A Very Special Gift for Father's Day

I always thought it was a shame that the Bible had no similar scriptures describing a "Father of Noble Character" like the ones in Proverbs for a wife of noble character and it was this thought that inspired what would be the last Father's Day Gift given to my wonderful Father In Law, Eliseo Giron. It was 2006 and he was not doing well. My sister in law, Debbie, the week before Father's Day commented that she thought this would be the last Father's Day we would had him with us and it was a sobering thought. He had lost the ability to eat because of a form of muscular dystrophy, could no longer read and do his puzzles, or paint and walking was very difficult. Father's Day was approaching and the entire family was getting together to honor him but what do you give a man who needs nothing, can enjoy very little and yet still let him know how very much he has meant to you? I felt closer to my father in law than my own dad. Actually, he was the first person I wanted to see when I learned that my own dad had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. So with 2 hours to go before we were to arrive at his home for what would be our last Father's Day, the Lord put a "light bulb" over my head.I got out my Bible, turned to Proverbs and customized it for my beloved Father in law. We printed it out, rushed to Pottery Barn and framed it, arriving in time. I then stood before him and read it aloud and with tears in his eyes he responded that he would treasure it always. The next time I read it aloud was 3 months later at his funeral. Here below is my version of a Father of Noble Character; feel free to copy it and customize it for your dad; he will treasure it always.

A father of noble character who can find? He is worth far more than gold.

His wife and children have security, shelter and protection and lack nothing of value.
He teaches them right from wrong, the value of sacrifice and a good work ethic and is a role model for them all the days of their lives.
He spares not the paddle (which broketh upon Greg’s backside) and extends a hand of mercy to those who are penitent for bad behavior.
He is like a strong fortress, and a shield against the worries and trials of everyday life so his wife and children can live happy, carefree lives.
He gets up while it is still dark; drives to Huntington Beach to teach the children of others to provide food for his family and is welcomed by his children and spouse at the end of a long day.
He considered a safer home in Fountain Valley and bought it; and out of his earnings, he planted tomatoes, avocados, and chili peppers and maketh play areas for his children to delight in and fixes all their broken toys.
He sets about his work vigorously at the Barbershop; and cuts his son’s hair into funny bowl shapes.
He sees that his career as a teacher is profitable, but still switches off all the light fixtures at the end of the day.
In his left hand he holds the rake and the hoe and in the other he grasps the spatula to flip over his children’s favorite buttermilk pancakes.
He opens his home to the foreign exchange students and provides research assistance to apologetic ministries.
When it snows, he takes his wife and kids to the mountains for sledding and snowball fights and bandages up their bumps and bruises with bandaids.
He causes his children to sit upon his lap and give him numerous besos upon his cheeks.
His children have all grown up to become responsible parents with children of their own and who pass on the legacy of love and faith he has left to them.
He speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction has ever been on his tongue. He presides over the affairs of his household and has never eaten the bread of idleness.
His children arise and call him blessed; his wife also, and she praises him:
"Many husbands and fathers have done noble things, but you surpass them all."
Wealth is deceptive, and youth is fleeting; but a father who fears the LORD is priceless.
Give him the reward he has earned, and let his works bring him praise at heaven’s gates.

Heart of Darkness/Heart of Light

(This is a true story - the names have been changed to maintain anonymonity): John's story is a heartbreaking one. When he was pretty young, his mother began selling his body to a couple of men in order to pay the rent. This went on for several years. His mother is an alcoholic, and she either gave him alcohol or at least didn't keep it away from him, and now he is an alcoholic, too. He had been doing fairly well at staying away from it--he's been through rehab--but all of a sudden, he started back in and some other things started happening in his life--things that really point to demonic activity. His wife and my daughter (who has been more of a mother to him than his own mother by far), tried to get him to go for counseling (and maybe deliverance) with her church pastor and his team. On Wednesday, John went as far as the door to the church with Jane, and she said it was as though someone grabbed him and threw him against the wall of the church. He lay there unconscious for awhile, then jumped up and ran out to the middle of the street and threw himself down in the street (this is in a city). They got him up from there and called for help. Some officers came, supposedly to take him to a mental health clinic to put under a suicide watch, but instead, they took him to a regular hospital. Then they either released him or he walked out on his own and went home. My daughter picked up Jane and picked up the kids from school and went back over to their apartment, where John proceeded to threaten Jane (that he would kill her). My daughter took Jane and the kids to her own home. John called several times with more threats, then yesterday morning called and told her that since she didn't love him any more he was going to move in with his mother (who lives in a nearby city) and from there he was going to go to another state where he will live with a man there. Jane wants him to come back if he will (1) go to church with her and (2) stay away from alcohol. Keep in mind here--John is normally a loving and gentle soul, quiet and happiest when he can stay in the background. These past few days' activities sound so totally unlike him that it's hard to believe it is the same person. I think if he has a wish to be fulfilled (at least when he is himself), he would wish to be free or maybe even to be able to start his whole life over.



