Updates on my books and other projects

Let me ask …

• Have you ever wished you could have one more conversation with someone you lost?
• Felt like you disappointed the people who matter most and you’re not sure if you can ever undo it?
• Suspected you’d blown your chance for God’s blessing?
• Thought maybe you were on the wrong path?

Michael Shannon wrestles with all those questions in EMBRACED, Book Two in the Encounters series. I enjoyed working with Michael. He has his mother’s genuineness, his father’s keen understanding of people and a sharp wit that almost certainly came from his granny. You can read a preview. Including chapter 11 just for you.

We are looking to go live very soon and for the first three days, the Kindle price will be $2.99. After that, it bumps back up to the regular $3.99. Don’t worry, I’ll send all the links. Be watching for the email.

Giveaway

If you haven’t already entered the February giveaway, visit the giveaway page to enter and make SURE you click the link in the confirmation email.

Another release

Finally, in the midst of the flurry of activity that comes with the release of EMBRACED, if you’re a runner or know one The Race Set Before Us: A Devotional Guide for Runners released on Thursday. It’s available for Kindle and as a paperback.

 

Again, I’ll get the links for EMBRACED to you as soon as they are live.

You have my deepest thanks for joining me on this adventure. Wishing you a tremendous time of worship this weekend.

 

February 10. All the pieces are in place and it looks like we will be ready to launch EMBRACED in two weeks.

Thank you for your patience, and for your enthusiasm. I really like Michael and it means so much that you like him to and that you want to hear his story.

To celebrate, let’s open the February giveaway a little early. 7 great books with HEART. Contest ends February 10. (If everything is the same day, it’s easier to remember.) Follow the links to get yourself entered and spread the word. (Kelly in VA, you might sit this one out since you won last month.)

 

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And now Embraced Chapter Ten (If you need to catch up, you can read the rest of the preview chapters.)

 

It would have been easy to give in to warm, fuzzy feelings at this point, to indulge in what I call the romance of Christianity. It’s not completely unlike that heady feeling I enjoyed when I first knew that Stacy was interested in me. We all knew where that emotional high ended up. Of course, I’m not saying that God is anything like Stacy—or vice versa—I’m just acknowledging that saying you want to come home and actually making the journey are two very different things.

On the drive home from Memphis, I concocted plans for what I needed to do to win God’s approval once again. I’d find a church first thing Monday morning and a small group and a midweek prayer meeting. I’d get up early and read my Bible. I’d pray three times a day. Yes sir, I’d get my life turned around. I would be the kind of man my dad would be proud of. I’d honor his memory. I’d be the warrior Nolan talked about. Things were going to change.

 

 

Monday, April 17

My alarm clock went off and I had a flash of panic when I couldn’t recall what was on my schedule for today. Then I remembered I no longer had a schedule. I showered, but I didn’t shave, then I dressed in jeans and sneakers.

Christopher was hard to rouse after his weekend, but he woke happy and chattered constantly. “You make sure you tell Mommy those stories. She’ll want to hear all about your weekend.” He grinned. I got him dressed, and in his seat in the kitchen. “What sounds good? Bananas? Cheerios?” I cut half a banana in little chunks, spread some Cheerios on his tray and filled a sippy cup with milk. “I am so glad you can drink regular milk now,” I said. Then I sat down with him and took his hands. I bowed my head and closed my eyes. “God, thank You for this food, and bless it. Bless Christopher and help me love him like You do. Amen.”

When I opened my eyes Christopher was grinning at me. “I know. We’ve never ever done that before. That’s my fault. This was a pretty intense weekend for Daddy. You slept through most of that stuff, but Uncle Nolan and Nana and Uncle James and Papa all reminded me who I really am. I need to be the man God meant for me to be, a man Papa would be proud of.” Christopher stuffed a handful of banana in his mouth. “A man you can be proud of.”

We finished breakfast, then time started slowing down. The last thing I wanted to do that morning was to take him to the daycare. I didn’t have to work. I could keep him with me all day and then Stacy could pick him up tonight. She wouldn’t see him today anyway, so would it really matter whether he was with me or the daycare ladies? In fact, there wasn’t much reason to take him to daycare at all . . .

