Into the Fire

Clean, Refined, Tough, Street . . .

 

The breakdown of different types of writing came out in these four categories—at least in my mind—with plenty of sub-divisions. My explanations for these basic types are as follows:

 

Clean: This word implies “moral, chaste”. Throw that out of your thoughts. By “clean” in writing terms, I mean without any superfluity; rather benign, professional, straightforward, obedient to most rules. Grammatically correct for the most part. Like Irene Hannon, Eva Marie Everson.

 

Refined:  Refined tends toward the literary with vivid and picturesque methodology using imaginative metaphors and similes. In my mind refined writing usually adheres to the rules but takes more liberties than the clean writers, veering off to give a slightly deeper coverage of scene, mood, or event. Think Tom Morrisey, Chris Fabry, maybe Lisa Samson.

 

Tough: Tough writing gets down and dirty, so to speak, without presenting offensive language or graphic sexual pictures. Violence can be stark and depicted accurately. When I think of this kind of writing, I would suggest James Scott Bell’s Try Dying, Try Darkness, and Try Fear. Also J. Mark Bertrand’s Back on Murder. Or Brandilyn Collins’ staccato-style suspense novels. Tough writing can vary in style but generally sticks to the murder-based suspense/mystery/thriller types of stories because it’s kind of difficult to write a “tough” romance, don’t you think? Tough writing can incorporate both clean and refined styles but usually creates its own variations of rule-breaking.

 

Street: When I compare my writing to the clean or refined group, I always seem to refer to myself as “the street-writer”. Yet I write love stories. Here’s the thing with my version of “street-writer”: it’s reality based. Whether contemporary or historical or even speculative, the language, attitude, emotionalism of the day appears in true form. Whether inferred in order to avoid ugly specifics of language or graphic portrayals of sexual encounters, the definite implication of whatever occurs is there. Plain. Real. Just enough graphics to give a true picture. Street writing doesn’t eliminate the refined aspects of writing other than generally speaking, it breaks a lot of rules.

 

Lord, you’ve given us any talents we have. Please help us to write for your glory and to reach those you’ve placed in our spheres of influence. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Authors . . .

 

A few Christian authors you should read in no particular order:

 

Frank Peretti

Robert Liparulo

Tosca Lee

Francine Rivers

Lisa Samson

Stephen James

Sibella Giorello

J. Mark Bertrand

Chris Fabry

Charles Martin

Brandilyn Collins

Susan Meissner

Mike Dellosso

Travis Thrasher

Gina Holmes

Randy Singer

Tom Morrisey

Tim Downs

Mary E. DeMuth

Athol Dickson

Don Brown

 

You might not like all of their novels (of those who've written several), but these are a handful of superb authors.

In the future I hope to see the published novels from the following people:

 

Mark Harbeson

Dayle Arceneaux

Tim George

Kristen Torres-Toro

Brenda Anderson

Normandie Ward Fischer

Jessica Thomas

Josh Olds

Kirk Kraft

Brayden Hirsch

Robbi Burns

Brenda (Sorry I don't know your last name, other Brenda.)

Melissa Marsh

Sally Bradley

 

 

And of course I hope you will read me. :)

 

Father, let our hearts be focused on your will, merging ours with yours. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

What do you expect?

 

I write Christian fiction. I call it that because it’s redemptive. The redemption comes through Jesus Christ. Within the stories there are all kinds of characters, some saved, some lost, some who will find the Lord, others who will not. Because of this, I call it Christian fiction. Now your definition might differ substantially from mine, and that’s okay with me.

 

The question is if I say I write Christian fiction, it brings up all kinds of expectations from readers and writers. As I’ve read more and more novels produced in the CBA market, it’s apparent the definition has been stretched to include novels which might mention God but not Jesus, might imply a prayer here and there, or mention church or someone who attends church, but these stories do not feature Christianity in any real capacity in the protagonist’s life. Other stories slide a Christian into the story via a peripheral character who either has no real influence on the protagonist or occupies a meaningful place in the story.

 

The title of “Christian Fiction” irritates some writers because they assume the name boxes in, typecasts, or misdirects the readers of such stories, resenting the classification and implied limitations associated with being included in this category.

