For a Thousand Generations

Live Your Dream

2012-02-05T14:12:00.000-08:00

It was reported that last year Amazon’s eBook sales surpassed the sales of physical books for the first time in history. This does not necessarily mean that all brick and mortar bookstores will close this year, but it does reflect a dramatic change in the marketplace. Books are cheaper, overhead is lower for publishers, and authors receive higher royalties for eBooks. Seventy percent versus fifteen requires little thought.

No longer do authors have to beg and plead for someone to notice them, and there are many sad stories of discovered authors that have been given a raw deal, even with the top publishing houses. How is it even possible to not have to plead any longer? Would a top-notch publisher really do that to a rising star?

I began reading Scott Nicholson’s eBook “The Indie Journey: Secrets to Writing Success” and it opened my eyes to an entirely new world, one where anyone can forge their own destiny as a writer. He doesn’t draw this journey as a “get rich quick” scheme, but paints the path as one where the individual largely has control over his or her mistakes and successes. He also refers to this process as living your dream.

He encourages readers and writers to step outside of the proverbial box and understands the frustrations that authors have with traditional publishers and the attendant rejections that are automatically generated via email (if you’re lucky). So many have given up writing after years of rejection, because traditional publishers are locked into a specific, risk-free approach to publishing.

Go into a Christian bookstore and count the number of Amish novels that dot the shelves. I’m not knocking that genre, but can we change the paradigm a little? Moreover, if you’re not “so and so” then you are hard pressed to get any shelf space. It is as it is….and many talented authors are overlooked based on this soon-to-be-outdated publishing and marketing construct.

This comes down to self publishing. Those words are anathema to many, but consider the fact that your words may never get into print with a Madison Avenue publishing house, and if they do, then you are virtually on your own when it comes to promotion, unless, you are already on the New York Times Bestseller’s list.

A quick search of eBook self-publishing yields Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing, Smashwords, and Lulu, just to name a few. And they are all free services, which virtually eliminates your monetary risk. Your success is not determined by another’s small advertising budget, and shelling out thousands of dollars for a garage full of books is becoming a thing of the past. If God has given you a dream and a calling to write, then take a prayerful look at this avenue.

Tired of having someone else determine your dreams?

Visit the Wordsmith Journal at http://www.thewordsmithjournal.com/

Keep At It

2012-01-23T16:49:00.000-08:00

Provision is made in each generation for the furtherance of God’s design for His people. There has always been a remnant, no matter how dark the times. Consider the old Soviet Union that tried to stamp out the Christian faith and how when the Iron Curtain fell that believers came out of hiding and churches began to form. While there are still obstacles there, there is also growth.

There is always a remnant, and God chooses frail humans to keep His truth at the forefront. Jeremiah never stopped his work, even when few heeded his words. Sounds a little disheartening when you have something profound to share, but few listen. I am at a loss as to how they kept going-but how can truth be shuttered?

I wonder how Jeremiah and the other prophets would have reacted if they could have seen how their faithfulness affected the future. We have biblical hindsight, so now we can see that their words were not in vain. This fact is important for the present, because we can be assured that whatever task God has given us, we know that our little seeds have eternal significance.

“Therefore know that the LORD your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments;” (Deuteronomy 7:9)

In light of that verse, do all that you can to the fullest extent. Ask that God will have you cast your net where He leads. Luke 5:4 reads, ‘When He had stopped speaking, He said to Simon, “Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.”’ You may not see your fruit directly and explicitly like Simon Peter, or here on this earth, but take heart-did the prophets see their fruit when they spoke to deaf ears?

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Get Out Of The Rut

2012-01-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

The New Year can be a time of refreshing and renewal. Resolutions are made to be a better person, get a better job, or complete what we had failed to do the previous year. There is nothing wrong with making these mental changes so long as we follow through with them. Too often our goals are larger than our abilities, so we scrap them and fall into our consistent rut.

When the next year rolls around, we take stock of the year that passed and find that we make the same resolutions, only to fall short.

Jesus’ message was clear concerning change. It was to be a daily act and would require constant maintenance. Making resolutions and following through means that you can remake yourself into a new and improved person. You can be born again, and the change will affect your whole outlook on life and how you react to its changing circumstances.

Then He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. Luke 9:23 NKJV

This call is for everyone, whether a strong Christian, new convert, or skeptic. Nicodemus marveled at the thought of being born again, but Jesus made it clear that He was offering something dynamic and new.

Jesus answered, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not marvel that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus answered and said to Him, “How can these things be?” John 3:5-9 NKJV

If you have been born again, live daily like it’s the New Year. If you fail, pick yourself up and begin again, but don’t wait another year. If you are a skeptic, like Nicodemus was initially, consider how his renewal informed his generous actions later in Luke’s narrative:

After this, Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus; and Pilate gave him permission. So he came and took the body of Jesus. And Nicodemus, who at first came to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds. Then they took the body of Jesus, and bound it in strips of linen with the spices, as the custom of the Jews is to bury. Luke 19:38-40 NKJV

The care he gave Jesus’ body was costly, but he had received something greater. What price can be put on receiving a brand new life?

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Merry Game-Changing Christmas!

2011-12-24T08:56:00.000-08:00

It was a time of trouble. The country was ruled by the dysfunctional Herodians, man-made legalism and its heavy burdens informed religious life, and the Romans walked the streets of Jerusalem. The days were dark indeed.

However, there is a message that is relevant today. When the outlook looks bleak, we can take heart that God is still thinking of our welfare. There is an illuminating cliché that says, “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” Is this true? Has a new day ever burst forth with a riot of color, hinting at change? Even monumental, history-making change?

Luke 2:8-14 proclaims this very thought:

Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold,an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”¹

This message was, and still is, a game-changer. The awaited Messiah had finally come, just when things seemed like they could only degenerate. Jesus Christ gave us the great gift of salvation; His arms are open and His gift is without condition. To those that know Him, his mercies are new every morning, and truly, each dawn can shine His glorious light into the most weary and shadowed of hearts.

Merry Christmas!

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A Great Gift Idea

2011-12-19T15:05:00.000-08:00

Saint Nicholas has inspired many to perform selfless acts of kindness. He gave to the poor, comforted those in need, and was a friend to all. Initially, he did his deeds in secret, but due to his rising stature in the church, he was of more use out in the open. This does not nullify Matthew 6:3-4, which says, “But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, that your charitable deed may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly.”

He never sought his own glory, but his status as Bishop of Myra prevented him from staying hidden. But we can fill his age-old role in ingenious ways. You don’t necessarily have to be wealthy or wise, just innocently wily.

There have been reports of anonymous persons paying others’ layaway accounts recently. And there are other ways to make a difference. Wrap some gifts for your church’s Angel Tree, or quietly identify someone in need, fill up a couple sacks of groceries, and drop them on their doorstep. Hate all that loose change clogging up your car’s ashtray? Drop it in a Salvation Army bucket. Extra cookies from all your baking? Make a gift bag and stuff it with goodies.

Remember that charity and giving has no season. Knowing that someone cares is far better than any material gift that you could ever receive. A great gift to give and receive.

Merry Christmas!

For more on Saint Nicholas, visit:

http://www.christianity.com/ChurchHistory/11629662/

http://www.christianity.com/Home/Christian%20Living%20Features/11562532/

Good Old Saint Nick

2011-12-11T16:51:00.000-08:00

Santa Claus is the stuff of legends. His stories make kids wide-eyed, fills them with dreams, and gives them that mental kick to be good. At least for a month! For too many, they grow up not knowing the true story of Saint Nicholas and miss his example and what informed his generosity.

Nicholas was a fourth century orphan in what is now Turkey, but was left with a substantial inheritance. He used this money to bless the lives of others, chiefly children. Moreover, he used his means and exercised his religious convictions in astounding ways, later becoming the Bishop of Myra and attending the Council of Nicaea.

He was a real person who lived his faith in practical ways, and initially shunned the spotlight. It has been said that, "The doors of his house were open to all. He was kind and affable to all, to orphans he was a father, to the poor a merciful giver, to the weeping a comforter, to the wronged a helper, and to all a great benefactor."¹

Called the Wonderworker, Saint Nicholas followed Christ’s example. Our ransoms have been paid, and seeing how Christ-inspired kindness manifests through frail humanity makes His sacrifice more clear:

“Legend has it that Saint Nicholas became aware of a desperately poor parishioner having three daughters with no dowry to recommend them for marriage. The father had planned to sell them into prostitution to provide some means of support. By night, Saint Nicholas secretly brought bags of gold on three separate occasions to the man’s home. These generous visitations allowed the three daughters to have sufficient means to avoid whoredom and later strike a marriage covenant. On the third visit to deliver the gift, Nicholas was caught in the act of generosity by the grateful father.”²

Do we need another Saint Nicholas? Indeed! Does his life inspire you to do a small part not only during this holiday season, but also throughout the year? I hope so. Does the story of a small baby, laying in a manger, who was sent to pay our ransoms and set us free, make this season just a touch brighter? I pray that it will.

The Advent of Jesus Christ ushered in the greatest gift of all. The snippets we know concerning Saint Nicholas’ life, point squarely back to the Savior.

“For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6, NKJV)

¹http://www.christianity.com/ChurchHistory/11629662/

²http://www.christianity.com/Home/Christian%20Living%20Features/11562532/

Guard It Well

2011-12-04T17:48:00.000-08:00

Philippians 4:6-7 states, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

God wants to know what’s on our minds.

Of course, He knows what we will ask before the words leave our lips, but prayer is nothing more than communication. It is intimate, deep, and soul cleansing, just to name a few descriptors.

It’s also a two-way street. So why do we do all the talking and never stop to listen? Perhaps that’s exactly where the answer is, and when we stop to meditate and listen that’s when the “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” comes.

-Pray and God hears your plea.

-Stop, and listen in His presence.

-Have faith that your petition will be answered.

When you doubt and lose hope does the peace overflow? Do you sense that your heart is guarded when your hope is gone and you think faith is for dreamers? Consider Job 11: 17-18 where it reassures: “And your life would be brighter than noonday. Though you were dark, you would be like the morning. And you would be secure, because there is hope. Yes, you would dig around you, and take your rest in safety.”

Job had no reason to hope and hang on to God’s promises and His faithfulness, but yet, we can follow his example in the days ahead. By making our requests known to God and trusting that, God in His mercy cares for us and answers our prayers, we can have that heart-guarding peace.

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Not Impossible

2011-11-27T17:18:00.000-08:00

Is it possible to perform a certain action in perpetuity, hour by hour, second by second? If someone asked you to do such, would you make an attempt? And if you failed, would you throw in the towel and give up? What if the request was more of a directive? Sounds harsh and too high of a standard.

But yet, in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-17 it directs us to, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing.” These two statements are not simple requests, nor are they ambiguous, beat-around-the-bush sayings.

So how does anyone expect to live up to these verses? You can’t function in everyday life if your only speech is thanksgiving and prayer. Try ordering a couple tacos that way or buying a car!

The Bible does not tell us to whine and bemoan our circumstances; rather, Scripture is replete with verses admonishing us to give thanks to God, regardless of our state. Rejoicing always, is more attitude than constant action. If our attitude is calibrated towards thanksgiving in everything (not necessarily for everything), the words naturally flow when we take a moment to ponder the goodness of God.

Moreover, praying without ceasing is a lot about attitude. Obviously, we cannot pray continually, but we can stay consistent and not surrender when an answer is long in coming. Jesus, as the Son of God, took time to pray to the Father. All of the Apostles saw the value of persistent prayer. So should we.

When life doesn’t go our way, we should remember that the writers of the Bible had little worldly reason to rejoice or pray. They had hard lives, but still, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing,” is not impossible for us today.

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Thank God for Fleas

2011-11-22T17:06:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is right around the corner and many have made posts on Facebook about the things for which they are thankful. This is a great practice, because without an attitude of thankfulness we become selfish, self-centered, and feel that we are owed something, anything, and everything.

Sound familiar?

Psalm 26:6-7 states, “I will wash my hands in innocence; So I will go about your altar, O Lord, That I may proclaim with the voice of thanksgiving, And tell of Your wondrous works.” There are many things in our lives to be thankful for, and once you begin to tick them off on your hands, you soon run out of fingers with which to count.

What if you don’t have anything for which to be thankful? Have you forgotten God’s wondrous works? Corrie Ten Boom felt that her life was a gift from God, despite spending time at the concentration camp Ravensbruck. Concerning her incarceration, she said, "There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still."

Do you hear any bitterness? Is she saying that she is owed something for all the wrongs committed against her? There was even a time when she thanked God for the fleas infesting the barracks. But how could anyone find a thankful heart when it comes to fleas? They bite. They make you feel like you’re an animal. Dogs have fleas; humans should not. The Nazi guards were reluctant to enter the barracks when rape was on their minds.

Corrie thanked God for fleas.

If you look hard enough, understand that it could be worse. Thank God that it is not. Seek the good mixed into your circumstances if you’re having trouble. Dislike the stress of your job? Thank God that you have one. Car running rough? Some have no means of transportation.

Thank God for the obviously good things in your life, the mediocre, for the disasters that never happen, and look for something awesome in the appalling. We are owed nothing, but we have much to give thanks for this season.

Check out the Corrie Ten Boom’s site at http://www.corrietenboom.com/index_en.html

Also, visit the Wordsmith Journal at http://www.thewordsmithjournal.com/

The Definition of Sanity

2011-11-13T15:29:00.000-08:00

Philippians 4:6-7 says, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

Tough words!

Why do the Bible’s answers sound so trite and easy? Shouldn’t we worry and fret? We all know that worrying is helpful. Right? The more anxious we are, the more we sense we are tackling our daily problems with aplomb.

This is nothing against working hard and solving fixable problems; the thrust of this post concerns the troubles outside of our abilities, but also how we react to those within. It’s human nature to forge our own paths and “go it alone.” We’re self-reliant, buoyed by the good old American Spirit that’s still spurring entrepreneurs to do great things. Problems are opportunities for us to provide solutions.

But we drive ourselves into the ground in the process. Eventually, we burn out, dry up, and need to take a breather. And then we repeat the process. Over and over. With the same results.

Isn’t this a definition of insanity?

The preceding verse has a wide application. Our jobs, relationships, and anything we face falls under this umbrella of God’s protection. However, when we face our mountains, we lapse into faulty thinking.

We need to change this thinking and remember that God has our interests in mind. He wants to guard our hearts and minds from the things that take our eyes off Him. Our lives are not guaranteed to be easy….but they can seem better when we have another to shoulder the weight. Also, God still answers prayer nowadays.

So when you’re blood pressure shoots up at the first whiff of trouble, try this:

-Don’t be anxious.

-Take your requests to God with thanksgiving (I don’t see the word “whining” anywhere).

-God’s peace will overshadow whatever anxiety-producing problems you face.

-Your heart and mind will be guarded through Christ Jesus.

-Repeat.

This is the definition of sanity.

Shine When It's Over

2011-11-06T17:56:00.000-08:00

The times we spend wandering seems aimless and without purpose at times. We wonder why we don’t “feel it”, as though our faith, and even God, has forsaken us. If you have ever been to a desert is becomes plain that you’re in a harsh environment. The vegetation is sparse, watering holes are few and far between, each hill looks like the last one, and don’t forget about the creeping and crawling creatures that can quickly take your life.

Do you turn back? Do you grumble at the futility of the journey? Or, do you press on for the short time that you are required to traverse the searing expanse?

It’s easy to give up, turn around, and decide against the undertaking. If you are unable to make a u-turn, then you tell yourself that grumbling will help.

But it doesn’t.

In fact, it makes it worse!

So just what is the purpose of a desert in one’s Christian walk? Is it God’s way of punishing you for all the wrongdoing that you can’t seem to fully shake? To make you mad, just for the sake of it? Does it make you a better person?

Indeed, it does make you a better person. However, you can’t refine gold unless it’s placed into a furnace. The furnace removes impurities. And it’s not always easy. Or pretty. Sometimes it hurts, but you are never alone, no matter how wide the desert is, nor how dark the nights are.

Can you handle four months in the desert? Four years? How about forty?

Consider what Deuteronomy 8:2 says concerning the Israelites and take heart, “And you shall remember that the LORD your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not.”

There are two words that make it easier…”God led.” There is a purpose. Make the best of it without complaint. Shine when it's over.

2011-10-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

The last post focused on Matthew 25:13 where it states, “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.” We do not necessarily know when our time will come, but we should always be ready. Guard your heart, keep yourself open to opportunities, and leave good memories in your wake.

Likewise, there are those we may never see again, while we live on for years to come. We likely will not have a nudge or inkling that those we run across have little more than a day to live. That fact seems so unfair. Why can’t we know so we can make amends or leave them with some encouragement?

I recently had this happen to another friend. On October 15^th, our church was washing cars as part of an outreach program. One man who was there was pulling pennies out kids’ ears, talking like a duck, and keeping the laughter going. We learned about catfish, and how some lakes have good results with chicken liver, while others have better luck with biscuit dough.

No one was wise to the fact that he was living on borrowed time, least of all, him. Still, I thought it was unfair that no one had a clue that Monday morning would be his last day. Unfair, because no one had any time to say farewell.

But was it truly unfair?

The more I pondered this, the more I realized that we have a duty to stay in persistent vigilance for our own souls, but also remain watchful in those with whom we interact. If we knew the future, there would be little impetus to stay focused on the walk of faith; we would cease to be as fruitful as God would like us. Our duty would be skewed and we would miss the God-given opportunities that arise out of our walks with the Lord.

Not knowing everything about the future is not necessarily an unfair way of living. In fact, not knowing gives us the spur to attempt to make every interaction with others as meaningful as possible…without even realizing it.

The last remembrance of my friend was at church. He was walking out of the sanctuary and looked as though he had just taken his hand out of a cookie jar. I smiled. I couldn’t have asked for a better memory.

“Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.” (Matthew 25:13)

Also, visit the Wordsmith Journal at http://www.thewordsmithjournal.com/

I Wish I Had...

2011-10-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I learned that an old Navy friend had died at the age of 43 of ALS. This got me thinking about the brevity of life and the need to make the most of every moment. I’ve known some to pass on abruptly and some who have seen the end coming, but could do nothing to slow its grip. We all have seen this. It would be a hard to choose between these two endings.

In Matthew 25:13, Jesus makes the unavoidable approach of death clear, and how we should react and live our lives. He says, “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.” The context of this verse is at the end of the Parable of the Ten Virgins; five were ready and wise; five were foolish and not prepared for the Son of Man’s return.

From a spiritual standpoint, people need to know Christ as Savior and Lord by accepting His forgiveness and grace and living for God. This is sound and wise preparation for the inevitable. Another practical and spiritual outgrowth of this state of readiness is living for God, which is an important point.

If you live for God and have a purpose, your life has definition. This does not necessarily pertain solely to one’s occupation, nor does it exclude it. The point that Christ wants us to see is that we need to be ready at a moment’s notice to meet Him and render an account. Whether the epilogue of our lives is slow and gradual, or random and rapid, we should not have any regrets.

So what are we waiting for? Grab a hold of your God-given purpose and make the most of it.

Is there a book that needs to be written? A song that needs to be sung? What is the one thing that you know that God has been relentlessly bugging you to do that you have been ignoring? Name it, define how you can harness this passion into practice, and live it as a dramatically and powerfully as you can.

Life is short whether you live to 43 or 93. Don’t be the one that says, “I wish I had…”

Also, visit the Wordsmith Journal at http://www.thewordsmithjournal.com/

The Oddity of Perfection

2011-10-12T16:20:00.000-07:00

If you wrote a story about a heroic figure, how would paint him? If this person were perfect, that facet would color the narrative. But is anyone perfect? If someone was, then he would be so far out of the norm that he would be an outcast. We have a healthy supply of imperfect people stumbling around the world that would make this person appear as an anomaly.

Your story, if true, would likely include any and everything about this person. How people react and recoil and the “abnormal” sayings of this man wouldn’t be left out, because anything less would be a fabrication. Right? It makes no sense to have a man-made hero with qualities that might cast him negatively.

When Jesus walked the earth, the story of His life was recorded as painstakingly accurate as possible. Not everyone recognized His deity by the many miracles He performed, rather, they focused on trivial matters and said that He was out of His mind or possessed by demons like Mark 3: 21,22 says. Jesus’ own brothers doubted Him and many of His followers deserted Him. Some thought he was a drunk (Matthew 11:19). He even let a prostitute wipe His feet with her hair (Luke 7: 36-39).

Hardly the stuff of spurious heroism.

In Geisler and Turek’s “I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be An Atheist” they expand on the principle of embarrassment, by noting how liars tend to leave out the “foibles” of a hero and his followers.

When you record events with a mirror, nothing is left out. You call it as you see it, without embellishment and without a smokescreen. The gospels show how Jesus was regarded by the people. He was perfect when he roamed the dusty roads of Palestine, and still is, but the reaction of imperfect men and women made Him seem like an oddity.

Rejected, ridiculed, mocked, interrogated by the learned, threatened with stoning...our Hero was crucified. Would a sane person mention these supposed weaknesses about a hero if they weren’t true? Look for them!

It’s just another sound proof that New Testament writers were telling the truth.

