Tag Archives: second chances

Let It Burn!

01 Friday May 2015

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“And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works…exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching.”
~Hebrews 10:24-25

The year’s almost half gone. Of all my goals for 2015, the one I’ve shirked the most is my resolution to exercise regularly. I could try to justify my busy nature as a form of physical fitness. I’m always on the go. Moving things. Hefting others, little people included.

But in all honesty, what I’d initially intended came with recognizable titles in the world of fitness: lunges, jumping jacks, and–God help us all–burpees.

Then one day (quite early in the year), somebody moved the Xbox Kinect system I normally use for workouts. The change in location wrought a change in my goals.

  • exercise 3 to 4 days a week 

The death of that resolution finally cried up from the ground where I buried it, enough so that I resolved, again, to make exercise a priority.

I also resolved to start slow. Too rusty for Zumba, and too irritable for Jillian, I popped in a workout DVD my sister sent. I made up my mind before the opening credits to do fifteen minutes. No more, maybe less, depending on how things were going.

At about twelve minutes, panting like a dog and grunting in a most unattractive fashion, I zeroed in on the clock. Three more minutes. I can quit in three more minutes. So focused on escape, I repeated the thought aloud.

“No, Mom. Push through the burn. Go to the end. You can do it.” This from my son, who sat at the table behind me doing homework.

Push through the burn? “Where’d you hear that? Your P.E. teacher?” I could barely find air to voice the question. Two minutes to go.

“No. That movie. The one where the guy is on the football field wearing a blindfold, carrying another player on his back, and the coach is next to him screaming for him to keep going even though it burned. Remember?”

Facing the Giants. I did remember. We had used that scene to encourage our kids not to limit themselves. So much for bailing out early.

My son took a lesson he’d learned and used it to encourage me in turn. Without that motivation, I most certainly would have called it at 14:59.

The desire to give up when things get hard is something we all face. Sadly, the act of following through with that desire has become more common, since many of us are too hesitant to risk offending one another to encourage otherwise.

Marriage. Education. Parenting. Dreams. Work. Faith. Fill in the blank. It all burns at one time or another.

Not only should we give it everything we’ve got, but we should also be brave enough to encourage one another to persevere, keep going, stick with it.

Save your marriage. Pray your kids through. Keep the faith. Finish what you started. Don’t quit. And don’t let those around you quit either.

Let it burn.

God will be with you. And the refined product He reveals on that Day will be worth every singe.

Week 5 Book 5: A Review of Take a Chance on Me by Susan May Warren

01 Saturday Jun 2013

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take a chance

Ivy Madison moved to Deep Haven, Minnesota with a simple wish list: make a difference as the assistant county attorney, find her place in a small town community, and maybe–just maybe–land a man.

But Ivy gets more than she bargained for when, on impulse, she bids during the VFW auction and lands single father Darek Christiansen as her date. Not only is this handsome bachelor baggage-laden, his past and Ivy’s work are more connected than either of them know.

As they seek to build on their fragile beginnings of a relationship, they and their friends have to learn how to face the past, forgive and accept forgiveness, and surrender to God before they can truly experience second chances.

Susan May Warren’s Take a Chance on Me is a beautiful tale of new beginnings. The characters wrestle with themselves, their pasts, and their misconceptions about God’s love. Warren tackles such issues as anger with God over injustice, and feeling unloved or forgotten by God because of past hurts. And she uses everyday emotions combined with humor to bring the story to life.

I enjoyed the conflict in this novel and how the characters’ lives intertwined in complex but not overly predictable ways. I also liked how the tension grew as the story progressed.

But while Warren uses beautiful language to establish setting and paint the picture of Deep Haven in the reader’s mind, it was done so often that sometimes it blurred character voice. For example, while in a male point of view the lake was described thus: “The afternoon sun turned the water to a rich sapphire, a few boaters spraying diamonds into the sky.” Men, at least the men I know, don’t think in such flowery terms. Descriptions were so detailed that most of the characters were shown down to the earrings and shoes accessorizing their outfits.

Another weakness of the story was that it was dominated by narrative in the form of inner reflection and backstory, which made it somewhat of a slow read for me. The morals, lessons learned, and character journeys, however, were solidly founded. I gave it three out of five stars.

This book will be included in the book giveaway at the end of the Seven Books in Seven Weeks series.

Click here for the list of the remaining books: Seven Books in Seven Weeks: The List .