However, from that lovely conversation with my wife over the weekend, I knew she was looking for any little hiccup in our system to justify cutting me out. That was a risk I couldn’t afford to take. Even so, it took all my strength to pack Christopher’s bag and get him out to the car.
I kissed him goodbye and sat in my car in the parking lot of the daycare feeling pretty sorry for myself. No son. No job. No wife. And beyond that, no clue what to do next. Résumé. That would be a good start.

You see how fast all that talk about change got pushed to the side? God noticed that, too. When I sat down at my kitchen table with my planner to make some notes, He reminded me. That familiar sense of shame and failure rose up in the pit of my stomach.

You may have heard folks say that there comes a point when a couple sits down and has a very frank talk about where they are and where they are headed, a define-the-relationship talk. Sometimes, that can save a lot of future heartache by clearing up misconceptions. It requires fearless honesty.

Stacy and I never had one, and so I proceeded based on what I assumed she was thinking and what I saw other people doing in their relationships. I think I approached God the very same way, operating on assumptions and imitation.

So, I made a list. I wrote down the things that I was certain God believed about me. While I was wallowing in this, the name Aaron popped in my head. I don’t know anybody named Aaron. I imagine God was shaking His head at this point. Aaron in the Bible, genius.

God didn’t really say it like that. That’s one of the things I had wrong about Him. I expected Him to be a bit on the snarky side . . . like David, but He’s not. He’s gentle, kind and patient, like my dad.

Now Aaron was Moses’s brother. He was older, but Moses got the call to lead Israel out of bondage and slavery in Egypt. After facing down Pharaoh, and crossing the Red Sea, they arrived at Mount Sinai where God was going to reveal Himself. He gave them three days to get ready, and then God showed up with thunder and lightning so that the whole mountain shook. The people were scared to death.

Within a few weeks, though, Aaron made a calf to worship. He knew God, but he denied Him. The fear was long forgotten.

“I get Your point,” I said, closing my Bible. But I didn’t.

The point is, that’s not the end of Aaron’s story.

 

Read the rest of Embraced Chapter 10

 

 

 

First off, thank you to everybody who entered the giveaway. What a great response! Kelly in Virginia was the winner of all the Beth Moore goodies (and a few little surprises thrown in the box for good measure.) How about if we have another giveaway next month? I’m working on the prize package right now, but let me know who or what you’d like to see in a future giveaway box.

The proof copy of Embraced is on its way. I know you’re anxious. I know you’ll start checking Amazon for a live listing. However, please hold off just a little longer. It will drive the book further up the list in sales ranking if all the downloads happen in a tight period of time. Let me explain how it works: math, math, math and … happy writer. Another super important piece of the math puzzle is your reviews. I would explain why they matter so much, but I know you want to read Chapter 9, so just trust me on this. All right time to read. (Then go leave a review.)

 

Download Embraced Chapter Nine

Sunday, April 16, Easter Sunday

Saturday evening, after dyeing a reasonable number of eggs and trying in vain to explain to my granny why we didn’t need a big meal tonight, Uncle Nolan and my mother took a long walk. I’ve never wanted to eavesdrop on a conversation so badly in all my life, not because I thought they might reveal some deep, dark secret. Actually quite the opposite. They are the two most genuine people in the world. Each of them is unafraid of searing honesty. There are no pretentions or hidden agendas. My father was the same way, but his position as a pastor caused him to temper that authenticity with some discernment. He was very careful about who he allowed to see his vulnerability. That’s just wisdom.

Stacy is not much for vulnerability, either risking it or being entrusted with it. Stacy prefers perfection and she has a way of making you believe that if you do everything she says, you’ll achieve it. Once you did, you would be rewarded with her favor. For seven years, I tried my very best.

So yes, I would concede that my relationship with my wife had all the marks of worship, but Nolan neglected to tell me how to untangle myself. I’m at least smart enough to grasp that it will take more than a divorce. I was afraid it would take a series of angry confrontations even worse than the phone call this afternoon. I wasn’t sure I had the resolve for that.

