Speculative Fiction
Biblical Worldview
Biblical Worldview
Pressing through...
Choices make destinies. Destinies can also change.
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New book alert! Dark King’s Human Bride is available for preordering at select bookstores. Click the button below to reserve your copy of my latest dark fantasy of messianic proportions. After its official release on January 24, 2022, the novel will be available in digital and/or print formats wherever books are sold. A few years ago, I sensed a shift in my spiritual journey. My dreams even changed. I heard drums in my sleep. At first, being of Jewish background, I thought they were Israeli, perhaps of Yemeni influence, since I had danced Yemenite-Jewish dances before—they are some of my favorites because of the percussion. And maybe my dreams began that way, but it became clear that what I was hearing originated from Native Americans. In one dream, I was walking in a cadence on one path at dusk, but when the music shifted, I turned and zipped up another, totally different path that ascended a hill, then a mountain. At the top, I saw people in regalia gathered there around a drum. Drawn at first by the sound, I couldn’t get there fast enough through the dark. And the closer I got, I realized the people sang praises to Yahweh and worshipped with fullness of joy in God’s spirit. Their divine sound swelled from the top of that high mountain and cascaded over the entire land as the sun rose in brilliance. The elation I felt was like nothing I’ve experienced. These kinds of dreams I was having grew so profound that the drumming became almost tangible. I woke up from my night visions and still heard the sound, like my own heartbeat. Sometimes, through the day, I’d hear the rhythm, remember the visions, and knew that something was up. God was giving me these reflections, images, sounds, stirrings, for a reason.
So, I’ve pondered this over the last couple of years. Mindful. Expecting something, but God chose to be… not exactly silent, but quietly guiding, gently influencing. I appreciated the gentleness, because the Lord was ministering to my own heart with healing even as I prayed for meanings and interpretations. He knew I needed the quietude, for he builds up rather than tears down. This past year I’ve spent a lot of dedicated months just pressing in, worshipping, seeking deeper intimacy with the Lord. One way I’ve served the Lord is as an intercessory prayer warrior. And this has manifested in a multitude of ways since the early 1990s, when he first called me to this type of praying. Now, as I’ve dwelled in his presence this year, I’ve felt a continual change within me, a sort of, I don’t know, personal cultivation, and it was very deep, very different. Also, I kept getting prophetic words from others about new seasons, new blueprints for what God is doing or preparing to do. I’ve heard repeatedly that the greatest spiritual harvest and healing that will take place will be unlike anything ever seen. Prepare for a spiritual tidal wave, I was told. Well, I want to be where God is moving, that’s for sure. I was receiving these words; in fact, I think a lot of believers I know were receiving the same, or along the same lines. There seems to be a theme of pressing in and of preparedness. However, in my own life, I couldn’t (still can’t) quite see what this is; what it looks like for me. My future, that is, is yet veiled. Except, a week ago, I distinctly heard the Lord say, be like a watchman on the wall—expecting, watching, waiting—and intercede for your Native American spiritual siblings, focusing on this, for the next three months. Although I long for more by details or involvement, that’s really all I need to know: the next step. Baruch Hashem (Blessed be the Name). The Lord has, without question, planted in my heart that the greatest healing, revival, and harvest in this fractured land will emanate from the Indigenous. This is incredibly moving to me. That those who have been persecuted, oppressed, displaced, ignored—those who have the most to forgive will be central to bringing about the greatest move of forgiveness, healing, and restoration. Those who had been often damaged by the church will rise up and be the church, lead the church. “So those who are last now will be first then, and those who are first will be last.”