I LOVE starting new stories.

That’s probably the reason I have 12 started and only 4 finished.

Yep.

But I’ve made a new rule. I can’t start a new one until I finish an old one. So….I just got to type out the first page of my new WIP.

Here’s where you come in – which beginning sounds better to you?

(btw, I believe my new heroine looks a lot like Jennifer Connelly and… I think, my hero might be a Martin Henderson look-alike)

Here ya go:

First try

Whether the bouquet was from a secret admirer, anonymous family member, or stalker with excellent taste, the flowers always curbed the loneliness of the day. She expected them now – on the thirteenth of every month.

And today Paige Emerson needed them more than ever because her control-freak-realtor aunt had completely lost her mind. Paige gripped her cell tighter and repositioned the carnation in the bouquet so she wouldn’t damage it in her frustration.

“You’ve done what?” Paige barely controlled the rise of her voice.

“Oh Paige, this is the nudge you need to finish emptying that house. It only hurts you.”

Paige rolled her eyes to the ceiling and took another long breath. “Marcie, I haven’t even gone through Daddy’s desk, let along Mama’s jewelry. And you’ve told the new owners I’ll be out fo the house in two days? I was supposed to have two more weeks. Are you mad at Uncle Arnold again? Is that why you’re extra pushy?”

“Don’t you bring my stiff-necked husband into this, Paige.” Ah, obviously Uncle Arnold was in the doghouse. “I could have given you four more months and you wouldn’t have finished cleaning out that house. Admit it. They’ve been gone over a year and you still haven’t.” Silence softened her auunt’s words. “I miss them too. Heaven knows I do, but it’s time to let go of this house. You can’t keep paying for two on a teacher’s salary and you could use the money, darlin’. Let it go.”

Paige looked across the empty living room. How could she erase memories by the weekend? She’d worked so hard on her parents’ house, repainting walls marked with years of height measurements and childhood art experiments. She’d carefully packed old photos in storage and scrubbed the carpets until her mother’s rose-scent barely tinted the air. But the hollowed out place in her heart only grew with each piece of furniture she sold. Each trinket tagged with a memory she held to like history facts for her high schoolers – and now, finally, the one thing she held to most was slipping from her hands.

Just like her parents.

Just like the pedestal on which she’d always placed them

OR should I just start with the dialogue. Like this:

“You’ve done what?” Paige Emerson barely controlled the rise of her voice. What had her control-freak-realtor aunt done this time?

“Oh Paige, this is the nudge you need to finish emptying that house. It only hurts you.”

Paige rolled her eyes to the ceiling and took another long breath. “Marcie, I haven’t even gone through Daddy’s desk, let along Mama’s jewelry. And you’ve told the new owners I’ll be out fo the house in two days? I was supposed to have two more weeks. Are you mad at Uncle Arnold again? Is that why you’re extra pushy?”

“Don’t you bring my stiff-necked husband into this, Paige.” Ah, obviously Uncle Arnold was in the doghouse. “I could have given you four more months and you wouldn’t have finished cleaning out that house. Admit it. They’ve been gone over a year and you still haven’t.” Silence softened her auunt’s words. “I miss them too. Heaven knows I do, but it’s time to let go of this house. You can’t keep paying for two on a teacher’s salary and you could use the money, darlin’. Let it go.”

Paige looked across the empty living room. How could she erase memories by the weekend? She’d worked so hard on her parents’ house, repainting walls marked with years of height measurements and childhood art experiments. She’d carefully packed old photos in storage and scrubbed the carpets until her mother’s rose-scent barely tinted the air. But the hollowed out place in her heart only grew with each piece of furniture she sold. Each trinket tagged with a memory she held to like history facts for her high schoolers – and now, finally, the one thing she held to most was slipping from her hands.

Just like her parents.

Just like the pedestal on which she’d always placed them

I love it when God gives you one of those brief moments of clarity.

Of what it really feels like to be loved.

