You Be The Judge

The day dawned in shadows, with a chilling bite, but the air sizzled with anticipation.

An exhilarated populace began gathering on the streets outside the Federal Hall building. Excitement rippled through the crowd, as both, the passion and the history of the moment was felt by all. Numbering over 10,000, they came from different nationalities, cultures, religious beliefs, economies and walks of life. But even with the many differences, there was unity. They were freedom fighters–war-weary and battle-scarred, bloodied—but unbowed. Their cities had been leveled, their homes had been burnt, their families defiled and murdered. They had fought the greatest nation in the world; a nation so strong and vast that it was said “the sun never set” on its empire – and they had been triumphant.

It was April 30, 1789 and they were revolutionaries and founders of a new experiment in government.

Great Britain was the most powerful nation on the face of the globe, having colonized the majority of the known world. She had the mightiest of armies and strongest of navies with which to defend, expand and enforce her influence.

The Colonies were not united, and argued and bickered among themselves. They were independent and separate from one another. They had no army, no navy, no defenses and no organization. Only some scattered, independent and largely ineffective militias calling themselves ‘soldiers’. They were economically weak from over taxation, and were not in agreement as to independence and breaking free of Great Britain. They haggled constantly, debated everything and only reluctantly reached agreements. They withheld monies, muskets and men to support the revolution and resisted attempts as unified leadership. During the long struggle, many ‘Tories’ gave supplies, support and information to the enemy. Many more, just plain weren’t interested, being too busy with their own struggles to survive or too afraid or just too apathetic to the cause.

George Washington was chosen, amongst bickering and dissent, to be the Commander-in-Chief of the Colonies forces—a collection of rag-tied, farmers and merchants carrying squirrel muskets and tomahawks, going up against the best equipped, battle-hardened soldiers in the world, solidly entrenched in well positioned and defended forts and harbors. Greatly outnumbered, and his ‘army’ lacking discipline, organization, logistics and equipment, those who didn’t undermine him, thought him a fool even to attempt to command such a rabble. Under any wisps of wisdom and or thoughts of knowledge, the revolution should have failed miserably.

But, George Washington was a godly man, believing in the power and providence of God.  The images of the general kneeling in the snow-covered woods of Valley Forge to pray were real. He believed in Divine intervention and in Divine providence, and his men often found him on his knees, praying. He believed God would lead them to victory, and he relied upon the Almighty and on his strong belief in Divine Guidance.

From such a foundation, he led his army, overcoming shortages of supplies, men, and weapons. Outmanned, out maneuvered, out gunned; lacking experienced fighting men and leaders; fighting internal politics and traitors; he forged an army of dedicated, competent freedom-fighters and made those around him believe they could win. He made no apologies for his army—his strategies—or his reliance on prayer and the Almighty.

And he would not fail.

After enduring many setbacks and reversals, he led this army of farmers and merchants to victory, defeating the strongest military power in the world—and thereby establishing the roots and beginnings of a new nation that was to become the greatest nation the world had ever seen.

Now, in 1789, after months of work, debate and argument, a constitution had been written and a president had been unanimously elected as the leader of the emerging nation.

The people gathered now, on this cool April day, to witness their dream be born.

A tall, distinguished-looking, solemn man walked onto the second floor balcony. He wore a modest, broadcloth suit with tails, high silk stockings; silver shoe buckles and carried a ceremonial sword girded about him. Placing his hand on the open Bible from St. John’s Masonic Lodge #1, he gave his oath to “…preserve and protect…” the new nation and amid thunderous applause, booming gun salvos and ringing church bells—George Washington became the first President of the United States of America.

Following the oath, the new President bent his 6’3” frame, kissed the Bible, waved to the crowds and went down to the first floor of the Senate Chambers, to deliver his inaugural address.  Observers noted that he fidgeted, was uneasy, and looked as though he would prefer to be back in Valley Forge in the winter of ‘77 rather than making this address. Senator William Maclay of Pennsylvania observed that the new president trembled when he faced the assembled representatives and senators. “This great man was agitated and embarrassed,” Maclay added, “more than ever he was by the leveled Cannon or pointed Musket.”

Of course, the President’s inauguration took place in the nation’s capital.

