Susan Lyttek's Blog

I think all of us can agree that God is glorious and worthy of praise and thanks.

But as it says several Bible passages, we’re in His image. As it says in Psalm 8, “What is man that You are mindful of him… For You have made him a little lower than the angels, and You have crowned him with glory and honor.”

At this time of year, it’s easy to remember the heroes of the past—whether Biblical history or for those in my section of the continent, American history—and see that they were worthy of honor. We can remember the early colonists struggling against the odds, many paying with their lives and say, yes, we need to thank them for what they did and how they worked towards the life we know today.

But God does not limit the thanks and the praise to the heroes of yesterday. He says that anyone who follows Him is worthy of honor.

As a struggling perfectionist, my emotions and thoughts juggle a teeter-totter when it comes to achievement. I want to do my best to help people, to do my job, to serve God, and to live daily life. I work pretty hard to do all those things. I try to give my best.

Every once in a while, that best gets recognized. But when I get the praise, it feels strange—almost like me putting on shoes that are way too big for my feet. The job I did—always with God’s help—might have been pretty good, but I’m still just me. I haven’t changed just because I taught a class, wrote a story, or passed a test. I’m still me.

I used to try and deflect compliments, with ‘oh it’s nothing’ kind of remarks, until one complementor said that was insulting to person giving the praise—and to the Creator who gave me the skills and abilities. “If you don’t let me acknowledge what God is doing through you, and you belittle its impact, and you’re basically saying that God didn’t have any reason for putting you in my path.” Ouch.

Like Jesus’ talent parable, most believers struggle with using what God has given them obediently and then following through on praising God for his gifts. Sometimes we’re too proud about things God did through us, other times we feel like we messed up even when things work out right.

But because all things work together for God’s good when believers work, we need to praise His role in the affairs of men and the people who were His hands and feet.

NEW SHOES

Take off your shoes,

Take them off!

For where you stand

Is my holy ground.

But I would not have your feet

Tired, swollen and unprotected—

I would have them beautiful.

Here, child,

Here are my shoes.

Made by me, prepared by me

To cover your feet

Prepare your feet

And protect them.

They will take you

Around the world,

Across wide seas

And compel you

To fulfill my commission.

Then when you walk in

They will see my gospel shoes

And praise you

For loving and obeying me.

Therefore, this Thanksgiving week, I offer thanks to and for my brothers and sisters in the faith. Thank you for walking in His gospel shoes and obedient to His call. I know we’re not perfect, but you’ve allowed Him to perfect you and work in you for the kingdom. He sees your works, your talents, and praises them, so I do, too.

Thank you!

All these many people who have had faith in God are around us like a cloud. Let us put every thing out of our lives that keeps us from doing what we should. Let us keep running in the race that God has planned for us. (Hebrews 12:1, NLV)

For those of you who both read my page and attend book group, yes my blog theme changed. I may still post the “rating” blog at some point, but only when I can make it honest, not whiney, and God-focused. Without all three of those, it will sit in my virtual files.

In the meantime, life gave me both a theme and a direction for today’s blog. After I finished my devotions and coffee, I looked around the room. Then I peered in the giveaway closet and at a few of the nearby piles. Next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees pulling things out of drawers with a container of cleaning wipes in hand. The cats thought it great fun to explore the spaces I emptied!

Periodically, like this morning, I get driven to clean, to clear away stuff and dust that has accumulated. I became so intently focused on removing a layer of junk from the house that I totally forgot to eat breakfast.

It’s like things enter the house and enter the house until my nervous system says, “Overload alert!” Then, I have to go through drawers and closets and shelves and find things to throw out or giveaway. This morning, I filled a trunk-full for the local Green Drop. I’ll probably conduct another stuff purge as I decorate for Christmas. It doesn’t yet feel like I’ve reached equilibrium.

I don’t know why I react like this from time to time, but any of my guys could tell you that it’s a thing. Sometimes I get so zealous that I need to put the brakes on a little and ask myself, “will I regret it if this thing is gone forever?” Usually, the answer is no, but there have been occasions where I nearly tossed something precious to me in the frenzy for less. And I have been corrected, on occasion, for giving away something that belonged to one of the guys.