Most of the time we have to go through our days reminding ourselves of God’s truths in the Bible. Forcing our logic to overcome our feelings.

But occassionally we’ll have those moments where what we know meets a moment where we ‘get it’ – the glimpse of God’s amazing love through Christ. And in that moment, we feel his freedom.

We know it. We have faith in it – but because God loves us so well and so much, He will give us moments where His love becomes clear for just a moment – and it’s beautiful.

It’s the reminder that the trial is temporary. That the pain won’t last forever. That no matter how hard, how long, how difficult, how shaken, battered, or scarred – we are completely free in His love.

And it helps us see the bigger picture.

For just a moment.

But…thank the good Lord – that’s enough

Check out my Wrtiers Alley post today – and get ‘in the mood’

Hi everyone!

Yesterday the semi-finalist results were announced for ACFW’s Genesis contest.

I LOVED seeing so many wonderfully familiar names like fellow Alley Cats Casey Herringshaw and Cindy Wilson.

But also, Michelle Massaro, last year’s roomie, CAROL MONCADO!!, Melissa Jagears, Susan Anne Mason (GO SUSAN!!), and Christina Rich!

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

Carol and Cindy, the BEST of luck in Contemp Romance. I LOVE sharing this space with you!!!

Apart from being super-sweet and carrying that sweetness over into her novels, Janet Dean is also one of those people who always look classy. She’s quick to take time to encourage people, especially floundering author-wanna-bes, AND she’s one of the fabulous gals of Seekerville. (to the left is Janet with fellow Seekervillian, Myra Johnson)

I pleased as sweet tea to have Janet on today. Her excerpt is wonderful, but her devotional words are just as good.

Let’s see what she has to say:

I’ve attached Jake’s salvation scene from Wanted: A Family, Love Inspired Historical, March 2011. Months earlier Jake was released from prison after spending a year in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. Now he’s been arrested for another crime he didn’t commit and can’t handle reliving that nightmare. Since he’s met Callie, the young widow who believes in him, he’s been attending church and reading his Bible but wasn’t sure if God was real until he hears from God in his jail cell.

Excerpt:

The door closed with a bang that ricocheted through the block of cells and echoed with a familiar finality that made his stomach heave.

Mere months before, he’d been in another prison where an innocent bump could send a man into a rage. And someone could end up dead. He’d learned to watch his back, always prepared for trouble. Trouble was a daily visitor in jail. Conditions made that inevitable. The bullpen, that dim, airless exercise room with inmates herded together like doomed cattle in the stockyards. The stench of unwashed bodies and urine invaded his nostrils. The slime of spit, slippery beneath his feet had him gulping for air. He couldn’t survive that again.

Shoving the memory aside, he dropped onto the cot in the dim cell, elbows on knees, hands dangling, focusing on the fibers on his frayed cuffs. Those frayed cuffs had been the reason he’d gone into the Mercantile. Odd something so trifling as wanting a new shirt determined a man’s fate. He plucked at the fibers, unraveling from the times he’d scraped against shingles, plaster, lumber—typical in his line of work.

Yet, far more than his cuffs was unraveling. His life was unraveling too.

That woman he’d seen in the Mercantile could’ve taken the money before she slipped away. Yet he had no way to prove it. Considering Callie’s anger at the will, she wouldn’t come to his defense.

Jake’s throat knotted. He’d lost everything that mattered. His mother. His woman. His freedom.

Once again, he was confined to a cell, no one to hear, no one to care. Swallowing against the bile pushing up his throat, Jake understood with clarity. He didn’t know how to handle his life. He didn’t know how to handle even one night in this cell.

Tears stung his eyes. All he’d ever wanted was a family. Was that too much to ask?

That yearning had brought him to Peaceful in search of his mother. In a way, he’d found her. His mother had lived in Callie’s house during its grander days. Both he and his mother had walked those floors, spent time under that roof, been sheltered by those walls. Not much of a connection but something. Something he’d cherish. All he had.