Also, visit the Wordsmith Journal at http://www.thewordsmithjournal.com/

The Motivational Poster Boy

2011-10-02T13:45:00.000-07:00

Don’t give up!

Those are easy words to say, however, they are difficult to live out. You see them on motivational posters, bumper stickers, or you tell someone those very words when they are going through a difficult time. Would you say anything different though?

Doubtful.

God told Noah in Genesis 6 to build an ark to precise specifications because the earth was to be destroyed by the Flood. It’s interesting to note that ancient, extra-biblical writings outside of Jewish and Christian cultures mention some variation of a global flood, but that is not the thrust here.

Rather, the point is that Noah was given a calling of sorts to build a vessel that would withstand certain stresses and carry male and female animals according to their kind. Noah was not a sailor by any accounts and the Bible does not mention previous floods covering the world at that point in history. Noah may have wondered, “Just how do I get these animals on board? And what in the world is an ark? You want me to build it, God? Really?”

But Genesis 6: 22 clearly states Noah’s response to God, “Thus Noah did; according to all that God had commanded him, so he did.” He was called, so he acted. He acted despite likely opposition from naysayers, maybe self-doubt, and perhaps some confusion at not seeing the whole picture. Further, the Bible only records God speaking at the onset of this building venture. The next time He speaks is when this “thing called an ark” is built.

Which took years to build!

How do you hang on for that long? Most of us need constant affirmation that we’re on the right track from the One doing the calling. “Sooo….you really want me to do this God? Really? Tell me again, God. Please?”

Ever been there?

The pastor at church this morning put in a few comments today about this topic. When God spoke, Noah acted in faith until his initial task was complete. When the ark was finished, the Bible records that God spoke again in Genesis 7, telling him that it was time to gather up his family and the animals and enter the ark. There is no mention of a daily conversation between Noah and God, with persistent confirmation given to the former. I’m glad Noah listened.

When God speaks, do what Noah did: complete your mission. If He has called you to a certain task, wait for further instructions. If God “seems” silent, it very well may be that you are still working on the first step and you could benefit from some introspection.

Don’t give up!

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That's Embarassing!

2011-09-25T14:55:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had an embarrassing moment that went alongside one of those epic events that you write home about? Did you tell everyone you know about your gaffe or mistake when you retold the greater story? If your story was true and was the most wonderful event to ever occur, your foibles likely wouldn’t have been left out, because the larger story would overshadow it. Who would care anyway?

In “I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be An Atheist” Geisler and Turek call this the “principle of embarrassment”. And for good reason! Authors weaving a fabrication naturally lean towards leaving out whatever makes them or their story look bad.

New Testament writers were no different when they depicted the life of Jesus and the apostles. Geisler and Turek list just a few of the disciples less than stellar performances: they were dimwitted and failed to understand Jesus’ words all too often, they were uncaring to the point of falling asleep twice in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter was rebuked by Jesus Himself and called Satan, they were cowards who hid when Jesus went to the cross, and they waffled between doubt and belief before and after the resurrection.

I think the point is clear. Liars seek heroic status. Ever meet a real Navy Seal? I knew one who was very soft-spoken; he never mentioned his many exploits, nor did he embellish or brag about his physical prowess. He was actually of slight build; he also wished that his Seal training would translate into a wider array of marketable skills outside of the Navy. A fake Navy Seal is easy to spot-they proclaim loud and large, boasting a chest full of medals that are never displayed because of their “classified nature”, and they make certain that everyone knows they’re a Seal. Seen any?

The apostles had a hero; we all have one in Jesus Christ. He defeated death by rising from the dead. His blood provides for our atonement and salvation. If the New Testament writers were of the stripe of fake Navy Seals, Jesus’ story would have been more gallant, more heroic. His disciples would have had a political frontrunner’s “unimpeachable record”.

Instead, His followers were common men who were not afraid to own up to their mistakes and set things right. They followed a carpenter’s son, saw him heal and teach, watched Him die, played their roles badly, but shared with the known world that fallible men can change, and change the world with their story. The Apostle Peter cut off the High Priest’s servant's ear in the Garden, but went on to become a major player in the early Church. Hardly a heroic past and most of us would not want that committed to writing!

So if you read through the New Testament, take a look at some of the embarrassing details performed by the cast of characters. There are more than you might realize. Ask yourself this, too-If the story was a lie, why would they mention these small and large blunders if the Jesus’ story weren’t true? They told it as it was, because they were part of the story’s fabric.

And take heart, your past is forgotten in Christ. He doesn’t remember….only you do.

What are YOU looking at?

2011-09-18T14:53:00.000-07:00

What are YOU looking at?

When you put the emphasis on “you”, it would be considered a hostile question. But what we look at can indeed make us hostile and bitter. Our myopic view of life and its attendant trials siphon off our hope, leaving us with a void where an expectation of better things should reside. We all search for that lasting sparkle in our lives, that one thing that will change it all, but fail every time.

A new job, a bigger house with a pool, a promotion, or millions of dollars in our bank accounts bring temporary relief, however, we always seem to want more and never actually find “it”. If we define our lives by our jobs and the frustrations that go with them or the bigger and better we really don’t have much of a life at all.

A pastor once said that the times he has spent consoling the dying all have a common thread. Each person on the edge of eternity never says that he or she wished for the bigger or better homes, more millions, or wished that they had worked more hours and gotten farther in their careers. Instead, they mention what’s difficult to quantify; they point to the deeper, unseen things that have long-lasting effects and meaning.

The Apostle Paul was no stranger to suffering, but he had purpose and joy in his life. He even called his trials a light affliction. Was he out of his mind? Perhaps he was delusional? Maybe he saw beyond the temporary, called it no big deal, and defined his existence in a way we too often overlook?

Consider 2 Corinthians 4:17-18 where he writes, “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.” Paul bore the physical marks of an apostle in his body and he brushes his afflictions off as though they were nothing.

Indeed they are. When you compare the time we spend here against eternity’s illumination you can see more clearly. It’s not easy, and the demands of our lives and jobs make us forget. But if you take the time and remind yourself that “none of this” will matter to you in a hundred year it helps you order your life around what God has truly called you to be.

God want us to be someone for Him. Don’t miss it.

What are YOU looking at?

I Believe in Wind

2011-09-11T14:21:00.000-07:00

I believe.

That’s a short, but bold statement. We believe in the things we can see or observe. We cannot see the wind, but we experience its effects-the rustle of leaves during Fall, blades of grass swaying to an unseen cadence, or clouds racing across an azure Summer sky.

I believe in wind.

Gravity has no color or shading to give us a clue about its existence. However, the fact that our couches stay rooted to the floor provides a small measure of comfort. I believe in gravity, also. Imagine attempting to sit down for a relaxing read with a mug of coffee, only to have the random events that created such an intricate world full of immutable physical laws decide to revert to the chaos from which it sprang. I suppose you’ll have to digest your book and coffee elsewhere.

After all, that’s how the world was created, right? Luck added order to chaos.

Random events created the Nazca lines in the Peruvian desert using the preceding logic. The intelligence seen in the designs points to wind currents swirling in such a fashion, that a flower, which actually looks like a flower, materialized in the desert sand.

Applying the same logic to the Earth’s creation is where common sense departs. Academics will assume a superior position by positing that the earth was created this way, but will scoff at the notion of variable wind currents creating the Nazca lines.

So why does logic take a hike when it comes to God? It makes perfect sense to believe. There’s proof, just like wind and gravity. God remains largely hidden from our visible sight, but we see His footprints everywhere if we take a moment to look, remove the blinders, and just have a little faith.

There are many factors for unbelief, chief among them is that our enemy, the devil, is the father of lies. John 8:44-45 states “…When he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own resources, for he is a liar and the father of it. But because I tell the truth, you do not believe Me.”

And I can echo Peter’s response to Jesus in Luke 9:20: “He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered and said, ‘The Christ of God.’” Why? Because I believe in the unseen God. I have observed His handiwork in creation, the peace inside of me that surpasses all understanding, and the inner change that I could never have wrought on my own.

No matter how much evidence there is, there will always be those that will resist and spend their entire lives trying to invalidate what they really know to be true, however deeply they have buried it. If God’s existence can be finally refuted, then the naysayers will be out of a job.

Does anyone ever wonder why “new and improved” theories to disprove God undergo such persistent revision?

I believe.

Coming October 1^st, Wordsmith Journal will make its debut!

Truth In Fiction?

2011-09-04T18:03:00.000-07:00

Those who avidly devour fiction find that novels are not just fantastic tales of make-believe. Certainly, some mirror little of real life, but many contain a good deal of truth and teaching that undergirds the drama. Just because a book is a work of fiction does not mean there are no morally redeeming values or that artistic license informs the whole story.

I’m opinionated, but Christian fiction should set the standard.

As a way of illustration, fiction authors are similar to blacksmiths of old. A blacksmith forges a piece of steel and draws the finished product out of that same misshapen piece. A true artisan can take a quantity of iron ore, melt it into molten steel, shape it, temper it, remove the impurities, and conform an uninspiring object into a thing of beauty. Filigreed patterns emerge on a surface that once was pocked with defects.

A blank sheet of paper or computer screen is the author’s same uninspiring piece. However, as the words are written, patterns are elicited from the ether, borne from the writer’s creativity. Successful authors will tell you that their novels write themselves; the end may be in sight, but the perfect combination of ingredients to add or subtract from the drama is fluid. Often, some will say that their own ending was a surprise!

The Left Behind series written by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins is a great example of a fiction series that contains a treasure of truth and teaching. The series is not written simply to entertain readers, though you’ll connect with the characters, but it is penned with the purpose of startling people out of their spiritual lack and lethargy. Their “stories” sound a clarion call to non-Christian and Christian alike to prepare for the end of days. The message is not an overwrought sermon of doom, but a dramatic, matter-of-fact performance by an unprepared cast of characters holding onto hope during the seven years of the Great Tribulation.

So what’s the point in all of this?

Good fiction authors are blacksmiths, but with words. We shape, refine, remove the dross, and draw an engaging story from a blank sheet. Fiction plumbs the depths of the deepest seas, climbs the highest mountains, and takes you on a journey to exotic lands where you’ll experience unconceived wonders. Gingerly step along hidden trails while you hug a sheer cliff, navigate a ship on a storm-ravaged ocean, or escape from pursuers in a rock-strewn wasteland.

You’ll feel the wind caress your face, carrying away your cares as you stare at Jerusalem and see its beauty for the first time or rediscover it anew. The scent of spring will embrace you in its warmth as the sun peeks over the Mount of Olives, washing the Holy City’s sandstone walls in bright amber hues and dappling the trees in a riot of gold. And as you realize that Jesus could have stood in that same spot, weeping over His people, you’ll know that you are His cherished treasure.

Authors under the Christian label should have a purpose for their writing. Not every story should read like a sermon, but adding Christian values as an afterthought when the rest of the story is full of innuendo and even “light cursing” shouldn’t make muster. Yes, some Christian novels have had these facets threaded within the pages.

Moreover, Christian authors have a responsibility as gatekeepers. This raises the bar for us, making our job tougher. But tougher makes us better. We don’t have to mimic popular authors or lace the story with values we wouldn’t discuss in church to sell books. We should paint our pictures more vividly, with more powerful brushstrokes, and with the inspiration and truth God grants us.

We should be the true Wordsmiths - shaping, refining, and imparting.

Coming October 1^st, Wordsmith Journal, an online magazine, will make its debut. Stay tuned!

It Wasn't Always Like This

2011-08-28T16:08:00.000-07:00

Some point to all the evil in the world as proof that there is no God. For how could a loving God create this and then allow horrible things to happen? Others may believe there is a God, but choose not to serve Him because of these things. And yet, there are even Christians who have given up hope for the same reasons.

Genesis 1:1-2 states, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.” Later, in Genesis 1:31 it makes a bold declaration: “Then God saw everything He had made, and indeed it was very good. So the evening and morning were the sixth day.”

It was very good.

So what happened? Why all of these disasters? We have destructive weather patterns, earthquakes, disease, famine, and a whole host of problems we can’t fix. Did God make those and call them good?

Of course not.

Before the Fall of Man, the creation reflected God’s goodness and glory. But in Genesis 3:17-19 judgment on sin is rendered. It reads,

Then to Adam He said, “Because you have heeded the voice of your wife, and have eaten from the tree of which I commanded you, saying, ‘You shall not eat of it’:
“Cursed is the ground for your sake;
In toil you shall eat of it
All the days of your life.

Both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you,
And you shall eat the herb of the field.

In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread
Till you return to the ground,
For out of it you were taken;
For dust you are,
And to dust you shall return.”

The Fall brought sin into the world and a curse upon the ground. It also brought death. What we have now is what has been passed down through the ages. Sin tarnishes that which is good with decay. God did not create sin; Adam and Eve’s disobedience brought it into the world.

And we perpetuate it.

It’s difficult when hard times come and loved ones are cancer –stricken, children die for no apparent reason, or when some tragic event happens to a wonderful person. Space does not allow me to provide answers to these questions, but these did not originate with God. We can live righteous lives for Christ and die seemingly “before our time”.

However, we can take some measure of comfort in knowing that God is good, and that he has a place in heaven for whosever calls on Jesus Christ as savior. Not all of our questions will be sufficiently answered here, but if our hope is in Christ then our journey will be easier. You can choose to doubt that there is even the existence of God. Or you can believe in Him, but not His goodness. You can even walk away. But if you serve Him, your reward will be eternal.

You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. It wasn’t always like this. It won’t stay like this either.

Do Sane People Do This?

2011-08-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

Let’s say that you are in sales and your company has the next big thing that’s about to hit the marketplace. It’s the newest, most advanced cell phone, and pre-orders are rolling in faster than you can count them. You have put out press releases, ads, commercials, and even demonstrated its features at a trade show where hundreds of gawkers stare wide-eyed as you displayed its myriad functions.

Two months later, it hits the shelves and your company is the “go-to” company for employment and products. As long as you have shot straight with your customers, you’ll stay in business. Let’s just say that you did. By rights, you should reap the rewards of this.

But what if none it was true? Would you keep pushing its nonexistent gadgets? After the initial excitement wore off and realization struck that it was all a sham would you take what you have earned and skip town? When a large sum of money is involved, there is the temptation to lie. Any kind of quick gain opens that particular door.

How about when there is little prospect of gain? What if your story involves a Savior that in many people’s minds did not live up to the heroic standards they expected? When Jesus died, many lost hope and simply gave up. That was it. Time to go back to the nets or the tax collector’s booth.

The resurrection restores lost hope. Without it, our faith is in vain, so it is paramount that we believe it. There are other proofs, apart from being an eyewitness, which the Bible shows us.

The early apostles did not benefit much materially from the gospel they preached. The Hero died and it was up to Jesus’ followers to spread the message. Without a resurrection there would have been no reason to continue as they did. However, many attested a resurrection. Paul refers to 14 individuals that we can know by name and 500 other eyewitnesses in 1 Corinthians 15:3-8 where he states, “For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures, and that He was seen by Cephas, then by the twelve. After that He was seen by over five hundred brethren at once, of whom the greater part remain to the present, but some have fallen asleep. After that He was seen by James, then by all the apostles. Then last of all He was seen by me also, as by one born out of due time.”

What Paul is also saying here is to verify his statements. He is daring any detractors to, “Ask them if you don’t believe me.” These witnesses and names he mentions are key. What makes it even more plausible is that he wasn’t making vast sums of money from this wonderful truth. His message may have been suspect if had preached, raked in a hoard of coins, and then caught the next ship to out of town. In fact, it was the opposite. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose by sharing a story about a savior that died and rose again.

Would you create a story like this for monetary gain if you had to take those kinds of risks? How about if there was no earthly benefit and just a future hope? Consider Paul’s words concerning the fruits of his preaching in Philippians 3:7-8, “But what things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ. Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.”

The resurrection story has been maligned for centuries, and while some have profited from the gospel, this does not negate the sacrifices the early Christians made so that we could have this great gift. Whatever reasons Jesus had for not openly declaring Himself to everyone in Jerusalem is not the subject here, but none of the apostles, including Paul, had any motivation to make up a tale the likes of the resurrection. No prestige, no monetary gain, no place in the palace at the high table, only persecution, disdain, and for many, death.

Why would anyone continue to preach and write about a lie if there was absolutely no hope that it was true?

You Can't Keep a Good Man Down

2011-08-14T16:54:00.000-07:00

The resurrection is central to the Christian faith, which is precisely why skeptics attempt to undermine this tenet. For Christians it is a matter of faith and most of us, me included, take it as truth and never give it another thought.

But what about the skeptics? How do you answer them logically? What “smoking gun” proof can you share that makes the skeptic thoughtfully stroke his or her chin? Do you simply say, “Well, I just believe it; it’s a matter of faith. I wasn’t there, so I trust that the Bible is speaking the truth.”

There is nothing wrong with this, because ultimately, Christianity is a matter of faith and truth self-validates. With God, believing is seeing, and the inner witness of the Holy Spirit attests to biblical truth. The stronger our walks become, the more discerning we become.

In the gospels and Acts, the resurrection story is central to the Christian teaching. In Acts 2: 32 Peter attests, “This Jesus God has raised up, of which we are all witnesses.” Recall that Peter denied Jesus three times, they crucified his Savior, and now in this verse Peter is affirming quite pointedly that Jesus has risen from the dead.

Something had to have happened!

There are certain questions that will have the skeptics dancing. Remember, Peter denied Jesus three times, all the disciples fled when Jesus was arrested, and they had been hiding out in the same city where Jesus was crucified. They weren’t sticking their necks out….just yet.

So what would have to happen to make them, including Peter, perform a U-turn in Acts? Why all this boldness in a city where they could suffer the same fate as Jesus? Would they do it for a lie? Would they make up a resurrection story after stealing and hiding Jesus’ body to start their own following? How come they didn’t throw in the towel after Stephen was martyred in Acts 7 or when Saul was beginning his persecution of the Christians? Why?

The questions are endless, so pause and ask yourself if you would suffer persecution, imprisonment, financial and social ruin, and even death for something you know to be patently false. Most would waffle and waver after the first threat if they were beginning a following based on a hoax. Would you continue to press onward, even up to death if you could save your skin by recanting and returning to your former occupation? Fishing the waters of the Sea of Galilee would have been safer.

But they didn’t do that. The truth of the resurrection depicted in the Bible elicits much fewer questions. They saw something, they couldn’t help but report that miracle, they all suffered for it, and said it without embellishment. What did they have to gain with this story? They had everything to lose and most did lose it all.

Peter still says it matter-factly, “This Jesus God has raised up, of which we are all witnesses.”

More to come on this….

All About Style

2011-08-07T17:03:00.000-07:00

“The Bible is a book of legends…” I’m positive that many have heard these words at one point or another. After all, how do you explain miracles? Can you do it logically and with a straight face?

Well?

Consider any vehicle sitting in supermarket parking lot. Based on what we have been taught we could logically say with a straight face that it either appeared from nothing and by nothing, or that it evolved. Millions of years and just good old luck guided it to its present final state from iron ore, chemicals aligning perfectly to form paint and tires, and glass molecules arranging themselves just so, so that the windows are tinted. Or, it just……happened.

Obviously, this car did not evolve, nor did it just appear. Physical laws do not operate in such a way to order all the parts together; nature tends towards disorder.

But what about all of this…..stuff….. around us? It had to come from somewhere, just like the car. We don’t see the earth evolving. Actually, it seems to be falling apart. The most logical explanation is that someone made it, because nothing cannot create something.

Moving this along, it is God that created this earth and universe out of nothing; this means that God is supernatural (above nature) and thus can work miracles. Try this at home: Coax nothing to make you a sandwich. If you can, then you are a miracle worker who just defied nature. You would be supernatural.

Water to wine, walking on water, the feeding of the multitudes, healing the blind….these are all miracles that defy natural laws and the order of things. These are acts of God, which are above nature. Yet how are they reported? Are they embellished? Do they make Jesus seem heroic? Was the New Testament just an epic saga like Beowulf?

The New Testament was never written like a saga or collection of legends. These works are easy to spot, because the author’s style is obvious. Reflecting on Acts 3: 6-7 where Peter heals a beggar, the style has a matter-of-fact quality: Silver and gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk. And he took him by the right hand and lifted him up, and immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength.

The rest of the passage speaks of the man leaping and praising God and the onlookers wondering in awe, but the style almost feels anticlimactic, like it was all in a day’s work for the apostles. Take a look at Luke 5: 12-16 or Mark 8: 1-10 and you’ll see the same clinical reporting.

Legends and fabricated stories don’t use this antiseptic style of writing. This and other miracle passages in the New Testament simply report what the eyewitnesses saw and experienced. An author’s style speaks volumes, and if you can believe that God supernaturally created the earth out of nothing, then believing Jesus’ miracles are not much different.

Chance?

2011-08-01T19:29:00.001-07:00

I had a really great interview on www.Marysworld411.blogspot.com tonight. At a recent Christian retail show, I was with Mary and Mike Nichelson where publishers, authors, artists, and those in the retail world met. The scope was overwhelming, but one “chance” meeting with an author and artist set something dramatic into motion.