 

Some others cringe at the term “Christian Fiction” because for them it means the books will show sloppy or poorly written stories. However, this is usually commentary from the self-confessed readers of a few Christian novels. There are a lot of excellent novelists writing Christian fiction today if you know who to pursue.

 

So, when you hear the label, what do you expect?

 

Lord, whatever we write, help our work to be meaningful as you intend. Let us always consider we’re doing this gig for you—pleasing you is the ultimate goal. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Sunday's Offerings

 

My heart is steadfast, O God:

I will sing and make music with all my soul.

Awake, harp and lyre!

I will awaken the dawn,

I will praise you, O Lord, among the nations;

I will sing of you among the peoples.

For great is your love, higher than the heavens;

your faithfulness reaches to the skies.

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens,

and let your glory be over all the earth.

 

Give us aid against the enemy,

for the help of man is worthless.

With God we will gain the victory,

and he will trample down our enemies.

 

Psalm 108:1-5; 10-13 (NIV)

Friday Five

 

After a huge Thanksgiving dinner at our wonderful neighbor's home, we shoveled our driveway for about two hours. Fortunately the thaw is such that this morning the two hot rods can take their drivers to work without the reliable Explorer chauferring them to and from. Thank you, Jesus.

 

December 10th: The Tourist! Can not wait.

 

Apologies to all of you. I announced in a couple of past posts that I'd be featuring an interview with Rachelle Gardner. Not gonna happen. Rachelle informed me that she's swamped. No harm done other than I wanted to be sure and let you know I didn't intend to mislead you.

 

Black Friday. I will be participating in some capacity. I was up at 4 AM to take the 4 X 4 up and down the driveway to make passage for the boys. Some more of the remaining snow/ice melted last night. Since I'm up and at 'em, might as well get some shopping done, huh?

 

Just a reminder to those of you who labor under the pull, draw, and compulsion to write: Keep on keepin' on. There are all kinds of us who know what God wants us to do. We might not know why, but we do know we must. Therefore, in obedience we will pursue that which is our honor and our duty.

 

Father, we worship you. Thankful. Love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

 

Thankful.

 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

May the Lord's grace continue in your life, may His blessing be powerful, may His abundance be yours, and may you experience His joy in your gratitude for all that He has given you.

To my writer friends and all others who visit here: I am so grateful for you. Thank you for honoring me with your time and words. You're treasures.

Father, watch over your people. Lead us in your ways everlasting. Help us to always be thankful even when it's hard. We are so blessed. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Trite.

 

It saddens me when love for God somehow gets reduced to the trite and true. Of course how could it not? After all these centuries hasn’t it been expressed ad nauseum? How many times have you heard or said: God is good. Well, duh. Few of us even believe it as an absolute anymore. Really. Consider when trauma or tragedy strikes? We pretend not to wonder why, but doggone it, most of the time we can’t help ourselves. “The big picture” seems way too insignificant compared to the right-now picture.

 

I want to worship my Lord. I don’t want it to be insignificant, trite, familiar to the point of boredom. I want to worship in spirit and in truth. To experience the awe of His presence. Yet to express the wonder and magnificence somehow gets cluttered with worn out phraseology and words too small for His bigness.

 

Forgive me for this, but I’m not a “devotional” person. Maybe it’s from growing up outside the church. Maybe it’s from reading one too many that came out trite and well-worn. Maybe it’s because I wake up with Thank you, Lord, on my lips and in my heart. Maybe it’s because I just don’t care for the medium of expression—too formulaic, too ritualistic, too practiced, too legalistic. Not saying that all devotionals are like that. I guess sometimes it just seems that way to me.

 

Please don’t get me wrong. I have a friend who writes wonderful little devotionals. They’re poignant, real, effective. And I’m not questioning the hearts of those who create them. They’re just not my . . . style.

 

God is too big for me. I’ve told Him so. My mind too finite. I’ve always known He was so much greater than this humanity He created. I’ve so loved that about Him, and I’m grateful He allowed me to sense that about Him at a very young age.