A sob tore from his lips. All those years he’d resented his mother for not coming she’d been dead. Irene Squier, still in her teens died giving him life.

Someone should care that she no longer lived. Someone should mourn her. He did. He cared, yet too late to tell her.

Too late to thank her.

Too late.

He had nowhere to turn. No one in this town would help him. He hauled himself to his feet and walked to the window, staring at the star-studded night through the bars. Across the way, he spotted the silhouette of Callie’s church steeple, pointing toward the sky. The Heavens, people said, God’s home.

Did God exist? Were all those words in the Bible true?

He dropped to his knees in the striped moonbeam on the floor, gazing up at that scrap of sky, the only visible link to God, if He existed.

Jake had read the Bible stories. There’d be no burning bush for him. No parted waters. No water into wine.

All he knew for sure—he couldn’t go on alone. He couldn’t make another day under his own power. He’d prided himself on his skill with hammer and nails, on hard work, on his physical stamina. But he had nothing left. He was a hollow shell of a man.

A sob shoved up his throat. If You’re real, God, if You’re up there and You…care about…me, help me. Please. Help me accept the loss of a mother I never knew. Help me find my way. Please, be that arrow Callie talked about. Show me the way.

The arrows he’d been following had taken him to a dead end.

I’ve tried to live by my own strength, but I don’t have any strength left. I don’t have enough strength to spend the night in this cell. I don’t have enough strength to fight Commodore’s charge. I don’t have enough strength to convince Callie to love me.

I love you.

Jake swiveled on his knees. No one was there but he’d heard a voice. A voice that was crystal clear, real. The tone, gentle with the warmth a loving parent would use with a frightened child.

Some child. Him. A twenty-three-year old jailbird unable to handle his life.

He staggered to the window, peering into the night, searching for some change, some concrete evidence the voice in his head, dare he think, was the voice of…God.

No falling stars, no flashes of lightening, no howling wind. A regular night. But in that moment, a night like no other. A blessed sense of peace filled him.

God was real. God cared. God loved him.

Jake felt that love. Felt that forgiveness. Nothing about his new conviction made sense. Yet with bone deep certainty Jake knew God was there in that cell with him.

Him.

A man who’d walked this life alone. Or so he’d thought. Now he knew that choice had been his, not God’s. God had been there all along, waiting for him. At Jake’s first step of trust, at his first plea for help, God had answered.

Jake had read about Jesus in the Gardenof Gethsemane. How he’d cried out to God the night before he hung on that cross. If Jesus could handle that, Jake could easily handle this night.

Tomorrow he’d share his faith with the only woman whose opinion mattered. He had the promise of a fresh beginning. It seemed so simple. Yet, so complex. To a man like him who’d never been loved, the love of God was a mystery.

He had a father now. A Heavenly Father.

Thank You for loving me. Thank You for saving me. Thank You for never leaving me when I rejected You countless times. Help me be and do what You want.   

Certain what he must do, Jake closed his eyes and gave his burdens to the One who controlled the Universe, even this small chunk of it in this cell. Let go of the anguish of those lonely years in the orphanage, the heartache of waiting for a mother who never came, of being framed by a friend for a crime he didn’t commit, of the months of degradation and fear in that other cell, of losing Callie’s regard. All that weight lifted from his shoulders.

He still remembered every moment of his past. How could he forget? But his past no longer dominated who he was. Not his todays. Nor his tomorrows. He felt reborn.

Hope spilled into every crevice of his being. With God’s help, he and Callie could be a family. He could be a good husband, a good father. He stretched out on the cot and slept.

