Are You a Reader? Check out "Betrayed!"

While on an assignment to uncover the details of an assassination plot, Jeremi Grant sustains a gunshot wound that grazes his skull, leaving him with no memory, with no explanation for why he is at the scene of a murder. An undercover FBI agent is dead. His fellow agents want the man who did it. All evidence points to Jeremi. He resisted arrest at the scene of the crime, his fingerprints were on the murder weapon, and the bullet that grazed his skull came from the dead agent's gun!

Under arrest for murder, Jeremi has no explanation for the FBI. Worse yet, he has no explanation for himself. He struggles to reconcile between the evidence laid before him and the man he feels he is inside. Meanwhile, an assassination is going to take place and the details needed to prevent it are locked in Jeremi's mind. Escaping from the FBI, Jeremi is determined to find out who he really is. The joy of remembering that he is a Christian is dampened by questions over his many dubious talents. Who and what was he?

The pieces slowly begin to fall into place, but will Jeremi remember enough in time to prevent the assassination?

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What Happens to Undelivered E-mails?

I would tend to agree with how the cartoonist views it in the cartoon below!

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

The Best Laid Plans of Men and Mice...and Pregnant Women.

The night before should have forewarned me. Cars were scarce amongst us new missionaries there in Venezuela and an insistent offer came to drive to me the Bible study that evening. I'd been riding on the back of our motorbike since day one of the pregnancy. I had no problem climbing aboard again that evening. Yet appreciating their concern -- and with rainclouds looming on the horizon -- I obliged.

Labor began in the wee hours of the morning, light and inconsistent compared to the birth of our first son. When the doctor said he would meet us at the hospital at 7 a.m. it sounded like a reasonable plan -- that is until my water burst. The pain that followed was caused by a child suddenly plummeting down the birth canal. Matt walked in as I sat panting to keep from pushing.

"We're not going to make it to the hospital. The baby is coming," I told him between pants.

"Should I go get Cubie?" Matt asked, referring to our friend who was a nurse.

My mind said, "No! Why would I ever want you to leave me when I'm ready to deliver your child?" I think it was the image flashing through my mind of my husband passed out on the floor while attempting to assist that made very different words come out. "Yes, that would a good idea," I heard myself say.

Matt was out the door in record time. I could hear him one story below our window rattling at the lock on the cage where our motorbike was stored. The head was crowning. To tell or not to tell?

Part of me wanted to call out to Matt, telling him of the progress; the other part realized the indecision that would create. If complications arose we would need a nurse. It was best if he continued on for help. I could always pant. There was no 911 number to call.

I heard Matt revving up the motorbike, the sound of its engine disappearing in the distance. Childbirth continued. Our child was born without any complications, slipping into my waiting hands in a surprisingly natural and amazing moment.

Matt arrived less than ten minutes later with Cubie. If only I'd had a camera to capture the look on their faces when they entered the room. I don't know what they expected to find, but they definitely weren't expecting to find me with a baby in my arms.

"It's...it's...a baby!" The words came out in a stutter from a man who never stutters.

Cubie's shock was combined with sheer disappointment that she was too late to deliver the child herself. "I know you're in shock...," she began.

I could only smile back. "No, I'm not in shock. I think it's you two that are in shock right now!"

And no one disagreed.

Tagged By Another Blogger...

I was tagged by Jungle Mom from The Jungle Hut to list 8 random facts about me---so here goes!

1. I hold citizenship in three countries, four including my Heavenly home where one day I will go! Can you guess which ones---and why?
   
   
2. "Jungle Mom" said she must wear mascara and eyebrow powder EVERYDAY! No matter where she may be, or what else she must do without, these two items were not optional!!! For me it is mascara and eyebrow liner. Without these people will ask in hushed tones if I put makeup on one eye and not the other! There's this blond streak through that side of my head!
   
   
3. I married young and have no regrets! I look forward to growing old with my hubby---meaning I don't think I'm old yet even if I kids would dare to differ!
   
   
4. I graduated from High School early and was a freshman at NTBI at the age of 17. (A whole year older than Jungle Mom!)
   
   
5. I'm a mother of twins. That makes me a survivor!
   
   
6. I delivered our second child all by myself---while my husband was off trying to get a nurse to the house a.s.a.p.!
   
   
7. I don't have a middle name.
   
   
8. I've never had a speeding ticket (or any ticket for that matter!). Hmm... . Do I dare admit it?!
   

So, consider yourself tagged! If you do this on your blog make sure to let me know!

