Left for Glory

Snow-white curtains life on the late wind

that pushes the old rocker

where she should’ve been

The strapping line of shoes ranked

along the hall floor

lack the pair she always laid

closest to the door

Her magical garden has shriveled

to dry fall weeds

After all the long hours

she spent on her knees

Dust hazily lines her whicker basket,

still kept safe on its shelf

her colorful yarn and rustic needles

unfit for the hands of anyone else

Only these items foresaid remain

The memory of what once was

thought on in vain

Only her embrace, her voice we long for

When we can only wait

for the Glory Day evermore

~This day centers around one thing - 'celebration'. We celebrate the birth of America's freedom, as well as the individual freedoms we're allowed to enjoy. This hits home for some more then it does others; the flags, the fireworks, the barbecues, the whole theme is embraced in the hues of the red, white, and blue.

Now imagine that feeling, that burst of pride, amplified for every day into eternity. I imagine such a complete realization of freedom is what it's like when we're called home to Heaven. It's an eternity with our Father! Never crying, never fearing, never doubting  ourselves again! Being secure and confident for the rest of our days, which will be never ending! 

There's a celebration! One that God is eager to share with you. And because of His sacrifice of His son Jesus, we can. If we believe and trust in Him during our time here, then we will be in jubilee with Him during our time in Heaven.~

Happy 4th of July! Remember the roots of this great country, and to thank our veterans for their sacrifices. Our country can continue its celebrating because of the courage God has place in them.

Dear Father...

Across the Old and New Testaments, the word 'father' appears 1,103 times; to trace the genealogy of Israel and Judah, advise the reader through proverbs, and address God in several capacities. Reading over a few of these passages with the help of Bible Gateway, I encompassed myself with the word... in honor of Father's Day!

At the mention of the word 'father', many kids- age being no object- probably go to the geekier examples of your father's character. The embarrassing moments are often the most memorable, leaving us offspring to shrink in our seats, a hand covering our faces to avoid recognition from anyone we've ever met. Or we imagine the goofy guy that knew where to tickle us when we were kids, gave us shoulder and piggy back rides upon request; and forked over his money whenever we had that extra craving for a candy bar or ice cream! Whatever it may be, the image that many first draw of their father can be pretty light-hearted. However, we shouldn't forget all of the important roles that the father fills.

Who cleans the clogged gutters at the first sign of spring? Who shovels through the months of winter to clear the driveway, and mows through the remaining months? Where do you go when faced with the problem of a leaky roof, an impromptu speeding ticket, your impossible math questions, or a loose mouse in the living room? The answer to that, eight times out of ten, is the father, whom God has declared as head of the household.

Anything pertaining to the definition of father includes the words 'authority', 'originate', 'create', 'lead', or something else along those lines. They do well to follow the draft that God has set for the father and husband as head of the home. We've heard this label many times, yet do we realize the spectrum of its meaning? 

When we call someone 'father', we're talking about the man who looks after the house, its utilities and appliances should something go wrong or stop working. The person who checks the insurance on the cars, the retirement funds for when he and his wife get older. The man who is called to be the strong one when bad news hits his family; the attentive one to his wife, the wise one to his kids, and the brave one if there's ever any danger.

I know that there's a lot more examples to be given of the duties a father faces on a daily basis, but I know that even these few honorable mentions are enough to realize that fathers carry a lot of hats, having to change them in an instant... maybe even a hundred times a day! And on this day, it's our calling to thank them for every single one! 

'Listen my sons, to a father's instruction; 

pay attention and gain understanding.'

~Proverbs 4:1~

So, to my father figure, THANK YOU! 

(And, can I borrow ten bucks?)

The Burden of the Bible?

The world is growing more and more in its use of technology and the church has jumped on this train of gigabytes and power points. That's no big thing, as I'm able to follow along in my notes on the sermon, see the lyrics for our worship songs, etc.

But lately, when I glance around, I find most people with their heads bent over their smart phones. No, the sixty-year-old piano teacher isn't texting her girlfriends during church- and neither is her husband planning a hunting getaway with his buddies! Rather, they were all scrolling over their Bible app, reading the verses off their screens.

