Not Children, But Pre-Adults

I tried to grow herbs for my rabbit.

I tried really, really hard, but I had lots of things working against me.  First, I live in a specific part of the pacific northwest, where we go nine months out of the year without sunlight.  Secondly, the windows in my house face north/south, so even that little bit of sunlight we *do* get doesn’t come in any of my windows to reach that little box of dirt behind my big kitchen sink.  And third, I have a black thumb.  Seriously. I kill plants.  I think I shower them with too much love or too much water or I look at them funny or something.  I have a very hard time growing anything.  I always say I’m glad I can grow kids and animals – clearly any ability stopped there and doesn’t extend to plants!

But one day a stubborn and special little sprout magically popped its head out of the barren dirt and I cheered.  “Guys, we have cilantro!”

Could I pick it?  Noooo.  Poor thing was barely alive.  Could I smell the spicy goodness?  (By the way, I’m one of those people who do NOT think it tastes like

soap!)  No, there was no smell.  The little thing had one sprout.  We wouldn’t be able to pluck its leaves any time soon.

But we didn’t call it a “nameless sprout thing.”  We called it cilantro.  It didn’t look or smell like cilantro yet.  But it was still cilantro.

Yet so often, we view and treat children as separate creatures from us – like they’re not human beings yet.  Like they’re not the little sprouts of adults that they will be someday. Like what we do to them won’t matter in the long run because they’re not really products of us or anything.  That they’ll forget all of our mistakes. 

I think our children’s behavior surprises us when it becomes their adult behavior.  And we glance down and have full-fledged cilantro and are shocked.

Do I mean that kids can’t be kids, and we should expect adult behavior from them?  No.  Bear with me.

In the past two years, I’ve focused much of my free time and energy on studying childhood traumas, especially parent-child relationship issues.  Whether it was through ACBC counseling, excellent non fiction books, therapist newsletters, calling on brave sufferers who wanted to come forward and share, YouTubers who divulge their gritty backstories, and textbook articles of brain scans, I’ve put aside a lot of my fiction writing to focus on how to understand and help those I love.  I’ve had to pull back a bit in order to peel back the layers of behavior to see that root.  That basic beginning sprout.  And for so, so, so many of these people and these disorders, it goes back to pre-age seven.  SEVEN years old, folks.

These little baby sprouts were given horrible foundations that still haunt them to this day and cause harmful ripple effects at age thirty… forty-five… seventy…

Divorce, destructive behaviors, addiction, emotional abuse… We have rampant relationship and family issues, and cycles of generational traumas.

Not all of them came from crack houses where they had their bodies prostituted.  We’re not even talking truly worst case scenarios here.  Many, many of the friends and acquaintances I have met and interviewed and gotten to know and love over the last two years grew up in basically normal homes.  Homeschool, public school, private school, two parents, one parent, divorced parents, church attendance or not… the stories ran the gamut.  But usually well provided for, well educated, and physically healthy.

Yet one thing was true for all of these very different human beings across the board: none of them felt like their emotions were of any interest to anyone else, least of all their parents.  Many of them felt that emotions were downright evil – the bad or immature or unnecessary part of them that needed to go in the garbage can. All of them, decades later, have a deep suspicious distrust of their own emotions, and many of them look at Spock the Vulcan as some sort of secret hero.

Childhood Emotional Neglect (CEN) is a real thing, and causes emptiness, lack of intimacy and connection, and stifled negativity that leads to bad stress management and sometimes even destructive relationships.

But CEN was the most basic of the concerns I found.  For those who experienced actual ongoing active trauma as small children, not just passive dysfunction from parents, friends, or relatives, the mental health disorders also ran the gamut – multiple personalities (now called dissociative identity disorder or otherwise specified dissociative disorder DID/OSDD),  or borderline personality disorder (BPD), narcissistic (NPD), histronic, and antisocial personality disorders, to name a few from the cluster B list.

ALL stemming from trauma under age seven – many of whom parents were considered pillars in their communities.

So what’s going on?

The other day I watched a historical drama on British aristocrats in the 18th century.  What appalled me even more than the rampant infidelity and treating women like cattle to be bartered and traded, was the perspective on children and parenting.  They were to be seen and not heard.  They were toys to be fed and put to sleep by a live-in servant.  They were second-rate citizens, beneath the favorite house pet.  And somehow expected to age a couple years and enter society, hold government positions, or even raise children of their own! Horrors!

Where is this disconnect happening?

Children are not separate creatures from adults, who somehow magically die in a fire and burst forth as phoenixes, completely unrecognizable from their past selves.  Fat little caterpillars that go into cocoons and emerge butterflies. Things that stop you from YOUR life goals and dreams and get in YOUR way.  Things you have to pacify and put up with for a while and then move on from.   Beings who will go, “I get now why I was mistreated and it totally doesn’t matter.  I have an ‘Adult Brain’ now and everything makes sense and all is forgiven and forgotten and I’ll probably do the same to my kids because it builds character and all.”

NO.

Children never really forget.  Their brains never forget.  Deep down, that foundation, by an extremely young age, is SET.  And if you have to undo foundation, you have your work cut out for your tenfold.  It takes like ten times the effort to help repair the foundation.  It can be done, praise God, but it will probably be that kid’s spouse or your own grandkids, let alone a therapist and counselor or two, who will be putting in the effort.

Do the hard work now, parents-to-be and moms and dads of little kids.  Be intentional, sacrificial, open God’s Word, and be wise.

Can you look your child in the eye and see not a houseplant or a cute pet but the next president of the United States?  Can you look them in the eye and see the future mother of your grandchildren?  Can you see the next schoolteacher of other people’s children, the mayor of your town, or someone’s future best friend?  Can you talk to them like you expect them to grow and hold opinions and vote in a future election or pastor a future church or lead a Bible study or raise their own kids?

If you wouldn’t treat another adult with such blatant disrespect and unkindness – if you’d sit a bestie down and listen to the tales of their woes for hours – and if you’d explain with calm and intelligent sentences why God says what He does in His word to a congregation member who sits next to you in the pew… why won’t you do it for your own children?

Many peer parents just assume their five-year-olds are going to wake up one day and “get it” through osmosis.  They’re going to be great citizens and understand a relationship with the Lord and be kind to their peers and avoid bad boyfriends and work hard and never do drugs and the list goes on! These peers are shocked when some of us take the time to explain doctrine to our children, or pray for our daily concerns out loud  in front of them, or apologize on our knees when we’ve sinned against them, or ask them if there are ways we could be a better parent and take notes, or go out one-on-one and listen to them ramble about their life like it matters and is a worthy and legitimate life that bears listening to.

My kids are still under my authority and answer to my commands, but even those are run through God’s Word and have a reason behind it.

Their feelings, their hearts are precious.  If you wouldn’t squash a best friend’s or a close coworker’s heart and questions by your lack of care and concern, by your unfocused attention and disinterested spirit, by your silent tongue when you need to speak and angry impatient tongue when you need to listen… then why are you doing it to them?  They’re the ones who can’t shake you off and find a new, better counselor and friend.  They’re the ones who are busy learning their adulthood foundation. 