 

Making our expression of Him and to Him trite saddens me. With all of our being and passion we need to worship the One we can’t limit, define, imagine, or explain in terms of human acceptance. He’s too far beyond our vocabularies, our imaginations, our limitations. It’s inside us to know Him, but that knowledge is bound up in the flesh, escaped in the spirit, but stuck in humanity. Someday . . . we’ll see Him as He is. And the experience will be anything but trite.

 

God, I need you . . . plainly. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Those were the days . . .

 

Snow in Seattle: a mess. Abandoned cars on the freeway and everywhere else. My son’s beautiful Mustang included. Fortunately it’s pulled off the road. Hopefully we can get it towed today, but the towing companies are swamped.

 

Those were the days when snow used to be fun. Junior and senior high school especially. The days when no school prevailed. We had a steep hill by my home that no cars dared attempt, so kids were out in force with their sleds. Yes. Sleds. Wooden sleds. We spent hours traversing down that hill. It curved at the bottom and made for long fast fun rides. In my neighborhood I invented surfer or perhaps chariot style, standing up and holding onto the rope whizzing down that grade. An absolute blast with the wind from the speed in my eyes. Laughing. So carefree for those hours of plain play.

 

Those were the days when that kind of snow was rare for around here. And fun.

 

I hate snow here now. Precisely because of the ensuing chaos. There’s no fun in commuting. No fun in cars sliding down our slight downgrade and sometimes plowing into our fence. No fun in having to juggle the one 4 X 4—mine—to get people to work. My husband used to drive a 4 X 4 Ford pickup. Best rig in the snow. Now he drives a Ford Lightning pickup. For those of you who don’t know: it’s one fast puppy. It doesn’t get out of our driveway in the snow. Needless to say, my son’s Mustang doesn’t travel in the snow. However, he was at work when the bad weather went nutso. He thought he could make it. Didn’t.

 

I hate snow. Here.

 

God, please help us get the Mustang home safely. Thank you for your protection. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Ranting and Raving . . .

 

Rants:

 

I’ve about had it with the NFL officiating. Let’s put tutus on the quarterbacks. Pink ones. Calling personal foul/unsportsmanlike conduct/head to head (leading with the helmet) penalties have become the new fashion statement for officials. Except that the majority of the calls haven’t been right. And it’s 15 yards. I’m telling you sometimes I think they’re betting on the games.

 

“Green Technology” is an oxymoron, with the emphasis on moron.

 

Snow in November. Here. Ugh.

 

Raves:

 

I’m almost done with my Christmas shopping!

 

Jesus is so gracious to me—in spite of me.

 

I love it when we get to see the answers to our prayers.

 

That’s it for me this Monday.

 

Lord, I’m desperate for you. As always. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

 

Sunday's Offerings

 

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

John 21:25 (NIV)

Somebody is listening . . .

 

While it would seem half of our population resents Christianity and dismisses most of the message and its deliverers, the truth is somebody’s listening. Somebody hears the words spoken by Christians, written by Christians, sung by Christians, and sometimes those somebodies respond. The reason might be clothed in how well the message was spoken, written, and/or sung, but the truth has always been God chooses the medium and the messenger with the Holy Spirit’s prompting to a dead or scattered soul. Whether it be street talk or professorial apologetics, somebody listens.

 

Christians sometimes use all kinds of cutesy phrases to demonstrate the basic gospel. People shudder, frown, roll their eyes, or wonder at their meanings, including other Christians. Yeah, some of them are silly, ridiculous, kitschy, and even offensive, but more often than not they expose some truth. Whether on a bumper sticker or a reader board, the world observes them and makes a judgment call. Somebody in this country no doubt can give a testimony about being influenced by a bumper sticker.

 

I’ve shared with you before how I had to teach myself to cuss and swear. I wasn’t raised to be improper. The worst thing I ever heard my mother say—and if she wasn’t in heaven, she’d die on the spot of embarrassment and shame to have this posted—was when I was a little girl and we were driving. I remember the location to this day. Of course I wasn’t paying attention to other drivers—I don’t know if I was tall enough to see them at the time. I suspect somebody pulled out in front of her and nearly caused an accident because she responded in a fear-etched voice: “A-hole.” She didn’t even use “ass”. She immediately apologized to me when she caught her breath. She was such a lady. I wondered what that meant for years until I remembered the incident much later in life when I heard someone use it where there could be no mistaking its intent. I gave you that example of my sweet mom because sometimes there can be no better word(s) for certain situations.

