Sunday, August 4, 2013

GUEST POST BY MARTIN ROTH: “Brother Half Angel - the Persecuted Christian”


Guest Post by Martin Roth
 
 
 
"Brother Half Angel" – Fighting for Persecuted Christians

What does a writer do when current events overtake the novel he is writing? In my case I just kept on writing, guessing (correctly) that eventually the status quo would be restored.

It happened a couple of years ago, while I was writing “Festival in the Desert,” the fourth in my "Brother Half Angel" series of international thrillers.

"Brother Half Angel" is a rough-diamond military commando who was once a leader of the Korean equivalent of the SEALS, but was forced to quit after an operation went tragically wrong, cutting off his forearm (and slicing in half his angel tattoo).

He is also a Christian with a passion for justice, and is now the leader of a clandestine group dedicated to helping the persecuted church.

I personally believe that the growing levels of persecution of Christians in the world today – particularly in Muslim countries – is one of the big issues facing the church today. I am continually shocked and disturbed that so few Christians really seem to know much about the continuing – and intensifying – threats against our brothers and sisters in so many parts of the world. I write my novels at least in part to educate my fellow Christians about these matters.

“Festival in the Desert” is set at a fictional mission hospital on the edge of the Sahara Desert in Mali, West Africa. It is under attack from Islamist extremists.

How many Christians know that Mali and surrounding countries constitute one of the key battlegrounds for Al Qaeda and related Islamist groups? Boko Haram, responsible for killing thousands in Nigeria, is just one of those groups.

This is why, according to a recent report in the Baptist Press, fully 70 per cent of the Christians killed worldwide in 2012 were Nigerians, making that country the most lethal place for Christians by a huge margin.

Here is an excerpt from Festival in the Desert:

“Drugs is just one of the problems,” said Dr Becker. “And it is getting worse, according to the embassy briefing I’ve received. We all know that the Sahara has become the transit point for shipments from South America, heading for Europe. That’s not new. But the big problem, the main problem now, is Al Qaeda. They are increasingly active. They are targeting this whole region. The whole of West Africa. All these traditionally moderate Muslim countries. They view them as a place for expansion. They are trying to radicalize the people. That’s why we see them in the markets more and more. Talking to local people.”

“It’s also all these new Saudi-sponsored mosques in town,” said Dr Steyn. “There’s more than a dozen of them. All recent. They send their imams from Saudi Arabia. Telling the women they have to wear veils and the men that they have to stop drinking alcohol and stop talking to people of other religions.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right. And according to the briefing I received, both Al Qaeda and the new mosques are recruiting young men, sending them off for training at madrassas in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan. These men come back home with radically new beliefs. They’re not tolerant any more. They hate the West, hate America, hate Christians.”

Dr Becker paused and glanced around. He looked a forlorn figure, with his white hair and lined face and wire-rimmed spectacles that sat at the end of his nose. “And then there are the Tuaregs. Thousands of them were forced to escape from Libya after the fall of Gaddafi, and now they’re back home, heavily armed and stirring up trouble. They’ve renewed their war of liberation against the government.”

 “Are they a threat to us?”
“They’re a threat to everyone. They say they want self-rule. But a lot of criminal elements are involved as well. They’re involved in kidnap. Extortion. Whatever. Westerners will always be a target. And they are all mixed up together.”
“Who are?”
“Al Qaeda. The Tuaregs. The drug dealers. Sometimes they’re enemies, fighting each other. But sometimes they’re friends, when it suits them. This whole region is becoming a lawless Wild West.” He looked at Bobby, the only American in the room, as if he were somehow responsible for all lawless Wild Wests around the world.
“So what does all this mean?” asked Dr Ryu.
“It means our hospital is a target.”

****** 

It was as I was completing the book that news came through that Tuaregs – the traditional desert nomads of the Sahara – had rebelled against the Malian government and captured about half the country, including the region where my fictional mission hospital was located. They were supported by elements of Al Qaeda, who quickly moved against all churches and Christians in the region. They certainly would have closed down my hospital.

My book was nearly done. I decided not to try to accommodate the new realities. I could not believe that Western powers would allow Al Qaeda to take over half a country. I was right. Eventually the French government sent in soldiers, who appear to have recaptured most of the region.

But the persecution of Christians continues. Just this month Islamists massacred several dozen teachers and students at a school in northern Nigeria. Sadly, Brother Half Angel is not ready to retire.
 
 
Martin Roth is a veteran journalist and foreign correspondent whose reports from Asia have appeared in leading publications around the world, including the Wall Street Journal, Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, Baltimore Sun and The Guardian. He is the author of many books.

His Brother Half Angel international thrillers focus on the persecuted church. They feature Brother Half Angel, an abrasive former military man who heads a clandestine new military order that is dedicated to fighting for the rights of persecuted Christians around the world.

The five books in the series are The Coptic Martyr of Cairo, Brother Half Angel, The Maria Kannon, Military Orders and Festival in the Desert.

He is also the author of the Johnny Ravine Private Eye Series, with Prophets and Loss, Hot Rock Dreaming (Australian Christian Book of the Year finalist) and Burning at the Boss, and the Feisty Ferreira Series of financial thrillers - Tokyo Bossa Nova and The Kalgoorlie Skimpy.

He lives in Australia with his Korean wife and three sons.


