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Remember the Glory Days of House Parties?

A friend was reading my Remember Wednesdays post on the 60s and reminded me of another happy memory from the annals of yesteryear. This one may be only familiar to city dwelling baby boomers but whether you grew up in the city, suburbs or country I’m sure you can relate to some part of this old school experience. This week remember when there was always somebody or other having a house party? Party over here! Ah, yes, house parties were a common thing for all ages when I was growing up. Do folks even give house parties anymore? I guess a cook out is the closest thing to a house party nowadays.

As young children we had our birthday bashes at home not some party fare establishment like Chucky Cheeses. Mom would bake a cake and if money allowed maybe buy one too but that wasn’t mandatory. She stuck some candles on that homemade goodie and we were happy. The baked-from-scratch cakes she made were much better tasting than those store bought puppies anyway. Do people even bake scratch cakes much anymore? In our busy-all-the-time store-bought-everything culture I suppose not. I’ve even been to some pricey so called gourmet bakeries and their goods were not from scratch. Now that’s ridiculous. They charge sky high prices for a beautifully iced confection and when you chomp down on that cupcake you instantly (at least I do) know it was made from box cake mix, disgraceful. I don’t care how many jelly beans they have on top; if you pay four dollars for a cupcake it should be made from scratch. I’m proud to say however, that I still bake from scratch when I bake a cake, which isn’t often. There is a big difference in the taste too in case you young folks were wondering. Duncan Hines or Pillsbury mix does not a scratch cake make. It may be home made since you throw them together at home but that is not what I mean when I say homemade cake from scratch. Enough with the virtues of old fashioned kitchen skills which I could really expound on. That’s a whole other topic for another blog.

Back to party fever, we had a great time at our at home birthday celebrations. You’d invite your neighbors and school chums…and relatives…the ones you liked. You dressed up for some reason which I never understood why since you’d be playing and getting dirty but that seemed to be protocol. In those days dressing up for girls meant stiff starchy kremlin slips puffing out your cute little pink dresses with dainty lace socks and patent leather shoes. I must admit that part of it was a bit troublesome. Trying to throw down hits dogs slathered in mustard and rip and run without soiling the clothes was practically impossible. Thank goodness mothers expected the worse and knew how to get those dresses and shirts pristine again. The average kid didn’t have a zillion outfits like today. People were a lot more sensible and less concerned about fashion sense. It wasn’t a sin to wear the same clothes week after week. My how times have changed…and closets have gotten overstuffed. I for one am guilty of being a bit of clothes hog and having closets stuffed to the gills.

At a birthday we would be in the dining room, recreation room or the basement if it was considered presentable enough. We wore party hats and the room was usually decorated as much as our parent’s budget would allow. I remember that no matter how little or how much we had for a party we were enthusiastically happy. It was a special treat on your special day and sometimes a financial stretch for many of our parents. For some reason we understood that on some level. Because we did it was a wonderful thing to have a birthday party and it wasn’t taken for granted. Our parents didn’t let us take too much of anything for granted and you could forget feeling entitled like most young folks do today. It didn’t take a lot for us to be content and appreciative in those days.

The menu was usually hot dogs, hamburgers, potato chips and pretzels…candy of course and cookies and ice cream. We’d stuff our faces, play games and dance from music on the record player. That’s right a record player! No iPods, laptops or plugins of any kind but a phonograph with black vinyl records that spun around beneath a needle. And for the record…pardon the pun…in our house we had 75rpms when I was really young. I used to listen to Peter and the Wolf and other children stories from 75 recordings for years. So I’m ancient…so what. Those were good times and I’m thankful to have had them.

Okay, let’s move on. If you notice there was no hired entertainment. Happy the Clown and Sally Starr, our local celebrities of the era, did not show up making balloon animals and painting our faces. We entertained ourselves. Happy and Sally were relegated to their television shows or maybe at the home of some rich people’s kids but definitely not in my neighborhood. We knew how to play and entertain ourselves without a lot of paid-for or technological assist. Again, my how times have changed. I never said I was bored and there was nothing to do like I hear kids say so often today.

Adults had their fare share of house parties too as I remember and as we kids got older the house parties evolved into more…grown up affairs. Pre and early teenage house parties were growing up too. They almost always were moved to the resident’s basement for more privacy by the times of the blushes of puberty. In the city most houses had basements, especially the older ones. I don’t know what the suburbanites with ranch style housed did but in all homes the parents were asked to make themselves scarce…even if they wouldn’t. My parents never obliged my requests to get lost. Of course I didn’t use that terminology. I was delicate and pleading but it did no good. Fraueline Phyllis was lurking somewhere near enough to spy on our activities and Commander Bill would show his face a time or two for fear effect if he wasn’t working the day shift. If a boy wanted to steal a little smooch…it was a risky ventue but it didn’t stop them from trying. The record player got a lot louder as if the loud music would cloak us in privacy. As we got older the gender divide became more noticeable when it came to dancing too.

By high school’s full throttle it was on! House parties at that age were creative events. The old phonographs were gone and fancy new stereos that looked like nice piece of furniture took their places. Basements were now paneled and some carpeted and black lights installed. Now for those of you who don’t know about blacks lights…pity. That’s all I’ll say on the subject. The mood was indicative of the times which was the late 60s-early 70s; liberated, radical and sensual. Alcohol was sometimes slipped in and if the parents weren’t home and marijuana was too. My parents, however didn’t play that no one home nonsense. They were not about to leave their house to the mercy of a bunch of teenagers but many parents vacated for their kids or at least acted like they did. To be forthright I was too scared to do anything that would get me in deep trouble in that house. For some reason I felt like they would know…the walls would tell on me or something. See, they had me brainwashed into behaving well…at least at home. So my risqué behavior was at a minimum there.

The Beauty of the Black Light

In the jungle of grappling for teenage identity, youthful vigor and raging hormones, the fellas got a lot more aggressive. The boy who didn’t want to dance with girls at ten years old was now putting girls in a tight body lock while slow dragging. I realize the term slow dragging is archaic. Delores’ twenty-something daughter, Jazmine informed us so. Delores and I looked at each in shocked dismay when she didn’t even know what the term meant…sigh…another age-related slap upside the head. A slow drag, for those of you who don’t know, is what we used to call a slow dance. Guys could seriously exert their moves on a sister with a slow drag. I won’t go into details but it could get pretty up close and personal. If you didn’t like a guy, you didn’t slow drag with him…period. Usually the only guys you would slow drag with were the ones you had a crush on or were considered your boyfriend. Sometimes in the flighty fickle world of youth they were two different people.

House parties began to have themes and require money to be paid in order to get in. For instance there was the dreaded waistline party…only dreaded by some of us chunky sisters, I dare say. They would measure your waist and the inches determined what you paid for entrance. All kind of party spinoffs were instituted like the dreaded pound party where you got on a scale…yeah, that was fun; you would pay a penny a pound. There was also the height party where you might pay fifty cents a foot. These started as inventive ways to recoup the cost of food and drink…or just make some money. I think the idea originated decades before with something the adults did when times were hard called rent parties. These parties, however, were usually not desperate attempts to keep a roof over their heads but about having some rowdy fun and making a few bucks on the side. We had no compunction about bearing our chunky waists or hopping those skinny tails up on the scale if that’s what it took to be part of the party-going happenings. In our teenage circle our social status hinged on invitations and appearances at the right parties. Our love life required we attend to sort out romantic possibilities or declare our chosen heartthrob off limits to some plotting competitor. Miss one must-attend event and your beloved might get snatched into the scheming arms of some female…or male.