Week 1 Book 1: A Review of The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

04 Saturday May 2013

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Cover.-Language-of-Flowers-pbk Throughout history flowers have been known for their beauty and fragrant scents. While commonly given as expressions of love and well wishes, their meanings became even more specific during the Victorian era. Dictionaries of the flower-to-emotion relationships were penned with care, but over time the language created for romantic expression faded to obscurity.

In Vanessa Diffenbaugh’s The Language of Flowers, the elegant art of floral communication resurfaces through the most unlikely of sources: eighteen-year-old Victoria Jones. The San Franciscan has just aged out of the foster care system and heads into the world with a chip on her shoulder and thorns in her heart.

She has no plans or ambitious dreams about her future, only a love for flowers and knowledge of their language that comes from a past failed adoption which haunts her. The details of that event remain hidden until the end of the book but one thing is clear: Victoria is so afraid of love and relationships, and so certain of her own lack of worth, she is determined to live as much of a life of isolation as possible.

But the need to survive forces her as far out of her shell as she believes herself willing to go, and she soon begins to use her connection with flowers to help others. She is given a fresh start at life in the company of people who want to make her part of theirs; but her past is like a jealous weed determined to prevent her from blossoming out of its muddy clutches.

A story of second chances, The Language of Flowers is beautifully written and emotionally draining. Victoria makes enough bad choices to tempt even the reader to give up on her; yet there is something about her personality shown through her first-person narration of the story that keeps one rooting for her.

I was torn between my compassion for her past and exasperation over how her current choices were negatively impacting her future. Sometimes I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her, other times I wanted to cry for her. In the end, however, I couldn’t help but like her.

When a girl does things like snatch a few extra donuts out of the box because her date is eating them too fast, you just have to like her.

Sometimes the story slowed down a bit, and on more than one occasion I had to flip back through it to find the meaning of a flower previously mentioned. I discovered halfway through the book that there’s a flower dictionary at the end. It would’ve been helpful to put it after the table of contents or at least mention it somewhere in the beginning.

Overall, Diffenbaugh did a wonderful job with her debut The Language of Flowers. It is a heart-wrenching and realistic portrayal of the struggles of a broken human heart trying to push its way through the weighted soil of a hard life, and open its petals to the hope and promise of the future.

I gave it four out of five stars. This book will be included in the book giveaway at the end of the Seven Books in Seven Weeks series.

Click here for the list of the remaining books: Seven Books in Seven Weeks: The List .

Angel with a Gun – Truth or Fiction Story 7

13 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Short Stories, Songs, and Poetry, Writing and Pursuing Publication

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We’ve reached the last installment of Truth or Fiction Tuesdays! If you’re new to the series and would like to participate in the giveaway click here for more information.

Angel with a Gun

“Don’t worry, okay,” Kenny said, “Rod knows what he’s doing. We’ve done it before.”

Sienna threw him a sideways glance then looked again over each shoulder. Their little group of four stood in front of room 107 at the Dryson Inn, waiting while Rod dipped into his handful of plastic keycards and tried another one. Sienna rubbed her arms and watched her breath ascend as a cloudy mist, hoping this key failed like the rest.

It didn’t.

“Whew! We’re in man.” Rod’s smile stretched between almond-shaped dimples as he walked to the farthest bed and began unloading his backpack. “Let’s get this party started.”

Sienna hesitated just inside the door. The entire room was dingy–the floor, the walls, even the thin quilts on the lumpy mattresses–as if each cigarette ever lit in the place had vowed to tag the room with its smoke stains and ash scent.

Kenny applied pressure to the small of her back until Sienna approached the other, closer bed and perched on its edge, hugging her purse to her stomach. He sat beside her and pulled her close.

“You cold?” he asked.

She nodded. “You sure we won’t get caught in here?”

“Positive,” he said. “Rod’s got the hook-up on rooms. We’ve–um–he’s done this a million times.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Sienna pressed her lips together and looked at Kenny.

He tried to laugh through clearing his throat. “It’s nothing. We just use these spots to hang out. Besides,” he put a finger under her chin, “the last time was over two months ago, before you and I got together.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her face away.

“Look at you getting all jealous,” Kenny said.

Jealous wasn’t the word, more like petrified that the night–which should’ve landed them at the movies–was headed south on a bullet train.

She gulped and watched Rod light a joint while his girlfriend Lex poured brandy into styrofoam cups.

“Pour us a couple, Lex,” Kenny said. He leaned back and tried to pull Sienna with him, but she stayed where she was, hugging her little purse like it was a pole cemented in the ground.