 
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Tuesday, July 16, 2013

GUEST POST BY BARBARA ANN DERKSEN: New Book, “Shadow Stalker”





Want a scary book to read - something that will make your skin crawl and heart thump and keep you guessing?  Check out Shadow Stalker: The Finders Keepers Mystery Series, Book One, just released in May 2013, by Barbara Ann Derksen.  Here is the description from Amazon:

An ominous shadow hangs over her, as Christine Finder, alias Melissa Rompart, visits the brutal slaying of her parents most nights in a dream. The threat of discovery propels her to search for the whereabouts of the killer to see the man brought to justice. In the meantime, the killer stalks her mind while she operates Finder’s Keepers, an agency that searches for the people her clients hire her to find. Nathan Brent is only four years old and missing. Will she find him in time or will the killer find her first?

Want to read more? The prologue and chapter 1 is below.




Prologue 

Her vision seeped through the louvers on the utility room door. The images seemed broken as in a jigsaw puzzle until she leaned forward and placed her forehead against the wood. Her insides tightened. Everyone was shouting. She willed her body to stop trembling but it seemed to have a will of its own. The gun that the stranger held, just like on TV but different, was pointed at her father. This was real. Daddy had hid her ... told me to stay where I am until ... She couldn't remember.
Daddy’s voice sounded like it did when he talked on the phone sometimes. “What do you want with us? You have no business being here. We said no contact."
She watched his face get redder than she'd ever seen it, even when he'd been out in the sun too long. Mommy was shaking her fist. She never did that. The stranger smiled, totally silent, not intimidated, it seemed to the five year old. A shiver walked its way up her spine. She’d seen guns like that in the cartoons she watched. This one was a little longer though. Only business, the man said. What business, she wondered.
The man straightened his arm, the one holding the gun. Her vision blurred for a second, horror filling the empty spaces in her brain. The explosion echoed in the foyer. The bullet seemed to travel in slow motion. Just like the cartoons, she thought. Her daddy’s body slammed into the banister of the staircase heading up to the bedroom area and the maid’s quarters. The railing shook. Her father’s body flopped forward. His head smacked the floor. He lay still then.
Blood covered the wall behind where her father had stood. Her mother screamed and then was silent. Before her father's body hit the tiled foyer, she watched the side of her mother’s head explode. Specks of blood and other gooey stuff splattered all over the walls, mixing with the blood from her father. Her stomach lurched. She wrapped a hand tightly across her mouth. A silent scream rattled around in her head seeking an escape. Get up, it said. Daddy. Mommy. Get up. Please. The scream evaporated, as if it had never been. They weren’t moving. In the cartoons, they always got back up. Why don’t they get up?
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision again. Daddy just lay there. Mommy lay beside him, covered in the blood that flowed from her body. Her sightless eye stared toward the girl, hidden. The girl felt as if she was going to throw up but she swallowed instead. She swiped at the tears that silently trickled down her pudgy cheeks. Her mother told her she had cute dimples, whatever that was. Her mother liked to touch her cheeks. Now...
She watched as the man, the monster, moved toward the entrance. Then he stopped. He looked up the stairs, then down the hall. He looked toward her hiding place, his eyes cold, calculating, wondering. Her stomach lurched, the fright almost real enough to touch. Could he see her? Her daddy had told her to hide here. He knew they were in danger. Why? Who was this man? How did daddy know him? Maybe it was mommy the man hated. Why? Footsteps interrupted her questions. The man was moving down the hall straight toward her.
She crept backwards, crawling on all fours as if she were a spider. Her gymnastics teacher had taught her that. I need to get out of here. He will kill me, too. She remembered her discovery when she’d hidden in here last week. Her cousins had come for a visit. They loved to play hide and seek in the large, multistoried mansion that was her home. She'd found a door leading to the garage where her daddy’s cars were kept under the chauffeur’s apartment. She’d sneak out that way.
Several hanging tools brushed her shoulders as she crept under them toward safety. They swung to and fro. It was as if they whispered, “She’s in here.” She twisted her head behind. She couldn't see through the slats in the door anymore but the heavy tread of footsteps grew louder, closer. She reached the hidden door. It creaked as she slipped through.
“Wait.” His voice echoed through the tiny room, resonating off the walls of the small space, the sound carried over the creak of the door as he pulled it open. The menace in his voice was gone, replaced by enticement.
She scurried into the large garage. Ignoring the man, she skirted the three cars stored there. Her heart pumped so loudly in her ears, the sound blocked out the rustle of the man's clothes as he squeezed through the same opening. She turned slightly and saw his shadow. Her short legs pumped toward the door leading to the stone walled courtyard and the gated entrance to the back yard. The wrought iron gate was open. Good.
Her feet flew over the paved driveway toward the gate. She turned once to see if the chauffeur was nearby. Benson played with her sometimes. He was nowhere to be seen. Then she remembered. Benson had asked for the day off to take Maria, the maid, to the beach. There’s no one to help. She streaked through the wrought iron gate.
The yard was tree filled, almost like a park. She ran like the wind, as if the devil himself was after her. He is. She reached the second gate in the high wrought iron fence that surrounded her parent's property. It was slightly ajar. Her parent's always kept this one locked but now... She almost forgot to breathe as she raced through it and into the street. The sidewalk led to town. Her legs pounded the pavement hard. “Wait.” The shout came from behind her. The man was following.
The sound of his footsteps bounced off cement walls and rock enclosures, the attempt of homeowners to protect what was theirs. Trees, thick for privacy, lined the street, hiding nearby houses from view. Traffic was non-existent along this street at this time of day. She ran. Her instincts told her that life, her life, depended on it. She rounded a corner but then peeked back. He was still coming, walking briskly in her direction. I need to hide.
She crawled under a nearby bush, its dense foliage the perfect cover, she thought. The picture of her mother’s head scattering debris all over the walls played like a ticker tape through her brain. Her stomach roiled again and she gagged. Mommy. Daddy. Please help me. Footsteps rounded the corner. The sound grew louder. He’ll find me. I have to leave.
She stood. He reached for her with one hand while the other, the one that had held the gun, was in his pocket. She ducked just out of his reach. She raced like the wind, staying off the sidewalk this time. She flew through the trees as if someone carried her, her feet barely touching the ground long enough to make an indent in the leaves. Her body slammed into low branches that scratched and tore at her clothing. She was shorter than the man so movement for her was easier here, she reasoned. The heavier footsteps had slowed, proving her right. She heard a twig snap. He was still coming. Maybe a policeman…
The girl ran. Her legs hurt. Muscles contracted painfully. Trickles of blood from scratches marred her perfect skin, skin that her mother would caress from time to time. Mommy. The thought hurt so much. Her daddy liked to swing her over his head. She almost smiled at the thought but then tears flowed again when she remembered. He’s back there. Lying on the floor. Blood oozed from his forehead. He never got back up.
The race continued. She rounded another corner. Her body slammed into legs encased in dark blue pants. Strong hands steadied her but she wriggled to be free. She looked over her shoulder, twisting this way and that. “Hey there. What’s the hurry?” The voice sounded kind, different than the one she ran from. She looked up.
“Melissa?” The man’s smile turned quickly to a frown, concern written all over his face. “What’s wrong?”
She pointed in the direction she’d come from. Her breaths were mere gasps, words impossible. Tears fell unhindered. She slipped behind the legs. Would the man shoot this person too? She pointed again as the man rounded the corner. She saw him stop before the policeman could look in the direction she pointed. The man ducked his head as his foot stepped backward. She watched him, silently and as quickly as he’d come, step behind the nearest tree, out of sight. Her heart felt as if it would leap out of her chest. Then she was sick. All over the shiny black shoes of the policeman she’d collided into.
“I don’t see what you’re trying to tell me, Melissa. Calm down. Just take a deep breath.” He saw her looking at the mess at his feet. “Don’t worry about that. I can clean them. But what’s got you in such a tizzy”
She swallowed, tears streaked down her cheeks as if they’d never stop. “He-he," She hiccoughed. She pointed in the direction she'd come from. "He shot mommy and daddy.” She gasped for another breath. Her finger shook as she continued to point toward the corner where the monster had disappeared. “He shot them.”

