I have to confess…I should have been an actress.  Not because I want to be one but because I have the same insecurities and need for constant validation.  If an employer or boss tells me one day I’m doing a great job and the next day doesn’t - I start to doubt myself.

Even though my life long dream of having The Victor published occurred earlier this year (against all odds)…I still struggle with the feelings of being a “second class” author because I didn’t get published the “traditional” way. 

This week (the week of my 50th birthday) I was feeling especially low. I was having serious doubts about The Victor ever being anything more than just a good read for 2 hours. It was so bad I was just ready to give up.  All the “famous people” who had gotten copies of the book months ago have never contacted me nor do I know if they have or ever will read it.

These past few days I have also seriously begun to question my purpose in life.  Who am I to think that the Lord would need to use me (a nobody who didn’t even go to college) to write a book that would reach people  for Christ? 

For the first time in many years, God began to “communicate” with me in a fairly obvious way.  First on Friday (my lowest day) with a David Wilkerson Devotional.  The second was when I noticed that the scripture verse the organizers had chosen to print on all the take away bookmarks was the one the Lord gave me specifically for my book 30 years ago (Psalm 45:1).

Next Kathi Macias (the first keynote speaker and a good friend - who did not know what was going on in my life) spoke first about how Satan will use two methods (subversive and perversive) to destroy what God wants to do with the talents He has given us. BINGO. After her address, 3-time Christy Award winning author, Athol Dickson, came up and introduced himself to me and to ask me about The Victor.  I told him the basic premise of how I wanted it to be used as a long “gospel tract” to reach kids in public school and he commented on how he had been dissatisfied for the past several years at how, even though Christian fiction had improved a lot, it was still “preaching to the choir” and not reaching out to people who didn’t know Christ.

When Athol gave his talk it was like he talking specifically about what God wanted to do with my book. I just sat there and wept. It was the Lord reconfirming to me personally that The Victor was His idea, that he had a purpose for it and not to despair and give up. I gave Athol a copy of my book as a gift and wrote in it how much his talk had meant to me.

He contacted me the next day and offered his ears and prayers and has done much to get me back into the right frame of mind.

Thanks, Lord…I really needed that.

Tags: Authors, encouragement

Arthur Blessitt

Arthur Blessitt

I met Arthur many years ago through one of his oldest friends who he had led to the Lord and who was then my pastor and small group leader.  Arthur is a the closest thing to a modern day apostle and the most devoted servant of God I have ever known.  He has spent his life carrying a large, heavy wooden cross literally all over the world to preach the gospel to anyone willing to listen. It took him 40 years and he has walked across every country and major island group.  Despite his “celebrity” status, Arthur will answer any email sent to him or return a call.

John Styll, current President of the Gospel Music Assoc. and my former boss

Almost thirty years ago I was in my early 20’s and working as John Styll’s secretary at Contemporary Christian Music Magazine (CCM) when it was known as the Christian version of Rolling Stone magazine in Orange County, CA.

John was the editor and I was his receptionist/administrative assistant. At the time he hired me, the magazine had just changed its look from newsprint to a more professional-looking glossy magazine with Andre Crouch gracing the cover. During the course of my employment at CCM, we would have various Christian artists come into the offices for one reason or another such as The Archers, Daniel Amos, and Bob Bennett. At this time Amy Grant was getting consistent grief from one of the subscribers about her picture on the cover of her latest album (“Father’s Eyes”). We referred to him as the “two button man” because he kept making such stink over the fact that her white shirt wasn’t modestly buttoned all the way up to her chin.

Towards the end of my employment, I had the unique opportunity to meet my favorite Christian artist, Keith Green. I volunteered to drive up to Woodland Hills on my own dime/time and after hours to deliver the article on him and his ministry (Last Days Ministries) to he and his wife Melody for their review prior to publication. To say that I was besides myself with excitement would have been an understatement!

I drove the two hours in the rain with barely contained excitement and joy which reached its’ apex when I walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. Moments later, it opened and I was greeted by Keith’s adopted daughter, Dawn (then about 13) and was asked to wait with her and his then toddler son, Josiah and newborn daughter, Bethany. I waited for hours for them to return only to finally have Keith walk in, take the article, sit down for 2 hours to pour over every word with Melody, get up, hand it back to me, saying “thanks for coming” and then finally plopping down on the couch in front of the television, unceremoniously dismissing me. I cried all the way home.

