Seeking a Good Agent

 

I am a writer. I need an agent. 

But the last thing I can say to an agent is, “I need you.”

 Most do not want to be needed. They want to sift through the desperate pleas of hundreds of authors looking for those who only need a teenage niece or nephew to set up a savvy Amazon campaign to start earning royalties.

 With the options open to writers today, a great online marketer/publicist DOES NOT NEED an agent or a publisher! A mediocre writer who happens to know the ins and outs of online publicity can sell zillions of copies of pure, self-published drivel. They can launch podcasts or send out Facebook posts that incite insurrections and prolong epidemics.

 I am a writer. I am not an agent. I need an agent, or a teenage niece or nephew.

 

The Tragedy of Pudd'Nhead Wilson, Author's note, Mark Twain

The following Author's note, from Twain's Pudd'Nhead Wilson, explains much about my own method of novel writing. 

---

A man who is not born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a locality, and he trusts he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No--that is a thought which comes later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a little tale, a very little tale, a six-page tale. But as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.

And I have noticed another thing: that as the short tale grows into the long tale, the original intention (or motif) is apt to get abolished and find itself superseded by a quite different one. It was so in the case of a magazine sketch which I once started to write--a funny and fantastic sketch about a prince an a pauper; it presently assumed a grave cast of its own accord, and in that new shape spread itself out into a book. Much the same thing happened with PUDD'NHEAD WILSON. I had a sufficiently hard time with that tale, because it changed itself from a farce to a tragedy while I was going along with it--a most embarrassing circumstance. But what was a great deal worse was, that it was not one story, but two stories tangled together; and they obstructed and interrupted each other at every turn and created no end of confusion and annoyance. I could not offer the book for publication, for I was afraid it would unseat the reader's reason, I did not know what was the matter with it, for I had not noticed, as yet, that it was two stories in one. It took me months to make that discovery. I carried the manuscript back and forth across the Atlantic two or three times, and read it and studied over it on shipboard; and at last I saw where the difficulty lay. I had no further trouble. I pulled one of the stories out by the roots, and left the other--a kind of literary Caesarean operation.

Would the reader care to know something about the story which I pulled out? He has been told many a time how the born- and-trained novelist works; won't he let me round and complete his knowledge by telling him how the jackleg does it?

Originally the story was called Those Extraordinary Twins. I meant to make it very short. I had seen a picture of a youthful Italian "freak"--or "freaks"--which was--or which were-- on exhibition in our cities--a combination consisting of two heads and four arms joined to a single body and a single pair of legs-- and I thought I would write an extravagantly fantastic little story with this freak of nature for hero--or heroes-- a silly young miss for heroine, and two old ladies and two boys for the minor parts. I lavishly elaborated these people and their doings, of course. But the take kept spreading along and spreading along, and other people got to intruding themselves and taking up more and more room with their talk and their affairs. Among them came a stranger named Pudd'nhead Wilson, and woman named Roxana; and presently the doings of these two pushed up into prominence a young fellow named Tom Driscoll, whose proper place was away in the obscure background. Before the book was half finished those three were taking things almost entirely into their own hands and working the whole tale as a private venture of their own--a tale which they had nothing at all to do with, by rights.

When the book was finished and I came to look around to see what had become of the team I had originally started out with-- Aunt Patsy Cooper, Aunt Betsy Hale, and two boys, and Rowena the lightweight heroine--they were nowhere to be seen; they had disappeared from the story some time or other. I hunted about and found them--found them stranded, idle, forgotten, and permanently useless. It was very awkward. It was awkward all around, but more particularly in the case of Rowena, because there was a love match on, between her and one of the twins that constituted the freak, and I had worked it up to a blistering heat and thrown in a quite dramatic love quarrel, wherein Rowena scathingly denounced her betrothed for getting drunk, and scoffed at his explanation of how it had happened, and wouldn't listen to it, and had driven him from her in the usual "forever" way; and now here she sat crying and brokenhearted; for she had found that he had spoken only the truth; that is was not he, but the other of the freak that had drunk the liquor that made him drunk; that her half was a prohibitionist and had never drunk a drop in his life, and altogether tight as a brick three days in the week, was wholly innocent of blame; and indeed, when sober, was constantly doing all he could to reform his brother, the other half, who never got any satisfaction out of drinking, anyway, because liquor never affected him. Yes, here she was, stranded with that deep injustice of hers torturing her poor torn heart.