“And cut that heater on. My girl’s freezing.” He rubbed Sienna’s back. “What’d you tell your mom?”

“That I was going to Jennifer’s to study.”

“On a Friday? Your mom bought that?”

“Yeah, well, right after I told her she got a call from her office about the system crashing. She had to rush out so she didn’t question me much.”

“Nice,” he said. “Baby Bird gets to flap her wings.”

Baby Bird wanted to flap her wings all right, but not for the reasons strutting around Kenny’s brain. For the first time Sienna found herself wishing her mom had been as vigilant as always.

She looked at Kenny. He wasn’t very good-looking. His fun personality and daring ways had attracted her. She realized now why “daring” hadn’t made her father’s list of admirable qualities in a guy.

Thoughts of her dead father shamed her.

“What are you thinking about?” Kenny asked, tugging on her elbow. “Come here.”

She cringed at his touch, hating him for putting her in this position. God, get me out of this. She knew the desperate prayer was futile, she and God hadn’t been on speaking terms in over a year.

Just then the door shook with pounding. “Open up! Police!”

The room erupted in activity–Lex poured brandy down the sink, Rod flushed weed and batted at the smoke with pillows, and Kenny peeked out the window. Only Sienna froze where she sat.

“It’s really them!” Kenny said.

Rod cursed and paced the small room looking for ways to hide any lingering evidence. He took the brandy bottle from the tin wastebasket and stuffed it under the mattress, then threw his backpack and the keycards in the closet.

“Don’t make us kick the door in. Open up!”

“What do I do?” Kenny looked at Rod, his face almost the same color as his white sweater.

Rod sat on the bed and ran a hand over his blonde spikes. “I’m screwed.”

More banging.

“Open it already,” Rod said, his gruff voice turning angry.

Kenny had barely removed the latch when three officers pushed the door open and entered with guns drawn.

The offenders lifted their hands while the room was checked. Sienna, however, remained faithful to her purse.

One of the officers looked at Rod. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you. Still on probation?”

Rod only glared.

“Well that answers that question.” He turned to the officer standing near the window. “Take him, Sanchez.”

As Rod was being cuffed, Officer Reed–according to the name on his badge–spoke to Lex. “And you are?”

Lex put her hands on her hips. “Sarah.”

“Lie to me again, not-Sarah, and you’re going downtown with loverboy. Name and age.”

She hesitated only a moment, “Alexia Peterson, seventeen.”

“Are you high, Ms. Peterson?” He moved closer. “Yep, she’s yours, Wright.” Sienna’s stomach churned with the quick formality of it all.

When Kenny refused to give his real name, he was cuffed and ready by Sanchez’ return.

Then Reed turned to Sienna. “And what about you?”

“My name’s Sienna,” she said just above a whisper.

“Sienna what?”

“Sienna Takana.”

“How old are you, Sienna?”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Fifteen.” Sienna detected a hint of disappointment in his voice and it forced her to look up. His eyes were surprisingly soft.

“Do your parents know where you are?”

“No sir.”

“Ever been arrested, done drugs, or any other kind of trouble?”

“No sir.”

He studied her a moment. “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. If I reach your parents and can get them to pick you up I’ll allow it. If not, I’ll chauffeur you to where you’ll be staying often if you ever do something like this again.”

Sienna didn’t know which was worse: going to jail and getting bailed out, or having her mother pick her up directly from the no-tell motel.

“What’s it gonna be?”

She cleared her throat and gave her mom’s number, then suffered through his end of the conversation when he made the call.

“Where’s your dad?” he asked after hanging up.

“He died a year ago,” she said.

Officer Reed paused. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said finally. “Is that why you’re running with that crowd?”

She shrugged, and he continued, “I have a daughter your age. I don’t pretend to know what kind of man your dad was, but I’m guessing he wouldn’t be too happy. Am I right?”

Sienna avoided thoughts of her dad as much as possible. Suddenly he was alive and fresh in her mind, smiling at her out of his olive face. That he would be grieved was an understatement. She began to weep.

Officer Reed sighed and pulled her into a hug. The embrace–performed by strong arms and a broad shoulder, and scented with some spice version of aftershave–undid her. It was a man’s embrace, not unlike her father’s, and she clung to it for dear life–melting into it and pouring out her pain upon it.

“I miss him so much,” she said, her fists clutching pieces of Officer Reed’s uniform.