I’m barely scratching the tip of the iceberg in what I want to say about parenting in this article.  Some days I think I want to write a book after all of the horrendous things I’ve heard and seen in the last two years.  The horrendous things I’ve experienced secondhand.   There will be more blog posts to come, for sure.  For now, I’m busy listening to the sufferers, weeping, and taking notes.  Hugging my own three girls close and learning to give up my own rights for what my day looks like.  Maybe it looks like reassuring the almost-three-year-old with tight hugs because the little one thought it was her fault the rabbit got into her goldfish crackers and got sick.  Maybe it looks like reading another chapter of the Bible and praying at length with the seven-year-old when she talks back instead of getting to math facts.

I can sum up at least the general thought in three question: Do you see your children as pre-adults?  Do you see your actions and words and attitudes as being a lot of what makes up their adulthood foundation?  Do you see them as more than just “yours,” but as part of God’s plan for the world, and that He’s asking you to treat them like His special instruments and to help put in a lot of the hard work now?

“These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” Deuteronomy 6:6-7

“Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.” Ephesians 6:4

Second Generation

I remember when she was born

Gray blue eyes, wrinkled face

Wails and coos all over the place

 

I remember her as a child

Skinned knees and bedtime takes

Picture books and cooties on males

 

Years go by and now she’s a mom

She wipes her babies’ faces

She drives us to tourist places

 

And in the evening when I state in her eyes

She’s listening so well

She’s nodding and engaging, so I tell

 

The backstory of my life

The ugly and raw

The emotional truths I saw

 

And that baby girl grown

Understands and sighs

Surprise growth and depth behind those eyes

 

She pierces my heart with perfect advice

And I think, when did this baby

Grow to counsel me?

 

 

When Psychopathic Women Brainwash Other Women

A video review of the pro-life movie UNPLANNED

SPOILERS

EDIT: In doing a bit more research, I have since found out that Abby *was* convinced by assisting in an ultrasound-guided abortion, like the movie portrayed.

Originally recorded live on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/BlondeRJConte/

“Peach Fuzz” by Amy Curtis

Here is the winning entry for my first flash fiction contest.  This piece won because it received the highest scores from the judges for both technical competence and how emotionally moving it was.  Congratulations to Amy Curtis!

Thank you to all of our amazing judges who gave freely of their time and energy to make this a success.  These friends mean so much to me!

Liz Sheller

Liz is a lifelong reader who has proofread so many of my works.  Well-read and meticulous, Liz is a mom of three, including the cutest canine named Romeo.  

 

Aaron DeMott

Aaron is the author of the Psygens and Space Cats series, and the Onicranium Dragons series. Aaron is a certified Linux nerd who’s been a fan of both Star Trek and Star Wars as long as long as he can remember. Naturally he writes space-opera. He lives in rural Michigan with his wife, four kids, and at least two cats. You can learn more about Aaron and his books at aarondemott.com

https://www.aarondemott.com

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAaronDemott/

https://www.facebook.com/groups/360908771403168/

 

LoriAnn Weldon

L.N. Weldon is a small-town librarian who dreams of the big city, a world traveler who dreams of seeing more, and a writer who prefers to read, because she’s lazy like that. She lives in the Midwest in a cozy apartment with a million books, and has a promising future as a crazy cat lady. 

She is a fantastic cover designer, and designed my Astound booklet!

https://www.facebook.com/MagpieDesignsLtd/

 

R.J. Metcalf

During the day, RJ is a stay at home mom of two active little boys. When she has ‘free time’, she enjoys reading, writing, baking and sewing.

After many years of creative writing classes, writing fanfiction drabbles and daydreaming, it was high time to start writing her husband Mike’s story. She dove into the world of Terrene and hasn’t looked back—except for when she runs out of dark chocolate.

Any free time not spent in Terrene is typically expended on hosting dinner and game nights, running amok with the two little monkeys or watching nerdy movies with Mike.

https://fayettepress.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rj_metcalf/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StonesOfTerrene/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/StonesOfTerrene

Amazon link: http://a.co/iGK7anP

H.A. Titus

H. A. Titus is usually found with her nose in a book or spinning story-worlds in her head. 
She first fell in love with speculative fiction when she was twelve and her dad handed her The Lord of the Rings. She lives on the shores of Lake Superior with her meteorologist husband and young sons, who do their best to ensure she occasionally emerges into the real world, usually for some kind of adventure. When she’s not writing, she can be found mountain biking, skiing, or playing table-top games and RPGs.

Instagram: http://Instagram.com/hatitus

FB: https://facebook.com/HATitusAuthor

Freebie book: https://mybookcave.com/d/29ec990d/

John Thomas

John Thomas is an avid reader, especially of historical narratives. But, he has read many books of a wide variety of genres. He also wrote a novella, “Mara is Crying”. https://racheliscrying.wordpress.com/rachel-is-crying/

John was a corporate executive in information technology and was a County Commissioner overseeing the county he lives in as a member of the five person Commissioners Court. He served in the military as an Army officer and was an Airborne Ranger. He graduated from West Point and Harvard Business School.

 

Faith Blum

Faith Blum is a 20-something author of multiple books in various genres. She loves to write, read, play piano, knit, crochet, sew, watch movies, and spend time with her husband. She lives in Wisconsin in a small town with her husband and cat where she can write to her heart’s content during the day. Faith’s goal in her writing is to encourage Christians in their walk with Christ.

Website: http:// bit.ly/1tAFm4V 
Blog: http://bit.ly/12g3gfC
Twitter: http://bit.ly/1y3MLQt
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1y94De5

Kara Swanson

As the daughter of missionaries, Kara Swanson spent her childhood in the jungles of Papua New Guinea. Able to relate to characters dropped into a unique new world, she fell in love with the fantasy genre and was soon penning stories herself.

Shortly after moving stateside, Kara received the Mount Hermon Conference “Most Promising Teen Writer Award.” Her latest release, The Girl Who Could See, was a finalist for a 2018 INSPY Award and won the 2018 Parable Award. Swanson is also on the faculty for the Young Writer’s Workshop, where she helps to guide thousands of young writers. 

Kara is passionate about crafting stories of light shattering darkness, forming sincere connections with readers, and becoming best friends with a mermaid—though not necessarily in that order.

 

And without further ado – the winning entry:

PEACH FUZZ

 

“The smallest coffins are the heaviest.” No one warns you about that, ever. No one talks about it – at all. A baby boy, he’s her biggest newborn yet. Once you look past all the tubes and wires keeping him alive, so we can say hello and goodbye, he looks just like his siblings. He might even be the most handsome yet.

How his momma and daddy are doing this, I don’t know. I don’t think I could. There are twenty of us huddled in the birthing room next door waiting our turn to cherish our sixty seconds of time with their precious, silent four-day-old. If ever prayer held someone up, it was now. Digging my nails onto my forearms I close my eyes and press back into the corner praying again that He would change His mind, hold them up, make a way in the dark.

My mother-in-law touches my elbow and says it’s our turn. My knees want to buckle and I can’t breathe right. My hands go to my tiny but growing belly. All I can think is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I am still pregnant, I’m sorry they won’t get to grow up together like we planned. I’m sorry you have to see my hope in the middle of your pain. I’m sorry the three bundles of hope, four months apart, are now only two. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hiding in the back of the small group I see his daddy, so strong and kind, encouraging each one to hold a little pink hand or stroke a soft baby toe. His momma sits holding him in her arms with physical pain, that I’ll understand later, and emotional torture blanketing her face. I now perfectly understand the phrase, “Silent tears traced rivers down her cheeks.” “You have to hold her! Don’t let go! You’re the only comfort she has.”

