Into the Fire

Passionate thoughts about the world of writing and the Power of God

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Passionate: right or wrong. Writes love stories with a passion. Raw Romantic Redemptive

  • Reaction . . .

     

    You know what it's like. You turn around and boom! Before you realize the typicality of your reaction, air fills your open mouth. You rush to snap it shut and almost chomp the end of your tongue off. Three words fill your brain before you can muster one sophisticated thought: Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.

    If you had to speak, you'd probably stutter for the first time in your life. And for sure the words would be stupid. Even if you normally feel in command of wit and some wisdom, you realize all of it abandoned you when you glimpsed that wavy dark hair sliding down those almost bare shoulders with pink ties holding up a flimsy sundress settling over gentle curves and landing up above suntanned knees.

    You're captivated just like that. One glimpse and she owns you. You sap, you chastise yourself to no avail.

    All you want is more.

    [Just some freelance spontaneity. 😉 ]

    Father, thank you for the pleasure and fun of words. Thank you for leaving us your Word. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • The hope in . . . Chasing Fireflies

     

                          104031683

    It's a well-established fact in the Christian literary world that Charles Martin is a notable writer. He now writes "crossover" novels and seems to have infringed upon the charm of his earlier novels according to some of his faithful readers. I can't testify to any of that because I'm late to the Charles Martin reading-party, having just finished my first novel of his: Chasing Fireflies published by Thomas Nelson in 2007.

    Chasing Fireflies tells the heartbreaking story of a man, known as "Unc" but named William Liam McFarland, who spent years in prison for supposedly killing his father and wife to steal bonds from the bank his father, he and his brother Jack owned and operated. The bonds were never found, the motive was shaky at best, and there was no good reason for his conviction according to the narrator of Chasing Fireflies whose own story provides personal glimpses into his confused memories of his childhood and the aching desire to know his origin since the remembrances of foster families before coming to live with "Unc" and his wife Lorna provide no real information to him as a journalist. Having spent his adult years privately researching Unc's life to prove the innocence he has always maintained, Chase Walker, the narrator and journalist for the Brunswick newspaper in Georgia, suspects Unc's brother Jack had something to do with the crimes and would love to prove it due to Jack's crimes against his own son and daughter Tommye.

    The Prologue to this novel jars and stuns the reader and introduces us to another character who will play a peripheral but important part in the complex plot of self-discovery. The mute, much-abused little boy who sketches his life story and conversations in a constantly present notebook proves to be near genius and an excellent artist. His introduction to Unc's, Lorna's, and Chase's family because of Chase's assignment to find out who this abandoned kid is begins a fresh journey to discover the boy's identity beyond those who've left him with nothing but pain.

    The twists and turns of researching Unc's history provide insights and confusion, assurances and doubts for Chase. When his sickly "cousin" Tommye returns to Unc's place, new hurt rises up in Chase in spite of seeing her obvious pain. Eventually things get straightened out between them, and she provides information Chase hadn't yet discovered – and doubtfully would without her.

    All of these particulars reveal themselves in present tense and intermittent flashbacks. Written beautifully in true literary style with a southern twang, laughable expressions, gut-wrenching clarity, and heartbreaking stops along the way, Chasing Fireflies by Charles Martin is a unique story with multiple personalities in plot, style, theme, and delivery. With the meaningful references to the title, the touching and satisfactory ending you might see coming, Chasing Fireflies is a worthwhile investment.

    If I had to fault the story which, honestly, is pointless, I would say some descriptions of actions or particular scenic accounts caused my brain to fumble around unsuccessfully trying to picture them. Also the final realization left a bit of a kink in one relationship factor.

    If you haven't yet read a Charles Martin novel, Chasing Fireflies is a good place to start. I'm sure those of you who've read multiple others of his before his current fare will name your favorites for other readers seeking literary beauty with a southern flare.

    Father, you know the direction set before Charles. May he be obedient in following you and doing as you ask in all things. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Sunday’s Offerings

     

    Do not be wise in your own eyes;

    fear the Lord and shun evil.

    This will bring health to your body

    and nourishment to your bones.