I didn't know what to do with her. I was as sorry for her as anybody could be, but the campaign was over, the book was finished, she was sidetracked, and there was no possible way of crowding her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there, of course; it would not do. After spreading her out so, and making such a to-do over her affairs, it would be absolutely necessary to account to the reader for her. I thought and thought and studied and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw plainly that there was really no way but one--I must simply give her the grand bounce. It grieved me to do it, for after associating with her so much I had come to kind of like her after a fashion, notwithstanding things and was so nauseatingly sentimental. Still it had to be done. So at the top of Chapter XVII I put a "Calendar" remark concerning July the Fourth, and began the chapter with this statistic:

"Rowena went out in the backyard after supper to see the fireworks and fell down the well and got drowned."

It seemed abrupt, but I thought maybe the reader wouldn't notice it, because I changed the subject right away to something else. Anyway it loosened up Rowena from where she was stuck and got her out of the way, and that was the main thing. It seemed a prompt good way of weeding out people that had got stalled, and a plenty good enough way for those others; so I hunted up the two boys and said, "They went out back one night to stone the cat and fell down the well and got drowned." Next I searched around and found old Aunt Patsy and Aunt Betsy Hale where they were around, and said, "They went out back one night to visit the sick and fell down the well and got drowned." I was going to drown some others, but I gave up the idea, partly because I believed that if I kept that up it would arose attention, and perhaps sympathy with those people, and partly because it was not a large well and would not hold any more anyway.

Still the story was unsatisfactory. Here was a set of new characters who were become inordinately prominent and who persisted in remaining so to the end; and back yonder was an older set who made a large noise and a great to-do for a little while and then suddenly played out utterly and fell down the well. There was a radical defect somewhere, and I must search it out and cure it.

The defect turned out to be the one already spoken of-- two stories in one, a farce and a tragedy. So I pulled out the farce and left the tragedy. This left the original team in, but only as mere names, not as characters. Their prominence was wholly gone; they were not even worth drowning; so I removed that detail. Also I took the twins apart and made two separate men of them. They had no occasion to have foreign names now, but it was too much trouble to remove them all through, so I left them christened as they were and made no explanation.

Raising a Gender, Religion, Race, Ethnicity, Truth, Language, and Species Neutral Animal

Disclaimer: This is fictional satire!!!

My others and I have chosen to raise our young animal to be ready for whatever may come in its future. When the time comes, it will be free to choose not only its gender but also its religion, race, ethnicity, truth, language, and species. Here are a few of the choices we have made to ensure this outcome:

When it was born, my others and I asked the doctor to not label it male, female, lesbian, gay, bi, trans or any of the other 30 or so genders available.  We chose rather to have it delivered into the hands of our nanperson, who has strict instructions to refer to it as it and to keep any-and-all genitalia covered in our presence, lest we be tempted to prejudice our child toward a particular gender choice. 

We have elected to leave our young animal nameless. This should prevent several lurid possibilities. For instance: historically, whatever name a young animal receives, can, in future decades, become associated with one gender or another, thus preventing it from making that life changing decision when it finds itself attracted to other animals of undetermined gender. Then, in all-wise adolescence, the bunch of them can sort it out together.

Names from literature or alleged “scriptures” burden a young animal with fantastic aspirations. Names, derived from mythical gods, "saints," or creatures, cause it to question naturalistic and scientific reason.

A young animal should not be given a name associated with an ethnicity, language, or race. Ancestry, like religion, should be a matter of individual choice and not related to “family” tradition or physical traits at birth. We have elected to allow no speech in the young animal’s presence.  Speaking any language implies national and regional affiliations and historical “truths”, thus preventing the young animal from making unfettered choices on its own, not to mention inflicting upon it the notion that human beings are somehow superior to other animal species.

We are allowing our “tabula rasa” to remain rasa. With nothing written in stone, it can, like the Universe around us, generate itself from nothing.

Supernatural Objects

An anonymous well-wisher, knowing Bruce’s knee is very painful, left a "prayer-anointed" blanket at our door. 

[Disclaimer: I am a life-long Christian but highly skeptical in regard to unverifiable, supposedly-supernatural objects. I don’t travel to see statues cry or pictures bleed.]