These actions seem consistent with the pace that the rest of the world is running right now. Everything- EVERYTHING- is wrenched into one's phone. There's the Dictionary app, MapQuest, Facebook, Youtube, Candy Crush, the list goes on. It only makes sense that a Bible app is exists too. Yet... there is something that doesn't sit right with me about it.

When you go to church, what runs through your mind? The things you got done before heading out, the things you need to get done afterwards? Church, as I've come to see it, is that time where you drop all of those worries and rushes at the door and enter in for some time that's about you and becoming heavily-soaked in God's word. I've also come to believe that God knows we need to take time out of our schedules (even on a Sunday) to come to church.

He wants church to be a conscious effort to put down our busy lives and focus solely on Him for a time. A time that sticks out in our minds, following us around throughout the rest of the week. I wonder if carrying the weight of an actual Bible into church isn't part of that. Yes, it's bulky, it's falling apart, it can be lengthy to leaf through...

But IT IS God's Word!

We shouldn't think about God's Word as something that's convenient or easy to use. It's something separate from the way the world works; that's the gist of our Christian witness. Your Bible is a key that helps to open our hearts to God's message. It's both essential and uniquely fitted to guide and comfort us in our otherwise nonsensical weeks.

Technology gets the praise that it makes things easier, handier, smaller... a lot of '-ers'. I tend to cringe away from these words, as it's been my experience that these traits don't always equal something better (and NO, this opinion is in no way influenced by the number of times I've watched Terminator!). I can't say that it's a bad thing to have the Bible app on your phone, making God's word more accessible across the globe. Yet it remains something that tickles my brain, makes me think of the way that I live out my faith.

Even in something as simple as carrying a four-pound, duct-taped Bible into church.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

'Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful.'
~Joshua 1:8~

Tick... Tick... Tick

I’ll give you the time

But I won’t give you mine

Just keep moving,

Just keep moving,

Just keep moving, moving, moving

I’ll kiss the baby later

Say I love you another day

When mine’s not so busy

I’ll stop another

From throwing their life away

There’s money to be made

Important people to acquaint

Must keep up the pace

The only one that can matter

A later date Mother

One more hour, dear heart

You can’t burst on me now

Not when there’s a status to earn

I’m sorry to say

But not really

'But let your 'yes' be 'yes' and your 'no', 'no'.'

~Matthew 5:37~

This includes your time... how you spend those seconds that will never come back, and who you'll share them with. Business is an easy thing to fall into, when you live in a world that claims things and activities are the edification of a meaningful life. God calls for us to live out a meaningful life, but in pursuit of the right things. 

As Paul describes it, 'whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable- if ANYTHING is excellent of praiseworthy-' (Philippians 4:8). Not sure what those things are? Read the Bible, meditate on what it says, then look back on the world with your Christ-crafted lens on. You'll be surprised at the magnificent change in perception.

The Thing About Writing

          

“For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.”

—Catherine Drinker Bowen    

          

My posts have ceased to exist for a loooonnnnnnggggg while and the reason is simple. I'm struggling with a good plot twist to my next book, PLUS prepping my promo materials for a book fair I'm participating in at the end of the month. Many of you would refer to this as Writer's Block, but if you only knew what those two words actually mean. Scratch under the surface of their syllables, just once, and you'll wield a new respect for the writer that can't deliver on time.

         

          Imagine that it's spring cleaning day in your household. Also the day before the evening in which you're having forty guests over for dinner, to be followed by light and airy drinks on the veranda. (Such a better word then porch!) Y'all know what that means? You tap into that ounce of Southern hospitality and you clean house. Literally, you scrub, spit, and shine on everything until not an atom of dirt remains.

         

          All except... that one smudge. One smudge, disrupting the otherwise seamless gloss of your dining room table. The table mustn't be covered in a cloth, it doesn't go with your spring-themed decor. You've gone through two spray cans of lemon Pledge, trying, willing it to disappear through the rigorous strain of your triceps. But it doesn't. It remains.

         

          Now, take that annoyance, that hovering obsession for perfection, that temple-pounding frustration, hurling forth in a lethal growl. Up through the throat, vibrating from your eyes as well as your mouth as you glare at the smudge. The kind of growl that has your friends and family maintaining a twenty-foot radius to ensure their safety. Take all this... and then you might have an idea of what writer's block is.

