Some have asked me where I get my story ideas. I read a lot, but I also watch the news. Crime news is also something I follow, including this latest heartbreaking news (see below) about Jacob Wetterling’s body being found after being missing since 1989. At least his family can now bury his body and find closure after waiting for so many years for him to come home. Why stories like this? The evil of this world, when depicted tastefully without offense, only makes the gospel of Christ shine brighter, and that’s the contrast (light overcoming darkness) I like to show in my novels. Here is the latest on Jacob’s killer: http://www.people.com/article/source-danny-heinrichs-plea-deal-approved-by-jacob-wetterlings-parents
It’s weekends like this one, when family and friends observe July Fourth traditions over hamburgers, junk food, and fire crackers, that many of us reflect on those who paid the ultimate price to give us freedom. For me the holiday is also filled with memories of my dad driving my mom, me, and my three siblings to St. Clair, Michigan, to spend the day with his parents, Grandma and Grandpa Blumer, and my many cousins, aunts, and uncles. My grandparents lived at 232 South 9th Street in a tan two-story frame house much like those around it. My dad and his four brothers grew up in this house (wish I had a photo of it). Unfortunately, the place has long since been sold after Grandma Blumer passed away on January 15, 2000, after a stroke at age 87. She knew her Savior and is surely spending days of wonder at…
The notion of lost memories and the mysteries of the brain have always fascinated me. Even more so when my dad was diagnosed with stage-4 brain cancer (glioblastoma multiforme) in January 2009. Because my parents moved to my town for Dad’s cancer treatments and I sometimes helped out as caregiver, I got to see the ravages of brain cancer up close and personal. Sometimes when my mom needed to get groceries or run other errands, I sat with my dad and worked on my laptop (rather like I’m doing now) while he slept in a reclined wheelchair. Usually Dad slept soundly, but other times he mumbled words. Names. A smattering of mumbled speech. Something garbled from a dream. Normally, the soliloquy made little sense, but sometimes I recognized a name. Roger. Wayne. (Those are the names of two of my dad’s four brothers.) I heard only an occasional word, but Mom…
Recently, I had one of those odd life-connections-I-can’t-explain events happen to me, starting on Saturday. Does this ever happen to you? You get one of those jolting reminders that God is very much in control? Disaster about to Happen While passing through our basement, I realized a good section of the southeast corner was submerged. The floor drain—or something below the floor drain—had decided to go on strike, and all the water from my daughters’ baths had pooled all over the floor instead of going down the drain like it was supposed to. The soapy water was slithering its way toward my very un-basement-like home office (which had required a good bit of money and man hours to build), and I could see disaster about to happen. I grabbed buckets and filled them, sprinted up the stairs, and emptied the buckets in our yard . . . as quickly as…