I believe said blanket was blessed by the prayers of other Christians, but what that means I am not sure. So I have a few impertinent questions:

1.  Will the prayers wash out? After how many washings?
2.  Will the prayers spread to other items in the wash?

3.  Should I wash the blanket  separately?
4.  What if I wash it in a baptistery? Would the prayers stay longer?
5.  Will it stay anointed if I give it to someone else, or is it a one-user blanket?
6.  What if both Bruce and I sleep under it? Will the prayers affect us both?
7.  How does the blanket know who to bless, or heal, or save, or anoint?

Meanwhile, another well-meaning couple gave us a vial of "miraculous" oil, extracted from a "miraculous" oil- producing Bible. I believe in anointing with oil as commanded in the Bible, but am again skeptical in regard to unverifiable “miraculous” objects. I have made some assumptions:

1.  Anointing with this oil can't do any harm, even if the giver is deluded.
2.  Any resultant healing should be attributed to God and not to any "miraculous" oil or Bible.

Another Christian couple gave us some no-sugar-added apple butter. I facetiously asked if I should spread some of it on Bruce's knee. The husband, who has a similar sense of humor, said, “Yes, and then lick it off.”

Seriously, I don't believe that "believing all things" (I Corinthians) extends to superstition and flim-flam, but that landscape is gray-ish. Spiritual discernment is a gift from God that ALL Christians need to practice. I pray I do.

Six Days or One Instant?

I have a children’s book in mind about the origin of the universe, the origin of life, and the age of the earth. I have studied scientific explanations of these concepts, and believe that God did not give us measurable phenomena in order to, as Daddy quoted from II Thessalonians, make us “believe a lie.”

I believe:

 

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
            the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
        Day after day they pour forth speech;
            night after night they reveal knowledge.
        They have no speech, they use no words;
            no sound is heard from them.
        Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
            their words to the ends of the world.”

 

The intent of my book is to gently move children (and adults) away from the misconception that the description of creation in Genesis is in any way intended to be scientific. I equate the creation story with the poetry of Job or Psalms. It speaks truth in ways that move our hearts and resonate in our souls, but it is not scientifically accurate. Every word is supernaturally true, but written to a people who had no physics, biology, geology, or astronomy.

My concern is that many children are told by the world, by their parents, and by religious leaders that they must either believe the Bible or science, that they cannot believe both. I have seen home school curriculums in which the so-called science is more Bible lesson. Homeschool curriculum writers cater to parents who believe teaching their children that the earth was created in 6 literal days will somehow save them from hell.

Arguing about how long it took God to create the world is irrelevant—the pure fact of the matter is that God created every atom of matter, every law of science, every moment of time, every joule of energy, and every bit of information now in existence in an instant so short that it cannot be measured. (Some people leave out the God part, but some people are fools.)

I have contacted a Christian a friend of mine who is a poet, a physicist, and a Christian. He and my husband/theologian have promised to help. Now, where to begin??

 

 

To Tell theTruth?

Prevaricate: to avoid telling the truth by not directly answering a question.

   

     I filled out an online application for America’s Thrift Store in September or October, and they called me in November for an interview. Meanwhile, I had begun working as a cashier at Wal-Mart.

     At the Thrift Store interview, I told the assistant manager that I would consider taking the job, even though the pay was lower, if I could get a set schedule—be off the days Bruce is off and only work a few hours/day. They promised me 4 hours/per day, 5 days/week, and I took the offer. “One more thing,” they said, and handed me a pre-employment questionnaire asking about my health. There were yes and no questions about every possible ailment with space to explain any yeses. I had numerous explanations. (At my age you have a variety of petty ailments, or you are dead.)

     They called and told me I would have to undergo a pre-employment physical. I went back to the store and was handed three sheets of paper stating that the physical should address the stated concerns, that it must be completed in 5 days, be on official letterhead, and signed by an MD, not a physician’s assistant or nurse practitioner. Since my doctor’s office was just down the street, I went directly there and made an appointment for the next Monday, which was exactly 5 working days from that date. I gave Wal-Mart my two week notice.

     On that Monday, my doctor went over the form with me, asked about each of the concerns, and then signed a note on letterhead stating that I was able to do the job. I went directly to the store and turned it in. I did not hear from them for several days, so I called and was told by the assistant manager that the manager had rejected the letter because “it was not on official looking letterhead” and “the signature did not indicate that the signer was a physician.” When I asked her why I had not been notified, I was told that she had just learned of the problem. In the course of the conversation, I asked to speak with the manager and told him why I wanted the job. He informed me that whoever had promised me a set schedule did not have the authority to do so, and that my schedule would be determined by the vicissitudes of the retail business.