David Yanez and another man made a beeline to us, shook our hands, and pulled books out of their satchels and started talking about promoting their books and ministries. They spoke mainly to Mary, as I was slack-jawed at the time. David Yanez has a far-reaching ministry and runs http://www.revmedianetwork.com/, which has had 1.75 million visitors to his the radio and television shows, and blog sites over the past year.

So it was a humbling honor to have this opportunity to share my thoughts, my passion, and some nuggets of truth with this powerful media tool. I also pray that Mike’s testimony that he shared tonight, Mary’s dogged determination for promoting Christian books, and what I spoke about will make a difference.

Concerning making David Yanez’ acquaintance, if we called it a coincidence or a chance meeting, then luck is our only hope. I’d rather pin my hopes and dreams on God, who is good, and never changes.

Did You See That?

2011-07-31T17:10:00.000-07:00

When the veracity of the Bible is questioned common attacks center on certain questions that many are not prepared to answer. Most Christians take the Bible at face value as God’s word, because they are told to do so. There is nothing wrong with believing something first, because truth has a way of self-validation. Truth operates that way.

So how about the timing of when the 27 New Testament books were written? A common query. Can it be proven that these books were written in the first century? Does it matter?

It does matter, because if the New Testament was written any later, such as the second century, then the eyewitness reports that describe the events of Jesus’ life could be proven to be fabrications. Or legends.

So how do we prove this? Did the New Testament writers put times and dates on their letters and gospels? Unfortunately, they did not, but this actually makes the case stronger for their early dates and buttresses their claims at being eyewitnesses, or in the case of Luke and Acts, interviewing the eyewitnesses.

Consider the book of Acts and the enormity of the details Luke inserted. He mentions seemingly trivial details, he names notable figures, uses the local nomenclature for landmarks, but fails to make note of one crucial point in Israel’s history.

It is this turning point in Jewish history that is telling. A first century Jew or Christian would have little trouble recalling where he or she was when they saw or heard the news of the Temple’s destruction in 70 AD. The Temple was the focal point of worship for centuries and its loss would have colored how these New Testaments writers wrote. None makes any mention of its loss. In fact, they all write as though the Temple is still standing and a part of Jewish religious life.

It is reasonable to posit that most, if not all, of the New Testament books were written before the Temple’s destruction. This means that there would be less than forty years from Jesus’ death and the loss of the Temple. Certainly, there would be eyewitnesses of events depicted in the gospels still living at 70 AD.

So when you run across a word such as “eyewitness”, take it at face value. Without this eyewitness testimony the New Testament would have taken on a more legendary flavor. And it simply not written this way. Digest what is being said, but look for dramatic, historically proven events that are never mentioned. New Testament authors in the first century just weren’t skilled at the level of intrigue and conspiracy that they are made out to be.

No Conspiracy Here

2011-07-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

I recently finished reading a novel written by a very talented author. As I read his words I saw his style, his ways of painting pictures and memories, and it’s no wonder that he’s popular. However, he’s popular for all the wrong reasons.

The author’s story centered on the Templar Knights and a modern duo on their ancient trail. The Templars had a trove of original, ancient biblical writings that could undermine the Christian faith. These were alternate gospels and writings that simply did not “fit” with the Bible we know today. The author puts forth that the Emperor Constantine in 325 AD ensured that the Bible we read and the faith Christians practice today would not be influenced by these other ancient sources. Furthermore, in this work of fiction, he has a message – he wants people to be open-minded, question the Bible, and be receptive to other versions of who Jesus is.

Conspiracies make bestsellers. But how about something like the truth? Chapter 9 in Norman L. Geisler and Frank Turek’s “I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be An Atheist,” yields a treasure of answers for any skeptic, and the entire book should be required reading for anyone with doubts or anyone who wants to better defend his or her faith.

Without picking the novel apart piece by piece, the evidence provided by Geisler and Turek’s work yields some convincing answers about the New Testament and Jesus’ life. There are no originals of the biblical manuscripts; we only have copies. But aren’t copies riddled with errors? Not when there are close to 5,700 of these Greek New Testament manuscripts, which are helpful in flushing out grammatical and spelling variants when compared against one another. The result is a 99.5% accurate New Testament; the remaining .5% has no affect on any doctrine of the faith.

So, do copies of Shakespeare’s plays undergo the same scrutiny? No, scholars know the difference between a work of Shakespeare and a forgery. Few question whether there’s an alternate Macbeth floating around, depicting a vastly altered Shakespearian drama. So why are “new gospels” and pleas for open-mindedness about different ways of portraying Jesus in vogue when the textual support for the New Testament is so strong? Well?

Early Christians knew when false gospels were being circulated, which is why they were never copied anywhere close to the magnitude of New Testament manuscripts. That’s an important snippet to remember, because they sought to pass a dramatic, life-changing doctrine forward. So, if something is easily labeled as garbage, why copy it thousands of times? Well? Additionally, the 5700 manuscripts we have are simply what have survived the centuries; there were more than just that number.

Furthermore, there is no conspiracy involving Constantine and him dictating which New Testament manuscripts were the winners and which were the losers. It is true that the Council of Nicaea was crucial in developing the doctrine we know today, and there were doctrines and books that were refuted and books that never made it into the canon. But that owed to the fact that these doctrines and books were widely known to be false. There are no alternate gospels of Jesus that accurately describe His life; what we have is solid. No scholar in his or her right mind would produce a different version of Shakespeare’s life based on a spurious manuscript, would they? Well?

There’s much more in Geisler and Turek’s “I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be An Atheist,” and their logic is sound and well-organized. However, logic can only take you so far. Ultimately, believing the Bible comes down to faith, but believing is seeing.

Papa's Blessing

2011-07-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

Dr Greg Bourgond has just announced that "Papa's Blessing" has hit the bookshelves. Greg has spent years mentoring men and developing his ministry, Heart of a Warrior. This current addition will very likely delve deeper into Greg's heart for people as he states, "The world can be a cold and unforgiving place, and Papa’s Blessings helps prepare our loved ones by giving them something that will sustain them on the difficult journey before them—a blessing."
His first book, "A Rattling of Sabers" is a wakeup call for men to gird their waist and don the armor of God for life's battles. Whether we admit it or not, our enemy is not sleeping, and Greg's gentle, but blunt, message sounds clear.
Furthermore, Dr. Greg has a familiar tone that underscores his books and ministry. It is simple, but too often overlooked in today's hustle and bustle. You don't have too look too deeply to see it. My honest assessment is that Dr. Greg sees the present, fertile ground and the need to sow seeds that last into the eternal. He wants us to finish well, which is nothing more than the message that resonates throughout Scripture.
His ideas are old, timeless, but startlingly relevant for today. They echo Psalm 100:5 which reads, “For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.”

Both books can be purchased through http://www.amazon.com/, http://www.barnesandnoble.com/, and iUniverse! Buy "Papa's Blessing" and "A Rattling of Sabers" and enjoy!

Some Things Never Change

2011-07-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

Just last week I began thinking about an author platform. A publicist with a Christian publisher encouraged me to define one for myself, because a platform is the basis upon which people relate to you. If you’re already famous, developing a platform really doesn’t apply, because the general populace already knows what you’re about. Perhaps a reality show would be easier? I don’t think so.

So, as a writer of two fiction novels trying to be noticed, I need a means by which people can connect with my books. Isn’t that what makes fiction so real, being able to connect with the characters? Have you ever read a book that was so dull that you had to throw it down in disgust, because it had no emotional or spiritual tug? With nonfiction, the messages are quite clear. However, with Christian fiction, publishers aren’t necessarily looking for another book that’s the equivalent of a pop song. Many are seeking authors that dig deeper.

As a result, I decided to focus this blog, For a Thousand Generations, more narrow. My objective is to bridge this and future blog entries with the novels I’ve penned. If there’s no explanation (platform), then potential readers and publishers are left to draw their own conclusions. Is this good? I think you know the answer already!

But what does the name mean? And why did I choose such nebulous words for a blog and for a novel?

For a Thousand Generations refers to the perpetuity of time. It’s not a literal interpretation of one thousand generations of people, rather, it is a forward-looking way of viewing time and how we should live; we should live our lives as though we will always have successors. However, this present world is temporal, but if we pass on just a few “biblical constants” without raising our hands at the seeming futility of it all, we can sow seeds that yield wonderful results.

Consider how inspiring Psalm 100:5 reads, “For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.” Three attributes of God in this verse are constant:

Good- God is good and unchanging. Just as evil is perpetuated across the centuries, so can the good that we perform.

Mercy- God’s mercy is never-ending and bottomless. Salvation in Jesus Christ was not just a first century event; each generation has had this act of grace available.

Truth- Ahh, truth. What is it? Can it be known? Can’t we make our own truth and morality? It’s all relative, right? Truth refers to reality, the way things are. It is knowable, but it is discovered, not manufactured. It is not relative; anyone who says it is has just made an objective statement….about truth.

The future of this blog will touch on these constants and others in their varied forms. You will see common sense and logic applied to the questions of life, truth, God, the Bible, all informed by a biblical worldview. I’m not high-handed in my approach, and my hope and prayer is that you will go away encouraged and armed with sound wisdom.

I intend to update this blog each Sunday, but if you see more…consider it a bonus! See you soon!

"A Rattling of Sabers"-Chapter 2 Review

2011-02-09T18:22:00.000-08:00

This review is written as a short story, but the points are what you will expect to see when you read Chapter Two-Situational Lifestyle Strategies of Dr Greg Bourgond’s “A Rattling of Sabers”.

In the Year of Grace, 1129
Perhaps I was going daft, or perhaps I simply needed a change of pace away from the stacks of parchment. Sitting in the window seat of my solar, I read another installment of Father Gregor’s tome, which further unveiled his approachable character; however, soon after reading a few pages I forgot what I had read.
Monks were notorious when it came to expectations; they expected their charges to digest mountains of words and recall the finer points verbatim. Father Gregor was no monk, but I figured that priests were kindred spirits; even ones who had spent some time soldiering.
I met the priest in the tiltyard. He wore a mischievous grin and was leaning against a practice dummy; staff in hand, a wooden practice sword in the other.
“Aye, I thought I you would eventually get some fresh air, Tancred.”
“Did you now? I suppose God whispers in your ear all the scandalous thoughts and frustrations of your parishioners?” I asked jokingly.
“Hah, even this former Crusader would blanch at that! No, rather, a lifetime of observing people and listening to their spouses,” he replied. “I know men and how they think, what connects with them, and what drives them.” Father Gregor looked off into morning sun, giving me the impression that he was recalling his days at sea and trudging the hills and valleys of Outremer, the Holy Land.
He turned back to me, revealing his strong profile- a soldier’s stance and gaze. Although his physical traits would never give a casual observer a clue into his insides, Gregor had a way of drawing men in and used various methods to make his points. I was vexed that I would spend the rest of my days figuring this man out.
“You’ll never figure me out, Tancred. Spar with me! Give this not-so-old knight something to think about.”
He tossed the wooden sword over. I twirled the sword in my hands, still wondering how the priest could anticipate my thoughts, and feeling regretful that I was about to batter a man of the cloth armed with only a staff.
“You are taking the cross I hear,” he said as we paced out a space between us. “You took a vow to go, but listen, son. I have found that Crusaders are mere men, trained mainly for man’s battles. Your heart needs to train for life’s battles.”
“And I will learn this how?” I thought aloud.
“By taking your best shot at me and never forgetting the lessons you will learn,” he sent back. I couldn’t resist the bait; the challenge had been laid down…perhaps that was his whole plan.
“I’ve learned nothing today poring over your manuscript. And no, I’ve not addled my wits! It’s just that the words are running together. Ever since I decided to go on Crusade, it has been a struggle to concentrate on the monkish pursuits like reading,” I jested, hoping to raise his ire.
“Bah! Monkish pursuits! I’m a priest; I live amongst the sinful, slack-jawed hedge-beasts, like you!” he threw back good-naturedly. “Now, the five lessons that went through that melon attached your neck are easy to remember when with a little exercise.”
And so the battle was on.
Father Gregor made feints with his staff in a blurring flurry of motion, causing me to react to each problem he presented, but ultimately I failed in making contact. He was good; the years had not dampened his skills. Reacting never won many battles.
After catching my breath, he opened himself up, making an easy target. I chose the path of least resistance and made countless thrusts, but after a light tap or two from his staff he informed me that I was avoiding the more difficult moves and that I would never develop my skills.
When he bellowed out that I should fight as though I was following Raymond of Toulouse over the walls of Jerusalem, I seemed as though I was beating the air like a squire on his first day in the yard. I lost my identity and all the skills I had honed, by transference. I couldn’t live vicariously through my heroes and expect victory.
I was at a loss now. Nothing I tried brought me any closer to scoring against the priest, so I stood for a spell, and then settled on doing nothing. Essentially, my indecision was a choice, costing me a corrective tap with the staff. I leaned on the wooden sword, smiled at Father Gregor, as the pages I had read began to make better sense in how I approached life.
Lastly, I summoned my reserves of strength and charged, hoping my speed and weight would topple my cassocked mentor. However, his quick sidestep, and an outstretched leg transferred my momentum downward. After dusting myself off, I rose off my knees with Gregor’s aid and stood shakily, realizing that a single, driven purpose, void of careful thought, was just as disastrous as my other moves.

We stood high atop the round tower, looking westward at the setting sun. The last feeble rays of light still warmed our faces. Rooks called out warnings as a hawk lazily circled on the updrafts.
I was worried about my vow. I was going on Crusade, no matter how hastily I made the promise. Men died there or returned less than whole. Physically I was ready; however, Gregor was adept at uncovering my spiritual lack. I was moping and wondering if I would ever be ready.
“Life is a journey of growth that never ends. My objective is to train men to adopt a lifestyle of learning and a malleable character that doesn’t resist God’s hand. Take heart and consider that we are created by God’s hand and not an accident, son. Our Creator is personally involved in our lives. Already, I have seen a change in you.”
“Truly?” I asked, facing him.
“Aye, truly. I have a sense, Tancred, that many will take notice of you in Outremer. The possibilities for setting things aright are endless….”

To purchase his valuable book and for even deeper insights, follow the link to Greg’s website and author site:

http://www.heartofawarrior.org/

"A Rattling of Sabers"-Chapter 1 Review

2011-01-13T17:39:00.000-08:00

This review is written as a short story, but the quotes and points are what you will expect to see when read through Chapter One-The Heart of a Warrior.

In the Year of Grace, 1129

A faint sound startled me out of sleep, causing the hairs on my neck to stand on end. I had been through sieges as both the besieger and the besieged. Metal on stone? Steel on steel? Quickly donning my gambeson, cinching my belt tight, and pulling on my boots, I searched for my sword.
“Where could it be?” I wondered nervously. Peering through the arrow loop in my bedchamber I spied figures walking stealthily through the gloom on the wall walk. My heart raced as I ran down the stairs, pushing through iron-studded doors, and then half falling into the courtyard.
“To me! To me!” I screamed, hoping to rouse the guard. But why should anyone come to my aid? I wasn’t ready. My retinue had gone soft, pursuing other interests. My blacksmith was now an artist, shaping naked stone into intricate carvings. My armorer had turned his shop into room where tapestries instead of properly fitted armor were the norm.
“There has to be something I can do,” I muttered as I bolted into latter’s shop, overturning tables in a search for armor and sword steel. “Aha! They will rue this day!” I said with renewed gusto.
To my dismay, my coat of mail had rusted and had gaping holes over the heart. However, my sword gleamed…what was left of it. Still, I had a castle and livelihood to defend. So as I ran and climbed the closest ladder to the battlements, I noticed Father Gregor and my wife lazily strolling amongst the attackers, smiling. It appeared as though I had been played a fool.
“Care to enlighten me, Gregor Bourgou? I had no inkling that the priesthood involved frightening one’s lord?” I asked, out of breath.
“Bah!” he harrumphed. “It was the only way to waken you from your laxity. You have chosen to go along and get along instead of prepare your heart.”
My conspirator of a wife winked, then strode off, leaving me with the vexing priest. The men silently drifted off.
“Come and walk with this retired warrior. We have some things to discuss…”

The weeks that followed transformed the keep and castle. My retinue trained daily, armor and swords were repaired, my mailcoat was cleaned and mended, and I felt as though I had regained a profound sense of where I was weak. I had fallen woefully short, because, “Not preparing for battle is not an option” as the good priest constantly reminded me.
Father Gregor also showed me how preparing for physical battles had a deep spiritual parallel. He had written a treatise that hearkened back to his days as a sailor and crusader. Back then, he had ferried men and supplies to Outremer, and he called his tome “A Rattling of Sabers”. He had seen every combination of attack imaginable, and his stories were bewildering. His work was a mirror of some of the hard lesson’s he had learned.
He told me that to have a heart of a warrior meant that men should follow after God’s own heart, and that those type of men follow every order of their commander. Indeed, the pictures Father Gregor drew caused me to reexamine my faith and look for holes in my spiritual armor, which was the whole point of the spurious attack.
He explained his twelve facets that define a warrior’s heart and asked me where I stood on each point, whether each was true or not true concerning me. I was despaired at times, but when he said, “There is still time; time to change our ways, time to prepare for the battle, time to get ready for the orders we will receive-but not a lot of time.”, I felt as though I had been given a gift.
I had received my clarion call. I resolved to leave a strongly defended castle and demesne as a lasting legacy, but more importantly, a godly legacy. It was imperative that I finish well.

“Be self controlled and alert. Your Enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same sufferings.” 1 Peter 5:8-9

To purchase his book and for links to Greg’s website and author site go to:

http://www.heartofawarrior.org/

Leaving Jerusalem

2010-12-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

Friendship began with a clamor of camel hooves. Moishe’s servants slowly led my horse, which was tied to a slower moving beast; we left them choking in our dust. Again, Moishe was a mysterious man. He dressed as a pauper, though the fact that he owned camels and had servants said otherwise.
Holding on for dear life as Moishe whistled and hollered, the camel galloped forward in what can only be described as a rolling gait. We came out of the hills that sloped down to the Jordan and picked up speed. Moishe was laughing like a child, strange man that he was.
“Do you see how the birds fly, Hugh? They are buffeted by the wind!” he yelled over the pound of hooves.
Looking up, I noticed that the birds appeared as though they were rolling on an ocean of air, undulating up and down as the wind shifted and sputtered.
“Moishe, we’re flying!”
“That is why I pointed out the birds, Hugh,” he replied, slapping the camel’s flanks into a renewed burst of speed. The warm breeze caressed our faces, the scent of exotic fruit filled my senses, and I could only close my eyes and dream, dream that I was flying away from my past.
We rode on at this pace until the camel began to slow. As we rounded a bend, a line of date palms stood sentry on opposing sides of a well-worn path leading up to the kind of home that wealthy merchants owned. The walls were decorative, yet functional for defense. Grapevines snaked through trellis ladders. Everything was bright and cheery. War had not arrived here and I prayed that it never would.
I felt as though I had entered another world. Our flight high atop the camel’s hump swelled my soul with an emotion I had not felt in some time. Joy was a scarce commodity for crusaders. I had grown too used to privations and lack, death and disease, and screams of the dying.

The months flew by, akin to my flight here. Moishe had named it Istalan, and throughout my stay, I had become a pupil of sorts. I owned nothing, except my horse, armor and weapons, but I was slowly beginning to realize that Moishe was grooming me for something greater. He often repeated that I wasn’t ready though.
Ready for what?
“You will know when it is time,” he said many times quite cryptically.
So it was during Christmastide, in the Year of Grace, 1099, that Moishe led me to a quiet hillside near Bethlehem. It was nighttime and the stars lit the heavens like in the way I always imagined it had on that blessed night. “Here is where they say the angels heralded the birth of the Savior, Hugh. This exact spot perhaps. Do you know the rest, Hugh?”
I was neither scholar nor monk, but I knew bits and pieces of the Christmas story. “The angel said, ‘For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’ When the shepherds heard and saw the angels glorifying God they made haste to see the Christ child.” I paused as the realization of my lapse was revealed. “They left all to see what was most important, Moishe….I am ready, my friend.”
I walked a short ways down the slope and gazed out over the expanse before me, imagining shepherds, angels, and wonders scarcely dreamed of. A tear escaped and trickled down my jaw line.
I made a decision.
Pulling my sword out of my scabbard, I held it high with both hands then plunged it down into the earth, killing my past. I knelt and prayed, rising only when my plea was finished.
Moishe looked on expectantly, smiling.
I went and stood next to my friend and locked the sight into my mind, searching for words. When they formed, I said, “That’s where I died, Moishe.”
“And where is that, Hugh? At the point of a sword?”
“No…’tis not a sword any longer.”
“You speak as I do, with riddles.”
“You have it coming, Moishe,” I remarked wryly. “You know what it is, right?”
“I do,” he replied quietly.
My sword was in the cruciform style and became a reasonable representation of a cross when plunged by the tip into the ground. At its foot is where I died, where I left Jerusalem and all that I thought would save my soul.
To be continued…..