📗📗 

Chapter One

Christine sat up in bed, her back straight. She swiped at the streaks of perspiration on her face only to discover they were tears. Images of her parents disappeared like wisps of fog. She shuddered. The dream always felt so real, just like it happened yesterday. The face of that monster never fades. One day ... She swung her legs to the floor and hung her head. The loneliness was always overpowering after the dream left. She rose from the bed and looked at the twisted sheets. She sighed. Nights like this are never restful.
She stepped into her tiny bathroom, turned on the pewter coated hot water tap, and splashed her face. Images swam before her eyes. She shuddered. I hate that dream. She grabbed the lace edged towel that hung near her right hand and covered her face, escaping into its folds. A cold nose brushed her bare leg. “Chief.” She looked down at her large German shepherd. The dog wagged his tail in response and then cocked his head as if to ask if she was okay.
She patted his head. “I’ll bet you wanna go for a run, don’t you?” She ran her fingers behind his ears. Then she looked at the clock on her night stand. “Man, its only 7 a.m.” Christine groaned and then slipped through the door on her way back to bed. Chief blocked her progress. “Aw, come on. It’s too early.” He whined and then wagged his tail harder.
“Oh, all right. I guess an early start will do us both good.” She stepped toward the hook behind her bedroom door where she kept her running clothes.
She tossed the shorts and t-shirt she wore at night on her bed. Chief barked. "Sh-h-h. You'll wake the neighbors." She grinned at her pet/partner of three years and then pulled the sweatshirt she used for her early morning excursions over her head. She stepped into the matching pants. The gray fabric warmed the cold spots on her leg. I like wearing shorts to bed but some nights they’re slightly inadequate, she decided. Maybe it’s time for flannels. She turned toward the door to the hallway. Oh, right. Running. She slipped her sweatshirt off again and retrieved her sports bra from the chair beside her closet. I hate these things.
Finally ready, if a little groggy still, she looked at her patient animal. “Okay Chief. Let’s go.” Christine walked briskly down the hall, past the other two rooms that would one day be an office and another bedroom, and through the living room of her modest home. She opened the drawer in the coffee table and located her taser. With one hand, she pocketed her weapon and with the other, turned off her home alarm system. The front door was double bolted so she turned the bolts and then took the industrial strength chain off before stepping into the early morning air. The sun isn’t even up yet. She groaned. Oh, well. “We won’t have any traffic to contend with at least.” She looked down at her companion and then locked the door behind her.
Christine had chosen this area to live in because dogs didn’t require leashes in the nearby park. She wanted Chief to be able to run free. She looked at her pet as he lifted his leg at the closest oak tree. Her heart filled with love. Even if he does push me out of the house before sunrise. Her stride increased as soon as Chief was able to keep up. They moved toward the walking path the city had devised for just this purpose through the park.
Christine made a point to never do things the same way or at the same time each day but she’d go for a run when she had the time. She felt it kept her agile. She chuckled. It also cut down on how stringent she needed to be with her diet. Can’t leave the junk food alone.
The morning air felt like an early fall was descending. She noticed the beginning of some red hues appearing within the green leafy trees that were in abundance along her street and into the park. She inhaled the crisp air, coughed as the cold air hit her lungs and then inhaled again enjoying the smell of smoke from nearby chimneys. I love that smell. But not the thought of winter coming.  She smiled. The cobwebs of the dream were finally dissipating.
A bird, hidden among the leaves of a nearby tree, chirped it's greeting at them, as they made their way along the path. Christine kept a steady pace, running defensively, looking for shadows that moved. She kept her pace slow enough that she could enjoy the beauty around her, what she could see of it at this early hour.  If it weren’t for Chief … The dog had no trouble keeping up. His muscles rippled beneath his sleek fur and his breathe gave off wisps of cloudy emissions. His training kept him alert.
Christine turned her head toward the east. The yellow gold rays of the sun could be seen through the branches of the trees in the distant landscape. As the duo made their way down the path that wound around the circumference of the park, more birds could be heard as the sky lightened. Christine began to relax a little, her vigilance not as worrisome. Then the sun slipped up over the horizon illuminating everything in its path.
Christine led the way past the walking bridge that led to a favorite ice cream stop for area residents. I love living on the edge of the park. It gives me a place to get away from the search. She grinned as she picked up the pace a little. I won't need to work out at the gym today, I think.
Large open areas of well-kept lawns filled the left side of the path, places where people often enjoyed picnics after a long day at the office. Now the area was empty.  Christine enjoyed the serenity that surrounded her. Dew twinkled on the blades of grass as she sped quickly by. Instead of cavorting across the wet grass as dogs loved to do, Chief matched her pace right beside her.
Thirty minutes had passed, she guessed, when Chief whined and then stopped just off the path. She stopped as well but continued to pump her legs up and down to maintain her heart rate. She reached into her pocket, pulled an empty bag out of her pocket and turned it inside out. She slipped her hand inside and when Chief was finished, she bent forward to clean up after him. The nearest trash receptacle gained a deposit.
"Come on, Chief. Time to get home. I have a busy day today and so do you." She reversed direction and began the trek home. Chief fell into step beside her and then stretched out when she expended an added burst of energy. The run cleared her mind as it always did, and gave Chief his early morning exercise as well.
By the time she reached the yard of her little bungalow, Christine was panting almost as much as Chief. She bent forward resting her hands on her knees and then stretched her legs, one at a time, to cool down. Chief rolled around on the grass giving his back an extra work out on the prickly twigs hidden in the thatch. Christine laughed. "I guess that's your way to cool down, huh Chief?" She reached over to scratch him behind his ears when he walked beside her to their back door.