     At this point, I was speechless, but determined that any breach of contract would not be on my part, so I contacted my doctor who signed a boilerplate letter stating that I could “return to work.” Of course, this too was rejected. At that point I took the three pages I had been given by America’s Thrift back to the doctor’s office. The nursing assistant took them into the office and came back with a rubber stamped signature on the page outlining my ailments. I took this back to American Thrift and told the assistant manager, “My doctor is done, and if you do not accept this, I am done, too.”

     I went to management at Wal-Mart. They were happy to have me stay, and was given a semi-regular schedule--off on the days Bruce is off. I learned yesterday that Wal-Mart will be raising minimum wage to $9/hour in April, and by then I will have a 10% discount. So, it’s all for the best, EXCEPT, my insurance will not pay for the $149 office visit.

     So, ladies and gentlemen, here is the take away: If you are asked to fill out a pre-employment health statement, prevaricate like a dog! On second thought, my honesty saved me from having to work for a rather dishonest bunch, so I will stick to the truth.

Hell?

I’m reading Leviticus with its complicated rules regarding worship, sacrifices, and the tabernacle, and I’m thinking, “Just give me the Gentile version.” But somewhere in the middle of the “priestly linen undergarments,” it hits me: No unholy thing can abide in the presence of God; without all of that ritual, any human being approaching God would die. Yet I, a once unholy being, am invited into God’s Holy presence and filled with His Holy Spirit. How? The blood of Christ—the eternal sacrifice—cleans me and makes me fit to be with God!

I am His. I am holy. I will live with God for eternity, and worship with my Christian brothers and sisters for all time. I will see the new heavens and the new earth and live forever where there is no sin or pain or fear or sorrow or death. Praise God!

If I do not allow Christ to wash me in His blood continually, I remain unholy, and the unholy cannot be with God. Which leads me to the question, is there a place of eternal punishment, and if so, what is its nature and who ends up there?

I witnessed a debate in the ‘70s between a Christian minister and the British Scholar and then-atheist, Antony Flew. Dr. Flew cited the Holocaust in his argument against the popular concept of Hell, saying something like this: According to some Christians, anyone who does not accept Christ as savior is damned. Jews, by definition, do not accept Christ and will, according to those Christians, spend eternity being burned alive. So God used the ovens of Hitler to usher millions of Jews into the ovens of Hell. Is this a loving God?

I am in no position to judge a good and perfect God, but God made me in His image and able to know good from evil. I do not believe that simple existence and sin, though abhorrent, justifies eternal, excruciating torture for anyone. (Punishment, yes. Death, yes. Eternal torture, no.)

If not eternal torture, what? What ultimately happens to persons who do not follow Jesus?  The Bible tells us that all sinners are doomed to “destruction."

 

Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.

Galatians 6:8

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. (Meaning God)

Matthew 10:28

 

These two scriptures imply that the bodies and souls of sinners are not eternal, that they can and will be destroyed "eternally."

So, what about “The fire that never goes out?”  or the “unquenchable fire”? I don’t know. I know Hell was prepared for the Devil and his angels, eternal beings who currently war against God, persecute His saints, and attempt to rob us of our holiness. Perhaps for eternal beings, Hell is eternal torture?

 

Religious Ecstasy

Religious Ecstasy

 

As I type, my heart is thumping and my hands are shaking. I am, metaphorically speaking, handling fire. I am treading on territory usually reserved for academics and sceptics, but I am simply a life-long Christian trying to determine the legitimacy of my own experience. I am not questioning the reality; I have seen and felt whereof I speak. I am questioning the provenance.

 

Every human being, given an effective stimulus, can and will experience transcendence. The reality of the experience is not determined by its being right or wrong, good or evil, holy or unholy. For example: electrical stimulation of different areas of the brain can produce physical pleasure, religious euphoria, or an emotional “high.” The stimulus is artificial, but, to the subject, the result, whether physical, spiritual, or emotional, is real.
 

In certain situations, I have been overcome by emotion. Feelings can cause me pain, pleasure, extreme empathy, or physical collapse. I can lapse into incoherence.