But this was Easter. Hope and new life and fresh starts and all that stuff, right?

Easter Sunday morning was exactly the kind of perfect spring day you’d expect it to be. I dressed Christopher in the outfit his mother bought him—a navy blazer with short pants and white socks and oxfords. He looked like a kid from a catalog, which was probably what she was going for. He didn’t seem to mind his fancy clothes, so I was sure he’d forgive her for dressing him that way when he was older.

I took dozens of pictures, and so did Mom and Granny. Then we all trooped outside and squinted and smiled until everybody had pictures of everybody else in every possible family grouping.

Before we all loaded up to go to church, I sent a couple of pictures to Stacy. Almost immediately, she called, gushing over Christopher.

I seized on her goodwill and said he looked more like her every day, then I wished her a happy Easter. I stood there until the silence grew heavy. “I’ve got a lead on a job.” That is, if a lead meant I told my uncle James I wasn’t interested in it.

“That was fast,” Stacy said. Clearly, she didn’t believe me. She wasn’t entirely out of line.

“Yeah, it’s managing a municipal water plant.”

“For a whole city?”

“Yes.”

“You know, you could ease right into politics from a job like that.”

“I’m not sure I’m the political type.”

“No, you’re probably not.” Then she added, “I’ll be anxious to have my boy back tomorrow.”

I put my phone away and tried not to think about that.

Allen County was old-fashioned enough that nearly everybody went to one of the churches for services. Old ladies and little girls wore white gloves and hats. Boys had their shoes shined and their hair slicked down so that it might stay put through the preaching. A few of the older boys struggled with their first real neckties. Nearly all the kids had sneaked a handful or two of candy into Sunday school.

Now Granny Lucy was out of town, spending the holiday with Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Tom, so I sat with Mom, Granny and Uncle Nolan in the worship service. He enjoyed the whispers that followed him down the aisle. Once we sat down, he leaned over to me, “We should be safe here when the roof falls in.” For someone who said he didn’t care what people thought about him, he sure found a great sense of entertainment in it.

The sanctuary was filled with the fragrance of the Easter lilies placed there by families in honor or in memory of someone. I think my heart forgot to beat a time or two when I saw my dad’s name listed among those who had lilies placed for them.

I think the last time I had been in church for Easter was my freshman year of college. After that, it seemed there was always a fraternity thing going on that weekend. After Stacy and I got married, we visited her folks. Her parents were social Christians, and never pressured us to attend services with them, especially after the drive from Memphis.

We weren’t four notes into the first hymn when I was overwhelmed with missing my dad, and I started to cry right there in the middle of church. At first, you can mostly hide that, but before long it breaks right out in all its ugliness. Mom took my hand, Nolan slipped his arm around my shoulder, and they cried with me. We were quite a sight I’m sure. I suspect a few of the old gossips were pleased that the Lord had finally broken through my hard and impenitent heart.

This wasn’t the first time the Grants had been in this situation of crying in church, however, so there were handkerchiefs and tissues all around. I even had one. Carrying a handkerchief was something my dad had drilled into me from the time I was twelve.

Uncle James had a similar preaching style to my dad’s. He rarely raised his voice, so the times he did, you took notice. They both believed all the answers a person would ever need were on the pages of Scripture and God would reveal those answers to anybody who looked for them. But as they preached, you got a distinct impression they had some kind of special Bible, one with stuff in it yours didn’t have. My dad could wring more truth out of a prepositional phrase than some preachers could from the third chapter of John.

This morning James preached out of John 20, about Peter and John running to the empty tomb. The word “saw” is in there three times, but the last one is a different word in the Greek. Nolan probably already knew that. John saw the grave clothes and he put two and two together. He understood the implications. James said most of us stop with just an agreement that, yes, the facts are correct. The tomb is empty. Yes, Jesus died for our sins, but we never grasp what that means for us, personally. Mom and Nolan both nodded like they knew.