Fast forward to September 11, 2001.

Yes, to that fateful day in America’s history when America was attacked and our ‘wall’ was breached. Everyone knows what happened, and the pictures of the World Trade Towers collapsing and of a commercial jetliner imploding into the Pentagon are forever burned in our consciousness and memories. We know the story of Flight 93, headed on a mission of death to slam the Capital Building or the White House, only to be permanently detoured off course by those having the courage and bravery consistent with that of the founding fathers.

On that terrible September morning, a small church in New York City, St. Paul’s Chapel stood in the very shadow of the World Trade Center towers. When the towers collapsed, with those massive waves of devastation, spewing thousands of tons of steel, cement and stone, transformed into shrapnel, they destroyed everything, large and small, new and old, strong and robust, within blocks of Manhattan—and the small church was doomed and would certainly be demolished.

After long minutes, as the debris began to settle and the smoke from the ruins swirled upwards into the heavens like unholy incense, from out of the haze and thick clouds of dust—a steeple materialized. St Paul’s Chapel, covered in layers of ash, paper, stone and debris, stood undamaged—the only building so.

People were in disbelief. Some called it a miracle; some called it a coincidence; no one could explain it.  It was a complete impossibility for the 235 year old, stone church to have survived—without so much as a crack, a fallen stone or a shingle from off its roof. Some theorized the Sycamore tree in the line of fire, intercepted an ‘I-beam’ aimed directly at the small chapel, and was uprooted to fall and cover the chapel, deflecting the falling debris around it. A tree? A coincidence? A miracle?

Built, in 1766, on a field outside of the city proper, the Georgian-Revival style building was a satellite of St. Trinity’s church, located inside the city. It was built to provide a place of worship for persons living some distance away from the main parish church.

That field is Ground Zero and despite standing directly across from the World Trade Center site, the little stone chapel, not only survived the attacks, but was undamaged!

It became a rallying place of refuge and hope for the people. It provided a staging area for the rescue workers, giving comfort, rest and relief to the hundreds of volunteers, firefighters, police, and recovery workers. Volunteers manned the chapel, providing clothing, food and rest for the workers long shifts, mending torn hands and feet as the search continued searching and clearing the massive rubble for survivors and victims. It became a temporary headquarters and served up spiritual as well as physical comfort. A podiatry station was established, with medical personnel and volunteers offering massages and care of bloody and bruised feet. The pews were filled with exhausted workers sprawled everywhere, needing sleep and rest. It offered support and love to a shattered city, during its worst nightmare. Many called out to the Almighty there, seeking answers to their many questions and comfort to their fears and anguish.

Above the altar, the Hebrew Tetragrammatons’ is engraved:  “YHWH”—Jehovah.

The outside of the chapel became a magnet for survivors and family members, as they attached hundreds and hundreds of photos of missing persons and messages of love and hope on the fence of the church. Numerous funerals, for the fallen, were held in the church, and people sought solace and understanding in their grief. The little stone chapel stood as a beacon of hope and faith—in the midst of chaos and catastrophe and today it stills stands as a memorial to that infamous day of awakening in America.

But, is that all to the story? A miracle or coincidence of a small stone chapel surviving the breaching of America’s ‘wall’?

On April 30, 1789, George Washington, the founding father of America, was sworn in as the first president of the United States, in the capital city of the new nation.

In Washington, DC?

No, this was 1789, and there wasn’t any Washington, DC yet.

The Nation’s first chief executive took his oath of office on the balcony of the Senate Chamber inside of Federal Hall on Wall Street, in New York City.

He then gave his inaugural address before a joint session of the 1st United States Congress assembled on the 1^st floor of the Senate Chamber.

After concluding his remarks, a day of prayer for the new nation was declared, and the President, along with the Vice President, the 1^st Congressional Representatives and members and local political leaders, walked through the cheering crowds, lining Broadway Street, to a small chapel, where they prayed and thanked the Almighty for delivering and establishing their new nation. There, the first act of the new government was to pray for the future of America.

The ground is consecrated ground and the small stone chapel was—St. Paul’s Chapel.