Basements would be jammed pack, wall to wall teens with high levels of energy, noise tolerance and supercharged hormones. That disastrous combination had the dance floor throbbing to pulsated beats. Guys were groping and gals bouncing and it was all done in a barely light atmosphere of adult-free partying. Not a wise thing now that I look back. No wonder my parents didn’t play that. I was never allowed to have a completely adult free party…never. Not that I has so many teenage parties in the first place. It was maddening at the time but decades later I get it…I really get. Bill and Phyl weren’t as clueless as my teenage mind imagined.

Some people started having DJs at their parties. Not professional so much as cousin Fred who fancied himself a capable record spinner. By my late teens and early twenties these affairs grew and so did the negative aspects. Liquor flowed and Marijuana permeated the air. What had once been minor fights between two guys over a girl or something petty became serious clashes between individuals and gangs or drunken troublemakers; thus initiated the decline of house parties. People started getting stabbed and shot every now and then. You knew you might have to run fleeing out the house to be safe or be gone before the police came so you found out all the exits when you first got there. Homes were torn up in free-for-all battles. It became a dangerous thing to host a bunch of young adults so people stopped doing it. The brave few who hung in there a bit longer were now charging like $5-$10 to get in. They had to be very selective about whom they let in and trouble would break out sometimes when undesirables were denied entry. Hosting a house party became chancy and being a guest was too risky. It wasn’t worth it.

The age of the house party was dead as far as I was concerned. Even the parents of kiddies forwent home hosted birthday celebrations for the work-free joys of Chucky Cheese. For me it was sad to see the trend go but in its place came the revitalization of dance clubs. Disco fever became all the rage so I didn’t mourn house parties too long. I found solace dancing my heart out at spots like the Liberty Bell (not the historical bell site). I was a dancing diva way back and could boogey for hours and not break a sweat. Now I can barely bust a move and when I do I fear I might break a leg or throw my back or knee out. I break out in nostalgic euphoria and cut a rug every now and then…ouch. Hard to picture the old girl as a party animal now but oh, how I remember when.

A Little Old School Dance Music:
LIVIN’ FOR THE WEEKEND sung by The Ojays
FOR THE LOVE OF MONEY also by The Ojays
DO YOU WANNA GET FUNKY WITH ME sung by Peter Brown

Note: For those fellow born again believers who are offended or appalled by my previous worldly lifestyle…get a grip. As I often say “I ain’t always been saved.” Excuse the bad grammar. I did not always know Jesus nor did I lead a chaste sin free life like some of you supposedly did. Yes, in my youth I partied and I’m not ashamed to say I did. I know I’m not alone either because I see those so called Holly Roller moves some of you make in church and I know you didn’t get that from the Holy Ghost; unless the Holy Ghost was at the dance club with you. Enough said.

When I was very young growing up in Philadelphia my mother (and my father too sometimes) referred to me as the baby. Mom would introduce the clutching child as her baby girl. I was the younger of the two daughters and often identified as the baby of the family. I was fiercely independent even back then and not a happy camper about that distinction. In my foolish child’s mind I was not a baby, I was a big girl. I didn’t wear diapers or use a bottle anymore, what was she thinking? So I’d pout a little and weakly (because I didn’t dare get fresh mouthed) mumble my protest and the grown ups always chuckled thinking it was so cute; the little girl doesn’t want to be called a baby. My mother would smile as only a mother would and say, “She doesn’t want to be my baby anymore. She’s a big girl now.” I’d speak my affirmation and the adults would placate me in nodding agreement. All these years later I remember those days fondly with a weeping heart and sometimes tearing eyes. The funny thing is that now I’d give almost anything to be my mother’s baby girl once more.

Create your own free greeting

I’ll Always Love My Momma by The Intruders

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Remember When The 60s Rolled In?
I certainly do and with vivid pictorials marching through my retrospective mind. I remember very well the air of radical change so pervasive in American culture that it caught on throughout the world. This country having been been a leader in shifting trends and this was a season of great cultural movement of political accountability, social unity and moral decline.

The 60s was an era of social unrest that altered how we live even today. The Black Civil Rights Movement was playing out with fierce determination. Young people nationwide of all ethnicities shed cultural traditions for a more unencumbered hippie lifestyle. “Peace, love and smoke marijuana!” was an often heard mantra. Other chants of the times were, “Make love not war and Power to the people!” Political protests were common place. Our boys were being drafted into a much criticized war in Viet Nam. The Women’s Lib movement had strong voices against gender inequities. The United States was groaning in labor as the upheaval of changing attitudes pushed outward to be born.

Even the world of fashion presented its cultural shifts with items like the Mini Skirt, Bell Bottom Pants, Platform Shoes, Dashikis and Nehru Jackets. I remember proudly sporting my fair share of miniskirts despite not having killer legs. I got a lot of ogling eyes so I guess they didn’t look that bad but my father raised a not too happy eyebrow or two. It was during this period a bone thin but striking British model named Twiggy came on the scene. Twiggy highlighted short cropped hair for the gals with the glamorous trend of being curvelessly skinny. Us heavy…I mean thicker…ahem…more curvaceous females were not too pleased about that development. Let it all hang out, another 60s saying, meant just that; off with confining foundation garments. Be free of that demon girdle and oppressive brassier as well as any restrictive or discriminatory gender oriented practices. Women cried out for equality as they burned their bras. I say they with emphasis because I was not about to get crazy and burn mine. Going braless was not my thing. Some females just didn’t have that anatomical option if you get my drift and I’ll leave the topic right there for you to ponder. That does bring back, however, the memory of watching the Soul Train dance show on television. There were several that I watched regularly, American Bandstand being the oldest of them but Soul Train was a favorite of mine and started right on the tail of the 60s. I can still see my mother critically shaking her head as the girls did their risqué dance moves while their unanchored chests bounced along. Phyllis (my mother) snarled her disapproval at the disgrace of it all but I noticed my father had a very different response. He always watched Soul Train with a tapping foot and big grin on his face…unless my mother was in the room. If she was around he’d mumble some vague comment about young folks needing to act more respectable on television. My mother would snort her agreement and leave the room in disgust. Then daddy’s foot would go back to tapping and that smile would ease back on his face….ever vigilant that Phyllis might come back in the room of course. He could stop a tap and drop that that grin in a heartbeat. Apparently he was all for the no bra/bouncing boobs revolution….except for his daughters. That would have been a very different reaction…so how do you say hypocrite. Nudist colonies became popular at that time too. Another 60s trend I would not dream of participating in. I guess that’s no surprise. If I wasn’t willing to go braless would I be a candidate for full nudity? I think not.

Men began wearing their locks long and African Americans discovered the joys of the Afro aka Fro aka Freedom or Natural. The names varied as the look of the hairstyle evolved. No hot combs and perms frying our scalps anymore. Down with the bi-weekly haircuts for guys and uptight French rolls for girls. I remember my mother’s reaction to me unveiling my Afro in the late 60s. Let me tell you, she was not pleased. My declaration of black pride didn’t move her one bit. Explaining the benefits of wearing my hair in its natural state had even less affect. Despite her disapproval, my well-rehearsed arguments won out and I was allowed to keep my Afro…at her dismay of course. She eventually got used to it but it took a while. My dad championed on my behalf so actually that would be the reason my mother didn’t pin me down and attack my head with a hot comb.

