the city contains superior technology that they can use to Take Over The World (in the grand tradition of B-movie plots that the Indiana Jones series has always lovingly embraced). A professor friend of Indy's has disappeared (or may have been kidnapped by the Russians) and a young friend of the missing professor named Mutt (Shia LaBeouf) asks Indy to help him in his search. There are other surprise revelations and characters that pop up throughout, which I'll leave for you to discover if you're one of the three people who hasn't seen the movie yet (I was the fourth until this weekend—babysitter issues).

There are several things we want from an Indiana Jones movie. We want Harrison Ford in Cocky Hero mode. We want dusty, far-flung exotic locations. We want old crypts and secret chambers with cobwebs hanging everywhere. We need a scene with creepy, dangerous animals/insects. And we want fun rousing action. Crystal Skull delivers on all these counts. I enjoyed the visit to the warehouse that concluded Raiders and the subsequent cameo by the Ark of the Covenant. Action scenes set in a college campus and on a dirt jungle road are fun and rousing. LaBeouf gives Indy a nice sidekick, and an appearance by an old favorite character is welcome. But I'm most grateful for Harrison Ford's note-perfect performance. It's nice to see him back in the role--one of the best matches of an actor and a character in movie history--and he doesn't miss a beat. Welcome back, Mr. Ford. We missed you.

If it steps wrong, it's in a tendency to embrace over-the-top silliness more frequently than in the previous films. I found myself rolling my eyes at several moments that were just too far-fetched even for an Indiana Jones movie. There is humor present, but it's mostly of the type that gets chuckles rather than belly laughs. Great character actors Ray Winstone and John Hurt are wasted in their one-note roles. And I'm still not really sure what happened in the climax, other than a lot of bright, loud special effects. The crystal skull and mythology surrounding it provide a plot of sorts, but I like Indy best when he's chasing Biblical artifiacts, like the Ark or the Holy Grail. They add a certain weight to the story that is lacking here.

These are mostly minor quibbles, however. I was reasonably hoping for an entertaining film that reminded me of the reasons why I loved Indiana Jones in the first place. And that's what I got. I defy you to leave the theater without humming John Williams' memorable Raiders March.

(I so confess to being one of the three people who hasn’t seen this pic yet. Shame on me. Well done as usual, Mark. Thanks for filling in for me.)

Father, Mark and his wife Julie will be traveling to Arizona to celebrate their 10th wedding anniversary, sans their three children. Protect them, give them all kinds of pleasure as they celebrate their love for each other and for your creation in the beautiful hot state of Arizona. Go with them in power and love. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please continue to pray for Kristy Dykes.*

(I'll return, God willing, on Monday, June 23rd. Pray for us.)

The Hunted, all of them . . .

Featured this week on the CFBA Blog Tour is Mike Dellosso’s first novel The Hunted, a supernatural suspense story similar (but not exactly) in theme to Peretti’s The Oath or Robert Whitlow’s The List. Mike Dellosso’s writing credentials include stints as a newspaper correspondent and columnist along with contributions to various websites and blogs. He has a BA from Messiah College and a MBS in theology from Master’s Graduate School of Divinity.

He’s in the process of defeating cancer, and he’s very candid about his struggle with stuttering. He’s a husband and father of three daughters, the author of two novels, the second one Scream to be released in early 2009. He began to write The Hunted in 2005.

There is no doubt Mike can write, and that he can write suspense which could graduate to the thriller genre. While I enjoyed The Hunted, I confess it had “that new author feel” to it.

The protagonist, Joe Saunders, reluctantly returns to the rural Pennsylvania town of his youth when his brother’s widow calls to tell him his nephew Caleb is missing after a day of playing with his friends. Joe has carried the guilt of his brother’s death for several long years, blaming God for allowing his beloved brother to die when it should’ve been him. The one real love in his life is now the sheriff of his small hometown, she being the one he left to join the military and never returned to as he had promised to do. It’s apparent from the first time they meet in the search for Caleb that the spark still exists between them.

As certain townspeople are summoned for the search, Joe’s former love, now-Sheriff Maggie Gill, sends Joe out to the fabled charred remains of the Yate’s place where Caleb liked to hide from his friends. An eerie experience in the dark cellar of the burned down home leads Joe to find Caleb who has been badly injured and remains in a coma after surgical repairs to his mangled body.

