He Poured Down Mercy - Video

Here is a great song with great words that my wife updated with a scrolling slide show.
Romans 6:3 Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?
4 Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.
5 For if we have been united together in the likeness of His death, certainly we also shall be in the likeness of His resurrection,
6 knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves of sin.
7 For he who has died has been freed from sin.
8 Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with Him,
9 knowing that Christ, having been raised from the dead, dies no more. Death no longer has dominion over Him.
10 For the death that He died, He died to sin once for all; but the life that He lives, He lives to God.
11 Likewise you also, reckon yourselves to be dead indeed to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
(Rom 6:3-11 NKJ)

When a Child Goes Astray

Recently, a dear friend had a daughter who went astray. This is not a surprising revelation, for the world is filled with wayward children. Though these situations are always painful to parents, how much harder it seems to be for the Christian family who has poured their heart into teaching their children the right way. I've known this girl since she was in first grade, and I don't know any family that seeks to disciple their children more than this family. They are homeschooled, active in church, and they regularly have round table discussions about real life issues and how the Bible applies. Even as a child, this girl's practical knowledge would put most adult Christians to shame. Now, two years out of college, she revealed that she has abandoned her faith and has already chosen a lifestyle that is filled with immorality and future consequences.

We've all heard and have probably quoted the passage that states, "Teach a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." If this is true, why are so many children departing from the faith? How can a family produce three godly children, and one ungodly child? Aren't we guaranteed by the Bible that our efforts will ensure that our children will not depart from what we have taught them? Over the years, I have seen many godly families fight through the heartbreak of a child who strays. I’ve often wondered why, but then, the Bible echoes the same pain in its godliest of leaders.

King Solomon testified that he learned wisdom by the mouth of his own father, King David. God Himself testifies that David was a man after His own heart. There could be no greater honor given to any man, nor has it been given to any other man in scripture. Yet, the same godly man who produced Solomon, also produced Amnon – the man who raped his own sister. David’s nurturing environment produced Absolam, whose inability to forgive Amnon festered for years until he devised a way to murder him. His life was so consumed by hatred that Absolam plotted to murder his own father and take over the throne. And then there was Adonija, whose selfish ambition sent him on a quest to take over the kingdom behind the back of his father, while he lay on his deathbed. Not much is known about the other ten sons called by name, but we know that the man who loved God more than life itself produced three men who shamed him, and one who was honored as the wisest man in history.

From this, I conclude that even if I teach my children in the way they should go, they must still submit to the will of God from their own hearts. Solomon said, “He [David] also taught me saying, ‘Let your heart retain my words.’” Solomon took this to heart, and soaked in the words that he later recounted in the Proverbs. His heart retained the words; therefore, he was trained in the right way. These were the same words that Amnon, Absolam, and Adonija heard, but they did not take it to heart.

If God will not overthrow my own will, I should not think that I will have the power to override my children’s will. I can only teach them the right way and pray that God will guide their hearts to His will. It is clear that part of the training that keeps children from departing, is also dependent on their willingness to be trained. If a child opens their heart to receive the love of God, they will grow into the training we provide in a nurturing environment, and because they are anchored by the love of God, they will not depart from it.

If the Bible’s greatest example of a godly man could not keep three of his children from going astray, I know that all we can do is lead our children in the right way to give them the opportunity to receive the love of God. God offers His love, but does not override the will of our children, and neither can we. We must provide the nurturing environment and seed their hearts with the word of God in a spirit of love, but they must take it to heart so that they do not depart from the right way.

Ultimately, we will give an account for what we teach our children, but they must give an account for their own lives and choices.

Eddie Snipes

Interview with Nike Chillemi of Crime Fiction and Faith

Nike Chillemi is a fellow writer and a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers. Her candid question and answers provide a valuable glimpse into the world of writing. Thanks Nike for taking the time to write this and give the world a peek behind the curtain of your writing. Nike's blog is called Crime Fiction And Faith. Visit it by clicking here.