Some of the changes from the 60s were needed and long overdue and some definitely did not align with Christian values or even secular moral behavior. Marriage became obsolete or optional at best as living together got to be socially accepted. Unwed motherhood was also en vogue contrasting previous attitudes on such matters. What at one time was whispered about in the corners was now proudly hailed out loud center stage. Working a job and being a responsible citizen took a hit as well. Vagabondism was called freedom; a living statement of dumping the establishment’s uptight demands. Nationwide our policemen were called pigs and our boys coming home from the horrors of Viet Nam were spit on and called baby killers. Hippies and Flower Children (I have no idea how they differed) spouted peace and love. The black Panthers shouted Ungawa black power and the Jesus Freaks chanted Jesus is Love. It seems like everybody had a platform. Regardless to your personal views on what went down during the 60s and how it affected our country you will have to agree it was a period of radical change for all of us.

The music industry was not bereft of having counter-culture performers breaking the mold. The 60s produced career peaks for singers like Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Buddy Miles and Carol King. Group singers and bands such as Earth, Wind and Fire, The Miracles and the Rolling Stones rode high on their 60s success. Folk music was popular with its lyrical social commentary and melodic cadences of artists like James Taylor and Bob Dylan. The sounds of the times reverberated with protest songs, funky get down dance beats and the always popular love songs. The music industry was all over the place. Elvis Presley swiveled his hips out of the 50s straight into the 60s. James Brown slid across stages in R&B performances fierce enough to literally stop the band. British groups made their way across the pond to take the United States by musical storm…and they did. I still remember the night Ed Sullivan was to debut the Beatles on his weekly variety show. My sister and I anxiously awaited but they were held up because of some news about the current space project. I complained because I didn’t care one lick about the space program and pouted with folded arms in front of the television until the delayed Ed Sullivan Show finally came on. It was in the 60s when a United States Astronaut walked on the moon for the first time in human history. I didn’t care…well actually I was rather fascinated by the achievement…except for when it preempted Ed Sullivan and the Beatles. In my youthful ignorance walking on the moon took a serious back seat to those shaggy haired crooners. Entertainment in the movies, on television and especially with music took on the face of change like every other aspect of our culture. The group, Steppenwolf rode their Magic Carpet to a catchy fast beat tune that still sounds good today. Motown’s label was flying high with hit after crossover hit. Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrell filled the airwaves with sexy romantic duos. The Supremes, Gladys Knight and the Pips and Four Tops were all the rage in the hood and beyond. I joyfully remember Patti Labelle and the Bluebells coming Down the Aisle in high pitched volume at the Uptown Theater in Philadelphia. I could write an entire blog on the Uptown theater in Philly. Every Motown artist and popular R&B singer graced the halls of that theater. I can see, right now, Little Stevie Wonder as he was called in the 60s doing his things on that uptown stage. But that’s a very dear localized memory I won’t go into any further…at least not now. Even the Gospel singers were changing their style. I lived a few blocks from the home of Clara Ward and her sisters’ mother. The Ward singers had been groundbreakers in the modernizing of African American gospel music and how it was presented. Music evolving in the 60s from all genres was indicative of the atmosphere of that time.

Sadly it was also a time when people were threatened and assassinated. Three little girls in an Alabama Sunday School were killed from a racially induced church bombing. I have not forgotten this was sometimes a horrifying period as well. Our president was publically assassinated as was his politician brother. Two very brave black civil rights leaders were shot to death because of their actions and influence and another powerful voice was shot down by those he once called brother. Our country would go from the highest highs to the lowest of lows in an unimaginable and unequaled emotional roller-coaster. Things were happening in rapid succession as the labor pains grew more intense.

I remember it all; some things with a smile, some things in tears. It was a long time ago yet to my chronologically advancing mind it seems like only yesterday. The calendar says it was 50 years ago. Oh, my…am I that old…I mean chronologically gifted. Although change occurs all the time in our society it hasn’t been quite as startling as it was in the 60s. I still smile when I think of how life for me was back then. I was such a different person; very young and full of hope, very naïve, definitely unsaved and motored by the lust for life beyond the familiar. I was fully in the world and did not know Jesus. So as I look back and try to sum up my personal experiences during the 60s I’d say it was a very special time to be alive and young. To see the human dance played out in an upbeat disco tempo was an experience indeed and one I have never relived…thank goodness. I don’t think I could endure it now. I do wonder what I would have been like if I’d been saved back then. How would I have processed it all…hmm? Something to think about as I remember when. Peace, my friends.

Musical Memories

CLICK HERE: Times Are A Changin’ by Bob Dylan
CLICK HERE: Memory Lane by songstress Minnie Riperton
CLICK HERE: I Want You Back by a burgeoning Jackson Five

Making The Rest Of Your Life The Best Of Your Life!

“You can enter God’s Kingdom only through the narrow gate. The highway to hell is broad, and its gate is wide for the many who choose that way. But the gateway to life is very narrow and the road is difficult, and only a few ever find it.” Matthew 7:13-14 (NLT)

SOUL SURVIVORS ONLINE BIBLICAL COACHING

Introduction: THE SOUL MATTERS

A little side note just in case you were wondering; no this is not about reviving Soul Survivors, the old 1960s singing group or any of the many other venues using this name. This is an online biblical coaching site aimed to encourage, enlighten and empower born again Christians. This does not exclude the unsaved who may be drawn to salvation from reading these posts. May the power of the Gospel and the truth of the Holy Scriptures in the authority of Yeshua Hamashiach, Jesus The Christ fall on everyone who reads it.

Soul Survivor is a simple name, uncomplicated, easy to remember with a slight play on words. Yet with it’s simplicity comes a deeper significance beyond the catchy title. The soul matters and the phrase Soul Survivors embodies what I’d like to accomplish; to help souls survive. It also speaks of who I am; a soul that has survived and still does against all the obstacles thrown at me. Yes, I am a survivor…a soul survivor, thank you, Jesus. I learned much of what I write from my own experiences and personal struggles. The Holy Spirit has been an awesome teacher by guiding me through many dangers, toils and snares as the song lyric goes (Amazing Grace). I learned many things the hard way; smack in the middle of a battle. They were invaluable lessons that helped me survive and ward off future attacks from the enemy of my soul (my mind). I can tell you this for sure; in the middle of a fight is not the time or place to learn how to fire your weapon. You need to know before you get to scrambling for your life. This is how and why I hope to help other souls; teaching them what I learned about using the God given spiritual weapons and practical strategies to maintain or increase your spiritual momentum…and get the enemy off your back. It is crucial the people of God learn how to stand when trouble comes a knocking…and it will. Our Savior guaranteed us it would.