When I look around, I see precious little that is precious. Most of the things within eyesight are serving a purpose, but I could care less if they remain beyond that. Whenever we get to move from this house, I do believe the antique book table next to me and the oil paintings on the wall behind me are the only things from the living room that would move with us.

Maybe it’s because Gracie, my mother-in-law, just returned from the hospital after a recent health scare that I needed clear away a layer. After all, people who we love and who love God are the only treasures we will see forever. The things that accumulate (and seem to breed like rabbits!) are merely tidbits to make our life on earth more beautiful, easier, or productive. In and of themselves they only have the value we assign to them in a given moment.

Jesus did say in Matthew that we should keep our eyes on the kingdom, on eternity. 19 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6, NKJV)

The pieces of stuff that I got rid of today were all once earthly treasures. Some things as I set them to give away, I remembered how much effort I had put in to find them. And for a while, they served their purpose and beautified my life. But all things of this earth decay—whether in purpose or actuality.

I pray that I see the reasons God puts things in my life and gives me the wisdom as to when to bid them farewell.

I think other blog posts have well-established that fear and I have a history. Beyond that, it seems to be a familial trait.

As a child/teen, I watched two women in my life shrink as fear beset them. When I was pretty young, my grandma was mugged on her way to the grocery store. That interruption in the predictability and perceived safety of life ate away at her from that day forward. I watched the woman who once used to sing constantly gradually shrink in personality. When she passed away, I vowed I would make a point of doing something that frightened me every year. I was fourteen.

Also, my aunt, who was likely abused by her husband, had difficulty taking any action and her world was small and became smaller, even after her divorce. Though a young teen, I could see that hurt and pain began the fear in both my aunt and my grandma. But giving into it diminished them.  

Mere months after my vow of bravery, I was molested in a museum exhibit. Fortunately, I got away from the guy before it went too far and ran up to a woman and loudly called her grandma and held onto her, chatting about assorted nonsense until the guy left. I would be lying if I said the incident didn’t bother me—it haunted me; but I refused to go back on my decision to fight the fear.

The first fear I set my mind to was becoming an exchange student and flying abroad on my own. That took conquering many little fears along the way because my parents said that I had to earn the money to pay for the trip and that meant hunting for jobs, interviewing, and learning new interaction skills.

The summer I was 16, I conquered that first fear. Along with many assorted ones that cropped up during the trip. But I did it and I survived. Sometimes, I even had fun doing it.

Over the years, the vow to choose bravery has encouraged me to do many things, mostly good, that I wouldn’t have done otherwise. At 17, I read one of my poems on stage before hundreds of other teens.

At 21, and the week of my wedding, I learned to drive stick shift. Over the years, the decision for bravery has had me drive and fly across the country on my own, ride a zipline, join the military, step out on a clear platform from a skyscraper, test for my black belt, get crowns put in (without Novocain because I react to it), submit my work to contests and publishers, drive on the Autobahn, fall backwards (expecting to be caught) off a rope course, and many other fear-conquering steps both big and small.

Fear is still my nemesis, especially in the middle of the night. But especially since 23, when I devoted my life to Jesus, I’ve had an advocate in my corner reminding me that He is the antidote to fear and that He wants me to be brave. When brave, I make Him look more attractive to others that struggle against the powers and principalities that want to keep us bound in chains of dread.

I’m closing with a poem that I wrote a couple decades ago to motivate myself to continue to choose bravery—especially when I’m feeling anything but.

Will you join me on this path?

Leaving the Known

Not exactly happy.

Oh, the possibility is there,

but the now

is filled with

intimidation

fear

nervousness

and things indescribable.

A sort of angst.

I am not God.

I cannot predict what will happen

When I take that one,

Stubborn step

Into the unknown.

Thank you, Gail, for this guest post, and teaching us a few things about quartz! Congrats on your latest release!

What a surprise to learn the crystals in quartz vibrate at a precise frequency when an electric field is applied. One might find the mineral in watches, clocks, computers, radios, televisions and GPS devices. It’s also durable, so it’s ideal for bathroom and kitchen countertops and backsplashes. The list goes on, including jewelry.