Fast forward 30 years, my old boss John is now President of the Gospel Music Association and was kind enough to respond to my email to their general email box. He still remembered me! He helped me out with contacting Amy Grant’s management agency so I could give her a copy of my book that was inspired by her song.

Amy Grant

This is the album which had the song that contained the verse that inspired The Victor… Being the gracious lady that she is, Amy was kind enough to autograph my copy (a genuine treasure). I also gave her a copy that I autographed to her telling her thank you for the inspiration! This coming March 2010 I will hopefully get to meet her in person after her concert and perhaps get a photo together.

Stephen Lawhead, my favorite author

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that I have all these people in my life and background. When I used to work for Contemporary Christian Music Magazine back in the early 80’s, Stephen was a contributing editor. I found his management’s address in New York at the back of one of his latest novels and wrote a letter to him and received a very nice, personal handwritten letter back, providing me with his home address in Oxford, England to send him a copy.

Of course, my writing doesn’t even come close to his level so I am honored and humbled at the thought that my favorite author, who is almost on the same level to me as J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis has my puny little book in his gifted hands!

Pastor Rick Warren of Saddleback Church

When I found out my daughter had a playdate with a girl who was the next door neighbor of one of the most prominent Pastors in the U.S., I figured it was another open door at which I could introduce my book. I wrote out a nice letter and together my daughter and her friend went next doork, rang the doorbell and put The Victor right into Pastor Warren’s hands. 

Hugh Hewitt, syndicated conservative radio talk show host   

Hugh Hewitt, a nationally known conservative talk show host, appeared today at my daughter’s high school to speak on careers in radio.  At the end of his presentation, my wonderful daughter, Karina, went boldly up to him to tell him all about mom’s book.  She called me with great excitement to tell me that Hugh signed the article about my book in the school newspaper for me and that he would order the book online. Wouldn’t it be great if he invited me on his show to discuss the book and how Jewish it is to believe in Jesus??? One can always dream…right?

Pastor Chuck Smith of Calvary Chapel

Back in June of 2008, while The Victor was still in the editing stage, I acted upon sudden inspiration and wrote a letter to Pastor Chuck Smith of Calvary Chapel to see if by some wild chance he might be willing to provide an endorsement of my book.  I explained who I was, how I found the Lord and how I got the idea for the story.  With his schedule and notoriety I really didn’t expect to get any kind of positive response (or any response at all for that matter) so I was incredibly surprised and honored that he wrote me back and send he was willing to take a look at it. I dropped off a printed copy, my hopes flying high but as ill-fate would have it, the deadline for the endorsement occurred the same week that Pastor Greg Laurie’s son died in a tragic car wreck. Even though Pastor Chuck could not provide an endorsement, I felt honored that he was at least willing to review it and kept his letter as a keepsake.  When The Victor finally was out in print, Pastor Chuck got his own “thank you” copy.

Tags: Arthur Blessitt, Chuck Smith, Hugh Hewitt, John Styll, Rick Warren, Stephen R. Lawhead

Michele Fritzler is the sister of my first love, Barry Henriot who died of a brain aneurysm when I was 22 and he was 25 back in 1982.  After his death I “adopted” his mom (Ruth) and father (Al) and had dinner with them every Sunday for a few years until Ruth and Al moved up to Oregon to be closer to their daughter, Michele,  in 1991. Barry and Michele’s dad, Al died in 1994.

Even though I have only seen Michele less than a hand full of few times, we have come to accept each other as “sisters” because of our mutual love for her family and especially Barry.  He has been gone for so long that there is barely anyone remaining in her life that ever knew him; making his existence in the past that much more unreal. It was with panic last December that I realized that I had lost her mom’s mailing address and phone number and was desperately hoping that I would get her annual Christmas card so I could tell her that my book was going to be published with a dedication in it to Barry that I had put in there more almost 30 years ago.