    Proverbs 3:7-8 (NIV)

  • ****Political Update****

     

    http://aclj.org/planned-parenthood/jay-sekulow-abortion-president-obama?sf4474578=1

    We all know abortion is not the main focus of the presidential campaign, but we also know that killing children in the womb is barbaric and wrong. To advance the cause of abortion to include the elimination of either male or female babies in the womb because one or the other doesn't fit a lifestyle or projections of the parent or parents takes us to another level of evil supported by our tax dollars.

    The implications of this advanced state of abortion reinforce the atheistic viewpoints which equate life with simple cell reactions to mechanical acts and attempt to make the nuances and order of life insignificant and irrelevant.

    Woe to those who call evil good and good evil. 

    Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked.

    God, have mercy on us. Remember your remnant. Please. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

  • Keys . . .

     

    Most of us who've driven for any length of time are familiar with misplacing our keys. Or losing them. I remember my youngest son's first day of school. We scrimped to be able to send him to a Christian school and snagged the last remaining space in their kindergarten. I had to deliver him to school and at the last minute I couldn't find my keys. Most moms can identify with the trauma of releasing their child into the foreign world away from home. I was holding together fairly well, everything ready for his first day as he fought back tears which only made mine next to impossible to control, until the search for the keys came up empty. Panic arose. Late for the first day of school! Subjecting him to the solo entry into a roomful of kids. How could I let this happen?

    Car-keys

    All I could think to do was to call my friend and ask if she could take us to school which she was willing to do, bless her heart. It was then as I grabbed things out of the car that I felt the keys in the pouch of my hoodie. Scream! Called her back fast before she could leave, expressing my thanks, foolishness, and embarrassment. Grab my son and head to school. He was hoping we couldn't go. In a way so was I. But we made it. Tears held tight. School began.

    Keys provide access. They unlock, they start, they open. Writing requires keys. Comprising all shapes and sizes, many providing similar entrance to known places, others open up hidden corridors of imagination, unlock unique styles, and ignite the powerful engines of various voices.

                   Golden-key

    Losing a story key can send us into a panic. Are we wasting our time looking for it? How could we lose this? Do we need to call somebody? Maybe. Oh. Wait. Here it is. Resting under the letters on that keyboard. Not lost. Right where we left it.
     
    Sometimes we just forget where we put those darn keys!   

    Father, you hold the keys to my life. Thank you for keeping me going – even when I panic. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Here we go again . . .

     

    http://moms.today.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/05/30/11955844-military-mom-proud-of-breast-feeding-in-uniform-despite-criticism?lite

    Readers of this blog might assume by now I have a problem with breast feeding. They'd be wrong. I have a problem with breast feeding for public consumption. And I have a problem with being "proud" of the "ability" to breast feed at all, let alone for all the world to watch. If you want to be photographed for personal family photo albums, wonderful. Whatever floats your boat. But it does strike me as somewhat strange that mothers shed all modesty when it comes to feeding their children. I guess I don't get that. Yes, it's a natural process, but, hey, so is sex.

    And as far as mothers in uniform taking time out to nurse their children, no objections here, but beyond spending time privately to do so, well, yeah, I think it's excessive exposure and demanding too much of those around you. I do. If I'm in error here, so be it.

    This culture has many flaws. No argument. What culture doesn't? Barring a miracle, it's not going to change. We've been exposed to so much sexual content in everything viewed, spoken, illustrated, or filmed. Let's be honest here. Breasts may have always held significance, but nowadays they're mostly viewed or considered for sexual gratification. Improper, vulgar, harassing as it may be, it's an unfortunate truth. To assume that by attaching a baby to that nipple suddenly transforms the breast into something innocent and unprovocative is naive and narrow.

    I have no idea why moms want their private joy in being able to breast feed their child or children to validate their motherhood. And to take pride in it? Why? Would they take the same pride in basking topless on some beach with their children playing nearby? And being filmed or photographed.

    Breast feeding is a God-given provision and blessing. For display or gloating? Unnecessary.

     

    Sorry, Lord. I don't get it. If I'm wrong here, please correct me, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

  • When it doesn’t end well . . .

