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“This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘Write in a book all the words I have spoken to you.’” Jeremiah 30:2 (NIV)

I started writing in 2000 and first became published in 2005. Presently, I have six books published, with my current work-in-progress, A Matter of Faith, nearing The End mark. During my pre-published period, many leaders in the publishing industry, especially in the Christian books arena—mega-published authors and literary agents—offered me advice for getting published in the sub-genre of Inspirational Romance: You can mention God in your books, but do not mention Jesus Christ.

Wow! I mulled over this caveat, turning it over and over in my mind, looking at it first this way and then that way, trying to comprehend the enormity of the statement. You can mention God in your books, but do not mention Jesus Christ. After discussing this with a number of my published and pre-pubbed Christian author friends, the majority of whom agreed with the advice and adhered to it, my conclusion ended up being a question. Why? Why can I mention God but not Jesus Christ in my books? My curiosity was sparked. I had to understand this criterion for being published (at least, with the big publishers).

Publishing is a business. A business is in the business to make money, not lose. Publishers make money by making their customers, the readers, happy. Happy readers will continue to buy their books. The selling of books makes the publisher money. Making money makes the publisher happy, too. Okay. I get this. This is reality. A business must make money to stay in business and to stay in business, the business must successfully sell the products they offer the consumer.

But, let’s look at what makes the reader happy if God is mentioned but not Jesus Christ.

God is safe. All world religions have at least one god. Anyone, whether Christian or not, reading a book with God in it will not feel uncomfortable, either because they can relate to the word God due to their own religious worship, or they feel God exists but is far off and doesn’t take too much of an interest in their lives, or they consider themselves to be “spiritual” and want to be regarded as “spiritual” persons.

Jesus Christ is not safe. Jesus Christ demands accountability, whether a person is Christian or not. Whether a person believes in Jesus Christ or not, they know, instinctively, when it comes to Him, it is all or nothing. They will either have to confess He is God, accept His divinity, His work on the cross, His Savior-hood, His death and resurrection, and His returning, soon, to judge the living and the dead, and re-align their lives so they reflect this acceptance, or…not.

It is the or not I find troublesome. The Bible says of Jesus, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12 NIV) Simply put, if people do not accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, they are hell-bound. And this grieves me something awful. The thought that even one person could be separated from God for an eternity, suffering untold agony, upsets me to no end.

Not everyone attends a Bible-reading, God-fearing, Jesus-believing, Holy Ghost filled church and can hear of the saving love of Jesus. I am a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, and as a saved (flawed) believer, I have a responsibility. Maybe I cannot share Jesus with everyone in the world, but what I can do, I must. I can share Jesus with my readers. They can then make an informed decision to follow or not follow Jesus.

But, responsibility sometimes brings risk. Because I do not write to the market—You can mention God in your books, but do not mention Jesus Christ—the big Christian publishers will not publish my romance novels. I’ve been told I am too preachy, and thus, am not marketable. A small independent printing press thought differently, though, and gave me the avenue to encourage and en

“They will speak of the glorious splendor of Your majesty.” Psalm 145:5 (NIV)

As some of you know, I’m an Inspirational Romance author. I write fictional stories, set in fictional venues, using fictional characters. The only thing “real” about my stories are the life situations my characters face and the emotions generated by those situations. My aspiration, as an author of faith-based stories, is to encourage and entertain my readers, to encourage them to keep on keeping on and to entertain them by offering a means of escape from the demanding, often cruel world by entering into the world of make-believe.

I’ve discovered, with each book I write, I not only receive a fresh revelation of God, but I also learn something about myself during the process of writing (like when I realized I’m a…rebel!). While I hope my novels give the reader take-away distinctives, I am always surprised when I get those same take-away distinctives myself, reminders I am not alone in my struggles. I may be, like my heroine, Arabella Bianchi, in my current work-in-progress, entitled, A Matter of Faith, a tiny, trifle speck bobbing up and down against the massive vastness of God’s created world, but I am not alone. I am not forgotten. I am not abandoned. I am not insignificant.

Arabella suffers through all the good, the bad, and the ugly. Through all the deaths of loved ones (first, her father, then her mother, her fiancé, and finally, her infant daughter). Through all the anger and bitterness. Through all the unbelievable cruelty she directs to her closest friend, her most convenient and available verbal punching bag. Eventually, all the churning, hideous emotions pass through her, leaving her flushed out and worn-out and…erecting a citadel with strong and high walls around her heart.