I fired off a letter to her the next day asking her to call me and that I had something important to tell them. To my relief I got to speak with Ruth on 12/15/08 and let her know that the story I had worked on for so many years was going to be published.  Ruth sounded like her old sweet self but much more frail.  I promised to send her a copy of the first book off the press as soon as I got it.  In early January 2009 I mailed a copy of The Victor to Ruth who was now living with Michele and a few weeks later I got an urgent email from Michele asking me to call because she had lost my phone number.  With dread I called and Michele told me the news which just broke my heart.  Ruth had died about a week earlier and my book had arrived on the day of her funeral.  I couldn’t help but burst into tears.  Ruth Henriot had been like a second mother to me and she had never gotten to see the book dedicated to her long gone son, Barry, who I had loved dearly.

Last August I got to see Michele for perhaps only the third time in my life but it was just like being with family.  We talked for hours and reminnisced.  Michele is the only member left of the Henriot family but like me, we hope to all be reunited again.  This story is my gift to her.

More Than a Memory

                The rain came down in heavy drops and in only moments, Michele’s hair and clothes were drenched.  Living in Oregon for years, she never carried an umbrella (only the tourists did) and put up with the constant rain like everyoe else.

                Now rivulets of cold rain water were beginning to run down inside her collar and drench her from the inside out. She needed to take cover.  To her right was a revolving door leading into a Starbucks and without a second thought she ducked in for a quick respite and a  white chocolate raspberry latte to warm her up.

                The site that greeted her eyes paralyzed and completely disoriented her.  She blinked, rubbed her eyes and shook her head, her mouth gaping as her surroundings refused to change back into reality.  Before her was the living room of her Huntington Beach home the way it looked when she had lived there with her brother, Barry.  Immediately tears sprang into her eyes with the familiar ache that clutched her heart.

                “Is that you Michele?” sang a voice from the kitchen.  The beloved voice sent a thrill through her heart and her voice caught in her throat. Had she fallen unconscious? Was she having a dream?   Having received no response, Ruth poked her head through the doorway. “Cat got your tongue?” she grinned at her dumbstruck daughter.

                Michele’s mouth moved but no sound would come out as she stared at the face of her dear mother who had passed away just under a year ago.  At that moment a figure walked up behind her and pinched her in the ribs, making her scream. She whirled around and standing there alive and as if he had never aged, was her brother Barry. 

                He grinned at her and gave her a bear hug but there was no feedback from the hearing aids he used to always wear.  He stepped back and pointed at his head with a lopsided grin. “I hear great now!”

                Michele’s eyes traveled hungrily up and down the length of him. Same wavy brown hair, twinkly eyes, mischievous grin, dimples and plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up as if 25 plus years had never passed.  The tears now spilled down her cheeks unabated and a sob of joy caught in her throat. With a look of understanding compassion on his face, Barry enfolded her into his arms and let her sob.  Michele could barely hear the familiar footsteps behind her on the floor and then her mom’s arms were about her.

                “Al, just don’t sit there watching the game, get in here!” Ruth yelled.  At that, Michele pulled back and turned around to see her father stride towards them, his arms held out wide. She flew into them, crying even harder.

                “There now,” soothed her mom in her wonderful accent. “Do you really want to spend your entire visit with us crying? You’re scaring Sonny!”

                “Meooooww!” agreed the gorgeous Himalayan cat, entering the room. This was all just too much!

                “I don’t understand!” was all Michele could manage, shaking uncontrollably.  Al, Ruth, Barry and even Sonny all stared at her in sympathy. “Am I dreaming or dead?”

                “Neither!” chorused all (except Sonny) in unison. “This is a gift, sis.” Explained Barry gesturing to the family dinner table laden with a Thanksgiving turkey and all the fixings. “The Lord thought you’d enjoy one more day and meal with us all together again.”

                Michele clutched at her heart. It was all too much to take in and yet she couldn’t deny it was what she had secretly longed for more often than she could say but there was still something missing.  A lot of “somethings”.  As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

                “I’ll get it!” cried Barry with a wink in his sister’s direction and bounded over to the door.  He opened it up to reveal Michele’s husband, Dave, and all their kids.