With how hard emotions and situations like this are for me, I surprise myself when it’s my turn by stooping down and kissing his blonde peach-fuzz head. He’s so warm and soft and normal. How can it be that he won’t just open his big, undoubtedly blue, eyes? How can it be that this sweet-smelling, squishy baby won’t be with us in a few short hours?

Terrified that I have overstepped some precious boundary, I quickly retreat to the hall. I find his biggest sister and their aunt sitting on the floor hugging their knees and crying. In the pale green hospital hall next to the water fountain they lean on each other and sob yet again for lost hope. Another thing no one tells you is there is pain you can’t comfort.

Heartbroken and spirit torn apart for my family, I can’t go back into the crowded room. I can’t bare the pain that has seeped into the hallway either. A sob echoes in the hall. Maybe I’m selfish, or maybe it’s pregnancy hormones, but without saying goodbye I make my way to the elevator. Two things will forever stay with me: how tangible this grief was and the softness of his peach fuzz. Stepping inside feels like leaving a different reality. No one on the other side of these doors knows about the literal ocean of grief flooding through the halls of Maternity Ward B Room 102.

 

When You Feel Like a Drop in the Bucket – Helping Fight Abortion

I spent three days of last week in an angry, emotional fog.

The abortion news hit me really, really hard, and I cried and panicked my way through 72 hours. If you didn’t know, that’s okay. I didn’t even want to talk about it. I posted a lot on Facebook, but mostly stayed at home and sobbed my way through some emotional prayer times.

 

I just felt this deep, angry, panic that there was nothing I could do to rescue all of these children. Nothing I could do to stop evil. And it felt like God Himself had no answers for me when I begged Him.

 

But then at some point, I did quiet down a bit and turned a corner in my thinking. I still don’t know God’s plan for these babies, and why so many die before they step foot on earth. I still don’t know if God’s populating heaven with them – and the reverse idea feels like insanity and I can’t handle the thought, so I don’t go there. In faith I trust that God is protecting these babies. “For such is the kingdom of heaven.” 

 

And I realized what I CAN do is give money – donate to your crisis pregnancy centers, even if, like me, you’re far too over-committed to take on donating time. Donate money. They need it badly for supplies, brochures, medical equipment, and more.

 

I realized I had some tracts through 180movie.com that not only are pro-life and talk about the unborn’s right to life, but also share the gospel. I plan on handing those out and putting them in bathroom stalls and leaving them where they can be found.

 

AND I want to just be a better evangelist. The best way to save lives is to try to save the people with power over those lives. The only way to truly stop people from being murderous and selfish in their choices is to change their hearts to love Jesus and others more than themselves. So bringing people in my city the gospel is the best thing I can do for the unborn.

 

Therefore, using my own mom as an example – who can get any human being to talk at any time 😛 – I started to look for ways to talk to people. When I picked up Cinnabon for my husband, I noticed the cashier’s nametag, which was unusual, and told her I loved names because I wrote Christian fiction. She actually wrote down my name and wants to look up my Christian books. ❤

 

In the grocery store – which is the place my husband and I get the worst comments about having three daughters – when a woman started to remark on our extreme case of estrogen in our home and to rant about her own daughter, including cursing, I latched onto the fact that she mentioned church and engaged her about her denomination and told her where our church was located. She ended our conversation by saying I gave her hope for a relationship with her daughter and little girl she nannies in the future.

 

This is NOT normally the way I engage strangers. As chipper and extroverted as I am, I’m also a busy mom who likes to get in, shop, and get out. I have enough to do worrying about my crazy toddler and naptime and homeschooling and our schedule. Usually I ignore the strangers around me unless they approach me first, and then I only spare them a big smile, and then run off to “get stuff done.” But now I’m trying to take the time to find ways to engage the people around me and get in something about my faith, my writing ministry, or my church.

 

I still feel horrified about the infant holocaust we’ve got going on, and I’m still going to ask God a ton of questions when I get to heaven, and I’m very honest with Him how I feel because He knows my heart through and through anyway, but at least now I have action.

 

And we can pray. Always, first and foremost, pray. It’s the best thing we have. ❤

Love Thy Transgender Neighbor

This is a blog article for those who believe that the Word of God is completely true and that we are to obey what God says in it.  If you are not a Bible-believing Christian, this article isn’t for you.  I have not written it to have transgender debates.  Thank you.

 

I live in the pacific northwest.

I love it here.  It’s gorgeous, the trees are more numerous than the stars that can be seen in the cloudy sky, and the summers are to die for – light up until 10 pm at night and most days a perfect 75 degrees.  I love the lakes, the hiking, and the views.  I also love my church, Bible study community, and neighborhood.  I love that the Christians are who they say they are, and homeschooling and attending a mega church isn’t cool just because you live in the Bible belt and everyone else is doing it.  It’s what you actually believe. Even the Christian youth seem different.

But living in the pacific northwest means that homosexuality is acceptable and rampant.  I’ll never forget going on a date with my husband into downtown Seattle, and seeing a homeless woman on the ground with all of her belongings strewn about her, being ignored by a pair of sharply-dressed men holding hands, waiting to cross the street.  I wish I had snapped a picture of it.  If that doesn’t say Seattle, I don’t know what else does.

This is not my picture, but it almost could have been

In our teeny community a drive from Seattle, we mostly avoid running into this kind of thing, and for a mom of three girls, two in elementary school and one a toddler, that makes me feel relieved, which in turn makes me feel a little bit guilty.

Better to just not look and pretend it’s not happening, right?

But yesterday I was out shopping with the oldest daughter, who is almost eight years old, and we ran into a Taco Bell up north of us in a slightly more urban area.  After placing our order and asking for the code for the bathroom – proof you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto – I was flirted with by the cashier.

Who was very obviously a woman.

Now I can’t tell whether or not she was actually a lesbian, but a lot of the signs were there, and nothing about the exchange left me feeling at all comfortable.  I laughed, motioning to my daughter at my side, making a point of saying, “I’m a mom of three, so it’s nice to hear such a compliment.  Thank you.”  But the serious stare on her face and her insistence on commenting on my physical appearance went a long way to making me want to hightail it out of the restaurant.  Still, I wished her a wonderful day, and smiled at her as if she were any other woman, thanking her for her high praise. 

My daughter had no idea anything was up, only knowing that someone kept calling her mom “really, really pretty” a couple of times, as well as other chatter that meant nothing to her.  We moved on.

But what if she had realized the woman just might be flirtatious with other women? What if something made her vaguely uncomfortable too?

It’s not going to take very long for her to figure this kind of thing out.  Because that’s where we live.

I don’t think Christians are supposed to move out of every liberal area and create mini conservative heavens-on-earth in the Bible belt or podunk hick towns out in the middle of nowhere.  I don’t think that’s being salt and light. (John 17:14-16) Now, obviously, things can get so bad that it’s just time to protect your own and leave.  And that decision – that things have hit So Bad Level – is totally up to you and what God’s telling you. But how are we supposed to evangelize these Christ-apathetic or even Christ-hostile places if we don’t actually live there once in a while?

