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.
I needed that uncomfortable, chair-squirming slap in the face. I needed that warm hug of a reminder. I needed those ropes untied - again.