Into the Fire

The crisis of soul. That moment when you decide if you do, still, desire to, and/or believe in the God of the Bible. The God who points you to His Son Jesus Christ. The God who IS, WAS, and WILL ALWAYS BE who He says He is. Not who you say He is or who you think you want Him to be, or who someone else says He is, but who He says He is. Unreachable except through His Son. Not untouchable, not unavailable, not without mercy, kindness, love, or compassion, but unreachable in the sense that without Jesus there is no eternal access.

Why? So many ask our obvious number one question about so many attributes, conditions, events, and circumstances concerning the majestic matters of a God too big for the human mind to fully grasp. Supernatural to our natural. Extravagant to our meagerness. Massive to our mini. So far outside our mainstream as to be unimaginable in many ways.

I would guess the number one stumbling block for unbelievers is the condition of evil in this world. One of the all time most frequently asked questions concerning God is (paraphrased): How can a good God who can do anything allow all these horrid things to happen in this world? The most accepted answers offered by unbelievers are (paraphrased) that He doesn’t care enough to intervene, He couldn’t exist and be this cruel, and/or He isn’t a loving God.

But what about when a Christian experiences the ugliest of situations? Murder, rape, abuse, to name a few. What then? How “good” is God then? How many times do we cringe in the midst of some tragic event or ongoing serious, painful illness or injury, when we read in the Word that these “light and momentary afflictions/sufferings/struggles” will be replaced by perfection when our life is over? Well, hurray! Only we don’t really consider them “light and momentary” when they’re horrendous and overwhelming and consume our every waking moment. What then?

The crisis of soul. Is it easier to not engage faith? Is it easier to abandon faith than sustain it in times of extreme trials? I do believe it depends on our experience with the Lord. Are we shallow Christians? Is our faith based on a “What have you done for me lately, God?” mentality? Do we not expect hardship, pain, and suffering in our walk down life’s road? Are we naïve enough to think that we, ourselves, won’t complicate our lives enough at times to cause our own pain? Do we secretly think those who suffer are being punished by God?

I marvel at the fortitude, love, and servitude of third world Christians, of the underground church in China. These people have found the realization. God is good. He is who He says He is. He’s not here to snap to our beck and call. He will provide a place where the first and only results of choosing sin at the invention of our creation will no longer bring us suffering and will end the quandary of choosing the Spirit’s way over the flesh. But this is it for now. A broken world where sin abounds, pain persists, evil flourishes and gains ground heading to the end, and horrible things do happen to “good” people, even Christians.

One of the choices Christians face, along with all other people, is the death of loved ones. Infants, children, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. Who doesn’t die? Some die the ugliest of deaths. Why? I don’t know. I also don’t know why some others close their eyes and drift off quietly into eternity.

I do know death wasn’t in the original provision for humankind, even for animals. Eden was destined for eternity.

I have read several novels in recent months which deal with estranged believers due to the deaths of loved ones. It’s very difficult to make these characters likable. They’re bitter and resentful and somehow reason that their particular loved one(s) should’ve been spared over all others who die daily. I know the pain of losing loved ones, and it can be crippling. Especially if it’s a child or a spouse. The pain feels insurmountable and if allowed can ruin life. And it most certainly will for some time. Grief is a prominent part of this life on earth. But it, too, will be replaced with joy. Hard to conceive of that when in the middle of sorrow.

So, what’s it going to be? The realization that God is good? Or the conclusion that He’s not. It comes down to that basic question for everyone. I believe Him or I don’t. I believe He sacrificed His Son for us, a gesture of pure love and forgiveness, or I think it’s all a farce. A sham because this world is filled with evil and ugly people and wicked events and hurts and sorrows. Yeah, that’s what the curse of sin does.

At some point, the realization that this place is not permanent for any of us hits. During that flash of focus, the decision about the eternal destination must be viewed. Is God real?

