impolite refusals

There is much truth revealed in the mystery of dreams.  Jessie, the main character in my novel learns much as she sleeps.  And so, another clip --

She settled into the softness of her warm bed and fell quickly into sleep.  She dreamed again of fruit, boxes and boxes of the ripest and tastiest fruit.  She had set up a stand on a busy street corner and was offering the fruit for free to anyone who wanted it.  She knew there were lots of hungry people, but very few stopped to take what she was giving.  When they heard that there was no charge, many said there must be something wrong with it.

“No, it’s the very best fruit you ever tasted” Jessie said.

“I don't believe it” said a man as he walked away empty handed.  “There’s nothing good that comes for free.”

“Probably old and rotten” said a pretty middle aged woman in tattered clothes, shaking her head “no” as Jessie extended her hand with a large bunch of grapes.  She certainly looked like she could have used the food.  “Are you sure?” Jessie asked again.  “They're really, really fresh and sweet.”

“What’s the catch?” the woman asked, as did many others as they passed by.  “You give this away free and then what?”

“Then nothing” Jessie answered.

“Yeah, right.  So what’s in it for you?”  Jessie was surprised at just how suspicious people were.

“Nothing in it for me” she said.  “I just have all this fruit and I can't eat it all by myself.”

“Then maybe you're just stupid” said a slick looking man in a suit and shiny shoes.  “If you have that much, why not sell it, make yourself some good money?”

She found herself answering the same questions over and over again.  As darkness fell she had almost as much fruit as when she started.

“What a shame” she thought.  “I have so much to give away and no one is interested.  I can't possibly take all these boxes home, maybe if I leave them here someone will take some when no one is watching.”  She filled one box with a variety of fruits to take with her and left the rest there on the corner.  As she was walking away she was stopped by a policeman.

“You can’t leave your garbage out on the street like that Miss.”

“It’s not garbage, it’s good food.  I don't understand why no one wants it.”

“Doesn't matter what it is” he answered.  “You can't leave it there.  Take it somewhere or throw it away.”

Jessie stood before him and started to cry.  She was sad and tired and didn't know how to start moving all those boxes.

She woke with tears in eyes that scanned the room realizing she had been dreaming.

“If someone ever offered me something good, I don't think I would have turned it down” she thought.

“I offer Myself, and people choose to not accept Me” came the voice that she longed to hear.

“But you’re even better than the best fruit.  I just don't understand.  I just don't understand” she thought as she fell back to sleep.

Jessie found herself back near the same street corner.  All of the fruit boxes had been removed and in their place stood a man that looked like the pictures of Jesus that she saw at Bobbie’s house.  She stood close enough to watch and listen.  The man was reaching out his hand to the people walking down the street, smiling, nodding his head and sometimes speaking words of greeting.  While she watched, no one took his hand; instead they ignored him or altered their steps so that they didn't even come close to where he stood. With each passing man, woman or child Jessie could see a shadow cross his face, like a flash of pain.  Then his smile would return.  It hurt Jessie to watch him so she rushed to his side, taking his hand.  Others shouted for her to be careful and stay away.  “Don't trust strangers” they called, or “You don't even know who he is.”

“No” she answered back, though no one was listening.  “You don't know who He is, but I do.”



walking with Emily and the beloved imperfect ones

 

wounded wounding

For today's Faith Jam Bonnie gave us the writing prompt wounded.  I am sharing a clip from my novel in progress. Here Jessie discovers that the wounded create more wounds.

Jessie closed her eyes and found herself walking down crowded city streets.  People looked straight ahead, not to the left or to the right, ignoring those beside them.  Often they would bump into each other or step on someone's feet.  Sometimes when people got hit, bumped or stepped on they tripped and fell, banging into more people before they hit the ground.  Those who created the original problem did not even seem to notice.  The pace on the streets quickened.  Everyone had somewhere to go.  Jessie tried to slow down or stop but was moved along by those surrounding her.

She walked the streets for what felt like days.  There were bruises on her arms from bodies pushing, shoving or falling into her.  Her legs were covered with cuts and scrapes.  People yelled and people cried.  There was a constant falling and rising, to stop would leave one even more vulnerable, an open target, ready to be trampled unnoticed.