Leaving Jerusalem

2010-11-14T14:49:00.000-08:00

July, Year of Grace, 1099.
I looked back on that day with a mixture of elation and disgust, hoping to recapture the ideal. It was late November, Year of Grace, 1095, and I had affixed a red cross to my surcoat, secure in the knowledge that the journey, equally an adventure and a pilgrimage, would change my fortunes and secure my soul’s eternal rest. I was to become a Jerosoliminati by liberating Christendom’s holiest shrines; my reward would reside in the temporal and the eternal by temporarily forsaking the trappings of the world.
Like Marguerite.
Marguerite, the betrothed I had left behind, was a good match. She possessed a large dower, was fair in features, and we shared a fondness for one another uncommon to marital arrangements. When we bid a strained farewell, ending with her proclaiming, “You shall lose your soul trying to gain what you cannot,” I had no inkling how prophetic her words were to become.
For she was correct.

The Holy City had been washed clean by the brief rain. The pall of smoke, which had hung low and oppressive for over a week, had been replaced with bright sun reflecting off the sand colored walls. Shreds of white clouds scudded by, making me forget the past few days; in truth, the last few years had been a blur.
I had come to make atonement, to begin anew, to find a place where my fortunes could change, where my past was forgotten. But Nicaea and Antioch. And now Jerusalem.
Despite those heavy burdens, I managed to smile. To the east the Jordan valley appeared only as a slight depression surrounded by the Judean Hills. I imagined that Christ the Lord had walked those hills and valleys, healing the sick, casting out devils, forgiving multitudes of sins.
How I wished He would just speak to me, show me where I went wrong, or at least tell me that I had pleased Him. No. I knew. What had started as a noble journey, a pilgrimage, had turned into a bloodbath. We liberated Jerusalem from the Saracens and infidels, but had turned the Holy City into Hell on Earth.
“Why, God?” I asked, sitting in a heap against the gnarled trunk of Mount Olivet’s many olive trees. “When shall I hear your voice? I thought this would please you…”
I gazed east again, fidgeting with my hands, wishing the Lord would appear, willing Him to appear, but to no avail. The only sounds were the occasional bird chirping, the flutter of unseen wings darting between the branches, and the distant bleating of sheep.
I had taken the cross, literally and otherwise. I performed my penance for three years through searing heat and bone-chilling cold, hunger, sickness, always in the shadow of death. My once white surcoat with its red cross was stained with sweat and blood, and the exuberance I felt after hearing Pope Urban’s rousing speech at Clermont was replaced by an emptiness no man could fill.
I wept. What began as a sigh, turned into a torrent as I put my head into my hands.

Time ran quickly, judging by the strength of the sun beating relentlessly on my uncovered head. My horse cropped the sparse grass and nickered softly, stamping his feet. Years of soldiering had taught me never to let my guard down. I always slept in my coat of mail, sword at my side, helm ready at hand. But today? If today were my day of reckoning, then I would go willingly, hoping my present sorrow would fill my account.
“Jesus wept over Jerusalem’s sins once, Frank,” a voice intoned.
The voice was kind and gentle, with a local accent to the French syllables.
“I have added to them for certes, and I am weeping over mine,” I responded, uncaring if those words were to be my last.
“Look at me,” he said.
Through tear-clouded eyes, I gazed at a diminutive man, neither young nor old. His face was leathery from years under a harsh sun, but his eyes spoke of youth and vitality. He held a shepherd’s staff and gazed at me quizzically.
“My name is Moishe,” he explained.
“Hugh. Hugh Rancon, formerly a landless knight. And now, I am wealthy. By right of conquest, I have a veritable palace beyond those cursed walls, but my soul is impoverished!”
Moishe stroked his bearded chin. “I am a man of great wealth too. Did you find it? True wealth? Succor for your soul? Forgiveness?”
Judging by his garb, this man was neither wealthy nor in his wits. Catching my lapse in understanding, I attempted to ask what he had last said, but he interrupted me.
“Jerusalem is only a place, Hugh. You thought years of toil would cleanse your soul and that the wonders beyond its walls would finally fill the blackened void. You always had Jerusalem in your thoughts: a better future, a place to begin afresh in a land where the Lord trod. But you found that the future did not deliver what you needed the most. Am I correct?”
“The slaughter was great,” I whispered. “Some men, still bloody from the fight wept like babes at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, not at their sorrow, but for their victory. We thought we were doing God’s work! ‘God wills it’ was our refrain….but it’s not.”
“This is why I have come, my friend. I came to see what had happened, but I suppose I came to find someone, anyone who still had his senses. Stand up and take a look at Jerusalem….”
I stood and gazed over the city with its gleaming domes and spires stretching into the heavens. It was man’s poor creation of heaven.
“I am man of great wealth as I had said. Follow me, Hugh, and I shall show you and give you the riches of truth. But you must leave it all behind.”
There comes a moment in every man’s life when he must make a choice that forever alters his course. Moishe’s words were as refined silver, smooth, and reflecting in their clarity. They illuminated my heart and mind. The years I had spent in travail had defined my purpose. Now, they were like grains of blowing sand, forgotten and meaningless.
Moishe was trudging towards the north, tapping his staff along a sheep run. And for the first time in my life, I had found that one’s purpose begins in the present. Fulfillment can be found there, not in a faraway land or time. The time to begin was now.
I tied my helm to my horse’s saddle and gently led with the reins, following a man that would soon become a dear friend.
To be continued…..

30 Seconds With a Publisher

2010-09-11T04:26:00.000-07:00

I have often racked my brain concerning what I would tell a publisher what "For a Thousand Generations" is really about. I could say that it's historical fiction with an anachronistic protagonist, or that it's this...or that. Each time I attempt to put it into words I imagine myself droning on for hours, boring someone to tears.
If I had 30 seconds in an elevator with a publisher, I would say only this and hope that the brevity of words would be enough:

It's about a man who found love, family and friendship, and a profound sense of significance. His circumstances affected him in such a powerful way that they transformed him into the man he was always called to be. And when he reached a moment of reflection he said these words:
“When I was young I gave little thought to how my actions, right or profane, could affect my successors. Now that I see with the eyes of wisdom, my pilgrimage has taught me that Right should be the sole pattern, the pattern that instructs for a thousand generations.”

“A Rattling of Sabers” Initial Review

2010-09-10T18:00:00.000-07:00

If there were a theme song that epically describes and captures the message in author Dr. Greg Bourgond’s book “A Rattling of Sabers”, I would have to choose Casting Crowns’ “Until the Whole World Hears” for one simple fact: the chorus repeats the powerful phrase “Ready yourself….Ready yourself.” Greg sounds a clarion call early on in the book to wake up men, chose sides, and gird themselves for the battles that WILL come.
Few of us have experienced the unnerving sound of rattling sabers. To help illustrate go to your kitchen drawer, pull out two steak knives, rub and bang the blades together over and over, and then multiply by thousands to draw this picture in your mind. In the practice of warfare rattling sabers, the pounding of drums, or war cries were common tools used to dishearten your opponent. Nowadays, we are slightly more civilized, but this metaphor provides vivid and memorable imagery that mirrors reality.
In Dr Greg Bourgond’s book, he expands on this idea by showing readers, mainly men, that our enemy is rattling his sabers. And the sound is becoming increasing louder. Ultimately, the struggle is-and always has been-between good and evil. Our enemy attempts to sow seeds of doubt and fear into lives, but with the spiritual armor of God we can live victoriously.
. This book is not for the casual Christian man who wants to be a touch better in his walk with God by following five steps to success. Rather, it is a book that challenges you to become a man after God’s own heart; it involves a lifestyle change, training, inner transformation, and a radical rethinking of how you approach life. Not all will be successful at this and he makes no apologies for saying so.
Greg has thrown down the gauntlet and what he has to say is really no different than the charge Christ gives everyone, as the book consistently points to Scripture and its practical application. Sides have to be chosen. There is no “neither-nor”; there is only “either-or” and the gulf is ever widening.
Strength and Honor. You will see those very words often. And once again, this book is not for the casual Christian. Stayed tuned for reviews of further chapters!
To purchase his book and for links to Greg’s website and author site go to:

http://www.heartofawarrior.typepad.com/

http://165220.myauthorsite.com/index.php

C.S. Lewis' "The Abolition of Man"

2010-04-11T16:13:00.001-07:00

How can the entire human race be abolished? Is the fact that the twentieth century has been the bloodiest century in history cause for concern? We have been told that morals are relative, that we can create our own truth. But isn’t that a universal statement of truth?
The Abolition of Man makes a clear case for the Natural Moral Law and the attendant problems one would encounter by denying its existence. The debunking begins in the classroom where philosophers teach valueless grammar under the guise of education. Ethical people cannot be created if objective values are not nurtured and taught in the classroom and at home.
What Lewis calls the Tao teaches men what they ought to do. Words have meaning, and the way statements are phrased either can point the student in the right direction, or simply be stating a fact. Natural Moral Law comes into play by extending reason into a practical application.
While knowledge and its pursuit are good, removing these first principles from the quest will abolish man. When man and nature are reduced to chemical reactions and physical makeup alone, the door is opened for myriad abuses. The weak become unwilling subjects to those with the power of knowledge.
It is evident that C.S. Lewis is not just positing a new approach to morality. Countless cultures have discovered the Natural Moral Law and the appendix is replete with proverbs and verses of Scripture that say essentially the same thing. Those societies that have subscribed to its existence have endured, and those that rejected it have been tyrannical. Look no further than Soviet style communism and the Nazis.
C.S. Lewis digs deep and spurs the readers to pause and evaluate what they believe; the understanding comes easily though Lewis has a knack for wordiness. What he prophetically wrote in the 1940’s is occurring on a grand scale today. Abortion, euthanasia, human cloning and a host of other ethical issues have had their descriptions changed to make them less offensive. Words have lost their meaning; ideas and moral choices are now nerve synapses.
This book has captured readers’ attentions for decades. It is logical, well written, and appeals to reason. Mankind does know reason for what it is, for reason is locked in the Tao. This book is timeless and is appropriate for anyone seeking simple truths and how they can be applied every day, and the dangers of avoiding them. It is a thoroughly enjoyable read, and the reader does not really have to rethink any of his concepts about morality, because it makes uncommon sense.

Retrieving the Natural Law: A Return to Moral First Things

2009-12-16T16:06:00.000-08:00

The author J. Daryl Charles makes a strong case for the existence and current need for the “moral first things” throughout this book. The reader is left with the profound sense that our present society has wandered from these fundamental underpinnings, but that no law, no amount of sin, and no matter how hard we try to ignore it, natural law has not and will never disappear.
Natural law is nothing more than recognizing that there are unchanging standards of right and wrong, that all peoples know. Romans 1 and 2 touch on this knowledge, and Christ ultimately perfects it. Christ being the perfect fulfillment.
An appeal to natural law can be the bridge and first step in evangelism. It is common ground and all persons recognize it, but they may or may not be aware that it has a name. The author makes his case with aplomb when he says, “In the end, heaven and earth cry out against the grandiose visions of unbridled autonomy and human lawlessness. Notwithstanding all the changes, natural law will remain.”

Unshakable Foundations

2009-08-23T16:37:00.000-07:00

Can a loving and just God truly send someone to hell? Do you have unanswered questions yourself? Can’t make a decent but gentle rebuttal to an atheist? Do you still believe in evolution though no one has produced a single missing link? Interested in learning more about why you believe what you believe and how reasonable it truly is?
The foundations of Christianity’s truths are under attack. Philosophies, some with ideas borrowed from ancient lies, some with new twists, and some, which are repackaged statements of the old, constantly look for an opening to undermine the underpinnings of the Christian faith.
But Unshakable Foundations presents a logical, well thought out approach to this age-old opposition. The authors, Norman Geisler and Peter Bocchino, show the reader that there is a universal truth, a sovereign creator God, and that the Scriptures are indeed true concerning Christ’s death and resurrection with an alacrity that is not only timely, but also timeless.
The readers learns that logic is universal and does not change with respect to one’s location and that “something” cannot be logical and illogical at the same time. When they tackle questions about truth, they prove the illogic of pluralism and relativism. The major worldviews are explored, covering theism, atheism, and pantheism and how theism has the best answers concerning truth, the cosmos, God, law, evil, and ethics.
So can non-life create life? According to evolutionists, it can, but making analogies between redundant patterns in the sand compared with a sand castle, the authors create hard questions for evolution proponents.
What about the miracles, and the miracle of the resurrection? Would it be logical to assume that the Apostles died defending Christ’s death, resurrection, and deity if they knew it to be patently false? They answer with a resounding “no”.Unshakable Foundations concludes by covering the hard questions of euthanasia, abortion, cloning, and biomedical issues. But can a loving and just God truly send someone to hell? These questions and more are answered and no stone is left unturned.

Hero: Becoming the Man She Desires

2009-07-12T07:10:00.000-07:00

At long last! The perfect book for single Christian men! Success is virtually guaranteed; just follow this one easy step. Purity.
It’s what women want.
In their eye-opening book, “Hero”, Fred and Jasen Stoeker, with Mike Yorkey, show the reader the secret to winning the heart of a godly woman. But it’s not so simple. In truth, it’s a daily battle. And it’s the time spent in the crucible of suffering that makes you a man. Jasen, whose first kiss came at the altar wrote, “A kind God must ask us to struggle or He isn’t kind at all. There is no other way for you to grow in God, and there are no easy steps into manhood.”
In a society soaked with sexual images, innuendo, and overt displays of debauchery, purity is a quest for only the most heroic. But isn’t heroism passé? Aren’t heroes only in history books and movies? Who cares? You say, “I’ll never measure up, I’ll never make it.”
But God cares. And Jasen Stoeker measured up.
In “Hero”, the authors fill the pages with short anecdotes about themselves and the people they have known, and how impurity in its various forms has bankrupted relationships. Fred Stoeker shares with readers his mother’s heartache over her husband’s infidelity and her charge for him to be a “man”. Though he was not perfect, the lessons he learned lived vicariously through Jasen- God’s success story.
They pack the chapters with verses of scripture to support their positions and give life to the godly truths concerning dating, sexual purity, and women. Modern notions about “what women want” are debunked with alacrity, but it’s not until I read what Jasen’s wife, Rose, wrote that the thrust of the book really sunk in.
What do women want?
Consider her words concerning that age old question: “She just wants someone who loves Jesus and who is living his life for Him. I admit these are rare qualities in men these days, but they’re irresistible nonetheless-at least to girls like me…Most of all, those qualities make you absolutely worthy of a pure, godly woman who’s nuts about you! That’s what we want in a man.”
Single men should gird themselves with prayer and reading of the Word as they study this book. Without these ingredients, they will fall short. This aim is not for the weak-willed, but it is apropos for all Christian men seeking a godly wife, and certainly timely. And single men in their heroic journey should always keep the prize in mind:
Purity. It’s what women want.
Be a Hero.

Scott Higginbotham
To learn more about Fred Stoeker, his ministries, and his books visit http://www.fredstoeker.com/ You will not be disappointed.

For serious inquiries about Scott Higginbotham’s manuscript, “A Pilgrimage of Time,” you can contact him at scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com Questions about its content editing can be directed to Mary Nichelson through her blog http://www.marysworld411.com .

Christian Jihad: Two Former Muslims Look at the Crusades and Killing in the Name of Christ

2009-05-30T19:40:00.000-07:00

Where should a true conversion occur? Why is Christianity’s reflection tarnished in the Muslim world, and why do they refer to American soldiers as Crusaders? When opponents to anything “Christian” bring up the faith’s shortcomings, are they justified in the slightest?
In “Christian Jihad”, the authors, Ergun Mehmet Caner and Emir Fethi Caner, both of whom converted from Islam to Christianity, show the reader the darker side of misplaced religious fervor at the point of a sword. They cover the Crusades, the Inquisition, the persecution of church reformers, and explain to the reader how subtle shifts, overt declarations, and unbridled zeal wreaked untold harm on Christianity’s image. Furthermore, Appendix B compares the speeches of a medieval pope and that of Osama bin Laden. The similarities are startling.
A walk through history tells us that the cruciform type sword was one of the weapons of choice throughout the Middle Ages. Knights belonging to the celebrated Templar and Hospitaller orders, those prowling the tourney circuits for fame and profit, or hearth knights in a lord’s service used them for the dangerous vocations they had chosen. These men were but part of the fertile soil upon which to sow the seeds of crusade.
Thus, Pope Urban II, in the Council of Clermont during the winter of 1095, effectively swayed hundreds of bishops and prelates into regaining the Holy Land, also known as the Outremer, at the point of a sword. Crusading fever soon spread and commoner and noble alike affixed the Crusader’s Cross on to their tunics. The badge’s absence was proof of a reprobate soul. Some heartily made the decision, but for many, the choice was all but made for them, because the choice was obvious: Heaven or Hell.
The Caners then cover the fear and suspicion rampant during the Inquisition. It took very little to pique the interest of a Dominican monk charged with rooting out sin. And heresy trials had few options: admission of guilt or denial of guilt. Both unfortunately involved pain, and in its distorted view of what pleased God, the Church believed that physical pain was spiritually healthy.
They make no apologies, and offend the reader, which is their whole point. They want to temper overzealous Christians desiring conversions at any cost. You will be disgusted at the excesses and the lengths that the Church went to in order to purge sin. Even the reformers had marred views of what true Christianity should mirror, especially in how the Jews were viewed and treated.
So should a conversion occur at the tip of a sword? No, and the Caner brothers will leave no unanswered questions in the reader’s mind. However, the cruciform sword did make a powerful statement, both literally and figuratively, and the Christian imagery of its construction was a deliberate act. The blade was long, the pommel was heavy and could be inlaid with crosses, and the crossguard protected the hands of the user. Conversions at its point left recipients little choice: convert or die, Heaven or Hell. But what if the point was broken off, and the blade made dull? That was my question after reading “Christian Jihad”, because rhetorical, abstract questions can make us think.
You would have an image of a cross, and only at its foot would you have a true conversion.
To read more of their fascinating stories and learn more about these two evangelical Christian professors, who seek conversions only at the foot of the cross, you can visit the Caner’s website at: http://www.emircaner.com/

Scott Higginbotham

scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

http://scotthigginbotham.blogspot.com/

Shields of Pride

2009-05-25T18:36:00.000-07:00

In “Shields of Pride”, Elizabeth Chadwick tells a love story set against the backdrop of a rebellion against Henry II, partly fueled by his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, through their sons. Chadwick creates believable protagonists in the characters of Linnet and Joscelin de Gael. Joscelin is the baseborn son of William Ironheart, but is favored above appropriately named Ironheart’s, legitimate heirs, and when Linnet’s abusive husband dies from a riding accident, the seeds are sown for Linnet and Joscelin to begin something fresh and new.
It is a story filled with intrigue and ambitious angling. Joscelin’s half-brothers despise him for his rise in status, because children born “illegitimate” have very few opportunities, no matter who one’s father is. Children were rarely adopted in the twelfth century, but Joscelin rises to the challenge and dotes on Robert, Linnet’s son from her previous marriage. Joscelin’s mother has long been buried and he repays the kindness he had always been shown to those less fortunate.
Without making bold statements of right and wrong, Chadwick shows readers her thoughts through her characters’ actions. She does not trample on the Christian piety of her characters, though she does not bill herself as a Christian author. You get a strong sense of what a heroic person is and their limitations, and in her story, good triumphs over the bad. Spousal abuse is clearly shown as an evil, but adoption and unconditional and romantic love are given center stage. But you also get a glimpse into the hearts and minds of jealous souls, and souls that became dark by slights and betrayals.
No one is perfect, and some strive to do what’s right; many are imperfect, but make no effort to create something better. Her ending ties up the loose ends and concludes on a happy note; their adversaries lose and the “good guys” win after many trials. Joscelin and Linnet pay their respects to those that became dear to them, and keep their memories alive. To them, life is sacred, and the one birthed from Linnet bears the name of Joscelin’s mother to keep the remembrance always before them.
I have always said that history and historical fiction has many tales to tell us if we but listen. Imperfect heroes are all around us and we can learn from them. I give this read a PG-13, but if you ever seek a perfect hero, one who made the ultimate sacrifice and offers forgiveness, consider Christ’s eternal words while dying on the cross, “Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. And they parted his raiment, and cast lots.” (Luke 23:34, KJV)

Forever Will Be

2009-05-16T07:35:00.000-07:00

I have always been fascinated by the concept of time travel, but time travel for a greater purpose, rather than fantasy or science fiction. It's amazing how a non-preachy verse such as Psalm 100:5 could be demonstrated through people's lives, and the fruit it could yield to future generations.

Scripture can inspire and spur us to apply its truths in countless applications. This one gave me the impetus to post a possible ending to a future novel. One to follow on the heels of "A Pilgrimage of Time", which is currently being content edited by a great editor.