John sat upon the park bench staring at nothing in particular. His heart was in shreds and filled with a darkness he could not escape. He was oblivious to the beauty around him; the soft breeze that caressed his face, the warm sunshine, the butterflies that flitted here and there amongst the flowers and the sound of birdsong. He was trapped in a vise of despair and silent desperation that closed ever tighter about him like a boa constrictor; crushing the life from him.


The steady sound of weeping slowly brought him to the surface for a moment and he looked in the direction of the sandlot where a little boy was cowering before two larger boys who were obviously bullies. They kicked him, slapped him and shouted vile things at him. John’s heart filled with rage at the plight of the little boy and before he knew it he was striding towards the bullies who were preparing to do even worse damage from the look of their curled fists.

John caught the first bully’s arm as he swung back to land a crushing blow; his rage at the mistreatment of the smaller boy filling him with a righteous anger. He threw the bully down onto the sand and then turned to deal with the next one. What he saw made him recoil in horror. It was not a boy but a monster disguised as a boy. Its yellow eyes were filled with hatred for both him and the small boy crouching before him in a fetal position, shielding his head from the oncoming blow. John quickly recovered. He would not let this thing hurt the young boy; not anymore! He flung himself upon it and grappled it onto the ground. It shrieked with an ear-splitting scream but despite its’ size it was no match for John’s fury and after a few minutes struggle he quickly subdued it. It ran off along with other one disappearing from sight.

Breathing hard and shaking with the adrenaline coursing through his veins John turned his attention to the small boy. He put a gentle hand upon the lad’s shoulder who looked up at him gratefully with a tear-streaked face. John stepped back a few paces in bewildered shock and fear. The boy looked strangely familiar and it frightened him. The boy reached up both arms to him; wanting to be picked up and comforted after his fright. Despite his unwillingness to do so, John could not find it in his heart to refuse. He picked up the lad in his arms and held him close to his breast. Together they wept; mourning the loss of innocence and the years of childhood stolen and stained by evil. John wept great heaving sobs and the harder he cried, the softer the boy cried then suddenly the boy was gone and it was John who was the little boy and he was being held in the arms of a man that blazed with a light so great he couldn’t open his eyes. His tears became a cleansing flood that washed away the grime and guilt of years past; his shoulders shaking. All the while, the man who held him whispered words of indescribable love and forgiveness into his ear. He felt his spirit healed, his wounds soothed. John’s sobs gradually abated and when he finally looked up he was staring into the eyes of eternity and in them he found complete acceptance and forgiveness.

“Who are you?” he asked in a coarse whisper although he already knew the answer.

“I am the One who loves you,” came the soft reply. “and I am waiting for you to welcome me into your heart so I can restore the years that have been stolen from you. If you will trust Me and give all of yourself to Me; the years before you will be truly blessed.”

John stared at him; he was at a crossroads. Which way would he choose? The way of life and restoration or the path of destruction. He straightened up and placed his shaking hand into that of the Savior’s and was greeted with a brilliant smile that filled his broken heart with joy.

The Bride is Writing Love Songs

Written by Judy Pendell

The bride is writing love songs

The time of rejoicing is here

The fig tree puts forth her green figs

The sign that the bridegroom is near

The winter rain is over and gone

The softened soil brings forth bloom

The season of singing has come

The bride hears the call of the groom

Rise up my fair one, and come away

And you shall behold my glory

In the secret place, in the cleft of the rock

We shall sing to each other sweetly

The bride abides in the secret place

Nations rise against nations

Wars and rumors of war abound

And the earth cries out for salvation

The bride sings her songs to her bridegroom,

With the sweet cooing voice of a dove

"Return my lover and take me away"

For I am longing for love

The bride is writing love songs

The time of singing is here

The fig tree puts forth her green figs
The sign that the bridegroom is near.