Jessie's feet were burning with pains that shoot through with every step. In the crush of bodies it seemed like all space was occupied.  She managed to walk fast enough to find a tiny clearing of space around her so that she could look down and see lower than the waists of other people.  When she looked, she saw the sidewalk running with blood.  Her feet were bleeding, the feet around her were bleeding.  Hurt was everywhere like a river and all of them continued moving, swept into  the pain, downstream, not able to change direction.

Those that were the most damaged fell more often, and as they did, the ones around them received more injuries as well until there was no one on the street that was free from damage.  Broken and breaking the parade continued on.

Jessie shook herself awake, reaching to rub one of her feet before she realized it didn't really hurt.

“How many people did I hurt?” she thought about the dream.  “Every time I stumbled, every time I fell someone else was harmed.  Could I have stopped it?  If I would have just given up and stayed on the ground?  But then I would have been an obstacle for them to trip over and they would have fallen too.”

Jessie spoke aloud “How do we stop?” and then fell asleep again.

There was a man with a dagger like knife in his hand, lifting his arm, about to plunge the blade into the back of a person standing in front of him.  Behind him was another man with a dagger trying to stop him, and behind him another, and another, and another.  A loud voice shouted “STOP” and all who heard it froze.  Yet the one at the back of the line was too far away to hear.  He plunged his knife into the one before him.  As the stabbed one fell, his knife went into the one standing before him, and on and on and on like dominoes they fell.  The one at the back of the line who hadn't heard the call to stop was the only one left standing and listened to the moans of pain echoing back.  “This isn't what I meant to do” he cried, over and over again.  “This isn't what I meant at all.”

Jessie woke again.  She thought the two dreams were connected and was afraid to have another, so she rose quickly and walked around the apartment to fully wake herself.  She thought again about her mother.  She picked up her pen again.

You were hurt and so you hurt me
Did you ever even know
or were you caught up in the flow?
When I thought you didn't care
could you even see me there?
Did you ever try to stop
or did you never hear the shout
that might have saved us all.
Is it better to be the last one standing
or the first to fall?
Everyone that walks in pain
hurt and hurting, again and again
There has to be a way out
a way that we can see or hear
do we really have to share the pain
with all who would come near?

“So you are beginning to see” quietly came The Voice.  “You are letting me show you many things.”

“These things are hard to see” thought Jessie in reply.

“Will you continue to look?  If I ask?”




jamming with Bonnie

 

The Devil Walks in Mattingly by Billy Coffey

Giveaway winner is named at the end of this review.

I became a fan of Billy Coffey's writing years ago, devouring his regular blog posts before he published his first book.

Then came Snow Day, Paper Angels and When Mockingbirds Sing.  I have savoured each novel, always looking forward to the next.

The Devil Walks in Mattingly is a deeper, darker tale, previewed on the back cover with the following words:

For the three people tortured by their secret complicity in a young man's untimely death, redemption is what they most long for . . . and the last thing they expect to receive.

As I writer, I read not only for content, but for the taste and feel of the words themselves. I was not disappointed, like his other works, from beginning to end, Billy's prose remains stunningly lyrical.

I come to this place of darkness because it is where the light of heaven once touched. I come here for the ones who were saved on a night long ago and for the ones lost.  

I come because heaven is not without the past.

These are characters that dug their way into my heart, both heroes and antiheroes.  My concern for each kept me turning page after page, hungry to discover what would happen next.  I was moved in the darkness to each shining patch of light.

My only complaint is that this novel deprived me of sleep and distracted me from my own work.  Yes, it IS that good.

You owe it to yourself to read The Devil Walks in Mattingly as well as Billy's older books, and make sure to catch up with him on his blog What I Learned Today where he shares day to day truths with home town warmth and skill.

Thomas Nelson Publishers has graciously provided a copy of The Devil Walks in Mattingly for me to give away to one lucky reader.  Selected by random draw is Pastor Joel!  I do believe, however, that anyone who takes the time to read Billy's work will find themselves a winner.

I was blessed to receive a copy of this novel to review.  The opinions I have shared, as always, are my own.

 

Coffee with Billy Coffey and a Giveaway

For the three people 

tortured by their secret complicity 

in a young man's untimely death, 

redemption is what they most long for . . . 

and the last thing they expect to receive.

so begins the description on the back cover of Billy Coffey's latest novel The Devil Walks in Mattingly.