I feel so lucky to have this house, she thought, not for the first time. Once I get my agency up and running, I’ll be able to cover the costs from my salary but for now … Christine took long strides toward her back door, continuing to stretch her tired muscles. "Mr. Goodman did a good job finding this house for us, didn't he Chief?" The dog panted in response. If I can't have parents to advise me, then a lawyer is the next best thing, I guess. And it doesn’t hurt to have a trust fund.
Christine unlocked her door, stepped inside and allowed her vision to sweep the premises for anything that might be out of place. She relocked the door as soon as Chief slipped through behind her. Her habits had been ingrained in her since childhood. She'd been taught to always be aware of her surroundings and to make sure her house was secure ... just in case.
Her thoughts heightened her insecurities, as always. She jumped when the phone rang as soon as she was inside the kitchen. She reached toward it. Wonder who could be calling so early. She popped it open. "Hello."
The voice on the other end was from a new friend at the local police detachment. "Oh. Hi, Charlie. What's up?" She listened as the man on the phone gave her some disappointing news. "But, can't you tell me anything else? I mean ... they're my parents." She listened as Charlie reiterated his reasons. "Yeah ... well ... I'm going to find him. I'll just ... Yeah, fine." She slammed the phone closed.
Christine banged her fist on the counter. "Darn regulations. Just because I’m family. They say I’m too close to the situation. Phewy." She scowled toward her dog whose ears were folded back on his head. Then she marched toward her bedroom. She punched the doorframe as an added inflection over her unsatisfactory phone call. "I'll just have to find another way, won't I boy?"
She straightened the crumpled sheets on her bed, threw the duvet over the cover and then straightened the pillows and the shams. I'll never be free if I don't get some answers. She grabbed a pair of jeans from the closet. Christine inspected the shirt she’d worn once before to make sure it was still suitable and deposited it on her bed post to keep it free of wrinkles. Now for a quick shower.
Before he finds me. The thought traveled across her brain as quickly as any she'd had that morning. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The frown lines were back. She slipped out of her running clothes and tossed them in the hamper under the vanity. She reached past the shower curtain and twisted the knob in her shower stall. Hot water erupted from the rain shower head. She folded the plastic lined floral fabric back and then stepped inside.
That's why I cultivated my friendship with an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. They're federal. I thought ... but it seems not. She soaped her hair and massaged her scalp. Her hair was a lot shorter than when she'd grown up but it still got greasy if she didn't wash it every day. As she ran fingers through her curls, she assessed her situation again. "I'll just have to get a little friendlier with Charlie. Get him on my side." She grinned.
The hot, gentle spray worked its magic on her senses, helping her relax for the first time all morning. She stood still, letting the overhead shower head pour water over her as if she were standing in a rain forest during the afternoon deluge. Her mind returned to the conversation with Charlie.
He said they never let family members know the details of an on-going investigation. They’ve had twenty years. She leaned her head back allowing the spray to rinse her hair really well.  And they’re no closer to knowing the truth about my parents’ killer than they were the day it happened. Their regulations are ridiculous. Who else has a better right to know? I guess I'll just have to find out what I need to know a different way. Maybe the lawyer ...
Christine stepped out of the shower, grabbed a nearby towel, and began drying her slender body. Her muscles rippled. Maintaining a high degree of fitness was always of personal interest to her. She looked toward Chief. His body seemed relaxed as his head lay over his large paws but she knew he was watching her every move. "You ready for a busy day, boy?" The dog lifted his head and then opened his mouth, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth, His intelligent eyes spoke volumes as if to say, "I'm ready. Let's go."
She chuckled. "You like the added training, don't you? One day, you'll be the one to solve one of those missing kid cases." She hoped so. Then it would all be worth it … the six months spent training hard every day in order to open her agency for finding missing children.
She and Chief had been trained to work as a team. The training was for finding any missing person, but she hoped it would help them specialize in children. That’s where her heart was. Since her move to this location, she’d found a private instructor. They could hone their skills and keep sharp. It did keep her out of her office part of the time. "And that's the problem, Chief. I can't find out what I need in my parents’ case if I'm not there."
Christine walked past her dog, dodging his sharp claws with her bare feet, and removed clean lingerie from her dresser drawer. While she dressed, she thought about her life until now. Born Melissa Ramport, she'd been raised by a distant cousin of her dad's after her parents were murdered. They had changed her name to Christine Finder ... to protect her, they said. I'm glad I kept my adopted name, though.
But the Finders had given her a good life. She thrived as a small town girl in Texas. She'd learned to shoot, ride a horse, and herd cattle right along with her guardian's ranch hands. She'd become a legal permanent resident of the United States as soon as she was old enough to understand but she'd retained her Canadian citizenship. The nightmare had ended ... almost ... a long time ago but the details of that night were as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Now that she was living near the city where it all began, the dreams had surfaced again.
"Chief, after we’ve spent some time at the office, we need to go see Mr. Goodman." She watched the dog's ears perk up as if he understood all she was saying. She buttoned the top button on her shirt, and then reached with her right hand to scratch the dog between his ears. "Maybe he will answer some of my questions since he's been looking after mom and dad's estate all these years. Surely he wants to see their killer caught just like I do." A tingle walked up her spine from her tailbone. She'd been warned, hadn't she?
Christine pulled on her comfortable shoes, grabbed her handbag from the dresser, and then walked briskly through the door of her bedroom, with Chief right on her heels. She wobbled in her haste and struck one of the photographs she'd mounted on the wall with her shoulder. It was the one of her mother and father on their last anniversary. They seemed so happy. She straightened it and then shook her head. Can't think about that now. Gotta get to work. "Come on, Chief. Let's get some breakfast and then hit the road."
 