Father, you are more real than all we see. You are close, everywhere, in the suffering and pain, and in the laughter and celebration. You weep, you enjoy. You provide, you remove. You are love. You are truth. You are life. You are the way, Jesus. I have been without you and now I am with you. Help me to remain forever yours. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

There is something to be said for the ordinary even though by working definition, few things are actually “ordinary”. The sun rises and sets. Some places observe the moon’s brilliance and the stars’ multiple displays every night while others camouflage the night’s ornaments with neon and smog. Both observances remain normal to the ones who spend their lives with those views. So who’s to say what ordinary is?

Most of us can say that usually nothing extraordinary “happens” in our lives. That’s not to diminish the beauty and extraordinary gifts of life or the tragedies of what we consider untimely or hurtful deaths. Nor is it meant to overlook the awards, certificates, accomplishments, and successes earned by everyday people doing their jobs, competing in sports, performing well in school or anywhere else without a spotlight on their achievements. And certainly it is not meant to diminish in any capacity the amazing interventions of the Lord in our lives or His potentially astounding answers to prayers we wonder if He even heard.

What I’m saying is this: most of us do not perform covert operations in North Korea or Syria. Few of us stalk serial killers, spending hours, days, months, even years chasing down evil, demonic murderers. And as popular as CSI work has become in recent years due to well done crime dramas, the bulk of us get squeamish at the sight of filleted intestines, raw brain matter, or blood splatter, and while we appreciate the magnificent science involved in catching perps, we couldn’t do it.

Ordinary lives involve falling in love, pursuing careers, struggling with self-worth, believing or not believing in the God of this universe, character issues, fears, what to wear to work, loving or hating the job, what can be done for a little fun within a budget, the challenges of raising children from infants through the teens, and how crazy fast life seems to operate.

Now within each of those “ordinary” examples runs the gamut of conflict. However, making those kinds of conflicts exciting and breathtaking? Hardly possible. But it is possible to make the journey meaningful with real characters in real situations portrayed by their experiencing real struggles. These types of novels are for certain individuals, not for those readers/writers like my dear friend Mark Harbeson who must have those exploding helicopters, subway train crashes, car wrecks, or buses diving off cliffs. Action is near everything in story for those like him. These are the readers/writers who witness and pen intense conflict via action and plot development even though their characters might be ordinary people—their experiences are anything but.

“Conflict on every page” or similar ideas make for the “breakout” novel according to Donald Maass whose new book on writing, The Fire in Fiction, is said to be even better than his original Writing the Breakout Novel. It’s a bigger challenge to make meaningful, poignant conflict when you’re writing a story around ordinary people living lives without spectacular occurrences. Rather, you’re writing to illustrate an importance that exists within even the seemingly most insignificant portions of what most of us seem to live. Our joys and sorrows, laughs and tears, crises and triumphs might be small within the framework of heroic or exceptional occupations or major league sports or you-name-it, but these ordinary lives that most of us participate in offer depths worth diving into if we can only tell the stories in a worthy way.

Sometimes it’s just harder to make ordinary extraordinary.

Father, you are the One who makes us ordinary people extraordinary. You alone. Thank you for being no respecter of persons. How could we measure up to so many others if you did? Thank you for loving us equally in spite of us. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

We meet Jo-Lynn, nearing fifty, marriage on the skids, and childless, at the gravesite of her favorite Great-Uncle Jim while the snow flurries dust her face and the young pastor who’d never met the now dead man delivers a few final prayers. Following this solemn event, we travel immediately to the “big house” with the wraparound porch where Jo-Lynn spent treasured times in her youth with her Great-Aunt Stella and Great-Uncle Jim in Cottonwood, Georgia. It’s a far distance and culture away from her home with her husband in Druid Hills, Atlanta.

Things Left Unspoken by Eva Marie Everson is a delightful, but not without its brutal honesty, tale about a family with secrets. It suggests in the telling that every family has those hidden things which it seems to them are best left unspoken. This is the Southern Fiction that makes our mouths water at the cooking, our souls cringe at past and present prejudices, our hearts break at the innocence and disappointments of young love and mature love, and the sometimes filleting of lives by cruel twists and unexpected turns.