(The picture to the right is of me, Janet, and another Seekervillian, Cara Lynn James)
Matthew 7:7–Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.
When I’m doing what I believe is God’s will for me, this verse tells me to ask for what I need to accomplish that purpose. That God will give those things to me and will open doors. The promises of this verse are conditional. I must ask, seek and knock first. The verse doesn’t say how long I must ask, seek and knock, but when I do, he will answer in his perfect timing. I’ve seen the promises of this verse fulfilled in my life and specifically with my writing. Now that I’m published, I claim that promise when the words aren’t coming but my deadline is. I ask God for strength, wisdom and peace to create stories that will bring him glory. He’s never failed to answer. When I ask, seek and knock.

Thank YOU, Janet. What a great way to start this week! When we are seeking God’s will for us and we ask, seek, and knock for Him to answer our cries for direction, He is faithful. Beautiful excerpt and wonderful reminder!

For the past two weeks my five year old daughter, Phoebe, has been worried.

BIG TIME.

She’s had a few ‘potty’ accidents at school and it’s developed into a fear.

I’ve had talks with her. We’ve prayed about it. She’s talked and cried about it. And finally….two days ago, we had a breakthrough. It started like this:

We were walking into her preschool and she looked up at me, her big brown eyes so sad, her little lip pouting.

“Mommy, what if I pee my pants today?”

“Will it be an accident,” I asked in response.
She nodded, her pouty lip pushing out a little further.

“Then you’ll change your clothes and try again tomorrow.”

“But Mommy, will you still love me if I pee my pants?”

My heart ached at her question. How could she even think such a thing? I’d never given her any indiciation that my feelings would change for her. I’d only tried to encourage her. Kept her aware of her body when she started doing the ‘pee pee dance’. And now, she questioned my love? Poor thing.

“What do you think, Phebes? Do you think I’ll still love you?”

She nodded.
“That’s right. Not only I will love you, but God will love you even more. Anyway and always.”

It was in that moment, when her clouded countenance brightened, that God shocked me with His truth for MY life.

Much like Phoebe, I’d allowed worries, frustrations…well, let’s just call them what they are – I’d let FEAR winkle it’s way into my heart. Struggles at work, disappointments, writing discouragements – all those things had built up into a knot of insecurity in my heart.

All of those worries not only caused sleepless nights and teary eyes, but they derailed me from the truth. The ONE truth that grounds me more than any other.

Jesus LOVES me… PERIOD.

It’s amazing that when we’re secure in his love, when we really know how closely He holds us and when we really revel in the wonder of his death-crushing grace for us, those fears become less distracting.

Will God still love me if……?

Are you His Kid? Then the answer is YES!

You can NEVER out wrong His rightness. Ever!

You can NEVER out-fail his grace.

You can NEVER disappoint Him beyond what his love will cover.

Never!

He will love us, even if…..

Sometimes, God brings people into your life and their is an instant connection. He did that when I met Audra Harders in 2010 at my first ACFW conference. From that first hug, I just fell in love with this wonderful lady. Her gentleness and encouragement calmed my nervousness, and she was quick to take me by the hands and pray with me. WOW! What a wonderful beginning!

I hope her notes today will be an inspiration to you – as they’ve been to me.

Here’s Audra:

This is an excerpt from my debut novel, Rocky Mountain Hero. Since arriving at the Circle D, Melanie (my heroine) has been battling the guilt of estrangement from her parents. It all comes to a head due to the kindness and love of complete strangers. She learns forgiveness starts with forgiving yourself.

 

The water appeared lower than the last time she’d been there. Rapids formed between the rocks out in the middle of the river leaving calm ponds along the edges. She tore off her shoes and socks and stuck her feet off the edge of the bank, the cold water splashing between her toes. She closed her eyes and listened to the rush of current. Lord, I’ve been away too long. Please forgive me. What am I supposed to do?

  Tipping her face to the sun, she relaxed beneath the warm rays. A soft breeze played with her hair. A light spray of water moistened her face.

What do I do, Lord?   

“Quiet and peaceful, isn’t it?”

Melanie jumped at the unexpected voice. Her eyelids popped open as she caught her balance. “What are you doing here?”

Gabe stood about ten feet away, his arms folded across his chest. “Remember our last conversation about not going anywhere by yourself?”