Billy has once again graced me with the opportunity to ask him a few questions about this new story and his work in general.  Pour yourself a cup of coffee or your favourite beverage and sit a spell with us. Don't leave too quickly, there's a giveaway brewing at the end of our chat.

Billy, I appreciate that you're willing to take a few minutes to once again talk about your work as your latest book launches.  I think I'll mix it up today, asking some deep and some more trivial questions.

Do you have more than one novel in progress at the same time, one getting captured on paper and others percolating in the background?

I do. I’m always looking for a story. I’m neurotic enough that I’m afraid those ideas will dry up sooner or later, so I like to keep a thick stack of them. I try to plan Novel B while I’m writing Novel A. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always work out the way I’d like it to.

Do you know as you begin a new work that you will need more than one novel to tell the tale?

I think there are two things going on with all of my books. There’s that single story, and then there is some mysterious overall arc that’s going on in this little Virginia town where all of these stories take place. I have no idea what that overall story is yet, but I’m hoping I will eventually.

The Devil Walks in Mattingly feels like your deepest and darkest book to date.  Did this story haunt you more as you brought it to life?

There were aspects of it that got into my head a little. Taylor’s character certainly did. Not so much because he did such awful things (which is certainly true), but that he did those awful things because of the deep pain inside him. I wanted him to be truly frightening at the beginning of the book, and truly pitied at the end.

What do you have sitting on your desk while you write besides coffee?

So much stuff. Books, papers, pictures. I have an old tomahawk head that was found in a cornfield near my house. A small bust of Leonardo da Vinci. And plenty of pens.

What tools do you use, paper and pen, keyboard or both?

It’s always paper and pen at first. I can write faster with a keyboard, but faster isn't always better. I have a Waterman fountain pen that I've used for a long while now. It’s my favorite thing. I’ll usually write a chapter longhand, type it into my computer, print it out, and then go line by line with a pen again.

The people of Mattingly all seemed quick to accept blame.  Do you agree that it is harder to accept credit for positive things?

It’s certainly true for me. There’s a fine line between carrying a sense of responsibility and being burdened by a sense of blame. There are people who believe themselves perfect and people who believe themselves horrible, and there’s little middle ground. Trying to find that balance that says yes, we’re flawed, and yes, we’re wonderfully made, can be tough. But it’s necessary.

Can we expect to read more about Jake, Kate and Zach in future novels?

The Barnett family is slowly becoming central to a lot of these stories, especially Jake. As sheriff, he’s more often than not the man standing between the town and all this darkness. You’ll see all three of them in the next novel, especially Zach. You’ll see Allie Granderson from When Mockingbirds Sing in that one, too. It’s called In the Heart of the Dark Wood, and it’ll be out this November.

Thanks for sharing your visions with us in such wondrous ways Billy. You leave us richer for the reading.

Thomas Nelson Publishers has been kind enough to make a copy of The Devil Walks in Mattingly available for me to give away to one lucky reader.  All you need to do is:

leave a comment below telling me your favourite hot beverage (helps me think warm thoughts in the middle of this, our extended Canadian winter) and you'll be entered into a random drawing. 

To earn extra entries, share this via Facebook, or Twitter or Google+ then come back and leave me another comment for each shout-out.

Keep watching here. Winner will be announced Monday when I post my review of this wonderful story!

 

choices

More and more I have been reading the tales of those who live with the rumble and shouts of voices that grab their heart and mind with lie upon lie.  Words not of life, but condemnation, confusion and shame.

So I share below a snip of my novel-in-progress, Redeeming Silence.  
Learning to hear the One True Voice is the underlying theme.

“That was a big dinner” she thought “and I'm so full. But I still want to try to eat more of God.” She sank into the sofa and opened her bible, continuing to read where she had left off.

By their fruit you will know them. Grapes aren't gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles, are they? In the same way, every good tree produces good fruit, but a rotten tree produces bad fruit. A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, and a rotten tree cannot produce good fruit. Matthew 7:16-18

“You know what kind of tree you are” the voices sneered.

“Are you going to listen to them?” asked the calm One.

“No, I am not” thought Jessie. “Help me to not hear them.”

“Choose to not listen. Choose.”

“Okay” Jessie whispered aloud. “I only want to listen to you.”  She closed her eyes and breathing deeply, drifted.