—Matthew 20:16 And it all will spring from the vital drum; culturally intact, spiritually whole. All last week long, after God asked me to intercede in this manner, I have received affirmation after affirmation. Then a thing popped up when I wasn’t even looking for it; it was a blurb about a documentary called Awakened. I watched it right away and was floored. Apparently, I’ve been in a cocoon, because a lot has been happening in this realm and I’m just now catching on. Anyway, Billy Graham made a statement 40 years ago regarding the spiritual destiny of the original Americans and of the move of the Holy Spirit through them to others. This documentary is about that, and here is a link: https://www.amazon.com/Awakened-Ellson-Bennett/dp/B07JN4WTGC I like to immerse myself in the thread of what I’ve been asked to pray about, so I’ve done some recent googling. There have been all kinds of gatherings huge and small with this similar theme. In much of these videos and articles I come across, some older, some current, I spot flashes of the Messianic! And I’m thinking, as a Messianic, how did I not know my Jewish brothers and sisters were already getting involved and joining hands in this significant move of God? I mean, in videos and pictures, I see shofars, a kippah, and a tallit (prayer shawl) or two! In decades past, I’ve had the privilege and blessing to travel and minister all over the world, while absorbing the beauty of other cultures. The Indigenous peoples of the Americas, though, have always been extra special to me. Of course, I love my own cultural upbringing, so to see other Jewish believers in Jesus embracing and uniting in what others are calling the “awakening of the sleeping giant” in “leading others on the path to Yeshua” for forgiveness and revival, and a “coming into covenant with the races of America”… Well, that’s a giant double-cool for me! And getting up to speed… Well, better late than never. Yet, somehow, I have this impression that I am exactly on God’s timetable. And I thank the Lord for making things so interesting sometimes. Living a redeemed life is an exciting life, even from a little old, worn-out prayer closet like mine. I’ve provided a few video links that share this heartbeat, yet there is a ton of other information out there to peruse. https://youtu.be/abCr07OX8os Broken Walls, Ride the Wind https://youtu.be/Mtof2r1jNpQ Azusa Now, The Call, Native America (2016) live in LA I know this is different from what I usually post. I’m also a very private person and this was a little challenging for me to divulge—the personal tidbits anyway, dreams and such. I am a prophetic dreamer, but tend to be shy about it. This day seems apropos at least to say: I’m stepping out to step deeper in. What I’d like to do is scale that mountain and physically join with the flow of this ministry movement, but I am for now actively a committed watchman on the wall, praying and praising with intention, because this is what the Lord has asked me to do. Be blessed, for we are coming into the Year of the Lord’s Favor (Isaiah 61).  At last, I finished the first draft of one of my current works-in-progress. And this novel was a struggle. One of the biggest hurdles in my creative writing process, both in length and ethics. Took over a year to complete—a COVID-year, mind you, but still!
Normally, when I end a first draft, I want to celebrate. I’ve known colleagues to even crack open a bottle of bubbly at this early stage (with another after publication). The foodie that I am, I prefer grabbing one of my favorite meals: tacos, Thai, or t-t-t-t-t—spaghetti. Except, after I typed the last key yesterday, I was so spent that I nearly slid from my chair to the floor in an exhale, curled up, and sucked my thumb. Today, I feel like this Shaun the Sheep-ish depiction. Standing alone in an amber space (sort of like a caution light between go and stop), nursing on a Binky, wide-eyed. Determining if the inner turmoil and opposition to completing this book was because of divine inspiration and the start of something new… or it’s crap. There’s a fine line there, ha! Since I have other active stories, it’s time to rotate and finish another while this one ferments. Have to let the manuscript sit for a while until I can come back to it with fresh eyes. This is just another friendly FYI post by your Shaun the Sheep-ish stand-in. Still standing, at least… Today, I’m restless. The weather is cooler and I’d like to take advantage and go on an amazing hike. However, I had oral surgery yesterday, and while the procedure went well, I’m down for recovery.