***

 
 

Born in Canada, Barbara Ann resided in the US for twelve years. There she was published for the first time, first in newspapers and magazines and then, in 2003, her first book was released. Watching the expressions on the faces of her readers as well as answering questions about her characters is what drives Barbara Ann to write yet another book. Her favorite genre is murder mystery but each book brings forth characters who rely on God as they solve the puzzle in their life. Her readers also have a tremendous amount of input when they wonder what happened to this character or that one, even if they are secondary to the story.
 
 

 

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

DO YOU FEEL FLAWED - LIKE YOU WERE BORN UNDER A CLOUD? Devotional and Excerpt from “Seventh Dimension - The Door - A YA Christian Fantasy,” by Lorilyn Roberts




 Chapter One
Seventh Dimension – The Door: A Young Adult Fantasy

“Rachel stood and recited a Jewish prayer. “Blessed is the name of His glorious kingdom forever and ever.”


God has existed since before the beginning of time. He created time. He created the universe. He created you, but He is not a created being.

In Revelation 1:8, God says, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”

God knows everything—the number of hairs on your head, even what you had for dinner six months ago. Nothing is outside of God’s knowledge.

There is only one God. God is not Mohammad, Buddha, or Karma. Claim it. Believe it. Embrace it. God is God.

Nothing can take away your relationship with God or Jesus Christ unless you allow it. God’s power is omnipotent and perfect. Cling to that when life seems out of control—and life does have a way of wreaking havoc, leading to frayed nerves, discouragement, and even depression.