 

***Okay: here’s a warning for those of you who are offended by language. I rarely find the use of bad language entertaining, and although this doesn’t contain cuss words, it does include a reference to the above “description” pertaining to a person. I feel guilty admitting this, but I have to tell you this bumper sticker made me laugh out loud in the parking lot of our local Super Mall and remains one of my favorites to this day. Ready? Here goes: “Jesus loves you. Everyone else thinks you’re an asshole.”***

 

Now I’m sorry if you find no humor in that, but I find it to be a truthful statement in so many ways. All of us before Christ are ugly, depraved, and clueless as to our states of sinfulness. We have no idea how putrid and deadly the sin in our lives is to us. Half of us couldn’t even identify sin because we’ve rationalized almost everything we’ve ever done that we knew was wrong. And yet Jesus loves us. Love like we can’t imagine. In spite of us.

 

We can assume our words of faith get ignored, disputed, or put down, but God can use them, especially when they’re Spirit-led and inspired. We might not get to participate in the direct results, but from what I understand Jesus knows what we’ve done in obedience to Him. He knows for whom our heart beats and what it desires. If we think the world isn’t listening, we can be sure God is. And per His instruction we must speak the truth in love.

 

Lord God, help us all to believe that someone is listening to the beautiful message of your love, and help us to keep speaking that message in whatever form we can. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

What do you want people to know about you?

 

This was a question posed to President George W. Bush by Rush Limbaugh concerning the president’s book Decision Points. This post isn’t about President Bush’s book. It’s about his answer to this question. He said he hoped people would find he had a good sense of humor and he wanted them to know how hard it was to send troops into battle—how difficult, how much he labored, consulted, and prayed over having to make that decision. Those are just a couple of his responses.

 

So I ask you. What do you want people to know about you?

 

Chip MacGregor has said he’s much “larger” in print. In person he insists he’s usually soft-spoken, and he doesn’t confront people unless they truly warrant it by what they say.

 

Mick Silva has said he wants to be a peacemaker, but I’ve met Mick in emails and in person, and he’s one of the most diplomatic and kind people on the planet to strangers and wannabe authors. So taking the extra step to becoming a true peacemaker in all situations shouldn’t stretch him that much farther.

 

What do I want people to know about me? I’m passionate. I love the Lord as much as I’m capable and if it doesn’t show: I’ve failed as a person. I love . . . deeply. Not something I can conjure up—it originates from God. I am easily hurt, way over-sensitive, but to compensate the Lord has made me resilient. I love to laugh, hysterically if possible. I want people to know I view everything, yes: everything, through a spiritual window. I’m a diehard romantic but not in a girly-girl kind of way. I love unpretentious symbolism. I tend to favor the underdog provided they exhibit a good heart. I’m a low-maintenance wife and friend. I value all kinds of people but struggle with whiny women, unmanly men, and hate selfishness (in myself first), hypocrisy (in myself first), and arrogance (in myself first). Writing is not a hobby for me. I take it seriously, but I seriously rebel at formulaic fiction and uniform rules. I’ve written seven novels, have two in progress, and two self-published. Principle is more important to me than compromise.

 

So. What do you want people to know about you?

 

Lord, you keep working on this flesh in spite of the slow progress. I love you for rescuing me and giving me worth. I can do nothing apart from you. Anything good in me you put there and nourished. I can claim no responsibility for the good parts. And take all the responsibility for the bad. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Prayer for little Sarah, please.

 

LIKE SAND THROUGH THE HOURGLASS…

 

Some of you may not get that reference to the “Days of Our Lives” soap opera. I hate to break out such a reference but geez, the days of OUR lives can be far more riveting. I want to begin by saying that our life is not all gloom and doom. We share a lot of joy and laughter in our home. More often than not, we’re living as close to a normal life as possible when you have a transplant child.