Told primarily in first person by the woman who’s come to the funeral without her husband because her life with him has fallen into the pretentious collection of status and wealth accumulations, Jo-Lynn is uncertain what their future together holds. When she is offered an opportunity to renovate her Great-Aunt’s “big house” to its original grandeur, she snaps up the job as a lifeline to reclaiming her own persona in the loving place of her childhood. Having yielded long ago in her 22 year-old naiveté to remaining childless at her future husband’s request, she faces the emptiness of her decision and the shallow, self-centered conduct of their current life together.

Told in a back-in-time and forward-to-the-present rhythm, it works to give a feel to the emotional history of those things left unspoken, a compassion and heart for those who made serious sacrifices in that past, and an understanding for one of the concluding scenes which was done so well.

This is not a “based on a true story” novel, but it’s told with loving care by the author who relied on different members of her own family and events in her life to meld these interesting and thoughtful characters together to offer more than a late developing suspense story. This book offers come-to-life characters who are deeply rooted in the genteel culture of the south along with those ordinary folks who maintain their southern manners and conduct complete with all its gossip and cooking and hidden agendas. Written very well by Eva Marie Everson and not cut short for the sake of word counts, Things Left Unspoken allows us the time to take honest looks at the individuals she writes about without making hasty judgments as to their inner characters or lack thereof. She demonstrates the solid faith of individuals who live it personally in unique relationships with their Savior.

A good story written very well.

Father, may your blessings rest on Eva Marie as she continues to write stories with impact. Encourage her in ways new to her and keep her writing for your glory. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Book number four in the series of six—kinda reminds me of the “nine pieces of eight”—Dreamhouse Kings/Young Adult novels by Robert Liparulo has hit the scene and store bookshelves with the to be expected rush-and-never-let-up story titled Timescape.

In their continuing efforts to find and rescue Mom, Xander, the oldest son, runs at full speed on youth and adrenaline and doesn’t want to stop for sleep. David, his brother, has an arm in a cast and continues to get bruised and battered during every trip into the constant flux of the portals which takes them to other places and times in history. Following one scary escape from a desolate future time for Dad, Xander, and their new friend Keal, ex-Special Forces, now nurse to their old relative Jesse, the four of them tumble back into the house with a vicious visitor from that time.

During their absence, Toria, their younger sister, is left to defend her grandmother from the pull of the portals and the evil Taksidian who appears while she is trying to hold onto her grandmother.

When the creature from the future is pushed back into another portal, he grabs David and drags him into another time. Dad snatches items which he hopes will insure his return back to the present and dives after David into the terror of the sinking Titanic. While he’s trying to save David, Xander joins them in the dark freezing deep. The only way back home is under the black frigid waters.

Jesse is stabbed by Taksidian but provides clues drawn in his own blood on the floor where he lay until Keal discovers him after returning from a portal. He rushes the elderly Jesse to the hospital and when Keal is sure that Jesse is under a physician’s care, he sneaks back to the house before anyone at the hospital can ask for information.

Even though previous books in this series have offered little rest or relief from the portal experiences, the cunning efforts of the weird phenomena going on within this house, or the wicked pursuit by Taksidian, Timescape accelerates the happenings to the enth degree. We can feel the aches, the pains, the fears, the frustrations, the spent and unrelenting emotions, and the absolute exhaustion of the entire family in this story. More than ever it feels like they’re completely overmatched, until it begins to dawn on David that in spite of the abject horror in many of their experiences, they have somehow survived. When David examines the possible involvement of God in a talk with Xander, his brother dismisses his reasoning in spite of David’s references to things their mother has spoken.

I doubt many of the young readers of this book will take more than a day or two at the most to finish this one. Timescape zooms from page one to the final cliffhanger. Sorry, guys and gals, January seems like a long time to wait to solve this new and terrifying dilemma. When this series is finished, it will be a great gift for young (and old) readers to receive the collection of all six books at once.

Once again I’m telling you: Robert Liparulo is the Master of Pacing. No one does it better in the thriller genre. Even for kids.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/159554500X

Father, bless this man with the generous heart, the vivid imagination, the amazing writing skills, and the desire to work hard and fast. May he always honor you with the multiple talents you have given him. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them . . .”