After realizing the strangeness of Caleb’s startling wounds, a Rottweiler and other townspeople begin to die at the paws of what appears to be a lion. Woven within the speculations of what exactly this man-killer might be is a paranoid schizophrenic/demonically possessed character by the name of Stevie Bauer who is somehow involved in the creature’s choice of victims.

The secret legacy behind the Gill family’s enduring stint in law enforcement causes Maggie to participate in cover-ups and lies to Joe who is slowly piecing together the mystery of this gruesome killing machine which no one can effectively identify, let alone capture or kill. Combined with the strange new occurrences experienced by the comatose Caleb is the new friendship forged with the elderly widower Josiah, necessitated by increasing speculation that Chief Maggie knows more about the killings than she’s reporting.

While I can certainly miss some level of symbolism in my reading, I am usually looking for it, and I’m always looking for it in the spiritual sense, so when I give my concerns about what I felt was lacking in this first effort by Mike Dellosso, you might disagree.

**Spoiler Alert**

These are the inconclusive loose ends which, for me, gave this story that “first novel feel”:

1.I don’t think the author fully resolved whether or not this creature was merely physical or supernatural. If he did, he wasn’t able to communicate it effectively. You can kill the physical body of a possessed animal, but you can’t kill the demon itself.

2.Caleb’s attack is questionable and not fully understood. The dynamic/relationship between the cellar of the hellish Yates’ place and the killer wavers.

3.Josiah is a spiritual character who has visions and prophetic dreams yet he is unable to figure out the demonic overtones of Stevie even though he has cared for him since Stevie’s mother was murdered.

4.The relationship/connection between Stevie’s pet cat, the killer “cat”, and Stevie “as a cat” is dangling at the end and also unresolved.

5.Paranoid schizophrenia is one thing. Demon possession is yet another. I think there needs to be a resolution here as to what is truly going on with the character Stevie.

**End Spoiler Alert**

As with most of us, I’m sure Mike’s second novel will be more resolute. Like I said, he has talent, imagination, and his own voice, although I think he might have included a few too many movie references which ended up sounding slightly cliché plus some ambitious plot points without bringing them to a satisfactory conclusion in his first entertaining adventure.

Father, I pray for complete healing for Mike from any residual cancer or symptoms. I ask, Lord, that you give him a long life, a healthy body, and a determination to serve you however you ask him to do so. I pray that you would give him renewed hope and purpose and many, many stories to follow. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember to pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

It's different for everyone.

What is it that turns your heart toward God? So many different persuasions for believers . . . . Music? Flowers? Animals? Books? Mountains? Desert?

Today our resident red-tailed hawk flew overhead with her offspring, her shrill cry soothing instead of warning. They were floating on a current of air, their wings spread and unmoving as they soared together. The sunlight, which has been very faint and often absent this Spring, gleamed through her red tail, making it look translucent against the tropical blue of a sky which had banished the clouds for today. Gorgeous. All of it.

And I thanked God for His impeccable beauty in creating magnificence amidst a fallen earth. When I walked in the front door the late-blooming rhododendrons which have become a tree forced me to notice their brilliant untainted neon pink. And I thanked God for his richness in the creation of colors so vibrant they seem unreal.

I let the sun turn my legs red without regard for ultraviolet rays as I read a novel I’ll review for you—or for me—next week. I need some color since we’re headed to Louisiana later this week to a reunion for my husband’s family. Our two horses arrived to graze in the front pasture and pricked their ears as I talked to them, calling them by the names they’ve learned are theirs. Their coats are finally slick and shiny, assuring me that summer will come. Eventually. Thoroughbreds are beautiful, and these two are no exception. And I thanked God for them.

Whatever it is that makes you grateful, that turns your heart acutely in the direction of the One true God, His flawless artistry in a sinful world emanating his beauty and depth . . . whatever it is, embrace it/them. Hold them in your heart and give thanks. Often. Repeatedly. Endlessly. For He is good and His love endures forever.

Thank you, Father, Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Holy Spirit.

*Please continue to pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Not so Perfect after all . . .

Around the blogosphere in recent times and periodically throughout each year, the subject of “voice” makes its rounds. Well, there is one voice in the author crowd that I have always enjoyed and maybe especially in his latest novel Perfect, and that is the voice of Dr. Harry Kraus who can be found with his wife on the medical mission field of East Africa.