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world. John 16:33 (KJV)

If you get saved or are already saved and in Kingdom service or are moving toward your divine destiny you may have a similar experiences to mine. The enemy not only came knocking but kicking down the door. Every one’s encounter is different and on various levels. For some folks the enemy comes knocking. For others he bangs, kicks at the door or kicks the door down. He blows the door up for the some poor unfortunate brothers and sisters. How ever it happens it rolls into your world impacting your life big time. At that juncture your your mind will be the prime battleground. Actually it probably is in motion already but so often God’s children have no idea of the subtle manipulations mounting against us. Having made it out to the other side of a mind numbing tunnel that lasted far too long for my liking, I have a strong desire to help others make it to the other side. I am so grateful my Lord and Savior carried me through I have to try to help somebody else. And that is why I am writing these posts.

The soul operates in the natural and the spiritual realms with chracteristics that can swing either way according to which we give the strongest pull. That is determined by what we feed the most therefore giving it dominion over our thoughtlife. OuHow we think has a direct correlation to the quality of our lives. What voice do we follow? It can be the flesh or carnal nature which is easily manipulated by the devil’s voice or it can be God’s voice through the Holy Spirit. We make a choice either knowingly or unintentionally. Be assured if you choose God’s voice you will have to do that on purpose. If you don’t you have chosen the enemy by default. I never liked that automatic default concept even with computers. If I don’t know something and it’s in default mode, who put it there? If I didn’t make the choice, who did? It’s a sneaky way to force something on us but that’s no surprise since we know from the Scriptures satan is cunning.

My plea is for you to make the choice yourself. Don’t fall into that default category. Decide here and now that you want your soul to survive and thrive. Then understand it can only happen if you yield your life to Christ our Saving King. Invite the Holy Spirit in to take over the dimension of your soul. Say it out loud. Throw it out there into the atmosphere. Words are spirits, alive and powerful.

The first concern of survival in combat is having some kind of weapon to fight with or being able to flee to safety. In the battle for your soul, which is a spiritual fight, you must use the available spiritual weapons because there is nowhere to run. So hunker down and get ready to rumble. The enemy may try to take you down but God has provided ways we can fight back and be victorious even when it looks like we are not. Victory in your soul is not measured by natural situations but by the strength of your relationship with God. Yeshua hung on that cross nailed, disfugured and bloody with life oozing out of His battered body. It was over…or was it? Through it all He kept His focus on His Father and His mission. He did it in the midst of what had to be excruciating pain, total humiliation and overwhelming depression about being deserted by most of His crew and one time supporters. His humanity survived only because His divinity kicked in. I know we do not have the same measure of divine potential as God on the earth with us had but we have His Spirit in us if we are His. We got a bit of it and we have to work that thing or it will do us no good. Put down the carnal instincts as much as possible and take up your spiritual armor. Ephesians 6:10-17, KJV is an often used passage and breaks it down nicely:

The two voices are there competing fo your attention. As a believer you are supposed to walk in the spirit. To me that means feed the spirit, nuruture it and help it grow stronger than the flesh. Fight the good fight as Apostle Paul said he did. Since the alternative is to succumb to the flesh and the world’s influences and experience a spiritually defeated journey it’s the reasonable thing to do. Below is the link to the first installment lesson that I pray will give you added insight and help you be a victorious soul survivor.

Can’t Give Up Now sung by Mary Mary
I Give Myself Away sung by William McDowell

LESSON ONE

The enemy lurks by the gate of your soul planting thoughts that sabotage your speech and consequently your life’s journey and divine destiny.

John 6:63, KJV
It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life

LESSON ONE: THE SOUL’S GATEWAY

How we think is the foundation of how we live. Our thoughts fuel our speech and our actions, our repetitive words and actions become habititual behavior, habitual behavior constructs our character and our character takes us and keeps us where we are in life. If you want to change your life you have to change what you think and say. Our thoughts are part of the soul’s guiding mechanism and the main cog in our natural state of being. Why is the soul so important? From the Garden of Eden to the 21st century mankind has been a pawn in a spiritual tug of war for control of our souls. Satan wants to usurp the Father’s authority with mankind Sadly enough it looks like he’s been quite successful to this point. Our souls are the high prize, the platinum ring, the ultimate goal for the enemy to thumb his nose up at God. What makes the soul crucial is that our quality of life, our value to the Kingdom and most important our relationship with Yeshua Hamashiach, Jesus The Christ is predicated on the soulish realm. The foundation of that is our thought life and speech; therein lies the connection. The soul is that gray area straddling the spiritual and the natural, the Godly and the ungodly and operates in both. If we Kingdom people keep our souls in the spiritual ball park more than the natural (worldly) we can gain victory in this life no matter what happens to us or around us. The Holy Spirit pulls at our souls to empower us in the divine authority of Yahweh, Father God. The devil’s henchmen pulls to keep us operating in the natural worldly demonic authority. With both entities vying for prominence it is our decision which we will allow to guide us. The Holy Spirit, sent fom the Heavenly Father through the Son or the carnal nature whose origin is the enemy’s spirit of self serving lies and manipulation.

What you feed most is what will grow the strongest in you. Feed the carnal nature all the time and you will primarily walk in the flesh. This is not a hard thing to do. We hardly have to make an effort to fulfill that tendancy since we are born with that inclination and the world does it for us regularly. As a matter of fact we need to run screaming away from the vast banquet table of the world’s carnality, immorality and selfish focus. It’s all around us, nipping at our heals like vipers. And carnality is in us (from birth)…in our natural sinful state thanks to Adam and Eve. As David said in
Psalm 51:5 KJV, “I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.” The NLT say it this way, “For I was born a sinner- yes, from the moment my mother conceived me.” The spiritual part of our being, however, is a different matter. If we generously feed it we will begin walking more in the spirit and less in the flesh. This is a much harder thing to accomplish. One has to do so intentionally and with great effort and acquired discipline. As daunting as it can it’s by far the greater benefit. It is said we are not natural beings having a spiritual experience but we are spiritual beings having a natural experience. This is a true if trite saying indeed. We are spirit like God and it is the spirit that is of God that will bring us to our true selves. The spiritual side of this tug of war offers salvation, hope, peace and eternal life with God. And if we elarge the spiritual in our souls it gives us victory while we live in the natural. So first things first. Let’s make it clear what exactly the souls is.

Often people have the misconception spirit and soul are the same and interchangeable terms but they are not. The soul is your mental process. It consists of your intellect, emotions and will. These are all parts of your mind regulating how you think, perceive, react and reason out. The soul matters.

The spirit is the unseen life-force (essence) that is like God inside our natural bodies. This is where your intuition, sixth sense and discernment stem from. The spirit taps into the intangible existences that are all around us. If we sharpened our spirits enough we would be much more aware of that realm. Humans are spirit beings wrapped in flesh with souls connecting the two. Most of us have developed only dull edges of the spiritual at best.

In the biblical account of God creating man from the dust of the ground; He breathed into His newly formed creature before man became a living soul (Genesis 2:7). That was the breath of life. Yahweh God gave man life because He is living and He is life. He breathed a part of Himself into us. God is also Spirit and to that end so are we in likeness to Him.