I actually do homeschool my kids, and I look for lots of ways to protect them, but not when it comes to who she runs into in daily life, and learning to love no matter what.

I see a lot of absolute, throwdown, hogwash nonsense (my years in the south are showing) coming out of the media and the liberal left these days.  They have been bullies, pushing their homosexual crazytalk down Christians’ throats, badgering them, twisting them into corners, taking away their businesses and their rights to free speech.  Especially here in the pacific northwest.

I, along with many Christians, often press the “angry” button as a Facebook response to these posts.  I very often shake my head in total shock and horror and call it “insanity.”

And it is insanity.

But it’s just so not the first time the church has been up against outright insanity.  Back in the time of Nero – who actually was insane – Christians were thrown to lions to be torn to shreds in front of a cheering crowd.  Real live people got a rush watching real live people’s limbs ripped apart, blood everywhere, while the beasts gorged on their flesh.  All because those people believed in Jesus.  Yeah, that’s insanity.

(And I’ve got to stop right here, people, and be real with you.  When you exclaim your love for Game of Thrones… you look like a crazed Colosseum-goer.  There’s sick stuff on that show.  Maybe no one’s really dying, but those are real naked bodies, and they’re being exploited on national television every day.  And you’re putting that kind of poisonous lion-eating adrenaline into your bloodstream and created-in-God’s-image soul, desensitizing yourself to that kind of exploitation of women.  And if you can get a kick out of a show that glorifies abuse of men, women, and children in that way, then you’re not safe for my kids.  Please let me know if you love Game of Thrones so I can never, ever ask you to babysit. We Contes will love the heck out of you, but you’re not going to be left unattended with my daughters.)

In the time of Hitler, Jewish people were gassed en masse, and children tortured in horrendous medical experiments, and many left in prison camps to starve to death all because they weren’t of Caucasian European descent.  That’s insanity too.

Wedding bands taken from Holocaust victims

Even now, across the globe from you in your comfy pjs and your Diet Pepper and your takeout hamburger, people in other countries are raped, burned to death, kidnapped, and tortured for converting away from Islam or Hinduism.  That’s also insanity.

Or how about the fact that we are murdering our unborn infants by the millions, and that abortion was the leading cause of death WORLDWIDE last year at 41 MILLION infants slaughtered? Utter, utter, depraved insanity.

So why are we surprised and wrathful and icked out by transgenderism?  It’s abuse our fellow Americans are doing personally to themselves this time – personally torturing their own bodies in ways that are truly biologically impossible – in yet another attempt to stick up their middle finger at God.   They’re not really hurting you, are they, Christian?  They’re surgically knifing themselves.

And they suffer and pay for it.

A recent study showed that 41% of all transgender people have attempted suicide. And many, many go through with it. That’s compared to 4.6% of all of the rest of the general population who tries to kill themselves.  A documentary I watched tells the graphic details about the sex change operations and how rarely they succeed, how they mess with you in horrific ways, and how so many regret such drastic changes that stunt their future marriages and bodies’ capabilities permanently.  There’s even an entire “underground railroad”-like ministry online helping people who are miserable and want to “detransition.”  Youtube is full of anonymous people talking about how miserable they were trying to live life as the opposite gender.

These are deeply confused, deeply hurting people.  People who don’t feel right in their own skin, people who don’t feel like they even have an identity (which is a horrifying thought), people who notice when the look in your eye changes from, “Have a nice day!” to “Oh no.  That’s a man.” And suddenly you can’t keep eye contact and you want to get away as fast as possible.

Many who were abused before puberty by the same sex, resulting in feeling lost and confused when hormones kick in and they know they’ve only ever felt pleasure doing stuff with a man.  People who have had abusive parents of both genders, people who are told their emotions and interest in art isn’t “manly enough.” Or their less feely personalities, leadership skills, and faces and bodies aren’t “attractive” or “feminine enough.”  People who look at the older generation or the way society treats them, and decide, “I’d rather be the opposite gender than be anything like you.”

When women think that the only way they can succeed in life and protect themselves is to be male.

Almost half of all transgenders in the U.S. are Hispanic or black, and often state it’s because they felt prejudiced against all their lives

 

And a host of other reasons, countless reasons, that, frankly, you and I will never guess.

Also, regardless of what Gillette has or hasn’t done in the past, an ad like that is aired, and most men are in uproar.  When, in reality, if you look closely, the ad’s simply telling men to be decent human beings who try to love and care for others.  That maybe “manhood” isn’t about always barbecuing and wrestling in the grass and watching porn on the TV with your friends because boys will be boys.  Maybe manhood means being affectionate like John once in a while, writing Psalms like David, caring for small children like Jesus, or weeping with the women when your best friend dies like when he lost Lazarus.  It also means slaying your Goliaths like David and averting your eyes so you do not lust like Job and being a wise ruler in your household like Solomon and running a profitable business that protects the poor like Boaz.  Let’s not forget the balance here. Masculinity is open to all types and gifts God gives men.  Femininity is open to all personalities and love languages God gives women.

Your son writes poetry and cries at other people’s funerals and is diplomatic without feeling the need to fight it out with his fists?  It’s not because he was meant to be a woman.  It might mean he has a heart like Christ.  Your daughter grows up to be a judge and her “serious voice” can make grown men under her shake in their boots and she slays all her own personal dragons in a no-nonsense way?  Probably means you were blessed with some amazing biblical Deborah, not that she’s too “butch” to be a lady.

Transgenders can be broken, abused, misunderstood, confused, and lonely people who have assumed they were created wrong because they’ve been told so by a society that has one pigeon-holed way of defining human beings.

Jesus said “Love thy neighbor.”  (Mark 12:31)

Did He mean, “Be all for thy neighbor’s sex change and tell them you’re all approve their gay marriage?”  Absolutely not. Let’s not throw out God’s Word here.  (Romans 1) That’s sending unbelievers to damnation just the same as if we ran scared and never talked to them in the first place.  But He also sat with the woman at the well and told her all about the rich, lifegiving water she was thirsty for before calling out her sexual promiscuity in a kind, subtle, and no-frills way. (John 4)

Be aware that the people you run into in your grocery store probably aren’t the leftist media, ready to bully your kids at the checkout line, wanting to expose your children to weirdness at Taco Bell, and looking for a bomb they can toss into your neighborhood.  A lot of them are deeply emotional, sensitive people. They’re just folks who need to hear the gospel and repent of their sin – fear of man, discontentment, ingratitude, bitterness, thinking God is wrong, lack of love, and unbelief – all sins you and I commit daily.

Can you imagine raising children to know clear Scripture truth and to see instantly how to lovingly apply it to our transgender neighbors?

When I see a transgender person, I now see someone with a big “I’m going to try to commit suicide” label plastered on their forehead, because odds are, almost 1 in 2 will.  And others admit, in anonymous studies, that they at least think about it daily.  How shocking would it be for the adults in our churches to go up to them instead and ask them what they think about Christ?  Like, hey, we care about you and your pain and we think you’re worth sharing the gospel with just as much as the people in Timbuktu where we’ve sent missionaries.

