As we drove to Tennessee, John, Jo and I talked the whole twelve-hour trip, chattering like magpies over absolutely nothing, nervous as hens. That night—arriving about 9:00 p.m., following their map, locating landmarks that would soon become boundaries for John—we drove up to a white columned estate where men acting like happy campers awaited us. Five of them bounded outside, romping about like teenagers when our lights swept the grounds as we turned into the property.
“Hey! You’re here! You’re here! Glad to see ya!” They waved, surrounding the rolling car, slapping its skin. One of the young ones jumped up and down like springs were attached to his feet. This riotous carnival atmosphere seemed juxta-positional against the destruction my husband and these men had committed against their families, but I wrote it off as an exaggerated welcoming committee. Besides, what did I want – a warden and some prison guards to haul him off for retribution? They indicated a parking place in front of a trailer behind the Farmhouse, as they called it, and before I could park, they yanked open all the doors, pulling John out to his new home.
Writing has been in my blood, so to speak, but when I surren-dered my life to Jesus Christ and He told me to write, all my trepidations rolled away and I began in earnest! After all, if God Almighty says it was His idea that I be a writer, who am I to stand in His way? My hope is that you not only like what I write, but that your life is moved by it, and that your party to Jesus and with Jesus turns your life into days of Heaven on Earth.