Perfect is narrated by the wife of surgeon extraordinaire Henry J. Stratford, Jr., M.D., Ph.D., F.A.C.S., F.R.C.S., a man who unintentionally wooed this trophy wife with his compassion after performing her gall bladder surgery. When she went against all her pastor’s daughter upbringing, risking it all during her final visit with him by wearing red lacy underwear (what if her father knew?!), literally throwing herself at him in the examination room daring him to kiss her and being gorgeous enough to pull it off, she hooked him and they were married, becoming the “perfect” couple accompanied by all the other “perfections”—at least from an outsider’s point of view.

However, as most of us know, nothing on earth is “perfect”, and so under the guise of shedding her hypocrisy and the utter boredom of her marriage to Dr. Perfect, she plans a trip to Jamaica with her piano teacher, the younger and hunky choir director at her father’s church which is located directly across the street from her stately mansion. When she has purchased the tickets and packed her bags, she decides to invite the attractive man to join her for a week of island romance. She sends him away from her seductive lesson giving him a short timeline to decide if he wants to join her, counting on a favorable decision. As she watches from a window of her home, she witnesses a semi tractor plow into his Honda without stopping. Everything in her life shifts to crisis mode after this startling event.

Wendi Stratford gives us an unflattering summary of herself and her life as we share in her first effort at outright imperfection and deliberate sinful behavior. Having suffered with crippling guilt her entire life, she is enduring a slow death, suffocating under the weight and pressure of everything she has failed to do “perfectly” without ever letting on anything is wrong. Hiding under what she terms “plastic” smiles and “Christian” appearances, she decides she can no longer endure the façade of perfection and her strained relationship with a God who she assumes has condemned her for her past and present constant imperfections.

If you want tart, crackling prose, this is the book for you. Harry Kraus has written a mystery centered on the failings of individuals who’ve been deceived into believing a variety of self-centered, empty philosophies to delude them away from the truth they desperately need to survive and provide their lives with something more than mere performances. A prideful surgeon, admired by colleagues, and seduced by his own abilities finds himself in a situation that threatens to destroy his wife and his career. Fearing the worst, he makes a desperate attempt to provide the “perfect” solution.

In spite of the character flaws in Wendi and Henry, Dr. Kraus has managed to make them desirable. Perhaps it’s their vulnerability, or the delusion of who they’ve become in their lives, but we care about them regardless of their conduct. The ending brought tears from this reader.

To give too much away of the story would rob future readers of an incredible treat by a writer who gives “authentic” an extra kick. This is one of those “must read” novels. Way to go, Dr. Kraus!

Father, you have gifted Harry in so many ways. I pray for your blessing upon him as he uses those giftings to bring you honor and glory. Continue to go before him and make his paths straight. Watch over him and his family. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please continue to pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Sunday's Offerings

"They will return to it and remove all its vile images and detestable idols. I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. They will be my people, and I will be their God. As for those whose hearts are devoted to their vile images and detestable idols, I will bring down on their own heads what they have done, declares the Sovereign Lord."

Ezekiel 11:18-21 (NIV)

*Please pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

There IS a difference.

Okay, I want to make one thing clear. There is a difference between self-deprecation and the reluctance to shamelessly market oneself.

Ask me anything about my novels, and I’ll discuss them. With excitement. Carry on about the individual characters. Etcetera. Etcetera. I love the stories. Surely, that can’t be wrong.

Self-deprecation tells you I’m not the best writer (which I’m not), I’m “lucky” (no such thing as “luck”) to have written even one of them, let alone seven of them. That anyone likes them at all is inconceivable (why?) and that if you have a publishing contract, it’s probably because the editor and pub board were on prednisone and dangerous doses of antihistamines or, heck, maybe LSD, that day they decided you were worthy of a contract. You get it, right?

I’m not going to apologize for writing my books. Not even the monster saga first one. Nope. It’s a good story no matter how many unnecessary words it contains.

I will give disclaimers for my work because of the blaring sirens of the “rules of writing” police and the fawn-eyed wannabes who worship every word/opinion that proceeds from the mouth of an agent, editor, or publisher as if it’s iron-clad and inarguable and appears in every book they publish, work on, or represent. And, hey, that statement is not meant to ridicule the wannabes. I was there. However, I came late to that party, too, so I had already formulated strong opinions, habits, feelings, and practices as far as the writing of novels was perceived. Too late to latch onto every word spoken by the pros without an occasional red flag or “What-the-heck?” Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think. Let me repeat that: It doesn’t matter what I think. About anything in the publishing industry. It’s only a difference of opinion, but included with the differences of opinion is a keypad to a door for which I do not have the combination. And that’s okay, too.