I’m fortunate there are areas nearby allowing for a four or five-mile wooded trek I can speed through at a clip. These are my short excursions and all I’m allotted these days. But today at home, I’m only daydreaming about the trails… and of healing. And it dawned on me that I’ve unwittingly practiced a ritual on my nature jaunts. I sing the same Hebrew prayer for healing when I set out. Adon Ha Kavod comes quietly from my lips, sometimes a little louder. It hasn’t always been this way; I’ve also been reckless out there. But for some time now I’ve been doing this, singing this prayer, and the revelation took me by surprise today. No doubt, I’m happy in the woods. I can think clearly and reflect deeply. I enjoy watching the birds, and if I can be honest, I envy them too. Adon Ha Kavod comes from a state of worship—to the Lord of all that surrounds us, the Lord of all glory, and he has healing in his wings. By his wings, he heals our brokenness and gives us flight when we worship him. Adon Ha Kavod prepares our hearts for worship, a place we need to dwell, in the shadow of Yeshua’s (Jesus’s) wings, to receive healing. I guess from this perspective, it’s not a usual hike. I’m going on Adon Ha Kavod, the Lord of Glory trek. To worship, give thanks, deepen trust, and from the process, heal. Because life and people dish out so much that we need healing from—and healing is a process, as is forgiveness. In these strange times, we all need healing, and we might practice forgiveness more. There is another prayer of Jewish healers and sages, Mi Shebeirach, The One Who Blessed. This one is special because it is never spoken over oneself or in a general sense; it is recited only over specific others on which your mind is drawn. Wherein we ask the One, Almighty, who blessed our ancestors to bless those in physical and spiritual need with complete healing. So my trail outing transitions from Adon Ha Kavod to Mi Shebeirach—and it didn’t dawn on me until now. That’s where we find the greatest healing anyway, I believe, by dwelling over and praying on behalf of others; putting others first. Troubles are endless. Prayers should be too; therefore, striving to lead a life of prayer is monumental. When we do it often, pray, it becomes a subconscious part of our existence. Maybe that’s what I’m really missing on this day: a sort of pilgrimage communion with the only One who can rescue, deliver, grant freedom, and heal by his mercy. This is a time to build/rebuild and uplift rather than destroy. So Adon Ha Kavod and Mi Shebeirach, these long-sung prayers with far-reaching sentiments… may they be yours too, regardless of your cultural ties or background, walk in life, or predicaments. Just a thought for today. Shalom. Regret. It’s a part of human nature since the fall of man, and I daresay we are born with having to deal with it. I have regrets. A few are doozies that keep me up some nights. They fall under the categories of immaturity, impetuousness, impatience, denial, poor choices—maybe ones that changed the trajectory of my life—and I’ll admit, foolishness. When I didn’t think or wait on the Lord, or heed the advice of others, but moved forward on my own volition. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Savage! As an introverted writer, I have to say I’ve rather enjoyed this shelter-in-place era as little has changed in my day-to-day—other than closure of the Cherokee National Forest wherein lies tastes of freedom I particularly enjoy. But as a deep thinker, I’ve found this season especially challenging wherein thoughts can be dangerous. In other words, if the virus doesn’t kill you, or pro/anti-mask-wearers smack you depending on which “side” you’re on, regret just might. Unless you strive for a renewal every morning by God’s Word—our blueprint for life, a barebones necessity, our spiritual water, food, and shelter. Writing is purpose-filled for me, messages contained within paper or digital pages intended for others. There is sometimes my own therapy in the progression, though. Which leads me to my current WIP (work-in-progress). After receiving emails asking if I’m going to write a sequel to Remnant, with the reemergence of Atizael, the answer is a solid yes. And I’ve started that; however, often the current of creativity demands a drop and refocus. I’ve switched gears. Working feverishly to finish a book on regret and the transgressions and haunts of our past. It’s in the format of a dark fantasy romance, but the spiritual significance is there, and it’s what I—for some reason—need to spend my time on right now. The current working title at this point is Dark King’s Human Bride. And in being honest, unless my beta readers tell me, “Hey, Chicky, this is a bit much,” it’s coming out a touch graphic. I have a longstanding issue with much of Christian fiction being candy-coated anyway (perhaps more on this in another blog). Human nature is human nature, and evil is evil. Regret in all forms is regret in every form. It is what it is, and I have to be true to the nature of this beast. But not without good intention! I find a quote by writer Anne Lamott perfect for the launch of this literary ride: “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.” This savage has set off. More later.  Today, I have enough food. Today, I have a roof over my head, and I am healthy. Today, I have a comfy sofa, books to read, and music to soothe my soul. I have a means to communicate with my loved ones. Love can be expressed in so many different and creative ways. Today, from where I sit, I can witness the transitioning of seasons, the birds singing, plants sprouting, and the sun fighting to come through for us with warmth. I am grateful for today. Today is good.