After the service, we stood around and talked, mostly to my other aunts and uncles, even though they were all headed for Granny’s house for lunch. Mom was the oldest after David Lee so my uncles Wayne and Gary were closer to my age than hers. They tell me Wayne used to like to babysit me just so he could pick up girls. I was like a magnet, he said. My aunts Gail and Linda were sweet, just like my mother, and I loved them dearly. But Mom, Nolan and Ellen were all in high school together when David Lee was killed and I think that tightened them up. Because they were closer, David and I saw more of Nolan and Ellen. Sometimes, Mom’s family made me wish she and Dad hadn’t stopped at two.

I was brazen enough to speak to Andrea again, just long enough to say hello and say how beautiful she looked. She blushed and thanked me.

Nolan walked out to the car with me and Christopher which meant very slow baby-sized steps. “I reckon folks will sleep better tonight knowing God answered their prayers for that heathen Nolan Grant.” He grinned. “That is not to say I didn’t enjoy the service and I wasn’t glad to be there.”

“I’m glad you were there,” I said.

“Thank you.” He clapped his hands and Christopher grinned but shook his head. He was walking. “Good man,” Nolan said. “Walking on your own two feet is a great thing.”

“Nolan, why do you think God took my dad right when I needed him the most?”

He sighed deeply. “The mentor always dies before the hero can complete his task.”

“What?”

He nodded. “It’s true. Every story is that way. It goes all the way back to the very first stories. Yours is no different.”

“I expected a more Biblical answer.”

“Oh, but it is. God is the greatest of storytellers. Moses had to die before Joshua could defeat Jericho. David had to die before Solomon could build the temple. Elijah had to be taken from Elisha. Even Jesus Himself had to die, before Peter and John and the rest of them could achieve their quest. God knows you’re ready. It was time to take the mentor.”

“I don’t think I have a quest.”

“Then you are the first man alive who doesn’t.”

“What’s your quest?”

“To slay the dragon. To win the heart of the fair maiden. To prove myself worthy of the fight.”

“You confuse me sometimes.”

“I could say the same thing about you. And it’s obvious you weren’t listening this morning either.”

We got to my car, but I wasn’t about to end this conversation. “Don’t move,” I said. I got Christopher in his seat and handed him a cup of juice. That would buy me another ten minutes anyway. “Now, I was listening to James this morning.”

“You are at the first ‘saw’. You’re observing the things around you. You comprehend them.” He raised his fingers. “I’m getting a divorce. I need a job, and on and on, but you don’t see what is going on. You don’t understand the implications.”

“I thought the implications were that I got married for the wrong reasons to the wrong person—”

“Michael, I can’t answer that for you. If I do, that makes me a mentor and I know what happens to mentors.”

“You are no help.”

“I am more help than you realize. The thing is, you don’t want a man’s answer. You want an answer from Almighty God. But I will tell you this much, you are a warrior—”

“I am an engineer. An unemployed one at that.”

He shook his head. “That’s part of your problem. A warrior always suffers a terrible defeat, one so great it causes him to question his very identity and calling. Michael, you have laid down your sword, you have taken off the armor and turned your back on the battle.”

“I think you’re a little overly dramatic.”

“What’s your name?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Maybe. Do you know your name?”

“It’s Michael.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Who is like God?”

“You got that off a bookmark at Cracker Barrel.”

“I got it from the Hebrew.” He rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Cracker Barrel.” Then he looked at me with fresh intensity. “Who is like God? I’ve told you to listen, and James has told you to open your eyes. You know enough now to be a dangerous man. The only question that remains is, will you?”

“I thought dangerous was bad.”

“Evil is bad. Right now, dangerous is needful. For Christopher. For Stacy. But most of all for you.”

Read the rest of Embraced Chapter Nine

 

Before we get to the good stuff, I had some other good stuff. I have a bundle of Beth Moore resources to giveaway. Entry is pretty simple and straightforward BUT make sure you click the link in the entry email to confirm.

