Into the Fire

Experiencing . . . Double Blind

 

Just when you think life can't get any worse after three miscarriages and losing your husband in a car accident, you get attacked and nearly choked to death by a faceless criminal but manage to survive the assault. Sort of. Lisa Newberry is a 29 year old widow who can barely force herself to get out of bed in the morning. Her mother basically tells her to "buck up" while her sympathetic best friend Sherry would do just about anything to help her. Depression sucks every remnant of life from Lisa, and her faith in God is set aside because she can no longer feel His presence in her emotional fragility.

When Lisa discovers a study and trial of a new brain implant known as the Empowerment Chip designed to relieve depression, Lisa signs up to be a test recipient and is rewarded with the opportunity to experience the tiny chip inserted into her brain. Hoping she'll get the real thing and not a placebo, she struggles to make the right decision but decides to go through with the surgery. Waking afterward, she knows she has received the real thing because for the first time in a long time she can sense feeling better.

However, coupled with her new ability to handle her sorrow come unwanted dreams and visions of a murder. So detailed and progressive in each new revelation of this crime, she starts seeing them while she's awake through the eyes of the killer. When her mother receives a telephone call with a threat against Lisa, she shows up at Lisa's door ready to come to the aid of her daughter. Her mom is the last person Lisa wants to see, but within a very short time her mother proves to be invaluable in more ways than Lisa could ever expect.

Double Blind by Brandilyn Collins captures the fragile and fearful nature of Lisa Newberry with her usual adroit style and intensity-laced, escalating psychological action and dialogue. With the innuendo in the title and strange twists and final turns, Double Blind is a quick and satisfying read with valuable posits of faith principles shoved between elements of fear, coping, and healing - physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Another successful addition to Brandilyn's copyrighted Seatbelt Suspense.

 

Father, you have gifted Brandilyn in so many ways. She seeks after you with her whole heart and honors you in all she does. Please continue to bless her with your abundance. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

 

 

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The dangers of getting . . . Sidetracked

Sunday's Offerings

 

You have rejected us, O God, and burst forth upon us;

  you have been angry - now restore us!

You have shaken the land and torn it open;

  mend its fractures, for it is quaking.

You have shown your people desperate times;

  you have given us wine that makes us stagger.

 

But for those who fear you, you have raised a banner

  to be unfurled against the bow.

Save us and help us with your right hand,

  that those you love may be delivered.

 

Psalm 60:1-5 (NIV)

Every now and then . . .

. . . someone says something right when you least expect it and from whom you'd never expect it . . .

        

                      No one said it would be easy to do. 

 

Father, we are desperate for you. Always. We need your direction, mercy, and grace. Help us, please. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

That first kiss and other romantic inclinations . . .

 

Most young girls dream about their first kiss. Fantasize the romance of it. The older they get dialogues are composed, scenes established, and clothes fashioned to accommodate the mood - all the romance created in the minds of little, young, and bigger girls.

I remember worrying about being "Sweet 16 and Never Been Kissed", and I cut it pretty close. The summer before my 16th birthday in September I "received" my first kiss. It's a memory I treasure as an event I anticipated and welcomed. Sweet, short, twice to be exact, in broad daylight on our front porch. And of course for me it was romantic. That young man eventually proposed to me and we were engaged. But . . . we didn't marry each other. The Air Force, the UW, and the racetrack came between us, but I later realized some things aren't meant to be.

Writing romance to capture the complexity of people who fall for each other takes more than a formula. Romance is no easy experience. Emotional intensity, conflicting feelings, pressures to impress, honesty, trepidation, indulgence - these are just a few of the areas for individuals to contemplate, experience, and overcome when attempting to start or sustain a relationship. The sexual component adds temptations, conflicts, and decisions. Not easy ones either.

Romances are not targeted for men. Romance is a word causing the majority of men to cringe because we women have constructed these impossible scenarios for our knights in shining armor. Few men picture themselves in armor, much less charging to the rescue of damsels in distress. Neither do they want to present a Fabio image from the cover of some supermarket paperback. While many men might not object in private to being a bodice-ripping he-man, it's certainly not the image most of them can comfortably perceive or portray.

And here's where the problems with romance always coagulate. Women design romance with their personal preferences in mind. Men perceive romance as leading to a satisfying passionate encounter. In between those two potentially very different perceptions are innumerable concoctions which usually create some separation instead of a united fusion.

Women love romance for the sake of the feeling it gives them. Men see romance as a means to an end.

Both are acceptable if understood. Generally speaking, women love to be loved. Cherished. Appreciated. Even respected. Men want respect. Admiration. Devotion. Loyalty. And sex.  

As a writer of love stories, I want my romances to touch souls, to cause memories, to resurrect real feelings of what love feels like, becomes, and where it goes. To present real people in real situations and bring all the emotions, physical and spiritual, to the surface, exposing the human flesh and the human heart, both light and dark. That's my basic design. 

 

Father, you put the romance in my soul. Thank you for that. Thank you for letting me transmit it to the page. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.  

 

 

Racing horses . . .

                       

I spent many years in Thoroughbred horse racing. There seem to be two opinions on the sport from those who've never been up close and personal within the industry. One opinion focuses on the inhumanity of making horses compete coupled with the dark stories of cruelty and injuries to the animals. The other opinion is that of whimsical admiration and the fairytale mystique of observing magnificent steeds race each other. I won't lie to you: both of these elemental observations have merit, and both can be exaggerated by those who don't have insider knowledge.

The best solution for the first of these is to address the problems by instituting reasonable investigations into abuses. Like any other business in this fallen world, politics enter into the problem-solving process. And like any other business those who live by corruption tend to stay one step ahead of those who pursue truth and punishment. In the horse racing industry "designer drugs" are those created to pass the required testing of equine racing athletes. As soon as one illegal drug is identified and detected, the pharmacological crooks are quick to manufacture another which can't be found in testing.