                “Uncle Barry!” they all shrieked, not the least bit shocked or bewildered.  Barry hugged and pounded Dave on the back with glee and hugged each of Michele’s kids in turn as if he had known them all his life.  They in turn hugged his neck with equal glee and then everyone circled around the table and grabbed each other’s hands.

                “Barry, would you lead us all in thanks to the Lord?” smiled Ruth, winking at Michele.

                “I was hoping you’d ask!” Barry grinned. At that everyone bowed their heads as Michele’s beloved brother led them all in a prayer of thanksgiving for a reunited family that was separated only by the very thinnest veil of eternity.

THE END

Tags: Barry Henriot, first love, Thanksgiving

Wendy Cohen is president of the Laguna Woods Messianic Jewish Club in South Orange County, California.  She is a teacher of scripture, a Biblical dramatist, accomplished musician and an author.  She studied theology at Hope International University and Drama at Brown University.  Her “Women of the Bible” dramatic presentations have been performed throughout the U.S., Mexico, Israel and specifically Bethlehem.  Her first book: “The King is Born” is filled with beautiful illustrations from well-known Israeli artist, Baruch Ma’ayan and portrays the story of Jesus’ birth as it might have been experienced in ancient Israel.  Although Wendy’s current ministry calls her to work in the U.S., most of her heart remains in and longs for Israel.  The Wish Fulfillment story below was written to encourage her in the ministry she has here and to remind her that she will eventually get there.

In the Land of Milk & Honey…

                Consciousness came slowly…lazily…gently.  The bird song somehow sounded different, the air heavier and sweeter.  Wendy opened her eyes slowly and beheld dappled sunlight filtering through a canopy of grape leaves, laden with heavy purple-black grapes.

                She turned her head to the side and looked about her “room”.  It was simple and yet beautiful. Pure white blankets glowing with the morning sunshine lay upon her. A wooden table, elegant in its simple beauty held a bowl of fresh fruit, and a pitcher of iced tea and a glass.

                With a sudden intake of breath, Wendy sat up and looked through the transparent walls of her sukkot booth.  In the distance were rolling hills of vineyards and orchards and to the other side in the distance, the lake of Galilee. She suddenly knew why the air felt heavier and sweeter…the presence of Yeshua.

                How had she come to be in this place; the land where her heart beat like a drum with joy and all her senses were awakened as if from a deep stupor? Yisrael. She stood slowly, hesitantly to her feet noticing at once her white linen frock, glowing as if it possessed a light of its own.  On her feet were hand crafted sandals.  The morning sun was rising higher and with it came a breeze smelling of roses, bay laurel and the fresh scent of the sea.

                She stepped outside her sukkot booth into a garden which surrounded it. It was humming with bees and fluttering butterflies, busy collecting nectar from the numerous blossoms. With pounding heart; afraid to wake up from what must surely be a dream, she slowly climbed the nearest hill, breathing deeply in and out as if each breath were nourishment. She stood and faced the holy city, Jerusalem and was stunned. It was not as she remembered it at all. The Dome of the Rock was gone and in its place stood a gleaming temple of gold and alabaster.  The filth of the Arabic section of the old city was gone, replaced by avenues of trees and streets that glistened like gold in the early light.

                “Do you like it?” spoke a familiar masculine voice. Wendy closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.  It was the voice of her beloved but it was not in her head but in her ears.

                “Yeshua…” she breathed, holding up her arms; tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks from underneath her closed eyes. She fell slowly to her knees. “Yeshua?”

                “There is a question in the saying of my name, beloved,” came the response. “You are wanting to know if you may stay here always?”         

          “Yes,” whispered Wendy, barely able to breath or speak.

          “My precious child,” responded the Master, gently enfolding her in His embrace. “There is no such thing as time where I am concerned; for I live outside of it…and you with Me. Where I am there you are also…and my eyes and heart of ever upon this place, so in a sense…you have never left Israel and it has never left you.  The body which you must inhabit within the human time domain is limited but not your heart or your soul. One day time will cease to exist and both body and soul will be reunited with Me in this place that remains the apple of my eye.  Can you endure until that “time” and do the work I have set before you?”

                “Lord, you know my heart and soul’s desire…I will always gladly serve you” replied Wendy.