Okay, let’s tie this together. Your thoughtlife is the gateway of your soul. Your soul is what drives the way you live and that is your living testimony to Christ Jesus, the Gospel and God’s true place in your heart. The Bible speaks more than once about renewing our minds. Romans 12:2, And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. Simply put this verse of scripture means changing how you think to become more like Christ which is God’s will for us. That should be the goal of all born again believers, to walk this journey more Christlike. Doing that, getting closer to the Father and living out our destinies are the main things. Navigating those goals successfully in this ungodly world is not easy and change can be difficult. The first step required is rethinking almost everything the world has instilled in us and what we have been subtly trained to consider as fact or the world’s truth. Our thought patterns are a fusion of what we’ve been taught and what we have experienced. We have an enemy who stands at the gate of our souls with his dark side if we don’t work hard to change how we think on a daily basis. I put that image up on the right to demonstrate just how determined satan and his crew are. We need to shut the enemy out. The only way to that is with the word of God renewing our way of thinking. The Bible is a living organism like the spirit that inspired it. It has the power to help us chnage the negative thoughts that plague most of humankind. Thoughts that have fashioned this unholy culture we live in.

You probably have heard preachers say we have free will and we do. That gives us the responsibility to make choices that please Christ. Our self will goes hand in hand with our thinking. We want what we think about and we think about what we want. So if we are going to alter our worldly mindset and start thinking the way our God would have us to then we have change what goes in our sensory gates (eyes, ears) and what (and who) we keep in our circles. Becoming transformed is a process, a process that begins in the head. There is a term that says, “Will it into being.” Your will is the result of your thinking so think what you will.

Now you may ask Why is all this important? To change your life (or any one thing about it) you have to change how you think somehow. Statistics say mental illness is at an all time high. Hard core phobias, addictions, delusions and depression are becoming almost common place today. I have heard it said everyone has some form of mental illness and those who think they don’t are in denial. I can’t say if that is really the case but I do know that the society we have godlessly consructed feeds mental dysfunction big time from the lightweight to the serious. There are forces out there in the natural and the supernatural primed to bring you down in your soul and if you think not you are naive. The enemy knows the gate into destroying your testimony and keeping you from living a better life. He and his henchmen work hard trying to influence your soul…especially if you are saved. Salvation does not mean you are exempt but rather you are more of a target. You may belong to God and the devil can;’t change that but he willgive you hell while you are here if he can. He does it through our minds. Everything concerning our lives starts with how we think. The mind is a powerful weapon and can work for us or against us. the choice is yours.

In subsequet lessons I will teach ways we can fight back. I will demonstrate how we change our thoughtlife through the word of God and elaborate on the power of the tongue. Let me make it clear at this point that I certainly do not have all the answers. I have not not arrived nor am I an expert. I’m learning in my own journey. God gives me revelation and I simply pass it on in hopes it will help someone else. I am an on the job training kind of person. I learn as I go it seems and so far this method has worked for me in amazing ways. So as the Holy Spirit guides and reveals to me I will do likewise my readers.

The Holy Bible is rich with truth and revelation. The next lesson will be about learning what truth is and how it can change your thinking.

Until then, stay in the word.

I Give Myself Away sung by William McDowell

1967 Ford Fairlane

1951 Nash Statesman

This is my second Remember Wednesdays Blog. I’ve changed from posting bi-weekly to once a month taking a trip into the good ole days with my personal take on years gone by. Wonder if this could be my geriatric coming out. I’m not so keen on that idea but it’s a fun blog. I hope my Baby Boomer buddies also enjoy the trip down Memory Lane and for you younger generation folks, a curious look at how it used to be.

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Remember when cars, and most other things, were well built with quality in mind for the consumer’s hard earned money? This week my mind went back to the days when things were built to last as the Ford Motor Company had the nerve to proclaim while my 81 Ford LTD fell woefully apart. This was during the late 70s and early 80s when fiberglass was slyly replacing sturdy metal body parts. I had to purchase a new transmission and all sorts of costly mechanisms for that car until I just gave up and bought a new one. Now before you wonder how long I had Bluebell (upper left picture is a deadringer for my Blue LTD) let me take you back to a time when things were truly well made.
And for the record, yes, I name my automobiles like my father always did his. He gave his cars feminine names like Dolly and called them, “she” and “her”. I started out like my dad but later opted for more masculine names like Bruno and Black-Jack. Thinking of them in male terms was much more satisfying for me; must be a gender thing. I mean think about it. I’m a woman. Why would I want to ride around in a Sheila or Rosemary? Come on, if I’m giving my vehicle a gender it is going to be masculine and I make no apologies for it. It is time to bump the tradition of everything being given female names. It’s the 21st century. We gals want equal consideration and speaking of that, what’s with the voices in the GPS systems and talk back gadgets in these cars? All I hear are those drab electronically designed females. Let’s get some manly voices up in these cars, please. The girlie thing may be fine for you guys but really…I want to hear a deep male bass giving me directions. If I am being reduced to talking to machinery then can’t I get a little Barry White or James Earl Jones going? That snotty female thing is tired and does nothing for my disposition. I have made up my mind that when I buy my next new automobile I am requesting a deep baritone male voice and will happily pay extra for the privilege. Let’s be real. If I have to pay a fortune to converse with technology it should be to my personal liking. For me that would be a Barry or James sounding brother saying, “hi, baby, get in and let me take you wherever you want to go,” when I open the door. Yes indeedy that would do it for me…grin. I might take to sleeping in my automobile. Okay, I have really digressed here so let me get back to my original thoughts.
Growing up I distinctly remember three cars my father owned. When I was a wee little thing he had this green hulking two door Nash automobile. I have no idea what kind of Nash it was and maybe it wasn’t so big but in my memory it was huge. Have you noticed how everything seemed so much larger when you were a child? The green Nash was replaced by a Nash, Rambler. Following the Rambler was a new Ford Fairlane that muat have been so sweet it turned Bill Banks into a hard core Ford man from then on. So being daddy’s little girl (even in adulthood) started with a Ford. As time went on I discovered the joys of various other makes of automobiles but initially my car owning skills were honed by a Fords. The reason I only recall three family vehicles is that he kept those cars for years. I mean a lot of years. He was a blue collar worker with a mortgage and family so the purchase of an automobile was a big deal.
Back then cars were manufactured with sturdy endurance in mind. They were metal beasts with innards that had long lifespans. Today manufacturers deliberately make cars of inferior materials knowing they will fall apart soon after you finish paying for it if not before. By the time the car note is a thing of the past and you try to get a breather from debt, you have to start pouring money into the vehicle. A year or more of that and you run screaming (and crying) to the dealership. It’s been the plot for years now. Heaven forbid you get into an accident. To your horror your second largest debt crumbles up like a soda can. The consumer is thrust into more debt or endless dances with mechanics of which many also love to rip you off.
I’m no economist or financial whiz by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not a social paranoid either but even I could see how the automobile industry’s profit driven mentality figured if cars didn’t last as long it would enlarge their profit margins. If consumers had to buy cars more often that translated into the industry amassing more revenue. Simple logic…and a detestable business practice. Plus using the inferior materials lessened production costs so it was a sweet deal all the way around for the industry and a nightmare for the consumer. Oh sure they lied and told us the changes were for the consumer’s benefit. Like fiberglass on the bodies would make body repairs a lot less expensive. Yeah, right. Body work is costlier than ever. Things like water pumps and all kinds of hoses and internal gadgets go bad in record time these days. Then major parts have to be replaced and that can cost a serious bundle. Let’s not talk about this fancy new technology that hinges on some electronic box thingy or computer chip-a-ma-jig that dies and the replacement costs traumatize your budget.
I had a lovely Lincoln Continental. It was plush everything inside and rode like a boat it was so smooth. The engine was so quiet you could barely hear it. It was truly a superior ride. When you started the car up the hydrolic lift suspension inflated the air bags or what ever that was under there. Then the source of this smooth ride, the hydrolic suspension system broke. That car went from a smooth cruiselship like float to a jerky stagecoach ride on those country roads in Virginia. One or two small holes were all it took to wreck the entire system. It was well over two thousand dollars to fix the system. I had a choice of revamping the car and putting in a regular suspension system or replacing the hydrolic one. I got rid of the car period. My enthusiasim with luxury had waned.I realized I was too poor to afford luxury and got a regular meat and potatoes vehicle. I guess those back country roads I drove on were no place to try and be cute getting fancy. The point of telling that story is to say all the cute new luxurious and technological stuff are designed to make you spend more on repairs in the long run.
The saddest fact about our modern times is that it’s not just the automobile industry that no longer cares about quality in their products. Many things are shabbily made these days but the costs are skyrocketing. Even in the construction industry it’s evident buildings are not what they used to be…and don’t get started about the woes of cheap sheetrock. Plaster had it’s good points if you ask me. Another lie about lowering cost if repairs are needed. I distinctly remember a building building in Philadelphia, a stadium called the Spectrum. It was built in my life time. My High School graduation was in that stadium. yet they had to tear it down some years ago because it was falling apart! How did that happen? It’s not that old! It can’t be because I’m not that old! There are buildings standing strong that were constructed hundreds of years ago. Ancient stadiums still exist in ruins from centuries past. So why did that stadium and other modern edifices fall apart before a good fifty years was up. I’ll tell you why; a quick turnover is the ticket today not making a quality product. From building to manufacturing it’s make it flashy and fun and folks will buy it. You put out more money and you get a lot less value. The cards are stacked against the consumer. Service is lousy yet you pay more than ever. You can forget free anything anymore. No courtesy nothing. If they tell you it’s free, look at your bill. You paid for it. They just cloak it so you can’t see you did. I will admit there are a few exceptions to this pitiful practice but not many. The going consensus is to charge as much as you can get away with and give as little product or service as you get away with and we consumers are the unhappy victims.
So has it been with our automobiles; more sleek, speedy and techno savvy than ever but their life spans are woefully lacking; unless you spend a year or two’s salary on one.
In my day…did I just say that? Oh, wow, I sound like my parents and grandparents did when I was a kid. Gulp…I think I just officially crossed over the Sea of Aging not the Aegean Sea but the Aging Sea. I’m getting a headache. Moving right along…cars used to be able to be owned 15, 20 years easily with minor normal wear and tear repairs and replacements. Try that now…hah! If you are fortunate enough to keep a car 10 years or more you’ve either rebuilt that puppy piece by malfunctioning piece or they tell you they can’t find parts for it anymore. There’re going to force you into buying a new one.
Let’s face it we live in a disposable culture and car notes and mechanic bills are one small characteristic of our times. Things are no longer built to last. Okay, now I’m getting depressed. Maybe I should check out an antique car show and look at some refurbished old model cars. That might be fun and cheer me up. Then again…it might be more depressing being around too many antiques. That could make me feel like an antique. Nah, it’s a beautiful spring day, think I’ll just go drink a cup of Decaffeinated Earl Grey with lemon and sit back and remember when.

