Every life is precious. Every human is created in the image of God, unique and cannot be replaced, but everyone will die. I’m going to die, and every hour brings me closer to that day.

You’re going to die, too. How does that make you feel to read that? Have you thought about it? Have you considered what comes after death? The encouraging slogans of our current crisis tell us that We’re All in This Together – and I’m grateful for the sense of community that’s resulted, but the truth is that your friends can only go so far with you in suffering. None of them can go through death with you. Only one passed through death, defeated it, and came back victorious. That’s Jesus Christ.

Executed in front of a crowd, then buried in a tomb guarded by the military, and yet he came out of that tomb to walk around, eat with friends, and speak to hundreds of witnesses. He said that if we’d follow him, we wouldn’t be alone when that time comes. And it is coming. We don’t deny the danger out there. We don’t take unnecessary risks. But we face the certainty of death with the power of Christ and his resurrection.

We pray that God will spare our lives, our jobs, our nation, but through it all we have peace, courage, hope… even joy.

Memento Mori. You will die, but today you have life. What will you do with it?

The post Thoughts on COVID-19 appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

From the river, the view was perfect, and the first few days of our stay it was quiet and peaceful. Things changed on the weekend when a carnival came to town and set-up in the public grounds behind us. The carnival music did drown out the birdsong, but it was still a lovely view.

Another product of the weekend was more tourists. The shops got busier and so did the river. While we sat on the park bench talking and looking at the church, tour boats would go by, filled with phones & cameras poised to capture the perfect shot.

And they kept aiming at us. At first, we waved and laughed, thinking that they were being funny, but then we realized that they were unaware of the spectacular scene on the other bank. Half the people in a tour boat were floating down the River Avon, and instead of looking to their right at the gorgeous, historic church, they were snapping pictures of two middle-aged Americans on their left.

What in the world? Coy gestured to get them to turn around, but few did. We didn’t understand. What was so interesting about us?

Of course, it wasn’t us, it was behind us. The carnival. The flashing lights and the loud music were very effective in drawing the attention away from the eight-centuries-old church sitting in quiet dignity. Could they really find a temporary diversion that would be dismantled and packed away by Monday more interesting than a church that had weathered the better part of a millennium? Tragic.

But more than likely, the choice was made without thought. The urgency of barker’s call kept them distracted just long enough that the opening in the trees was passed, and they missed a glimpse of sublime beauty. Maybe the carnival was the picture they wanted, but I can’t help but pity those who looked back too late at the steeple rising above the trees and wondered at what they missed.

The post On the Banks of the River Avon appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

I’m currently editing a novella collection about three brothers, but it’s on a much smaller scale. The stories are all set in the same town and share a lot of the same characters, but a different author is writing each individual brother’s story.

A project like this takes planning. Before these ladies started writing, they set down names, places, and characters. Together they matched the stories of these brothers so that they made sure that what was said in one story lined up with the next story. They each know what had happened to the youngest brother when he was in high school. They each know how the middle brother got hurt and why the oldest brother had to come home.

These women are all Americans living in 2016. They all speak English and have studied writing at the same conferences in the same industry. They’ve collaborated on the project since the beginning. Seems like it’d be pretty easy for them to get their story straight, right?

Think again.

When the three stories came in, as good as they were, there were inconsistencies throughout. Things that had been decided at the onset had been altered slightly, but minor changes over three stories meant mistakes. And while character names and their histories were agreed on, often the characters were unrecognizable across the different submissions. Someone who was somber and introspective in one story was playful and outgoing in the next.

Having taken part in a continuity collection myself, I know these issues aren’t unique to these wonderful authors.  They are merely details that have to be ironed out, which happens with every work. Nothing unusual about mistakes. In fact, it’s expected.

Just imagine, however, if the authors hadn’t talked before they wrote their stories, and yet all the stories matched up? That would be unusual. And can you imagine if forty-some authors wrote a collection of books over a span of fifteen-hundred years – authors who had never met, authors who lived under different governments, different nations, and who spoke different languages – and their stories told a consistent story?

That would be a miracle.

That would be our Bible.

I’ve always heard the facts about this holy compilation – about how God inspired men from various backgrounds and various occupations to pen His story. It wasn’t until I collaborated with other authors that I realized how challenging it is to “get our stories straight.” It wasn’t until I edited a collection, that I realized how many different ways there are to get it wrong.

The only way the Bible came to be, amid all the obstacles, is that in a greater sense the Book was not really written by men after all.  Indeed, as 2 Peter 1:21 says, “For no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.”  