 

It would be very easy for me to decide that my overwhelming desires and emotions are God given and holy. But when is that true?

 

God, give me wisdom. Take my weak and weary heart and make it strong and pure.

 

Psalm 37:4-6

Take delight in the Lord,
    and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the Lord;
    trust in him and he will do this:

He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
    your vindication like the noonday sun.

Israel vs. God's People

Many of my Christian brothers and sisters are somehow convinced that the modern state of Israel is the equivalent of the children of Israel in the Old Testament and thus uniquely authorized by God to demand and receive military and political aid, privileges, and concessions. They also believe God will, at the return of Christ, reestablish the theocracy that was Israel 2000 years ago, complete with temple worship and animal sacrifices. To those brothers and sisters I say with the prophet Isaiah, “Come let us reason together.”

Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that God has a vested interest in the physical existence of the essentially atheistic, militaristic, geopolitical state of modern day Israel. Let us assume that God is therefore on their side politically and militarily. My question is this. If God is intent on establishing an earthly kingdom with headquarters in Jerusalem, does the Ruler of the universe need special concessions , military aid and financial help?

And, if the state of Israel is “God’s People” to whom all of Biblical prophecy applies,  what am I, chopped liver?

"Dating" the Universe

In my single days, I “sort of” dated a number of odd characters. I say “sort of” because I only remember being actually asked out two or maybe three times. In all other cases, the young man in question and I found ourselves in deep philosophical discussions or other compromising situations without our having formalized the event with an invitation. Case in point: a gentleman who stood out on our otherwise homogenous, Christian college campus. 

“Clark” was a bit older than the majority of students, and tall enough to impress. He furthered his gravitas by wearing tweed suits, dress shirts, and ties to class. In addition, anyone in his wake was treated to a sweet, earthy smell that my friends convinced me was marijuana. (I still don’t know if they were pulling my leg, but I remember the smell distinctly and have suspected many a soul since, guilty or otherwise, of smoking weed.)

Our liaisons typically began after our shared Theatre Lit class in which discussions could devolve into taunts. After a heated debate over Shaw’s “Man and Super Man,” I told him his conclusions smelled of sulfur. He responded by bringing a book of matches to our next class, striking them and blowing the smoke my way. Thus began our theological debates.

I learned that he believed in a creator because he had “proven it mathematically.” I had never considered mathematics as a basis for belief, but have since come to understand that such proofs are possible, especially given scientists’ current ability to date the beginning of the universe.

“Clark” claimed he did not believe in a personal God because a “good, omnipotent God” would not allow suffering. To prove his point, he showed me a picture of his bed-ridden grandmother, wasting away in discomfort, and virtually unaware of her surroundings. “What do you have to say to her?” he asked.

I did not come up with a definitive answer to the problem of pain, but after considerable thought I had two responses:

1.       If I ever find myself in such a situation, I pray that God will give me grace to remain faithful and thankful.

2.       If she is a believer, I would tell her, “It won’t be long now. Your suffering will end, and heaven is worth it all.”

I do not know if our discussions ever led him to belief. Things came to an abrupt halt when he issued a matter-of-fact proposal that went something like this, “I am a genius, and you are a genius. We should get married and have perfect children.”

A couple of years later, my discussions with “Clark” did bear fruit when I found myself in debate with another weirdo, the militant atheist who is now a Christian and my husband.

My Writing Process

I’m plugging away at the next Grit and Grace Mystery, "Murder Abominable," and thought I might give any would-be authors out there some insight into my process. The first passage below is a rough draft, the second is an edit, possibly the final edit. In any case, notice the &&& marking that I place in my rough draft to mark spots that need to be “fixed.” Sometimes I leave notes to myself to help me remember what I want to do. In this case the &&& is followed by the note (Make this more immediate.) In other words, bring the scene closer to the reader. Bring the reader into the scene. I believe I have achieved that goal. Read both passages to see if you agree.

ROUGH DRAFT

“But I’m telling you, Franklin, it’s illegal.” Rake Cradoc, Jr. of Cradoc and Cradoc Attorneys at Law, clung to his phone with white knuckles. “You can’t charge that kind of interest in this state.”

Franklin Stewart answered evenly, “You set it up yourself, Rake. We’re off shore. State laws can’t touch me.”