Yes, the same St. Paul’s Chapel that withstood the onslaught of attack and was a beacon of hope to America. The very same ground that was consecrated at the founding of our nation—where the founding fathers prayed for Devine guidance and blessings—where George Washington knelt in prayer and supplication to the Almighty for the future of America—is the same ground that was attacked when the ‘walls’ were breached, 212 years later.

And the consecrated ground was spared.

A fluke? A coincidence? A miracle?

Or something more—a warning?  From the Almighty to a sleeping America?

During the brief time that New York served as the nation’s capital, George Washington continued to worship there, attending services until the capital was moved to Philadelphia in 1790. Over the next 170 years, numerous presidents and leaders of America visited St. Paul’s and added their prayers to the litany of America’s blessings.

We have enjoyed the many blessings and great bounty of this land—but have we lost sight of our founding fathers faith? Is there a much deeper message in the little stone chapel that we’re failing to see and receive?

I can’t answer; I’m only a mere inconsequential man sitting at a keyboard, but let our Founding Father, President George Washington, answer—from Ground Zero—212 years before it became Ground Zero:

“…it would be peculiarly improper to omit in this first official act my fervent supplications to that Almighty Being who rules over the universe…that His benediction may consecrate the liberties and happiness of the people of the United States… “

“…No people can be bound to acknowledge and adore the Invisible Hand which conducts the affairs of men more than those of the United States. Every step by which they have advanced to the character of an independent nation seems to have been distinguished by some token of providential agency…”

“…You will join with me… to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of Heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which Heaven itself has ordained… “

– President George Washington

First Inaugural Address—April 30, 1789

You be the judge.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

The Niagara River – a Wonder of Creation

Is there anyone in the world – who hasn’t heard of Niagara Falls?

Well – I’m sure there is, in the deepest jungles of Africa and Brazil, and on the remote steppes of Mongolia and the grassy plains of the Yellow River – and on various desert islands across the oceans – there can be found lonely people wandering about who have never heard of Niagara Falls.

But, everyone else walking on the face of the planet, has heard that somewhere, within North America, there exists a magnificent waterfall, called Niagara.  In fact, millions upon millions have seen it, standing in awe at its immense power and majesty.

No – they’re not the tallest or even the most beautiful waterfalls in the world, (actually, there are about 500 waterfalls in the world that are taller than Niagara (Angel Falls in Venezuela is the tallest, at 3,212 feet), but most have little water flowing over them)…

Iguazu Falls – Brazil

…but they are the most known and visited. The combination of height and volume separates Niagara from all the others and makes them the spectacular wonder that they are.

Over 28 million people visit Niagara’s waterfalls each year. Since 1825, the world’s leading statesmen, monarchs, authors, painters, scientists, politicians, celebrities, business leaders and people from all walks, colors and languages have journeyed to stand in awe of the majestic falls and hear them roar their song of glory.

The Niagara River and Niagara Falls have been known outside of North America since the late 17th century, when Father Louis Hennepin, a French priest, at the request of King Louis XIV, accompanied the explorer La Salle, and first witnessed them in 1679. He wrote about his travels in ‘A New Discovery’ of a Vast Country in America (1688). While his painting of the Falls contained some exaggerations and distortions, it was widely circulated in Europe and became the icon of the “new world”.

But, what are the Falls and from where do they draw their strength?

Let’s take a journey down the Niagara River.

‘Journeys Across Niagara’

When a faded picture from a by-gone era sets in motion a perilous quest…

…five young men not only encounter harrowing danger in the forbidden Niagara Gorge, but must confront the swirling illusions of the world they knew – changing their lives forever.

The day we decided to go down into the gorge of Niagara Falls—to walk on the ice bridge—had started out normal enough but quickly showed itself as anything but normal …

Living in the City of Niagara Falls in the early 1960s, winters were simple for teenagers – like snowball fights and warm-ups at “Ol’ Gordy’s” general store, and arguing over his “wall of pictures.” It’s a ritual—sipping Cokes while studying the old photographs … listening to Ol’ Gordy’s tales..and dreaming about the daredevils of old.

Then, on a frigid February morning, all that changed. An ice ball to Kevin’s face, and a funny looking picture, snatched from Ol’ Gordy’s wall, sets in motion a journey from which they will never recover. Despite Ol’ Gordy’s warnings (or perhaps because of them) that, not only is it extremely dangerous, but against the law, they secretly vow to venture forth and walk on – the ice-bridge of Niagara Falls.