If you saw your neighbor standing in his house while it was on fire, even if he wasn’t calling for help, wouldn’t you care enough to either yank him out, or at least call to him from the outside?  Wouldn’t you dial 911 and shout for help, doing all you could to protect him?  These people are lost, and have no idea the flames are licking so close.  If we run scared and angry from the insanity, who do they have left?  Your transgender neighbors are dying – by society’s twisted brainwashing, and ultimately their own.

Let’s love and save them, okay?

 

 

The Good-Embarrassing of My Mom

My mom will be embarrassed by this post.

But the good kind of embarrassed, I hope.  And it’s all well and right to good-embarrass a godly person once in a while.

We just finished studying Romans in BSF this year, and Paul good-embarrassed a boatload of people at the end of Romans 16 – Paul knew how to give praise and affirmation, and how to be thankful.

And that’s what I want to do today, on Mothers’ Day Eve.

When I first became a mother back in 2011, Mothers’ Day quickly had all sorts of significance.  I had been cut open and stitched back together to bring my husband’s and my DNA into the world, and so I deserved to be celebrated, dagnabbit!  With my three-month-old daughter in tow, on my first official Mothers’ Day, we revisited the arboretum where we got engaged and had pictures taken.  My mom was there too, probably taking the pictures, but the day was suddenly about me.

I was twenty-four years old and thought I was the best mom in the world. The doc had diagnosed a serious dairy allergy in my infant and I was totally off dairy to nurse her.  She was three months old, and I knew everything.

Right.

Here I am now, seven years later, three little girls later, and all I’m thinking is Heeeeeeeelp.   I know nothing.  I never knew anything.  I’m going to fail them.  I’m already failing them.  How did my Mom do it, and what made her so gloriously wonderful?

But now she lives across the U.S. and I can’t hit the arboretum with her, or stop by on a bad day and cry, or throw myself into her arms and say thank you about two hundred times.

Now, in 2018, this day is all about her to me.

My mom was the golden middle child of five.  And I don’t mean she was perfect.  I mean she was literally golden.  The only blondie in a household of brunettes.  The only one that really looked like her own mom.

She was friendly and outgoing, a bit of a follower, and super cute.  She wanted to be well-liked, and she tried to please everyone.

One day at the end of high school, she was invited to Young Life, and there she confessed her sins and embraced Jesus Christ’s death and resurrection on the cross.

While she got her teaching degree, she worked all over doing numerous fun and temporary jobs during the summers, including a stint at the Von Trapp family lodge in Vermont.  She was an evangelist, a people-person, and cheerful.  She sparkled and enjoyed life.  All of the pictures I’ve ever seen of her show her smiling broadly, happy, purposeful.  She’s the perfect picture of a healthy ENFJ.

One time, in Boston, she took a teaching job that involved kids on parole.  By the start of the year, numerous teachers had already quit, but my mom hung on.  On the outside, she doesn’t look tough – the woman cries at practically every touching movie we watch, and numerous books as well – but she has guts on the inside that people always underestimate about her.  And mostly she has a gigantic, whale-sized heart.  She loved those difficult kids when no one else would.

Wait, I’m talking about my siblings and me.  Did you think I meant the kids on parole?  Oh yeah, she loved them too.  *wink*

She stuck that class through and won them over that year.  She also spent years teaching special needs children and adored them.

But rewind.

After moving to Colorado to live with a dear college friend who had just had a difficult miscarriage, she met my dad who was stationed nearby in the army. They met at Sunday School, because my mom was always at church, rain or shine.  She was also planning on heading to Japan for short-term ministry when they met, and she planned her wedding in a short space and time before leaving for overseas.

Six years later, after my dad got out of the army and graduated from Harvard, my mom had me.  After that, the rest of us came quickly, four children in five years.

Mom stayed home and became the world’s best housewife.  She had a schedule for everything on her multiple whiteboards, and she was as predictable as the sun rising in the mornings.  Everything had a place, everything was secure, everything was safe.  She made us feel like our world was all right.

Mom got excited about homeschooling pretty early on, and started with me right away in kindergarten.  As each younger sibling began school with us, she added to her own workload without a blink of the eye.  Every once in a while, she’d beg for her fifteen minute nap in the middle of the day, but that’s only because she got up at five thirty in the morning to meet with God one-on-one for hours.  And could she nap!  She could go out like a light at a moment’s notice, in a public place even, without pausing a second.  I’ll never forget the time the piano teacher found her asleep on a chair in the other room, mouth wide open.  Mom is a queen napper.  She has no ability to stay up late.  She’ll get this fuzzy delirious look and won’t listen to a word you are saying.  As a teen, I should’ve asked her for big bad things at that time of night.  She wouldn’t have remembered saying yes. *wink*

Faithfully taking us to the very best of Bible studies, to all of our sports, to all of our friends’ houses, and laying down her lives for ours, Mom didn’t have much time for herself outside of her home, her children, and her Lord.  But she led Bible studies and neighborhood groups, started get-togethers and women’s meet-and-greets.  She could get to know anyone.  Meeting new people is her favorite pleasure in life. We used to groan and joke every time someone randomly started telling Mom their life story.  She knows the grocery checkers by name, will pray for their children by name, and starts conversations with all the other moms at the sports games and doctors’ offices.  No one is off-limits to Mom when it comes to a conversation, and she knows how to slip Jesus in when you aren’t expecting it.

Mom can disarm anyone.  I’ve never met a single person who doesn’t like her.  People walk away warmed from the inside out because she’s the least intimidating, most caring person you’ll ever come across.  And when she says she’ll pray for you, she means it, in her numerous organized prayer journals, and on down on her well-used knees.

Mom used to randomly say, “I love you, Rachael Lynn,” using our full names, just because she felt gushy inside.

The only conflict I can really remember us having is when I would blitz through my chores like a madwoman, wanting to get to my entertainment and play, and Mom would go back over the dust with her finger, calling out my lack of thoroughness.  Or the times I’d get far too creative and not really do the work she wanted me to do.  Or the time she’d use her razor sharp discernment and call me out on something spiritually that I’d delusionally insist wasn’t true.  Or the times she’d try to correct my early writing and I was too arrogant to submit to it.  Sometimes we’d call her Scrooge, which she hated, because she suggested doing away with Christmas presents and just focusing on Christ.  *wink*

She is in my top two favorite people to be around, including my husband.

And then I got to my late teens and early twenties, and I wanted my friends, wanted to my freedom, wanted my husband.  And I was moving too fast and being too foolish and getting too obsessed.  And Mom was frightened about the technology and “Inter-web” and “intelligent phones” and things that might take me away from the Lord and their home.  I kept silent, expecting her to handle things badly, lying to her and being rebellious deep in my heart.  But when my sin came out, she was nothing but forgiving and gracious, adapting in ways I had not thought possible, embracing the future God had for me, counseling and guiding me, and I slowly began to repent and grow.

No matter what interests take my fancy, Mom is interested too.  Mom listens, researches, studies, and embraces.  No matter how weird.  No matter how odd.