On one very cold December night, with the hush of her room haunting her and too restless to retire to bed, she lets herself outside. The sun has long descended to slumber and in its place, a fresh moon flirts with the night sky. Her eyes track the sky, clear and crisp as black ice and bejeweled with icy starlights. Sprawled out before her is a legion of silent and towering trees, spruces and birches, their branches wrapped in the white cottony wool of snow. And in the near distance, she can see the silhouetted rise of craggy cliffs, with the same spruces and birches looking no bigger than little flowers against the massive vastness of rock, clinging effortlessly to unseen cracks in the rock face.

And suddenly, she thinks, the evening sights, panorama-ed before her, give her a glimpse, a taste, a grasp of her Maker. Of His joy, pleasure, and appreciation of the beauty of His creation. Of His power and wisdom in ordering nature into being and then holding it in place. Like the stars. For the first time in a long time, she can recognize God’s majestic signature scrolled across His awe-inspiring creation.

She thinks, just as God sustains those trees in their inhospitable environment, He has sustained her in hers. Like those trees, she still stands, maybe a little frayed around the edges from the brutal battering of life, but nonetheless, she still stands, a monument, a testimony to God’s keeping grace.

She thinks, the whole time she was faltering and floundering, being knocked and nailed by death and loss, she had been safe and sound in God’s caring and considerate hands. Nothing, nothing had snatched her out of His hands.

She realizes, all her experiences, the good, the bad, and the ugly, had been purposely designed with her in mind. Each specification, each stipulation had been intricately planned to bring her to this particular moment in time. A moment when she recognizes her need for her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. A moment when she recognizes she wants her life to be a sweet fragrance spiraling up to God’s nostrils and curving His lips in a tender smile. A moment when she realizes it is time for her to climb out of

“Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute you.” Matthew 5:44 (NIV)

I saw a billboard not too long ago that read, Families are a lot like fudge: mostly sweet with a few nuts. I laughed when I read it, but…it’s true. Every family (work place, church, neighborhood, etc.) will have interesting individuals who…spice up our life. Whether we want them to or not. But without them stirring us up, we’d have a pretty boring existence. Hmm. I hope I remember my own words next time I get “challenged” by an interesting individual.

Have you noticed those doing the spicing up have different … viewpoints …morals … principles…spirit…than yourself? They seem to know just how to push your buttons. And not only that, they seem to be able to do it in record time. Have you also noticed that if you are “different” from them, if you hold yourself to a higher standard, they seem able to make you look like the bad guy? They’re adept at rewriting history to make themselves look like the wronged party. They know how to sweet-talk to cover the spiteful motives of their hearts. They even know how to assume the hurt, wounded expression on their faces.

So…who’s the bad guy in my family? Drum roll, please… I’m the bad guy. It appears I’ve even earned the position of black sheep of the family. The position was vacant in my family, you see, so I was given the honors. After all, someone had to occupy this dubious position and it couldn’t possibly have gone to a better person. So, what you ask is my crime—I mean, worthy attribute?

I’m what you’d call an overt Christian. Not because I “talk” the talk. But because I “walk” the walk.

I choose to make Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior. I choose to attend church regularly. I choose to read my bible daily. I choose to allow the Holy Spirit to guide me and direct me, trying, to the best of my ability, to do what He’s impressed upon my heart. So, I overlook snide remarks. I overlook the silent treatments. I overlook all the countless times members of my family arch their bow and shoot their arrows at me. And yes, it’s a bulls-eye every time. And yes, it hurts. But it would. After all, these are my family members and I love them. They’re supposed to love me, too. Not hate me.

And why do they hate me?

Because I love them. This bugs them. An attack of the conscience, maybe, since they don’t reciprocate with a sincere heart.

Because I’m a believer in the Triune God, God, the Father, God, the Son, and God, the Holy Ghost. This really bugs them. Probably it’s the piercing light of God shining through me and landing on them with the bulls-eye of conviction.

But every once in awhile, one of them manages to really hurt me, hurt me to the core. The other night was one such experience. The attack came from a totally unexpected source. The accusations that should have been leveled at the true perpetrators were slung at me: I did not desire family unity, that I was working against it, I was essentially admonished. And what hurt me the most was that this person knows me. This person knows my reputation, my actions, my words. This person knows my consistency, my dependability. My heart. How could this person believe me of such nasty things?

I was hurt, yes. Angry, too. And tearful. I rehearsed in my mind all the positive, loving, selfless actions I did throughout the years, always being available for any member of the family. I rehearsed all their negative actions, as well. Was this accuser suddenly blind? Did this person suddenly develop selective memory?

Later that evening, when I opened my bible to continue in my daily reading, I turned to the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter Nine. And what do I read? Jesus was maligned by the very people who were supposed to love Him. Hey! Jesus knows how I feel! Then, in Chapter Ten, I read how Jesus did not come to bring the sort of pea