Regarding my disclaimers and why I don’t intend for them to be self-deprecating: it’s important to me that potential readers understand that I write adult Christian fiction. Adult is code for if you’re uncomfortable with reading about real life without Jesus Christ—the mindsets and philosophies, the lifestyles, the hardness—my novels are not for you. Keep in mind those lifestyles, etc., are ultimately contrasted to Christianity. There are all kinds of people in my books. Second on my list of disclaimers is that I’m well aware of most all the rules and choose to break them at will. Not for the sake of breaking them but because I have a voice, a style, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t abbreviate them to serve “the rules”. I am true to who I am as a writer, who God is working on to always improve—He knows better than anyone how much I need to do just that especially within my soul.

I removed apologizing for any offense or if someone doesn’t like my style of writing from my disclaimer list. That’s self-deprecating, and it’s pointless. If I was truly sorry for writing like I write or what I write about, I’d write differently and pick new stories. No. I love the stories. And here’s for all you eye-rollers and scoffers—your very favorite quote: God gave me these stories. Ha! See, you couldn’t resist, could you? Your eyebrows dodged upward before you even knew they were reacting. The point is without Him I couldn’t write my name, let alone find interesting people (characters) and circumstances to string together in looonnnggg books. If you don’t like them, take it up with the Lord. I’m sure He’s gifted someone else with a novel you’ll find perfect for your particular taste in literature.

So, the reason I detest “marketing” per se is because I don’t want to have to “sell” myself. I’ll gladly talk about the stories, but knowing what I know about my own tastes in books, why should I tell you whether or not you’ll definitely like mine unless I have information about your likes and dislikes? I need information about your reading preferences. That tells me a lot about you. And it also tells me why you might like or why you might not like my novels.

You know, I’m just not going to put my writing down. As I said, I know it’s not the best out there, but whose writing is? Who is the judge? God is the judge, and if He’s given us the task and joy of writing, then the only thing He’s going to judge about it are our motives, our obedience, our perseverance, our desire to bring Him glory. His “rules” are a little different, only they matter so much more.

Father, I’m desperate for you. Day in and day out. You are the provider for what I need to be a better person. You are the director of my life. Help me to listen and follow you alone. You are what I need the most. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*

First things first.

I don’t know why the Lord created me with such single-mindedness. There are really only three main things that have been in my life since as far back as I can remember. The first of those was horses. Yes, I was one of those horse crazy little girls that never grew out of it because God intended to use this love in multiple ways for many purposes beyond and besides career. The second major area was writing. It was a constant as I was growing up. On many a summer day one friend and I sat in self-constructed blanket tents writing stories, novels . . . The third thread is less defined but a constant nevertheless—it being the love and appreciation for good drama, acting, movies.

I think learning the craft of writing is twofold. Good education and good teachers, whether it be at home or in a school is essential to learning the basics of grammar, the relationship of words, opinions, writing stories, and the nuances of creating in the written form. But side by side with that education is the gleaned experience of creativity by reading. It’s easy to tell if someone attempts to write fiction without being much of a reader. Usually, the essence of story—meaningful characters with depths all their own, a plot which weaves and struts and mesmerizes, a charismatic style, and a voice that charms or alarms or challenges or amuses—these things are all missing. It’s relatively easy to learn the mechanics of writing, but I doubt one can truly “learn” the emotion of creating a story. I believe it is God-ordained, a gift, a talent, a certain innate stamp which God engineers in our genes and step-by-step fashions within us to pursue. No matter what. With no guarantees or promises or dangling carrots. But rather the compulsion to obey His call upon us, to write regardless of what it costs us, of what it requires from us, of what we receive from it. The simple fact is that we must write. So write we do.

For a young girl to love horses is not unusual. So many do. I was a city girl who fell in love with them from before the age of four. When I was four, I rode my first horse somewhere near Butte, Montana, where my long-distance relatives lived. It was a dream come true. That was phase one being confirmed. It was many years later, 16 years to be exact, before phase two kicked in at the now defunct Longacres Racetrack. Another dream fulfilled.