MIDSUMMER
YEAR OF GRACE, 1348

The Great Pestilence had affected the high and the low in myriad ways. Men were given to all manner of brawling and outright murder over the smallest of slights. Women abandoned their homes and hearths and lived in the moment, heedless of the cries from their hungry children.
Despair had covered the whole of the land in the heaviness of anguish. They cried to the Almighty for succor, even while the bodies of the dead continued to pile up like cordwood outside of town ditches. Groups of the penitent flagellated their own backs, seeking reprieve from the evil that seeped from parts unknown, turning otherwise quiet towns into spectacles of madness.
The world had gone utterly daft.
The man she had studied on and off for a week was bedraggled, but he was resolute in his task. She wondered if he missed his home and the time from whence he came. But what was time to God’s purposes? Who better to sow seeds in fertile soil than one had been there and another who could help him navigate?
He was stripped to his braies and chausses and was bare-chested, making her flush red in spite of herself. If anyone had observed her watching him work, they would think she was a wanton, but it was a certitude that she was not. She had a purpose.
The sun had turned his skin to a dark tan, while his hair and beard was almost white as chalk. The sight reminded her of mendicant priests and hermits, wild, fiery, and unkempt.
Whatever was he doing?
As a faithful routine he sanded, shaped, and studied his creation. But what was it? Had he gone mad like everyone else? Was she mad, too?
She had made a decision to take holy vows, but her cousin’s nearly silent gasp at death’s door brought her to where she was now. She had fought with her choice to take the veil, but hope at carrying on a legacy outside of the cloistered walls of a convent had won.
But how to approach a grieving man? He would see her as a usurper. He may even blame her, for she had been stricken with this sickness already, only to be healed, while his wife perished in agony. The Pestilence chose those it would take without regard.
There was a time when she sought to reunite them and her efforts were not wasted, for they married in Santiago de Compostela. Now his bride was buried and gone like so many others.
At times, he would to rest, taking her balled-up dress into his hands, holding it to his cheek. Remembering.
How she wanted to make him understand that she could be a rock, too! For she needed him just as much as he would likely need a rock! How to make him see this?
She sensed he was finished as he took one last glance at his creation. A small firepit gave up feeble wisps of smoke, but roared to life as her dress was engulfed in flames. She gasped, knowing that surely he had lost his wits, but stopped short when she realized that he was doing. He was forgetting.
The shrubs hid her well as he looked about; she wondered if he knew that he had a watcher. As the dress turned to ash he carefully scooped the remnants into an urn and stoppered it with a lid, and hefted his large plank underneath his arm.
Disappearing over the sand dunes, he ambled to beach while she followed at a discreet distance. Curiosity more than anything brought her out of hiding.
She watched as he knelt on his vessel and paddled out past the breaking waves. The urn was trapped between his knees as he pointed his small boat’s prow seaward. Soon, he stopped and sat astride the plank, lifted the urn up high, and then shook the ashen contents into the sea. Remembering, but yet, forgetting.
He sat for a spell, gazed at the urn floating away, and then turned into an advancing wave. She had never seen a man stand or walk on water and wondered if he was indeed a holy man, but she knew better as the wave brought him and his familiar grin to shore.
No longer worried about discovery, she sat in plain view with her arms encircled around her drawn up knees on the sand. She returned his smile as he plodded toward her with his wooden burden.
“The world has gone mad,” she opined. “I thought about taking holy vows as a type of atonement, but she knew you would need a friend not shut away from the world. I am here at her behest. If you wish me to leave, I shall, but know this…I need you, too,” she declared and met his eyes.
“Nora, thank you for coming, but I don’t think we can be friends,” he said as he plopped his dripping body down onto the sand. “I have had too many weeks of grieving, and now, I’m ready to start fresh. I can’t bring her back. You’re not Caitlyn, and never will be, but you were willing to reunite us in Santiago, despite your hurt. Now, she’s returning the favor.”
“You don’t blame me for my miracle of healing only to have her…die, Edward?”
He shook his head and held her while they both wept, as much for their loss, but as much for a new beginning, a legacy they would carry on. They would let the words of the psalmist live vicariously through their lives: For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations. And forever it would be.
They stood for a long while on the rock-strewn beach, facing westward towards an undiscovered land and time not even realized. With a light breeze caressing their faces, they wondered, hoped, and prayed that the future would all be listening, for they had many stories to tell.

Forever Will Be.

Publishers interested in "A Pilgrimage of Time" can contact me at scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com or view the submission at http://www.christianmanuscriptsubmissions.com/

Sharon Kay Penman's Trilogy

2009-05-11T17:46:00.000-07:00

Sharon Kay Penman's most difficult trilogy starts with the tumultuous years of the "The Anarchy". It was a time when Christ and His Saint's Slept according to the a chronicler of the time, and it is an apropos title for the first novel in that series. From 1135 to 1154 King Stephen, who usurped the English throne from the Empress Maude, ruled with a light hand.
According to the Anglo Saxon Chronicle, "When the traitors discovered that he was a mild man, and gentle and good, and did not enforce justice they committed every sort of atrocity. They had done homage to him and sworn oaths, but they kept no faith." (The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Seventh Edition, Volume I, p. 114)
Penman traces the countless betrayals of King Stephen's vassals and spares no detail. Indeed, it was a time when seemingly, Christ and His Saints Slept, but I will note that God never takes a holiday, it's the cruelty of humanity that clouds our vision of what's sure and secure.

In the next novel, Time and Chance, she traces the drama of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II's storm-filled marriage. They married for love as much for statecraft, and Penman, once again leaves the reader richer. The throne becomes secure, peace is somewhat restored, and Eleanor captures your heart. But when Thomas Becket, Henry's lifelong friend, was elevated to the Archbishop of Canterbury the road became tangled for Henry, ending in Becket being martyred, and beginning Henry's slow moral slide.

The Devil's Brood describes the unraveling of King Henry and his family; his sons and even his own wife plot against him. For a strong king, rebellious sons can still be bent to his will. But a wife skilled in the court of intrigue? Eleanor finds herself imprisoned for her betrayal, and it is here where the reader finds it easy to connect with her plight as Eleanor's soul is bared. At times, you wonder if they will ever reconcile. Do they?

I give this series a PG to PG-13, but discerning readers can come away with a host of examples of what not to do. History is replete with wisdom, and when we ignore the hard lessons of the past and only look forward, we are still blind to make the same mistakes.

And to have a monk despairing write, "Wherever the ground was tilled, the earth bore no grain, for the land was ruined by such acts. It was openly said that Christ and his saints were asleep. Such things-and more than we can tell-we suffered nineteen winters for our sins." (The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Seventh Edition, Volume I, p. 115), declares how important it is to never forget as you look forward.

http://www.sharonkaypenman.com/penman_books.asp

The Reckoning

2009-03-24T15:05:00.000-07:00

In Sharon Kay Penman’s, “The Reckoning”, she tracks the lives of Simon de Montfort and Nell’s children as they come of age. Their son, Bran, giving to heavy drinking and carousing takes on a squire, named Hugh. Hugh was a novice at Evesham Abbey where Simon met a grisly death, and he becomes Bran’s faithful companion, even until Bran’s untimely end.
Ellen de Montfort rewards Hugh’s faithfulness and he becomes her sworn man. But Ellen needs more than a sworn man to fill the void of a rescinded plight-troth to Llewelyn ap Gryffyd. Upon Simon’s death, her stock as a biddable wife plummets and the years pass until love wins out over statecraft.
Edward I all but sits on the English throne as his father’s health wanes. He is a true warrior and will be a formidable foe to the de Montfort clan and the Welsh prince, Llewelyn. There will be a reckoning for certain.
A priest arrives in France from Wales and Ellen and Llewelyn marry, despite the literal gulf, which separates their union. At last, love wins the day for Ellen, and a sea crossing buoys her hopes as her sworn man, Hugh, newly knighted, joins her on her journey to the land that stole Joanna’s heart. Joanna of blessed memory married the first Prince of Wales, Llewelyn ap Fawr and as the Welsh coastline draws near, disaster strikes for Ellen, Hugh, and those in her retinue.
The emotions SKP elicits over the next few years are powerful as the reader waits and wonders how, when, and if the circle will become closed. Edward I proves to be a cruel monarch, and wars rage between the Welsh and English until the day of reckoning finally comes.
With vivid hues painted on an aged canvas, SKP is at her best here. I give it a PG rating.
The Reckoning.

Falls the Shadow

2009-03-06T16:21:00.000-08:00

In “Falls the Shadow”, Sharon Kay Penman traces the tumultuous lives of Simon de Montfort, King Henry, and Llewelyn ap Gruffydd. Simon was a landless knight whose quick tongue and persuasive personality won him an earldom, one that came with heavy debts. His same manner won him the king’s sister, Nell.
But Nell was no ordinary woman. As Eleanor of Aquitaine’s granddaughter, she was a marriage prize worthy of a prince, but after losing her husband, she took a vow a chastity, only to be besotted with the dashing and daring Simon de Montfort. Their marriage was not one heavy with statecraft, but was one of love. Married in secret, they faced an uphill climb and an audience before the pope and arm wringing the royal arm brought them the blessings they had sought.
This novel spans thirty-six years of shifting loyalties between the Welsh, the English, and Simon in the thirteenth century. Battles make widows and orphans of many, but Simon’s cause is just, for he seems ever to be at odds with his king.
King Henry was a weak-willed monarch, petulant at times, and certainly not a warrior king. He feared any usurping of his power and Simon’s quest for The Provisions, which were nothing more than a representative government.
In addition to his chivalric charm, Simon had nine lives. When facing an indomitable foe, he landed on his feet. Many times his forces won the day when the clouds of uncertainty said otherwise. But this story was not just about war. It also shows Nell’s deep, abiding love for her husband and her unshakeable belief in his ambitious journey.
Ambition ultimately cost Simon his life at Evesham in August 1265. Trapped between a river and King Henry’s son, Edward, and his army, his lifelong dream seemingly ended in the marshland along with his army of followers. Penman adroitly weaves in a monk named Robert of Gloucester remarks of that day:

“Such was the murder of Evesham,
For battle it was none.”

There will be a reckoning, though. With Simon’s death, the flame was never extinguished. Pilgrims flocked to the site of his death, miracles were reported at the spring where he died, and Nell has never forgotten how Simon’s body was desecrated after his heroic last gasp.
Sharon’s, “The Reckoning” comes next. Stay tuned. I give it a PG rating.
To read more, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_de_Montfort%2C_6th_Earl_of_Leicester

There's Something About Maude...

2009-02-20T16:20:00.000-08:00

Elizabeth Chadwick’s “Lords of the White Castle” is a love story and saga of intrigue in King John’s thirteenth century England. Fulke le Brun’s woes begin during a chess match between him and the future king. Fulke’s future wife, Maude, embarks upon her life’s journey as she leaves a sorry excuse for a father to marry Fulke’s mentor, Theobald.
Maude finds a warmhearted man in Theobald, who is more a grandfather than husband, and becomes more of a monk as the years slide by. Fulke, in the ensuing years becomes an outlaw with his band of brothers, having rousing successes on the tourney circuit, and becoming quite the thorn in King John’s side as wagonloads of fine cloth disappear into the mist at one point.
There has always been an uneasy friction between Maude and Fulke, but their paths do cross. Theobald dies and Maude finds herself at King John’s court, only to be married by Fulke, right under the king’s nose.
As newlyweds constantly on the run their new lives are fraught with the sting of long separations and fear of the king’s men. But Fulke’s lands eventually are restored as he pays a bitter homage to his king. The chess match which left him with a crooked nose ends in stalemate, but I’ll stop there and let the reader enjoy the rest.
As a sidebar, Fulke has a faithful sidekick from his days as a squire. A lovable rogue, part pirate, part whatever he wants to be at the moment, is in the persona of Jean de Rampaigne. His name suggests a swarthy soul, who breaks hearts as easily as he changes his disguises. One day he is a turbaned fortune teller plying his “trade” on the tourney circuit, another finds him as a humble merchant or troubadour poet, earning his bread with song and freeing a fellow knight from a land-usurping baron.
Chadwick weaves colorful characters that could very well be like any of us. And for the women? Maude is no babe in the woods, needing coddling. Rather, Maude has few peers when it comes to loosing arrows when it counts.
I give it a PG rating, but the message as I see it is one of swallowing your pride. The Middle Ages are certainly not what you ever imagined and Chadwick brings a span of time to life with alacrity.
Stalemate.

Closed door? Try the window...

2009-02-15T16:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when a door is closed you have to attempt a different strategy. Closed doors don't always remain shut, neither do walls stay firm and solid. The advice about closed doors did not originate with me, but it's timely.
Which is why I changed A Pilgrimage of Time's prologue. It's less wordy; it's short and to the point. Enjoy.

PROLOGUE

When I sit and ponder the last three months of my life I refer to a verse of scripture that reads, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding”, because it’s my only means of describing events that would otherwise be deemed as folly. It was a bridge over a gulf of disbelief. I firmly believe that the family and friends I left behind stood upon that same bridge.
I never chose my lot; rather, it was thrust upon me. A small mishap led me down a long and winding road, fraught with peril, but teeming with wonder and awe. But it is one I will never forget. My friends, I consider dear. My enemies, of which there were few, have received their just desserts, and have answered for their crimes.
However, it was only a dream. And dreams rarely come true and neither are they real, if ever. But this one? Maybe. Three months long, lasting mere minutes, but resonating for centuries.
I have no one to confide with, save for a God whom I always believed was a distant presence and the computer screen begging for the words to gush forth. There was a time when my faith was a crutch, only to be used when the need arose. Now, my faith speaks volumes in affirmation, even more so when I have the substance perched on my writing desk.
How could I tell anyone that it’s a fourteenth century painting of a woman I knew, a wonderful soul and an amazing remembrance? But it’s true. The face is an exact match of the one I committed to memory close to seven hundred years ago...when I was by her side.
I tap my forefinger noisily on the desktop hoping the words will flow. Tap, tap, tap. Needles of anxiety rest on my shoulders as a troubling thought arrives and takes residence at the forefront of my mind. Tap, tap, tap.
“I never left you on purpose, Kate. One day I was there and the next I was here. I’m sorry. If you spent the rest of your life searching the highways and alleyways of England, France, or even Spain for me, I want you know that I am ruing the day now. I loved it when you said that. If you gave up and found another I understand.”
I sigh and swallow the lump in my throat.
Tap, tap, tap.
Somehow, I sense I’m ready and not so batty after all.
“Caitlyn...now it will never end,” I whisper, not expecting a reply.
“It never will...it never will,” she seems to say over the span of centuries.
No turning back as my fingers rap the keys.

Interested publishers or agents: scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

Here Be Dragons

2009-02-10T18:30:00.000-08:00

The yearning to fit in somewhere is a timeless quest. Whether you live in the present-day United States, or twelfth and thirteenth century England and Wales belonging is oftentimes elusive.
Sharon Kay Penman (SKP) wrote Here Be Dragons and her historical novel follows the saga of Joanna’s plight. As a baseborn young girl, she was unloved by her mother who died before Joanna knew her true father’s identity.
A bone-jarring journey takes her into the royal court, where a bedraggled Joanna meets a kindly man, one she fits in with. Fearful of being cast-off again, she soon realizes that the man named, John, will someday be King John, and the famed Eleanor of Aquitaine is her grandmother.
As she comes of age, she learns the art of court intrigue from Lady Eleanor, but never displays much of her father’s Angevin temper. As a favored child of a king, she wants for nothing and paternal love fills the void of longing. Joanna, though imperfect, displays a certain goodness throughout her life.
Her life runs parallel to that of a Welsh prince, named Llewellyn, a man she weds at the tender age of fourteen. Despite coming of age in the royal court and knowing that marriages are alliances she finds herself once again a stranger in an alien land, a land of sparkling streams, deep forests, soaring peaks, and a difficult language.
A rocky start to her marriage is soon displaced by a deep, tender love. Slowly, Wales becomes her home, though her husband and her father, King John, are perpetually at peace or war. War is also the mainstay at the Welsh Court. Llewellyn’s son despises her, the Welsh mistrust her, and she is torn between loving her husband and loving the first person to accept her.
As the years tick by, cracks form in her image of her father, and her and Llewellyn travail through the pains and joys of married life. On a side note, there is a scene where Joanna burns his bed! However, when she learns of her father’s hanging of Welsh hostages and Maude de Braose’s imprisonment and death by starvation, the kindhearted man who gave her the gift of love is living up to the descriptions of those spawned from Anjou, that they truly are the devil’s brood.
Reading an SKP novel is like baking and eating ten pounds of freshly kneaded bread. She is long-winded, detailed, and filling. I give her a PG rating, but reading her is like having a delicious, leisurely meal.

A Bone of Contention

2009-01-20T14:48:00.000-08:00

Cambridge, England stirs up images of students, scholars, and quaint settings, a place where the narrow, cobbled streets bustle with academics. Even back in '52.
So what do murders, riots, and bodies dredged from the King's Ditch have to do with Cambridge in the '50s?
Enter teacher and physician, Matthew Bartholomew.
The setting is 1352 and the Pestilence of 1348 and 1349, now known as the Black Death, has left the population decimated and desperate. Tensions flare between the students and the townspeople, buildings are looted, and a body with a familiar ring is examined and becomes a bone of contention.
As the death toll rises, Matthew and his rotund, but lovable monk friend Michael, examine the clues and scratch their collective heads as to the "why?" of it all. As the clues unfold, confusion and doubt dog their journey, as well as threats on their own lives.
As a sidebar Matt Bartholomew is equally as lovable as his monkish sidekick, but all the intelligence in the world at unraveling a mystery and healing the sick leaves him sorely lacking in reading feminine subtleties.
Join Matt and Michael in Susanna Gregory's "A Bone of Contention" and you'll see how historical fiction connects with the present. Though the novel does not fall under a Christian fiction genre, the characters are highly moral with a strong sense of right and wrong.
The pear shaped monk, Michael, reaches to the present and makes good his moral case when he says, "They will have their own crimes, underhand dealings and deceits, and they will understand that the silence and blanks in our history say as much as the words."
And they do solve the mystery, but it's not whom you would ever expect.

The Sunne in Splendor

2009-01-18T13:19:00.000-08:00

If you are searching for 900 or so pages of backstabbing intrigue set during The War of the Roses, then look no further than Sharon Kay Penman's accurate portrayal of medieval England's power struggle between rival royal houses.

It's historical in nature, but written as a novel, though the story is not for the squeamish. Battlefield descriptions paint a vivid picture of late medieval warfare and the attendant fear which accompanies a foray against a formiddable opponent.

Off the field, battles are waged in the court of intrigue, where suspicions of betrayal lurk at every turn and loyalties are as variable as the wind. Penman's epic is woven with heartbreaking tales of lovesickness that closely mirror the modern, proving that no matter the time period, our needs have changed little. While love is requitted between Yorkist Richard and Anne Neville, their rise to the throne of England brings more trouble than they ever bargained for.

So, can nuggets of truth be found in history? Can we learn that fame, fortune, and power thrust onto the semi-reluctant comes with a price? The ultimate sacrifice?

Certainly.

History and the Bible is replete with similar stories. If we ignore the lessons of the past and fail to take them to heart then our collective futures will be fraught with peril.

A story where dreams do come true: "A Pilgrimage of Time".

2008-12-27T11:06:00.000-08:00

Her dream was unlike any other she had experienced. Most of them were nonsensical, but this one had an astounding lucidity, and the song she had learned during her slumber blew from her awakening heart. It was like none she had ever heard, even from the troubadour poets and their songs of courtly love.
For the nonce she listened to the words escaping her mouth and smiled a weary smile as she pulled a cloak over her linen shift to quell the chill. She hearkened to her childhood where all alone she would swoon in her father’s garden and envision that she awaited a suitor to arrive and twirl her about under a warm sun.
But it was only a childhood fantasy. Dreams never came true, leastways not for her. She had been burned by the fires of love time and again and soon there would be nothing left, save for the blackened remains of ache.
Each beginning of the first day of the year she resolved to store hope in her heart of such a fancy coming to roost, but despair came increasingly earlier as the years ticked by.
Was today any different? She didn’t know, for she did not understand how it could, especially when the song and everything else in her dream seemed so far away. Not afar in terms of her recall, but in a faraway, never conceived of manner that made her unsteady on her feet.
But yet, truth be known, today was different. Today she would complete someone as much as he would complete her. The man in her dreams was a man of whom she could scarcely conceive. He was unusual, and troublesome in an endearing way.
“How can this be?” she queried the quilt work covering the narrow window. Turning it aside, she peered through the opaque glass and rubbed her fist on the cold glass to clear the moisture. A rooster below her perch playing king of the dunghill greeted the day.
Abruptly, she went to her looking glass on her coffer and hastily arranged her hair, shaking her head and smiling in spite of herself. She petulantly poked her tongue out at her own visage.
Yes, today was different. The only vexing problem was the question of how.
“No matter,” she told herself.
She had an imperfection; that much was patently obvious to even the most casual of observers. But when she gave her heart fully no blemish could prevent what was now hers. Though counting her digits yielded a mere nine, she was at her best when her soul shone through. She was a perfect nine and she would never look back. From this instant forward, she resolved to never waste a moment and to live every second as though it was her last.
She never told a soul what was on her fluttering heart as she skipped out of her chamber.

Interested publishers contact: scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

Joyous Winter Solstice

2008-12-06T11:57:00.000-08:00

Joyous Winter Solstice, Season's Greetings, and Happy Holidays. Anything but "Merry You Know What". That's offensive, and the small number of scrooges out there will bridle at a greeting that had distinctly religious overtones.

Had.

Retail stores advertise their products for the elusive holiday that is fast arriving. Years ago, few would ever have guessed that we would replace a sacred holiday with a now ethereal time to exchange gifts.

