At the recent camp meeting in Santa Maria, (which by the way was off the charts in excellence,) a lady came to me wanting an autograph of my book on backsliding, The Bitter Bite of Beelzebub, which she had purchased from the Pentecostal Publishing House booth at the camp meeting.
“Do you have more books,” she asked. I told her I have written three other ones, but was not sure if they were available at the camp meeting display area. Others have asked, so I’m taking this opportunity to give you a link to my site where you may order any of my books.
It so happens that today, August 6, 2013, is the 19th anniversary of the event that led to the writing of my first book, A Thousand Pieces. That book is in its 4th printing and has proven to be a faith-builder of rare effect. A quick summary is that my husband Jerry was struck by a truck driven by a drunk driver as he stood by our disabled car. He was knocked 86 feet through the air and landed in the street, dead. A lady revived him, but he had almost unbelievable injuries including a broken neck, bleeding into his brain stem, compressed spinal cord, bruised kidneys, bruised heart, punctured lung, broken hip . . .and more. He was paralyzed, only able to move his toes and a couple of fingers. He spent five months in the hospital, but through the mercy and healing power of God, coupled with excellent medical care–if you saw him today, you would never know anything had happened to him. Many people refer to him as a walking miracle.
It’s all in the book, A Thousand Pieces, whose opening lines are:
Screaming brakes slashed the afternoon air. Tortured wheels whined at high pitch digging into the hot pavement as the truck careened crazily, strewing debris in its path.
Life beats us all. Mysterious and vaporous in creation, a new being spurts forth, its plump flesh rosy, gushing with Adam’s juice. The quick intake of breath and the sharp wail are but the front edge of a grim continuum. Invisible yet, the deadly claws have revealed their tooth, for insidious and relentless, they work their scheme of death and decay. For now, though, Jerry and I had escaped. Just ahead of the whirlwind, we had danced a frantic cotillion, swinging always toward the passage of life and avoiding that of death and its greed.
That it was done with grace, let it be said.
We are forever grateful.