Sometimes we experience personal victory by following through on mundane and tedious details which are the baby steps and processes that lead up the grand staircase to a larger dream or goal. For me, writing a book was just that. It would have been very easy to use the time and energy for other things (television, sleep) or give up the project after publishers and agents who promised to get to my book, sat on the manuscript sometimes for months and then never responded. I did not know what I was doing and learned as I went. It was stretching, humbling and every once in a while exhilarating, when inspiration flowed faster than I could write. Writing was never my passion, like it is for some people I know, and I probably will never make a living by writing, but it was critical that I complete this project to the best of my ability, and I am really starting to enjoy it. My personality and orientation is logical, studious and left brained. I have always admired, even envied, the creative and artistic, right brain people that I am surrounded with, but could never really identify with. At some point around three years ago, the Spirit of God revealed a thread of a truth to me I couldn’t let go of until I appropriated it. It is simply this: We are all created in the image of God, who is a creator and creative and even the most nerdy among us have creative skills, energies and abilities that demonstrate that image. We are all creative in some capacity and to some degree. I asked the Lord honestly, “what can I do?” “You know I can’t draw, paint or sing and my acting career ended in 6th grade”.
The answer was very clear, “WRITE! Use your words to create, to build up, to shine a light on the path, to reveal me.”
I asked the Lord, “Write about what?”
He said, “Write what you are an expert about, yourself, your story, your struggle, your victories, my victory”.
I took about two and a half years, sometimes not writing for months, other times dealing with life, travel, emergencies and kids who all helped me to forget or ignore the book on the back burner of my mind a number of times, but I had to finish it. It was fun, agonizing, scary and daunting, but I finished it. I plunged into the creative process and I am better for it. I chopped down the tall weeds so it will be easier next time. I might write another book, because God reveals himself in the creative process and he reveals me too. The added bonus is that the creative process bears fruit and multiplies, touching lives in ways we will never fully know. Whatever proceeds I make from the sale will support the special needs children my wife and I sponsor in India through Sarah’s Covenant Homes. I have no false expectations that I am the new Stephen King, but I hope you enjoy the following sample from chapter 5 of my new fiction book, “An Angel’s Point of View” and if you do, buy a copy for your kindle, or nook, or i-pad. (Not planning to publish hard copies at this point). You will very quickly figure out this is my autobiography and believe it or not, most of this story is true. It is also your story too. If you know me, you might even be in it.
Chapter 5- The battle for Scott Begins
…….Charlene stepped onto the bus; the smell was like rotten eggs but worse. It was the tangible smell of death, similar to when Charlene found the corpse of a decaying animal rotting for a few days. As soon as she stepped onto the Metro bus from Kirkland to Bothell where Grandma and Grandpa Stallman lived, a stench assaulted all of her senses, yanking her mind and senses away from her plans to spend the weekend with her grandparents to her current predicament.
For a moment, she hesitated, but before she could step off the bus, the door closed behind her. The bus quickly accelerated, forcing her to grab a handrail to keep from falling. Since she resolved in her mind that it was too late to get off, she sat down in the middle of the bus, accepting the fact that she would have to endure the thirty minutes of offensive, rancid odor. Still, she could not help but wonder where the foul waft originated. She gazed around to find the source. Only three other people and the driver sat quietly on the bus. All of them seemed oblivious to the smell except her.
The first couple Charlene passed on her way to the middle of the bus was an Asian man and woman. She guessed them Koreans in their mid-twenties. She wondered if maybe they had eaten some of that horrid kimchee and the odor was coming out of their pores, but no, that was not it; the smell was much stronger. There did not appear to be anything originating from the couple, and the smell did not bother either of them. The couple focused attention on each other as they gazed lovingly at each other and spoke calmly.
As she glanced toward the back of the bus, she noticed a slouched over longhaired man. Their eyes caught each other in a stare, and Charlene quickly looked away. The Korean couple pulled the cord to get off at the next stop, and the man from the back of the bus stood up at the same time. Charlene assumed he was getting off too, but was surprised and became uneasy when he sat down directly across from her.