In between phase one and phase two with the horse thing came a lot of intermittent writing, never completely disappearing, blending into a playwriting class in my one year at the university along with a creative writing class and lots of English and literature classes crammed into that full year. And even during the years of “wild-life”, writing never went away, surfacing occasionally to assert its clamp onto my life.

And inserted into the chaos of those years at the track, after the wild part had dissipated and ultimately been rejected—after all that came the Lord Jesus Christ. Simply, profoundly, and with a quiet power: He rescued me. And eventually my husband. The racetrack life continued with a new purpose, a ministry, a son, and years and years of very hard work.

As the Lord often does, He brings things full circle, or intertwines all things, or ties up loose ends, completing His intentions . . . Anyway, when I had learned who was truly responsible for any good thing that I might have done or would do, He gave me an assignment to write. “A Christian novel about horse racing” were His exact words. So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote that story until I finished it. Then we published it. And now we wait for whatever fruit might come from the labor. The book is used as ministry—it was a gift to me, and I give it to others with joy. And I am thankful to the Lord that He gave me the story, the many characters, the collage of racing captured within the multiple pages of that first effort at a novel. There have been six to follow that one. Book 8 is in the works.

Horses. And writing. In that order.

Well, you know what’s left. The drama. It could be said I’ve had enough drama in my life to last my lifetime, but who knows what the Lord has in store? I’ve always wanted to write my novels to make them like “reading” a movie. What if . . .

First things first, you know?

Father, thank you for my life. You’ve been so gracious to me. Yes, even when I was at my worst, you loved me, even protected me. I am so thankful to you. I love you, Jesus, thank you for loving me. “You’re all I’m livin’ for.” In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember Kristy Dykes and her family.*

Double Feature: "The Dreamhouse Kings Series" Books One and Two

For one of the June CFBA tours I had the privilege of reading the first two books in the young adult series written by thriller writer Robert Liparulo. And even though these novels are written for youth, they are easily entertaining enough for an adult to enjoy.

Book One in the series is titled House of Dark Shadows and it opens with the King family of five doing a major move from the hubbub of city life in Pasadena, California, to the “hicksville” city of Pinedale, California, 600 miles away, where Dad has taken a job as the principal of the combined middle/senior high school in an obscure community. The oldest, Xander (short for Alexander), 15, his brother, David, 12 in a matter of days, and their little sister Toria (short for Victoria), nine years old, all have their reasons for being disgruntled about this unusual turn of events. Just how strange it becomes as the family seeks out a place to live, the kids could have no idea.

After the prologue reveals a terrifying event which takes place 30 years prior to the story’s beginning, the present day events are clocked by minutes of days dividing the short chapters, keeping the pace moving in a consistent tempo. Immediately upon their first visitation of the old rundown Victorian house with promise—and a history of alleged murdered family members which no one ever found—bizarre occurrences take place inside its rooms. The odd rearranging of sounds and sudden relocations of family members give the boys plenty of questions about this house located away from town in the middle of woods.

Once the family decides this huge house with a unique floor plan will be their “dream” home, they quickly find out this old house is more like a nightmare with its own agenda. When, after startling discoveries of revolving closets and antechambers which lead to portals of other times and places, Mom is captured by a mammoth-sized man and disappears within an undetectable portal after Xander fights valiantly to wrestle her from the beastly man who carries her away from all of them, Dad and the boys are left battered and injured and emotionally shattered.

The first novel in the series ends with the resolution to do whatever it takes to penetrate the mysteries of the house to rescue Mom along with some other alarming surprises.

Book Two, Watcher in the Woods, picks up with David attempting his own efforts at rescuing his mother, only to discover how close he comes to losing his life in one of the portal’s worlds. The havoc of seeing glimpses of someone in the woods around the house, experiencing a clearing where they can apparently “climb” above the ground into the air and hover while speaking with helium voices, an evil man showing up in their kitchen just as they’re about to eat dinner and offering to buy the house, along with them having to pretend they’re a normal family in what begins to seem like an abnormal town, all the while trying to figure out how best to understand the portals so they can find Mom, creates tension, impatience, and more secrets revealed. Add to this a bully who gets pulled into one of the weird phenomena after an attempt to beat up David, and you have enough problems to keep the pages turning at a steady pace. This second book concludes with an effort by the strange man who wants to buy the house involving the police to evict the family, an urgent trip to Pinedale by a 95 year old nursing home resident seeking to return to the house, and a shocking revelation by Xander as he exits an unscheduled trip from a portal.