Years ago, my grandmother bought me a pair of earrings when we visited a craft shop in Western North Carolina. Because they are handmade from local quartz, and I think of my wonderful grandmother every time I wear them, I cherish them. When planning Dangerous Shadows, Discipleship Series Book 3, I wore them quite a bit because they matched buttons on a blouse I have. The earrings are brown with tiny gold flecks. I considered mentioning them in my WIP (work in progress) at the time.  

After I found out Spruce Pine, North Carolina, has the purist quartz in the world, I took a closer look at the mineral and how it was mined. I decided quartz would play an important part in my book, which is set in Western North Carolina. I’d save the earrings for another story.

I’d always considered quartz quite common, and it is, especially in the North Carolina Mountains, where there’s plenty of it. At the same time, quartz stones can bring thousands of dollars, depending on the color, shape and size. To obtain quartz, in a procedure called pit mining, a driver operates a bulldozer to peel back layers of soil until the mineral appears. I kept digging (no pun intended) deeper, so Nick and Emily, the hero and heroine, in Dangerous Shadows, could discover more about quartz. And mining. A mine also has a big part in the book.  Learning about the mineral fascinated me and kept Nick and Emily busy in Dangerous Shadows.

Blurb:  Shaken from an assault in the library parking lot at Hilltop College in Western North Carolina, crime reporter Emily Hanover contacts her ex-fiancé, private investigator Nick Lancaster. When the college hires Nick to recover quartz and ancient maps stolen from the library, Nick insists there’s a connection between the theft and Emily’s attack. As Nick and Emily face danger from an elusive stalker, their romance rekindles. Nick’s sidekick, Hucklesford, spots two suspects, so he and Nick go undercover. While Nick’s surveillance points to illegal gambling and murder, Hucklesford’s investigation leads him to the college cross-country team. Can Nick and Hucklesford, along with Emily, connect the stalker, theft, college student, and gambler’s murder to solve this baffling mystery? Will Nick and Emily find true love?

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FV919PCK/

Brief bio: Award-winning author Gail Pallotta’s a wife, Mom, swimmer, and bargain shopper who loves God, beach sunsets, and getting together with friends and family. She’s a former Grace Awards finalist, Reader’s Favorite Book Award winner, TopShelf Book Awards Finalist, and a Top Author pick. She’s published nine books, poems, short stories, and several hundred articles. Some of her articles appear in anthologies while two are in museums. She enjoys connecting with readers. Sign up for her newsletter at https://www.gailpallotta.com/mainphp.... and visit her website at gailpallotta.com

The evil force pursued me. I couldn’t quite tell what it was, but I knew it was malevolent and wanted to ensure my demise. I tried to run, but the trail ahead thickened with mud. Even when I aimed for solid ground, each step sucked my feet into the mire in as my pursuer neared. When I could feel its shadow…

I jolted awake.

My heart raced as I tried process the transition between dream reality and waking up in bed. It took about an hour before I calmed down enough to go back to sleep.

In some ways, this echoes the post from two weeks ago. Not sure what’s making it an anxious season.

It is quite human to suffer from fear. In fact, that was our first reaction to sin. Adam said, “I heard you walking in the garden, so I hid. I was afraid because I was naked.”

My concordance has over four hundred references for fear and over two hundred for afraid. Most of the afraid ones are in the phrase “do not be afraid” which kind of explains our natural state.

Sometimes, it seems, I tend to that more than most. When something is unknown, my brain defaults to worst case scenario. Why does this person want to see me? I must have done something wrong. Why am I having this strange symptom? I must be on death’s door.

Few, except for my immediate family, believe my internal reactions because I have an amazingly stoic Swedish poker face. But my racing heart and aching lungs (I hold my breath whenever fearful or anxious) know it all too well.

Writing this, writing anything, involves a fair amount of fear. I started writing this a while ago. I’d type a few words, then I hem and haw, “is that right?” “Should I say that?” “Will people scold me for all these double quotation marks touching each other which is so against the Oxford English rules?”

As a person who regularly has nightmares, fearing colors my nights. I spend a good portion of my sleeping hours running from demons, fighting for a lost cause, shouting for help where no one hears, rescuing someone from imminent demise over and over, etc. The blessing about these nightmares is that they have provided a fair number of plot lines for my stories. The flip side to them is that I will often wake up on high alert (aka last night) and have to read, pace, recite songs and Bible verses, pray or whatever else to distract myself until I can fall back asleep.

