The Glory of Kings

“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.” Proverbs 25:2

We all have had them. Heroes. Role Models. People whom we never met nor ever will, but nevertheless people who have made an impact on who we were, who we are, and who we will become. The ones that affect us most deeply are the ones who come to us in childhood. To some they are sports figures, reaching and straining toward victory in order to inspire a young mind to never give up. To some they are musicians – singers, band members, who with their music give credence to a young dreamer’s dreams. To some they are great speakers, authors or movie stars.

To me many of them were characters. People who existed only on the page, or the screen, but regardless existed to inspire me with their stories. Anne Shirley, my kindred spirit, who taught me to see the beauty in life even when it is cruel, to press toward dreams and imagination and find a reason to keep getting up each morning. Anna Burenin spoke to me through her amazing courage in the face of poverty and servanthood, that even a peasant woman can become a princess. Maria Von Trapp gave me a song to sing and a hope for love to find me one day. There were others. Elizabeth Delaney, Lou McCloud, Michaela Quinn, Jo March, and so many more, some long forgotten through the years though the mark of their inspiration remained, some that were burned into my memory so deeply that they became part of me.

Two of those characters that became to me almost friends during the formidable years between adolescence and adulthood were Mulder and Scully. Through the experiences of their quest for the truth I learned much about the kind of love that matters, that changes people, that lasts. Through two very imperfect and unrefined souls, a journey ensued that first formed an enviable camaraderie, a balance of two extreme viewpoints, and eventually an inseparable bond that metamorphosed into a highly charged romantic love. A writer could only hope to create two people so perfectly sculpted with the pen to fit together so flawlessly. I suppose in every story I write for the rest of my life their impression will remain.

Why does this matter? I’m sure that’s the question on your mind. It’s the question I asked myself this past weekend as I was able to enjoy once more these beautiful characters on the screen together again after six years. Why should a set of fictional people mean anything more after one has left the theater? Especially to me, as a follower and lover of Christ, as one sent forth by Him to be light, to be salt, to make a difference?

It is because of Christ that they do matter. It is the reflection of him that makes them beautiful. It is sacrificial love that inspires us and makes us see God. It is the ability of a man and a woman to care more for the other than for their own life that helps us know just a fraction of what Christ felt as he hung on the cross in our place.

Take it for what it’s worth. I’m sure there are plenty of you that will read this and roll your eyes. That’s okay. I've always sort of danced to the beat of a different song than everyone else. But if there is a reader who nods their head in appreciation and understanding, then I’m glad I took the time to sort out my thoughts and give honor to my fictional friends Fox and Dana, who after fifteen years are still searching for the truth, searching for God, straining to know why they were put on this earth and who the Creator is, whether cruel or loving, and who we are in all of our evil intents.

I guess I see in them the reflection of so many people, who see God as fearful and harsh in his dealings with man, but who long for him and hope to know his love and forgiveness. God may conceal a matter. It is his right as God. But he rewards the soul that searches out his heart, who finds the truth through all the darkness of this life. His word promises it. His Son secured it.

It is only ours to accept it.

So, in the immortal words of a man who wants to believe, “The truth is out there.” Keep searching, and you’ll find it. You’ve got the word of the author of the universe on that one.

A Statement

After ignoring the nudging within to join a new friend and fellow blogger's blog tour until the very last minute, I'm here and ready to make a statement. I've come to realize that I need a purpose if I am to truly find out what God would have me do with this blog He urged me to start. I guess I'm here to discover my mission in writing Captive Thoughts.

I'm a writer. I have no doubt of that any longer. I used to. I used to be embarrassed that I should be so vain to think that anyone would want to read what I write. Last night my husband was reading my latest novel quite past his usual time to be fast asleep. He turned to me and smiled sheepishly. "I keep saying I'm going to stop after the next page, but it's getting good and I want to find out what happens next."

Little did he know his words made my spirit soar. Little did he know that he had given me the best encouragement and validation as a writer that was humanly possible. He wanted to keep reading.

So with that wordy introduction I come to my point. Here is what I hope that God will be able to do through this ministry of writing He has given me. Because He has given it to me. He has called me to write. And if God calls you to do something, He'll finish what He starts.

Mission Statement for Captive Thoughts:

1. God's glory.

There is no greater privilege and calling for a Christian then to bring the God of the universe a small amount of the glory and honor He deserves. If my writing can point others to how wonderful this amazing God really is, then I have not wasted my time.