“I’ve been here before. I thought you couldn’t go off into uncharted territory.”

“If I hadn’t followed you, we wouldn’t have known you knew where you were.”

He kept a straight face. Her shoulders tensed as he continued to stare at her. She hadn’t meant to worry anyone.

The familiar dimple appeared. “Have to keep an eye out all the time.”

She relaxed. I’ll bet you do. She turned back to the river. “I just need time to think. To be alone.”

“Fine.”

She heard gravel crunch behind her then listened as he found a seat. She frowned. What part of wanting to be alone didn’t he understand? “I came here for quiet.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

She closed her eyes again. Lord? How can I pray with him here? I’d like to talk, just you and me? The echo of rushing water filled her ears. The breeze continued to flutter her hair across her face. Peace filled her heart.

In the gentle spray of river mist, she didn’t think one teardrop would appear too obvious. Maybe one tear from each eye. Why now? She’d had life all figured out. It wasn’t a bad life was it? Why was normal slipping through her fingers?

Two tears became a torrent. Gentle hands cupped her shoulders and turned her away from the river to a solid chest that smelled like summer sun. His solid support melted her resolve.

“They don’t even know he exists.” She hiccupped between sobs. “My parents have a grandson they don’t even know about.”

He rubbed her back making her sobs come harder. He shouldn’t nice to her. He wasn’t going to be so nice when she told him the whole story. Her arms encircled his waist.

“My folks wanted me to put him up for adoption.” The fights and accusations still rang through her head. The inconvenience, the gossip was all they’d worried about.

“Paul wanted me to get rid of him. When I said no, he dumped me. Just like that. Poof.” She squeezed Gabe tighter, the memory of the nastiness making her sick. “He never claimed Jason; swore he’d prove me lying if I ever tried to come after him.” She came up for air. “My girlfriend started dating him.” The humiliation and agony of that betrayal hurt her more than any heartache from Paul.

She smacked her forehead into Gabe’s chest. She gave him credit, he hung in there for the whole, unvarnished truth. She’d expected him to run long ago. “I want Jason to have what he’s found here: a home, family, love. Instead, all he has is me.”

His arms tightened around her. She pressed her ear into his chest, absorbing his strength. “Why can’t I be more like you? So strong, so patient, so. . .so confident. Gabe, I’m too scared to go back and make things right. I’m so weak.”

“Shhh. There’s nothing to be scared of.” His voice rumbled along with his strong, steady heartbeat. “Don’t bear such needless pain.”

Needless pain? She deserved every ounce of burden on her heart.

“Dear Heavenly Father.” His chin rested atop her head. “So much hurt and pain remain buried deep waiting for Your love and mercy to wash it away.”

Praying? He prayed for. . .her? A muscle twitched in her arm as she held on tighter.

“Dear Lord, only You see the cause, only You know the reason. Fill Your children with the realization of the salvation You bought for us with Your blood, ours for the taking if we just trust You.”

Fire ignited in the pit of her belly where only moments earlier a ball of ice sat. Her hands slid down along his warm, solid forearms. She squeezed his hands.

“Fill Melanie with Your peace and fill her with Your understanding. You are bigger than any trouble on this earth. Have mercy, oh Jesus.”

“Mercy,” she whispered. Standing beside rushing waters, her soul cried for cleansing. As her confession of sin, fear, doubts and everything else silently poured out of her, light and relief filled in. After crying her eyes out earlier, she didn’t think she had any tears left, but she did.

 

Pepper, you ask about frustrations in my writing life? When isn’t there one? Either I have my characters stuck in a situation I haven’t a clue how to get them out of, or they refuse to let me rescue them. LOL! Just like raising kids : )

But really, frustrations lay around every corner of the writing process. If I gave in to them, I’d probably still be writing “See Spot run” or something like that. My favorite verses for not only frustration and slumps, but for all the mysteries of life is from Proverbs:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and He will direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6

 If it’s important to me, I’ve got to let it go. Easy to say; difficult to do.

