Hi everyone! I just wanted to let you know that I'm working on two books right now. One is a devotional style book filled with wisdom from great men and women from the pages of History. It is entitled, "A Book of Remembrance: Wisdom From the Ages." The other is a Biblical-based Historical Fiction book entitled, "A Token in the Window." It is an adaptation of the account of Rahab and the two spies which takes place in World War 2 era Europe. Here's a sample of each. Enjoy!

"A Book of Remembrance"

Introduction

Hello faithful reader! It brings me joy to present to you this volume of wisdom from ages past. During the first few years of my “new life” I developed a strong love for History. It is, in my opinion, one of the most important subjects that one can study.
Only in the pages of History can one find not only the tragedies that took place throughout the centuries, but also the choices that brought those events about. If you delve deeply into these matters, you can’t help but reflect upon the mistakes and bad choices you have made in your own life. We all make bad decisions that sometimes result in tragic events. All of our fingertips have darkened the pages of our own personal stories with the stains of remorse. We are not alone in that aspect of life.
On the other hand, however, we can’t help but notice the dazzling displays of courage and righteousness that color the cycle of time like fireworks bursting in the night sky. We too can emulate these displays. If we can learn how to harness the knowledge and wisdom that our predecessors possessed, and put it into action, we too can make the night sky burst forth with wonders of achievement. But how do we do this?
I believe Malachi 3:16 holds the key. God says here, “Then those who feared the Lord talked with each other, and the Lord listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in His presence concerning those who feared the Lord and honored His name.”
These are tremendously powerful words that I hope will come alive for you throughout this reading. At the center of this magnificent verse we find a “scroll of remembrance,” which shows us just how important our History truly is. If we want God to remember us, we surely must remember Him and His servants throughout the ages. Notice, this scroll of remembrance is about those who honor and fear the Lord.
It is our duty not only to God, but to ourselves, our families, our neighborhoods, and the world itself, to reach back into the pages of History and learn what worked, and also what didn’t. Let us emulate the good, and discard the evil.
In the following chapters, you will find numerous quotes from some of the greatest key figures throughout all time. With each quote, you will also find a fitting Bible verse, along with a brief reflection. It is my utmost hope that you find great fulfillment, inspiration, and courage from these valiant men and women.
May each turning page bring you a new goal, a new strength, and a new passion. Open up your mind, and let the voice of History speak. I am positive its words will resonate in your soul, and plant seeds of life altering goodness. God bless you all, and may your days be filled with peace, joy, and true success.

One

“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfils the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.”

-Winston Churchill-

“As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

-Proverbs 27:17-

We all know that it can hurt tremendously when we receive criticism of any sort. It feels like judgement is being heaped on us sometimes. But just like pain is necessary to let us know that something is wrong with our bodies, criticism is necessary to let us know when we are acting, or thinking in a way that is harmful to ourselves or others.
Only through constructive criticism may our character be sharpened, as today’s Bible verse shows. We must be open to receive criticism if we truly want to become the best versions of ourselves that we possibly can. We also can’t be afraid to tell our friends and loved ones the truth about their negative actions. We must always remember to approach such matters in a loving, non-judgmental way of course. It is very easy to fall into the trap of hypocrisy too. Make sure the proverbial speck has been removed from your eye before you try to remove someone else’s. (Luke 6:42.)
So, for today, let us all strive to look at criticism in the same light that Mr. Winston Churchill did, and be ready to refine each other through the mutual sharpening process of the truths contained in God’s word.

"A Token in the Window"

Prelude

Hamburg, Germany
April 26th, 1945

Alessa was awoken with a start by the sound of gunfire off in the distance. The Allies are here, she panicked. A cold chill traveled up and down her spine, filling her with an impending doom. She clumsily rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she jumped out of bed to grab a candle from her nightstand, the only light she had remaining in her humble home.
As she fumbled with her matches the sounds of machine guns enveloped her senses as they grew closer by the moment. There was no time to lose, she thought to herself. Finally, able to light the pathetic stub of a candle, she ran down the stairs and through the house like a whirlwind in search of salvation.
She rummaged through a small, wooden chest by the food pantry looking for a small piece of rope, velvet red in color. She had no idea why she was doing this as doubt began to steal her fragile confidence. Her stomach did somersaults as her mind traveled in twenty different directions at once.
The two men who had visited her a few short months ago, had shaken up her entire universe with their promises of safety. She knew the Allied forces would claim the victory. It would take a complete idiot to believe otherwise. But why should she be saved? She was nothing but a worn-out prostitute, a beautiful face hiding the deadened soul beneath.
Even given the small chance that salvation was possible, what would she do with her life? Prostitution was all she knew. Sure, she knew how to weave and make basic clothing, but once the Allies took over, nobody would need her obviously German designs, or her raggedy German body. She would become a pariah to society and nobody would want her, even for a cheap good thrill.
After a seeming eternity, she found what she was looking for. The rope was shiny and tattered from the wear and tear from ages gone by. It was short and stubby and she couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Just like my candle, she thought with the humorous certainty of death. It’s amazing how one’s brain copes with oncoming tragedy.
With the quickness that can only come from sheer desperation and just a little bit of faith, she proceeded to run back upstairs to her bedroom window. She tied one end of her velvet red rope to a hook screwed into the window frame that she had put here specifically for this occasion.
Now that her task was completed, she collapsed back onto her bed, exhausted from her efforts. She laid on her back as tears began to fill her eyes and drown her senses. I don’t want to die, she sobbed. I’ll never get to hold my own child.
With these troubling thoughts running rampant through her overactive mind, she began to pray for the first time in her life. Oh God, if you’re listening, don’t let me down. I need you now more than I ever have in my pathetic life.
A soothing calm came over her and filled her with peace from her head down to her toes. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she knew she would be all right. The two men who had introduced her to the “God” she just prayed to would come for her. She was certain of that.
As the gunfire grew closer with each passing moment, she calmly rested in her bed, waiting for her rescue. A smile grew on her pretty face as she began to sing a childhood lullaby. Her voice soon filled the room like a songbird of the gentle spring.
She looked to the window as the light from the candle played on its surface. I am safe, she thought with full confidence. The velvet rope dangled as it swayed from the breeze and whizz of gunfire. God would see to her safety. She had a token in the window that would see to it.