         

          Writer's block can be a cement wall anywhere between four inches to four miles thick. Writers break through it eventually; there's just never any telling how long that might be or how many times he or she will have to thwack their heads into the wall to get it to come crumbling down. But us writers are known for our thick heads. We may be sensitive, but we're also thick and stubborn. We use our writings to convey the many ways in which life can be seen. Writers bravely uncork the wine of their imagination and pour it into any glass they can find. And our fatal flaw is that we want perfection in that vision, so that people don't mess up what we're trying to say. So that we don't mess up what we're trying to say.

         

          There's something of the size and weight of a writer's block. At least mine anyway. No worries, though. I'll come sailing over this hump eventually and be back to posting regularly. As for that book fair I mentioned:

SUMMER LOCAL AUTHOR EXHIBITION

Barnes & Noble Booksellers

4015 Medina Rd, Akron OH 44333

Saturday, June 30th (1-3pm)

Don't miss it! My book, 'Final Truth' will be on the shelves for purchase, if you don't already have your own fabulous copy. Stop by my booth, ask me questions, and learn about any upcoming projects!

Well... back to NOT writing.

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”

—Ernest Hemingway

Memorium

               "Why do the men leave first?"
                I stopped my delicate and soapy cycle across the china plate and looked over my shoulder. "What, Mom?"
                "Just..." Mom cleared her throat. "It's a puzzlement, that the husband would die first. All these statistics that doctors pour out. Do they ever stop to ask why?"
                Mom was out of her chair, hugging her elbows as she gazed out the bay window. Her sweater was the same blush of a bluebell flower, her gray and white swirled hair curled just above the shoulders of it. Her curls matched her slacks and when she turned to face me, I knew I'd see the perfect loop of pearls around her neck that Dad had gotten her. That I could remember her wearing every day of my life.
                She puts it on, first thing. I mused to myself, delaying my answer. Even when she can't remember who gave it to her. 
                "Mom..." I put the china plate down, the warm water suddenly cold. "Are you thinking about Dad?"
                 She turned from the pale shafts of sunlight, her fingers rubbing the pearls like prayer beads. "Of course I am. Married for fifty-two years to the man, then he up and dies on me... what else am I going to think about?"
                 I swallowed and dried my hands. "This' your day, Mom. Mother's Day. It might be better to think of something cheerful."
                 The rule was never to upset her; like a basket of eggs on a scale, you could never let it tip. Mom had been swinging back and forth on that scale for the better part of two years. Dad had been gone longer then that and a part of me was glad he wasn't here to see her like this. Dad had always been a man of action, but there was no action for Alzheimer's.
                 Mom was studying my face, then lifted her chin with a bittersweet smile. "Oh honey... he made me cheerful in many ways."
                 I smiled back at her. "If it makes you happy, I'd like to hear about it."
                 "Indeed you would," Mom touched the edge of the sleek and round dining room table. "But first... let's set this table up right."
                 "What?"
                 "Let's set the table." Mom's smile puckered in a determined look. "My son is coming by for lunch; it's Mother's Day you know."
                  But... I fought back the initial panic. You were going to tell me about Dad.
                  "Unless I'm mistaken, there's ham marinating in the fridge." Mom, shoulders square and motions full of purpose made for the kitchen. She'd open it and only find leftovers. And would that remind her that her son- me- was already here? Caring for her, providing her with the gaps that sometimes escaped her; in the hopes of one more conversation with the reassuring and elegant lady who had raised me.

THE END

Mother's Day froths with gifts and cards and gatherings, like most celebrations. But what is it built on? Isn't it the memories that amount to you being this grateful for your mom? You've probably figured out somewhere that she'd not defined by a biological line or measured by the cash she'll allow you out of your wallet. 

It's that character she's taught you, whether through the family recipes she passes down, the punishments she dishes out (mercilessly), or the cartoon of orange juice she'll run out and get when you're sick... in her sweat pants! Treasure the memories that your mother has given you; she's given them in the hopes that her children will grow, learn, and thrive into someone capable and respectable. She thinks ahead in how she'll raise you because that's how a parent's love works; by looking ahead. 