2. That readers would see Jesus and His love and sacrifice for them.

The more I grow and learn about him, the more I want others to see who he is, especially my friends and family that may not know him. And I know I have readers who need to see him more clearly and understand his love and passion to reach them. It has also been my privilege to be given a great interest in the culture and people of Israel in the first century. I am delighted at any opportunity to share the knowledge that I have been able to gather due to such an interest. If I have been so enriched by knowing it, others might be as well.

3. To hone my skills by regular use.

Any serious writer will tell you that it takes regular practice to be a writer. You have to discipline yourself to write on a constant basis. A blog is a great way to do that.

4. To become more transparent.

I love to write fiction. Fiction seems to come into my head faster than I can type and I have 4 full length novels from the past 4 years to prove it. But I have a harder time being real, being me. Writing from my own experiences and feelings. For some reason those are harder to bring to the paper or computer screen. But I want to grow in my non-fiction writing as well, so I need to learn to share the things that are hard to share, to bleed my own pain into words that others might find some use in their own struggles for what I've already been through.


So there it is. My mission for this blog. I'm glad I got that down. Maybe this entry is more for me than anyone else.

Check out the rest of the blog tour at http://becomingmethruhim.blogspot.com/ ! There are some great bloggers with some great ideas to share, you won't be sorry for the time you spend reading.

The Reflection of Grace

"How can you know?" says the broken man, at the end of his dreams and the beginning of despair. "How can you know for sure that the philosophy you cling to will save you? What could God do for the remnants of a life destroyed? How can you be sure of the motives, the intent of a mind that conceived the tree in the garden, the flood that destroyed the earth, who allows pain and death and injustice and destruction to enter the lives of every man, woman and child on this planet?"

"Why should I trust Him, this God of vengeance, of flood and fire?"

Were it not for one aspect of grace, one all defining moment of time and space and matter, I would fear His power, doubt His benevolence. Were it not for two sandy feet walking a beach on the other side of the world, were it not for gentle hands that healed illness and stilled storms and made fish and bread and wine where there was none... we would have every reason to dread.

But rest, weary soul. Trust. Omnipotent hands that created all became tiny infant fingers flailing wildly in a cattle feed box. The mind that conceived the ten commandments and punished the dissenters learned his letters and numbers beside his classmates. The voice that commanded the flood waters to destroy also laughed in delight, and spoke comfort to the broken, the grieving, the guilty.

The heart that grieved the act of creation for all its painful results, grieved in prayer over our plight in a garden late one night. Walked the road to our execution, and took our cross up on His shoulders, bled our blood and died our humiliating and excruciating death.

This is a God to trust. To love. To give everything you have to know.

Do not only look at His unbearable image of power and light. Look also to his humble reflection, see his tender smile, rest in the sight of his familiar eyes.

See all that He is. And give all that you are.

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." -Hebrews 4:15-16

The One Who Does All This

Recently my next door neighbor hurried over in excitement when she saw me sitting on my patio swing with my newborn daughter. In her thick accent that has become familiar enough for me to understand, she praised the health of my child as she snuggled her close.

“Look at that!” she pointed at my baby’s prominent forehead. “In my culture, that means good luck!” She proceeded to point to her long toes and other features. “All of it means good luck! She will be very healthy.”

When she left, she knocked on the wooden picnic table – I suppose as a final assurance of my little one’s good fortune in the world. I smiled at her superstition, but as I watched her disappear into her own house, I felt sadness.

I have never had to be a parent without the peace of Christ ruling over my spirit, my emotions, my thoughts. What must it be like to walk this world, know the tragedies and miseries yet have nothing to assure me that a loving Savior holds it all in His capable hands?

I can't fathom it. I have no idea what it must be like to go to bed at night without committing each of my family members, from my husband to my daughter to my son to my baby girl, to the Lord's loving care and provision. I can only imagine the worry and the panic that would ensue in my heart were I to look at these little ones depending on me for their survival and not know that my dear Savior, Jesus, were looking over my shoulder with greater and purer love for my children than even my mother's heart can hold.

I can rest in the knowledge that He is good. That He is loving. So much so that He was willing to give up his life for me. To walk this earth shroud in a body as weak as mine. To limit all of his unending power and glory for the only reason that He wanted to provide for me a way to be with him. Me... and the children he has put in my care.

For Hannah, I will trust that He is good. His love endures forever. For Noah, I will trust that He is strength, even more in light of our weakness. For Talia, I will trust that He is perfect, and cannot fail. May I lean more heavily upon His everlasting arms each day, and may my family learn to do the same.

Do any of the worthless idols of the nations bring rain? Do the skies themselves send down showers? No, it is you, O Lord our God, Therefore our hope is in you, for you are the one who does all this. (Jeremiah 14:22)