Chapter One

London, England
January 3rd, 1945

The current resident of 10 Downing Street couldn’t find the right emphasis. He had been pacing back and forth in his velvet “romper suit” for the past three hours, searching for the correct words that would rouse His Majesty’s troops. He was in dire need to bring order to the chaos that had befallen his Nation’s beloved armed forces. Panic had gripped the ranks, as news of a “secret weapon” that the cursed Nazi’s were supposedly preparing filled their sponge-like minds with paralyzing fear.
He waddled over to the cupboard where he kept his beloved cigars, and rummaged inside for his favorite kind. He soon found the right box and took one out with a sigh of contentment. He held the tobacco filled torpedo under his nose and took a whiff of approval before trudging over to his desk.
With an audible “thump,” he fell into his chair and leaned back. It creaked and buckled under his massive weight, but amazingly kept its physical integrity. With a flourish only the great Winston Churchill is capable of, he placed his hands on the back of his head and cradled it in his intertwined fingers, while shifting the unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Oh bother,” He said to nobody in particular. This was completely normal for Winston, as he was known to talk to himself on many occasions. That was actually how he wrote many of his greatest speeches. He would pace back and forth for hours, annunciating every word until he reached the perfect rhythm. His speeches were not just words, they were epic poems recited by a master conductor.
Unfortunately, today he had hit a roadblock of sorts. The master orator had writer’s block. He was beginning to show the symptoms last night when he began to work on the speech he was scheduled to give later on this afternoon. This was to be an occasion of major importance. The troops were suffering a major breakdown of morale ever since news of Hitler’s new toy spread like wildfire. Apparently his “mad scientists” had designed some weapon capable of unleashing unheard of levels of destruction. It was supposedly housed in some secret laboratory in some God forsaken mountain cave.
He hated the fact that there was no solid information that could confirm or deny these rumors. How come my network of informants hasn’t heard of this? He thought to himself with aggravation and wonder. Winston was famous for his conglomerate of “friends” who shared with him very important pieces of information regarding the Nazi’s and their activities. His circle of informants was extremely reliable, but so far haven’t been able to find anything regarding this “Mountain Lair.”
He needed rock-solid proof, either for it or against it, so he could know how to speak to the troops. Winston had this little thing called a conscience, and it wouldn’t let him lie about something so significant. This was the true source of his writer’s block. For the first time in his long career, he was at a complete loss for words.
With the weight of a million souls on his shoulders, he leaned forward, placed his elbow on the war-weary desk, and cradled his head in his sweaty hand. What are you going to do Winston? he spoke to the empty air with resigned exhaustion. In the wink of a schizophrenic eye however, he began to giggle as a smile crept onto his face. Well first, he said, I’m going to smoke this cigar.
With that thought, he reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out his trusty lighter. He lit his temporarily forgotten habit and took a giant, satisfied puff. Plans, he thought. I need plans, not words.
He jumped to his feet with surprising agility and paced as he smoked. For the next two hours, he plotted his route as he waved his cigar like a conductor’s wand. The Maestro had returned and nothing would stop him now. He was not articulating a speech this time, however. He was constructing a series of what he believed to be epic turning points of the universe itself. If someone happened to be listening by the door during this time, they would have heard a man arguing with himself, even screaming at times. This was truly the work of a mad man, but this mad man happened to be a genius, and fortunately on the side of good.
Finally, after two long hours, the door to his study opened with a loud bang. Winston peeked his head out, cigar and all, and yelled, “Get me Roger and Clark! I need two spies!” He slammed the door shut just as quickly as he had opened it, as the hall was met with a resounding thud. If one held his ear to the door, they would have heard a muffled voice mumbling about the Dardanelles and the soft, underbelly of the beast, with an occasional laugh thrown in for good measure.