Sarah visited Children’s for follow-up labs today and they weren’t what we wanted to hear but were half-expected:

Scoop #1 – There are outward signs the EBV infection is not going away. Sarah has had this ever-increasing rash on her face and Patty said her poor little lips are so cracked they’re bleeding each morning when she wakes up. Rash is one of the signs that EBV is not leaving the body quietly. Sarah also hasn’t been able to shake a cough and has been waking up multiple times during the night crying out. Another sign EBV is causing trouble.

Scoop #2 – Sarah’s liver labs have jumped slightly since the docs lowered her tac dosage to .5mg daily. Still, there is always the concern of rejection and with the EBV present, things are that much worse.

On tap: Patty and Sarah trek back down to Children’s early Thursday for 7am labs, followed by an ultrasound at 730 and liver biopsy at 915. Maybe we can call this the Carnival of Tests. Sounds so much better than “battery” of tests, don’t you think? The biopsy will also be tested for lymphoma in the liver. There’s that OTHER ‘L’ word.

Once the carnival is finished, they will admit Sarah for a 2 day viral treatment to combat the EBV. Depending on what else comes back on the labs, as in acute rejection, the stay could be as long as 4 days – our customary stay time at the luxurious Seattle Children’s resort.

This comes at a bad time for me (is there ever a GOOD time?), as we are short-staffed at work and I need to be there 10 hours Thursday and 12 hours (at least) Friday. If you could pray for my mental faculties, the ability to focus amidst our chaos, I would appreciate it.

It goes without saying that Sarah and Patty need your prayers while at Children’s. As frustrating as this rollercoaster ride can be, if Sarah comes out of this with the EBV gone and no liver damage, I will be exceedingly thrilled.

A happy reminder: Earlier this afternoon it hit me that today was the 2 year anniversary of Sarah’s Kasai surgery when she was two months old. My how time flies!

 

Posted by Kirk, father of Sarah, friend of Nicole's.

 

Father, you know the plans you have for Sarah. You've known since the beginning of time. You are her protector. Jesus, you are her shepherd, her rock, her healer. Please demonstrate your mercy and grace to little Sarah and her family. Go before her to the hospital and watch over her. Keep her safe from all harm and give her doctor(s) fresh insights directly from you. Please, Lord, touch her body, this liver, and Holy Spirit, comfort this little child who is precious to you and to all who know her. Please, God. Please. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Aaahh, the irony . . .

 

Sometimes the writing biz mystifies me. Truly. The advice surfaces from one author and is parroted by many. An editor states an opinion of how a manuscript is made better doing such and such, and that becomes the only way to write a story, to put words together, to produce a well-written novel. Over and over again. Blogs, editor sites, agent commentary. Cacophony. Caca.

 

The irony comes from the same song of instruction while looking for “fresh” voices, unique styles. The irony continues when the literature that leaves the publisher proves to be mediocre. The irony plods on when instructors contradict each other’s instructions. And even more irony when those who produce this questionable fiction become authorities on how to write.

 

Sometimes it’s fascinating. Other times it’s nauseating. A little less irony . . . please.

 

Lord, you made us all unique even with our common bonds and threads. Thank you, God, that your imagination never stagnates and that you take pleasure in leading your people to accomplish what you ordained for each of them. Glory to God. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

When it all comes due . . .

 

Perhaps I sound a bit morose lately. Not meaning to. A lot of inspiration for death talk. Which leads to life talk. Because if you can read this, you’re still breathing.

 

My friend Kirk who I met at a writing conference last May has four children. His youngest, who is still at the toddler age, already possesses a donor liver. Last week this child was back at Children’s Hospital with potentially scary and worse consequences, more testing, a CT scan, and many prayers accompanying her visit. The bravery of the parents, the siblings, and this little child would humble us all. Part of the news was good. Perhaps Kirk will stop by and fill us in on the rest of the results.

 

A few of you diehard baseball fans might know that The Voice for the Seattle Mariners passed away in his home at the age of 75 from a heart attack. One moment Dave Niehaus was fine, the next he was gone. People who knew him personally, of course family, but also all kinds of professionals in baseball and out, long-suffering Mariner fans, spoke of him with wonderful stories of his kindness, his huge appreciation for his job, his love for baseball and baseball players, his mentorship in the role of media representative, always communicating great respect.