“But the Feds are sniffing around. They are going to trace the money back to Golden Goose and from Golden Goose to you. I don’t know how much longer that ruse in the Bahamas is going to hold up.”

“It will hold up as long as I remain mindful. I’m controlling my own destiny. I can’t stop living my destiny because I might be breaking a few tax laws.”

“What if your destiny is prison, Franklin?”

“What a negative way of thinking, Rake. You aren’t living in the moment. You aren’t being mindful of your present state of being.”

“Listen, Franklin.” Rake raised his voice and resorted to biting humor. “Exorbitant interest is illegal in your present state of being.”

“Rake, Rake.” Franklin clucked. “Have you even started to read that book I gave you?”

&&&(make this more immediate)

Rake had tried. Science of Mind, advocated, as far as Rake could make out, plain old positive thinking. But there was a side order of access to the Infinite—access obtained with “no system of sin and punishment, no rule of conduct, no profession of faith.” Rake was intrigued; he was not a religious man. On the other hand, if, as he suspected, there really was an “Infinite Intelligence,” he was pretty sure he was not, as the book seemed to claim, it. Nor did he believe that his inmost being harbored that Intelligence. But the chapter that claimed every human on the planet “shares unlimited access to the infinite curative power of the universe,” caused him to throw the book across the room. “That power,” he had read, “is obedient to our expectations, it manifests exactly as we think and believe.” In other words, Science of Mind stated that anyone could, with the proper thought processes, control the universe. "Disease is not a truth,” the author claimed. “The truths within Infinite Intelligence include health, abundance, security, love, peace, and happiness - all of which make up our natural state. Anyone, by claiming those truths and acting confidently on them, can bring them into manifestation.” Anyone, Rake knew, did not include the author, Earnest Holmes, whose natural state at the moment was, dead.

 

REVISED VERSION

“But I’m telling you, Franklin, it’s illegal.” Rake Cradoc, Jr. of Cradoc and Cradoc Attorneys at Law, clung to his phone with white knuckles. “You can’t charge that kind of interest in this state.”

Franklin Stewart answered evenly, “You set it up yourself, Rake. We’re off shore. State laws can’t touch me.”

“But the Feds are sniffing around. They are going to trace the money back to Golden Goose and from Golden Goose to you. I don’t know how much longer that ruse in the Bahamas is going to hold up.”

“It will hold up as long as I remain mindful. I’m controlling my own destiny. I can’t stop living my destiny because I might be breaking a few tax laws.”

“What if your destiny is prison, Franklin?”

“What a negative way of thinking, Rake. You aren’t living in the moment. You aren’t being mindful of your present state of being.”

“Listen, Franklin.” Rake raised his voice and resorted to biting humor. “Exorbitant interest is illegal in your present state of being.”

“Rake, Rake.” Franklin clucked. “Have you even started to read that book I gave you by Earnest Holmes?”

Rake had tried. Science of Mind, as far as he could make out, advocated plain old positive thinking with a tantalizing side order of Divinity—Divinity obtained with “no system of sin and punishment, no rule of conduct, no profession of faith.” He was not a religious man, but he had been intrigued. There might very well be an “Infinite Intelligence,” but Rake was pretty sure he was not, as the book seemed to claim, It. Nor did he believe the book’s claim that “The truths within Infinite Intelligence include health, abundance, security, love, peace, and happiness—all of which make up our natural state. Anyone, by claiming those truths can bring them into manifestation.”

Rake closed down his Kindle app and Googled “Earnest Holmes.” The current natural state of Earnest Holmes was, Rake learned, “dead.” He reopened Science of Mind and punched “delete.”

Body and Soul

What is your reaction when you see pubescent females in tiny bikinis? My reaction is fear.

 

I fear for children whose parents have no more regard for their safety than to (literally) expose them to the leers of whoever may be present. I fear for children who could be targets of rapists, kidnappers, or human traffickers.  I am afraid for children whose pictures, if posted on the internet, could be classified as child porn.

 

And I fear for the souls of children who are not taught the sanctity and holiness of the human body.

 

I hope the insights presented by swimsuit designer Jessica Rey in the  link below are a sign that modesty is "New-fashioned" and on the rise.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Im0O-IVzoWE

Spirit, Soul, and Body

The Bible urges us to share strong feelings (emotions) with our Christian brothers and sisters.