A Little Bayern Goes a Long Way...

Hannah stared at the computer screen before her, chewing on the end of finger while she thought about the graphic image she was trying to create. She knew what she was trying to achieve but just couldn’t seem to make her mind and fingers work together in harmony. She turned her head to look outside her bedroom window, hoping for some inspiration.


The weather outside was dark and stormy; she could hear the distant rumble of thunder approaching. Suddenly she jumped out of her seat with a scream as a bolt of lightning hit right outside her room. It sounded like a bomb going off. The lights went out and all went dark. Then suddenly the light of a fire kindled before her very eyes.

Hannah blinked a few times and looked up to see a young woman staring right back at her with the same look of shock and surprise as she.

“Who are you?!” demanded the girl, raising her hands in a threatening way. In her upraised open palms were twin balls of fire that rotated in a menacing way. Instantly Hannah realized where she was.

“Enna!” she shrieked; launching herself forward to embrace her with wild abandon. The young woman was so startled that the fire in her hands was immediately extinguished. Instead she found herself standing awkwardly as Hannah continued hugging. After a moment Hannah stepped back, feeling a bit sheepish.

“Who are you?” demanded Enna, straightening her forest gown. Hannah stifled a giggle. She found it rather amusing that a fictional character was demanding an explanation from her; a real person!

“My name is Hannah Nicole,” she replied.

“How do you know my name?” Enna continued, her brow furrowed together in suspicion. “Did Finn send you?”

“Nooooooo,” replied Hannah looking about to indicate her bedroom, computer, bed, printer, etc., only to freeze when she realized she was no longer in her room but in a forest. No wonder she was freezing!

Enna looked her up and down and the suspicious look was replaced with a look of compassion as Hannah wrapped her arms about herself, teeth starting to chatter. She removed her heavy cloak and wrapped it about Hannah and took her by the arm.

“Come with me,” she ordered. Hannah nodded obediently; she was in Bayern; and though she was familiar with the realm because of reading the books; being transported into the mythical forest in the dead of night was rather unnerving; no matter how much she had always wanted to be there.

They reached the cottage a short time later and Enna pushed her inside. It was pitch black inside but in a moment Enna had a bright fire crackling in the hearth using her powers. Hannah looked about her in barely contained glee. She was inside one of her favorite stories with one of her favorite characters! She looked up and found Enna glaring at her in a suspicious way which took her aback. She didn’t expect her favorite heroine to be so hostile.

“Are you a People, Animal or Nature Speaker?” Enna demanded. Hannah was at a loss. She looked around the rather shabby cottage and noticed some things.

“I’m a beauty-maker!” she said with a big grin. Before Enna could protest, Hannah began gathering up things she found around the cottage and to arrange them in a pleasing way. Enna watched in suspicious yet fascinated silence as Hannah busied herself transforming her hovel into something very homey and lovely.

Tears filled Enna’s eyes. This girl was a total stranger to whom she had been particularly unkind and here she had done this selfless act of beautifying her homely cottage with just what she found. She covered her face with her hands to hide the tears that began to slide down her cheeks. Her shoulders began to heave. No one had been this nice to her in a very long time.

Compassion filled Hannah’s heart and she went forward and embraced Enna to comfort her. “I’m sorry about what happened to Sileph,” she said. That opened the floodgates. Enna wept terrible deep heaving sobs and all Hannah could do was to pat her back and making soothing sounds. After ten minutes of heavy-duty sobbing Enna looked around, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

“Thank you!” she said, meaning every word. She looked at Hannah’s strange clothes (she was wearing blue jeans and a cute purple paisley smock top) with great curiosity. “These are strange garments,” she observed, rubbing the rayon/cotton blend in her hands. “But these!” she said indicating the blue jeans. “Most unladylike!”

Hannah looked down at her jeans with the carefully created bare patches in the knees. It would do no good to explain and Senna wouldn’t understand anyway.