Sometimes we think that if we only had a word from God, we would know what to do. But we do have it. The Word of God is in our homes, on our phones, and hopefully in our hearts.

The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead (Romans 8:11) is the same Spirit that ultimately authored Scripture. There really is no other explanation for the coherency of the work. And if a God that powerful has set down a message for you, how will you respond?

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” – John 6:68

The post Continuity Issues appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

To read more about the project and enter for a chance to win the fresh evergreen wreath which represents the gift of eternal life, click here.

To find your way to the other four blog posts and enter each of the five Christmas Chronicles individual giveaways, read on! We have a list for you at the bottom of this post.

A Letter from Abigail Calhoun

A Most Inconvenient Marriage

Hart County, Missouri 1865

Dear Romeo,

You’re dead. I thought I’d mention the fact in case you’d forgotten. And while I’m not in the habit of writing to dead people, I’ve decided to make an exception for my dearly departed husband.

You were so many things to me—the one who banished my dread of the sick ward, the one who sent me here to Missouri, the one who gave me this challenging job—that I forget who you weren’t. You weren’t my husband really—only in name. You weren’t even Romeo, but the name Jeremiah doesn’t fit you either, so I’ll keep Romeo if you don’t mind.

How I wish you had been here to make the introductions to your family, but if you’d survived then our arrangement would’ve been unnecessary in the first place. Your mother is well and missing you terribly. I’d like to say the same for your sister, but you’d immediately recognize it for a falsehood. Seems there was much you forgot to mention when discussing her condition. A very wise decision.

I do want you to know that I’ve fallen in love with the mountains. Their craggy beauty inspires…and intimidates. Knowing that you’re already in the presence of our Savior, I have to wonder if you’ve asked Him how exactly He created these hills. Did their dark recesses appear only after sin entered the world, or are they a part of their original beauty?

Sometimes the brutality of the wilderness astounds me, and then I think of our Lord who left the glory and comforts of heaven to come suffer with us and for us. How primitive and harsh this world must have seemed. How sharp the rocks to his little feet. How cold the winter gales against his tender cheek. What He endured to bring us joy. Such thoughts embolden me to persevere and protect this plot of earth you left in my care. I’ll do my best to restore it to the prosperous farm you’d remember.

So that’s all I have to say. A pity that in all my acquaintances, the only one I feel like I can truly share my thoughts with is…well, no one really. You are dead and will never read this letter. I’m here alone, just pretending that you, that someone, cares.

But God cares. Even though He feels far away now, this missive is ultimately addressed to Him. If He’s all I have, then it’s enough. Still, what would it be like to have someone here, in the flesh, to share this burden with? Someone who would hold me up when I feel like folding? Someone who could love Ma, Rachel and this rocky farm just as much as I do?

But where would I find such a man? The only one who cared is dead, and that’s why he sent me here. To do what he could no longer do.

Enough ink spilt on fruitless ponderings. This paper is destined for the fire and can take no more of my time, not when I already hear Rachel calling for her breakfast. I’ve found my place in the world and with that I’ll be content.  And I’ll pray that they’ll learn to love me as much as I love them. Thank you again for this charming, inconvenient gift.

Yours truly, although ever so briefly,

Abigail Stuart Calhoun

Thank you for reading Abigail’s letter and for sharing this Christmas celebration with us.

To keep the celebration going we’re having a giveaway. One lucky winner will receive an autographed copy of A Most Inconvenient Marriage, a handwritten copy of Abigail’s letter, and these lovely Christmas ornaments.

To enter, please comment below sharing your favorite Christmas Carol. (And yes, I suppose I’ll be humming them all day long!) For an extra entry share this post on your social media hangouts with the #christmaschronicles tag and then comment here again letting us know where you shared it. Post separately for each share, so I catch each of your entries! A winner will be chosen randomly on December 7th.

And that’s not your only opportunity to win.

We invite you to join us each weekday this week as we hop through cyberspace and history, gleaning the love and joy of the Christmas season from each heroine’s journey.

Monday, December 1^st: Regina Jennings  (Heroine: Abigail Calhoun, A Most Inconvenient Marriage)

Tuesday, December 2^nd: Joanne Bischof  (Heroine: Sarah Miller, This Quiet Sky)

Wednesday, December 3^rd: Amanda Dykes (Heroine: Aria St. John, Bespoke)

Thursday, December 4^th: Karen Barnett (Heroine: Abby Fischer, Out of the Ruins)

Friday, December 5^th: Sarah Sundin (Heroine: Grace Kessler, Where Treetops Glisten)

And don’t forget the Grand Prize Christmas Wreath! Instructions for entering are up there at the top!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Love,

Regina

The post Christmas Chronicles appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Jesus was in Bethany eating dinner when a woman named Mary (not his mother) took a pound of expensive perfume and anointed his feet. That’s right, she poured out a fragrant oil worth approximately a year’s worth of wages and let it dribble onto the ground and be gone forever.

