Our hope is in Him. Each life is precious, uniquely created by God. He has a plan for our lives, yet even when we make the wrong decisions, God is still the master planner. “The Promise” chronicles the story of a couple, each who will make choices that will drastically change the course of life. A promise is given. Wrapped around the horror of death, the story evolves from the prestige of an enticing career to the remote jungles of the world. Life moves on in spite of the poor decisions we make, yet the characters find that even when lost, there is hope. The story unfolds to reveal God reigns as the supreme creator and designer. Even so, it seems the promise must now be impossible. But is it??
Targeted Age Group:: 15-99
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
When our children were small, our house was the gathering place for neighboring children to play. When the girls were in their teens, our house was a safe place for their friends who for some reason needed a place to stay. Although our daughters did not experience the events in this book, I knew or heard about so many who did, and the emotions were heartbreaking. I often thought 'why doesn't someone write a story that helps to open the eyes of young adults struggling with life decisions, something that shows God's love, free of human condemnation… a story that could apply to anyone, young or old, regardless of the mistakes made in life. I never expected that someone to be me, however I could not get the thoughts out of my mind until I finally gave in and began to write. Could this have been God's gentle push? I think so, and was able to finally release all those years of compassion and heartache into this book.
My hope in writing this book is to give readers pause to think, really think, about God's master plan. Every person is important; YOU are important to God. No mistake is beyond the reach of God's love and grace. Open your eyes to trust in God…there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is Christ.
If you have questions, or would like to share your thoughts or comments, I can be reached at email@example.com.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I researched the "backstory" for each character, learning as much as I could about a specific issue or characteristic that I wanted to include in the book. Sometimes I also needed to research names, looking for a meaning within a name. Once I had the outline of my character built, I simply used my imagination to fully build out the character, including physical description, associations and mannerisms.
On the other side of the world, at the very moment Derek had felt the massive push against his chest, a boy was born to a life of hunger and fear. The boy’s father had been brutally tortured, his body ripped to shreds for imagined slights to the guerillas that controlled the land. His mother, wracked with coughing and contorted in pain, died as the boy took his first breath.
The village had many orphans. Disease and violence, even hunger, claimed a deep toll. The village adults tried to help, but most could barely provide enough food for their own families. Not understanding the violent world around them, the orphans cared for one another. A meek survival, there was no other option.
The boy came into the world wailing, his face red, his eyes scrunched tightly against the injustice of his birth. One of the older girls ran down the row of huts to where the village kept two skinny goats. Several years earlier, aid workers had brought pigs, goats, and chickens to the village. They had explained how to care for the animals. They had talked about reproduction, larger herds, buying, and selling. When the aid workers left, the villagers ate the animals. A surprise event had commuted the sentence for the last two goats. A mother had died, her child squalled. Someone had given the child a little goat milk. The squalling stopped. A discussion had ensued and the goats had been granted a reprieve from death row.
Jamela, wise at the age of seven, milked a skinny goat and emptied what little she captured into a bottle. Many of the village children had used the same unsterilized bottle, a luxury some villages did not have. The village understood the strong lived and the weak died. Jamela hurried back, her face determined, and fed the hungry, crying baby. The baby sucked eagerly, little hands fisted tightly. Long before his stomach was full, the milk was gone. He made his discontent known before he finally succumbed to sleep.
So began his life of constant hunger, with death always at the doorstep. The little boy learned not to complain. He and the other children eked out enough food to survive. They could not comprehend the violent forces that surrounded them. Many died, young and old, and when someone died, his or her food was distributed among those who remained. Greed was not known. The village readily shared and cared for their own, but food was scarce. Always they faced the threat of violence, bullets, cruelty, and torture from the guerillas.
For seven years, nothing made sense to the boy. Life was a bleak existence. On the boy’s seventh birthday, a medicine man came to their village.
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