Pastor Bernard Boulton

This book ministered to me in a very powerful way from the start so my assessment may be a bit biased. Pastor Boulton wrote an intelligent and practical approach on how we should perceive God’s divine favor in our lives. Using scriptural examples and very revealing experiences from his own life, he illustrates the highs, lows and God’s ultimate goal in gracing us with divine favor. I applaude this man of God’s willingness to be transparent for the sake of authenticating what he wrote. I admire his well organized and flowing presentation but most of all I am grateful for his anointing that spoke to me in several crucial areas. I very much recommend this book. It is an easy read and not weighed down with complicated theological doctrine. The messages are simplistic yet comprehensive, packed with wisdom and practical truth that is sometimes difficult to digest but very needful in order to enhance your Christian journey. Thank you, Pastor Boulton, well done! So do yourself a divine favor and get a copy!

bernardboulton.com

A greeting card by Smilebox

HAPPY PASSOVER!

Greeting customized with Smilebox

I don’t like admitting I’m getting old…ahem…make that older. One sure sign of an aging mentality is when you start talking about the past more fondly than the present and more often than the future…sigh. Okay enough about my chronological challenges. That brings us to the topic and a much loved mantra of us old…correction…middle age folks, “remember when.” Ah yes, we just love to trip down memory lane to the good ole days. Remember when penny candy really cost a penny? Remember when a lady wasn’t considered dressed up unless she had on white gloves and a hat. Remember when you bought shoes in a store where the salesman fussed over fitting them just right for your feet and gave you a shoe horn with your new kicks. Remember when kids preferred playing outside and they didn’t need television ads to entice them to do so? A little sidebar statement; I also remember when it wasn’t dangerous for children to play outside because some homicidal maniac or sexual deviant might come along and snatch them away. Okay, I won’t go there but you get the drift.
In light of dating myself and attaching the term old school to my list of character traits I want to show how the world has changed in my lifetime. In some ways better and some ways not good at all. Of course the blog will be from my perspective, a baby boomer navigating our culture as I grow more chronologically gifted. The memories will illicit all kinds of reactive emotions; fun and happy, gloomy and lamenting, sometimes angry but mostly just observant of our ever-changing world and our inability to keep up.
Usually on the second and last Wednesday of each month I will highlight a different Remember When memory giving my very personal take on the subject. I’d love for my readers to make suggestions or write their own remember when pieces and email them to me so I can post some of them. Below is the first installment. Enjoy!

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Remember The Heyday Of Drive-in Movie Theaters?

Remember when drive-in movie theaters were plentiful and a great movie going experience. They beat out those stuffy and sometimes cramped indoor theaters in fun and finance. Those wonderful dollar-a-carload specials were a real bargain for working class families…and a bunch of young college students. There was something special about watching a movie inside a car all private and cozy yet on a field full of other cars with people doing the same thing. The best of both worlds, private and corporate. When I was a child the screens looked absolutely huge and made the actors seem larger than life. It was mesmerizing. I loved my dad taking us to the drive-in to see any movie. I didn’t care what it was because if I didn’t like the flick I sure enjoyed everything else. It was at the drive-in where I was delightfully entertained by musicals like West Side Story, Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and Bye Bye Birdie. I was amused with comedy from Jerry Lewis’ Nutty Professor and Tony Curtis and Debbie Reynolds in Good Bye Charlie, enthralled in the drama of To Kill a Mockingbird and Imitation of Life and made tense with psychological suspense watching Sidney Poitier and Richard Widmark perform in The Bedford Incident and Good ole Spencer Tracy in A Bad Day at Blackrock all in the back seat of the family car. It was a wonderful thing to eat popcorn, hot dogs and hamburgers and twizzlers in the car while viewing a flick. You didn’t have to worry about food smells or making a mess. It was your car so you could do as you pleased. If money was low and my parents couldn’t afford the pricey items being sold in the concessions stand back of the field, my mother would pack picnic-like baskets and we’d chow down on goodies brought from home. Often it was a mix of both; stuff from home and things bought at the concession stands. No matter how the folks did it we had a face stuffing good time.

