Just had to get some oldies but goodies in for this Tuesday. So many different and great artists. What a time it was.
Father, only you know hearts. Only you save our souls. Thank you for rescuing me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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We shall never forget. The picture shows more than we can say. The latent information about this horrid event is becoming equal to the event itself. A travesty and great sorrow.
Lord God, you know all the Truth. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to you except through Him. Help us, Lord. We're desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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I had the utter pleasure of having many friends in my early life, two BFFs, and several other wonderful young people in my life. I also had the best parents God could've ever designed just for me. And I had a brother who teased me unmercifully while we were young but became a super big brother when he got older (he was 9 years older than me).
But then there was 7th grade. It was junior high school then. And to this day I claim it as being the worst year of my life. I got the worst haircut of my life – even wore a scarf to school to try to cover it. I had no classes with my BFFs. I was in an "accelerated" math class which to this day I have no idea why and that singular class began the terrible habit of biting my fingernails which I still do this many years later! Yes, I still had friends, but they were changing, and it seemed they suddenly all wanted to grow up – which I distinctly did not and was unprepared for leaving a blissful childhood. First inklings of "misfit."
With 7th grade behind me, this horse crazy girl and her family moved from the closeness of her two BFFs farther north of my childhood home – which, when you don't drive, seems like a ridiculous distance away – and began the process of finding new friends which wasn't really that difficult. There were plenty of them to be found. And so the growing up process continued through high school.
Then my first year at the University of Washington began. That was another year of interesting – and some exciting – changes which ultimately decided for me that I was done/finished with school. I didn't want to go to college, but my parents wanted it for me. I owed them to make the effort. The educational highlights were an A in playwriting and an A in one of my English classes. The other highlights were a flurry of quickly established and quickly adjourned new friends. College was a misfit for me.
The next chapter involved a mission to travel to Great Britain and Europe, so I set to work in retail after talking a friend into going with me. She too got a job, and we worked for a year while we saved the necessary funds to travel and organized our trip. When our nearly 3-month adventure to foreign lands came to a close, I felt lost. Floundered.
Finally, a series of events led me to Longacres Racetrack. It felt like finding my niche. But, alas, I was a misfit. A city girl learning the ropes of racetrack life. An outsider. A few people to the end of over 30 years there, me having fully participated in the process of horse racing, continued to view me as an outsider. A misfit.
Skip ahead all those years and after finally doing the only other thing I was designed to do, I followed the Lord's instructions to write my first novel. Then another which led me to into the search for a publisher, writers conferences, contacts, only to learn that I was a misfit in my chosen genre.
The sole and soul place I've found where I am not a misfit is within the love of the Lord God Almighty, the family He's given me, and the friends I've made over the years who, though much different, don't consider me a misfit. There is no thanking Him enough for all of those things.
Father, I know our ultimate home is with you. It still can be puzzling to experience that misfit feeling when you know you're doing what you're supposed to do. But I thank you for watching over me and eventually rescuing me from myself. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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"They will say, 'The fruit you longed for is gone from you. All your riches and splendor have vanished, never to be recovered. The merchants who sold these things and gained their wealth from her will stand far off, terrified at her torment. They will weep and mourn and cry out:
"'Woe! Woe, O great city,
dressed in fine linen, purple and scarlet,
and glittering with gold, precious stones
and pearls!
In one hour such great wealth
has been brought to ruin!'
"Every sea captain, and who travel by ship, the sailors, and all who earn their living from the sea, will stand far off. When they see the smoke of her burning, they will exclaim, 'Was there ever a city like this great city?' They will throw dust on their heads, and with weeping and mourning cry out:
"'Woe! Woe, O great city,
when all who had ships on the sea
became rich through her wealth!
In one hour she has been brought to ruin!
Rejoice over her, O heaven!
Rejoice, saints and apostles and prophets!
God has judged her for the way she treated you.'"
Revelation 18:14-20 (NIV)
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This is from Chapter 9 in my novel Seeing . . .
On his way home that evening after what had been a long day, he called his house. Bonita answered on the third ring. “Jones’ Trucking,” her delicate voice said with a professional tone.
He couldn’t help himself—he laughed. “Wow. That has a nice ring to it. I like it.”
“Micah Jones! I didn’t recognize your number yet.”
He heard the fluster in her voice, and it made him smile. “How’re you, Bonita?”
“I’m fine, Micah Jones. How are you?”
He could hear a smile in her tone. “Well, I’m frustrated by all the typical traffic, but it’s always like this. I shouldn’t let it bother me. Anyway, it’ll be probably another 45 minutes before I’m home. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thank you, Micah Jones. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
“Sounds good, Bonita. See ya a little later.”
His cell phone rang immediately after the call. “Micah, here,” he answered, expecting it to be Bonita calling him back.
“Hi, little brother.”
“Mary, Mary, what’s up?”
“Did Marin get in touch with you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Very funny, Micah. Now answer my question.”
“Yes. She’s taking me to dinner a week from Saturday. Now do you want to tell me what to wear and not to chew with my mouth open?”
“Why not this Saturday?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Mary, you’re not my mother.”
“Wow. Is there another woman in your life?”
Leave it to Mary to zero in on the situation.
“Why would you ask that, Mary?” He was baffled by her intuition.