Matthew 6:1 (NIV)

We are different from each other. Right? Some of us have been labeled Caucasian—whatever relevance that has to today’s cultures and ethnic variations. It’s been simplified to “white”. Others now called African-Americans used to be called Negro or “black”. Then there are all kinds of Asians who used to be called “oriental”. How about Mexicans who are often referred to as “Latinos”? Pick anyone from anywhere. Besides being people together, we can be very different in appearances, not to mention character, culture, and chicanery.

Why some people decide one ethnic color or heritage is superior to another is beyond reason and rationale. Makes zero sense. Of course we know the enemy of our souls is the instigator of turning people against people and people against God. Nevertheless, we acknowledge that what is known as racism is prevalent in places all across this world. Not just here in the United States. Everywhere. Someone somewhere thinks because he’s white, black, golden, or you-name-it, he is superior to someone who is not.

We each have inherent qualities which have no relation to our skin colors. Some of us grow up being taught to hate and since it’s easier for some than others to be tempted in this area of sin, there is prejudice, pride, and all the separatist ugliness to go along with it.

All different kinds and colors of people resist associations with those who are not like them. Nothing new. Some of it is borne out of fear rather than hatred, a misunderstanding of likenesses and differences between the humankind.

But here’s the deal: to pretend we don’t have apparent differences if only in appearance seems foolish to me. It’s obvious we’re different. So what? Color of skin has never determined one’s character, and it never will. It might determine an ethnic heritage, but just as often in this day and age, many people of all kinds are far removed from their family’s real history. My Italian heritage traces back to the province of Lucca, Italy, but when my dad in his senior years went back to try to find even a trace of his family history, he found no one who knew of his father or his relatives. Too many years. Too far in the past. It’s like this for many folks today.

Having said all that to give you this: If you see President Obama as the “first black president”, ask yourself what you’re really saying. Do you also acknowledge that he’s half “white”? He’s a man, folks. He stands for things which some apparently think are rational and needed. I see him as a man who stands up for things which are evil—not just bad ideas. Abortion is evil. It is a horrible deception used to kill infants in the womb. He is breaking this country down economically step by step and creating a government which resembles the old Soviet Union. It has nothing to do with his “race”. Yet when people rise up to disagree with his philosophies and actions, some politicians pull out accusations of racism.

Obama is to be evaluated by his policies, not his color. And don’t think it’s racism which is bringing his popularity numbers down because it’s his practices which, when exposed, show who he really is, and it has absolutely nothing to do with ethnicity unless he wants it to. What motivates a man to want to bring a great country to its knees? That’s the question he needs to answer.

Father, you know my prayer. You know. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

When western Washington surpasses eastern Washington temperatures in the summertime, something crazy is in the works. People in the Pacific Northwest are baffled by three-digit heat and to be sure are sweating it out big time. We generally don’t have A/C, although some newer homes do. So when we get above 85 degrees in this area, it’s difficult to keep our houses from becoming furnaces which is not conducive to sleeping or anything else which requires any measure of comfort.

The temperature is the talk of the whole area from Seattle to Portland. We’re not used to weeks without rain and highs above 85. It is traditional for the Seattle area to have a hot summer after a very cold winter, and we had one of those which seemed to hang on without end and force a short spring. But this? Never. Records have been set with no end in sight.

No complaints from here. We love summer. Our house has given up its fight and surrendered to the heat. The little box fans pant away 24/7. The horses are listless and stand most of the day in the shade of their shed. Our shady porch registered 100 degrees today.

Hot time, summer in the city . . .

Father, I give you praise for this day and each one to follow. You are the Author of Life, the Giver of every good and perfect gift. Thank you. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Yesterday I reviewed the debut novel by Sara Mills, Miss Fortune. The heroine of the story is a Private Investigator in the late 40s. An entertaining story with a perfect ending, I ordered the second in the series published by Moody Publishers, Miss Match, anxious to see what Alexandra Fortune is able to do with her newly acquired information. Today I learned that Moody opted out of their contract for the third book in the series, and the reason for that is almost always a result of less than expected, or hoped for, sales.