Most dreams are totally unrealistic. I know that. But the darkness of night makes all fears more real, more possible. It’s like the darkness of our soul is amplified. We can see in the wee hours a glimpse of who we could have been before the fall and who we might be someday on the other end of eternity. I think it’s that disconnect from who we were originally created to be that generates the condition of fear. After all, like Adam showed us at the foundation of the world, it was an immediate reaction to falling from grace.

Therefore, the human condition, as God well knows, is wrapped up in fear. According to my web search, there are over four hundred officially recognized phobias. People live with fear of one kind or another all the time. And, fears have been with us since the beginning.

But the Bible indicates that the only good fear is the fear of God. For instance, the heroes of old, like Noah, lived righteously because they feared God. And in Proverbs, it tells us “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge…” and “Then you will understand the fear of the Lord, And find the knowledge of God.”

When we fear and reverence God and realize that he controls all and knows all, when we truly bow in awe of him, the earth-bound fears lose their intensity.

That’s the key to getting past fear. That’s why God repeatedly says in Scripture, “do not be afraid, nor dismayed for I am with you.” If we trust in the way he is working and in the purposes for the kingdom and rejoice in the provision of eternal life granted by the cross, we don’t need to fear.

We still will. Especially in the long dark nights of the soul, we still will suffer fear. It’s just helpful to realize when the sun comes up again, that we didn’t need to.

Because we serve an all-powerful, awesome God who is both worthy of our holy fear and who has eternity in his hands.

I was originally going to call this post “versing” thinking I was making up a one-word synonym for writing poetry. Then I learned that it had become a slang word for competition and since that’s not what I meant at all, I dug up alternatives. I could have gone with Poetizing or Versifying, but both of them sound clunky and a bit old-fashioned. Not the vibe I was going for.

When I was six, I wrote my first poem. An ode of sorts to my pets.

Fish, fish,

I like fish.

They go swish

In their dish

My oh my

I like my fish.

I imagine you can guess the title.

Before I wrote my first story, or book report, or school assignment, I wrote a poem. Penning verse is hard-wired within me.

The first thing I ever had officially published was also a poem. When I was a junior in high school, my creative writing teacher was compiling a text book and offered a school-wide competition for inclusion in his book. Since the school had 5,000 plus students, that was no small feat! Somehow, at the time, I considered it a given that I would get one of the five coveted spots. Sure enough, he opted to include my poem Silence is Golden. I don’t have a copy of it because that was a dark season of my life and when I came to faith, I burned it along with many other writings. The title, I remember as being sarcastic, even angry. But the point is that penning verse wove through every phase of my life.

One thing I really like about writing poetry is the telescoping effect. You can take a single thought and broaden it. It’s like looking at the concept through a microscope. Some of my margin poems reflect on a single verse or even a word within the verse. Or you can take great quantities of information, turn the telescope around, pan out from it and find the overarching theme and then poetize that. Several of the margin poems looked for the focus of an entire chapter of Scripture, or, for the shorter ones, an entire book of the Bible.

Poetry is flexible and the ultimate chameleon of words.

Hebrew poetry is primarily parallelism. I’m sure God did that because it’s poetry based on comparison and contrast of ideas rather than sound. The ideas translate well into any language and the images still reverberate: joy, sorrow, anger, beauty, and much more. But every culture has its own style of poetry and people keep playing with the words of verse and creating new forms. The permutations and combinations are limitless. Do you want a rhyme scheme to dominate? Perhaps this idea feels more like rhythm and you want a staccato of consonants driving the message home. Or it’s something you’re finding difficult to express and need the tight constraint of a sonnet or other form to take those thoughts captive.

Whatever style you use, from blank verse to ballad, concrete poem to sestina, God has given the imagination and the words to allow the messages to come to life. Personally, I don’t think we’ve yet exhausted the limits of poetry. I truly believe others will invent new forms, methods, and styles of poetry.

Most of the time, while writing the margin poems, I used free verse. My only goal was to respond prayerfully to what I read. Sometimes, I added images. Sometimes, I linked the verse to life today. A couple did use rhyme. Many used internal alliteration to emphasize a point. But it wasn’t like that was my aim. I repeat: my only goal when writing the margin poems was to respond prayerfully to what I read.