                Yeshua smiled upon her and in the instant she beheld that smile she felt the sight, sounds, smells and “feel” of the land implanted indelibly upon her mind and heart.  From that moment on, wherever she placed her feet, Israel and Jerusalem went with her and before her.  A secret to enjoy between her and The Redeemer as well as the hope of the real reward yet to come.

                “Now, come…” Jesus said, holding out his warm brown hand to her.  “Let us enjoy this day together and converse to our heart’s content. What would you like to do first?”

THE END

Tags: Israel, Jerusalem, Sukkot

(Below is Henry’s bio written in his own hand)

SEPTEMBER 16, 1972 is a day that I will relive for the rest of my life. It happened at the Withlacoochee River in Florida, about two miles from my house. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon and I was 14 years old.

I had snuck away from the house on my bicycle when I was told I could not to go swimming that day. I met two of my friends on the way to the river as planned, where we had swam many times before. If only I had known what was going to happen that day, I would never have gone! When we got there there was a man, his wife, and their two daughters swimming.

We put our bicycles down, took our shirts and jeans off that we wore over our swimming trunks, and headed down to the river edge and dove in. The water was cool and the current was flowing as usual. We swam back to the river bank and got out of the water. We decided to climb a tree which leaned over the water. We had dove out of that tree many times in the past.

I was the first to climb the tree and dive into the water, followed by my friends. We all swam back to the bank and got out. We climbed the tree again but this time we did a canon ball, swam back, got out again. Then one of my friends asked the other if he wanted to dive off his shoulders. He said yes, so he squatted to let him get on his shoulders and then stood up so he could dive into the river. After he dove in he swam back and as he was getting out he slipped back into water because the bank was getting very slippery. I ran and did a cannon ball again off the bank and as I was getting out, I too noticed that it was not so easy. I slipped a few times before I was finally able to climb back up on the bank. The wet clay was sticking to my feet so I rubbed my feet on the ground and remove most of it. My friend asked if I wanted to dive off of his shoulders and I said, “Sure, why not”. So as he squatted down I climbed onto his shoulders and then he stood up so I could dive into the water.

Just as I was ready to dive, IT HAPPENED!! My right foot slipped off his shoulder and I fell straight down on top of my head and rolled off into the water. I knew immediately that something was wrong. First of all, there was a tingling sensation all over my body, as though a thousand needles were sticking me! Secondly, I could not move anything. I tried so hard, but nothing would move. I KNEW I WAS IN TROUBLE. My body was not responding no matter what I tried. I was in the fetal position (where your arms and knees are drawn up to your chest), floating face down in the water, drifting with the current. I could not see anything but the black water as the river towed me further and further away! You cannot imagine everything that was running through my mind all at the same time! But the main thing that I was thinking was, “I NEED TO BREATHE!” All of my thoughts changed from what was wrong with me to, “I am going to drown if I do not breathe NOW!!!” I could not hold my breath any longer (your body will take a breath whether you want to or not, IN or out of water). I knew that if took a breath my lungs would fill up with water, but I HAD TO BREATH!! I was so terrified by now because I just knew I was going to DIE!!

Just as my body forced me to take a breath, which would have been nothing but water, my friend grabbed me and turned me over. I was finally able to take a breath of air, which felt like I had waited an eternity for! My friend swam back, with me in tow, to where my other friend was waiting to help pull me out of river that had almost taken my life!!! The family that was there swimming took me to the nearest hospital where they said I was now a quadriplegic (you are paralyzed from the neck down and can not feel nothing) and would never walk AGAIN!! That was 37 years ago and I have lived longer than the doctors told me I would. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

God Bless. Henry

 A Gift for Henry…

                Henry awakened with a start, his heart pounding and looked around.  For a few seconds all he could do was to stare at the vista which greeted his eyes and then it hit him like a ton a bricks…he was sitting up for the first time by himself since the accident. He opened and shut his eyes slowly several times, the amazing view never changing and then slowly, as if he were afraid he would shatter and break like glass, he bent his neck down and looked at his lower half. Instead of thin, atrophied legs that ignored all of his mind’s commands, there were two tanned and muscular limbs.  Holding his breath…he did something he hadn’t been able to do in decades…he wiggled his toes.