She was in surrounded by trees. Everywhere she looked she saw lush green leaves and more types of fruit than she had ever seen before in one place. There were apples of every colour, peaches, pears and every sort of citrus fruit. She wandered from tree to tree and noticed that there was not a single blemish or spot on any of the fruits. Each one looked perfect. She couldn't resist tasting them, and found each rich and sweet, totally ripe and ready to eat. The juices dribbled down her chin.

The sound of a car starting in the street below woke her. She laughed when she realized she had been drooling. Not juice, just a dream, a very nice, bright dream.

“Thank you God” she said as she rose to prepare for bed. “Thank you for showing me the good trees and not the rotten trees.”

“You can choose what you want to see” she thought she heard Him answer.

“Choices?” she smiled. “I never thought I had any choices. Might take some getting used to.”



walking with Emily and the imperfect but beloved
 

Another November ends...

I have missed you this month.

I have missed me this month.

I chose once again to dive into the madness that is NaNoWriMo.

I sat, I typed, I drank too much coffee.

I kept my schedule free of lunch dates with friends.

I spent many evening hours apart from my beloved husband.

But I have broken the surface victorious with 50,000 new words.

I will take time now to inhale and celebrate.

Here's a tiny little clip I posted on my NaNoWriMo profile:

Linda’s father was a man of few words and what words he did use were harsh and cold. She learned to stay out of his way whenever possible, afraid of the steel freeze of his eyes. It seemed to the young girl that her mother did the same, slipping in and out of rooms like a shadow.

Laughter in the house rarely rang out and only when her father was away, then and only then would Linda catch the faint edges of a smile from her mother. The turn of her father’s key in the front door lock always chased the smiles away.

Linda, her older sister and her little brother walked nervous through their own house, never certain when the eerie stillness would be shattered by the next storm.

It might be the meat on his dinner plate was too well done, or his favourite white shirt was not folded perfectly square, or a toy happened to not get put away before he got home. The air cracked as his voice cut through like a whip, accusing and condemning.

Plates were thrown, glasses smashed and flesh bruised. The children and their mother were given names like labels branded on their hearts. Stupid. Useless. In the way. They were idiots, pains in the ass, good for nothing and failures. Time and again they were reminded that they really were not worth his time.

“I could do so much better than all of you” he would announce. “I should just walk away and start over.”

Linda never told anyone about the small hope she kept burning in her heart that he would live up to his threats and leave. But day followed day, week after week, and the years piled up one after the other.


 

Mary Magdalene by Diana Taylor

I have often wondered about the life of Mary Magdalene.  What was the story behind the story we read in the Word?  What happened in the life of this woman from Magdala?

Diana Wallis Taylor answered my questions in her new book Mary Magdalene, a novel, putting meat on bare bones.  Though much may be imagined, the parts of the story that have been recorded in the Bible held true.  I felt as if I was reading an amplified version of the Word, captivated from beginning to end.

If, like me, you have wanted to know more about Mary and all that Jesus healed and saved her from, don't miss this fast moving page turner.

Book has been provided courtesy of Baker Publishing Group and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc.  Available at your favourite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

The opinions I have expressed are my own.

 

Heroes and Monsters - J.J. Riebock

I had not heard of Josh James Riebock or his first book mY Generation but when I read the description of his new book Heroes and Monsters: An Honest Look at the Struggle within All of Us I was intrigued:

In this stunningly honest, thoroughly unconventional, and ultimately hopeful book, Josh James Riebock explores issues that form us into the people we are--issues of family, love, intimacy, dreams, grief, purpose, and the unexpected stops along the journey. With artful prose and vivid storytelling, he shows that pain and beauty are so inextricably linked that to lose the former costs us the latter.

Honesty and hope are what I find myself hungry for and Riebock delivers hefty helpings of both as he steps into spaces in his soul that few choose to share.

The transparency in the words one who has learned that life in Christ is not simple kept me turning page after page, laughing, weeping and nodding my head with an "amen" on my lips. This story shows us that life makes more sense to us when we can look back and trace the journey.

We exchange vows, and in doing so, I break an old one. Sure, I swore I’d never get married. But I guess life is a matter of knowing which vows matter most and which ones you’re better off without. Sometimes it’s the broken vows that let us know how far we’ve come.