All the granddaughters

She insisted on doing all of the gardening and mowing herself, and taught us how to run a home independently by age twelve.  She took us on hikes and sang us the bear song and the skinny-dipping song.  She gave us St. Patrick’s Day treasure hunts and folding-laundry-movie nights.  She took us on all-expenses-paid vacations with her inheritance money and put little gifts on our car dashboards.  She held hour of prayer days and taught us hymns.  She let us sleep in her bed when Dad was away on business trips, even when we kicked her in the middle of the night.  She taught us about the human skeletal system, even when it made her feel like passing out and she had to sit with her head between her knees.  We made meals for church members, hosted strangers, and prayed for persecuted nations.  She taught us to see outside ourselves.

She does everything well.  She would insist I’m lying when I say that, so I have to admit she’s never had a great relationship with technology.  She’d gush and gush about how patiently I taught her how to use a computer, but to me, she was easy.  I’m pretty sure I first realized that I loved teaching from all of the pleasant hours spent showing her how to minimize a window.  *wink*

Mom reads every single one of my novels as I write it, giving few critiques, but all excitement, loving and rooting on my characters, lecturing me for writing something that keeps her up too late at night unable to put it down.

When I got married and moved away, Mom still visits and simply cleans my house, attending my children’s sports and activities, even grocery shopping together.  When she visits, we do life together, and she’s like my second set of hands.  We work together, talking until my throat hurts, best friends sharing our souls.  We can talk Christ for days on end.  I never tire of being in her presence.

I, as her child, rise up and call her blessed.  Many women have done virtuously, but she excels them all. I truly strain in my head to find faults with my mom.  They simply don’t exist. She walks more humbly and closely with God than another human being I’ve ever met – and I would know!  She loves Jesus with a realness and dearness that I long to emulate, and she loves people in complete purity.  She is gracious, giving, non-judgmental, flexible, loyal, and pleasant.  She laughs easily, she serves continually, and she is wise.  She is over and beyond humble, and she has suffered long.  Her faith does not waver.

If I could be half of who my mom is, I would be satisfied.  Thank You, Lord, for putting a spiritual giant so closely in my life as my very best friend.

I love you, Mom.  Happy Mothers’ Day.

 

 

 

Open Letters to Persecuted Christians – From My Children

We’ve been praying through Voice of the Martyrs prayer calendar – praying for a different persecuted country every day.  This has been very eye-opening to my two oldest

Front Cover of the Prayer Calendar

girls – children who’ve known peace, safety, and security all their lives.

Today we studied a passage on heaven and Jesus’s second coming.  At the end of the passage, Paul tells people to encourage each other with these words.  I mentioned that thinking about eternity in heaven was probably very encouraging to those being persecuted, and my oldest daughter got a lightbulb idea from the Lord.

“Let’s write a note of encouragement to them about heaven!” she said.

So that became our English assignment for the day.  ❤

I copied down exactly what both girls wanted to say.  These are 100% their words, not mine.  As we look for a place or person to mail these, I thought I’d share them here as well.  ❤

 

Dear friend in Christ,

            I’m writing to you because I want you to know that Christ is always with you and you can depend on Him to always be there.  Even if your enemy is hurting you, you can know that Jesus, our Lord and Savior, will always be there in your heart and around you.  You can know that at some point you will be in heaven and you will enjoy it.  You will get to see the Lord who you’ve been waiting for – the One you believe in!  If any of your Christian family members have been hurt or persecuted or killed, you will be able to see them up in heaven too.  Just remember that Jesus, your Lord, is still with you, and you can depend on Him to help you.  Every day, in every way, He will always keep His eye on you, so that He knows what is happening. Everything that is happening to you is all in His sight and it is all for good.  Even though you might be alone, you can still have the Holy Spirit in your heart and you can keep Him there. He will never leave or go away.  You will never leave Him.  You will always be in God’s arms. Even though we, in America, haven’t gone through the persecution you have, we still have a very bad sin of not focusing on God.  😦 We can learn from you because you and your family focus on God and keep up standing up for who you believe in.

Love,

R.S., 7 years old, USA

 

Dear friend in Christ,

            God loves you and He will always be there for you, no matter how hard your troubles are.  He’s there with you! When Jesus comes back again, there will be a great celebration.  He will take all of the Christians up, and, if you are one, He will take you up too.  🙂 At the end of the world, God will create a new earth and it will be part of heaven. Everyone will be satisfied in heaven and there will be no sadness. There will be no anger.  There will be no dying.  Everything will be happy in heaven! Whenever you have a trouble, just pray to God and He will figure out a way to solve the problem. I will meet you in heaven too!  🙂

Love,

R.J., 5 1/2 years old, USA

Preciously Precocious Children – Part 3

Eleven-year-old Gem has traveled from his home planet of Topha to meet with ten extraordinary children, all sixteen and under. These children have been given the RJ Conte label of “Preciously Precocious” and are heroes of their own stories.

 

Gem, future possible savior of his fragile planet, is prepping to take on the planet’s core with the power of his mind.  For motivation, he’s interviewing child heroes.

 

 

And now for the final installment of interviews! And make sure you check out each of their amazing stories – all of which are on Amazon – including Gem’s!

 

1. Fontana “Footer” Davis, 11 years old, of Footer Davis Probably is Crazy by Susan Vaught

Gem: Do you prefer English or math?

Footer: I prefer anything Ms. Perry doesn’t teach. I really like English because Ms. Malone teaches it, and she gets me, you know? She didn’t even make me go to the office over that serial killer book.

Gem: (laughs) I get you there.  Some of my supervisors’ minds are really awful and unkind places (I have telepathy). I prefer Soleil in every way.

Okay, you get a dingbat as a pet.  What do you name it?

Footer: What’s a dingbat?

Gem: Anything you want it to be.  A fictional pet.  (grins)

Footer: If it’s anything like a walrus, don’t get it near me. Seriously. Walruses are creepy. If it looks like a kitty, I’d call her Dorothy for Dorothy Thompson, who was like the bravest, coolest journalist in history. I think I’ll be an investigative journalist. I like investigating stuff, and I plan to find these two kids who went missing from the farm behind my house.

Gem: (cheers) Go Footer!  So what’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Footer: I do a lot of brave things, like clean snake guts off bird feeders, look at pictures of walruses, and try to keep my friend Peavine’s little sister Angel from stealing all my books (she’s plotting my murder, no doubt), and show up in 5th period every day even though Ms. Perry is there (probably plotting my murder too).

Gem: (laughing harder) How you feel about walruses is how I feel about sloths.  (shudder)  Thanks, Footer!  Stay alive!  🙂

Footer Davis is on the case when two kids go missing after a fire in this humorously honest novel that is full of Southern style.

Here are some things that are true about Footer Davis:
1. She has a BB gun named Louise.
2. Walruses freak her out.
3. Her mom has bipolar disorder.

But she wants you to know that it’s not that big a deal. She’s just Mom, and usually she’s fine except sometimes when she doesn’t take her pills. But right now what’s most important to Footer is what happened to those kids at the Abrams farm. See, there was a fire there a few nights ago, and those kids haven’t been seen since. Pretty sure they got burned up. What Footer and Peavine—that’s her best friend—want to know is who started the fire?

Buy Footer Davis Probably is Crazy on Amazon.com

 

2. Blondelle “Blondie” McGhee, 9 years old, from Blondie McGhee: At Your Service by Ashley Eneriz

Gem: What do you believe about love?