 Thanks for having me, Pep. You are always such a gracious and wonderful hostess. And a sweet, loving, fun person to boot. You make me smile : )

(She smiles because she knows I’m crazy)

Thanks so much for sharing this wonderful nugget, Audra – and for letting some new readers get a taste of your writing. Looking forward to more in the future

Blessings,

Rachel Hauck is known for her contemporary romance – but I just want to add that she inspires in more ways than THAT! She’s a fabulous worship leader. I’ve had the honor of attending the ACFW conference for the past two years and have been overwhelmed by the gift she brings to the worship services. WHAT a blessing!

But of course, she is a writer too. With a lovely mix of comedy and drama, her books are fun reads with great characters with whom most women can identify. (And I really like her heroes…whew…lovely).

So- how will Rachel inspire us today?

Fav scene: There are two scenes in Softly and Tenderly that get me every time I read them. One, where a red bird comes and sings to the heroine’s dying mother as they sit outside. And then the actual death scene where the Mama knows Jesus is with her.

 

Fav verse: When writing Diva Nashvegas I was struggling so much and while at prayer one day, the Lord lead me to Isaiah 41:13, “… do not fear, I will help you.” I knew He was with me. I pray that verse from time to time. Reminding the Lord, reminding myself.

Wow, Rachel. This couldn’t have fit any better with my Writers Alley blog post! Amazing how God works that out. Thanks for the reminder!

Blessings,

I met Erica Vetsch almost 2 years ago at ACFW in Indianapolis. It was a pretty memorable event. We met just outside the bar, waiting to shmooze with the Seekers – and I think I was already in my frumpy pajamas. (To the left is a pic of me, Mary Connealy, and Erica. Cute bunch, eh?)

Is that right, Erica?

You’ll find that both online and off, Erica has a vital and engaging sense of humor, not to mention a sprawling vocabulary. It’s embarassing how many cool words she knows…and how few of them I can define

And she has a great tip on ‘inspiration’ for us today. Check it out.

My favorite inspirational scene…that’s difficult to say, but I’m going to go with my most recent release, A Bride’s Portrait of Dodge City, Kansas. The hero, Miles, is trying so hard to change his life instead of letting God change it. His wise friend Jonas speaks some truth over him about who needs to perform the change and who needs to let Him.

 

 

Jonas stopped pacing. “You’ve been carrying around a lot of burdens. I stand by my earlier assessment. You’re one of thebravest men I know.”

 

 

“I sure don’t feel like it. Have you ever tried not to be something you’ve been your whole life?”

 

 

“Every day.”

 

 

That answer, when Miles expected a denial, made him blink.

 

 

“Every day I have to let God be in charge and change me. It’s when I try to do the changing, or when I get bucky and refuse to change, that things get fouled up.” He clapped Miles on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it. We’ve got quite a few mysteries to solve.”

 

 

Miles closed the door after his friend. When he put his head on the pillow, he thought he’d have trouble getting to sleep, he had so much to think about and work through, but as his eyelids grew heavy, he realized that in sharing his troubles with Jonas, he’d lightened his burden.

 

Would he experience the same easing of his troubles when he confessed everything to Addie?

 

 

The Bible verse that helps me when I’m stymied? The same one that helps me in so many ways. Often when I’m blocked or stuck or procrastinating, it’s because I’m afraid. Afraid I won’t be able to give life to the vision in my head, that I won’t live up to my and readers’ expectations.

 

 

That’s when I need to remind myself of a profound truth.

 

 

Isaiah 41:10 Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

 

 

Thanks so much for the reminder, Erica….and I’m looking forward to getting hold of your book! YAY!

 

Stop by on Thursday for a visit from Ruth Axtell Morren.