1. How long have you been writing?

I wrote my first book when I was a child, illustrated it too. The story was about a girl who loved horses. I always thought, over the years, that I should write, but never got around to it. I've been writing seriously, for publication for about seven years.

2. What motivates you to write?

I'm obsessed with the crime fiction genre. I read both Christian and secular murder mysteries, police procedurals, and thrillers. It's one of my main interests. I came to believe the Lord had given me this passion for a reason, and that reason was to write. Who-dunits emerged as a creation of the Christian west. These books have always involved a moral dilemma. Early murder mysteries, such as those written by Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers, were often set in an English country parish with a parson as a character. I think I've always been intrigued by the fight between good and evil in this genre.

3. What is your greatest success?

I consider having finished three manuscripts a success in and of itself. When I began that seemed almost impossible. My biggest outward success is that I've been included in the book and movie reviewing team at The Christian Pulse online magazine. I review a crime fiction novel every month and a movie bi-monthly. My reviews can be found at http://www.thechristianpulse.com/index.php?s=Nike+Chillemi

4. What is your biggest disappointment?

I'm not disappointed that it's so hard to break into writing. The more I write, the more learn about the craft of writing. I see that my early efforts were really quite poor, though, even then my voice peeked through. I think my biggest disappointment is that the business seems to be a bit schizophrenic. Some of the advice new writers get is contradictory. It's hard to know who to listen to. In the end, it's a lonely business. The age of image of a lone writer bent over a typewriter is kinda true.

5. Who are your favorite authors.

James Scott Bell is one of my favorite Christian authors. I am crazy about his lawyer protagonist Ty Buchanan and can't wait to read the second book in the series. I was totally taken in by the imagery and character relationships in Robert Liparulo's Comes A Horseman. And of course there's Ted Dekker. I read Adam and am now in the middle of his Boneman's Daughters. Nobody creates tension like he does.

I also read a few secular crime fiction authors. Michael Connelly was the police beat reporter for the L.A. Times for twenty-five years. His police procedurals have an authenticity that is undeniable. I can't get enough of his Harry Bosch detective series. My other fav is Robert Crais' Elvis Cole-Joe Pike detective series. Elvis is a wise-cracking PI with Joe, a former spec ops Marine, as his silent partner.

5. Which of your writing projects satisfied you the most?

I started writing my historical romantic murder mystery, Burning Heart, kind of on a whim. But it has consumed me and become a truly gratifying experience. I've become enchanted by the post WWII era. It was a time when America had a lotta class and a "can do attitude."

6. What has been the best advice you've been given for writing?

I've been told by three separate well known professionals in the industry to "keep writing." That is the best advice I've been given. Six years ago, I was first told I had a unique voice for suspense and that although my work wasn't ready for publication, I should keep at it. There have been two other "keep writing" comments from publishing professionals, and each one one gets a bit more enthusiastic about my writing.

7. If you could give new writers one piece of advice what would you say?

I'd say write the type of book they'd like to read. If you can't wait to kick back with the latest chic lit book hot off the presses, I wouldn't suggest writing a novel where you drop your missionary heroine into the middle of a battle in Afghanistan. If you live in rural Oklahoma, then don't set your novel in the barrio in New York City, especially not your first novel. Write what you know. If the new writer is a Christian, I'd say without a doubt to start with prayer and ask the Lord what He wants written.

8. Have you had any of your work rejected?

Yes, my first novel, which wasn't that well written, was rejected by more than one publisher. The second novel I submitted, my contemporary murder mystery, was rejected by one of the niche Christian publishers. It was a very nice letter saying what I had written was a police procedural which wasn't what a romance publishing house was looking for. That editor wished me well with getting the book published, just not by them. I'm in the process now of trying to find an agent. I'll be going to my first Christian writing conference this year. People I respect in the industry have advised me to get myself to a conference to become more of a "known quantity" in the industry.