Blondie: I really love being a detective, and I really love my dachshunds (a.k.a. wiener dogs), Emma and George – although George can be a pain in the behind most of the time!  He has helped me solve several cases.

Gem: I wish I had a pet!  So who do you get along better with: your mom or dad?

Blondie: Hmmm… That’s a tricky one. Both of my parents are pretty cool, but I am still on cloud nine from when my dad put together the most awesome surprise with clues.

Gem: I miss my parents.  That’s really cool.  So what’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Blondie: Go into my school attic when some other girls told me it was haunted. I was scared of running into a ghost – or even worse, the principal – but I had no idea what kind of adventure I was really about to be in!

Gem: Now I want to know!

Got a crime?
Need a professional detective?
You’ve come to the right girl.

Blondie’s the name and solving cases at Graham Elementary is my game. 

I promised I would never, ever solve a case for that meanie, Owen Thomas, but when he is accused of starting the crazy food fight and is about to be expelled, I am his only hope.

Can I wipe his name clean of mashed potatoes before the principal expels Owen for good?

Buy Blondie McGhee: At Your Service on Amazon.com

 

3. Ruby Graves, 13 years old, from Healing Ruby by Jennifer H. Westall

Gem: Do you ever have a dream while you’re sleeping that makes you not want to wake up?

Ruby: Sometimes I dream about being with my daddy. He was strong and good to me, and I miss him like crazy. I dream I’m sitting at his feet again in front of the fire, listening to his deep voice read his Bible before breakfast. I wake from those dreams with a sad kind of joy, missing him so much, but knowing I’ll see him again someday.

Gem: I wish I could’ve met your dad.  So, on a less sad note… who’s the most irritating person in your life? (laughs)

Ruby: I swear, I can’t pick just one. My brother Henry loves to pick on me, and I could just punch him in the mouth sometimes. But my oldest brother James might be even worse. At least Henry plays with me and makes me laugh. Ever since Daddy died, James acts like I’m a burden he has to carry to Timbuktu and back twice a day. Why, he even tried to marry me off just to get rid of me!

Gem: Wow.  Maybe I’m glad now I never had brothers!  So what’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Ruby: I don’t see myself as brave. It just seems like there are times when God calls me to act, and doing so puts me in the middle of a storm, sometimes literally. I’ve learned to trust Him, even if it means running headlong into the storm, because He is in the storm. Nahum 1:3 says, “The Lord is slow to anger and great in power, and the Lord will by no means clear the guilty. His way is in the whirlwind and storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet.” I don’t know why He calls me, I just know I have to obey.  I’m not brave. I just choose to trust Him.

Gem: You have amazing faith, Ruby.  I needed that.  Thank you!

Ruby Graves, a young girl in Depression-era Alabama, faces the hardships of poverty and loss with as much faith as she can muster. At only the age of thirteen, she’s already lost a younger brother to illness, and now faces losing both her father and the boy who’s stealing her heart to illnesses as well. Armed with her beloved Scriptures, she prays daily for their healing, only to have her tender faith shattered by her father’s death. Through her pain, she’s able to connect with her long-lost Uncle Asa, who’s mere presence at his brother’s funeral brings murmurs of a scandalous past involving her parents and a prominent local pastor, Irwin Cass. When Ruby discovers that one of Asa’s many secrets is an ability to heal, and that she may be next in line for the “gift,” she vows to find the faith that has eluded her so far, a faith that could mean never losing loved ones again. But faith and doubt can’t reside in the same heart, not according to her father, and doubt is Ruby’s constant companion. As she struggles to find the true meaning of faith, she’s opposed at every turn by the pastor who would see her family destroyed and a community that can’t see deeper than the color of one’s skin. Through her search for a faith that could move mountains and a true understanding of her gift, can Ruby trust in a God that may require the ultimate sacrifice?

You can buy Healing Ruby on Amazon.com

 

4. Chad Burnhill, 16 years old, from Angel-Lover by RJ Conte

Gem: Hey Chad!  So I’m an INTP.  What’s your Myers-Briggs type?

Chad: Hey.  So that’s a really interesting question.  For a long time, I was convinced I was an INFJ.  I think I have two very strong J parents – workaholics, driven people.  But in reality, I found out recently I’m actually INFP.  It explains a bunch, including my depression and artistic creativity.

Gem: So we’re close in type, except you’re the mushy emotional version of me, eh? Okay, feeler, tell us a secret you’ve never told another soul.

Chad: Oh great.  Now I’m going to feed into your perception that I’m a soft feely guy… I’m in love with Angelique Rose – this angel at my school.  She’s not a literal angel, I don’t think… I mean, she sure looks like one with the blond curls and all… (coughs ) Something’s seriously different about her, and I’m going to figure it out.

Gem: Blondes, eh?  I hear you on that one.  (winks) What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Chad: Stepped foot in this mega church in my area.  Walking into one of those religious places was absolutely terrifying.  Then coming clean to my parents about what I thought later… Whew.  I have a feeling I’m going to have to be really brave about some other things too because I have a feeling all’s not right in Angelique’s world…

Gem: Stay strong, man!  We’re rooting for you!

Chad is a reclusive teenager whose thoughts are full of loneliness and suicide. The only thing that he obsesses over more than planning his own death is the nicest, sweetest, most beautiful girl in school. As he stalks her and watches her, he learns the truth about what she believes in and, in the process, finds Someone Else he did not expect.

Buy Angel-Lover on Amazon.com

 

 

 

Preciously Precocious Children – Part 2

Gem’s back to interview more children heroes – middle grade and young adult books that can be enjoyed by your kids.  🙂  Make sure to pick up books on Amazon that interest you, and feel free to share the interviews!  And check out Gem’s own hero story as the sole savior of his dying planet of Topha here.

1. Sadie Larcen, 16 years old, from The Tethered World by Heather L.L. FitzGerald

Gem: What’s the best thing about being a kid?

Sadie: I’d have to say that the best thing about being a kid is the way you can quickly adapt to new circumstances. When you’re young, it’s easier to take life’s unforeseen plot twists and turn them into an adventure. My little sister Sophie definitely embraced the crazy things that happened to our family better than I did when our lives were first turned inside out. (laughs) But these days I actually get bored if something doesn’t stir the pot—or the plot—and break the monotony. I’m sixteen, which is still kind of a kid, right? These days there’s definitely a fairytale loving princess inside who wants to get out and find some excitement. Maybe even a little danger 😉

Gem: I’ll let you come save my planet, and take your monotony then!  Ha!  So what’s your dream job?

Sadie: I feel like my life is divided between “before the kidnapping” and “after the kidnapping.” Okay, it totally IS divided into those two parts. Who am I kidding? So, before everything I would have told you I wanted to be an author. Or maybe just a bookish English professor or something.

But now–NOW–my life, my location, my interests have all become, well . . . complicated. Though I’ve achieved one particular goal–that of being an author (see The Tethered World Chronicles for more on that. Haha!)–that particular accomplishment now feels like a small fish in a big pond. It was something I’d always assumed I’d do later in life. Instead, I actually set my family’s adventures down right after they occurred. (It was cheaper than therapy so, there’s that.)

