This all came out of a conversation I had with my husband the other night. I mentioned to him how one of my old favorites, Redeeming Love, which I read years ago and have recommended to many readers, has been pelted with criticism. The fire has come from both sides, Christian and non-Christian alike. When I first heard of this, I was indignant. “What fault could one possibly find in Francine Rivers’ classic which practically was the catalyst for an entirely different *and better* style of Christian fiction?”
I wrote this for you, reader behind this screen. This isn’t sly propaganda for something else. It’s actually about you.
As a child in southwestern Oklahoma, tornadoes were the norm – hiding in the hallway under a mattress or in the neighbor’s storm cellar. There was actually something quite thrilling about it, to be honest. But tornadoes in the dead of night were not a notion back then.
In that home where I belong, I will not mark time by tragedies. I will not mark time at all. I will bask in the good, of a day without night, of joy that falls not between sadness but instead of.
Once our young hero was introduced, the beckon from the back seat quickly became, “Tell us another Rupert story!”