Riebock has come far indeed and I am grateful that he allows us to come along for the ride.

If you are looking for an easy story, I suggest you leave this book on the shelf. If however, you desire to be challenged and changed as well as entertained don't miss this well written tale.

Book has been provided courtesy of Baker Publishing Group and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc. Available at your favourite bookseller from Baker Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group.  The opinions I have expressed are my own.

 

Back to work / wings

Courage. Focus. Trust.

Three words stacked, shuffled, played again and again in my spirit.

November was a frenzy of word output in the midst of the chaos of life and when I had met the goal to reach 50,000 words I set my novel aside and granted myself sabbath, the month of December to be still through advent and rejoice in Christmas.  Now December draws to a swift end.

As the new year begins I must begin again, with courage, focus, trust and with perseverance.

Here's another little bite of what I've been cooking:

Jessie opened her Bible again to read:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

“I like sparrows” she thought “they’re small like me, at least I feel small. But this keeps telling me not to worry, just like the calm voice tells me.” She closed the book, resting her chin on her hand, thinking about small birds and wings and wondering if God counts feathers too.
Johnny interrupted her thoughts, placing a steaming dinner plate in front of her, saying “Wings for my Angel with wings.”

“What??” she chirped, astonished.

“You said surprise you, what’s the matter. You don’t like wings?”

“How do you do that?” she asked him, starting to laugh, shaking her head.

“Do what? What did I do now?” Johnny looked confused.

“Well, God must like to talk through you or something. When I dreamed about fruit you offered me fresh fruit. Now this.”

“What? What? I still don’t get it.”

“I was just reading where God takes care of me and loves me more than sparrows, and I was sitting here thinking of feathers and wings…”

Johnny slapped his hand down hard on the table and released a loud roar of laughter. “And here I come with a big plate of wings. That is strange. Kind of scary if you ask me.”

“I think God just wants us to know He’s paying attention” Jessie answered. “And by the way, I do like wings, and these smell wonderful.”

"Weird, that’s what I say” Johnny pointed his thumb toward Bobbie. “We’ve gotta tell Roberta and see what she says about all this. Weird.”

Jessie didn’t answer for a moment. Her mouth was too full, savouring the taste of lemon, garlic and oregano on the wings. “Why should I be surprised that you’d make Greek wings?” she laughed.

“Hey Johnny” Bobbie called from the table where she had seated the couple with the wet umbrellas. “These nice folks said whatever it is you just brought out that smells so good, that’s what they want too.”

“Wings” Johnny said. “Greek wings. Anyone else want some?”
Hands went up around the room.

“Alright then, you got ‘em. Wings all around” he said, disappearing back into his kitchen.

As Jessie ate she let her mind wander, seeing wings and feathers and heads covered with hairstyles of all shapes and colours. The anxiety of the afternoon drained away.

“I’m not sure why I feel so peaceful all of a sudden” she spoke silently “but thank You.”

That’s My peace, and thank you for realizing it was Me.” The voice was strong, kind and clear. It almost felt like she could wrap it around her shoulders.

 

Remembering Christmas by Dan Walsh

With Christmas drawing ever closer I was happy to be able to read and review Remembering Christmas by Dan Walsh.  The cover notes hint at the riches within:

Rick Denton lives his life on his terms. He works hard, plays hard, and answers to no one. So when his mother calls begging him to come home after his stepfather has an aneurysm, Rick is more than a little reluctant. What was supposed to be just a couple days helping out at the family bookstore turns into weeks of cashing out old ladies and dealing with the homeless guy who keeps hanging around the store. The one bright spot is the lovely and intriguing young woman who works at his side each day.

As Christmas nears, Rick's old life beckons, the hurts from his past loom large, and the decisions he makes will determine more than just where he spends Christmas Eve.

Walsh seems to have a way of making even unfamiliar characters feel at home in your life as you meet them through his words.  The twists and turns in these pages seem to make perfect sense in God's world.  Old ways of life fall to make way for the new, the "better than you ever expected".

This is the first of Dan Walsh's novels I have read.  It will not be the last.

Book has been provided courtesy of Baker Publishing Group and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc. Available at your favourite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

The opinions I have expressed are my own.

I'm still here

I seem to have been away.  I miss wandering in this space.  November will soon come to a close and my time here will return.  Here's another little taste of what i have been working on:

Jessie went back upstairs with her legs feeling shaky and weak. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet” she thought.