Part of this continuous story is told in almost a conversational manner as if one person is relating the events to another. While the books definitely retain the clever, satisfying, and original voice of Robert Liparulo, they are painstaking and deliberate in tempo. When urgency is required, it’s there, but when the family is in crisis and suffering their loss, the defeat and anxiety is noted in the slowing of pace and the personal tidbits of thought by the featured characters. The first book seems to dwell mostly on Xander while the second focuses more on David. The least revealed character is that of the little sister Toria, but I suspect we’ll learn more about her in the future books. This series will contain six novels of one continuous story.

Published by Thomas Nelson, the hardbound cover designs are excellent, giving future readers an enticing but threatening hint of an enclosed fantasy/mystery. Like in all of Robert’s novels, there are thrills and chills, and these novels will be great for adventurous young men and those young ladies who prefer exciting fantasies to frilly romances. The only downside of the series is the third book isn’t expected until January, 2009.

For those of you who enjoy contests, Robert is including an opportunity to submit your ideas to be included in one of the future Dreamhouse Kings’ books. Simply go to www.DreamhouseKings.com to enter.

God, Robert is my friend, and I thank you for providing his friendship. I pray your full blessings on his life as he continues in obedience to you. I pray you would exceed his expectations and use him powerfully in your kingdom. Keep him and his family safe from all harm and always bring them closer to you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember the Dykes’ family at this difficult time.*

The One Imperative

If you’re going to compose a novel, it is imperative that you know you must write it. I’ve heard reasons for writing novels as farfetched as doing it on a dare. Well . . . most of us aren’t quite so whimsical about something that requires a certain skill level and a genuine commitment.

Commitment . . . Now there’s a topic in itself, huh? How many years has it taken you to write your first novel? Or has it just been a matter of months? Most of you know it took me 8 and ½ years to finish my first saga, the 744 page comprehensive novel about horse racing (Hope Of Glory). However, when I finished typing that story, transferring it from the thick notebooks of longhand composition to the computer screen, I began to write its sequel. When it seemed the sequel would be as large as its predecessor, I stopped and wrote my next three in one year. And each one of them is between 140-170,000 words. Obviously I didn’t have a clue they were required to be between 80-100,000 words to have the best shot at being considered for today’s trends in Christian publishing. Oh well . . .

So, about it being imperative that you know you are to write . . . I’m a believer in “gut feelings” because I know the Holy Spirit often speaks to me with those deep stirrings and inclinations. There are certain things a person must know inside him/herself to proceed. Writing is one of them. Now this doesn’t have to mean that you’ve been doing it all your life, but it very likely does include a history of words on paper. And when I’m talking about writing a novel, I don’t mean articles, blog posts, webzine features, memoirs, or non-fiction books. I’m talking about the desire and fortitude it takes to make up a story and deliver it from your inspiration to the paper or screen from start to finish—whether it’s sequentially, randomly, or herky jerky. Regardless of how you do it, you create characters, a plot, a series of events, dialogues, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and you use all the tools of the trade to do it. Within that story are your heart, soul, voice, and style. No matter how rough around the edges your first effort might be, it emerges from that imperative drive within you to complete the novel.

Does this “imperative” serve as the marker for eventual publication? No. Does this imperative mean you will experience “success”? It all depends on your definition of success. What this imperative truly means is that the inspiration to write is God-ordained, and you must be obedient to Him and to it. Some work willingly within this medium, eager to transpose their thoughts to words, but others fight the urges and waylay their talents pursuing other things ahead of or instead of writing. There are always interesting histories involved.

Does this mean that all writers know and understand this imperative? No. Some writers are determined to write regardless of what God has called them to do. Since many writers have no relationship with Jesus Christ, they often call their inspirations “muses” and credit themselves or others with their abilities to tell stories. I’m convinced some writers perceive their talent to exceed its real value because of the appeal of some of their work. Some might choose to dwell on the unfairness of such things, but a Christian can rest in the sovereignty of a wise God who directs the paths of those who love and choose to follow Him. But many don’t rest in that knowledge.