The ice-bridge of Niagara Falls – an aberration of nature—steeped in history – fraught with tragedy – challenged through the ages, by daredevils, bootleggers and tourists alike – lures them from the world they know into the depths of the mysterious Niagara Gorge. As in a time machine, they enter an exhilarating bygone world of impassable rapids, massive frozen sculptors and unassailable walls of ice.

Coming face-to-face with the mighty Falls itself, from the bottom looking up, as it proclaims its dominion over them, they find themselves in a struggle of life and death with a Niagara they never knew existed.

Peeling back time, along the way we encounter others, who had made their own journeys across Niagara in eras gone by. We’re there when the ‘Hermit of Niagara’, living on top of the mighty Falls itself, finds his destiny in becoming one with the water. Years later, we stand in awe on the day Niagara stood still and explore a riverbed never before walked on by man – until the water returns – sealing the mystery of the flute.

We follow the journey of the feather, and witness slavery through the eyes of a runaway slave girl, as she rides the ‘Underground Railroad’ - seeking to find the bridge to freedom and paying the fare to ride that train.

We march to the beat of the drum and the chant of the the tom-tom, as nations clash and cultures collide when the journey of a British drummer boy converges with that of a young Iroquois brave at the brutal and bloody “Devil’s Hole” massacre.

‘Journeys across Niagara’ (previously titled: ‘Bridges -a Tale of Niagara’ and recipiant of the Readers Favorite 2011 Silver medal for General Fiction YA), is much more than a simple tale of camaraderie and adventure shared by young men. It a  tale that is rich in both historical fact and fiction, weaving a series of unique historical events, in a twist of mystery and revelation, with a group of 1962 teens, caught up in the complexities of a changing world around them. While each struggles with his own inner demons and angels – together they face the demons and angels of the Niagara Gorge.

It is my hope that you enjoy the journeys, and that you hear the crack of the ice, while feeling the tremor beneath your feet travel up your loins, knowing the mighty Niagara is reaching to claim you as well. ‘Journeys’ is a kaleidoscope of adventure and history, exploring the questions confronting people of all ages and from all times.

The earth is forever, and we’re just visitors—and only for a short time at that. By the time we begin to understand enough about the world to ask the right questions, our visit is over, and someone else is asking the same questions.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

Research – the Writer’s Mantra

As the saying goes “the devil’s in the details”.

When, writers of historical fiction, put words to paper, they bear the responsibility to transpose their readers to the time period their story relates to. This doesn’t mean telling them it’s 1776 – it means transporting them to 1776, making them feel it, live it, and be a part of it – having them jump up and march along with the fyfe and drum.

If only done on the macro level, the characters are superficial and transparent. The reader doesn’t feel authenticity and sees through the ruse. To lift the characters off the pages and bring them into the minds and hearts of the reader, the writer must work on the micro level—down in the trenches – with the details. And, here he must tread carefully, for it can easily be overdone. Too many details are overpowering and will bog a story down quicker than a hippo wallowing in molasses. Inserting a few carefully selected details, in a natural way, so as not recognizable as being inserted, will unconsciously, allow the reader to live them.  This is where the writer’s art comes in to play, weaving the facts and substance of the era into the spirit and essence of the story, putting the reader into the story’s setting as witness to the action.

For every word of detail the writer puts to paper, a hundred words were researched, reviewed and revised. Each sentence represents hours of background investigation, study and learning about the times, people, environment and cultures of the era.

If a writer’s passion is the blood flowing through his veins – then research is the muscle that forms his flesh.

