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“Give a soft answer to an angry person. If you touch a match to gasoline, you get an explosion. However, if you touch the same match to water, you extinguish the match.”
― Live Life to the Fullest
― Live Life to the Fullest
“The author paints a picture in the mind of the reader.”
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“You can teach the person who knows everything, nothing. We have all met them. No matter what the subject; they are an expert. They refuse to listen to advice. They refuse to learn and, therefore, end up being ignorant of everything.”
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“Live in such a way no one who reads your obituary will be surprised you’re a Christian.”
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“An author is an artist who paints a picture in the imagination of the reader.”
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“To the author, the most important person in the world is the individual reader.
This is the one we think of as we spend the lonely hours writing at our desk.
If we lose sight of this, we lose the multitude”
―
This is the one we think of as we spend the lonely hours writing at our desk.
If we lose sight of this, we lose the multitude”
―
“It is impossible to lift someone up when you have a knee in the middle of their back.”
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“ David sat down in the only unoccupied chair in the room.
The kid scooted his chair a few inches in the direction of the door. David frowned at his new attorney. “You think I did everything they’re saying about me.”
“Ah… ah… no… “the kid said, sweat popping out on his brow. “Let’s get started.” David made a sudden move, his hands shooting out across the table. The lawyer jumped back, his chair scrapping against the concrete floor. His face paled, his hand trembled, his finger above the orange button on the radio.
“Great, just what I needed, an attorney who believes I’m guilty.”
“Mr… er… Reverend Padgett, I’m trying to help you.”
“Am I your first client?” The boy cleared his throat.
“I assure you, Reverend Padgett, I will defend you to the best of my ability.”
“You just passed the bar, didn’t you?”
“Ah, yes, but I did so on my first try. Some don’t pass until their second or third try.”
“Wonderful, well we have something in common; this is the first time I’ve been on trial for my life.”
“I have some good news for you,” Barlow said, picking up a piece of paper he handed it to David.
“What’s this?” David said, his eyes scanning the sheet.
“It’s a plea agreement. I persuaded the prosecutor to only sentence you to 50 years; you will be eligible for parole in 25.”
“You want me to plead guilty to something I didn’t do and spend the next 25 to 50 years in prison?”
“If we go to trial, the prosecutor is going to ask for the death penalty.”
“Have you even looked at the evidence?
“I’m sorry, as you know I was just assigned the case this morning.”
“Get out!”
“Excuse me?”
“Press your talk button on the radio and tell them you want to leave.”
“But we haven’t discussed...”
“If you persist I will fire you as my attorney, how will that look on your record?”
“Okay, okay, Reverend Padgett,” confused, Barlow pressed the orange button, “I’m ready to go now.” Somewhere an alarm sounded. Suddenly there was a rumbling of running feet coming down the hall.
“You pushed the wrong button,” David shouted. With hands trembling, he reached for the radio. “Here let me have it.”
Keys jingled in the lock. Five officers rushed in, pulling David from the chair. They threw him face down on the floor, he cried out in pain as one of the officers put his knee in the middle of his back. Another grabbed David’s hands, snapping the handcuffs on his wrists.”
― Out of Darkness : An outstanding Pastor’s fell from grace
The kid scooted his chair a few inches in the direction of the door. David frowned at his new attorney. “You think I did everything they’re saying about me.”
“Ah… ah… no… “the kid said, sweat popping out on his brow. “Let’s get started.” David made a sudden move, his hands shooting out across the table. The lawyer jumped back, his chair scrapping against the concrete floor. His face paled, his hand trembled, his finger above the orange button on the radio.
“Great, just what I needed, an attorney who believes I’m guilty.”
“Mr… er… Reverend Padgett, I’m trying to help you.”
“Am I your first client?” The boy cleared his throat.
“I assure you, Reverend Padgett, I will defend you to the best of my ability.”
“You just passed the bar, didn’t you?”
“Ah, yes, but I did so on my first try. Some don’t pass until their second or third try.”
“Wonderful, well we have something in common; this is the first time I’ve been on trial for my life.”
“I have some good news for you,” Barlow said, picking up a piece of paper he handed it to David.