“Ummmmm sorry.” She said. An awkward silence ensued then a sudden thought froze Hannah’s heart. She was inside her favorite book but how was she going to get back home? The thought of living in Bayern had always appealed to her but now that she was really here she felt totally out of place. Then another feeling made her begin to panic. “I need to use the ladies room.” She said to Senna; hoping she would take the hint and direct her to the nearest bathroom. Senna stared at her for a moment with a perplexed look on her face.

She threw out her arms to indicate the small hovel around them. “This is a lady’s room.” She explained slowly as if Hannah were mentally retarded. Hannah shook her head.

“No, you don’t understand…uhh, I need to uh…well you know…relieve myself?”.

Enlightenment came over Senna’s face and she nodded. She turned about, bent over and picked up what looked to be a pail. She held it out to Hannah with a grim smile. “You’ll need to do this behind the cottage,” she instructed.

Hannah was aghast. She had to do it in a pail? In a dark and freezing cold forest?! What was she supposed to do with it afterwards?

Senna picked up a slender twig and spoke a word over it so it would glow. “You may use this to light your way,” she said, handing it to Hannah, then gently pushed her towards the door. The cottage door opened as if by magic all by itself and the next thing Hannah knew, she was standing in her own bathroom holding a bucket and a twig that still glowed. She dropped both with a shriek which brought her mother running up the stairs.

“Are you okay?” her mom asked, not even noticing the foreign pail or the now smoldering twig. Hannah looked up and nodded, relieved to be back in her own world where there was real bathrooms with indoor plumbing.

“I saw a spider.” She fibbed. Her mom nodded, picked up the pail as if it had belonged in the family for years and without a second glance and went back to her chores.

Hannah slowly turned about her room to reassure herself that she was once again in the “real” world but for a split second, she thought she caught of glimpse of Senna’s wistful and lonely face staring back at her in her bedroom mirror…

THE END

The LA Times Book Festival

This weekend for the first time, I was a participating author in the LA Times Book Fair held at the gorgeous UCLA campus.


I shared a tent with other authors from Premiere Writers, a Ning Social Network site for authors. All of them were simply great people; very warm and engaging. We worked in shifts (one in the morning and one in the afternoon) and in our free time I walked around the campus with my hubby, attracting a lot of attention with my medieval costume.

On several occasions I had complete strangers (mostly college age students) come up to me in groups and ask to take a photo with me. It was so fun! It was the next best thing to being a Disney Princess!

The weather could not have been more gorgeous and though I am exhausted and my house is a mess, it was a really neat experience to take part in. It wasn’t too bad having a picture taken with “William Shakespeare” either!

Storm Chaser - A Poem by Trentina Porter

Trentina and I actually became friends through her dad at Goodreads.  She is 18, in college and an absolutely amazing poet and writer.  I think God really gave her some incredible writing talent. I do not normally like or even appreciate poetry but I really liked this! Let's all encourage Trentina by posting your feedback comments on her poem below and I'll share them with her!

Looking out the wooden panes I see your form;
Twisting, twirling in the image of vibrant leaves caught in the wind.
I run out to find salvation, be embraced by you once more.

The wind is nothing more but your soft breath upon my neck.

Rain falls onto my face, caressing it in slow strokes.

Even the tears I've shed for you can never be forgotten.

Those tears may be yours as well, knowing what might not be.

Looking for the answers my eyes move up, hoping to find you.

Gazing upon the gray, swirling sea of clouds I feel it;

the presence of the power that lays behind your eyes lingers

It stays on me as if I am the pray to your hungry love.

A welcome pleasure, yet that power, strong enough to take over my senses.

Light streaks across the sky, the bright light urging me on.

I walk, sprint to the ending of that bolt of lightening.

That kiss, oh how it must be you hiding in the night!

Sparks flew, lit a fire in my heart that can never truly die.

Nothing there, not even the thunder of our hearts on this night.

As much as my heart pains you are still not with me.

Here I stay in the grass, watching the clouds and wind dance;

lightening raging over the water and land in a heated passion

You're my storm, my hidden fantasy.

What I try so hard to hold, finding only each piece of you slipping from reach.

No matter the trials, the hardships, the sleepless nights I run;

and I will always run, chasing my heart and the power of your storm.

OC Christian Writers Conference

All of you aspiring authors out there might enjoy this interview with Mick Silva of Waterbrook/Multnomah Press:

OC Christian Writers Conference