“You are ready indeed” said the steady voice. “Look for the words I speak about truth in your Bible. It’s time.”

She hung her new coat in the closet and flopped into the armchair, picking up her Bible as she was told.

“How do I find the words about truth” she thought and then remembered there was a kind of index in the back, not a dictionary, she thought, more like a table of contents. She looked for the word “truth”. There was a long list of page numbers and places where truth was mentioned with the beginnings of the passages listed too. She didn’t really know where to start, but as her eyes moved down the list they noticed these words in John:

And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free

“It is freedom that the calm voice keeps talking about” she thought and though there were many other things on the list, she thought that this is what He really wanted her to know.

“Free from what?” she pondered.

“Free from the lies. Truth will silence the voices. You have already seen a bit of this.”

“Yes, I think I have. When I listen to you, they have no more words to say” Jessie answered out loud.

“Truth is light. This is why I tell you to bring everything into the light. Lies cannot live there.”

Jessie was comforted by His words, yet once again the voices rose.

“You think you’re hearing from God? You silly girl, you’re making it all up.”

“No!” Jessie answered loudly. She held up the Bible in her hand. “I didn’t make this up, did I?”

There was no reply.

Jessie snorted, boldly saying “No answer to that huh?”

Closing her eyes she slipped into a place of dreams.

She found herself walking into an old house. The floor creaked with each step and she could hear the sounds of crying and voices arguing. She walked from room to room and each time she flipped a switch and turned on the lights there was silence in that room and the noise moved to another room. Over and over again, the voices scattered away when the light was turned on, only to move to a room that was still dark. Only when she had turned on a light in every room of the house was there silence and a sense of peace.

“This is what You have been trying to tell me” Jessie said, waking suddenly. “I have to turn the lights on everywhere so that the lies have nowhere left to hide.”

“Yes. You are letting Me teach you”

“But I am still afraid” Jessie thought aloud. “There is so much that no one knows.”

“I know. I know all of it. And I will be with you.”

“And if I don’t tell? Then the secrets will still have power over me, right?” Jessie asked.

“You already know the answer to that” replied the calm and steady voice.

“The truth will set me free
The truth will set me free
And then I can be
Who I was meant to be
Maybe everything before
Was really just a lie
And when I turn the lights on
You can teach me how to fly”


 

Thankful for choice

Sharing a bit of a snip from my work-in-progress:

“That was a big dinner” she thought “and I’m so full. But I still want to try to eat more of God.” She sank into the sofa and opened her bible, continuing on where she left off.

You can identify them by their fruit, that is, by the way they act. Can you pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? ¹⁷ A good tree produces good fruit, and a bad tree produces bad fruit.  Matthew 7:16-17 NLT

“You know what kind of tree you are” the voices sneered.

“Are you going to listen to them?” asked the calm One.

“No, I am not” thought Jessie. “Help me to not hear them.”

“Choose to not listen. Choose.”

“Okay” Jessie whispered aloud. “I only want to listen to you.” She closed her eyes and breathing deeply, drifted into a dream.

She was in surrounded by trees. Everywhere she looked she saw lush green leaves and more types of fruit than she had ever seen before in one place. There were apples of every colour, peaches, pears and every sort of citrus fruit. She wandered from tree to tree and noticed that there was not a single blemish or spot on any of the fruits. Each one looked perfect. She couldn’t resist tasting them, and found each one rich and sweet, totally ripe and ready to eat. The juices dribbled down her chin.

The sound of a car starting in the street below woke her. She laughed when she realized she had been drooling. Not juice, just a dream, a very nice, bright dream.

“Thank you God” she said as she rose to prepare for bed. “Thank you for showing me the good trees and not the rotten trees.”

“You can choose what you want to see” she thought she heard Him answer.

“Choices?” she smiled. “I never thought I had any choices. Might take some getting used to.”



Jamming with Bonnie about gratitude

Sharing with Emily and the others imperfect but loved.

 

Paper Angels by Billy Coffey

I was blessed to receive an Advanced Readers Copy of Billy’s Coffey’s novel Paper Angels which releases today from Faith Words - Hachette Book Group.

I’ve been waiting excitedly to tell you about it.