 

A friend’s dad left his family recently after an excruciating battle with lung cancer. He died waiting to see Jesus after much of his life was spent without Him. He was a father and grandfather, a friend to many, and people here will miss him for who he was to them.

 

If you read my blog post regarding Sandi Rog’s new discovery of cancer in her body, you know how dreadful the C-word sounds. Death comes instantly to our minds. Healing a very distant second and not guaranteed. Amidst the joy of the release of her new novel The Master’s Wall, she faces prospects none of us want to engage. Wife, mother, friend, Sandi is a cherished lady. An asset to God’s kingdom.  

 

Christians know dead people pass on to the next and final place. They don’t generally welcome the process of dying unless the suffering forces them to want it hurried along. Dying is not the anticipated goal, but the eternal prospects of being in God’s holy heaven sounds absolutely . . . well, divine. The pictures the Spirit painted with His words in Revelation have inspired the imaginations and intense studies of many people of faith. Those of us who love Jesus desire to go to be with Him. Especially when the crises of this life nearly overwhelm us—the betrayals, the prejudices, the diseases, the corruption. Really it’s the sin. Ours, theirs, everyone’s. We want to rid the world of it, but at a more personal level, we wish our own would somehow disappear. That we could be the people we want to be instead of always finding a way to stumble and mess up—the people God intended us to be at creation, the people He designed us to be. Once flawless, now terribly flawed.

 

This existence remains temporary. Not just for Christians but for everyone. People choose to believe whatever they want about life, death, and the afterlife. Without biblical explanations the ideas range from a dead stop to the occupation of another kind of life in the next. When it all comes due, only the truth matters.

 

Who did we touch, affect, and to whom do we matter? Who will miss us, what we’ve done? Who will smile and tear up at the memory of who we were?

 

And still most important: who will welcome us after our breath on earth is done?

 

God, we choose you. In the Name of Jesus, may we honor you in all we do. Amen.

Help for a friend . . .

 

Hey all,

 

This is Daniel DeGarmo with DeWard Publishing Company.

 

I'm sure all of you are aware of Sandi Rog's latest battle (with cancer - Type T-cell Lymphoma) that just began last week. As you can imagine, she's devastated, especially considering the timing of all this as her first novel, The Master's Wall just released last Monday.

Well, considering we are a small publishing company and can pretty much do whatever we want, my business partner and I have agreed to donate an additional $1 per book to a Fund that I'll be setting up this week.

Just so no one thinks we are being shady about the whole deal, this is above and beyond the royalties that Sandi (and her agent) is already incurring with every book sold. The purpose of this fund is to help out Sandi's family (husband and children) while she is laid up fighting for her life.

What I need from you is simply spread the word. For every copy of "The Master's Wall" that is sold (including Kindle and Nook) we will donate $1 to this Fund. I'll also be setting it up so that it can receive regular donations if anyone is interested in just helping out financially.

I hope to have more information to share in the next day or so but at least for now I would ask that you would do whatever you can do direct people to buy Sandi's book.

Sandi has been copied on this email.....Sandi..Please forward this message on to anyone you think would help us out in getting the word out.

The same goes for you if you've received this email.

 

I want to close by lifting the following prayer up on Sandi's behalf:

 
Father, I lift my sister before you as her body has been stricken with disease.
You know, O God, that she has used her gifts to glorify You and spread your wonderful message of grace and love.
It is my humble plea that you would bring her healing and complete recovery. I know You can do this, You are the Great Physician.
Please bring Your Spirit into her home as her husband and children continue to live life without her there. They need You.
May all that is done bring You glory as our God and Father.
In Jesus' name - AMEN!

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.

Dan

Just a glimpse . . . From the Corner of His Eye

 

Thanks to my friend Dayle who has been demanding—er, coaching—me to read a Dean Koontz novel, thanks to his generosity to send me one, I can now proclaim to have read From the Corner of His Eye by Dean Koontz, originally published in 2000. Hmm. Here are my thoughts on this novel experience.

 

Let’s start with Dean’s writing. Imaginative, using many points of view, unafraid to make his own rules, metaphorically enchanting as well as caustic and haunting. Intellectually stimulating while capturing banality with precision. Suspense building and often shocking. Meandering yet pointed. Not sure I’d care to take a ride in Dean’s brain.