“Uh, let me see. My cute little brother doesn’t do like . . . hmm, anything ever. He usually sees his friends on Friday evenings or Sundays after church. Usually, the only thing he does on a Saturday night is visit his sister and her husband or holes up at home watching movies by himself. Uh, there isn’t a special event going on at church. And you can’t go out to dinner this Saturday night because?”
Micah was silent. His sister was right. Down to the last detail. There had been nothing unpredictable in his life for years—other than the spiritual occurrences.
“It’s alright, Micah.”
He heard the apologetic regret in her voice. “You’re right, Mary. I have a guest at the house. It’s a woman. She was beaten up pretty bad. I brought her home for a week.”
“Is it safe?” Mary asked after a few moments.
“How exactly do you mean that?”
“I mean, whoever hurt her won’t find you or her, will he?”
The genuine concern filled her question.
“No.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
“Yeah. She’s healing. From the beating anyway.”
“Meaning?” she gently probed.
“She’s had a lousy life, Mary. From early on.”
“How old is she?”
“Not sure. Somewhere around my age, although I’m pretty sure she’s younger.”
There were a few more moments of quiet before his sister asked, “Attractive?”
Micah hesitated. His sister waited. “Yeah. She is, Mary. In her own way, she is.”
There. He’d admitted it. Rough-hewn, street smart, hardened by life, yet . . . attractive to him.
“And you’re okay?”
His sister loved him. She asked the hard questions because of her love for him. No matter what he did or said, she would never stop loving him. He could always tell her the truth. “Yeah, Mare. I’m okay. It’s been . . . different. In a good way.”
“I love you, Micah.”
Her voice mixed sadness with joy—he didn’t know how. Sorrow and hope. She wanted the best for him, but he knew instinctively if she engaged in comparisons, Marin would stack up more favorably than Bonita for her little brother. The thought brought regret.
“I know you do. And I love you for it.”
Father, you know the words to all my stories. You give them to me as I go. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Playing with the mirror again. Self-portrait. A throwback to many years ago.
Memories flash with the photo, dissolved in time past, lives changed, and a simple moment in time brings it all back.
Father, I can never thank you enough for rescuing me from myself. Redemption is what I was missing. Please help me to continue in the design you have just for me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Storm clouds deciding whether or not to bear down and create havoc with thunder, lightning, and hard rain. But there's also the possibility they could move on and not settle on the area.
Point being, these storm clouds are indicative of the chaos in my head concerning this latest novel. It's going to be a story some will love and others will hate. I'm too far along to dump it. Besides, I love the hero and heroine. I'm too attached to not let them finish their story.
Stormy. Or not.
Crazy novelist.
Father, only you can get me out of this. You know this story better than I do. Help me. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Remembering the power of lyrics. Remembering how biblical references and political outlooks somehow made it into the unique times of the 60s and 70s . . . Supercharged with all kinds of emotions, opinions, truths, and lies. Sound familiar? Great artists of that day.
Father, you are the source of all truth. We can't have it, live it, or love it without you. Thank you, Jesus, for being The Way, the Truth, and the Life. The source of rescue and redemption for the human race. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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That hard place for me – and from what I've heard from some other authors can also be for them – is when suddenly you read a comment or bad review about one of your books, and you start spiraling into doubting yourself. Is this just a mirage – me thinking I can actually write a novel? Do I actually have any talent at all?
It's suggested we need to develop a thick skin – I can't. It's not in me to either ignore or not be affected by anything negative directed precisely at me. I'm as thin-skinned as they come.
Well, in a rather unique chain of events, I picked up my second novel The Famous One to address a comment from someone I know who's reading it now. This started on page 88. I remembered the scene quite well, but I read that page again and the following pages and a few more, and I just kept reading over the next two days until I finished that book again. Some authors will tell you that the number of times they've read their books by the time they're published is enough to make them not want to see it again for a considerable amount of time. Saturation might be a comparable word for the feeling. Well, apparently the number of years that have passed since I read my novel provided just what I needed to truly enjoy it once again – ratifying the phrase I use quite often: I write what I want to read.
The Famous One is written like a fictional biography, telling the story of one Joey Parr. If any of my novels fit the tagline I've given myself: Raw Romantic Redemptive, it's this one.
Point being, "my" audience loved this story. Those who are not, did not. And so it goes.
I can write novels. I do write novels. And I'm not stopping writing them because those who are not my audience don't like them.
Father, apart from you, I can do nothing. Period. Thank you for giving me any of my abilities. Anything I do that's good and worthy of any praise is you working in me. All honor goes to you. And all thanks – even though it can never be enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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"When the kings of the earth who committed adultery with her and shared her luxury see the smoke of her burning, they will weep and mourn over her. Terrified at her torment, they will stand far off and cry:
"'Woe! Woe, O great city,
O Babylon, city of power!
In one hour your doom has come!'
"The merchants of the earth will weep and mourn over her because no one buys their cargoes anymore – cargoes of gold, silver, precious stones and pearls; fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet cloth; every sort of citron wood, and articles of every kind of ivory, costly wood, bronze, and iron and marble; cargoes of cinnamon and spice, of incense, myrrh and frankincense, of wine and olive oil, of fine flour and wheat; cattle and sheep; horses and carriages; and bodies and souls of men."
Revelation 18:9-13 (NIV)
