Don’t forget my book “The Homecoming Tree” about a family surviving the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas 1941 when the father, Frank Collinsworth, was at the attack on Pearl Harbor. Will he come home for Christmas? This story makes for a moving and inspirational Christmas gift.
Also, my latest Jonathan Steel book is out, “The 8th Demon: A Wicked Numinosity”. Go to the Books Tab to order.
And now, I want announce my latest book, “Our Darkness, His Light”.
Who made room in the inn for a pregnant girl? Who asked Jesus about taxes? Who carved the bowl Jesus used to wash his disciples’ feet? Who owned the rooster that signaled to Peter his greatest failure?
“Our Darkness, His Light” is my latest book. The book tells the stories of the “ordinary” people who were suddenly and surprisingly thrust into the limelight as they played a part in the greatest Story ever told. These seemingly insignificant people swirled around the events of the life of the Prince of Peace from the crowded streets of Bethlehem to the empty tomb. Each person was an intended part of the Story – in their pain, their weakness, their failings, their flaws, their darkness. These ordinary people were a part of the Story God was unfolding, the nexus of redemption, the center of all of time and space coming into focus on the cross. Their darkness allowed the Light of Life to shine into the world — Jesus Christ.Read the rest of this entry
This is my eighth entry from my upcoming booklet, “Our Darkness, His Light” and raised the question that changed the world, “What if a dead man could come back from the dead?”
THE UNWELCOME VISITOR
A knock at the door. Martemeus looked up from the darkness of the room. The knock came again, insistent, unrelenting. Fear filled his heart and he shuddered. Outside, the sky hung like clotted blood. Rain cascaded from swollen clouds, and the earth trembled as if in labor. He did not want to open the door. He did not want to embrace the unknown. He huddled closer to the meager light of his lamp, pulling his cloak about him against the cool, damp air.
Who was at the door? A friend? Unlikely. A stranger? Perhaps. A foe? Certainly. In these times, to answer the knock at the door was folly. It might let in death. Rap, rap, rap.
“Martemeus, let me in.” A faint voice. He glanced up from his corner at the rough hewn wood of the door. Thunder shook the walls again. Could it be? Impossible! He stood shakily and crossed to the door. His hand, shaking with fear, reached to the latch.
The door swung open on a gust of rain-filled wind and she stood there. White linen draped her figure, hanging from her head, wet with rain. Her face gleamed in the lamp light with moisture and she stepped into the warmth of his home.
“Martemeus.” Her voice was soft.