     

    Can you think of novel endings that didn't end well? Were you disappointed? Did you react? And what does "ending well" constitute to you? Or perhaps it was the climax which sent you over the edge. The twist maybe? You didn't buy it?

    What bugs you the most about novels that don't end well? What does that phrase "ending well" mean to you?

                         0015

     

    God, one thing we forget so easily on this earth is that the only way things "end well" for us is by knowing your Son. Jesus is the answer. So opposed in His time on earth and to this day by so many, we recognize our hope is in Him for the great ending to what is often difficult, tragic, traumatic, and sorrowful. There through it all, we covet your presence in our lives, your encouragement for our days, your instructions for our actions. We struggle to acknowledge your incredible love amidst the cruelty and sin but accept that you feel the pain more than we do. You save from it all. And welcome everyone. Help us to remember and to demonstrate your love and salvation. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • What I gave up . . .

     

    . . . for what I gained. I was never the A+ student except in certain English and Literature classes. I was the A's and B's kind of girl who didn't have to work too hard to pull those grades. I got my first C in high school, but I can't remember in what class. It might've been typing. I think I graduated with a grade average between a 3.2 and a 3.5 and got accepted at the only two universities to which I applied. I entered the University of Washington – reluctantly – because my parents thought it would be good for my future. They never had the opportunity to graduate from high school. I was not a fan of school.

                       Untitled

    Of course I took mostly English and Literature classes and got As and Bs. College presented escalated studies, and although I loved one of my Literature professors, I enjoyed the extra-curricular activities with my friends over the familiar school routine. I've told the long story here about the inspiration for quitting school and setting myself up for a trip to Europe based on the film Blow Up so I won't repeat that tale. I worked for a year to earn the money as did a friend of mine, and then we set out for Great Britain and Europe. A three month venture from September to three days before Christmas, it sated my yearning for travel but left me unsettled as to what would become of me.

    Most of you know my love of horses has always been a constant so in the spring I made it to the now defunct Longacres Racetrack and began what would turn into over 30 years of involvement in the horse racing industry.

    What I gave up in going to the racetrack I don't regret. I gained a career where my love for horses could be practiced and my skills in knowing the amazing Thoroughbred breed could be developed and honed. I loved it for a long, long time. And I will always champion the heart, beauty, and versatility of the Thoroughbred. I exchanged my learning for the things of school for the things of racing, the ins and outs of particular horses – no different than the personalities and quirks of humans – and I filed my precision language skills adopting a racetrack slang. Two of the most difficult "skills" for me were saying "ain't" and teaching myself to cuss and swear. Honestly, neither came naturally for me.

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    It seems to me we must always sacrifice something for something else. Sometimes it's for the better as in accepting salvation. Other times we give up good for bad. Findng my place at the track ultimately resulted in my discovering Jesus. Ironically it was on the way to taking care of one of our horses who was sick. What I gave up to go the track was superficial, a different lifestyle, and a particular kind of education. What I gained can't compare. I learned where I needed to be, what it felt like to find my "career", and once I'd emptied out all my fabricated hopes and dreams and lost the taste for rebellion, I found Jesus waiting for me.

    Thank you, Lord, for covering my innumerable sins, then and now. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.  

  • We thank you, Soldiers.

     

    Untitled

  • Thank you!

     

    God Bless the USA!

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q65KZIqay4E

     

    American soldiers of all ages and kinds: this one’s for you.

     

    I honor you and ask the Lord’s blessing upon your lives in the Name of Jesus. I’m grateful that you serve the United States of America and strive to keep us safe. But you also fight to keep others safe from terrorists and enemies of all kinds. You fight to preserve freedom, to promote freedom, and to persevere for freedom wherever you are. Not everyone can do what you do. Not everyone sacrifices like you do. Not everyone bears the burden of keeping an entire nation safe along with their fellows in arms.

     

    Many soldiers gave their lives to preserve the safety and freedom for the citizens of the United States of America. Some of those lives were lost in combat, some in training exercises, some in the wastelands of addictions and disorders brought on by the horrors of war. I honor your service and remember your sacrifice. Thank you is never enough.

     

    God bless you in His mercy and provide you with His grace. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.