You might question her, too, as one disciple did. “Why wasn’t that sold and given to the poor?”  And who could argue with him? Giving to the poor is good. Doesn’t that cause trump every other?

Not exactly.

Even more important than giving to the poor is showing God the honor due Him. Scandalous, huh? Let people go hungry before you skimp on your tribute to God? But Jesus saw the heart of the woman who gave. Her motive wasn’t to impress, it was to give her Savior something of value. To make an extravagant gift to her Lord.

And He saw someone else’s heart. The disciple who protested the gift…the “generous” man who claimed to care about the needy…was none other than Judas Iscariot. Judas managed the finances for Jesus and the disciples and he stole from their funds. Of course he resented money being given freely. He’d rather it pass through his coffers so he could take his share, and he only pretended to care for the poor in order to bring more money under his control.

Now, I don’t know the heart of this church, I don’t even know what church it is. They might have a wonderful outreach to the inner city, they might give millions to missions overseas. Either way, this building was built from money given voluntarily. It wasn’t my money. It wasn’t stolen from anyone. It went where the givers wanted it to.

So what do I think when I see this graphic? I pray that this facility is being used to God’s glory. I think of the stadiums, concert halls, and museums I’ve visited and wonder if the person who made the graphic above ever thought they should be dismantled and turned into soup kitchens. I reaffirm the right of people in a free country to donate wherever they want. And then I write my own check to help alleviate suffering in the world.

The post Hypocrisy? appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

 Bailey Craig vowed never to set foot in Yancey, Alaska, again. She has a past, and a reputation – and Yancey’s a town that doesn’t forget.

If you haven’t read Dani Pettrey’s book Submerged you should. It’s a page-turning, heart-racing read. And as thrilling and fast-paced as it is, it takes the time to fully explore the main characters’ inner conflicts and faith journey.

When you read Submerged you are instantly sympathetic to Bailey. She made many mistakes as a partying teenager, but after she moved away from Yancey she turned her life around…or rather God turned her around…and as a respectable professor, Dr. Bailey Craig wants nothing to do with her past. Unfortunately a close family member’s death makes a trip to Yancey necessary and Bailey must face a reputation that she’d rather forget.

Reading this book reminded me of the Apostle Paul’s experience. Paul was notorious for persecuting the Christian church. He worked to obtain letters authorizing him to arrest any Christ-followers he could find, but on the road to Damascus he had a divine encounter that immediately changed him. No longer was he hunting Christians, he was one. He had changed, but people weren’t accepting of his transformation. He had ridiculed them. He had persecuted them. He’d done violence against at least one of their leaders. It was a hard resume to live down.

Bailey is in the same boat. Although she didn’t kill anyone, there are many who want to remind her of her failures. Many looked down on her in her youth and don’t want to acknowledge the changes she’s made. Dani does an excellent job setting up Bailey’s dilemma and taking us through her struggle as she deals with the pain of belated judgment.

The best books are those that cause you to reflect on your own experience. Good fiction reveals to us flaws and conflict in our own world, and although Submerged is first and foremost a suspense, it produced some conviction in my heart, as well.

How many times have I protested when people tried to change? It’s so easy to tease someone who’s made a new resolution. People are easy targets when they start a diet, try to stop smoking, or decide to live on a budget. If we’re so quick to make observations on small steps like this, it’s no wonder that many people don’t have the courage to completely reject the chains that once bound them. What’s the use of being free when everyone wants to treat you as a prisoner?

So bravo, Dani, on a fantastically entertaining book, but even more I appreciate the message at the heart of Submerged. While we are busy forgetting those things which are behind us we might also consider forgetting the things behind others as well.

The post Decrease Your Memory appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Usually my 4th grade son’s writing assignments involve heroes with super powers. They throw grenades, dodge bullets and never make mistakes.

This week as we worked on a character sketch I insisted that he only write about “real life” 4th grade issues. His character “Bo” needed to have a real problem that he would solve during the story.

“His problem is that he eats shrapnel and it turns into gold,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not. What’s a problem that boys your age have? Maybe he’s not good in sports, maybe he doesn’t have friends, or maybe he’s afraid of something.”