She cried like that for a time, and Officer Reed held her and told her about what he and his daughter endured after losing his wife some years back. “It took a lot of prayer, but eventually we healed, and–“

“Sienna.” Her mother’s voice sliced into the moment. Sienna pulled away and wiped her eyes.

“Ms. Takana.” Officer Reed stood and introduced himself, then explained what happened.

“Does that mean you aren’t pressing charges?” She didn’t take her eyes off of her daughter, and Sienna squirmed under the cold stare.

“The owner of the hotel just wants the kids out of here, ma’am. He’s not pressing charges.”

“Thank you. Let’s go Sienna.” Despite the sweats and scrunchy-tied hair she had rushed off to work in, Sienna thought her mom had never looked angrier–or more hurt.

“Ms. Takana?”

“Yes?” She looked at Officer Reed for the first time.

“I have a daughter the same age who has experienced the same kind of loss. This isn’t protocol, but I’d be happy to have her contact Sienna if that’s okay with you. It might…help Sienna deal with some of her grief.”

“I’ll have to think about that,” she said. “Do you have a card or something?”

Officer Reed checked his many pockets before producing the small slip. When he offered it, Sienna noticed that the look on his face mirrored the same expression many men had given her mother since she became a widow. Sienna despised that look…until now.

Her mother took the card, thanked him again, then walked ahead of Sienna with an unspoken command for her to follow.

Sienna looked at the handsome officer one last time and found him watching after them. Her father’s smile mingled with the memory of the officer’s embrace, and for the first time in a year, in the inner recesses of her heart, she spoke to God.

Deadly Intuition – Truth or Fiction Tuesday Story 4

23 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by in Short Stories, Songs, and Poetry, Writing and Pursuing Publication

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It’s Truth or Fiction Tuesday! To be eligible to win the $25 Amazon gift card remember to cast your vote using the comments box. For detailed instructions click here.

The breeze blew by her with a carefree lilt in it. She tipped her face to the sky and smiled in response to the sun’s gentle warmth on her cheek. It was a welcome change to the ruthless desert heat which had lingered beyond its season.

She took the book she’d been trying to read for the past month and cracked it open. The marker had been on page seven so long it would probably leave a permanent crease–thanks to her three children who now dashed through the deserted park like a band of pirates. After another glance at them, she found her spot and tried again to conquer page eight.

She reached chapter two when a shadow interrupted her focus. Its owner was a pedaling teenager, presumably coming from school. She smiled and started to look away, but met his gaze before he moved from her line of vision.

Her internal alarm screeched like a siren.

His bike stopped behind the chunky blue dinosaur where she sat, and her body went stiff. She calculated how long it would take to gather her kids and cross to where her truck sat like an orphan on the street. If his intentions were evil, they didn’t have a chance.

“Mommy! Mommy, watch me!” Three-year-old Maya plopped down on the slide, her chubby cheeks flushed and glistening. “But don’t catch me, okay.”

“Okay, baby.” She walked over to where Maya would land in the woodchips, then braved a look at the boy. Maya could have flown at her like a superhero and she wouldn’t have noticed.

He was watching her.

She couldn’t place what she saw in his eyes–anxiety, determination maybe–but it reinforced her initial sense of foreboding, and filled her mind with terrible scenes made for movies.

Get a grip, Lorraine. She was just being paranoid. She knew from experience that her imagination was boundless when it came to her children’s safety. Surely this was one of those times.

But he didn’t look away. Lorraine forced herself to stare back and size him up. He was average height, maybe just an inch or two taller than she, with a solid, muscular build. When she was younger–nothing but lank, limbs, and attitude–his height alone would’ve convinced her she could take him. She didn’t dare make such an assumption now, especially with her whole world running about the park on three pairs of short, vulnerable legs.

She appraised his cropped blonde hair, baggy shirt, and skater shorts. He also wore an earbud in one ear, with the other dangling from the front of his shirt. Apart from the hardness of his features and his constant fidgeting, he appeared normal. And, as she continued to stare, he gave a slight smile and finally looked away.

So it was paranoia.

Then why couldn’t she shake the dark feeling that defied the beauty of the day? It kept her from rounding up her children, for fear that something terrible would happen if they were huddled together with their backs to him in retreat.

It also kept her thinking of ways to fight and stay alive long enough to save them. She didn’t think like that. Why was she thinking like that? Why could he possibly want to hurt them? They didn’t know each other. In her many trips to this same park over the years, she’d never even seen him.