Visit Nikes Blog at:

http://crimefictionandfaith.blogspot.com/

Spring Tryouts - An award winning flash fiction story.

This is an award winning story I wrote in Flash Fiction. Flash fiction is a complete short story of less than 900 words.

“When I smell the aroma of Spring, I always think of the beginning of baseball season”, Ted spoke out loud to no one in particular, his eyes sparkling with wonder at the field of Fenway Park. As a lifelong Red Sox fan, Ted had always wanted to visit this park, and now he was actually in this historic stadium. To the right stood the infamous Green Monster. At 304 feet, the right field wall was one of the shortest distances in Major League baseball. Hitters were seduced by the short field, but the thirty-seven foot behemoth robbed many great men of their glory.

Ted’s thoughts ran back to his childhood memories of baseball. As a freshman in high school, it was his dream to play baseball, but nature wasn’t kind to him. He was short, skinny, and considered to be more of an egghead than an athlete.

“You don’t have to be an athlete to be somebody”, his mother explained when he decided he wanted to try out. “Besides, at your size, you may get hurt.”

“But I want to play. I can practice until spring and get better. Small kids play baseball and don’t get hurt.”

I will show them. When spring comes I will be in shape and ready.

His equipment was as meager as his talent. All Ted had was a tennis ball, glove, bat, and a concrete wall. He spent his available hours catching the balls the wall returned to him, and swinging at the softball lobs his little sister occasionally pitched for him to hit.

As winter melted into spring, the time came for tryouts for the high school teams. Ted watched the boys warm up, and play catch with their new gloves and slick uniforms. Who am I fooling? I can’t compete with these guys. They look like baseball players and I look like a water-boy.

The only thing that kept Ted on the field was the lingering doubt of ‘what if’. Maybe he wasn’t baseball material, but if he didn’t try, would he regret never knowing. A stern sounding voice interrupted his internal argument.

“What’s your name, son”, inquired Coach Jackson.

“T-Ted McLure.”

“What position are you?”

Ted shrugged as he searched in the gravel for confidence, “Uhm, I dunno. I can play infield or outfield. I guess.”

“You don’t look very fast, so why don’t we give you a shot at the infield.”

A shot? The words had an inspirational ring to them. If he had a shot, the field was level, and all he had to do was perform.

Ted felt small in the space between first and second base, but it seemed like heaven to feel the warm sun and see the beauty of the diamond. He could almost envision the stands filled with cheering parents. The crack of the bat returned his focus. He rushed to close the gap as a sharp grounder whizzed to his right. He lunged and felt the ball in his glove, and then it was gone. I dropped the stupid ball! It was in my glove and I missed it!

A few swings later, a missile launched just to the right. He shuffled over, and it pounded off his cheek after taking a sudden hop. He felt the flames of its impact, but quickly threw it to first base. He swallowed the pain, but couldn’t choke down his humiliation. Ted caught a few easy ones but missed more than he fielded.

I keep getting so close, but they just won’t stay in my glove.

Ted had two at-bats. His first hit popped up and he rounded first base, hustling toward second hoping the ball would somehow find the ground. His disappointment rang with the pop of a glove. On his second at bat, he made good contact and the ball smoked between the shortstop and the third baseman. Ted saw the shortstop make a lunging grab. It would take a perfect throw from his knees, so Ted turned on the afterburners. Just as his foot was about to hit the bag, his hopes burst with the loud clap of the first baseman’s glove.

If I could have just gotten one hit, maybe someone would notice. Ted walked off the field with as much dignity as he could muster. He tried to guard his face from hinting at his anguish. That’s it. Everyone was right. I have no talent, and I’m not meant for baseball.

At the end of tryouts, the coaches made their picks. Coach Johnson approached Ted. “Son, you haven’t played baseball before, have you?”

Ted pawed the dust with the toe of his worn sneakers. “No sir.”

The coach looked down at him, trying to make eye contact. “One thing I have learned is that talent can’t replace heart. I don’t know how much talent you have, but if you will put all your heart in it, I believe you can go far. You may not be the best player, but your hustle shows character. Heart – and a lot of hard work can take you a long way.”