The thought of writing about a less than perfect 9-year-old boy terrified him. Then his eyes lit up. “I know, I’ll write about a girl. Then it’ll be easy to come up with problems.”

I know how he feels.

Like my son, I squirm when I delve into the spiritual weaknesses of my heroines. No one would get past chapter one if I created a character with all the ugliness I’m capable of. If I scratched away all the excuses and extenuating circumstances and revealed her heart, people would throw the book away.

And I understand that. We read as an escape and we want to be inspired by people who are getting it right, or at least they are completely reformed by the conclusion.

So we have our list of “safe” Christian sins that are allowed in our characters – pride, stubbornness, fear. But even those present as mere quirks and rarely do they hurt anyone besides the protagonist – with whom we are completely sympathetic.

I understand the desire to write about someone who’s nothing like me. I’m comfortable finding that perfect flaw that is endearing and easily overlooked. You know… one that really doesn’t require forgiveness. The one that Jesus didn’t need to die for.

And I’m realizing that this post has less to do with writing and more with being honest with ourselves. Are there really permissible flaws? Are there really areas of self we’re allowed to protect from pruning?

Is the problem that Christian fiction doesn’t deal with serious sin, or is the problem that Christians don’t deal with every sin seriously? What character traits are unacceptable in a fictional hero? What flaws do we excuse in ourselves?

The post The Perfect Flaw appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

This Good Friday try to imagine what you would hear if you spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

The Priest

(Gazing at the curtain in shock, Holds out a hand to stop them from approaching.) Don’t come any closer. It’s death to enter the Holy of Holies, the dwelling place of the Lord Most High – or at least it was. I don’t know how to interpret this. The curtain rips during an earthquake, but nothing else in the Temple is disturbed? There’s a message here, a sign. I’ve never seen behind the curtain, only the high priest is given that honor, and he only once a year. So what does it mean that it is opened for anyone to approach?

I wasn’t here when the curtain tore. I was at Golgotha overseeing the due punishment of a blasphemer when it happened. Not a pleasant experience, but necessary.

It’s infuriating to have someone mock us, mock our religion, mock our God. We’ve been waiting for the Messiah, God’s Anointed One, for centuries and to have a carpenter from Galilee declare that he is here to take David’s throne….

True, a wise man turns away from wrath, but some outrages merit a strong response. He deserved the scorn we gave him.  You saved others, but you cannot save yourself, we cried.  Let the Christ, the King of Israel, descend now from the cross so that we may see and believe.”

Jesus of Nazareth was too dangerous to pardon, too influential to ignore. And yet during the mocking I found a part of me pleading, “Yes, if you are Messiah, come down. Please, come down and save us.”

But he didn’t. And whether the earthquake was God’s judgment on the one called Jesus or another sign that I cannot explain, it matters not. The veil has been torn—ripped from the top. And what are we to do? Are we to cover the Holy of Holies to shield it from the offenses of sinful men, or is it to remain open?

Joseph of Arimathea

You may be concerned when you smell the myrrh emanating off of me. Yes, preparing Jesus’ body for burial could get me kicked off the council. Once the priests learn of my activities tonight, they will no doubt hold a hearing on the crimes of Joseph of Arimathea. And they have every right. I know the law. According to it I am unclean, and yet this is the cleanest I’ve ever felt.

Before today I’d never touched a dead body, I’d never told anyone that I was listening to Jesus, and I’d certainly never gone to a Roman governor to ask for a prisoner’s remains before. What compelled me?

The scripture contains all godly knowledge and the law, but wisdom lies in discerning which law applies to which situation. As a council member I should be able to attest to that. The warnings about boastful false prophets didn’t seem to fit with this man. His teachings, even those that convicted me of guilt, contained a holy mixture of justice and mercy. Jesus was a law-giver after the manner of Moses…or maybe before…

Jesus is dead. Nicodemus and I prepared him for burial ourselves. There is no doubt about his present condition, and yet… yet there is no doubt that God Most High can restore life. Have I not seen this of my own eyes through his servant as he raised Lazarus, Jairus’s daughter, and the widow’s son?

I am not a holy man like Jesus, but I think… I believe that God would be pleased for me to pray that He would work His mighty power for this cause. If ever there was a man that the world needs resurrected, it is Jesus.

This will be my prayer. May God be gracious and answer.

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 1

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 2

The post The Voices of Good Friday – Part 3 appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

In the rush to Easter we often overlook Good Friday. “Yes, that’s when Jesus was crucified,” we say, “but He rose again.”