Drive-ins got a bad rap because they were especially loved by teenagers with raging hormones as well as romantically inclined adults. You could smooch in an indoor theatre of course but it’s not nearly as private as lip locking in a Mustang or getting up close and personal in a snazzy new Duece and a Quarter, Buick Electra 225. (I just know I dated myself with that one. Do they still make those?) And we won’t even talk about the back seat action in a roomy Cadillac. I guess that was a down side of the drive-in trend for most parents of adolescents. I know my parents lifted many an eyebrow when I’d ask permission to go the drive-in with a boy. They said, “No.” alot. If the guy looked the least bit shady I could forget it. Naturally this was back when parents ran the show and not the kids and we did what they told us without a lot of lip. Sigh…another great cultural shift.

Drive-in theaters were everywhere in my early and teen years, the 50s and 60s. By the 70s they started dwindling and in the 80s they were a fast dying breed. The early 90s had very few and by the late 90s they had disappeared from my Philadelphia neck of the woods. A few still existed in the rural areas but none near the city. There haven’t been an active drive-in theater near here for decades. The death of this wonderful institution is blamed on soaring land costs, taxes and the technological evolution of the film industry. When researching the topic, however, I was glad to learn there are a few hundred surviving drive-ins in the country. Quite a few of those, unfortunately, are no longer in use. Still I was tickled to know a few have not only remained standing but still bring pleasure to the people who patronize them. It’s now on my bucket list to go find one of these cultural relics and relive the splendor while remembering when.

On the heels of exiting Black History Month welcome our guest blogger, Pat Simmons, a gifted writer and author of numerous novels. Pat tells us about her journey into genealogy and her own personal black history discoveries.

From the desk of Pat Simmons:

I wish everyone would make Black History month personal. In addition to learning about our nation’s past, connect with the ancestors in your past. One way to honor your grandparents, great grandparents and beyond is to learn about them. For the past thirteen years, I began to track down kinfolks I had never met. As a matter of fact, it’s my testimony that I often share when I speak about my writing career. I decided to incorporate some of my family names from 1880s into my novels. The strategy was hope that a distant relative might pick up my book and recognize names such as Major Wilson, Wyatt Palmer, Rhoda Brownlee, Talmadge Cole, and on and on.
In my first novel, I chose “Charlotte” for my main character’s mother. Charlotte was my maternal grandmother who was named after her maternal grandmother. Giving someone the same name throughout generations could be a blessing for genealogists to connect the dots, or a headache figuring out who is the son, grandson, nephew—you get my point—like four generations of Marshall Cole. For last name… hmmm. It had to have a distinguished ring for my hero. Somehow, out of nowhere Jamieson stuck, thus creating Parke K. Jamieson VI. He and his brothers became the strong, successful, confident and family-loving black men who were tenth generation descendants of a royal African tribe.
As I continued to build my story, I didn’t let up on my family research. My maternal second great grandmother, Charlotte’s last name was Wilkerson. I located Charlotte Wilkerson along with her two sons: William (my great grandfather b. 1866) and his brother Samuel (b. 1868), on the 1880 census. But when I searched the 1870 census for them, I hit a wall and couldn’t locate them. I turned to other genealogy enthusiasts to help in the hunt for Charlotte Wilkerson and her two sons who would have been four and two. It’s amazing how savvy some of these sleuths are. A few days later, they came back with information that made me hold my breath.
It appears that Charlotte’s last name was actually Jamieson. Eerie, huh? I had no idea that giving my character the exact FIRST and some random LAST name would be a perfect match of an ancestor. With my adrenaline pumping, I became an addict as went through the 1860 Slaveholders Schedule. Since I knew Charlotte last lived in Chickasaw County, I looked for former slaveholders in the same place. Sure enough, there was a Jamieson—Robert Jamieson. However, the first rule I learned as a genealogist is never to assume. I needed to show how Charlotte Jamieson became Charlotte Wilkerson. Hold your breath again. Living in the slaveholder’s house was a guest, a teacher in the academy, John Wilkerson (my white great great-grandfather) who also fought with the Confederate States of America. I would have screamed when I saw the connection, but I was in a public library. At that moment, I wondered what my second great grandmother must have endured in slavery and yet died free in 1930 at the age of eighty “living in the backyard” of another former slave-holding family—the Caradines.
This year at a Black History event in Oklahoma, I made another family connection on my father’s side—Cole—without being there. A good friend happened to mention she was attending an event in Kingsfisher. I told her that I had relatives there. Monique Bruner asked if I was related to Elnora Cole Baker. Since I wasn’t sure, I asked her to ask around. She did better. Monique took pictures and text me several photos. One was an obituary of John Z. Cole born 1885 and died 1985. He was my second great grand uncle. So Black History month is more than just learning about other people ancestors, sometimes you just may find your own.
To see photos of some of my ancestors, please visit my website at www.patsimmons.net and click on genealogy.
In 2007, the Guilty series was born. It continues today as the Jamieson Legacy, which has captivated black and white readers alike with its positive strong black families and historical facts that are weaved into contemporary fiction.

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About the Author

Pat Simmons is a self-proclaimed genealogy sleuth. She is passionate about researching her ancestors, then casting them in starring roles in her novels. She hopes her off- beat method will track down distant relatives who happen to pick up her books. She has been a genealogy enthusiast since her great-grandmother died at the young age of ninety-seven years old in 1988.
She describes the evidence of the gift of the Holy Ghost as an amazing, unforgettable, life-alternating experience. She believes God is the author who advances the stories she writes.
Pat has a B.S. in mass communications from Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. She has worked in various media positions in radio, television, and print for more than twenty years. Currently, she oversees the media publicity for the annual RT Booklovers Conventions.
She is the author of nine single titles and several eBook novellas. Her awards include Talk to Me, ranked #14 of Top Books in 2008 that Changed Lives by Black Pearls Magazine. She is a two-time recipient of the Romance Slam Jam Emma Rodgers Award for Best Inspirational Romance for Still Guilty (2010) and Crowning Glory (2011). Her bestselling novels include Guilty of Love and the Jamieson Legacy series: Guilty by Association, The Guilt Trip, and Free from Guilt. The Acquittal (A Guilty Parties novel) is her first of two 2013 releases.
Pat has converted her sofa-strapped, sports-fanatical husband into an amateur travel agent, untrained bodyguard, and GPS-guided chauffeur. They have a son and daughter.
Pat’s interviews include numerous appearances on radio, television, blogtalk radio, blogs, and feature articles.
Please visit Pat at www.patsimmons.net
Or contact her at authorpatsimmons@gmail.com or P.O. Box 1077, Florissant, MO 63031

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Here’s a look at The Acquittal my March 2013 release:

Two worlds apart, but their hearts dance to the same African drum beat.
On a professional level, Dr. Rainey Reynolds is a competent, highly sought-after orthodontist. Inwardly, he needs to be set free from the chaos of revelations that make him question if happiness is obtainable. His father, the upstanding OB/GYN socialite is currently serving prison time after admitting his guilt in an old crime. His older sister refuses to move past the betrayal and attempts to use Rainey as a crutch, but her bitterness is only keeping the family at odds as his twin sister, Cheney Reynolds Jamieson, tries to rebuild a damaged relationship caused by decisions she made in the past. To get away from the drama, Rainey is willing to leave the country under the guise of a mission trip with Dentist Without Borders. Will changing his surroundings really change him? If one woman can heal his wounds, then he will believe that there is really peace after the storm.
Ghanaian beauty Josephine Abena Yaa Amoah returns to Africa after completing her studies as an exchange student in St. Louis, Missouri. She’ll never forget the good friends she made while living there. She couldn’t count Rainey in that circle because she rejected his advances for good causes. Josephine didn’t believe in picking up the pieces as the rebound woman from an old relationship that Rainey seems to wear on his sleeve. Although her heart bleeds for his peace, she knows she must step back and pray for Rainey’s surrender to Christ in order for God to acquit him of his self-inflicted mental torture. In the Motherland of Ghana, Africa, Rainey not only visits the places of his ancestors, will he embrace the liberty that Christ’s Blood really does set every man free.