#onedayatatime #perspectivematters  Being human today means you can hardly do, speak, or blink anything without making waves. So the waves will come: small ones, large ones, and the inbetweeners. But one must persist, unwaveringly, in the turbulent surf by exhibiting kindness, love, and integrity. It’s hard being human. A gentle answer turns away wrath...? (Proverbs 15:1). Okay. But if somebody is especially wrathful, a tsunami, then maybe we just gently turn away. Find another spot in which to wade. *Image by Patricia Alexandre from Pixabay
I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, because every morning is like starting afresh and I strive to do the best I can each day. But I’ll often receive a scriptural theme that blankets the coming year. For 2020, it’s Psalm 63:3-4: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift my hands." Too often, it seems the urge during prayer or reflection is self-centered. That is: focus on self, do something good for self, be my better self, etc. But the more challenging life gets—and it can get pretty stinky—the more I’m certain Self can’t help with squat. 2020 will be like all the other years before it in that our days will have its difficulties. We might experience great or little change, promotions or loss—whatever it is—the only thing steadfast and better than life is the Lord’s love. So, I figure, no matter what, if we focus on that, his love, and do the best we can with what he has given us, praising him through the beautiful weather and the storms, we’ll be more than all right. And at the end of the year, if we’ve scaled a few mountains it’s because he got us there and we can look back and enjoy the view knowing he’s got this, ordaining the steps of the journey. He’s got us and we’ve got him. Breathe. Happy New Year.   A woman solo hiked the PCT. This is her engaging rite-of-passage memoir, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. I could hardly put the book down, strong was my desire to gobble up every trail and survival detail. I love hiking, along with exploring the backcountry on horses, and primitive camping. While my own two feet have traversed sections of both the PCT and the AT (Appalachian Trail), I can only, thus far, live vicariously through those who have actually “thru-hiked.” Cheryl Strayed didn’t exactly hike through, having started in the Mojave Desert in California and finished at the Bridge of the Gods connecting Oregon to Washington, but she covered 1,100 miles on her weary, blistered, nail-less toes, having started out ill-prepared and untrained. That’s nothing to scoff at, by any stretch. That’s gutsy.
**potential spoilers below** The writing is sharp and the storytelling vivid. I trekked into the pages assuming I could relate to the author as I, too, lost both my parents. I know what it’s like when your family unit sort of disintegrates due to grief; when the strong root is dug up, or the anchor is hoisted leaving you feeling adrift. Yet, I couldn’t grasp the author’s perspective on a number of levels. From her form of recklessness and promiscuity, to feeling a life force—though the size of a grain of rice—recognizing she was pregnant, and then using “I got an abortion” and “learned how to make dehydrated tuna flakes” in the same sentence. I couldn’t comprehend why her editors kept in the dalliance with “rad” man, as it had nothing to do with the story and certainly didn’t move it along. I didn’t understand why she unreasonably obliterated a solid marriage to a great guy, or how she expressed pain. And the incident with her mom’s horse, Lady: horrid. Choices, choices! Still, her descriptions of nature when compared to her state of being proved starkly eloquent. When she hadn’t seen another human for weeks. When silence was tremendous. When she expressed that she was nothing to pebbles, leaves, and branches, yet they were everything to her. “Everything but me seems utterly certain of itself. The sky didn’t wonder where it was.” When she did have encounters with other characters, they were interesting. Clyde’s words moved me while he said he didn’t believe in reincarnation when Cheryl had asked him. He said, “I believe we’re here once and what we do matters.” And Cheryl’s mom having cancer that consumed her before she reached 50. I understood the tragedy of it. And the painful truths that came also from the mom’s mouth, about how she never got to conduct her own life—to be in the driver’s seat. She always did what someone else wanted her to do. The most uncomfortable sentiment, “I’ve always been someone’s daughter or mother or wife. I’ve never just been me.” Sorrowful authenticity is a killer. So, you see, Wild was a weighty, ugly-beautiful book. Hard to rate. It’s like life, you take the good with the bad—which I suppose is the theme of this chronicle. Although I’m a different-thinking person from that of the author, with a contrasting belief system and grief display, and I didn’t quite see in my mind a “healing” take place, I admire Strayed who “strayed” and wrote for us a compelling memoir to digest. |
TESSA STOCKTON, AUTHOR, BLOG -
Pressing through life, love, a few things that matter, and a lot of things that don't.
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