During the writing of ‘Journeys across Niagara’ (formerly ‘Bridges – a Tale of Niagara’),  I traveled down many roads of research. Not so much for the main story line of Kevin and his friends living in Niagara Falls during the ‘60s, (having lived that era myself – I was my own research), but for the historical stories embedded in the novel. Encompassing four actual events, covering over 200 years of history in the Niagara Region, and crossing lines of culture, nations and habitat, each story required separate journeys of research and investigation. The stories are separated by many decades, in a rapidly developing part of the New World, undergoing major political, societal and cultural change. The world of the English drummer boy and the Iroquois brave in 1763 was a different world from the world of slavery and abolition found in Lizzie’s story of 1859. Conversely, The Hermit of Niagara lived on top of Niagara Falls in 1831, while the only instance of Niagara Falls stopping was in 1848, a mere 17 years apart, yet significant changes had occurred in the Niagara Frontier, due to the advent of the Erie Canal and the introduction of the railroads along with a spreading population, radically affecting the culture of the people. (See “Was there a Hermit of Niagara?” post on the right hand side.)

Research is the mantra of the historical fiction writer. It is hard work and takes considerable time but it’s as crucial to success as the reentry heat shields are to the space shuttle. I often wonder how earlier writers researched their subjects and eras. (hmm, could be a story there in the making.)

“To where do we go?” the writers asked. They went to the libraries and to building personal acquisitions of books and writings. Yes, long, hard, tedious work, not to mention, costly but worth the effort and cost.

Today, all that’s changed, writers have the advantage of the internet. Call up any subject or key word and information is immediately at your fingertips. Images, words, histories, background, essays and opinions—lots of opinions. This is a huge advantage for the modern writer, but I also see a snare lying in wait for us. As wide and as deep as the internet is, it only coughs up what someone has put in it. And those things are repeated – over and over. The internet fools us into thinking we can click on any subject and then, magically and instantly, we are ‘well informed’ and ‘all knowing’ about that subject. It has the potential to ‘Wikipedia’ an entire population, on a global scale, with a ‘one-click’ mentality, regarding any particular subject.

That’s one scary thought! The same, singular knowledge and information is put out and repeated to all who punch in a keyword or subject and most inquiries stop at that level. Much of this information has already been filtered and is steeped in ‘opinions’, before we ‘surf’ through it, filtering and discarding along the way. We, too easily, fail to genuinely dive into the heart of the matter, as true research demands. With enough repetitions and enough people reading the same things without rebuttal and opposing views and insights, we begin forming a global community of keyboard punchers who think along the same lines. And we then put our faith in it – “I read it on the internet, so it must be true.”   There is a great risk of an unconscious ‘dumbing down’ of the entire world concerning any given subject of history – like-minded regurgitating with like-minded. Understandings about people and events can easily become condensed down to a singular ‘common’ or ‘general’ opinion, and we all know, there is nothing ‘common’ or ‘general’ concerning people. People are unique, diverse and always at emotional states with one another, whether loving or hating one another. And history is nothing more than a reflection of those people and those emotions. And make no mistake about it, we must fully understand and know all the details of history or the past will overtake the future.

Think for a second, what power true censorship would have over this medium. The world’s understanding of history would be revised and reshaped to conform to the political or social designs of those doing the censoring. This isn’t fantasy or paranoia talk, for we know all too well that such things have happened down through history by governments, religions and organizations burning, rewriting and revising history for their own purposes and agendas. It’s not inconceivable or preposterous to think it could happen with the internet and we mustn’t be complacent– for there are governments, around the globe, imposing censorship and monitoring the internet as I write.

True research goes beyond the internet and dives into the heart, fiber and cellular DNA of the matter. We, as writers, owe it to our readers and to those who went before us, to embrace research with both arms wide open, welcoming the joy of bringing history to life.

“To where do we go?” the writers ask. We go to the libraries and to building personal acquisitions of books and writings.  Yes, long, hard, tedious work, not to mention costly but worth the effort and cost.

Gee – I guess not all that much has changed after all.

Until Next Time:

 Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

The Journey of ‘Journeys Across Niagara’

The year was 1976, America was relishing in its Bicentennial anniversary of independence, and I found myself in a musty antique shop, browsing among the discarded treasures of generations gone by. There, in a small offshoot room, hanging on a crowded wall, suspended amongst pictures, tapestries, murals, and rick-rack, I spied an old picture. It was a Stereoview, taken around 1890 by the famous George Barker. Stereoviews were the rage around the turn of the century, consisting of two almost similar views of the same thing, mounted side-by-side, in one frame. When fitted into a special, wooden viewer and held up to your eyes, it created a single picture with a stereo effect to it. The picture on the wall was of the ice bridge of Niagara Falls.