                A shout of pure joy issued from his mouth, so loud it even scared himself. “YAHOOOOOO!” Then he did something else he hadn’t done in years…he pinched himself… as hard as he could, right above the hips in the “tickle spot” and practically doubled over with mixed joy and disbelief.

                “Vicki!” he shouted, wiggling and wiggling his toes more violently. “Will you look at this? Just look!” There was no answer.  It wasn’t until he found himself standing and then jumping up and down with glee that he really noticed and took stock of his surroundings. The sky was the deepest blue he had ever seen but there was no sun.  Instead an incredibly pure and blazing glow of light originated from everywhere.  In every direction he looked he saw the loveliest terrain he had ever laid eyes on.  Majestic mountains with craggy peaks (but no snow); fields of wildflowers broken only by gurgling brooks which fed into crystal clear lakes; wide open undulating plains of the greenest grass he had ever seen.  No buildings, no bugs (except butterflies), the most delicious smell of orange blossoms permeating the air and a hint of lilting music that seemed to come from everywhere.

                “VICKI!” he shouted again, frustrated that his wife was not there to share the experience with him and validate that it was all real.

                “She’ll join you later,” responded a deep and profoundly gentle voice. Henry whirled around and instantly fell onto his face upon recognizing who had spoken to him. “Henry, please rise,” said the man, lifting him gently onto his feet. “I want you to enjoy this time I have given you on your feet, not your face.”

                At His touch, a surge of strength flowed through Henry’s entire body that was electrifying. He felt like he could run all the way to China and back again and not even get winded.  Jesus smiled a crinkly smile at him and pointed off into the distance. Henry followed with his eyes and saw the most gorgeous tree he had ever laid eyes on.  It was indescribable but even from this distance he could tell it was laden with flowers and fruit; somehow he knew that this is where the lovely perfume was emanating from.

                Henry looked back into the face of His blessed Redeemer, his eyes filling with tears and his heart welling with emotion so strong he felt it would burst with joy.  Jesus laid his nail-pierced hand upon his shoulder and Henry felt a thrill pass through him. 

                “Run, Henry!” Jesus smiled broadly. “Run!”  Despite his desire to not leave his Savior’s side for even a moment, it had been as though the words were more of a command than a suggestion.  The next thing Henry knew his legs were pumping, his arms were flailing and he was racing like a cheetah through the fragrant grass towards what he knew was the Tree of Life, closing the distance faster than he dreamed could be possible.  As he ran, tears of joy flew back in the wind – and a howl of laughter and sheer joy erupted from his throat.  He was running. HE WAS RUNNING!!      

                He exulted in the sheer joy of feeling his once dead limbs alive and thriving again. Oh… if only the dream would never end…if only he would never have to wake up…but wait…he had pinched himself…and it had hurt. What was going on?  He came to a stop just before the tree, amazed that he wasn’t even breathing hard.  Maybe he wasn’t dreaming…maybe he was…

                “You’re not dead, Henry” whispered the voice of Jesus quietly in his ear as if The Master were standing just behind him.  “And you’re not asleep either.  This is my gift to you for now…unwrap it and take it out whenever you feel the need and know that one day soon, it will be yours to enjoy for eternity with all your loved ones who have trusted in Me.”

                Henry hung his head and wept, his shoulders heaving with gratitude. The Lord’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. “I have one more gift for you before you leave…if you’ll accept it…”

                “Lord,” sobbed Henry. “It is enough that you suffered, died and rose for me and have allowed me to live a life, though broken physically, that has been abundant for you. I will accept whatever gift you want to give me but what can I do in return for you?”

                “You have been giving me the best gift for many years, Henry…You.” Replied Jesus, and suddenly Henry turned around to find Jesus standing before him again only he wasn’t dressed in his “typical” biblical clothes but hip-waders and carrying two fishing rods. “I once told Peter, Andrew, James and John that I would make them fishers of men,” he continued with a broad smile that lit up everything about Him. “But today I think that you and I will just go fish for trout in that stream over there. I can guarantee a good catch but as for you …well today you’ll have to clean and fry them up. Deal?”

                Henry’s mouth just hung open and then he bellowed with laughter. “Deal!” he exclaimed.

THE END

Tags: fishing, heaven, Running