Within the next month, the final volume of margin poems will be uploaded to Amazon.

It has been an interesting journey reacting to Scripture by penning verses. The process has made me realize something, a Scripture that I memorized back in my Awana leader days. All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man [or woman!] of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 (NKJV)

Thank you, God, for the verses. And for helping me grow closer to you by penning them.

Every once in a while, life sends me into a mild panic.

Not a full-blown panic attack. Not a bout of high anxiety. Just enough of a disturbance to my thoughts and emotions that I find myself holding my breath.

I don’t remember the dream that sparked it last night, but I woke up shortly before midnight with the urge to hold my breath and start the flight part of the fight or flight process.

Breath by breath, counting to ten, I had to talk myself down until I could go back to sleep. I had to remember, as Isaiah says, You will keep him in perfect peace [breathe in, hold], Whose mind is stayed on You. [breathe out] (26:3) That verse is a perfect one to focus on when stress makes the breathing go too fast or not often enough.

There’s a scene in Ever After that keeps replaying in my mind. Drew Barrymore’s character is heading to the ball. She is incredibly nervous and with good reason. She is a commoner heading to a function that only nobles are allowed at. Will the prince’s affection for her carry past that obstacle? Will he forgive her for not telling him who she really is? As she walks up the stairs, she repeats, “Breathe, just breathe.”

That line often becomes my mantra. I hold my breath when I think about too many things or try to seize the past, present and future into my little mind and make them work for me. I can’t do it. I know I can’t. Yet my mind keeps going into this loop, then I catch myself holding my breath, then I tell myself to breathe, confess my sin to God of trying to be Him, take a bunch of calming breaths and live successfully for about five minutes before I catch myself at it again.

I am convinced that this very unproductive and unhealthy cycle is what has historically caused my blood pressure to go up occasionally. It’s not an all the time thing. I’ve been on high blood pressure medications a couple of times, but once I get the emotions under control, my blood pressure drops back into the normal range or even slightly low. Not only do I need to figure out how to stop this panic breath thing for my spiritual health, but for my physical health as well.

Why do I act like this? Often, I feel like I’m pretending. While I can look at a resume and know I’m more skilled than I was twenty years ago, I don’t feel it. I feel smaller somehow and like the world will catch me acting as a princess when I’m really a pauper.

But that’s so untrue spiritually. I really am a princess, a child of the King of Kings. As princess, though, I need to let him rule. It is only when I’m acting like I can do his job that I can damage myself. Through Jesus, I can do all things, but without him, I can do nothing.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to convince my lungs of that fact sometime soon.

Still, I manage to stress myself out at the end of each day by thinking about what I haven’t done. I know that my frame of mind isn’t God-honoring. He promises to keep me in perfect peace if I keep my mind on him. Or as it says in Psalm 127, “In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat— for he grants sleep to those he loves.” He knows I can only do so much in one 24-hour period and he doesn’t ask for more—as long as I keep him first.

Breathing is supposed to be natural, automatic. It’s part of the systems of our human bodies that run on autopilot supposedly. But in that description lies the key: our human bodies. Whenever I take on mentally and spiritually, more than the human body was designed by God to cope with, or try to cope with things without Him, breathing becomes more of a chore, something to remember.

Until I lean into my Lord and hear Him say, “Rest in Me, my daughter. And breathe. Just breathe.”

Ever since I learned on Monday that my sister had fallen and broken her kneecap, this topic has been percolating through my thoughts. Perhaps I could use it as the springboard for this week’s blog?

As I kept returning to it again and again, obviously in part because I want to see my sister healed from the pain of her injury, I also thought of the many levels of healing that we individually and corporately need.

We are broken people living in a broken world.

One of the things our Lord was most known for when he walked on the Earth, was healing. At the onset of his ministry, he quoted from Isaiah to describe his mission:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,

Because He has anointed Me

To preach the gospel to the poor;

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

To proclaim liberty to the captives

And recovery of sight to the blind,

To set at liberty those who are oppressed;

19 To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.” (Luke 4:18-19, quoting Isaiah 61:1-2a)

While it may use many different verbs, every aspect of that mission is healing.

First off, the gospel heals our separation from God caused by the sin that floods every aspect of our beings. We are all poor without God. Without accepting Jesus’ sacrifice on our behalf, we are poor because we are lifeless. Without the healing that message gives, we are all doomed to walk from this groaning world into eternal death.