It fascinated me, both with the idea of the mighty Falls frozen completely over and hundreds of those old-time people walking around on it, and because it brought back memories of seeing a similar ice bridge myself when I was a kid, growing up in Western New York, in the ‘60’s.

Niagara Falls! The water—the roar—the mist—the smell—the power—the mystery. Niagara is a mystic enchantment that pulls people into its swirling mists and absorbs them into its magic. Niagara is a gift to man, declaring the glory of creation and thereby the surety of a Creator. Surrounded by history and steeped in lore of fascinating legends and people, it’s not only the Falls, but the rivers—the gorge—the mighty lakes, all splendid, magnificent and oozing with life. Take a walk through the Niagara Gorge (but please, not in the winter like my ‘boys’ did) and I guarantee you’ll come out a different person than when you went in. You’ll meet God in the Gorge (See post titled:  “Come Walk with Me”  at right.)

And then—the 60’s. It’s strange for me to think of the 60’s as nostalgia, but in fact they are. The 60’s were special years, creating a decade, unique and stand alone in our history.  In 1961, the world feared atomic war and we built backyard bomb shelters and we had ‘A’ bomb drills hiding under school desks, while spewing the illusion of being at peace with ourselves and the world. We felt ‘everything had been done and invented’ and there was nothing left for us to do. Meanwhile, the decade was on the verge of being the most dynamic, world-changing decade history had ever seen. Communications, civil rights, technology, economics, drugs, assassinations, space travel, society values and wars all around the globe, exploded literally overnight, turning America, and the world, upside down. The 60’s came in with the ‘Twist’ and bobby socks and left with us with VietNam and a man on the moon, leaving us in shock and yearning for those years when we wore bomber hats, drank hot chocolate and our only wars were snowball fights.

How much more inspiration would one need? A combination of a forbidden Niagara few people know about, coupled with the decade of the best and worse times in America. The ‘picture’ itself brought all this into focus for me, and I started writing.

I wanted to write about people who felt their life was unimportant, and didn’t know where they fit in. A decade when America was at its prime and at its worse, when young people thought everything had been done and there was nothing left for them to do, yet, aside from the Revolutionary War era itself, was the most revolutionary decade in American history.

Meanwhile, it’s no different from any other time, with people having the same needs, fears, joys and sorrows across the generations. All are ‘journeys’, traveling the same road, only in different times.

That was 1976 and I wrote 12 typewritten pages, put it aside and continued my own ‘journey’.

Fast forward 32 years and now it’s September 2008. I had just endured a personal loss and as a result was forced to sort out files of old papers. Buried among bill receipts, technical reports, letters and various doodlings, I came across 12 typewritten pages. They were yellowed, stained and crinkled when I held them. As I read them, I immediately grabbed a pen and began editing them. 350 pages later, ‘Bridges – a Tale of Niagara’ was conceived and a year later gave birth to ‘Journeys Across Niagara’.  I give this child to you, with my wish that you enjoy reading it as much as I have in writing it.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

—-Dk Levick

The Color of Christmas

Being the old man that I am, when I think of Christmas, I get a visual of Bing Crosby singing “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas”.

Remember the ‘white’ Christmases?  I do.

They were good. They were warm. They were about people – loving – giving and appreciating people.  They were when the first snowfall was a thing of joy and happiness.  When people sang songs to one another on the street corners, in the stores and in their homes. When the giver meant more than the gift.

I watched the news this weekend and all I heard about was something called ‘black Friday’.  What’s a ‘ black’ Friday? And where did Thanksgiving go?  In early September, I seen lots of candy and costumes in the stores for a celebration of the darkside – Halloween.  By mid-September, this was backed up by decorations and sales for Christmas.  Did I miss something?  Halloween still wasn’t here – and where did Thanksgiving go?

When Halloween finally receded into history (on November 1st – didn’t take long), then it was all about something called ‘black Friday’.  Seems like Thanksgiving had moved from Thursday to Friday and had taken on a color – and from the results on the news broadcast – a not so very nice color. Pictures of mobs pushing, shoving and wrestling with one another over ‘things’. Fights. Children getting hit by adults. Shoppers getting pepper sprayed by other shoppers or police trying to control the mobs.  People dropping dead in the store and shoppers stepping on and over them. All for a piece of plastic or an electronic circuit board.  Where did Thanksgiving go?