Spider Stories

I can't say I have a phobia of spiders. I barely notice the ones Stateside. They are so little! Tarantulas on the other hand are not so tiny. In our early days in the village of Parupa we lived in a palm-roofed hut with dirt floors. Spiders running on the ceiling, the walls or floor was not an oddity. I remember lying in bed convincing myself that I was safe on the bed.

One night I looked up to see a large tarantula lowering itself from the ceiling towards me. See, they can get on the bed! my mind practically screamed at me.

I awoke with a start, only able to convince myself it had been a dream because of the logical fact that a moment before I could clearly see the spider ... but now I was staring into pitch blackness.

It had been a dream. There was no tarantula lowering itself to my face. But the truth of the matter stood firm. Spiders can lower themselves by spider webs. Spiders could get on my bed. My rational mind had to accept the fact---but how to deal with it?

I lay in bed staring into the pitch blackness knowing a spider could be there. God would protect me, I reassured myself. That sounded good. It sounded solid. It sounded spiritual. God wouldn't want me to be bit by a spider so He would prevent it.

Hmm... I was convinced He could prevent it. I was not so convinced there was any scriptural basis for God having to prevent it. God could also give me a million dollars, but that didn't mean He was going to.

What did ring true was the scriptural truth about fear---about fear not being of God. This wasn't really about whether or not a spider would get on my bed. It was about accepting God's will, not my will, for my life. If that meant I would fall asleep to be awakened by a tarantula reaching out to touch my face with its hairy legs, could I accept that? Could I accept whatever circumstances God was to allow in my life for whatever reason He permitted it?

I took a deep breath. I knew God loved me more than I could ever comprehend. I knew I could trust HIS best will for my life---even if that meant a possible tarantula in my bed. I closed my eyes and slept like a baby.

Jungle Walks

My co-worker and I used to take long walks along sometimes barely visible jungle trails, machetes in hand. I remember her asking about the various scurrying noises we heard along the way. The airstrip may have been a safer environment, but the jungle was definitely cooler. The jungle also had the mysterious element of "where would this trail lead us?"

One such day the trail we explored led to the river's edge. Looking down at the cool river water my co-worker asked, "Should we take a swim?" She wasn't ready for my negative response.

Laughing, I had to explain that the text I'd been transcribing for language study that week had been two true stories from the lives of the villagers. The first was about a mountain lion that had terrorized the village, keeping people locked behind the doors of their houses for safety. That having been a true story, I was impressed that I was out in the jungle that day at all.

But the second story, it was about an anaconda wrapping itself around one of the Maquiritare men. Being a strong man of sturdy build, he had managed to chop the anaconda with sufficient strength with his machete to deter the attack. I didn't figure I would have such luck. I lacked the sturdy build and the strength! I also had to admit that being squeezed to death and then swallowed by an anaconda hit near the top of my most non-desirable methods of dying!

We didn't swim that day, but we did continue our walk in the jungle.

Worms...

How you ever stepped outside of your comfort zone to be a friend? One day in the Maquiritare village of Parupa I did just that. The women of the village invited me to go "worm collecting." That doesn't sound too bad, right? With the mud squishing up between my toes and my fingers digging deep into the mud along the riverbank, I felt like a kid again. I had decided if I was going worm collecting then I would collect a lot of worms!

Hours later we were back in the dugout canoe slowly motoring back to the village. We had our worms, but the work wasn't over. The women were rinsing their buckets of worms over and over again. I set myself to the task, rinsing my worms over and over again.

You might be wondering why they would bother to rinse worms that were going to be used for bait. The truth of the matter was, these worms weren't intended for bait. Some would be boiled, while others would be slowly smoked into jerky. This was supper we'd gone digging for!

I had known the intent, though didn't bother dwelling on it. My stomach did much better without envisioning these slimy creatures getting stuck half way down my throat. Anyways, I had my escape route all planned. Each women would take her private stash of worms home at the end of the day. My goal was to not take my private stash home but to stop by the house of one of the little old gramma's in the village on my way home and bless her with a wonderful bucketful of worms! And this was one of those times my escape route actually worked!