When the Bible talks about God providing for our future, the advise of parents are one of the strongest ways He does this. Who do you go to for all your wisdom and direction, when you're still learning how the world works? What memories come to your mind when you're trying to solve a problem 'on your own'? When a Bible verse comes to your mind, who was the first person who gave that verse to you? (Not all the time of course, but you get the gist of what I'm saying.)

Memories are precious. They are reminders of the ones we love and why we love them so much. Not everyone is blessed with a treasure trove, but for what nuggets you do have, hold tightly to them. And thank your mom for her presence in each one!

'She is clothed with strength and dignity; 

she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom 

and faithful instruction is on her tongue.'

~Proverbs 31:25-26~

At Home ~ Finale

           

            Brittany didn’t want to be here. Her heart was thudding so fast, it threatened to cut off her breathing. The thought of never seeing her parents again...

            I thought I was stronger then this. Brittany shivered; it was like November had followed her inside.

            “Bet you want to tweet this.” He spoke with this chilling underlay to his voice. Everything he’d done was with a chilling- easiness. He had come up to her only yards away from her bus.

            “You’re a smart girl, Brittany.” He had said. “So just pretend I’m a friend of your dad’s to drive you home and I won’t have to shoot you.”

            He was confident, cocky, and he felt entitled. His control pleased him… everything Dad had said about him.

            But who is he? Brittany’s heart fluttered as he turned the car. I shouldn’t be so scared of my own street.

            He looked her way, his layers of blond hair barely moving. It was dark at the roots and longer in the back. No stubble over his lip or jaw. He kept himself clean, like his car. He smirked as they reached her driveway. “This’ll be easier then the last time. What’s the garage code?”

            “It’s saved on my phone.” Brittany forced a stony tone out at him. “Give it to me and I’ll find it.”

            His hand shot over and gripped her shoulder. “You want another bruise?”

            I just want to be brave. Brittany winced. That was what all those verses had been for. She closed her eyes. “3802.”

            He smiled and got out. Brittany let her breath out to control her shaking. Matthew 22:29 You are in error because you do not know the Scriptures or the power of God.

            But she did know. That would make a difference.

‘&'&’&’&’&’

‘But the Lord will take away her possessions

and destroy her power by the sea and she will be consumed by fire.’

~Zechariah 9:4~

            Declan had told Patty that it was all an oversight. The school was required to notify the parents if any kids that weren’t checked off on days when they were supposed to be on the bus. Declan knew this… and he also knew that Brittany would have continued those tweets with or without their permission. Yet, deep down, he was worried about paying the price for his decision. If Brittany wasn’t at home… Declan forced his mind back onto the Bible verses; power, grace, and mercy, whatever. Whatever was right and lovely, he wanted those things on his mind. Not of evil touching his daughter.

            He finally pulled into their driveway at 3:49. It was empty and Brittany was always dropped off by 3:53. She’d predicted this on her first day of fifth grade, calculating the bus’ route to a tee. Lord, you made her so smart.

            The driveway was empty, the home front quiet. Declan checked his watch as he got out of the car and peeked into the garage window. Why? The reasons failed to matter. But he spotted the car inside and bolted for the front door.

‘&’&’&’&’&’

‘But God drags away the mighty by his power;

though they become established, they have no assurance of life.’

~ Job 24:22 ~

            He wanted her to delete the account.

            “I-I’m not gonna do that.” Brittany insisted, though she refused to look him in the eye. He remedied that, getting down low and in her face. “You started this dance, little girl. You need to finish what you started. That’s what your parents teach you, right.”

            Brittany blinked out her tears, wrapping her fingers into the comforter of her bed. “You’re so smart, you figure it out.”

            “Mine,” he went on, unfazed by her tears. “Were always telling me to accept my place in the world; to roll with it. But, I don’t accept anything less then my dues.”

            “An extra food stamp to FoodMart.”

            “Is it just me or are you getting braver?” he growled, taking her phone and wrapping her hands around it. “Delete it.”

            Brittany stared at the phone. “No. It’s not going to stop just because I delete it. It’s- God’s- more powerful then that.” She looked up at his soulless eyes. “More powerful then you.”