“What’s this?” David said, his eyes scanning the sheet.
“It’s a plea agreement. I persuaded the prosecutor to only sentence you to 50 years; you will be eligible for parole in 25.”
“You want me to plead guilty to something I didn’t do and spend the next 25 to 50 years in prison?”
“If we go to trial, the prosecutor is going to ask for the death penalty.”
“Have you even looked at the evidence?
“I’m sorry, as you know I was just assigned the case this morning.”
“Get out!”
“Excuse me?”
“Press your talk button on the radio and tell them you want to leave.”
“But we haven’t discussed...”
“If you persist I will fire you as my attorney, how will that look on your record?”
“Okay, okay, Reverend Padgett,” confused, Barlow pressed the orange button, “I’m ready to go now.” Somewhere an alarm sounded. Suddenly there was a rumbling of running feet coming down the hall.
“You pushed the wrong button,” David shouted. With hands trembling, he reached for the radio. “Here let me have it.”
Keys jingled in the lock. Five officers rushed in, pulling David from the chair. They threw him face down on the floor, he cried out in pain as one of the officers put his knee in the middle of his back. Another grabbed David’s hands, snapping the handcuffs on his wrists.”
― Out of Darkness : An outstanding Pastor’s fell from grace
“How to change the world
You may not have the ability to change the world
You may not have the ability to change your country
You may not have the ability to change your state
You may not have the ability to change your city
You may not have the ability to change your neighborhood
You may not have the ability to change your family
But you have the ability to change yourself
And in so doing you will change the world”
―
You may not have the ability to change the world
You may not have the ability to change your country
You may not have the ability to change your state
You may not have the ability to change your city
You may not have the ability to change your neighborhood
You may not have the ability to change your family
But you have the ability to change yourself
And in so doing you will change the world”
―
“With great suffering comes great reward”
―
―
“At the worst of times, write in the best of times write. You are a writer, write.”
―
―
“Several years ago I visited a church in a nearby city. The pastor was known as a godly man and a prayer warrior. As we spoke about life in general, he said, “We’re not supposed to enjoy life, are we?”
To him it was a rhetorical question; unfortunately most Christians hold this same view. They believe in Christ; He is their savior. They love Him with all their heart. Their future home is in heaven, they attend church each Sunday and most mid- week services. They endeavor to raise their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. They witness to friends and family, yet to them, life is something to endure.
They are like the small orphan boy adopted by a well-to-do family from a poor orphanage. The child reveled in the luxury of his own room. Sleeping in such a wonderful bed was a dream come true. He awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in his open window. The songs of birds welcomed him to a beautiful summer day. As he came down to breakfast, he saw a place was set for him at the large table in the dining room. Fine china and silverware gleamed in the light of the expensive chandelier.
At his plate set a large glass of milk filled to the brim. At the orphanage each child would drink from the glass only so far, then pass it on. This continued until the glass was empty. The glass was then refilled and passed to the next child.
With big eyes the little child looked at his new mother.
“Please, ma’am, how deeply may I drink?”
With tears in her eyes, his mother said “Drink it all son, it’s all for you.”
I believe God has given us the cup of life filled to the brim and overflowing. God says, “Drink it all, my child, it’s all for you.”
Many Christians believe life is drudgery. Therefore they miss the real pleasures God has intended for His children. His word promises us abundant life.
Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
We can choose to view everything as a miracle from God.
Will there be sorrows? Of course. Will we suffer difficult setbacks? Undoubtedly. Are there enemies of Christians and the Lord? Surely. Does this mean God has changed His mind or abandoned us? No. In this book we will discuss ways of enjoying living on God’s blessings. You can indeed “live life to the fullest.”
― Live Life to the Fullest
To him it was a rhetorical question; unfortunately most Christians hold this same view. They believe in Christ; He is their savior. They love Him with all their heart. Their future home is in heaven, they attend church each Sunday and most mid- week services. They endeavor to raise their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. They witness to friends and family, yet to them, life is something to endure.