I heard little about Thanksgiving.  When I did, it was about eating – parades and football.  Lots of the ‘giving’ and ‘taking’ part – little of the ‘Thanks’ part. Talk around Thanksgiving tables centered around the ‘game plan’ for this thing called ‘black’ Friday.  Many even totally erased any symbolise of Thanksgiving and bypassed it completely by pitching tents and camping out for the entire day in a line at their chosen ‘black’ Friday staging area.

Well, now this ‘black’ Friday has come and gone.  But has it?  Everytime the TV is turned on, they’re taking about ‘black’ Friday sales – on Saturday – Sunday – Monday – and onward right up to Christmas.  In fact, I seen a commercial talking about ‘post-Christmas’ sale.

It appears the color of Christmas has changed.  ’Black’ Friday is no longer a day – but is now the official kick off of ‘black’ December. It seems to me, what used to be a happy time of Thanks and Joy has merged together into a dark time of greed, anger, resentfulness, rudeness, stress and unhappiness.  No one sings on the corners or to their neighbors, but the airways are saturated with the commercial songs for days on end, without let up until they have no meaning and we’re only happy when they’ve stopped. Christmas has evolved into gifts; the biggest, the best, the coveted, the ‘what will so and so get me so that I can get something equal for so and so? Trees and lights and yards that compete one against another. And again I ask – where did Thanksgiving go?

I wonder what God thinks about all this. I wonder if this is what He had in mind. I’m not trying to say I know – I don’t. But I wonder all the same.

No matter what God thinks – I don’t think it’s what most people think it should be. I think everyone wants to have a Merry and happy Christmas – and that’s why there’s so many nostalgic and sentimental Christmas movies and stories flooding the markets and airways.  Some do have that and that is good.  But most, dream about having it and then merge into the chaotic streams jamming the roads and stores of ‘black’ December.  I know, many will say ‘Christmas and Thanksgiving’ are in the heart and I’m being wrong for judging others.  Yes, I agree – Christmas and Thanksgiving are in the hearts, and what’s in the hearts is reflected outward. And yes, I’m judging, but I think we each need to judge what is being reflected outward – don’t you?

“I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” is no longer just a song – but is a cry going up from the earth – from a world that dreams it but doesn’t know how to find it.  I think it would be nice to close all the stores on ‘black’ Friday and see if we can have a ‘white’ Christmas again.

How we miss Bing.

Stepping out of the Boat

“Come” He Said.

With those words, Peter climbed over the side of a boat, tossing and turning in rough seas, and walked on water!

A fascinating story.  Here – let’s read it together:

 ²² Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. ²³ After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, ²⁴ and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.

 ²⁵ Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. ²⁶ When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.

 ²⁷ But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

 ²⁸ “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

   ²⁹ “Come,” he said. 

   Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

 ³¹ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said,“why did you doubt?”  

Matthew 14:22 (NIV)

It was a new beginning for Peter.

Peter was a fisherman. Uneducated, rough – living a hard life in a hard country at a hard time. His life changed and he became one of the most honored men in Christian (world?) history.  Why? Because he dared to step out of the boat – to take a step that defied logic – nature and life itself.

True – he faltered and began sinking, but with the help of his Lord – he survived. The point is – he took the step. The others didn’t – they remained inside the boat not having the strength or faith to step out. They seen Jesus and thought he was a ghost. Peter seen Jesus and said “me too!”

In today’s world of the shifting paradigm within the publishing and writing world – Indie authors are Peters.  They’re stepping out of the boat – they’re walking on water!

The publishing world is sitting in the boat saying it’s not possible – you can’t do that – you’ll sink and perish!  Then when they see it happening, they say “It’s not real! It’s a ghost – an apparition – a mirage.” And they tremble with fear.

Hello all my fellow Indie authors!  ”Come on, don’t be afraid.”  Let’s step out of the boat.  ”Ya wanna walk on water?”  Fun, huh?

.

Check out my latest short story on Smashwords and Amazon:

“The Man in the Painting”

What is peace? and from where does it come?

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

dk Levick