And yet, in the vast, hidden realm of the Tethered World, there’s so much work to be done. I know God has a bigger purpose for me than I’ve ever dared to dream for myself. Plus, there may be a particularly tall, dark, and handsome Nephilim prince whom I’ve grown rather fond of . . . *sigh*.  I guess I can no longer give a safe and definitive “what I wanna be when I grow up” answer to your question, Gem. Sorry for the roundabout way I’ve replied. But, like I said, it’s complicated! One thing is certain . . . it’s going to have more to do with my life underground in the Tethered World than it will Topside, where I grew up in Washington state.

 

With everything that’s happened to me “after the kidnapping,” I can accept that. And, hey, it’s not like I really have much choice anyway. One can’t escape the call of their Maker.

 

Gem: I totally get that.  Whether or not I survive telepathically controlling my first core earthquake will mean I can suddenly begin to dream about my future.  I know I want Soleil by my side, but what else is there?  It’s hard to think past the big bits of suffering that have to come first, and going through a near-death experience and (Hopefully!) surviving may totally change my perspective.

 

So, along those lines, what’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

 

Sadie: The bravest thing? (laughs) A couple of years ago I would’ve said that forcing myself to ride a rollercoaster at Disneyland (with eyes closed, of course) would have counted as my attempt at bravery.

 

Now…well, for starters, I’ve ridden a dragon, have been transported by a cyclone of faeries, and have traveled to mysterious places to rescue those that I love—without always succeeding. It’s hard to wrap my brain around the changes that have taken place inside—sometimes I hardly recognize myself! Until recently, my idea of adventure was what I could find in books. It’s only by God’s grace that I’ve come through these things. Seriously. And not just “by the skin of my teeth” sort of come through…but I’ve learned to be thankful for everything that has happened to me and my family, despite the fact that I once fought so hard against it.

 

I think that kind of thankfulness takes bravery.

 

Gem: I can learn a lot from you.  Thank you, Sadie.

 

“Normal” means different things to different people. For sixteen-year-old Sadie Larcen, family dynamics look a little different than most. Parents with oddball occupations? Normal. Five home-schooled siblings—one with autism? Normal. Police knocking on the door and parents gone missing? Definitely not normal! When Sadie uncovers the reasons behind her parents’ disappearance and the truth about her heritage, she despairs of ever feeling normal again. Especially when she learns that her mother’s interest in Bigfoot, Dwarves, and other lore extends beyond her popular blog. Sadie’s family has been entrusted with keeping the secrets of the Tethered World—home to creatures that once roamed the Garden of Eden. Sadie and her siblings must venture into this land to rescue their parents. Stepping out of reality and into a world she never knew existed is a journey Sadie fears and resents. But she chooses to risk all to save her family. She’s just not sure she will survive during the process.

 

You can buy The Tethered World on Amazon.com!

 

2. ClaireLee Monteiro, 13 years old, from Just Claire by Jean Ann Williams

 

Gem: How many children do you want when you grow up?  I know you’ve been a caretaker to your own siblings for a while.

 

ClaireLee: I want eight children.

 

Gem: Wow!  That’s a love of kiddos!  Do you have an embarrassing hidden talent?

 

ClaireLee: I can bite my fingernails off and spit them a long ways across a room!

 

Gem: Sounds like a great weapon!  Haha!  Okay, but now the important, serious question: what’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

 

ClaireLee: The bravest thing I’ve ever done is crawl across a log over the river to save someone.

 

Gem: That’s why I wanted to interview you, because a little bird had told me you were a secret hero too.  🙂  Thanks, ClaireLee!

 

One mother damaged. One family tested. One daughter determined to find her place.
ClaireLee’s life changes when she must take charge of her siblings after her mother becomes depressed from a difficult childbirth. Frightened by the way Mama sleeps too much and her crying spells during waking hours, ClaireLee just knows she’ll catch her illness like a cold or flu which hangs on through winter. ClaireLee finds comfort in the lies she tells herself and others in order to hide the truth about her erratic mother. Deciding she needs to re-invent herself, she sets out to impress a group of popular girls.
With her deception, ClaireLee weaves her way into the Lavender Girls Club, the most sophisticated girls in school. Though, her best friend Belinda will not be caught with the likes of such shallow puddles, ClaireLee ignores Belinda’s warnings the Lavenders cannot be trusted. ClaireLee drifts further from honesty, her friend, and a broken mother’s love, until one very public night at the yearly school awards ceremony. The spotlight is on her, and she finds her courage and faces the truth and then ClaireLee saves her mother’s life.

 

You can buy Just Claire on Amazon.com

3. Bensin, 14 years old, from The Collar and the Cavvarach by Annie Douglass Lima

 

Gem: Bensin, you’ve been living life as a slave.  Boy, do I know how that feels. Although you’ve had a little sister, Ellie, to protect as well!

Who’s the hardest person in your life to understand?

 

Bensin: Officer Shigo, definitely. He’s the City Watch officer who arrested Ellie and me. All slaves know we’ve got to be careful around Watch officers, even when we’re not breaking the law. A lot of them look for any excuse to punish us. But Officer Shigo is different. When I needed money, he invited me to do some chores over at his place. I’ve gone a few times, and he pays me well. He always asks how Ellie and I are doing, and he’s come to watch several of my cavvara shil tournaments. He acts friendly and supportive, but he’s still a Watch officer, and I know he would arrest me again if he caught me trying to escape again. Sometimes when he asks questions about Ellie and me, I’m afraid he suspects what I’m planning. I can’t figure out what he really wants from me.

 

Gem: That would be confusing.  My ability to read minds would come in handy in this situation.  (winks)  Who’s your best friend?

 

Bensin: That would be Ricky. He’s a little older than me, and he knows a lot about nearly everything. He’s the one who taught me how to pick a lock. He’s got a list of helpful tips that he calls Ricky’s Rules for Surviving Slavery, and he says someday he’s going to publish them in a book and make enough money from it to buy his freedom. Of course, the people who would benefit most from a book like that are the ones with the least money for buying things, so I’m not too sure that’s going to work out for him. But in the meantime, I’m glad he’s around to help me figure out useful stuff.

 

Gem: (laughs)  I’d buy his book.  🙂  What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

 

Bensin: That was probably when I tried to help my little sister Ellie escape from our owners, Mr. and Mrs. Creghorn. I’d promised our mom that Ellie would be free someday, so I picked the lock and sneaked out with her one night. I knew what happens to slaves who get caught trying to escape, but I had a plan I was pretty sure could work. Unfortunately, things didn’t exactly work out the way I hoped. (sighing) Actually, it took even more courage a couple months later when I had to sneak into an abandoned warehouse by myself and face three armed criminals who were hiding out there. I knew I could get killed, but what would have happened otherwise would have been even worse.

 

Gem: I can’t even imagine having to protect a little sister.  Wow!

 

Bensin, a teenage slave and martial artist, is desperate to see his little sister freed. But only victory in the Krillonian Empire’s most prestigious tournament will allow him to secretly arrange for Ellie’s escape. Dangerous people are closing in on her, however, and Bensin is running out of time. With his one hope fading quickly away, how can Bensin save Ellie from a life of slavery and abuse?

 

You can buy The Collar and the Cavvarach on Amazon.com