What does the Winter Solstice bring? Dark and cold days? And what does it really mean? Does it have one?

What season am I greeting? What holiday is happy?

Granted, during the middle ages, the Church established Christian holidays to overshadow former pagan observances, but faith was a large aspect of daily life. Certainly one could argue at the excesses of the medieval Church, but did the Church send millions off to the gulags or exterminate millions of Jews? Despite what spurious claims you may have read, atheism has more blood on its hands.

So, when someone tells you "Happy Holidays", "Season's Greetings", or "Joyous Winter Solstice", don't get too offended. Just reply, "Merry Christmas", and be glad that you can celebrate the birth of Jesus instead of winter.
After all, without Him, December 25th is just another cold day.
Merry Christmas

The Evolution of Evolution

2008-11-07T16:35:00.000-08:00

I had to read a book and write a review for class I am taking. At first I thought it would be cure for insomnia, but the thoughts it provoked were the exact opposite. There were Bible verses for sure, but there was something else: reason and common sense. The author never attempted to make the Bible fit with evolution, nor did he try make evolution somehow fit with the Bible. Evolution is an unproven theory, but one that academics hold on to dearly. Anything less would brand them a secular heretic.
John Macarthur is a best-selling author, renowned Bible teacher, and pastor of Grace Community Church in Sun Valley Church, CA. In addition to those roles he is the president of Master’s College and Seminary, president of Grace to You, a syndicated radio program, and has authored the notes in the Macarthur Study Bible. With the advent of the internet he also hosts numerous resources found online, with his popular verse-by-verse reading.
With such a bustling life of ministry, Macarthur has found the time to pen The Battle for the Beginning. It is certainly time well spent, as his thrust for writing the book is succinctly summed up by its title. There is a battle, and it concerns the beginning: our origins and the foundations of creation.
Modern science and its doctrine of evolution have replaced Christianity’s truth of our beginnings as the only answer to our origins. Piece by piece, Macarthur untangles the web of Darwin’s deceit taught in public schools, universities, and anywhere so-called academics congregate. The book is well written with easy to read chapters. With many anecdotes that explain the truths of the first three chapters of Genesis, he easily makes his case that the fundamental underpinnings of our faith hinge on believing in a literal creation by an intelligent Creator.
If I could summarize this book in one sentence and what I have taken away from it, it would read as follows: Creation and life never evolved, it is science that is constantly being refined and changed to fit the evidence of the intelligent design that is ever before us.

Navy Moms and Army Mother In Laws

2008-11-02T13:19:00.000-08:00

My mom was a Navy Mom. She wore her shirt proudly and quite loudly. On one side the words "Navy Mom" were emblazoned in blue on a white background while the backside had "Army Mother In Law" with an M-16 rifle. She had a certain amount of motherly pride knowing that her son was in the Navy. Likewise, the Army was a close second.
Veterans Day has come and gone, but we should remember the sacrifices that our nation's sons and daughters have made over the years. Not just on one day, but each and every one. While not every soldier, sailor, airman, or marine could earn the title of "hero", each should realize that he or she has made certain sacrifices that are not in vain and are appreciated by many who either have served themselves or not at all.
It's difficult to believe in our current climate, but the majority of the population does support our troops.
Going away to basic training is the first step, or leap, depending on how you want to view it. But you get a nice head shaving, new clothing, friends, and you get to enjoy government issue food. "I'll have that stuff there.....whatever it is," I have said many a time in a chow line.
I have fond memories of basic training and the diversity of people. There were guys like Mac from Brooklyn, John from Utah, Martinez from Colorado, or Charlie from "Callie". There was a certain amount of bonding as we eventually worked together to form a cohesive unit and those memories, though fading, still send me down nostalgia lane.
So if you see someone in uniform, shake their hand and thank them. Buy them lunch if you feel the need too. But never degrade or chastise.
And there is a good reason for that. While they may not have the medal to prove it, to a mom, that son or daughter is her own flesh and blood hero.

A Television Disaster

2008-10-28T15:48:00.000-07:00

My nerves are on fire, because of the strange stares and gapes from the audience. The moderator I sense is going to make me look like a fool or a prime candidate for the asylum. To all of them I am an enigma or perhaps a heretic, but I have been down that road before and came out fine. Hopefully, I can duplicate that now.
I’m on the set of a popular Christian talk show and this is the first time I have been on television. My life will never be the same from here forward. Book deals and movie rights loom on my horizon, but I’m not looking for fame. I simply want my story told, because, while it may be fiction for some, there are deep truths that eager listeners can glean from my journey.
Five seconds left until my life is thrust into a harsh spotlight. Five, four, three, two, one….
“Welcome to Truth Television ladies and gentleman! I’m Bob Brand and today we have Edward Leaver from the great state of Georgia on the show,” he proclaims.
Applause and cheers echo throughout the set.
Once the hubbub dies down he continues, “Edward Leaver has a story to tell us folks….you may find it outlandish, false, and think he is looking to make a name for himself, but keep an open mind.”
I fidget with my mike and begin to sweat, wishing I was back home with Caitlyn and my friends. The crowd falls silent and I wonder if that’s my cue to begin. Bob nods and I grimace in apprehension. He takes a seat opposite of me on the couch.
“Well Bob…America…my name is Edward Leaver and first off, I am not crazy. I would think I would know it if I was.” A good ice breaker as the crowd chuckles. Eager faces beckon me to resume.
“My story is simple and straightforward. I fell down a hill after taking an introspective hike and woke up about 700 years away from home. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but it’s true. The prologue to Piers Plowman is similar to my story, because it’s where the medieval writer, William Langland, tells of a man who falls asleep beside a stream and wakes up and sees the good and bad of his fourteenth century world and seeks to change it. Piers Plowman changed things and I hope my three month dream can too.”
The audience is enthusiastic and so is Bob. A good start. I hope I have them hooked.
“Go on Edward, you have us intrigued,” he prods.
I suck in a deep breath, because here is where it gains speed.
“I woke up in Sudbury, England in 1347. A four fingered woman named Caitlyn greeted my face and there were three others with her. I didn’t believe it at first, but my cell phone had no signal, and it and my watch confirmed the time and date. They took care of me and kept me out of limelight. They believed me and here’s why, Bob. It’s simple.”
“Wait one second; let everyone digest this, Edward. Go on, but I will stop you if you make an attempt to, you know, start a new theology or new church. We don’t espouse a cult following on Truth Television. Just tell us what you know and we’ll do the rest.”
“Thanks Bob. I would never sow seeds of doubt and my theology is just like Billy Graham’s. Straight and narrow. I’m just telling you all what I saw and know. So, to continue, it was their faith in the impossible that allowed them to accept me, and I suppose that faith did a number on me too. I journeyed from faithlessness to faith when I saw how my friends lived their lives. I put it into action and one verse helped them and me: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.’ Without that I would have never fallen in love and married, never given hope to someone who only knew disgrace, and never put what little faith I had into action.”
Bob has a thoughtful expression and I look around for the exit, but he stops me cold with a friendly glance. He lifts his hand for silence. He’s quieter now.
“Faith in the impossible…mountain moving faith,” he mutters. “You know folks,” he energetically addresses the audience, “we believe that Christ rose from the dead, was born of a virgin, and sits at the right hand of God. Bear with him; he hasn’t said anything heretical yet.”
“Well, I believe the same things you just said and as I stated before, I put my growing faith into action. I saved a French nun’s life, freed a sixteen year old kid from an English prison, and ensured that his sister could follow in Sister Marie’s footsteps. She was the nun, by the way. I had been stabbed at one point by a phony pilgrim, a thief in fact, so I went east on a muddy track on one of my trips to France and wound up being reunited with Sister Marie. In short, she returned my charity, but she thought I was an angel or a living saint and pilgrims flocked to that tiny village.”
“How is it that you were enshrined?” he asks, then chuckles.
“Sister Marie believed that it was God’s mighty providence that saved her…because…” I mumble. Fire and thunder coming from my hand was the good sister’s salvation, but she thought it an angelic act. I’m feeling rather foolish and any book deals I had will now be textbooks for first year psychology students. Chapter 20: Delusional Behavior-Edward Leaver Disorder.
People are laughing now and Bob is dubious, but he silences them again. “What would you call this experience…this dream…this story, Edward? Who else did you meet?”
Now I know why there’s a couch on the set too. Sooner rather than later they are going to lay me down and get my deep rooted problems out into the open. I ignore his question about the others I met, the many adventures I had, and my trip to Santiago de Compostela where I almost disastrously married Nora instead of Caitlyn. I did meet some knights though. Great guys, when I think about them. Both were levelheaded and while they were trained to fight, they tempered their sword proficiency with mercy, unlike the three mercenaries I saved the innocent sister from.
“It was a pilgrimage, because it was a spiritual journey of change for me, but it was in another time. But the timeless values still speak, so I guess you could call it a pilgrimage of time, because I woke up different.”
“Hmmm…continue on,” he urges, then rolls his eyes.
“But Caitlyn soon came to that village with medicine; she had a knack for finding me. They thought she was an angel too, but she wasn’t. When I ‘miraculously’ recovered I turned the pilgrims away from me and left them with two scriptures: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ and ‘In all thy ways acknowledge him and he shall direct thy paths.’ Bob, I saw that firsthand just two weeks ago when I woke up and returned to France. Those words were above the church door and the nun who spoke with me told me about a legend written by Mother Lynette, the little girl I put the money up for so that she could become a novitiate. They never wavered over the centuries from helping the poor and feeding and clothing them. God’s words endure and their eyes are on Him now, not me. That’s not so crazy is it?”
Bob mutters to himself and his colorless face looks shocked.
“So, you encouraged them and now, just recently, you saw the evidence. What else did you find?”
“The nun I visited two weeks ago gave me a portrait of my wife, Caitlyn. Lynette had a gift and somehow, she knew I would need it as proof that this dream was…real.”
Bob’s color returns and he grins and stands erect. Without a hair out of place on his perfectly coiffed head he points to the exit where two men with a straightjacket await me.
“Folks, the only thing you should believe are that God’s words endure forever. Edward, I’m sorry, but your story is fiction.”
Indeed, it is, but truth is a powerful undercurrent throughout.
There’s no way I’m going into a mental penitentiary, so I run the opposite way, trip over a chair and knock myself silly. I feel warm and thick, but when I wake up, I’m in bed with my wife.
She nudges me.
“Dreaming again?” Caitlyn asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“What is ‘yeah’, another one of your odd words?”
“Yep,” I reply.
A little laugh escapes her mouth.
“I dreamed that I was telling my story on a talk show back in my world. They did not believe me. They thought I was mad.”
She pinches me.
“You are as real as me. What is ‘talk show’? Is it where actresses play roles and display their discretion and beauty?”
“No, it’s like being in front of an inquisitor.”
“Oh, how dreadful, but you are home where you belong. Tomorrow is a new day, silly man. Let us continue speaking to the future by doing what God calls us to do. Who knows how the goodness we do as husband and wife can affect your world?”
“Just promise me it will never end, Kate…”
“It never will…it never will,” she assures then becomes the puckish woman I know and cherish. “Furthermore, if you get into anymore trouble I shall lock you up and it is sorely unseemly to perceive what the wheels of my mind could concoct to keep you safe and a lady does have wheels to turn if she so desires to turn them, but if she so wishes not to turn them, then that is fitting and right.”
So there. She gets me every time.
I smile, because marriage is forever, and I’m back in the year 1347, in Sudbury, England hoping I never wake up, but with a story I will keep speaking to the future until someone decides to listen.

Mary's World Reviewed

2008-10-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

The writer behind Mary's World scrutinizes best selling novels with a keen eye. She never writes a puff piece just to make someone feel good about themselves. If it has no commercial value it will never grace the pages of her blog. Her FAQ's spell out succinctly what niggling standards she uses as a filter.
When you read one of her pieces it seems as though you are swallowing a jelly filled desert, but beware. Don't let that fool you. She has a trove of opinions, and like any good professor, she makes them known, albeit nicely.
She has reviewed one of my books already, Ransomed Lives, and I have to confess that I was worried that she would cut it to pieces. There were red marks, but in her own words, she said it read like a movie and that I hit on all the points that would make it a success. Currently, she is reviewing a prequel, called A Pilgrimage of Time, and as time rolls on I wonder how many red pens she has gone through, but I think it is more for her review and enjoyment purposes. She has said positive things about it already.
Her work for others is for pure enjoyment and if you cross paths with her, you can be assured that her opinions carry weight. Whether it be a book review, a link to your website, or whatever, her words have meaning and have a humbling effect.
Below is what she said on one of her posts concerning the book I have written:
"Because we all know popularity is what sells novels. And I am staking my reputation as a reviewer on Scott. He will, by every definition of the word, be popular."

Thanks Mary. When you say it, I know that you mean it.
See: www.marysworld411.blogspot.com

Stop Worrying

2008-10-25T06:33:00.001-07:00

There is a campaign afoot in London to put a certain slogan on thirty of their double-decker buses. It says that there is probably no God; don’t worry, but to enjoy your life. Talk about making a difficult, worrisome life even more so.
But don’t worry, like the slogan says, enjoy your life, there is probably no God. There is no Easter Bunny either I don’t think, but there would be horrors and protests of foul play if an ad proclaimed that. Children would cry and parents would have to confess that they were the ones who brought chocolate bunnies and colored eggs on Easter Sunday.
Imagine this on the side of a bus in New York City: “There's probably no Easter Bunny. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”
Santa Claus could fall into this category too. Eager kids and adults alike earnestly await Christmas to see what gift is below the tree. Could it be the Lego kit that morphs into three different things? You know the kind I’m talking about, the ones that make a car, a tank, or a jet. What kid wouldn’t want one? What daughter would not wish and hope for the latest gadget? Though with most kids, the boxes the gifts arrive in hold a strange allure. This year I’m giving boxes as gifts.
If I were following in Scrooge’s footsteps I could say, “There's probably no Santa Claus. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life,” but that would be mean-spirited.
So what’s left? If there is probably no Santa and no Easter Bunny, though I’m not saying whether there is or not, then what hope do little one’s have? Sure, as a parent, you can choose not to bring up the subject of St. Nick or the Easter Bunny, but any well-meaning mother or father would be hard pressed to find it in their hearts to ruin their child’s dreams, whatever they may be and no matter how silly. Growing up and the harsh realities of life tends to straighten out their fantasies all on its own.
What happens when they do grow up? How could anyone enjoy their life without any hope of something better, something unchanging, loving, and personal?
I think the ad should read this way: “There's probably no God. Now start worrying and whatever you do, don’t enjoy your life.” That would raise an eyebrow or two. Perhaps someone would question it and think twice before they set off down the road of despair.
When hope is forcibly yanked from our lives little remains in the void where it once sat. As yearning creatures, something needs to fill that void, whether it is chemical, physical, or spiritual in form. There is actual evidence of this belief, or lack thereof. Turn on the news and what do you see? Another celebrity in rehab? A suicide of someone greatly revered as “having it all”?
How about this?
“There is a God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your God-given life.”

Tell and Show

2008-10-12T12:36:00.000-07:00

Missouri is called the Show-Me State. It’s not as though the state is filled with cynics and naysayers who don’t believe it until they see it. I think it may be that the good citizens enjoy seeing the fruit or evidence of spoken words.
Who wouldn’t?
It’s like being promised over and over that something good is on its way, but as time wears on there comes a point where you want to say, “Show me!” One can only experience hope for so long. Eventually, you need to wrap your arms around whatever it is.
It’s one thing to tell someone something, and it’s another to show them. Have you ever been told something and been expected to simply swallow it down? Parents will shake a finger and tell you not to touch a hot burner on the stove, but most have put that one to the test. Teachers will tell you that water freezes at 32 degrees, but it’s difficult to grasp unless you experiment on your own.
Speaking of teachers, there are always the good and the bad ones. The bad ones read in a monotone and tell you that salt is made up of sodium and chloride ions. The good ones will don a lab coat, start fires that singe their bushy nest of hair and blacken their face, and have the fire department summoned to extinguish the flames. But lo and behold, when all is said and done, salt will have crystallized at the bottom of the test tube.
The good ones are also demanding, seemingly picky at times, and opinionated. But that makes them golden. I know someone like that. You know who you are, too. Thank you for being a blessedly good critic. This person is not a teacher, but someone with a keen eye that has told me on numerous occasions that my style of writing is not just “tell”, but “tell and show”. Show and tell…whatever.
I never fully realized that until just today.
A pastor can tell you, “But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you,” but can you really see forever?
No, you can only see a small part of it. You can only observe a small block of time in relation to the eternal past and future. But wouldn’t it be great to see how a truth, a kind act, or encouraging words (even scripture), could stand the test of time and then see firsthand how powerfully those actions and words bore fruit?
You could never see it in person. But what if you could? What if you spoke some encouraging words and committed a few acts of compassion at a point in time and then were afforded the opportunity to see how long lasting they were? What if one of the recipients of your unconditional charity left a token of gratitude so that you would never be short of memories even seven hundred years later?
In A Pilgrimage of Time, that very theme is touched on amidst the drama which unfolds, because I am a firm believer that truth, goodness, faith, and God’s words have meaning and can last forever. I guess I can throw some aspects of love into the pot too.
In my fictitious account the main character’s words do bear fruit over the centuries and he sees them firsthand. He is also given a gift, without condition, just like the one he once gave.
And when it comes to love, godly love never fails. It can exist between two people. I wonder…could the centuries erase it?
Time for Tell and Show. Show and Tell…whatever.

Interested publishers can contact me here or at:
scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

Help Me Find It

2008-09-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

These photos were taken at Pacific Beach, CA back in the day when day-glo was all the rage. I miss every sticker, ding, gouge, hole, and myriad of fixes that held the board together. Each sticker and piece of tape hid a flaw and surf wax filled in the larger blemishes. But it served its purpose.
I tried to trade it in at a surf shop. A balding, 1960’s cast-off gave me a wide grin and said, “Man, you ride this thing? You are intense, man! Wow! You are crazy!”
“Why?” I wondered.
After a lengthy discourse he explained that no one rides single-finned surfboards anymore and that it would gather dust. At least he was friendly about it. After all, I only paid 45 dollars for it, so it was no big deal.
Its initial purchase was not a huge sacrifice. I would have hoped for something though, but I should have seen it coming. I loved it, dents and all. There were many. Though no one else saw its worth it held a nostalgic value for me.
A protective board bag kept it safe on travels to Hawaii, Texas (yes, they have surf), California, Florida, and even New Jersey. Its final resting place was underneath a hotel bed in Ormond Beach, FL. I hope someone saw it as a tip for the housekeeping staff. Hmmm. Maybe. I gave it away for free-a gift, though a betrayer once gave away the most priceless gift for thirty pieces of silver, but God turned betrayal into part of his plan.
I would think that such a priceless sacrifice and story of God’s redemptive plan would be without spot or stain. No dents, dings, or gouges, just truth. No wax or stickers to hide flaws and hold a tenuous narrative together.
So…
Why has it become commonplace to undermine and cast doubt? Doesn’t the world have enough problems? People attempt to remove any vestige of hope by sowing little seeds that grow and fester until the very thing that remains true and unchanging becomes questionable. Some have an agenda; others are simply ill-informed.
Recently, I read three novels that would have begged questions had I not known the truth. False blemishes and fake flaws have now become the smoking gun of proof when it comes to the truth. An obscure document or two, that no one put any stock into at the time of its writing, is proof positive that the faith of millions is in suspicion.
One book in particular made the claim that Jesus never resurrected. It purports that his disciples, Peter and John, hid his bones and kept the legend of their friend alive in their hearts and minds. So, in a sense, Jesus did rise from the dead, but not in the way Christians have believed for 2000 years.
Another by the same author made the spurious assertion that the Old Testament was riddled with errors and that early Christians decided to include those books as part of the Bible.
A pure whim? Did they not have anything better to do with their time? Not enough lions to be fed to?
Another famous novel that caused quite a stir reported that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married and that she was pregnant at the crucifixion and that her offspring live on. In France.
Hmmm…
Really?
The claims that both of these authors made are pure fiction cloaked under an auspice of research. Their so-called inquiries into the historical record are supposed to lend credibility to their novels and even though they may state that they simply want to raise questions and spur discussion, what about those that hold these truths dear?
I’m glad I know the truth. I believe the Bible to be the inerrant Word of God and it’s not just based on faith. There is evidence. Christians did not decide on a notion to include the Old Testament into the Bible. Jesus fulfilled prophecies written hundreds of years prior. The prophets may not have fully understood the words they spoke, but that’s how Godly inspiration plays out. We rarely see the whole picture until it manifests itself.
In Isaiah 66:8 it speaks of a nation being born in a day. Who in the right mind would make an outlandish statement like that? At the time it was inconceivable, but yet Israel became a nation in 1948. If you have ever had questions as to the Bible’s authenticity, see the link below. The site definitely has more than meets the eye.

http://www.thetruthaboutdavinci.com/

And if you find my board, I want it back, in the same way I desire the truths of faith to return to the forefront. It goes by the name of Russell.