In our imperfect world Satan roams freely devouring those he can. Whether you realize it or not, Satan wants to destroy you.

You are okay. In fact, you are more than okay. You are created in the image of God. Don’t forget it.

God has promised when you get to heaven to give you a special name that only He knows. Think about what name God might give you. What is your character? Who are you when no one is looking?

God wants to bless you with good things. Sometimes those good things include suffering. God knows how to turn hardships into blessings. These “blessings” will help you grow in your dependency on Him and make you mature.

If everything were easy, you wouldn’t need God and you would remain untested. Then when hard times came—and hard times always come—you would break. Blessings come in many forms, but God will never allow you to be tested beyond what you can bear.

Satan will call you all sorts of names to make you feel like you are no good. Don’t believe those lies. Remember how much God loves you. Put Jesus Christ first in your life, claiming His victory over the sin that tugs at your heart. Only then will you experience God’s glorious kingdom in your life – the Seventh Dimension.

The Seventh Dimension is a place where you can be close to God and develop your relationship with Him—a spiritual place within your grasp if you call out to God and ask Jesus Christ to come into your life. Blessings can abound even in the blessedness of nothing. For in nothingness God can be your all in all things, seen and unseen.

God will endure forever. His Kingdom will endure forever. And ever. And ever.

📘📘📘

To order your copy click here



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Lorilyn Roberts is a Christian author who writes children's picture books, adult nonfiction, memoirs, and a young adult Christian fantasy series, Seventh Dimension.

Lorilyn graduated Magna Cum Laude from the University of Alabama, which included international study in Israel and England. She received her Master of Arts in Creative Writing from Perelandra College and is a graduate of the Institute of Children's Literature.

Lorilyn is the founder of the John 316 Marketing Network, a network of Christian authors who are passionate about promoting books with a Christian worldview.

To learn more about Lorilyn, please visit her website at http://lorilynroberts.comYou can follow her on twitter at http://twitter.com/lorilynroberts.


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Friday, June 21, 2013

QUE SERA, SERA, WHAT WILL BE WILL BE: Devotional by Lorilyn Roberts



     

Que Sera, Sera, What Will Be, Will Be

by Lorilyn Roberts



Even though I don’t know my future, I will sleep well tonight. If I were a betting woman in my dreams, I’d make two predictions—I will not win a million dollars in the lottery—I don’t play, and I will never be President—thank goodness. You couldn’t pay me enough for that job. My older daughter used to tell me I’d make an excellent President—back before I became dumb during the teenage years. Fortunately, I have become smart again, since she turned twenty-one.

Now I get to go through being dumb all over again. My second daughter is at that age when boys flirt and cars excite. I worry once more—and remind myself God hears my heart-felt prayers. Maybe I’m a little wiser—certainly a little older. At least I know what to expect the second time around. I have to admit, I look forward to the day I become smart once again, unless dementia sets in. We won’t talk about that.

When I was nine, one of my favorite songs was Que Sera, Sera; Whatever Will Be Will Be. My dreams for the future did not include infertility, infidelity, and all the injustices that come from living in a fallen world. When we are young, we are closer to God—before innocence is torn from us by sin. Kids easily believe in miracles or magic—call it what you want. No wonder when we are old, we must become like little children. Are we redeemed enough to see our Savior through the darkened glass of shattered dreams? A child sees the glory of a risen king—and asks no questions.

In retrospect, I am thankful God did not give me most of the things I wanted. He gave me what I needed. God’s gifts don’t always come wrapped in pretty boxes. They arrive in more mysterious ways. Sometimes it takes time to see His workings, and for somebody like me who is impatient, that is tough.

It would have been much easier to go to a store and pick up a book that read, How to Get Your Life Straightened Out, or How to Fix Your Broken Marriage, or How To Be Dumb During the Teenage Years. Just kidding. I didn’t need a prompt for that. I could read the book in a weekend, and bravo, come Monday morning, I’d have my life all straightened out. That would be so efficient. So like me.

God knew better. He knew I needed time—only time would grow me into the Christian woman He desired me to be. Only through the years where wisdom seeds itself would understanding be revealed—to write the passion of my soul and feel God’s spirit through my words. God knew above all my heart and how I longed for children. Only He knew how to make that a reality (Lord knows, I tried).
       
Isaiah 55:8 says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. Someday I hope to fully understand what that means. It’s one of those “mysteries” that God will need to explain to me—if I still wonder after I see His scarred hands and feet. 

When I was married and shortly before my husband left for good, I read this passage and implored of God, “Oh, please, let not your ways include divorce. I don’t want a divorce.” I became paranoid. I trusted a husband who had been unfaithful more than I trusted my heavenly Father who died for me. I feared the ridicule of my family and church, the whispers, and that the ugly wounds from childhood would bite me once again. Was I not even good enough to keep a husband?

Now I chuckle. On any given day, I may not be good enough for the most mundane task. I have learned to laugh at myself—even when I am the only one laughing. My daughters will tell you.

I remember that the time is fleeting, the pain temporary, and the future extraordinary. So I peck away at the typewriter, certain that I won’t go to jail for not filing my taxes—I just finished them today, and am glad to live another day. Why? So I can get out of bed in the morning, go to work, and pay more taxes.