She couldn’t figure him out, or the ominous vibe that tickled her senses. As she puzzled over it, he mounted his bike, rode to the other side of the playground, got off, and began to pace. He pulled out his MP3 player for a brief look, then shoved it back in his pocket, all the while stealing unsettling glances at her. He repeated this ritual, including the bike trek, several times.

The pacing reminded Lorraine of an agitated tiger, tense and ready to pounce on the first thing within its reach. Coldness spread over her as intuition told her she had made the connection.

She and her little family were within his reach.

She began to pray wordlessly, ignoring the complaints of her older daughter Ria that Nate was throwing woodchips in her hair. Desperate for God to intervene, Lorraine threw up every solution she could think of, including striking the boy dead on the spot if needed–anything to keep him from hurting her babies.

She scanned his oversized clothes again, looking for the bulge of a weapon. She had to get close enough so that she could at least fight him for it. That was their only chance, if God let him live.

All of a sudden he stopped and faced her. Lorraine opened her mouth to scream for help. What came out was a controlled, “Hello.”

He blinked and pulled his brows together, confusion replacing the rigid set of his face.

“Hello,” Lorraine said again with a weak smile.

“Hi,” he said.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

He paused as if he had to think about it, then shook his head. “No.”

“Just get out of school?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh yeah? What grade are you in?”

“I’m a junior.” He walked with an unsure step and stopped close enough to touch her. Lorraine struggled to appear relaxed. “I would be a senior but I got held back,” he said.

“That’s terrible.” What a dumb thing to say. “The last years of high school are rough, though. You can’t give up. What’s your name?”

“Miguel. Or Mike. Either one.”

Lorraine searched his face again. “Miguel? You don’t look Hispanic.”

“I’m not. I’m adopted. My real mom left me when I was one. My dad left when I was four. I was adopted by a Mexican family, so I named myself Miguel. But you can call me Mike.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mike–about your first parents I mean. Are you and your adopted family new to the area?”

“No, just me.” His attention was momentarily arrested by a yellow-winged butterfly. “I got in trouble a few years ago, so I’ve been in foster homes ever since. I’ve been in this new one about a week.”

She chose to forego the obvious question and asked, “How do you like it so far?”

He searched her with plain brown eyes that seemed expert at reading people. “It’s okay, I guess. I don’t like the school. They’re real strict, with metal detectors everywhere. The family seems alright, though. I miss my other family, but I’m not allowed back there.”

Once he got going he didn’t stop. He proceeded to tell her about his brother going to the army, and how he wanted to follow in his footsteps, or maybe become a Marine. Though Lorraine picked up on the awkward slant to his social skills, she couldn’t help being touched by the soft earnest in his voice and how his hostile exterior seemed to drip away as he unloaded his burdens.

He wasn’t a dangerous teen after all, just a troubled one.

“Do you like music?” he asked without prelude.

“Sure.”

When he rattled off a list of artist names she’d never heard before, he frowned and asked, “Well what do you listen to?”

She laughed. “Christian music mostly. Anything else you probably wouldn’t know. I’m about twice your age, Mike.”

He looked skeptical for a moment then shrugged. “Well, you might like this then.” His thumb whipped around the dial on his MP3 and he offered her the earbud resting on his chest.

Lorraine suppressed her inner germophobe and took it. He needed love, not her ridiculous hang-ups. The song, Stand By Me, was in English but infused with a Latin sound. Lorraine smiled and sang a few lines before handing it back to him.

The sprinklers came on and drew the kids like magnets. Lorraine and Mike talked more, mostly about his dreams and how with hard work he could achieve them, and she relaxed as he soaked up her attention like a happy sponge. He was handsome when he smiled.

A truck drove by, and Mike sagged when he saw it. “That’s my foster dad,” he said. “Guess I better go.”

“Okay,” Lorraine was sad to have him leave so soon. She almost forgot she’d been praying for his destruction earlier. The memory made her feel silly.

“See you around,” he said. He hesitated, then dropped his heavy arms over her shoulders in a loose hug, and touched her cheek with the quick kiss young boys give their mothers. It broke her heart.

“Be good, Mike,” she said. “Work hard.”

“I will.” He jogged to his bike and tripped just as he reached it.

He recovered quickly, pulling the bike up with him as he stood. He adjusted his shirt, which had lifted during the fall, and Lorraine caught sight of a gun lodged in his waistband.

Her mouth dropped open. Mike, however, didn’t notice. He flashed her one last smile–radiant and beautiful–threw his leg over the seat, and pedaled off in the direction he’d come from.