Ted’s thoughts of childhood were suddenly interrupted by a pat on the back and a voice from behind, “Welcome to the Sox, Rookie.”

“Thanks. Standing on this field is a dream come true.”

- Eddie Snipes, 2009

Who says Americans are superficial?

Eventually someone thinks of something new!Impress your neighbors with Amazing Garage Door Covers!"
A German firm called "Style Your Garage" - creates posters for garage doors that make it look as if it's actually showing the interior of your garage, and what's in it!

Prices range from $199 to $399 for the double-door! All but guaranteed to make passersby take a second look!

   





























And finally…  

something to freak out the neighbors, but endear yourself to your fundamentalist friends!
 

Grab the Nachos, Here Comes the Blizzard

This has been an unusually cold winter, by Georgia standards. In this region, we are doing well to have one winter storm a year, but in the last month, we’ve had three. The bad news about southern snow is that the temperature is rarely below freezing when snow begins, so the early snow melts, and then refreezes into a slick hazard. Non-southern drivers are sometimes caught off guard by the ice hidden beneath the snow.

When the winter weather predictions start rolling in, it is always preceded by a squall line of panic. The very thought of snow causes mass school closings and a fight for survival at the grocery store. People battle over bread, batteries, and milk in the fear that starvation might begin before the next sunrise when the snow melts off the streets. Being the seasoned southern weather survivor I am, I’ve learned that the only thing needed is a video and a bag of nachos.

I didn’t take one of our disaster scares seriously this year until I headed to the grocery store to pick up cold medicine for a sick child. During the drive, I heard that a major airline had cancelled three hundred flights, and others were following the lead. It was forty degrees outside and slightly overcast. When I walked into the store, I saw bare shelves, and what looked like a cage fight over the last loaf of bread. Now I was beginning to worry. Was it possible that we could get snowed in overnight, and I didn’t have a bag of nachos?

Behind the raging sea of humanity, past the barren bread racks, were the chips. When I saw a space in the battle lines, I tiptoed over the bodies of the wounded, snatched up a bag of Tostitos, grabbed a jar of cheese, and dodged attacks as I headed to the checkout. Medicine and nachos. Bring it on, mother nature! My preparedness warded off the storm, and we just got rain. These nachos would have to wait for the next storm.

False weather alarms are not uncommon in Georgia. I’m reminded of a major winter storm that was to hit many years ago. We gathered around the TV to watch the twenty-four hour news coverage. This was going to be a big one! My survival instincts had already kicked in, and I was in front of the TV, Tostitos in hand. The news broadcast rotated around Atlanta as each anchor reported on what they were seeing. At this point, it was darkness, with scattered lights. No rain. No snow. It is interesting to watch reporters fill up airtime with non-information, while trying to sound dramatic. Georgia Power and the Department of Transportation had men on standby, ready to pounce on the storm, once it pounced on Atlanta. They were interviewed so many times that they began hiding from the reporters.

It was now several hours past the time when the storm was supposed to have dumped its disabling cargo on the city, but we were still waiting, nachos in hand. Then it happened. A major break in the storm! The keen eye of the reporter was the first to spot it. “Do you see it?” she announced with excitement. Bending down, she picked a blade of green grass and said, “Zoom in and get a close shot at this. Do you see the ice crystals forming on this blade of grass?”

Panic surged through my body, and I called out to the kitchen, “It looks bad, honey. Are you sure we have enough nachos?” I knew I should have gotten some batteries, too! But I ignored my instincts. There, before my eyes, rotating in front of the camera was a blade of grass with frost. How great a winter storm a little frost can kindle. At any moment, that frosty scout would signal back to the storm to begin the invasion. I poked out my chest and let my southern pride flow. Only in the south can we spot frost on such a small blade in the winter grass. A northerner would have passed over a field of frost without even noticing.