Next, our hearts need healing. Once again, this is related to sin. But in this case, our hearts are generally broken from the outside. The nature of the fallen world can cause disasters that break our hearts. People who have their own selfish desires or evil inclinations can do things that break our hearts. Healing the brokenhearted can mean many things on many levels. What I like to latch onto is when he calls us into eternal living with Him, we’re given new desires for the kingdom. And while our hearts may still feel fragile in the here and now, the purposes and mission place a new, spirit-filled heart within us. And that heart, the heart of flesh promised back in Ezekiel, pumps eternity through us.

I read the next portion and sigh. We are all captives on so many levels. But where I want this liberty the most is from my own thoughts. They condemn me even when I’ve done nothing wrong like Job’s counselors. They listen to the lies of the enemy and broadcast them with volume and exaggerations until I feel worthless. It is only when I cling to God’s words about me, words of blessing and promise, cling so tightly that my fingernails bend, that I feel my captivity disappear. Others have their own prisons. They could be bound in memories, addictions, toxic relationships, or paths of sin that have trapped them until they can’t find a way of escape.

In the gospels, Jesus offered the Pharisees healing from their blindness. But they insisted, time and again, that they could see. They knew the Law, they reasoned, so they could clearly see what God wanted. But as Jesus had instructed Nicodemus, one of their own, God’s plan was bigger, deeper, and wider than knowledge of the Law. It involved starting over from the beginning and letting God remake them—beginning with their eyes to see truth. Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you say, ‘We see.’ Therefore your sin remains.” (John 9:41) Even as Christians, we have blindspots. Traditions are good at creating barriers we cannot see beyond, for instance.

The last healing mentioned in this Scripture that Christ claimed for himself is healing from oppression. I think the apostle Paul, who had been an oppressor before he lived with oppression, expresses that healing best: We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed— (2 Cor. 4:8-9)

Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed! (Jeremiah 17:4a)

One thing I love about the autumn is the milder temperatures. Even once the high temperature of the day is only the 80s instead of the 90s, it makes it easier to go for a walk. Once the sixties and seventies are a norm, I can pretty much choose the time for my walk based on whatever openings I have. I can even walk multiple times during the day if my schedule allows!

Sometimes, I’ll admit, I find walking a bit boring. I mean, it’s just me and my thoughts. I spend a lot of time with me, so the footpath doesn’t mix up the dynamics much. If I walk and talk with someone, especially if we need to catch up on life, I can spend hours on the trail or meandering around the neighborhood.

But other times, I need the rhythm of my feet striking the ground to solve a plot twist or develop a character quirk. There’s something about the mindless use of energy that increases creativity.

And that’s not just me. A quick Google search and you can see that great minds of history from Thoreau to Hemingway relied on the power of walking to jumpstart the creative juices.

Obviously, the physical benefits for walking are what motivate me to go out when the weather is less than ideal or the writing for the day is complete. Hippocrates said long ago that walking is man’s best medicine and that continues to ring true. My trick knee behaves itself if I walk outside at least six miles a week. Treadmill walking, while good, doesn’t strengthen my knee in the same manner. Rather, that right knee requires the variation in the surfaces and gradation to keep the tendons strong that support it. It demands reality and what reality might throw its way, like a wobbly curb, or a sudden burst of speed to avoid a snake, in order to stay vibrant and healthy.

Spiritually speaking, reality tests our walk as well. How we interact with those around us, how we respond to obstacles and trials, how we deal with our own thoughts are all part of the Christian walk. I always thought it was interesting how often God called life our walk in Scripture. Enoch walked with God and then was not. Noah walked with God and obeyed and built the ark. Abraham walked with God and believed the promise, even when it looked impossible, even when it seemed God required the death of the promise through the sacrifice of Isaac.

 You shall observe My judgments and keep My ordinances, to walk in them: I am the Lord your God. (Leviticus 18:4, NKJV)

The majority of the 388 references to walk in my concordance are about life, not about the placing one foot in front of another. They are about the small, daily decisions that add up as a record of godly or self-serving, good or evil, heaven or hell.