It became clear that the fetid odor was from him. She tried casually to cover her nose and mouth to keep from gagging, but waves of nausea continued to sweep over her. She could not understand why the others in the bus had been immune to it. She wondered if it was because she was more sensitive to smells now that she was pregnant. She had very little spiritual discernment at that time in her life, but even then, she began to wonder if the smell was not natural, maybe even a supernatural thing. It was hard to tell since he looked like he had not showered in a few days, maybe even longer.
The man was large, at least two hundred and fifty pounds on a six-foot plus frame that would have been taller if not for the slouching back and shoulders. Dirty rubber bands held his hair together, and his face had about three days’ worth of stubble that hid the unwashed filth.
Besides his calloused hands black with grime, the thing that stood out to Charlene was the slits that formed his eyes. He could barely keep them open, obviously stoned or drunk, but still the eyes penetrated her with his gaze. A hint of a smile gleamed in his eyes, but it seemed creepy to Charlene, not happy. The next thing she noticed was his massive army boots and government-issued military jacket with the name “Miller”– his name or someone else’s – embroidered on it. The stained khaki-colored jacket opened to reveal a soiled tank top underneath, and the jacket had oversized inner pockets, one of which guarded a bottle of cheap booze that peeked out toward Charlene.
Charlene started to get scared, even terrified after the creepy man moved directly opposite of her like a jaguar and she the prey. Charlene’s mind raced as she considered he contemplated perversions unimaginable on the young pregnant girl.
Charlene could not see the evil spirits behind the actions of the man even though she perceived something. He had opened himself up to and repeatedly welcomed these spirits in his life out of hurt, anger, and rejection, most of which he experienced upon return from the Korean War. The demons of murder, fear, rape, and violence that tormented this man kept him at their beck and call for such a time as this through the medicating effects of the drugs and alcohol he’d become addicted to in an attempt to escape his pain. Charlene’s angel heightened her spiritual sensitivity to their foulness via her senses, especially smell, so she would call or pray for backup, and she had. The hairs on her neck and scalp stood on end as the dark presence of the evil spirits writhed over her like spiritual snakes in a triumphant, relishing, pre-celebration of the trophy they were about to take down.
The battle for Scott had begun! Charlene looked away from the man and toward the big mirror of the bus driver in hopes that he was watching and would do something. She began to pray silently the only prayer she could remember from the Apostle Paul Lutheran Church catechism. “Our Father, who art in heaven… thy kingdom come,” she said, and that was all Volel needed to respond.
She hoped the evil man would leave her alone in between her prayers but knew better. His intentions were evil, and she sensed his plans to harm her forming in his sick mind. The evil spirits behind his actions and ruling his life on orders from higher up screamed at him to not only terrorize but also harm the girl. They planted pictures and suggestions in Miller’s mind of having his way with her and then stabbing her in the stomach repeatedly until she was dead. The evil spirits knew, but Miller did not, that there was another life in her, and they commanded him to take it before anyone else knew about it or could protect her.
The enemy knew about and feared the extra angelic reinforcements all daughters of Eve who share in the life-giving process received, so the demons and Miller had to move fast. Earthly explanations include the maternal glow, but even the most spiritually dense person knew that pregnant women had an extra portion of peace and joy that manifested in a mystical glow. This was Charlene’s and every woman’s blessing from the Father for sharing in the process of bringing forth life and destiny.
Charlene projected three more stops before hers, about fifteen minutes and the terror began to grow as she played the tape forward in her mind. He would follow her off the bus and rape and kill her. Should she stay on? Should she talk to the bus driver? Just then, in the middle of her panic, the bus stopped to pick up another passenger. She hoped the new passenger was a police officer, but he was not. He was a physical manifestation of her angel in human form, and what she could not see were the other warrior angels who entered with him.
Volel took the form of a tall, strong doctor dressed out in light green surgical scrubs. His muscles rippled as he walked slowly past Charlene. They were a natural representation of his spiritual strength and authority. His hair and face were perfect, reminding Charlene of Clark Kent, but something was different about his eyes; they were super bright. The foul smell suddenly vanished, overshadowed by a floral scent, but she could not distinguish the flower. She burst into tears of relief and thankfulness as the young strong doctor who generated a glow, sat right next to her…….
Would love to hear what you think about my first writing endeavor. And please leave a review.