I will remember to feed the dogs in the evening (or they will yelp), set the air conditioner to 77 when I go to bed (or I will sweat), and will fill up the car with gas—usually it’s on empty. That makes life exciting. I won’t speed down 39th Avenue where that female police officer lurks behind a sign (I would know), and I will get my half and half at Publix so my coffee will taste almost as good as Starbucks. I am still working hard to kick that habit.

If your life is like mine, most of it boils down to the mundane, the ridiculous, or the absurd. Without my Lord and Savior to remind me that this is “my passion,” I think I’d go insane. God’s voice inside me removes the edge, lowers my blood pressure, and convicts me of what’s important. He helps me to remember to pray for those who are hurting, and I delight myself in His Word—and wonder why I fail to read the Bible more often. Or curl up on the sofa with my Kindle and get lost in one of the books begging to be read—and write reviews for authors who wait with baited breath. I would know that, too.

I’d fail to find goodness in the land of the living without my relationship with Jesus Christ. His Spirit brings me hope—for my daughters to marry Christian men and have a dozen kids; for my future—to live into my 90’s like my grandparents; and forgiveness for my past sins—even the ones I don’t remember.

God gives me the drive to live life to the fullest—work hard, play hard, and not to sweat the small stuff. The small stuff is what trips me up, but I remind myself I will never run out of stories. I just need to be careful I don’t trip over my seven-pound cat. Even our Border collie knows better.

Regrets—don’t play that game. You will never catch a glimpse of the marvelous future held in store for you if you keep looking back. Even though the future is not ours to see—we see through a glass darkly for a little while longer—thankfully, we have an awesome God who sees clearly—in colors we can’t imagine. And I bet even wrinkles, gray hair, and fat bellies look grand. Que sera, sera; whatever will be, will be.

****


Lorilyn Roberts is a Christian author who writes children's picture books, adult nonfiction, memoirs, and a young adult Christian fantasy series, Seventh Dimension. The first in the series, The Door, was just published.

Lorilyn graduated Magna Cum Laude from the University of Alabama, which included international study in Israel and England. She received her Masters in Creative Writing from Perelandra College and is a graduate of the Institute of Children's Literature.

Lorilyn is the founder of the John 316 Marketing Network, a network of Christian authors who are passionate about promoting books with a Christian worldview. Visit Lorilyn's website at LorilynRoberts.com to learn more about her books.





Monday, June 17, 2013

HOW FAR IS TOO FAR: Devotional from “Am I Okay, God?” by Lorilyn Roberts





From Seventh Dimension – The Door, a Young Adult Christian Fantasy

How Far Is Too Far?

“Word is out about you. I’d hate to see your splattered body sprawled out on the road. It would destroy your father’s reputation; cost him his job, and my inheritance—unless Judd gets it first. If I have my way that won’t happen. I need to protect you. From now on, you’ll stay where I can see you.”
“Judd gets what?”
She didn’t answer me.
I had no idea what she was talking about. So Judd convinced her I was a tramp though Daniel had never once been alone with me. Even in the cave, he always insisted the door be open—probably why Judd overheard too much.”


***


How far is too far when it comes to relationships between young men and women? What does the Bible say about purity?

In Seventh Dimension, the Door, Shale was falsely accused. The fact that she had never been alone with Daniel made her statement she had done nothing wrong more credible.

The Bible in II Timothy 2:22 says, “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.”

The most precious gift you can give your future husband or wife on your wedding day is your virginity. I will speak more specifically here to young ladies. Make that gift even more special by not allowing yourself to be touched by a man—not even kissed before you marry him.

This is a high standard, but it can be done. I recently went to a wedding where the bride and groom shared their first kiss on their wedding day. I marveled that a young couple could have that much self‑control and remain pure until they married.

I recently told my younger daughter, and I have told her this many times, a simple expression that goes like this: clothes on, hands off. One night, however, I made a silly mistake and said, “Clothes off, hands on.” She gave me a wry smile, catching my mistake before I did. We both laughed, but she knew exactly what I meant.

Society will tell you it’s okay to kiss, touch, and do things that are contradictory to the teachings of the Bible. Don’t do it. When you become like the world and see love and sex through the eyes of Hollywood movies, tabloids, and gossip magazines, you are cheapened. You have bought into Satan’s lies that these perversions will make you happy. They won’t. You cheat yourself out of what God meant for good between a man and a woman after they become one through marriage. Besides, do you really want those images in your mind on your honeymoon? How would you like your to-be husband to think about other women he has intimately known when he has just wed you?

It is very difficult to keep yourself clean in a world that is inundated with sex and skin and beauty. I recently went on Twitter to find some categories for hash tags for my book. I looked up a common, everyday word and was presented with pornographic pictures of young girls. I was shocked.

If you are normal, you will find these temptations difficult to resist. You are curious, you have hormones, and you are human. But every time you give in to those temptations, the lust of the flesh, you are cheapening your view of something beautiful. God made sex as something to be shared between a husband and a wife.

Your preoccupation before marriage with lustful thoughts will affect your relationship with the opposite sex. Pornographic images from the web or pictures from magazines will become imprinted in your mind. You will remember them at inappropriate times. The best way to avoid the temptation is not to allow yourself to be tempted. The Bible says in I Timothy 6:11, “But you, man of God, flee from all of this, and pursue righteousness…”

Daniel showed great respect for Shale. By opening the door so as not to be alone with her, Daniel respected her. He did not want to put himself into a compromising position with her, that there could ever be rumors spread about their relationship.