 

Blessings,

She’s known as the “Kissing Queen” of Edgy Inspirational Fiction. Her historical romances entertwine historical detail, family sagas, and high romantic tension – but more than that she writes novels strumming with the heartbeat of redemption.

Julie Lessman’s novels may leave you breathless, but not before giving you a spiritual anchor before you fall

She’s an amazing encourager, especially for those of us floundering around on unpubblished island.and her joy in the Lord is contagious.

AND I just HAD to put in this CUTE pic of Julie and Casey….just because they are both so daggone adorable!

Let’s see what she has to ‘inspire’ us with today

1.) Favorite inspirational scene from my work?

Not sure if it’s my favorite, but it’s definitely one, and that would be a forgiveness scene from A Passion Denied between the hero John Brady and his priest mentor friend Father Mac. The reason I love it so is because I LOVE King David, who was the one person in the Bible God called “a man after His own heart,” and yet he was such a sinner, just like me! Here’s the clip:

He heard Father Mac flinch, the faint intake of breath piercing Brady’s consciousness anew. He was an infidel. A lost soul. A man who committed vile sins to gratify his own flesh.

He staggered to his feet, suddenly craving the numbing effect of the bottles he’d stolen from Michael’s stash. “I’d rather you leave, Matt. I feel sick and need to lie down.”

A firm grip fisted his arm. “No, John, we need to deal with this now. Once and for all.”

Brady jerked away, his eyes itching with tension. “And how do you propose to do that, Matt? What exactly do you have? A potion or magic formula that will make it all go away?”

Father Mac stared. The brown of his eyes deepened with intensity in a face that radiated pure peace and calm. “No potion, John, and no formula. Just the saving blood of Jesus Christ.”

The impact of Matt’s words pierced his heart. He looked away. “Maybe that’s not enough this time.”

“It’s always enough, John.” Father Mac pulled out a chair. “Sit. Please?”

Brady hesitated, then did as he asked, slowly sinking into the chair. He leaned his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. “How can God forgive something like this?”

Father Mac exhaled and sat down beside him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “He does it all the time. I know a man who committed adultery and then murdered his lover’s husband, but God forgave him.”

Brady looked up with shock in his eyes.

A faint smile shadowed Matt’s lips. “In fact, he called him a man after his own heart.”

“King David?”

Father Mac nodded. He removed his hand from Brady’s shoulder and took a drink of his coffee. He wrinkled his nose. “Cold. Want me to warm it up?”

Father Mac didn’t wait for his answer, but dumped both cups and replaced them with hot. He set them on the table and sat back down. “King David was an unusual character. Loved God with all of his heart, but had this unfortunate flaw.” Father Mac paused to taste his coffee, then quirked his lips. “He was human. For instance, one day he’s dancing before the Lord in a linen ephod, not giving a whit that his wife thinks he’s making a fool of himself. Then down the road a bit, he’s lusting after a married woman he sees taking a bath on the roof of her house. And what does he do, this man who loves God with all of his heart? He takes her to his bed, then has her husband sent to the battlefront to be killed.”

Father Mac leaned in, his gaze intent. “He committed adultery and murder, yet he’s still the only man in the Bible God refers to as ‘a man after His own heart.’ Now why is that, I wonder? I’ll tell you why. Because David was a man who had a love affair with God. Imagine that—emotionally involved with the God of the Universe. Trusted Him, worshiped him, sought after him—and all without restraint. Did he mess up? You bet. Did he repent? With all of his heart, aching inside whenever he offended his God. Why? Because he had a Father-son relationship with him, loved him and wanted to please him.” Father Mac hesitated, slowly tracing his finger along the rim of his cup. He finally raised his eyes to capture Brady with a fixed stare. “Just like you, John.”

(I LOVE this scene, Jules)

2.)  Favorite Scripture when in a writing slump?

Oh, that’s easy — the #1 Scripture I’m betting most authors say — Philippians 4:13: I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.

Jules, thanks so much for reminding us ofour strength in the Lord!

Wonderful reminder

Blessings,