 

One of many examples: Phil. 2:1-3

Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

 

Strong feelings of love, tenderness, and compassion (compassion means “feeling together”) involve physical and chemical reactions in our (dare I use the word) bodies.

Having recently begun to attend a Pentecostal church, I am learning that emotions combined with spiritual and physical phenomena can be confusing, exhilarating, and nearly overwhelming.

Satan has tried to exploit my confusion to convince me that my feelings of affection, joy, and connection are or could become sinful. This fear pushes me away from my brothers and sisters.

 

But scripture pushes me toward love and promises that God will strengthen my heart to make me able to practice pure and holy love.

 

Ephesians 3:15-19

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you , being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

 

I Thessalonians 3:12,13

May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other and for everyone else, just as ours does for you. May he strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all his holy ones.

 

I Thessalonians 5:24,25

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.

 

I refuse to allow Satan to make my relationships with my Christian brothers and sisters anything but holy.

Easter Passion

When asked if I have seen the movies “The Passion of the Christ,” or “Son of God” I want to say, “No, I haven’t paid to watch the torture, humiliation, and murder of my best friend and brother. But thank you for asking.”

And I despise sermons that exploit the agony of the crucifixion—the stripe by stripe, blow by blow, gasp by gasp description of Roman cruelty.

First and foremost, such sermons are not Biblical. If God had wanted Christians to be guilt-ridden by the appalling physical aspect of Christ’s passion, you would think at least one of the four gospel writers would have gone that direction. Instead, in regard to the actual manner of death, we have this:

Matthew: “When they had crucified him. . .”

Mark: “And they crucified him.”

Luke:  “. . . there they crucified him . . .”

John: “When the soldiers crucified Jesus . . .”

Second, if the point of Christ’s death were the pain, there are hundreds, if not thousands of more dreadful ends. For one, He could, like my own mother, live to be over 90 and die of multiple, painful conditions that kill by inches. Or he could have simply remained on the cross for the typical two to three days instead of dying after six hours.

I do not mean to downplay Christ’s physical suffering, but, over the centuries, tens of thousands of human beings have been and are being crucified.

Only one had the power to save himself yet willingly chose to die.

Only one lived a sinless life and chose to die as a sinner.

Only one died for me.

Only one is still living.

MESSY

 

“Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world. This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God.” I John: 4:1-3.

This scripture was not typically preached in the denomination in which I was raised. Many Christians under that label do not acknowledge the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, and most believe that the need to “test the spirits” ended in the first century.
That view of a Christian’s walk on this earth leaves us with a couple of options: One, we read the Bible and try to arrive at the truth all by ourselves, or two, we ask the preacher or the elders or the brotherhood bigwigs what to believe and how to behave.

The former method, without the guidance of the Holy Spirit, is hopeless; the latter results in comfortable, codified, legalism.

But, “our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”  Ephesians 6:12, 13.

Who or what are these evil powers/spirits? Do we see them? Hear them? Feel them? How do we resist them?
And if the Holy Spirit dwells in us and gives us gifts, how do we recognize Him and practice our gifts individually, in the body, and in worship?

Though the Bible offers guidance, the answers to these questions are not and cannot be codified. They are experiential and cumulative. They must be practiced over a lifetime.
And life is MESSY.

A Passing Miracle?

     Age and acid reflux have taken a toll on my vocal chords, and, for the last few years, anytime I have attempted to sing, my voice has broken, cracked, and squawked. BUT, for the last three months, I have been able to sing.  Being able to sing again is pure joy for me, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude every time anything other than screeching comes out of my mouth.

     I believe God did this. I am not sure why or how, but He restored my voice in November, shortly after my father died and my husband and I began attending a church where I, in spite of being female, am allowed to “bring a hymn”* to the worship service. Incidentally—I thought—I had also started taking a powerful medication for dry eyes.

     Then, the medicine, although working beautifully for my dry eyes, began to seriously disturb my balance. I fell—twice. No dizziness, weakness, nausea, or lightheadedness, I simply fell. I called my eye doctor who instructed me to stop using the drops. That was at the end of December, and I have not fallen since.

     I saw that doctor today. While I was in his office, the coincidence between the medicine and my voice occurred to me, and I asked if the drops could have restored my vocal chords. He said, “They do run down the back of your throat after they leave your eyes, and anything is possible.” He added, “Get your singing in now; the medicine will be out of your system in another month.”