I reiterate to you that I understand sales and profit margins. If you’re in business, you must make a profit to survive. But here is where I take exception to some—please note I said some—of the decisions made in publishing.

Francine Rivers is one of the most respected authors in Christian fiction, deciding after a specific experience with the Lord to write only for Christ, having already achieved success in secular/general market publishing. Her novel Redeeming Love is perhaps one of the best novels ever written in all of literature, not just CBA fiction. It’s truly a legend in its own time, and it has sold millions and millions of copies in many different languages all over the world. I cannot remember Francine Rivers doing any marketing for her novels. I could be way wrong here, but I don’t recall any overt marketing. Yes, she’s been interviewed occasionally, but beyond a website, I haven’t seen much of her on the web. You might suggest that she doesn’t have to—she has a solid fan base, Redeeming Love continues to sell in the Top 20 even after all these years. People always look for her Biblical Fiction and her older contemporary novels. One mention of a new novel by Rivers and her fans are on the prod. Well, you could say the same about Karen Kingsbury, but she’s out there hustling, promoting, being acutely fan friendly—a marketing guru.

Those of you who visit regularly know how I feel about marketing. It’s a curse. A necessary evil for an author if that’s even possible. Some authors take on the mantle heroically and gladly soldier on with their creative juices flowing into the seller’s mode. Not this lady. And not so many others. We’re told to get real: this is the “new” age of publishing. Publishers aren’t going to have the funds to celebrate your book beyond a certain dollar plan: YOU must sell your book. And who better, they ask. Well, I can tell you this much: I can better discuss my novels than anyone else but force feed them to others who might not even appreciate the genre, voice, or style? No way.

An author who I love (voice, style, genre, the works) emailed his/her “fan list” and asked “us” to buy the latest release on a certain date before a certain hour to get a certain rating on Amazon.com. Honestly, I resented being just a means to an end. A monetary outlet, nothing more than a customer for the marketing scheme. I bought the novel because I love the writer, but if this is what “marketing” has come to, I can assure you it will not include this author.

The point here is not marketing except to note that no matter what is done, marketing doesn’t always work. Good writing, good stories, great voices, interesting styles fall between the shelves, go unnoticed for whatever reasons, and people miss them. And those people miss out on good books. Sara Mills wrote a very good story in Miss Fortune. Friends of hers took up the cause of marketing her novel because she faced tragedy in her young life as the novel released. Even compassion and well placed authors asking their readers to purchase a copy of this novel to support the author in her time of need couldn’t elicit enough sales for the third book in the series to be produced. It just seems wrong. Can’t the print runs be reduced to accommodate smaller numbers for niche novels? Is Print On Demand really so farfetched in these cases?

We are told by professionals that paper and printing costs have gone up. No doubt they have along with most everything else. However, maybe if publishers shopped their printing needs around and stirred up some competitive pricing somehow, they could get good deals on smaller runs. Is it possible? Surely there’s a solution to make sure a good writer with an intriguing series isn’t stopped before the stories barely have time to get noticed. It really is a shame if there is no feasible remedy.

(If any publishing professionals want to weigh in here with some information, please do.)

Father, I recognize you hold the answers to these problems. You know the hearts of those involved. I pray Sara would receive recognition for her writing skills, that you would encourage her while you comfort her in this time of trials and grief. Bless her, Lord Jesus, as only you can do. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sara Mills writes a 40’s mystery matching a female Private Investigator with an Irish-Italian FBI Agent, both of whose mothers try to get them married off at every possible opportunity.

Alexandra Fortune, who insists people call her Allie rather than Miss Fortune for obvious reasons, begins this story with a sweltering sleepless night in August resulting in her 12 block walk back to her office from her apartment in the middle of the night in New York City, circa 1947. There’s an unopened file on her desk which has beckoned her to open it since she received it in the mail, and she both hopes and fears it holds the information she seeks.

A sharp, repeated knock on the glass of her door turns out to be a fearful woman who wants to hire her because she says she’s being followed, claiming someone is trying to kill her. Judging from the woman’s appearance, Allie is sure the woman can’t afford her fee but listens to her tale anyway. After giving her the three rules, the woman pulls off her belt and plucks a hundred dollar bill from inside the seam. She gives Allie three days to find out who is after her.