Teach me Your way, O Lord; I will walk in Your truth; Unite my heart to fear Your name. (Psalm 86:11)

Whether we’re marching toward Zion to celebrate God’s kingdom or walking through the valley of the shadow of death, each step echoes the choices above. We may need to put on a sudden burst of speed to avoid an attack from the enemy and twist an ankle. The pain should remind us to lean on God, but often, it turns us to grumbling instead. “Why, Lord? Why do I have to deal with this hard thing?”

Hopefully, we turn into reality instead of avoiding it. Hopefully, we let it strengthen our souls and our spirits, step by step.

It is easy, too easy, to avoid the walk. We can tune out of the world in so many ways. Distractions, diversions, and camouflages abound. But when we avoid our walk, we weaken spiritually. Just like my knee benefits from the stresses put on it by the path, ourselves grow better, stronger, more Christ-like when we walk with God.

Therefore, we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward is being renewed day by day. (2 Corinthians 4:16)

And step by step.

I’ve always wanted to be able to sing in such a manner that people smile instead of groan. But my vocal cords don’t cooperate with the right chords. Because of that disconnect, stories about singers draw me in. But it takes a strong melody to keep me there.

This book delivers.

If any book needs an accompanying soundtrack, this is it. We need to hear the Mock Kings greatest hits, Isaiah’s gospel album, and the song Isaiah writes for Raven. All of these songs are part of the unchained melody that works its way through the pages.

Or maybe we don’t. Perhaps each of us already hears tunes in our hearts that play along with the words and they’re all different, but all perfectly in sync with this delightful tale.

Raven’s dreams and ambitions are tied up in the Candlewick Lodge and its converted barn, the Eyrie. She loves managing the place and making the visitors feel special. This potentially historical site, dating to the 1800s, has been in the Faulkner family for generations. As the story begins, a huge storm threatens. The family bell, a harbinger of sorts, rings four times. While Raven is investigating, a tree limb crashes through her stained-glass bedroom window. Now she has lodge repairs to deal with and two guests arriving tomorrow. Fortunately, the Eyrie was undamaged and they can stay there.

Isaiah has been trying to start a new life since he left the Mock Kings. While he enjoyed singing for a living, he just didn’t find his life as a rock star compatible with his faith. But since nothing else has been working, he’s decided to take a retreat of his own making at the Candlewick. Of course, you know from the moment he sets foot on the property that he and Raven (his biggest fan—including a poster of him on her wall) are meant to be a couple. They just have to negotiate their relationship in the shadow of unscrupulous businessmen and botched roof repairs, retiring grandparents and well-meaning relatives, and floundering careers and ambitions.

Piece of cake.

Each struggle, each trial forces the two of them to be more honest about their faith and the growing chemistry singing between the two of them.

As the melody of the song goes, you know it will wrap up with a sigh. Even so, like the best of songs, it is one you want to hear again and again.

Buy it Friday! https://www.amazon.com/Unchained-Melody-Candlewick-Lodge-Revell-ebook/dp/B0DW8Z8Q4Y/ref=sr_1_1? or https://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=37_46&products_id=1714

Back cover copy: Candlewick Lodge is the only home Raven Faulkner has ever known—one her family has run since 1820. When the bell—which according to legend, rings to warn of danger—chimes just before a tree falls on the lodge, Raven tells herself it’s a coincidence. Just as well, because Raven doesn’t have time to decipher supernatural messages. Her biggest worry is keeping her family’s legacy alive.

Fame and fortune are not all they’re cracked up to be. Just as well, after Isaiah Beringer’s meteoric music career nosedives. He’s sure God wants him on the mission field, but every mission society he’s applied to thinks otherwise. Needing someplace secluded and peaceful to lick his wounds and figure out what God wants of him, he books into Candlewick. The problem? The woman who runs the lodge turns out to be his biggest fan.

Rising repair costs and failing health make the future uncertain. Unless Raven and Isaiah can work together to write a new ending to the unchained melody of the Lodge.

Bio: Clare Revell is a British author of dozens of books. (I counted 84 on her website, but I could be off by a couple.) She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, their three grown-up offspring, Tilly the black cat, who is now 11, and Ty the black collie cross huntaway, who thinks he’s a lab and honestly looks like one. Follow her blog at https://telscha.blogspot.com/ to learn more about her work and those of her fellow authors.