They are like the small orphan boy adopted by a well-to-do family from a poor orphanage. The child reveled in the luxury of his own room. Sleeping in such a wonderful bed was a dream come true. He awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in his open window. The songs of birds welcomed him to a beautiful summer day. As he came down to breakfast, he saw a place was set for him at the large table in the dining room. Fine china and silverware gleamed in the light of the expensive chandelier.
At his plate set a large glass of milk filled to the brim. At the orphanage each child would drink from the glass only so far, then pass it on. This continued until the glass was empty. The glass was then refilled and passed to the next child.
With big eyes the little child looked at his new mother.
“Please, ma’am, how deeply may I drink?”
With tears in her eyes, his mother said “Drink it all son, it’s all for you.”
I believe God has given us the cup of life filled to the brim and overflowing. God says, “Drink it all, my child, it’s all for you.”
Many Christians believe life is drudgery. Therefore they miss the real pleasures God has intended for His children. His word promises us abundant life.
Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
We can choose to view everything as a miracle from God.
Will there be sorrows? Of course. Will we suffer difficult setbacks? Undoubtedly. Are there enemies of Christians and the Lord? Surely. Does this mean God has changed His mind or abandoned us? No. In this book we will discuss ways of enjoying living on God’s blessings. You can indeed “live life to the fullest.”
― Live Life to the Fullest
“the air, drifting to his nostrils. Birds were singing; their songs floated to his ears.”
― River of Fire
― River of Fire
“Plow ahead the seed will never planted, you cannot expect a harvest unless you plow ahead.”
―
―
“For the next two hours, he would toy with her, giving her a chance to repent. Whether she did or not made no difference. He fingered the knife in his pocket. The blade was sharp and tonight she would feel it.
Her time would run out an hour before sunrise. As with the others, he would weigh down her body with a cement block. Barely alive, she would struggle against death as they all had. The water would fill her lungs. The last thing she would see on this earth would be his eyes, the eyes of her murderer.
How long would it take before her family, her friends reported her missing? A day, possibly two? Surely no longer. Then the search would begin. He would watch the news reports, recording them all on his DVR.
In a week or two, some tourist or jogger would spot a floater in the Potomac. All evidence washed away, she would be just another woman executed by the D.C. Killer. He would add her disc to his collection.
He whiled away the time thinking about his first kill. She had lounged in her bath, thinking she was alone. When he entered the bathroom, she smiled. The expression on his face made her smile falter. He came at her, grasping her by the shoulders. He pushed her down, holding her struggling body under. Her eyes wide with terror, she tried to plead with her murderer, to ask her husband “Why?” He sank her body in the Potomac, the first victim of the D.C. Killer.
The door opened. Shannon Miller stood in the breach, surveying the parking lot. Nervous, she started to go back inside, then changed her mind. She peered toward him, her eyes straining to penetrate the mist and gloom. He was a shadow, invisible to her.
Seeing no threat, she stepped out, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap-tap of her high heels pulsated on the cracked asphalt. The beat of her shoes matched the throb of his heart. He could hear her heavy, fearful breathing. He smiled.
The moon scurried behind the clouds as if hiding its face in horror.
He was an avenger, a messenger of God. His mission was to rid the nation's capital of immoral women. Fearing him, prostitutes now walked the streets in pairs. Even in their terror, they still pursued their wicked trade. At times he saw them huddled in groups of three or four. They reminded him of children in a thunderstorm.
Like a spirit, he crept in her direction. The only light was cast by the Miller Lite sign and a distant street lamp. The light in the parking lot had burned out weeks ago, throwing it into darkness.
He stalked her as a lion does its prey. He moved slowly, silently, low to the ground, keeping the car between them. His dark running suit blended with the night. He was the Dark
Angel, the Angel of Death. In another life, he had passed over Egypt, killing the firstborn of those condemned by God.
Her eyes darted in every direction, still she didn't see him. He was invisible.
Her hands shook as she tried to get the key in the door. The 11 o'clock news reported that another one had been found. If he stuck with his pattern, the D.C. Killer would strike again tonight. By morning a woman would be dead. She prayed it wouldn’t be her.