When you grasp “the one imperative”, you will find that elusive rest which accompanies being smack dab in the middle of God’s perfect will. It can’t be manufactured, and it isn’t always a nice downhill slope to get there, but it’s accessible because God has a plan, and He intends to clue you in one or two steps at a time—His choice, not yours. Getting to that place of contentment in the writing game means you take that one imperative and you embrace its obstacles, steady your fears and doubts, pursue God’s urgings, and never give in to the nagging definitions of what the publishing industry deems “successful”. It isn’t about them, and it really isn’t about you in the sense of what you’ve created. It’s about the Lord working through you at every level and producing what He desires in you, around you, from you, and finally for you. So really, that one imperative is all about yielding to the One who matters most, and that simply put isn’t you.

Father, help me to be faithful to what you ask of me. Your desires are all that truly matter. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please pray for the Kristy Dykes' family.*

So which is it anyway?

I’m coming late to the blogosphere party on purpose. Late to the “safe” discussion in Christian literature. Late to give my “real” opinion on the matter of “safe v. edgy” because of the connotations of both words when speaking about fiction. My post “You can always tell . . .” speaks of those who assume “safe” things about Christian fiction without having read much of it. “Edgy” has been the buzz word in recent times when referring to stories which confront or pertain to things such as alcohol consumption or addiction, drugs/addiction, sexual issues, demon/vampire/horror topics, language concerns (cussing/swearing/some kinds of slang terms), and the not-so-Christian attitudes and characters.

You’d be hard pressed to come up with universal definitions—or even descriptions—of either of these two words to satisfy the bulk of those who have opinions as to what they mean in fiction writing for the Christian writer and reader. It seems these words continue to amplify concerns from those who wish to put an end to speculation and come up with a definitive category for each. The only thing I’ve concluded from reading the multiple opinions on the subject is this: neither term brings a cohesive resolution to what is “acceptable” in Christian fiction. While most people will agree that there is not only a market for the “safe” literature, there is a real need for it since it is supported by the age old definition of success: dollars and cents. While those who purchase “edgy” novels in the CBA market appear to be growing in number as they learn of its existence, neither “safe” nor “edgy” fans can coordinate a compromise either in definition or tolerance of each other’s preferences.

In the interview with Mimi Baker (at Woven by Words) in my “Advertisement” post, she referred to my novel (The Famous One) as edgy—especially the way I described the term—which was: "Edgy" is a term which conjures up all kinds of debates and controversy. If by "edgy" you mean it's not "fluff", it addresses sinful issues plainly without judgment, and it shows the lifestyle of a young person growing up without God in his life, then, yes, without a doubt it is an "edgy" Christian story.

The gist of the controversy squares on personal taste or good ol’ subjectivity, the catch-all word for why we all like what we like and don’t like what we don’t like while trying to convince others our preferences are the “best”. Which is useless. And silly.

Honestly, I think the extremists in either camp, the ones who argue and champion either/or instead of both entirely miss the objective of “story”. The ability to create a novel is a talent given by God even if it isn’t recognized by those who write them. As Christians who are writers, we are subject to our Lord’s approval, and no man can assume to tell us how He has asked us to create. If we sin in our writing, we answer up to One far more powerful than the editor's or reviewer’s or critique-r’s poison pen. Obedience should be the goal of all we author.

Now in being obedient to the One who has called us to write, we are not in a position to guarantee publication. Where we decide to make creative concessions or editing cuts belongs to us and no one else. What’s it worth to us? How important is a cuss word as opposed to implying that cuss word? Yes, I guess it could be said if your fiction is “safe” but well-written, the amount of doors open to you are greater in quantity in the CBA, but rest assured there are plenty of doors now open to “edgy” Christian stories. Much depends on how those stories are written, who they grab along the way to publication, if you have an agent who is passionate about your writing and who is able to find an editor willing to go to the mat for your manuscript. But in all correctness, it isn’t just about the writing. There are other factors such as platform, a recommendation from another professional along the way, what a particular publisher is looking for at the time . . . a lot of things matter besides just “good/great writing”, “fresh voice”, and all the other platitudes we’ve heard repeatedly by nearly every professional who’s ever “coined the phrases” on a website or blog.

If you want to read more about the safe v. edgy topic, it was covered in depth by Rachelle Gardner, Mike Duran, and Rebecca Luella Miller on their blogs last week.

Feel free to voice your opinion here.

Father, you give us our directions if we pursue you and listen to your voice. Our “job” is obedience to you. Help me to be just that. It’s really all that matters. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please pray for Kristy Dykes and her family.*