No word yet on a release date… Until then (Oh wait, I just realized what a terrible spot I left you in before I took off for Christmas. Yikes. Well, you knew Donna was going to be okay … Anyway, moving on.)

Chapter Eight

 

 

We got Mom into the emergency room on a stretcher. She pulled the pillow over her head while Nolan told the admitting nurse what we knew, which wasn’t nearly enough for me. Then they wheeled her through the double “Authorized Personnel Only” doors leaving me and Nolan to pace the waiting room.

“You said she’d be all right,” I said.

“I know.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “Better call David.”

Of course the unspoken question was, if she was going to be all right, couldn’t I just call him tomorrow? Nolan seemed to be waiting on me, so I got my phone out and dialed David’s number. He never even said hello.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nolan and I have Mom at the ER. She had a real sharp, sudden pain in her forehead. Said her eyes hurt. They had to take her in on a stretcher.”

David was quiet for a long time then he said, “I’ll be there in four hours.”

“I’m not sure you need to do that. We don’t know if it’s serious or not.”

“I just lost my dad, Michael. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I completely understood that feeling. I would have done the very same thing, and no one could have stopped me. But he said, ‘I just lost my dad.’ He lost. His dad. Not we lost. Not our dad.

And I was deeply offended.

I slid the phone back in my pocket. “He’s on his way.”

“You should call your wife.”

“Why?”

Nolan smiled. “Call her.”

“It’s too late.”

“In the marriage? Or in the evening?”

“Both.”

“I don’t think so.”

So contrary to every bit of good judgment and desire in me, I called Stacy. The background noise made it impossible to talk, and the last thing she said was, “Just a minute.” I figured that was the end of it. But she called me back. “Is Christopher all right?”

“He’s fine. It’s my mother.” I explained what had happened.

“Michael, I’m so sorry.” Then she said words she had never said in seven years of marriage. “Do you need me there with you?”

Of course the answer was yes. I needed my wife there with me. I needed her support and encouragement while my mind strained, trying to run wild with fear. I needed her to share what I held as important.

But the answer she wanted me to give was no. She wanted me to justify her lack of presence, and her lack of caring by telling her not to come.

“I would welcome you being here, and I won’t discourage you, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’s a long drive and it’s late, and it may not even be anything serious.”

“Will you call me in the morning and tell me how she is?”

“Of course.” I ended the call wondering how the end of a marriage could be better than the middle or even the beginning. Was she that relieved it was over?

“There will be a great inclination to blame and question God right now,” Nolan said. “Religious logic says you’re getting a divorce so you’ve lost your job and your mother is in the hospital. Clearly God is punishing you.”

I had already connected those dots, in spite of everything that happened on that hillside.

“She will be all right, though,” Nolan said.

“You keep saying that. How do you know?”

“Simple,” he said, and smiled again. “I asked.”

 

Read

Chapter Seven

 

After breakfast, Mom lingered at my apartment for fifteen minutes, then a half hour, then an hour. Ellen wasn’t about to prod her to go, and frankly, neither was I. Finally, as it crept close to eleven o’clock, she kissed Christopher and looked at Ellen. “I can’t put it off any longer, I suppose.”

“It’s up to you,” Ellen said gently. “I’ll drive either direction.”

“No, it’s time. After death and grieving, you have to take the risk to live again.” She kissed my cheek. “You remember that.”

“I will.” I hugged her tightly. “You call me anytime. You can’t sleep in the middle of the night and want somebody to talk to . . . You call me.”

I at least pulled a smile out of her. “You remind me so much of your dad.”

The whisperers didn’t know him as well as they thought they did. Few people did. His gentle grace touched off more than one scandal in his life. Like the time I sassed my Sunday school teacher.

There comes a point in a kid’s life when he realizes that the world doesn’t work the way he always thought it did. Growing up, you’re fed a steady diet of guys in white hats always arriving in time to rescue the homesteaders, of bombs being defused in the nick of time, of the miracle cure being found and everyone living happily ever after.

But then something happens, and one time, the day isn’t saved. It happens earlier than later for some kids. Mine happened the summer before I turned eight years old.