Andy Sommerville might not have had the very best life one could imagine, but it was a life. When an unexpected turn left him the victim of a violent crime his quiet community was shaken. So was Andy.

When Elizabeth, a woman he assumes to be a counselor appears in his hospital room he finds himself forced to face significant memories and events of his life.

As he revisits these memories, we not only learn more about Andy but are invited to dig deeper into the journeys of those around him.

In the same way Snow Day wove the stories of many into one complete tale, in Paper Angels Billy Coffey shows us how many parts add up to more than the whole.

I felt as if I was sitting next to Billy, in a rocking chair, on his favorite spot on the porch, listening to him spin words into stories of truth.

This is a novel not to be missed. And while you’re at it, if you’ve never read Billy’s first novel Snow Day, pick up a copy and read it too! In fact, pick up extra copies of both to give away for Christmas.

You can follow Billy as he weaves truth and God’s love into tales of ordinary life on his blog at http://www.billycoffey.com/ and find more infor about his books at Faith Words.


 

November madness

The last hours of October are passing quickly, with cloudy skies and temperatures well above normal.

It doesn't feel at all like October 31st.

But indeed, tomorrow is the first day of November.  Though it seems as if only weeks or months have passed since National Novel Writing Month 2010 wrapped up, I will wake tomorrow to begin afresh for 2011.

Again I ask for your patience, your grace and your prayers.  I may not be present here on my blog quite as often as I settle into the imposed (and much needed) discipline of daily fiction writing.

I am surrendering myself into the hands of the Lord, once again permitting Him to supply the stories and the words, in His way for His purposes.

I pray that He will be glorified in what gets accomplished.

 

Keeping my goal in sight

Goals is the word for this week’s One Word at a Time Carnival.

I can think of many things I plan, hope, and pray for in the near and distant future.

• I will finish the novel I began in November.
• I will see words of mine published on paper before printed books become obsolete.
• I will serve the Lord in whatever way He chooses on the red dirt of Africa.

But none of these can take priority over the greater thing that God has placed within my spirit.

You may be shocked, surprised, or worried about the status of my mental health to learn that my primary goal is death.

Yes, you read that correctly, and no, I am not suicidal. I don’t wish to take my life; I want to give my life, wholly and without hesitation to my Lord.

I’m talking here about death to my self (with its fleshly actions and desires) and the fullness of life in Christ. That is the key to transformation, to becoming the new creation He gave His life for. This dying is a day by day, no, moment by moment, challenge.

This is a goal that will stay written on my heart, my calendars, my planning lists and yet never been fully attained until I meet Him face to face.

Oh, what glory then.

So if you're serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides. Don't shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ—that's where the action is. See things from his perspective.

Your old life is dead. Your new life, which is your real life—even though invisible to spectators—is with Christ in God. He is your life. When Christ (your real life, remember) shows up again on this earth, you'll show up, too—the real you, the glorious you. Meanwhile, be content with obscurity, like Christ. Colossians 3:1-4 The Message

Stop by Peter's place to read more views on goals.

  

Time to bring forth

Image by Monica and Joe via Flickr
My time of journaling this morning leaves me trembling in holy fear and expectation (one of my words for 2011).

The ways of My Spirit cannot be understood with human reason.  Hold what I show you until the Spirit reveals its truth, even if no one else can see.

You dreamed yet again of being in late stages of pregnancy, at the hospital ,ready for delivery.  You were trying to explain to the nurse why you were so old.

And truly I tell you, the moment is here and your dream has twofold meaning.

It is indeed time for you to be delivered from any and all fear of man and the ways of man.  You are ready for delivery, there is no need to explain why or how or apologize - it is My timing. always My timing.

The second meaning is the birthing - for indeed you are carrying what I have conceived and it is time to bring it forth.

Yes, this is the novel We are writing - yet perhaps there are non-identical twins, for there is also something to be born in the Spirit, something you do not yet know but will recognize when you see it, when it takes its first breaths and begins to grow on its own.  You are a carrier of this new thing for you have been willing to be used, just as Mary was.

Do not be afraid, little one, as the birth pains continue - all is well and I will always be with you.

And I replied:

Yes, Lord, I am Your servant, may it be unto me as You have said.  Have Your way Lord.

Will you stand with me in prayer as I submit and obey and allow His work to be accomplished?