The iron chains rattled as the heavy links dangled from the gnarled, twisted old oak. My wrists were peeled, cracked and dripping blood down my forearms and in between my clenched fingers. Every bone in my body ached with agony.
Something I find so much more meaningful to write instead of blogs about a current life experiences, is to instead take those experiences and rewrite them as a creative short stories. I am saying this because I’ve decided to make this blog primarily about short stories now. I know many of you have sent me messages or left comments in the past asking me to write more of this type of writing. So I am starting a new chapter to do just that.
In the thin places of morning, right before dawn, between dreams and waking He walks into the room. He brushes our skin and our hearts with His healing warmth. “This is my beloved, this is my friend.” His heartbeat pulsates through the skin of this world to make this reality known. He wants us to know what He feels and what He thinks, yet He also knows the magnitude of such intimacy is more we can hold because we are but man. So He graciously gives it to us in glances, in touches, in whispers and in laughter.
So I am finally getting around to sharing my list of top non-fiction books that have most influenced me. Many of these were books I read back in high-school, but had significant influence in my spiritual and emotional growth as a young adult. A few are from later on. It is really is hard to choose my top ten because I have read so many good books over the years, but I am going to force myself to choose.
I spent two, maybe three hours, last week writing on a blog. It just didn’t turn out, which is why nothing was posted last week. So this is attempt number #2 and its Monday. I am not sure where the time goes. Its already September and I am 24 weeks into this pregnancy. Over half way there. Its basically still summer here in Norway, but the days are getting colder and rainier. No frost yet, so the flowers are still blooming and there is still a few apples on the trees and berries on the bushes. The kids boots are crusted with mud each day after school and dripping rain suits hang in our entry hall. We still sleep with our windows open at night, but all snuggled under our down Norwegian duvet comforters.
I rolled out the dusty, crinkled and weather-beaten old battle map with a tired snap. Dust exploded in a small gust of tiny granules throughout the air of the tent. The map unrolled slowly outward across the round, oaken table. My captains and lieutenants circled about, wide shoulders hunched over in grief, armor beaten and dented in, crimson blood smeared across their stalwart faces and muscled arms. I could see the the defeat and despair as they avoided eye contact, the brightness gone from their gaze. My entire body was sagging in hopelessness. I leaned forward across the map, pressing my palms onto the ink stained paper to brace my shaking arms.