My mother had slipped into a deep, dark place for reasons that weren’t clear, or at least weren’t talked about, and I wondered whether we’d ever see her smile again. My father was weighed down by the extra load at home, caring for two high-energy boys, maintaining his practice as a therapist and pastoring the church in Daniels Fork. He didn’t smile much either.

Every Sunday though, he packed David and me off to that little church, and he would talk about the goodness of God and the joy of salvation. We would sing the hymns with the shape notes and the refrains that jumped between the women’s parts and the men’s parts about joy and comfort and glory. Then we’d come home, and see that my mother hadn’t found a reason to get up or eat or get dressed.

Somewhere there was a disconnect. We were believing in a fairytale, it seemed. Rather than bother my dad with a bunch of questions, one Sunday morning right after a lesson about the three Hebrew children, I asked my Sunday school teacher why God couldn’t do that anymore. Mrs. Morgan looked at me with pure puzzlement. “Michael, God is still on the throne. He is still in the miracle-working business.”

“Then it should be real easy for Him to help my mother. Why won’t He?”

“Maybe if your mother would realize that she is not the first person to have troubles—”

That’s when I stood up, and she told me to please take my seat.

I didn’t. Instead I asked her why again. And why wouldn’t God let Uncle James and Aunt Ellen have a baby. And did John Boyd and David Lee have to die.

She very firmly told me I was not to question Almighty God.

I muttered something about God being a sissy if He couldn’t stand a few questions from a little kid.

That’s when she snatched me by the hand and hustled me out to the sanctuary where my father was teaching. She whispered the charges in his ear, eyeing me the whole time. He nodded and said he’d take care of it. Dread settled over me.

I never moved from that front pew. David shook his head when he passed by after Sunday school. I was living up to—or down to—his expectations. My father, however, let me sit up in the front seat with him on the drive home from church and he convinced my mother to go out to lunch with us. I was glad she did, but the anticipation of what was coming once my dad lowered the boom made it hard to eat.

Afterwards, we left Mom and David at home and he took me out for ice cream. I was thoroughly confused by this point. “Michael, you were disrespectful, but not wrong,” he said. “I won’t allow disrespect to Mrs. Morgan or anyone else. But there’s nothing wrong with sincere questions about God. He will always hear your questions, but you have to understand He may not answer them.”

“Like when you tell me you’ll explain some things when I’m older?”

He smiled and nodded. “Exactly. Only there are some things we may not be old enough for until we’re in heaven.”

“So why won’t God help Mom?”

“He is. Your mom has a disease, Michael, and instead of getting a fever or spots or something, she gets really sad, sometimes for a long time. I think she needs to see a doctor and get some medicine for it, but she’s not sure that will help.”

“She went out to lunch today. That’s good.”

He smiled. “It was. I told her to do it for you. She loves you a lot.” He took a big bite from his ice cream. “Sometimes people end up in situations and it’s hard to know what to do. But you can trust that even if you make the wrong decisions, God still loves you and He will make good come out of it.”

Then he told me we were moving to St. Louis. I was terrified. He said Mom was, too. “I didn’t know grownups got scared.”

“We’re scared most of the time, Michael. Scared we’ll fail. Scared somebody will figure out we don’t really know what we’re doing. Scared we’ll take everybody else down with us.”

“Is that why the angels always say, ‘Fear not!’ when they appear?”

“Maybe so. I don’t want you to be scared, not ever. When you’re scared, you can’t take action, and a man has to be able to take action.”

I nodded like I knew what he was talking about. That afternoon I sat on the bathroom sink trying to convince myself that my hair was red just like his. It wasn’t. It’s prematurely gray like his now, but when I was eight, I wanted whatever it would take to be like my dad.

So after my mother had left and I sat on the floor hooking up train cars with Christopher, things started to line up for me. Nolan said I was hiding out in my safe job. One train car. My mother said there came a time when a person had to take the risk to live again. A second train car. And my dad said a man has to take action. And there’s the locomotive.

“Christopher, what would you think about living in the country?”

 

Read the rest