Into the Fire

Many of you grew up “in the church”. Although I’ve always believed in God as did my parents, I didn’t know Jesus Christ was the way to KNOW God until I reached the age of 30. You can pack a lot of sinful living into 30 years of life—especially growing up as a teenager in the late 60s and early 70s.

I grew up in a moral, hard-working environment. But I succumbed to the immorality of those explosive years when “free love” and LSD promised things they could never deliver, none of which produced anything remotely resembling freedom. I read some of the classics and took primarily literature classes in my 5 quarters at the U of W. I happened to love Ken Kesey’s writing in both One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Sometimes A Great Notion. I have read some of the authors proclaimed still to be “the best”.

I’ve let you in on some things about me. Maybe one day the Lord will have me give my more complete testimony. It’s hard to do. Not so pretty.

That’s probably why I have a problem with Christians who always want to push the envelope and label it “freedom”. I remember the last time I got drunk—I was a cheap drunk, too. Two stout cocktails were enough to float my boat. Much more than that and I could be found emptying the contents of my stomach over the nearest toilet or whatever became handy—which I did more frequently than I care to remember. Praise God for that—it kept me from becoming an alcoholic.

When you see friends as hardcore alcoholics in their 20s, suffering from alcohol-induced epileptic seizures at 30, and dying in their late 30s from cirrhosis or early 40s because they just couldn’t quit even after treatment, it has a sobering effect on the practice of drinking. When you learn that some individuals will become alcoholics with their first tastes of drink, you shudder at the thought of being a bad example or a reason for them to pursue something that will eventually kill them. Think about it. That isn’t “freedom”.

I know what it’s like to be addicted to cigarettes, and somehow I quit the year before I met the Lord. My husband smoked since he was 9 years old—Camel straights. Then one day not too long after he was saved, the Lord delivered him: Poof! Threw his pack of Camels in the garbage and never smoked again. A miracle. Yet I know some Christians who have diligently tried with their whole hearts and much prayer and can’t seem to shake the addiction. That, my friends, is not “freedom”.

The worst book I ever read was a paperback entitled Boys and Girls Together way back when. I have no idea who wrote it. All I remember about it was that it was filled with vulgarity and was totally disgusting. I can still see the cover in my mind’s eye, but I couldn’t tell you anything more about it except that I felt dirty reading it. Some guy gave it to me to read—I don’t remember him either.

Okay, there’s the history. Here’s the point. I now write Christian novels. In those novels are characters just like I was; people, male and female, young and old, who are lost, empty, self-satisfied or dissatisfied, deluded or discontent. People we’ve met or people we’ve been or people we are. Within the pages of these novels there are also those people who’ve been redeemed. There is a contrast. There should always be a contrast between the lost and found. Not a holier-than-thou contrast. But a heart and conduct contrast. Motivational contrast. Conviction contrast. If we believe the gospel, if we live the gospel, we are CHANGED when the Blood washes over us and makes us clean, when the Spirit of Truth begins to renew our minds, and God takes His original fallen creation and touches us with His Son, while we begin to see Jesus as not only our Savior but our Lord, our Friend—perhaps our only true Friend. Transformed. Daily. The Holy Spirit moving us closer to our Father, the desire to be more like Jesus.

I’ve lived the life the world has to offer. It comes up short. Lacking. Empty. Miserable. If I didn’t think so, why would I become a Christ follower? Don’t ever think some of the stuff I did wasn’t fun at the time. If sin wasn’t fun and pleasurable, no one would be so inclined to do it. I really enjoyed wine. Good wine. I didn’t drink it to get drunk. However, I know people who did and do. If they look at me having a glass of wine and decide because I’m a Christian, it’s okay for them to drink, too, I’ve misled them. I can’t afford that. I can’t risk it. I gave up wine. And other alcohol.

I read Christian books exclusively because they have the best (notice I did not say the “only”) chance of presenting truth. I have no desire to sift through the creativity of the lost and the philosophies of men to try to mine for some trace of God’s wisdom and truth. It’s not worth it to me. Been there. Done that. Great works of “art” are subjective. Who cares if the majority of “the world” declares something worthy? Who are they to judge? Would I trust any evaluations made by the “New York Times”? I would not. While they could be right, most of the time they are not.

Words on a page are not idols to me. Yes, some writings are clearly anointed by the hand of God. I strive for the anointing and what it produces—but not for me: for HIM. I’ve given you a piece of my history. I’m unworthy of that precious Blood, but it washes over me more often than perhaps it has to wash over you. I hate sin, but it happens to me. I am weak. He has to be made strong in my weakness because that’s all I have. Nothing of value to offer except what He is able to produce in me. Then clearly all kudos goes to HIM.

So, does that mean everything in Christian fiction is admirable? Excellent? Noteworthy? No, it does not. My opinion and what I choose to read are just that: my choices.

But, now you know why.

God, thank you for those who honor you in all their unique ways of writing, of serving, of living for you. Jesus, thank you for each one who looks to you for all they need. Holy Spirit, be close daily—get through to me, please. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.