     I am seriously sad and considering trying to take the eye drops again if my voice starts to go. I am praying that the drops have nothing to do with my voice and that my miracle will last just a little longer.

*What then shall we say, brothers and sisters? When you come together, each of you has a hymn, or a word of instruction, a revelation, a tongue or an interpretation. Everything must be done so that the church may be built up. (I Corinthians 14:26)

You REALLY had to Be There

If you have never seen 25 kids, all under 8 years of age, sing and dance their way through the Christmas story, you have missed an indescribable joy. The Sunday before Christmas, Bruce and I attended a children’s cantata at our church, Christian Fellowship Assembly in Tunnel Hill, GA.

Tiny angels, shepherds, the Magi, Mary and Joseph worshiped with abandon.  A grinning four-year-old in  gold lame’ sat atop her father’s shoulders and led the cast, including a donkey, a cow, a sheep, a bird, and a couple of critters of unknown species, to the baby in the manger.

The unconventional Christmas pageant was punctuated with familiar but reimagined carols. I don’t know about you, but toddlers bobbing up and down and singing “O, Holy Night” to a polka beat is beyond my ability to describe. You really had to be there. The director, a young woman with entirely too much energy and infinite patience, waved and pointed and shouted out the lyrics.

One thought has filled my heart and given me great pleasure ever since witnessing this miniature spectacular: never in these children’s lives will anyone at our church tell them, “You can’t worship like that.”

Praise God!

I'm Famous

My Concrete "Angel"

The saga here at “the home” continues.

When Bruce and I moved in, I placed a concrete statue of a little girl—she looks maybe three or four years old—in a niche in the wall outside our door. She is about 20” tall; her head is bowed; her hands are folded, and two concrete wings sprout from her little concrete shoulders. I decorate her every month to fit a holiday or seasonal theme. Right now she is wearing a turkey tail, beak, and wattle for thanksgiving.

Although she bears no resemblance to the angels described in the Bible, I have been known to refer to this statue as “my angel.” This has resulted in the following brouhaha:

Last month, October, I put a half mask over her eyes, put artificial green leaves on her wings, and a sunflower on her head. I hung a green trick or treat bag over her hands and spread candy at her feet. Two days later, someone left a note, “This is nothing to do to an angel.” I took it as a joke and left it for all to see. Two days after that, I found a plastic bag hanging on my door containing my “angel’s” costume. I was astounded that anyone would have the nerve to do such a thing without notifying me.

Shortly thereafter, a lady I now refer to as “Super Christian” showed up at my door. She was all smiles as she told me that she had taken down the costume while I wasn’t in because “people were talking.” She went on. “I just wanted to protect you from the gossip.”

I was incensed, but, all smiles. (I haven't lived in the South for 40 years without learning something.) I asked if she wanted any help removing the pumpkin down the hall or the witch hanging from my neighbor’s door. She answered that she was "offended" by Halloween, but she had removed my decorations only because I had done such a thing “to an angel.”

[God help us. Yet another misapplication of the Biblical term "offended" by those who would control the behavior of other Christians. *To "offend" in the Bible means to cause another to sin.]

After she left, I thought of all sorts of things to do in retaliation, including placing the following note on my statue: “I realize that those of you who have recently stopped practicing witchcraft can be very tempted to return to those practices by any hint of the occult, so I apologize to all of you former witches for having costumed my statue for Halloween. Please know I am praying for your total rehabilitation.”

But I didn’t. In the end my better angels prevailed, and I posted the following:

Dear Residents,

I want to apologize for Becky who in the past has referred to me as “an angel.” Biblical angels are scary, wingless, and male.

I am a concrete statue made by Becky’s sister to commemorate their sister, Rita, who died in a car accident.

Becky has been dressing me up monthly to try and create a more joyful atmosphere here at C--------.

For October she dressed me as a sprite for “trick or treat,” forgetting that Rita did not allow her own children to celebrate Halloween.

I will close by reminding all of us that one way we can stop the Devil in his tracks is to NOT GOSSIP.

Anytime you hear anyone say anything about anybody, tell them to go to that person and say it to their face.

Thank you, “Angel” Rita

*Romans 14: 19-23 Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a person to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble.  It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother or sister to fall. So whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who does not condemn himself by what he approves.  But whoever has doubts is condemned if they eat, because their eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

.