Allie’s high society mother is appalled at her daughter’s choice of occupations and when she makes it apparent at their weekly Wednesday dinner that Alexandra is to attend one of her formal fund raisers, Allie meets FBI Agent Jack O’Connor. Before long they discover they’re working on the same case for different reasons and combine forces to solve what becomes a dangerous recovery of ancient jewels. Allie makes a deal with the FBI for one thing: she needs to know if someone from her past is alive or dead.

Sara Mills captures the noir aspects of private investigation with just the right nuances from a female’s point of view in a man’s occupation during this era. Allie knows her nickname by the local law enforcement is P.I. Princess but she is immune to name-calling, confident enough to hold her own in assessing situations and people. This particular case stretches her limits, though, and there are times when she is grateful for her new partner’s strengths and knowledge.

Woven throughout this story are flashbacks to Allie’s youthful experiences with one person whose star-crossed relationship with her has never been placed in the “closed” file. Her life changed because of him and there are loose ends and heartbreak tied to him. When she discovers that the information she desires—if she can get it—is only partially going to satisfy her, she realizes the real source of her life’s hope and direction.

I bought this debut novel to support Sara Mills when her husband passed away a very young man, leaving her a widow with three young children. If I hadn’t, quite frankly, I would’ve missed a treasure of a story in the beginning of at least a two book series because, yes, you guessed the reasons: it’s somewhat historical and it’s quite short. This is a well-written and entertaining story, a suspenseful mystery perfectly set after the war ended in the late 40s with memories dating back ten years.

In yesterday’s post regarding romance I emphasized that not all writers can handle romance. This story isn’t focused on romance, but at the heart of it is a moving love story. For me, there were moments of tears as Sara perfected the intensity of youthful irrationality, attraction, and tragic love. What little true romance there is? Done exceptionally well. Perhaps because of Sara’s personal loss after the publication of this book, Miss Fortune wrenched my soul even deeper. The ending to this story couldn’t have been better. On to the second novel by this talented writer: Miss Match.

Father, all I can ask is that you strengthen Sara Mills, encourage her, and continue to comfort her in her tremendous loss. Sorrow requires so much of us, and without your strength, it’s impossible to get through it. Please bless this lovely writer in all areas of her life and keep her safe from all harm. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Here is my bi-yearly (or is it annual?) post on the writing of romance. Wait, guys! Don’t leave quite yet. There might be something slightly useful here.

First I must state the obvious—not everyone can write romance. I know, I know: not everyone wants to write romance. And that’s a good thing, okay? However, the best romance is not as some refer to it with a near snarl: sappy. It’s not. On the contrary. The best romance is real.

One of the reasons people tend to view romance in a negative light is because it can lend itself to silliness, cliché, or melodrama. Category romance offers a standard formula and without meaningful characters, it can read like a daytime soap opera.

It’s difficult to portray situations where men and women are involved and not portray some kind of relationship issues. They don’t have to be blatant, but chances are if men and women are coworkers in a story or face extreme challenges together as partners, they will encounter situations which at the very least cement their working relationships or occasionally cause their conversations to gravitate toward personal issues. Romance need not be included but relationship of some kind must be.

Men and women either relate well or are in conflict. Usually some kind of conflict is inevitable. Romantic conflict must be done well or the eligibility for sappiness becomes a major factor.

Those who write romance well capture the beauty, the pain, the frustration, and the power of love, and in so doing, they elicit a strong emotional response from the reader. Those who do it well hit a nerve that reverberates within those who claim they’re not inclined toward romance. That certain truth within well-written romance touches a heart with recognition and identification. It stirs the soul.

Romance is no different from any other meaningful writing. When it’s exceptional, it makes a mark, and the reader tends to remember it.

Father, you’re the author of life, romance. You are Love. You embody Truth. You are Good. Let my writing reflect who you are from your heart to mine, from your Spirit to my words, somehow, some way. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.