The storm never came. Apparently, the discovery of the crystals on the grass warded off the whole invasion. Crews were in their trucks, ready to roll, but the only ice was on the turf under their boots. I consumed my nachos in defeat, and turned off the TV. It was dark outside, but I could see frost glistening on the grass under the streetlight. The landing zone was prepared, but the storm was not coming in. Another disaster averted, thanks to the vigilance of a few southern reporters.

Old man winter has surprised us a few times this year. A month ago I had to abandon my car and traverse the slick snow covered ice on the hill in my neighborhood by foot. A month later, I was wading through toe-deep snow. Just remember two rules necessary to survive southern winters. First, drive slow. There is ice under that snow.  Second, the roads will melt by midday. Two days at worst. All that is needed to endure is something to pass the time, and a little food for thought. Up north, you might need survival supplies, but down here, nachos and a movie will suffice. That, and a t-shirt boasting about how you survived the latest southern blizzard.

War for the Roses

Jay Leno once said, “It’s Valentines Day. Or as men call it, Extortion Day.”

When romantic days draw near, married men break into a sweat. Romance was easier when love was new, but after nineteen years of marriage, all card bearing days have become a challenge. I find myself in the same predicament each anniversary, Valentines Day, Christmas, Mothers Day, and each of the other fourteen days that require an over-priced card. I stare at the cards, and have déjà vu, all over again. All the cards look familiar and I worry that I’m about to buy a card I’ve already given her. I think about surprising us both, and grabbing one at random. I’ve heard nightmare stories about men buying the first pretty card that comes along, only to find that it says something like, “To my favorite mother-in-law.” I’ll never do that again, uh, I mean, what kind of an idiot doesn’t read the card.

When I browse through the cards, it becomes a battle of finding the right words, without throwing fuel on any simmering coals. When I was dating, any fuel for the fire was good, but after nearly two decades of being a husband, I have created a few fires that don’t need stoking. Apparently, I’m not the only man who has created a few touchy memories. Single men have all the good cards, but most of the cards for wives say something like, “I know I haven’t been a good husband, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t loved you with all I have” or, “Though I haven’t said ‘I love you’ in twenty five years, you should know I care.”

Though these touching cards moved me, I wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to give a romantic card that reminded the wife of shortcomings. After wiping a tear from my eye and fanning my emotions away, I thought it better to keep digging through the cards for something more uplifting than an apology that was self-justifying.

Humor doesn’t always play well in wife cards. Since I couldn’t find just the right card, one year I decided to print my own. I wrote what I thought was a cute little poem to share the memories of our years together.

My garden is green,

Our house smells like diaper poo.

I'm lucky to have

A sweetheart like you.

You're voice is so pretty,

Like the birds overhead.

You're hotter than fire ants

Attacking my head.

Your love's like the ocean,

My heart I bequeath

When you sit in my lap,

I swear, I can't breathe.

I lay awake at night,

Listening to your teeth grind.

I'm forever yours,

And you're forever mine.

For some reason, she wasn’t moved. Now each Valentines Day, I’m in the stores, struggling through the scattered cards, and battling over roses. I watched a man rush in with a panicked look on his face, grab the first card he saw, and bolt for the counter. I had already viewed it, so I stopped him to ask if this was for his mother-in-law. He thanked me for saving his skin and grabbed a card for a daughter. He was gone before I could stop him.

I finally found the perfect card. Not mushy enough to cause dry heaves, nothing to remind her of annoyances, but a card that diverts her toward sentiment. I turned it over and gasped, “Six dollars? This is robbery!” I then thought about the effects. This isn’t just a card. It’s a magnifying glass that helps her focus, for a brief moment, only on the fond memories connected to the prose of the card.

Jules Renard once said, “Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties.” Perhaps this is the secret to love. If a man can get his wife’s heart full, she’ll forget about all the things that annoy her. When life turns her upside down, the challenge is to use love to get her back on her feet.

Happy Valentines Day.

Eddie Snipes