            His face went red. He was going to hit her; Brittany braced herself. Only to have him walk away. “Just like everyone else, always underestimating…”

            He reached her outer wall, ripping a canvas off its nail and letting it clatter to the floor. He had two movie posters and a family photo to go. Brittany eyed her bedroom door which he’d left open. Wait... was that... that was her dad hunkered at the top of the stairs. Only, she couldn’t run to him this time. 

            The guy was eyeing her again, his hand kept tight on his gun. “The price you pay for underestimating, little girl.”

            He threw the family portrait down hard so the glass was sure to break. Brittany flinched with the sound. “Why’s it even matter? You want attention… become a politician or something.”

            He laughed, crunching a heel through the glass. “Not quite enough, Brittany King. But this…" His sick grin came back. "This is going to be talked about and logged into 20/20. They’re going to talk about me. How I got away with it. Man, am I going to enjoy that. Seeing the way people will lock their doors and worry over the safety of their pathetic lives.”

            That’s why he does it? Brittany drew back on her bed, appalled. So people will talk about him?

            Dad was on the top step now, gun in hand, eyes on her. But this psycho wasn't in his line of sight. Brittany needed him to walk back over to her. Oh, God...

            “Y-You’re just a case file, inside a database.” Brittany told him. “Nobody’s going to give you a second look when they catch you.”

            He didn’t like her defiance. Well, Brittany wasn’t too sure where it was coming from. God must’ve hidden it in some part of her brain, reserved for this moment. That resolve quivered though, as he bent down over her, clutched the back of her neck to keep her still.

            “Maybe… I’ll just skip the ceremony and kill you now.” He backed up slightly, grinning. He traced the barrel of his gun under her chin. “No one wants to hear you talk anyway-“

            The shot blasted away all other noise, sending him down in its wave. Brittany didn’t wait for him to hit her floor, just ran from the room and fell into her dad’s arms.

‘&’&’&’&’&’

            Often the question for a cop was 'Could I have saved them?' In the half light outside their house, while the crime scene unit worked to clean up Brittany's room, all Declan was thinking was; 'Should I have killed him?'
             Alex Morria was cuffed and locked in the back of a squad car, his muffled threats a grating annoyance even through the glass. He vowed he'd get out in a few hours, come back and finish his job. Make everybody remember his name. Declan would give anything to ignore his badge and shut him up permanently. But that would require leaving his daughter's side and he wasn't ready to do that yet.
             "Chief." he turned from the open back of the ambulance as Chief Wray approached them. "Please tell me this is almost over."
              "Almost." The chief assured him. "We'll wrap it up within the hour."
              "The ambulance can go home." Brittany tried to give the thermal blanket back to the paramedic for the third time. "I'm fine, really."
               Surprisingly, she was. It had taken awhile for her sobs to subside, but now she was sitting, holding Patty's hand tight, and had given her statement like a pro. Declan rethought that sentence; giving statements was the last thing he wanted Brittany to be well-versed in.
               "Let's go over to the Ottens." Patty suggested with another stroke of their daughter's hair. Declan eyed the chief and he nodded. He leaned in to kiss Patty as she stood. "I'll be over soon."
                Brittany hugged him tight. "We'll be able to move back in, right?"
                Declan considered the blood stain on her rug and the stress he felt at the thought of climbing his stairs one more time. "When we're ready."
                 Patty's face showed her reluctance. Brittany caught it too because she reached out her hand for Patty for take. "Our home, our memories. We're not going to let him take that away, right?"
                Declan feared if she gave him any more reason to be proud, he'd start bawling in front of the entire force. He kissed the top of her head. "Not in the least."

THE END

I think a big worry that families face is the evils of today's world encroaching on the sanctuary of their home. Now matter how old a person gets, they'll always return 'home' to feel grounded and safe again. So, what happens when that's threatened or taken away- by a burglary or something else? Much like the approach I had the King family take in this story, remember...

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal." ~Matthew 6:19-20

A house eventually decays. Home is the people you cried and laughed with while in that house. It's the pictures you took and the feelings you soaked in from one room into the next. Natural disaster and men's evil hearts can't take that away, nor the strength of relationship and character that you built up with your parents, guardians, siblings, whoever. I see the home as another place where God gathers His people for worship. Where we take that special note of the people who are our dearest treasures. 

Those treasures will carry into the next life, where we'll celebrate eternity with Jesus. Where we will truly, and finally, be home!