The objective of course is to produce a stronger, faster, able-to-ignore injuries race horse. This of course can perpetuate more injuries. The politics issue enters when the position of the trainer in the heirarchy of racing is the primary consideration for justice. If he's well-known and "respected" as a major player, the powers-that-be don't like bringing down a suspension or lengthy penalty. Attorneys get involved and all kinds of hypotheticals intermingle with reality and sometimes, like in any other courtroom, justice is not served.

Those inside racing who truly appreciate the equine athletes in their care do everything within their abilities to perpetuate the careers of those horses. Sometimes it's not enough. Like with any athlete, some careers come to a startling end. Heartbreaking tragedies do occur but breathtaking rewards also happen.

Addressing the serious problems in horse racing honestly and with integrity can do much to sustain these amazing athletes as increasing research into nutrition, medicine, and technology continues to make life potentially better for the race horse.

As to the opinion of whimsical admiration and the fairytale mystique of observing magnificent steeds race each other? I see no remedy for this. Nor do I see a need for one.

 

Father, please continue to convict hearts regarding any form of cruelty. Please continue to seek racetrackers. Please continue to bless those who do everything they can to do it right. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Not a city girl . . .

                        

I grew up in the city. Blocks and blocks of houses, small businesses, small apartment buildings, an occasional duplex, alleys, and a couple of busy streets a block to the west and east of our house. To the north about six blocks there was a good-size zoo and professional gardens. About six blocks south there was a high bridge over one of the many big lakes. I walked to grade school three blocks to the south and to seventh grade junior high which was a considerable distance.

We were the second house from the corner and had a basement and a single car garage. One set of stairs led up to our front lawn which meshed with our neighbor's on the corner, no fence between us. A second set of stairs led to the porch and front door after a short walkway between the two sections of front lawn. I remember jumping off the side of the front porch a few times for fun. It was probably five feet up from the ground, maybe six.

Next door to us on the east side was a brick duplex. When I was in grade school, an older couple lived there. "Bud" was the lady's name, and I'm sure it referred to a rosebud. I think she got cancer and endured a great deal of pain before she passed away because from my mom and dad's bedroom, we could hear her groan, and it made us sad.

As I've told you many times, I loved horses from the time I could talk so when I finally made it to the racetrack, it felt like I'd found myself. Regardless of the tumultuous times on the track, it was my little piece of "country" instead of city even though it - and every other track I'd seen - were located right in the city (with the exception of Santa Rosa).

When we moved to our current home, it had just enough country in spite of being close to small cities. Rural defined it.

Now our home is surrounded by development. Homes everywhere. Voices of unknown neighbors on tiny balconies of two-story houses clear as if they lived right next door. It looks as though you could reach out from a side window and touch your neighbor's house. Cars travel the road in front of us regularly and several times over the years have plowed into our fence. One evening a few years ago, we heard a terrible crash around midnight. Two young men hot-rodding around the turn in front of our acreage lost control, hit a truck heading down the slight hill, landed and died on our property, the top sheered off their Honda. And it all reminds me: I am not a city girl.

I don't want to hear what's happening at your house or for you to know what's happening at mine. I want the stillness of the countryside, the whooshing of our horse sneezing. The quiet except for an occasional vehicle passing on a country road.

Hopefully, we will find the country again. It's where I belong.

 

Father, you know. You are the answer. We wait. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Enduring . . . A Broken Kind of Beautiful

                    

Ivy Clark is a beautiful Vogue cover model who's getting "old" approaching 25. Her agent and uncle, Bruce, is not hopeful or helpful, and Ivy is beginning to feel desperate. Ivy's father, via making her mother his mistress, has died and all the uncomfortable memories of his distance and cold detachment from her are resurrected at his funeral back in his home of Greenbrier, South Carolina.

Her step-mom Marilyn forgave her husband for his affair and welcomed Ivy into their home. She was the only one who welcomed Ivy every summer, her dad hiding out or disappearing whenever Ivy came to visit. Marilyn fell in love with the child, but Ivy wouldn't respond. Marilyn's faith rested on God's promise of the work he planned to do with Ivy.

Davis Knight used to be a New York scene photographer in demand until he hung up his camera because of a terrible accident to his younger sister Sarah while she visited him in New York. Sarah and her guide dog live with Aunt Marilyn now, and Davis does penance by working as a custodian in his church back in Greenbrier.

Marilyn owns a bridal shop and has been given the opportunity to feature her gowns in the well-respected and highly acclaimed magazine Southern Brides. She summons Bruce, her brother-in-law, for Ivy's services for the layout and requests her nephew Davis to do the shoot.

Ivy resents having to leave New York. Davis resents having to pick up his banished camera as a favor to his aunt. Two miserable lonely people are forced to work together which ultimately produces the best photo shoot Ivy has ever experienced, and the best photographs Davis has ever taken. And presents all kinds of new problems for them both, neither choosing to directly address them. 

Once again there is the Christian romance formula to fulfill, and Katie Ganshert manages a good job of portraying all kinds of broken people in A Broken Kind of Beautiful while demonstrating the multiple venues in which God applies His ever mysterious ways.Traditional guy who's returned from losing himself in the fast lifestyle, lost young woman still trying to fill that hole in her heart with the fast lifestyle, crash and clash and come to terms with faith, life, and love.

A good romance with bristly, annoying, snarky, and lovable-at-times hero and heroine, both flighty in different ways and running from simple truths they've made complex.

The story ends abruptly with an epilogue after satisfying its goal.

 

Father, you know Katie's heart and soul. You give her stories and make the way for her to write them. Please continue to bless her heart as she writes for your glory. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.