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

For the next few weeks I’d like to imagine what we would hear if we spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

Peter

You caught me, Peter the fearless, hiding, but it’s pointless. My life isn’t worth salvaging, now. They’ve crucified my master, and I had boasted to him “Even if everyone else leaves you, I won’t.”

And what did I do when I was tested? I lied. I pretended he was a stranger. I denied even knowing him and he heard me. He looked directly at me, sad that his prophecy came true.

He warned me at supper when we were all together, you know, but I was too prideful to listen. And then later, right here in the garden he tried to protect me. He asked me to stay awake and pray with him. How many others would give everything to spend that time in prayer with Jesus? But I couldn’t stay awake. Ironic, isn’t it? I couldn’t stay awake and now I feel like I’ll never sleep again. Jesus asked me for an hour of my time, when he would give his life for me. I thought he wanted me to comfort him, but now I’m not sure. What if that time spent in prayer with Jesus would have fortified me for the test to come? I missed an opportunity to fellowship with him. Was that why I failed to declare him later?

If only there was a way to make it up to him, to atone, but now he’s gone. Everything I believed in is gone.

Pilate

What is truth? That’s what I asked Jesus right before I declared him innocent. Is truth the charges screamed by a roaring crowd or is it a nightmare you have alone in your chamber?

Well, it’s too late now. If you came to see the trial, it’s over and the sentence is being carried out, even as we speak.

If there was ever a case I didn’t want to judge, it was this one. Certainly I’d heard of Jesus. Who in Judea hasn’t? But to me it sounded like just another fanatical, mystical Jewish controversy. Another of their itinerate rabbis stirring up the populace, speaking promises of kingdoms and freedom. It should’ve been obvious that Rome had nothing to fear. His followers—the sick, the lame, children and the elderly—were hardly the beginnings of a military threat.

But Rome isn’t the one who felt threatened. No, it was his own people claiming to be concerned for Caesar. When has the Sanhedrin ever looked out for the Roman government? But I couldn’t ignore them. I thought if I had him scourged, it would satisfy their blood lust. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but watching Jesus tortured, knowing that those wounds were unwarranted, caused by me… my only consolation was that by scourging him I was protecting him from death.

But I didn’t, did I? In the past hours, I’ve thought and thought, wondering what I could have done differently, but every option had a consequence. There was nothing I could do without jeopardizing my career. In the end, I had to choose what was right for me. It was the only sensible course. Is that the definition of truth—whatever is convenient and expedient at the moment?

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 1

The post The Voices of Good Friday – Part 2 appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

For the next few weeks I’d like to imagine what we would hear if we spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

The Disciple, after the dinner

Come in, quickly. I’m afraid you might have been followed. There’s a lot of trouble at the temple. Evil is afoot and I feel like our Master is walking right into it. I’ve never seen him like this before. He was saying good-bye to us, trying to comfort us when it was as plain as day he was bracing himself for some long-dreaded ordeal.

The meal tonight, it was like a Passover seder, but different. First there was the wine – “This is my blood which is shed for many” and then the bread – “This is my body, given for you.” What can that mean? Are we to take Jesus’s blood like the Passover lamb’s and paint it on our doorposts to escape judgment?

Jesus has said many things that I didn’t understand, but this scares me. I don’t want him to sacrifice himself for me. He shouldn’t. How could I take and eat his pain? How can I accept his suffering? I don’t know what it means, but when I see him again, I’m going to refuse. Whatever noble sacrifice he has in mind, I’m not worth it.

Judas’ Mother

Have you heard about my son Judas? You have, I can tell by the way you cringe when I say his name, a name that his father and I chose with pride. Forgive a mother’s ramblings, but I have nothing left besides memories and even they have been tainted. Is this to be my lot, then? To be denied the right to mourn my child?

I look back over the years and wonder where we went wrong. As a child he always appeared faithful. He was loyal to the synagogue and loathed the Romans. We had high expectations for him, never dreaming he’d shame us—that he’d hand over his Rabbi to our enemies.

Thirty pieces of silver. He sold his master for the price of a slave, and he regretted it immediately. If only I had been there when he realized that they’d condemned Jesus to death. Judas returned the money to the priests, but they couldn’t offer him forgiveness. He must have felt he was beyond saving. If only some kind soul would’ve convinced Judas that no one else needed to perish that night, maybe I would’ve been able to hug my boy one last time.

But he’s gone. It’s too late for my son. It’s too late to help him, but I won’t let another opportunity pass. Consider what you’ve deemed more important than Jesus. For what are you willing to trade your master? Think of my Judas and ask yourself – What is keeping me from following my Lord?

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 2

The post The Voices of Good Friday – Part 1 appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.