Some day you will probably meet a young man if you’re a young lady, or if you’re a young man, you’ll meet a girl to whom you are attracted. If that significant other tells you things like, “If you love me, you will do this,” or some other ridiculous statement, have the guts to say “No.” Don’t compromise. Believe in yourself, your value, and your self-worth.

Let me tell you something else. You might be tempted because you want it. Sin doesn’t feel bad, it doesn’t look horrid, and Satan won’t show up with pointed ears and a pitchfork in the car if you are “parking,” or lounge beside you on the sofa with your date. Unless you have blue blood, you will enjoy romantic relationships. That is normal. Wanting to engage in sexual activity it is not what gets you into trouble. Compromising is.

What greater gift can you give your future husband or wife than to be able to tell him or her that you have never shared yourself with anyone else? You have not kissed, you have not fondled, you have not slept, and you have not revealed your unclothed body to someone you have previously dated. Once you have given away that first kiss, you can’t get it back. It’s gone. Once a man has touched you, you have given away that part of your body. And once you have had intercourse, you are no longer a virgin.

I advise young men and women when they are dating not to even kiss. Once the juices start flowing, it’s difficult to turn off the passion. Avoid the situation in the first place. What Hollywood presents is a sordid picture of reality. I cringe when I see those glamorous pictures of movie stars plastered on the covers of gossip magazines and newspapers—in my heart, I believe them to be the most miserable people on the planet.

Perhaps the saddest tale is that of Lindsay Lohan. What a beautiful, young, talented girl she was in the Disney movie The Parent Trap fifteen years ago. I wondered how long it would be before she posed for a girlie magazine. She is the epitome of someone who had so much to gain and so much to lose. With great talent comes great responsibility and temptation to misuse it. What a waste.

On the other hand, I look at a young man, Tim Tebow, who has used his fame as a way to share his faith. I have watched him from the sidelines for many years because I live in Gainesville, Florida. He was the star quarterback for the Gators, a Heisman Trophy winner, and took the University of Florida football team to the national championship. He was drafted into the NFL and played a couple of seasons for the Denver Broncos and then a year for the New York Jets before being released on waivers. He was on his way to becoming a distant memory until he was picked up by the New England Patriots. What will people remember him for?  

With great faith and opportunity to share in the public arena comes great controversy. People have hated Tebow for no good reason except that he is a Christian. Others have looked for opportunities to destroy him. I doubt that history will paint him as a spectacular football player, but there is no doubt in my mind he will take the accolades of his Lord and Savior in heaven over any applause on a football field full of cheering crowds and sports pundits. Any six foot four athlete who openly admits he is a virgin and touches the lives of cancer-stricken children in the hospital is a hero in my book. He financially supports a foundation to help orphans in the Philippines where his family once served as missionaries.

I have no idea what else he does, but I know he is not covering the pages of those gossip magazines with unseemly stories. If he was living that kind of life, the whole world would know about it. Satan is alive and well, seeking to devour those who give in to the temptations of the flesh. Tim Tebow’s road has not been easy. He has been scoffed and ridiculed, but through it all, as of this writing, he has walked the straight and narrow path of his convictions.

My point is this:  You can do it. You can be like Tim Tebow or you can be like Lindsay Lohan, or somewhere in between. Be careful, however, about the “somewhere in between.” God doesn’t have good things to say about lukewarm people. In Revelation 3:16, Jesus said, “So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”

You must be sold-out to Jesus Christ. You will not have the strength and endurance to overcome the temptations that your sinful nature will crave if you don’t. Satan and his demons are relentless. You can’t win this battle without becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. Being a fan of Jesus Christ is not sufficient. You will lose every single time. My mother used to say, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Good intentions aren’t good enough. You need the power of the Holy Spirit inside of you to win the battle of sex and purity.

If you have messed up in this area, there is healing. There is forgiveness, there is redemption, and there is restoration; but there is also pain that comes with all of that work to fix things. Fortunately God is in the business of healing broken lives and offers forgiveness. But He doesn’t always remove the consequences of our poor choices. If you get a veneral disease, you will suffer. Those sores hurt. Herpes is ugly. Aids kills. What about if you get pregnant?

Do you want to put yourself in that situation? Do you want to have to explain to your future husband or wife about your sins from the past?

I Corinthians 10:30 says, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

That brings me comfort, knowing that there is nothing that Satan and his demons can send my way that God won’t provide a way of escape. Do everything you can to flee from evil. Don’t go to those internet sites. Don’t tempt yourself. Don’t put yourself into a compromising situation that you might regret later.

Remember, God loves you. You are His. Keep yourself pure for your future husband, and, above all, for yourself. Stolen fruit may taste good for the moment, but later, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Someone once said to me, “A moment of pleasure is not worth a lifetime of regret.” That person should have heeded his own advice. It was my ex-husband who told me that before he got his girlfriend pregnant—eight years into our marriage. His foolish mistake shattered me and destroyed our marriage.


Your sin in this area won’t just affect you. It will affect others—often tragically. Walk away—actually, flee. Get out of there. Ask yourself, what would Jesus want me to do in this situation? And then do it.