Febuary is National Black History Month. When asked which African American has inspired me the most I am immediately stumped. There are many well known and not so well known African Americans whose bravery, commitment and accomplishments inspired me in different ways. I have grown to understand from a historical viewpoint how my ancestors were people of deep sorrow and burden when coming to this country. I clearly comprehend that these forerunners were incredibly strong, adaptable, proud, hard working and most definitely divinely touched. The disadvantageous circumstances of blacks in this country produced many awe inspiring people along the road toward freedom and social equity. I honor them all from the most noted to the least known. When I think of African Americans who inspired me I usually look into three different categories; personal, local and national/global.

Starting with my most personal inspiration is my father. Willie Banks was not a famous man. He wasn’t rich or even well educated. Dad was a decorated veteran of WWII; a family man. He wasn’t perfect, just an average, blue collar worker who barely made a ripple in the pond of human existence. Yet for me he was a hero. His life was not easy but you would never know from his forward moving attitude. He was a rock in my eyes. My father was a very hard working man and taught me the honor in performing a job well no matter how small or large. My father was a smart man who had vision and he taught me to dream beyond where I was to where I could go. Those two things alone are some of my greatest assests but it doesn’t stop there. Bill Banks taught me to be proud of who I was; being true to who I am and living with commitiment to what I felt was right and important. He taught me to be responsible and reliable. He taught me by example being all these things himself and more.

My father has been gone for years but I’ve tried to embody what he taught me in every stage of my life. The best part of me comes from those lessons learned by watching and listening to my father. Inspiration abounded from being loved by him and growing up in the family he provided for and protected. So before anyone one else on this earth, my father has inspired me most.

Another impactful African American for me was the journalist and novelist, Alex Haley. Mr. Haley, for me, was one of the best African American writers of my lifetime. His work has been a shadowy mental template and standard of quality in my own writing. He taught me how to express the African American experience by including its historical relevance, human saga and social consequence through entertaining and engaging fiction. He was a master at wrapping fiction with fact and crafting an exciting tale that informed and engaged the reader on multiple levels. Put simply he was a talented storyteller and historical writer extraordinaire.

Mr. Haley wrote primarily about the Black American experience but not just for African Americans but for a global audience of all cultures. His ability to show us to the world broke ground for future writers like me. His commercial success was inspiring of course but years before that I had the privelege of meeting Mr. Haley at college. My impression of him was that he was a charming home spun kind of guy with a sweet quiet spirit. There was nothing flashy about him. He didn’t come off as some hgihly evolved intellectual either. He was very nice as I spoke to him briefly about writing. He was gracious and encouraging so years later when the movie ROOTS came out I remembered the humble gentleman and was happy and at awe of his success.

What that showed me was the necessity to stick with your passion even when it seems hopeless. It was inspiration that I ciphoned to help me keep writing for years when there was little or no encouragement from others. Alex Haley was a writing inspiration for me.

Healing Ink: Writing into Your Grief

A weeping willow tree, one flowery journal, two pens (in case one ran out of ink), and a box of Puffs tissues. Those objects stayed close beside me. In my early confusion over the loss of my son, these items never ignored my grief or told me to “get over it.”
When it grew too dark to see underneath the stringy weeping willow, I carried my pen and journal inside a house that seemed too empty, and wrote some more. At night, I woke to grapple with turmoil, with the noises in my head, the flashbacks of the cancer ward, the cries of my son. I wrote the ugly words “why?” and “how come?” before I could sleep again.
I scribbled through myths and clichés. I unleashed resentment and longing. I addressed prayers to God.
And, surprisingly, I discovered. Some of the confusion slid away, some of the guilt abandoned me. There was nothing I could have done to save my four-year-old’s life. Even my love had not been strong enough to destroy that infection that flared inside his tiny body. I was human and really not as in control as I wanted to believe. I would have to live with that.
I began to understand the new me. She was a tower of strength and compassion; she was tender and vulnerable, realistic, with just the right touch of cynicism. She needed protection from too many plastic smiles; she could not go long without a hug or sharing a story about a blue-eyed boy with an infectious laugh.
My written words healed me. And I jumped at the opportunity to tell others. I’d found comfort and clarity. I smiled at my husband and three young children, and at last, I didn’t want to run my van over the cliff; I wanted to smell the peonies and taste the salt from the ocean on my skin.
The beauty about grief-writing is that no one has to read it. You don’t have to worry about a teacher correcting your spelling or grammar. There’s no grade, no pass or fail. No one cares if your letters are sloppy. It’s written by you and for you. And, yes, it works.
• Find a secluded place to write where you can think clearly without distraction.
• Write, at first, for your eyes only. It doesn’t have to be shared with anyone.
• Write to chart progress for you to read years down the road.
• Write with the feeling, “I will survive this.”
• Write to identify your emotions and feelings.
• Write to help solve some of the new situations you must now face.
• Think of your journal as a friend who never judges and who can never hurt you.
• Write your spiritual struggles.
• Write to rebuild your self-esteem and your self-confidence.
(From Down the Cereal Aisle: a basket of recipes and remembrances by Alice J. Wisler)

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~ Alice J. Wisler is a writing advocate, motivational speaker and author. Her Southern novels include —RAIN SONG, HOW SWEET IT IS, HATTERAS GIRL and A WEDDING INVITATION (all by Bethany House) and STILL LIFE IN SHADOWS (Moody/RiverNorth). Her devotional, GETTING OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING (Leafwood Publishers) is a companion through grief and loss. She teaches Writing the Heartache (grief writing courses) both online and at seminars. Learn more at her website: http://www.alicewisler.com and blogs: http://www.alicewisler.blogspot.com/ , http://www.writingtheheartache.blogspot.com/ , and http://www.danielshouseworkshop.blogspot.com/

I recently read ECHO IN THE DARKNESS and thoroughly enjoyed it as I have other novels I’ve read by Francine Rivers. It’s the second of the Mark of the Lion series. I had this book on my shelf a long time and never got to it. I made up my mind to finally put my other reading aside and read it because I knew it was going to be a great experience. I was not dissappointed. Francine Rivers writes her historical fiction with vivid language and engaging plots that keep me interested to the very end. She was a groundbreaker in Christian fiction. Once you read her novels it is easy to see why she has been such a successful author. Her unique style of writing has been both an inspiration and delight to me for years. I enthusiastically recommend this particular novel and it’s predecessor so now I can’t wait to read the series’ finale!

Francinerivers.com