What it is and isn't

2008-08-31T12:31:00.001-07:00

Life and what its meaning is, and is not, is an age old question that scholars, philosophers, and daydreamers have wrestled with for centuries. Each has their own interpretation. Some are wacky and far-fetched while others cause you to scratch your head in wonder.
People of faith would normally tell you that their core beliefs, prayer, and serving others gives meaning to life. I think that’s part of it, but sometimes that very thing can get in the way. I’ll explain.
There is nothing wrong with praying for something that you need, or even want. But when the answer becomes the focus, therein lays the problem. It’s the struggle between the gift and the giver, the benefit and the benefactor, or the answer and the one who gives it.
When an answered plea becomes just another thing to strive for, we treat God no better than a vending machine that we mistreat when it fails to give us our cupcakes, tofu bars, or our bags of chips. Even though we are seeking God, the gift can get in the way.
The same goes for a purpose. Billy Graham, I would not hesitate to think, has a purpose. But if our God-given purposes were to ever get in the way then what are they? They become meaningless, hum-drum, and every day. Sounds like a job to me.
Solomon in Ecclesiastes hits the nail on the head. Much of life is meaningless-a chasing after the wind, if we miss the one, key element, which is always in front of us.
If you are searching in vain for an answer to a prayer, maybe God is steering you to Him. He is the answer. If your purpose in life that once gave you meaning is becoming drudgery, perhaps it’s time to re-focus on the One who gave it to you.
After all, it is truly about Him when you come right down to the questions of life and their meaning. If you’re rich, hold on to your faith, because wealth can disappear. If you are poor, grasp your relationship with God; it may be the only treasure you have. If middle describes you in terms of class, home, and belongings, then the same applies.
Which led me to this question. I asked myself what A Pilgrimage of Time was about. You know, the two minute elevator speech that gets asked from time to time. I could say it’s a love story that goes a little deeper than romance with excitement and twists throughout. Or, I could say that it is fourteenth century historical fiction read where a twenty first century man has a vivid dream and winds up centuries and miles away from everything he holds dear.
Or, I could say this: It’s a story about a man who needs to find what his true, God-given purpose is, even if the completed picture is elusive. One where faith can be regained and any road made straight, and where the Designer never does anything halfway when it comes to His enduring words of truth.
In truth, it is not about the middle ages, nor a sappy love story. Those things simply make up the structure where the main character has an attention getting experience. His faith is renewed by seeing the evidence of said belief in those that cherish him; he puts it into action, and corrects what he sees as being wrong and cruel. The events seem disjointed, but a hapless, chained soul being loaded onto a boat bound for Dover is set free, a nun in the wrong place at the wrong time never has to bear scars, a young girl can follow in the nun’s footsteps, and the one he grows to love and marry will never let him go no matter where he goes.
If it happened to you, would you have questions if you woke up changed? Would you search for answers to confirm that life-altering dream? If you traveled to a sleepy parish village in France and found some words of scripture you tossed out to eager pilgrims designing to enshrine you and the one they believed to be your angel still proclaiming their import would you believe it? If those very words turned the focus off of you and set a course for that little town for countless centuries would you come to the stark realization that you have a purpose and that it is not all about you?
And since the Designer never does anything halfway, what if the one person that God had designed to be an integral part of His purpose for your life came and found you? No matter where you were.
It is certitude that the plot has twists and turns that tug at the strings of the romantic and adventurous heart and that two worlds collide into a perfect picture of laughter, betrayal, tears, and drama. But like any house, it’s just a structure. The heart makes it a home.
Like I said before: It’s a story about a man who needs to find what his true, God-given purpose is, even if the completed picture is elusive. One where faith can be regained and any road made straight, and where the Designer never does anything halfway when it comes to His enduring words of truth.
Life is not all about us.

What If?

2008-07-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

This short question could provoke an endless stream of answers. You could while away an entire weekend dreaming of the possibilities. Receiving a large inheritance or sum of money and how you would spend it usually tops our lists.
The question begs more “what ifs” and you could apply it other dreams besides money and wealth. You could start with a simple idea and build and branch off from that tiny seed.
What if you could go back in time? Where would you go? What would you take with you? What if you had no choice in the matter? What if you fell in love with someone that completed you in a way much deeper than romance? What if your faith was renewed in the process? What if you changed a small part of the world and had no idea of the lasting good it would bring? What if the awe and wonder of being thousands of miles and hundred of years from home was so strong that you hoped and prayed that it would never end?
What if it was all a dream? What if it left you changed though? What if it would not come back? What if you sought answers but found little more than nothing to confirm? But…what if you did find something that at the least was perplexing and caused you to scratch your head in wonder? What if you were the source? What if the one who completed your life was truly alive at one time? What if you think you have lost your marbles, but the only thing that makes sense is to simply believe? What if that’s okay?
What if her fourteenth century portrait sits on your writing desk pleading you to never let the memories die?
What if you wrote it all down for closure, put your mental life back in order, stopped living in the dream, the past, or whatever, and then found out that…
What if you never asked yourself this question?
The answer is that you would miss out.
The following prologue from A Pilgrimage of Time gives you a glimpse into Edward Leaver’s mindset when he begins writing his baffling story. A story which begins on January the first, where his cell phone has no signal on his browser, but the year reads 1347.

PROLOGUE

Have you ever had your past reach out and grab a hold of you? I have, and since my return I have wrestled daily with what I have seen and now possess as a token. There are certainly times when you never wish to repeat or remember your personal history.
But this was without equal. Something pure and timeless came back and told me that I wasn’t good for nothing. Even I didn’t believe it at first and I was the one that lived it.
My end is to tell the story just as it occurred, an easy feat, because the last three months were so vivid that I thought that they were real. I’m still in love, like, or whatever. It was that real. I remember the smell of freshly baked goods in the air, the putrid odor of death and decay, the sun, the warmth, the cold; every little detail is as clear as a bell.
I have to write it all down, because I never want to forget what happened. Memories are all that I have, with one exception. That exception is the only physical proof I have. I won’t forget the people I met either and how they lived their lives. They were genuine, to say the least.
They lived their faith out in the open. It was in such a way that others flocked to them as though they were adored saints, but they were just run of the mill people like you and me.
Average folks can do extraordinary feats when the pieces come together as a whole. Few can complete the entire picture on their own, and each has their own role to play.
Not everyone was genuine though. There were a host of liars, thieves, and marauding bands of the bored to contend with, which is scary when you think about it. Boredom, I knew firsthand, can have disastrous consequences.
So can heartache and longing for love.
Both can guide you down a blind alley into unknown doom, or, they can lead to missed opportunities, some of which never present themselves again. However, even when we build crooked roads, sometimes they can be made straight.
The straightening process is never accomplished by a stroke of good luck, because I don't believe in chance.
Nor is it “good vibes” coming back around.
No happy feelings or smiley faces on balloons either.
It’s alarmingly simple. I used to be faithless. Now, I’m faithful. It was something a certain woman named Kate taught me, though the others did a good job of keeping me on the straight and narrow.
God is real too. He is alive and well, and not taking a vacation. It was me that was always on holiday.
The only real drawback about all of this is that the events…never happened. On the other hand, maybe they did. Sometimes I have no clue whether they did or not. It’s like being insane. Would you really know it if you were?
But, I certainly have learned something from it all, so it was not a complete wash. Something timeless and true.
Like I mentioned before, it wasn’t real, or maybe it was. See? Even I don’t know the answer. It was a dream, try as I might, it won’t come back, and take me with it. I wish it would, because I miss her and my friends dearly.
I want to go back, because my heart aches. In truth, the pain is more than mental; it's physical.
Wishing it back didn’t work.
I tried. More times than I can count.
Nevertheless, writing it all down will at least preserve the memories. It was a grossly misunderstood period, which is not unlike the present one that we live in. The parallels between the two are astounding in my mind.
Right now, I’m looking at the woman’s picture, but it’s not a photograph. It’s something else altogether and it is absolutely mind blowing.
Would you really know it if you were? You know what I’m asking.
Right?
The woman is one and the same. Believe me, I know. Still, it's all I have as proof. Substance for my memories. How could I forget?
I can’t. No way.
It’s a portrait, but I didn’t have some starving artist whip it up from my memories.
Someone else did the job.
You have to read on for a full understanding of what I’m rambling about. Keep an open mind and if you have the “I believe” button, push it at regular intervals, because you’ll need it.
I wore mine out, but at least my faith came back.
Ready?
Here it goes. I’m taking a deep, cleansing breath, because once I begin there's no turning back. I will either enter the hall of fame for the impossible or the rest of my life will be spent in therapy.
Go ahead; take one too. A deep breath. You’ll thank yourself if you do.
The evidence of mountain moving faith is staring me in the eyes, urging me forward.
It’s a fourteenth century painting of a wonderful soul; one that I will always remember. Her face looks just like the one I committed to memory close to seven hundred years ago...when I was by her side.
I tap my forefinger noisily on desktop hoping the words will gush forth. Tap, tap, tap. Needles of anxiety rest on my shoulders as a troubling thought arrives and takes residence at the forefront of my mind. Tap, tap, tap.
“I never left you on purpose, Kate. One day I was there and the next I was here. I’m sorry. If you spent the rest of your life searching the highways and alleyways of England, France, or even Spain for me, I want you know that I am ruing the day now. I loved it when you said that. If you gave up and found another I understand.”
I sigh and swallow the lump in my throat.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Your Caitlynisms cracked me up, but I remember each and every one. I’m sure you would tell me with a displeased expression that, ‘Ladies never shatter, nor does one crack.’ and ‘Furthermore, “isms” should never be applied to a noblewoman, or any woman for that matter, and it is sorely unseemly to presume to conceive what a lady would say, silly Edward.’”
And then she would curl her mouth in a puckish grin.
Tap, tap, tap.
Somehow, I sense I’m ready and not so batty after all.
“Caitlyn...now, it will never end,” I whisper, not expecting a reply.
“It never will...it never will,” she seems to say over the span of centuries.
No turning back as my fingers rap the keys.

For a publisher to see more, click:
http://www.christianmanuscriptsubmissions/
scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

I'm sorry, sir, this is a Christian book store

2008-07-28T17:26:00.000-07:00

I enjoy making people smile. Strangers ask me how tall I am. I’m 6’ 5”, but I make them work for the information. At 77 inches it’s quick work on a calculator to convert the inches into 196 centimeters. So that’s what I tell them. Blank stares and gaping mouths are priceless.
Many times, a request comes to “translate into English”. It is English, nowadays. The metric system is widely used overseas.
I enjoy having a little fun now and then.
Recently, I was in a Christian book store standing in front of the shelf full of Bibles. The polite clerk asked, “Sir, can I help you find anything?”
“Uhh, yes,” I replied, trying my hardest to keep a neutral face. “Do you all sell Bibles here?”
There was an uneasy silence where she rocked from side to side on her feet, unsure of me as a potentially paying customer.
“Well…yes, we do. We…we are a Bible book store. We have many to choose…” She stopped in mid-sentence. “Oh! You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
We both shared a good chuckle and if there was any ice, it was soon broken.
Back home, a neighborhood kid had a French speaking grandmother. I learned some colorful phrases to describe a certain event. It’s a noun, but in another form, it is a verb. Another chum had a mother who was fluent in German. I learned a few things from her and him as well.
In junior high school I took a semester of French and in college I took a year of German. Few phrases remain, but some stick out. I can request a good hotel in French and can ask, “What have you learned?” in German.
But I still remember the foul language that you never learn, or, at least, you are not supposed to learn, in school. Amazing how that works.
I would never try this in my favorite Christian book store, but I would not be too far off the mark if I did. Picture yourself walking into the store and having this dialogue with the grinning clerk:
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for a Christian novel that has some foul language in it. Can you point me in the right direction?”
No laughs, no smiles, nothing.
With her righteous indignation puffing, she would reply, “I’m sorry, sir, this is a Christian book store. We sell Bibles, church supplies, tasteful decorations, self help books from a biblical worldview and novels of the same. Perhaps you should try another store.”
By all rights, she would have been offering the truth. As she knew it.
I ran across a novel recently that gave me pause.
The author has a great style. A grand story is woven and one cannot help but become enthralled in the plot. But…I had to jump over certain words and phrases. There should be an editorial standard for Christian books. A line drawn in the sand.
I fully understand that when a novel is written, you have to be accurate in describing the mood or drama. But if someone curses, I think it best to say, “He cursed under his breath when he heard the news.”
Once again, I believe in standards for Christian books.
The most egregious example occurred toward the end of this novel. If you as a reader have this book in soft cover, turn to that left handed page, go to the second line, and ponder the word that begins with an “M”. The internet has more than a few French to English translators. It bugged me when I saw it.
Granted, it was in French and few would catch it, but does anyone check what they read? Who knows? Even if French is no one’s forte the word clearly crossed a line that never wavers.
I am not the picture of perfection either, nor am I a prude who tallies foul language for kicks on a Sunday afternoon, but if I was a publisher of Bibles and Christian books, I would not want my good name associated with any word that clearly could offend little and large ears. Some may view my opinion differently and offer that the word choice fits the context and should not be regarded as profanity. It does fit, but I don’t agree with its use.
Which reminds me of a time when a Navy Chief presented the tenets of the Christian faith in the kind of lively language that only Navy Chiefs can. Somehow, the deeper message was lost within his “chiefly” discourse and the baby was thrown out with the bath water.
But before anyone blindly picks up a book and expects a completely G rated read, remember a key phrase. No, it’s not an obscure, profane oath: Caveat emptor. Buyer beware.
And the next time the clerk says, “This is a Christian book store,” I hope her conscience is blissfully unaware.

I saw Elvis in Israel

2008-07-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

For real.
Outside of Jerusalem on one of the many hills surrounding the city Elvis stands guard over the stark landscape. The Elvis Café is a tribute the King of Rock and Roll. I’m not positive, but it may be one of the first stops for pilgrimages to the Holy Land.
If you stop in for a bite to eat or just stroll around the memorabilia adorned interior, you will assuredly leave changed. For a homesick sailor on his second Med Cruise it was a taste of the good old USA, but I knew that Jerusalem held the most promise.
Despite the turmoil inside and outside of the city, the presence of God is palpable. The first time I visited the city was a year and half prior. At our perch on the Mount of Olives, the guide was pointing out various sites. I wondered then if Jesus had stood where I was standing and what He had been thinking.
The experience was moving.
After a whirlwind of walking, running from shrine to shrine, snapping photos, clambering back onto the tour bus, and catching our breaths we finally made it to Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity. Jesus was born in a stable, but back then, it was likely a cave.
Another shrine of beautifully adorned marble marked where the faithful of old believed the Savior was born. Events were a tad on the fuzzy side, but I distinctly recall being bodily shoved to the side by a screaming, chanting, and wailing woman. Throwing herself onto the stones, she quickly began kissing the marble and clutching her chest.
Somehow, I was able to get a slightly askew photo taken. How many pilgrims had kissed that spot? I wondered.
It’s every kid’s dream to storm a real live castle. Rhodes Greece was protected at one time by the Hospitallers. The Templar’s had been forcibly disbanded and those that survived joined the other knightly orders.
The old city is surrounded by crumbling walls, but much of its glory days are still intact. Secret passageways and old sewers abound, hidden alcoves are prevalent, and old streets are begging to have modern feet soak up the echoes of history.
In the dry moat one can only imagine the despair of any would-be attackers. The walls are steep, arrow loops are spaced at regular intervals, and crenels would have had ironclad men dumping rotting refuse, waste, hot oil, or heavy objects on your head. Perhaps all of the above on a bad day.
Not to be deterred a group of my fellow sailors and I breached the walls by an ancient route. Hidden pockmarks in the bedrock had been hewn painstakingly at one time. Tunnels.
With flashlights in hand we gathered outside of the entrance, pondering what horrors were hidden inside the inky black void. Medieval knights? Torture chambers? Elvis?
Mustering up our courage, or maybe stupidity, we plunged in. Being the most clearheaded of the bunch, I strongly hinted that we take right turns only and left hand turns on the way out. There were a host of side tunnels and I had zero desire to rot underneath a castle wall like the hapless remains of a goat we ran across.
Candle sconces at regular spaces along the musty walls were the most interesting find, but maybe it was the old bike. All in all, it was fascinating to tramp through history and wonder what stories the walls could tell.
Sometimes I just want to let go and take a flying leap. Throw caution to wind. Live on the edge.
United Arab Emirates has an austere beauty. Hot, dry, scorpion infested. A wonderful paradise if you look hard enough.
But all of these journeys are nothing more than a spot on the map. In truth, you can take a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and take a snapshot of Elvis. Or, you can see where Christ was born and kiss the shrine, see where he taught, where he led his disciples, and stand in awe where he was crucified.
If you’re foolhardy you can duck walk through tunnels and medieval sewers and even jump off ancient sun scorched cliffs, but nothing compares to the inward journey of faith. A pilgrimage along time worn cobbled streets means nothing unless Christ walks with you.
Otherwise, it’s just a place on a map.

A Pilgrimage of Time

2008-07-19T16:01:00.000-07:00

On one level, this novel is a love story between two people who complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The story is written as a first person account from the eyes of Edward Leaver, a normal, humorous, twenty first century guy who winds up falling for a woman in the fourteenth century.
No, he doesn’t build a time machine. Sorry.
Instead, he has a long, vivid dream where he makes an inward pilgrimage, one in which he sees the faith of others in action. His arrival on the scene perplexes him. Disbelief is his faithful companion, until “reality” sets him straight. Once he digests the baffling events, he decides to make the best of a not so bad situation. He tells God that he has his attention. And so the pilgrimage and another story begins.
His customs are in opposition to the prevailing winds. Likewise, his devices would brand him a heretic. An incarnate devil.
Throughout the book, his gadgets and his ways bridge the span of time. The woman he courts has no qualms about his ways or from where he came. Her faith is solid. She sees him in the flesh. Her Lord, she has never seen, but yet she sees him each and every day. Caitlyn knows a good man when she spies one. It just so happens, that the walking disaster named Edward, rolls down a hill and into her life.
As the odd person out, no one that mattered paid her any mind. No man could see past her four fingered hand, one that many mutter is the devil’s hand. A finger was supposedly stolen as a token of a non-existent pact with evil.
But moods can change as rapidly as the tides. Edward uses his wits to change the hearts and minds of the townsfolk of Sudbury, England. He teaches his sparrow to fly and both of their lives begin to take shape. Ebullient at seeing his handiwork bear fruit, he continues to put his newfound faith into actions. He saves lives, frees others, travels to the shrine at Santiago de Compostela for a scallop shell, and ensures a future for the sparrows of his new world. And of course, he causes no small amount of bedlam, but she is there for him at every disastrous turn.
Their lives are a perfect quid pro quo.
One of my favorite portions occurs near the end. If you think that’s the end, think again. The following passage gives a glimpse into his revitalized mindset:

The last piece of the puzzle was expertly placed, in my mind. The past met the present and we were not in opposition. The middle ages were not so “middle” after all. Those words always conjured up thoughts of a backward time. Customs and beliefs were oftentimes in disagreement, but as Elizabeth had once said, I was just like them.

In more ways than one. Yellow hose tucked into my riding boots and a green skirt-like tunic was so chic and yet so fourteenth century now.
I had become a full-fledged member of a loose-knitted group of wonderful souls, whose aim was to better the world around them through their actions. They knew a good man when they ran across one. Though my devices, ideas, and words were strange and should have caused them to shrink away in abject terror, they never did.
For all intents and purposes, they were the true eccentrics in their world. Everything they put their hand to went against the grain. The downtrodden would be lifted up; the peasant girl could become a refined lady in every sense of the word, and a twenty first century man could find his place hundreds of years away from what he thought he had always cherished.
My pilgrimage was made complete. In such a short time I had gone from a faithless wanderer, to a man whose faith exemplified it through how I thought and everything I put my hand to.
Marcel, bug-girl Lynette, Sister Marie, and Caitlyn were all the substance of my newfound faith and I was heartened to see the evidence of my handiwork.
I wasn't good for nothing after all. I had a purpose, even though I had to make a journey through time to flush out the details. And of course, I had to cause mayhem and disaster.
But, that was my lifelong gift to Caitlyn. One that would keep on giving.
It had been said that diamonds are forever, but they too will eventually lose their luster. There are other things in life that are unseen and seen; they are inside of the heart and evident outside of it. They never waver, nor do they change. Christ's love, his words, and his sacrifice are timeless. The two centuries when viewed side by side had never erased them.
The spiritual facets of everything I internalized were forever relevant and they would last, even over...
A Pilgrimage of Time.

On every occasion when Edward worried aloud at the prospect of everything coming to a close, Caitlyn would encourage:
“It never will…it never will.”
And it never will.