 

I thought I’d experienced some weird and lethal killers in the novels of Robert Liparulo, Steven James, and Ted Dekker to name a few, but honestly none compare to Enoch Cain, aka Junior, aka Eenie for utter creepiness. His insidious evil captures the insanity of extreme narcissism magnificently. He’s a horrifying specimen. The spiritual irony of his name was not lost on me.

 

Detective Thomas Vanadium, friend to Pastor Harrison White, recognizes the false front portrayed by this evil young man and is determined to nail him for his first known crime and those which follow.  

 

Little Bartholomew is born to Agnes (The Pie Lady) and Joe Lampion under tragic circumstances. His name came to Joe as a result of listening to a preacher named Harrison White who used the little-spoken-about disciple Bartholomew to highlight his sermon about “this momentous day”. That sermon touched so many who had yet to connect but eventually would. “Barty’s” eyes play an important part in this novel and give the title a personal touch.

 

Little Angel is born to Seraphim White (daughter to Harrison and Grace and younger sister to Celestina) under tragic circumstances with a sad and horrible connection to her grandfather’s sermon.

 

These two unique and gifted children serve as destined clarions of unseen existences and will be hero and heroine to many.

 

Quantum physics and mechanics play an obscure role in this story until the end of the chase to apprehend Cain and result in a not-so-satisfying but interesting and surprising conclusion to this unusual story of horror amidst the miraculous.

 

If you’re looking for rock solid theology dispersed throughout the story, probably better not look in this novel. The religious themes definitely occupy an important part of this story, but some generous liberties accompany them. However, if you enjoy speculative fiction, for me this is the epitome of speculative.

 

The abundant production of bestsellers by Dean Koontz proves to me that literary fiction with religious undertones and scary subjects is not unwanted in the secular market. You simply have to make it known to that market which pursues haunting horror written with extreme care, a unique style, and characters you’ll have a hard time finding anywhere else.

 

Thank you, Dayle, for this reading experience.

 

 

 

 

Father, your creation is untapped by humanity. We only know so much, so little. Thank you for what you’ve allowed us to know. Your signature is everywhere. Lovely and terrifying. We’re desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

 

Again Jesus said, "Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you." And with that he breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven."

John 20:21-23 (NIV)

Friday, Friday . . .

 

This week zoomed by without stopping to rest. Hurried on without being noticed until Friday showed up fresh, brisk, as if arriving on time and not early. Time scrambles by and some days we scarcely notice it passing in haste as we engage activity without measuring the hours and minutes or hustle mercilessly precisely because of those hours and minutes.

 

So much we wish to do. So much we do not. Cannot. Will not.

 

Do we waste this precious allotment of time? Yes. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we cram so many things into the day and night times, we suffer mental frustration or physical exhaustion. We fail to see where things might be eliminated for the provision of peace. Other times some of us dawdle with our minutes and hours, visiting the web seeking refuge from undetermined restlessness. We wonder if everything we attempt to do or accomplish is a total waste of time. And we conclude that, yes, sometimes it certainly is.

 

We ponder that scary question: If you knew you only had a month or a year to live, what would you do differently? The possibility terrifies us. We face our horrid fears of mortality and our failure to maximize our commitment to serving the Lord. Is our obedience real? Is it even our greatest concern? Do we care about the perishing souls? Have we lived sure within our callings and for His purpose, ready to listen and go at His request?

 

Friday, Friday . . . make it count for something in His kingdom.

 

God, help me to do just that. For your glory. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.   

God Bless the USA

 

Veterans, we salute you. We honor your service to this great country. We celebrate the sacrifice you've made to help us remain free. We will never forget how God used you to fight for liberty even when it goes unappreciated, mocked, insulted, or misunderstood. You keep our country from falling as others have. You protect us even when some of us fail to realize how important and honorable your service is to all of us. You go to the ends of the earth to keep us safe. We are small in your presence.

Father, these men and women need your divine direction and protection. Those who have yet to know you, please make yourself known to them. Watch over them, God. Jesus, help them to see your sacrifice so that they'll know you understand. Holy Spirit, keep pursuing them like they do the enemy. Save them, Lord God Almighty. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.