She fumbled, dropping the key ring. She stooped to pick it up, her head turning in every direction, her ears alert to every sound. Now, without seeing him, she sensed him. She lowered her eyes, trying again, successfully this time. She turned the key. There was a click. She sighed, unaware that she had been holding her breath. The dome light flashed as she opened the door.
He was on her in an instant. Their bodies slammed against the door. The light blinked out. He held her in an iron grip with one hand over her mouth and the blade poking into her”
―
Her time would run out an hour before sunrise. As with the others, he would weigh down her body with a cement block. Barely alive, she would struggle against death as they all had. The water would fill her lungs. The last thing she would see on this earth would be his eyes, the eyes of her murderer.
How long would it take before her family, her friends reported her missing? A day, possibly two? Surely no longer. Then the search would begin. He would watch the news reports, recording them all on his DVR.
In a week or two, some tourist or jogger would spot a floater in the Potomac. All evidence washed away, she would be just another woman executed by the D.C. Killer. He would add her disc to his collection.
He whiled away the time thinking about his first kill. She had lounged in her bath, thinking she was alone. When he entered the bathroom, she smiled. The expression on his face made her smile falter. He came at her, grasping her by the shoulders. He pushed her down, holding her struggling body under. Her eyes wide with terror, she tried to plead with her murderer, to ask her husband “Why?” He sank her body in the Potomac, the first victim of the D.C. Killer.
The door opened. Shannon Miller stood in the breach, surveying the parking lot. Nervous, she started to go back inside, then changed her mind. She peered toward him, her eyes straining to penetrate the mist and gloom. He was a shadow, invisible to her.
Seeing no threat, she stepped out, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap-tap of her high heels pulsated on the cracked asphalt. The beat of her shoes matched the throb of his heart. He could hear her heavy, fearful breathing. He smiled.
The moon scurried behind the clouds as if hiding its face in horror.
He was an avenger, a messenger of God. His mission was to rid the nation's capital of immoral women. Fearing him, prostitutes now walked the streets in pairs. Even in their terror, they still pursued their wicked trade. At times he saw them huddled in groups of three or four. They reminded him of children in a thunderstorm.
Like a spirit, he crept in her direction. The only light was cast by the Miller Lite sign and a distant street lamp. The light in the parking lot had burned out weeks ago, throwing it into darkness.
He stalked her as a lion does its prey. He moved slowly, silently, low to the ground, keeping the car between them. His dark running suit blended with the night. He was the Dark
Angel, the Angel of Death. In another life, he had passed over Egypt, killing the firstborn of those condemned by God.
Her eyes darted in every direction, still she didn't see him. He was invisible.
Her hands shook as she tried to get the key in the door. The 11 o'clock news reported that another one had been found. If he stuck with his pattern, the D.C. Killer would strike again tonight. By morning a woman would be dead. She prayed it wouldn’t be her.
She fumbled, dropping the key ring. She stooped to pick it up, her head turning in every direction, her ears alert to every sound. Now, without seeing him, she sensed him. She lowered her eyes, trying again, successfully this time. She turned the key. There was a click. She sighed, unaware that she had been holding her breath. The dome light flashed as she opened the door.
He was on her in an instant. Their bodies slammed against the door. The light blinked out. He held her in an iron grip with one hand over her mouth and the blade poking into her”
―
“The email arrived less than two minutes later. Harland had tried to make the girl as presentable as possible. The photo showed her head resting on a blue sheet. The dirt had been brushed off her face. If he didn’t know better, Buck would have thought she was sleeping. After taking his crime scene photos Harland had done his best to smooth out Carol’s expression to ease the horror from her face. He did an admiral job. Buck studied the photo long and hard. “Sleeping Beauty, I promise you I will find your killer,” he murmured, wiping his eyes. Beside him, Bud whined. Attaching the phone to the printer, Buck ran off the photo. He reached down and patted the dog. “Bud, stay with Bertie. I’m about to destroy this man life I feel sick inside.” Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into his office.”
― The Secret of Killer's Knob: A Christian mystery
― The Secret of Killer's Knob: A Christian mystery
“What will you do today that will change someone’s life tomorrow?”
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