The novel is complete, but the excerpt gives it no justice. Other excerpts are at:
http://www.christianmanuscriptsubmissions.com/

For a complete manuscript submission, contact me at:
scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

The Beach Forecast

2008-07-19T12:12:00.000-07:00

The weather report was an odd one for a day at the beach, but clouds and drizzle could not keep the thousands of souls away. Neither would the water hazards nor the zinging projectiles speeding through the hazy morning light.
On June 6, 1944, a twenty year old private had his day planned out for him. Late the previous night, he and his comrades of the 166th Regiment of the 29th division boarded a transport ship. Boiled eggs and toast, coupled with nervous apprehension, filled his belly for the short jaunt to a pitching landing craft in the English Channel.
He joined thirty other nauseous, anxious men, who likely had never spent much time at the seashore. If they had, their memories would forever be colored by the events that would soon play out.
Loaded down with their M-1 rifles, Bangalore torpedoes, and terror, the men quickly became sick as they sped and jostled their way toward Omaha Beach. Whatever food their stomachs contained was soon emptied.
At 7:30 that morning, the ramp of the landing craft crashed down into shallow water. Weakened by seasickness, his knees gave out, but adrenaline and small arms fire urged him forward onto the beachhead to the relative safety of a pedestrian walkway.
The fence guarding the walkway was soon destroyed and he and a smattering of men clawed their way through smoke enshrouded cover to the top of a hill. Hedgerows, separating tidy French fields, were before their eyes with the mayhem on the shores behind them. A German soldier popped out and made an attempt at surrender, only to be run through with the tip of a bayonet. Their standing orders were clear: take no prisoners.
The road to Verveille sur Mer was relatively clear as he and his unit, along with a group of displaced Rangers, trotted down the road. A church steeple stood guard over the formerly sleepy town.
Once again, dread filled their bellies as their destination grew closer. They never made it.
An artillery shell exploded above their heads. Moans ensued, lives were snuffed out, and a burning pain ripped through his left thigh.
A medic soon arrived and gave him a dozen sulfa tablets, chasing the pain off, but the groans of his comrades grew weaker. He lay there until afternoon until a fellow GI, thirsty and tired, drank most of the contents of his canteen, only to realize that he was still among the living.
The shocked GI said, "You're going to be all right."
Nightfall came, so he wrapped his pain wracked body in his rain slicker and spent a fitful night praying that he would make it in one piece. The following day, an ambulance arrived. Medics gave him water, but it was not until 9 PM before he was taken out of France.
Oftentimes, I have wondered what had transpired behind the scenes of that day. He was hungry, dehydrated, wounded, without water, cold, and only twenty years of age. But I do know one thing: God answered whatever prayers he uttered.
And another thing: he was my father. Thanks for everything.

Don Higginbotham
October 21, 1923-November 28, 2007

A Gift Worth Praying For

2008-07-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

As I move along in age, I long for the good old days when I had little in the way of cares and worries. Thinking back to my childhood I remember building tree houses, shooting BB guns, building jump ramps, playing Army…
The list could go on for years, but putting an eye to the past forces me to count my blessings. There are many if you stop and ponder them.
Right now, I have a four-letter word on the tip of my tongue.
Gift.
Our lives and its many blessings are gifts. Some come wrapped in brightly colored paper with a bow tied around it. Others arrive in different forms.
I read something recently concerning trials. Whatever designs the enemy of our souls has on us, God can turn into good. In short, He can make a crooked road straight. Sounds like a gift to me. What do you think?
God never said that life would easy. If anyone tells you otherwise, then keep an eye on your money. You’re about to purchase something you don’t want or need.
Recently, I received a gift in the mail in the form of a newsletter. An old college friend and her husband put out a mailer concerning their son. The gift I was given was one of encouragement. What I saw as a strong undercurrent throughout was hope and faith.
When I place in my mind’s eye the new person and the old, it’s obvious that her life and that of her husband’s has been a refining process. I would hardly recognize either one of them, though I have never met him, if I were to pass them on the street.
Thanks for the gift.
And speaking of gifts, Tom and Deb have one.
His name is Ian.
http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/ianhenderson

"Do not eat/chew"

2008-06-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

On the label it states, “Do not eat/chew”. Take a wild guess as to what it is. It could be anything.

Nails, hammers, rubber bands, tires. They all could easily fall under the same admonition.
You may chuckle, but I saw an article where a young man complained about stomach trouble. When he was x-rayed they found nails in his stomach. Nails!
Why in the world would you want to swallow nails? Personally, I would rather swallow melted mozzarella, pepperonis, and sauce on top of a triangular shaped piece of bread any old day.
It could be boredom or the desire to make a name for one’s self, but who really knows what lurks underneath the veneer of seemingly normal people?
Give me a pizza or a nice piece of steak and I’m good to go. Speaking of meat, it’s filling and stays with you for awhile. Ever had a good cut of beef that lasts all day? It’s like a gift that keeps on giving, sometimes well into the night.
Food has value. Obviously.
But you constantly need more and you will never be satisfied. So what do you? Stop eating?
No!
You have to eat, it’s a part of life, but there is satisfaction to be found.
In John 4:34 it reads: “My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me, and to finish His work.”
That tidbit speaks volumes in that there is a knowing that we can have a purpose that actually satisfies our deepest needs. Listless? Without purpose?
This scripture can give you hope and it cuts to the core of our very souls. Jesus summed it up pretty nicely, because had He not done the perfect will of God the Father, He would not be the Savior.
By the way…
It was surf wax. When I was without gum back in my surfing days, oftentimes I would bite off a chunk to keep the salt taste out of my mouth. Sticky Lips and Bubblegum wax had the best taste…but they never satisfied.

"Insert description" Rage

2008-06-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

The word “rage” has a host of prefixes that can be added onto it. There’s road rage, mall rage, soccer game rage, can't log onto the internet rage, gas prices rage, etc. Think up a noun or phrase of your choice and you have something new to splash on the headlines.
But it’s not anything new. What it boils down to is an action verb that’s been around for ages. It’s hate, but nowadays it has taken on new forms and more clever methods of expression.
There are also “hate crimes” out there. Personally, I have never seen a crime against a person motivated by love, unless loving someone to death counts. I don’t think it does.
Why is there so much hate in the world? Can we not make more laws to legislate this cancer out of our lives? Can’t we simply hold hands, sing songs, and think happy thoughts and make it all go away?
Sometimes you can, but not always. The past can reach out to the present though. Old adages and cute sayings can turn us on the right path, but so can the scriptures. Even if you are not a so-called “religious nut” there are truths that endure.
Proverbs 15:1 succinctly states: A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.
Have you ever been in a situation where you tried that? You may not have heard of this verse, but if you have ever locked horns with anyone verbally it can easily defuse an angry situation.
Picture this: You’re at the mall waiting in a long line waiting to purchase your favorite author’s novel. There’s only one person checking everyone out and the milling crowd is becoming restless. Angry.
The person in front of you starts grumbling and their voice begins to rise. Soon, others join in, books get thrown, fur begins to fly, cups of latte are poured over one another heads, and before you know it, you have a full fledged brawl. Mall rage!
But it’s still hate.
Over what?
Was it the overworked clerk’s fault?
No. But anything can spiral out of control if you let it.
Next time, try this on for size: If someone starts to mutter, do something so bizarre and shocking that it just might make the news. Strike up a conversation, turn the tables on them, compliment them on their choice of book, or mention that their hairstyle (even if it is a mullet) is to die for, especially if you’re partial to it.
A soft answer can ratchet the tension down. It reminds me of a fire; remove either the heat, oxygen, or the fuel source and lo and behold, the fire goes away.

Is seeing always believing?

2008-06-10T17:49:00.000-07:00

Would you believe it if you saw it with your own eyes? Most of us would, because seeing is believing, right? What about the things we don’t see?
I have never seen the air, but I know that it’s there. I’m not making a poor attempt at rhyming, but on a windy day it’s easy to see the dust, leaves, and whatever else gets stirred up, so you know that air exists. Simply put, the evidence is before us.
I love the ocean. There’s a certain beauty associated with the ebb and flow of the tide. Regularity is another thought that comes to mind. At times, even on the east coast, there are rideable waves. A good swell brings surfers out of the woodwork and parking lots and spots in the water become jammed with faithful devotees hoping to catch the perfect ride.
I’ve been there and done that. In late August, 1999, Hurricane Dennis was perched off of the South Carolina coast and sending nice lines to the beaches. It’s difficult to describe what surfing is like and words fall short. If you get the itch to get out and get on it, do it and then you’ll know.
If anything could describe the ocean or any of the forces of nature around us is that they are faithful. I have never known anything chaotic, like a storm, to produce anything that has rhyme and reason that lasts though. The opposite is the norm; good is sullied by corruption.
Random forces of nature could never produce that gold coin that you might happen upon at the right Florida beach either. Though little more than a stamped gold disc you know good and well that someone produced it. You would be a fool to dispute with anyone about that fact because it’s right in front of your eyes.
But so is creation.
Creation is infinitely more complex than a gold coin. If we were any closer to the sun, we would turn into crispy critters. Any farther away and we would turn into ice cubes. Though our weather is imperfect, there is regularity to the seasons and normal forces of nature which mirrors the faithfulness of God.
Hurricanes, earthquakes, and violent storms are the results of an imperfect, fallen world. They were not the design or intent. As I said before, good is sullied by corruption.
But there is hope. All is not lost. I’m serious.
When the world around you swirls and groans and when the mercury hits 100 degrees, know that God is not taking a vacation. He’s still around and waiting to be let back into our everyday lives that we have effectively booted Him out of.
If seeing is believing, then we need to open up the “hurt locker”, because what our eyes tell is isn’t always pretty. What we see around us can help us believe, but if we take a step and believe, the clarity is astounding. Faith in God isn’t blind; it does show itself to be a solid rock of substance if we let it.
Speaking of rocks, surfing and exposed granite boulders are not an enjoyable combination. You can see them below. Supersized disaster.

Rocks...

2008-06-10T17:46:00.000-07:00

It was November and I had the itch again. Surfing was my only means of relieving the nagging. I didn’t care about the chill in the air, it was a balmy 60 degrees and the water temperature was about 58. Nice and toasty if you’re underneath a wetsuit skin.
The drive to Folly Beach, SC and the “Washout” took about 45 minutes through Charleston traffic. I was pumped. Looking outside of my truck window at the harbor I could see straightaway that there would be some size, but the wind was persistent, which meant a lot of chop.
Washing machine on “agitate” kind of chop, but I was still pumped.
The drive down Folly Road and the beach area was a quick blur of green lights. Hanging a left I rolled down East Ashley past beachfront homes and scrubby palmetto trees.
Soon, the homes abruptly ended and the ocean and rush of the surf assaulted me both in sight and sound.
A couple of hearty souls strolled the beach and a handful of surfers were doing battle against the wind and current.
Size was head high; the wind was off shore and out of the northeast which focused the current to a steady southward flow. A great day if you wanted to end up in Florida later on.
Still pumped though.
Zipping up the wetsuit and removing the nine footer from the roof racks, I made my way down to the shoreline and plodded out to the lineup. Arms burning I kept at it, stroke after stroke, until I made it outside where things were on a light spin cycle.
I was out of breath and my arms were rubber so I let the first set roll under me. The next set had promise so I paddled a short ways out, sat up, pivoted the nose around and lay down. Paddling as though my life depended on it, the wave carried me along. I raised my body, pushed up with my arms, brought the right foot forward, planted the left, and tore down the face.
Smooth as silk, despite the wind and chop.
Rocks!
The Army Corp of Engineers decided that granite rock jetties would help prevent another not so nice removal of beachfront property. The intent was to blunt the force of waves and storm surges as the jetties helped create sand bars.
No problemo, I thought to myself.
I made an abrupt turn and kicked out of the wave. My board was tethered to my leg by a leash and was a few feet away while I floundered in the soup. My knee bumped something hard and unyielding.
Rocks!
Right below me in a foot and half of water.
Again, no problem. I would swim with the southerly current and get across to the other side. The safer side.
When the tide ebbs and flows, water levels over an immovable surface change in depth. Physics and their laws…you just can’t get around them.
Soon, I found myself laying flat on a granite, barnacle encrusted boulder with a wave bearing down. Pushing the board out of the way, I grabbed the side of the rock in such a way that when the wave broke on top of me, it would neither slam me down on it, nor throw me off.
Somehow, I snuck in a quick prayer and then all was quiet.
I was on the other side. My body was intact as well as my board. I thanked God, but the barnacles gave me a nice long lasting gash on my left hand. I decided not to push the limits of grace and headed home.
Looking back, I realize that I should have been a touch more cautious, but I learned something from it all. Rocks are good to hold onto when the going gets rough. They don’t move if they are planted firmly, though they can hurt us if we throw caution to the wind.
“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” Matthew 7:24.
They key word for me is “wise”.

Why?....because

2008-06-09T18:38:00.000-07:00

Why?
The short answer is, “because”. Do you ever wonder why you do the things you do? Or why you see others doing what they do?
Take a moment and ask yourself that short question of “why?”
Can you change? Can others be changed? Are you sick and tired of the same old, same old?
I have never considered myself to be preachy, but I'll let you as a reader be the judge of that. I enjoy writing words that are thought provoking, whether in a blog entry or 100,000 or so word manuscripts. Few of us have the time to sit down and eke out a chunk of time to read, but when the chapters or entries are short, to the point, and hit you hard, time seems to flutter away and you can get lost.
Outside of our comfortable homes and lives there are people that have hurts and hopes. We overlook them. They have a scowl on their face, so we ignore them and reason that they can never change. Or, they cast their eyes from ours and we do the same.
Why?
Because it's what we are used to?
Recently, I had the chance to help someone out. He had twenty dollars to feed himself for the week. I'm not blowing my own horn, but I gave him some groceries. In truth, I didn't want him to know it was me, but he found out anyway. It was hard to face him square in the eye. But what he gave me was matchless and it struck hard.
Gratitude.
It's difficult to get out of our comfort zone, but it's exhilarating if and when we do. Beneath the scowl or averted eyes could very well be a best friend that you never knew you had. They may very well return the favor of a kind word or an unconditional act when you least expect it.
Chew on this for awhile out of Matthew 25:40: And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
Both books I wrote are unpublished, but each blog entry I make displays my style and world view. Furthermore, I believe that humor goes a long way too. We need to take a moment and laugh at ourselves, especially when the question is “why?” and our only answer that we can possibly come up with is “because”.

What a shocker

2008-06-09T15:50:00.000-07:00

You watch the evening news or browse your favorite webpage for some good news. But where is it? Is it an elusive gust of wind that you can never catch?
Oftentimes it is, but it’s out there if you know where to look. Society does still perform newsworthy acts that are good. But, and it’s a big but, they rarely get printed because they don’t shock us like cruelty does.
Why can’t they though? The good things. The question begs an answer. It requires a paradigm shift where you have to think outside of the norm. Our curiosity is piqued by seeing a verbal tantrum captured on a cell phone, or a teen lured to a home to get a vicious beating, or a man being run over by a speeding motorist and no one stopping to help.
You may have seen a bumper sticker that states, “Commit Random Acts of Kindness.” It’s a cliché, but why can’t something that is trite and simple be the new shocker?
I would think that something good and spirit lifting could go against the current prevailing winds as the next “big thing”. After all, shock value is the norm now. The next act that everyone tries to outshine could be seeing who could gather more bags of food for a homeless shelter, or who could be the first to plan a surprise for the new kid or that odd kid that no one likes.
Surprise, surprise, surprise.
What kind of surprise? A beating? Bullying? A verbal dressing down posted for the world to see? That would be the current norm. It’s too passé and it needs to change. Try a surprise party welcoming him or her into your inner circle. Imagine the SHOCK on their face and the warmth you’ll feel when their eyes brighten and their smile lights up the room at such a small unconditional act.
Where can you get this kind of unconditional love and kindness? It’s not from our altruistic, inner nature. Ultimately, it’s from Christ’s love poured into our hearts.
I’ll leave you with this to ponder from I Corinthians 13 verses 4-7: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Let timeless truths and goodness knock the world off of its feet, not cruel spectacles posted for humanity to see.
What a hoot and what a shocker for all you camera phone looky-loos out there.

Is the "middle" so bad?

2008-06-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

I don’t know about you, but when I think about the Middle Ages I take a moment and pause. This time period brings up images of knights, ladies, lords, peasants, and an overwhelming sense of dread that the world is a horrible place.
It wasn’t that bad. While stories of dungeons and places of despair titillate our curiosity, this time period, and the places where chivalry, knights, ladies, and peasants abounded, wasn’t so “middle” after all.
People actually enjoyed themselves and wrote songs, poems, and literature. They even knew how to laugh. There was hope for something better and folks were a lot like us.
In short, you can relate, if you allow yourself to.
This realization struck me when I was taking a course of English Literature. I now know where the quirky English humor originated. Shakespeare was a hoot and so was Geoffrey Chaucer. While they were vulgar at times, I can see that what they wrote about loosely mirrored their present societies. William Langland wrote “Piers Plowman”, which addressed the societal ills of his day, in the form of a man having a dream about the world around him.
Isn’t that what we need in a good book? The ability to relate?
A good author can accomplish this. Michael Crichton wrote “Timeline”, which is about time traveling to the fourteenth century. It was heavy on the science fiction aspect of time travel, but it drew you in.
James Patterson wrote “The Jester” and immediately you rally to the side of the main character and his desire for something better against daunting obstacles. You share the pains Hugh du Lac experiences. Patterson connects with his readers.
Last, but not least, Ken Follett’s medieval epics, “The Pillars of the Earth” and “World Without End” cover the events that swirl around the priory town of Kingsbridge, England. The novels are long, but you walk away from them with the distinct sense that the high and low all had a common desire: hope for something better.
“A Pilgrimage of Time” was written after I wrote “Ransomed Lives”, but it is in truth, a prelude to it. It is not about time travel, but a story about a man who has a vivid dream. A dream where the past meets the present and both are not so different after all. It’s a read where parallels are made between a fourteenth century world and a twenty first century one from the eyes of a modern man. It’s a spiritual journey where he rediscovers his faith and how to put it into action and where he somehow finds love with someone who understands him and can look past his penchant for disaster and his even stranger devices.
Isn’t that what we need in a good book? The ability to relate and see past our differences?

Historical Fiction and Timeless Truth

2008-06-08T17:07:00.000-07:00

A good fiction read can keep you in rapt fascination for hours. It's like a mini-vacation that costs the same as three or four gallons of gas nowadays. Unfortunately, many fiction novels leave you with little more than a few chuckles and a few hours of escape, but nothing more.
In our electronic society, entertainment and shock assault us on the airwaves and arrive as e-mail attachments. Our eyes and ears are tickled with the hope that the “next big thing” will be even more entertaining or shocking than the previous.
The past can reach out and speak to us if we let it. Have you ever heard of the “good old days”? Not everything was better in history, but as a whole, the morbid fascination with cruel and senseless acts had a harder time of being broadcast around the world in mere seconds.
As I explained before, history has a voice if we stop to listen. We can learn from our mistakes, which is why I wrote two novels that are historical in setting, but timeless in truth. God's words endure, they never change and never waver. From times past, they were relevant when they were first spoken, and they hold the same import now.
“A Pilgrimage of Time” touches on this. On one level it is a love story; on another it's entertaining and witty as you follow the main character on his journeys. But what I sought to send home to all readers, is that God cares about us. When we let Him work through our lives the words we speak and the faith that we put into action will endure.
Both novels are unpublished, but the manuscripts are full length books. Each are complete and relevant, despite the historical backdrop. If you are an interested publisher, read the summary that follows on the next entry. I can be reached through my e-mail address on this site, or I can be reached at scott.higginbotham@yahoo.com

"A Pilgrimage of Time" Summary

2008-06-08T15:18:00.000-07:00

Two disparate worlds collide in “A Pilgrimage of Time”, but despite the gulf the past and present are blended into a story of love and renewal.
Edward Leaver is a man with little in the way of faith, but has a large penchant for disaster. He awakens disoriented with a throbbing head wound to a perplexed foursome of women, one of whom is holding her four fingered hand before his eyes. Disgrace is Caitlyn’s faithful friend; her hand has kept suitors and respect at an arm’s length all of her life.
As his faith returns he comes to grips with his new reality. The lives and actions of his newfound companions help steer him to an inward journey of change, while his modern customs and even stranger devices breathe freshness into Caitlyn’s existence.
An eager passion to put his beliefs into action sets off a seemingly disjointed chain of events: a young lad of sixteen caught up in war is freed from an English prison, a nun is spared a lifetime of physical and mental scars, and a seven year old girl with a gift for painting has her dream of following in the nun’s footsteps fulfilled.
Edward and Caitlyn’s love deepens which soon becomes pledged despite opposition from another. A lie is taken at face value which sends Edward on an introspective pilgrimage to Spain and the shrine at Santiago de Compostela. Close on his heels on the Camino Ingles, the English Route, Caitlyn will stop at nothing to dispel the deceit and prove her devotion to him.
Upon their joyous return to England as newlyweds their lives are launched, but Edward soon awakens from his dream. As a transformed man he still seeks answers. A jaunt to England turns up rubble, Spain and Santiago de Compostela reveals a small glimmer of hope, but a sleepy parish church in France reaches out and shakes him to the core of his being.
Simple, encouraging words of scripture are emblazoned over the heavy oak door of the church. These are the very words he spoke to miracle seeking pilgrims seven centuries ago as he exits with a portrait; a painting of a fourteenth century woman named Caitlyn is clutched in his shaking hands.
This is a story where God’s enduring words prove to readers that souls can be directed onto the right path for years to come. It’s a read where the last sentence has a breathtaking twist and where love, faith, and the goodness of God’s grace prevail over a pilgrimage of time.