Dreams Do Come True

Today is proof that dreams do come true.

Fourteen years ago I was thumbing through a copy of Life Magazine and stumbled across an article on the Hope Diamond. The glossy, two-page spread showed Michelle Pheiffer wearing the jewel and detailed the history of the legendary, cursed gem. I knew instantly it should be a novel. So I started researching and writing, and slowly, over the years a novel was born.

That novel, Eye of the God, releases from Abingdon Press today! Those of you who know me well know that this is a life-long dream. So today I wanted to take a moment, and thank the Dream-Giver for not only planting this desire in my heart, but making it come true.

A little about the book:

“The world's most spectacular museum heist, a cursed jewel, and a romance doomed to fail, all tied together with stunning historical fact, create the vast and intricate setting for the first-ever novel about the Hope Diamond.

According to legend, the Hope Diamond was once the eye of a Hindu idol named Rama Sita. When it was stolen in the 17th century, it is said that the idol cursed all those who would possess it. But that doesn’t stop the brilliant and ruthless Weld brothers from attempting to steal it from the Smithsonian. However, they are not prepared for Dr. Abigail Mitchell, the beautiful Smithsonian Director, who has her own connection to the Hope Diamond, and a deadly secret to keep. Abby soon realizes she alone holds the pieces to the complicated puzzle in this deadly game of illegal art collectors. Abby’s faith is put to the ultimate test as she confronts the father who abandoned her, the betrayal of the only man she has ever loved, and the possibility that she may lose her life because of the legendary gem.

When all is said and done, and the dust has finally settled over the last great adventure of the Hope Diamond, we understand the “curse” that has haunted its legacy is nothing more than the greed of evil men who bring destruction upon themselves. No god chiseled from stone can direct the fates of men, nor can it change the course of His-story.”

Would you celebrate this milestone with me today? The actual writing of a novel is done in solitude – for me, in the early hours of the morning while the rest of my family sleeps. But the celebration is a public moment, a shout of joy that dreams really do come true!

If you care to purchase the book, would you do me a huge favor and buy it from Amazon today? (That will help the online sales rank)

And if you have already read the book, would you consider posting a review on Amazon?

Thank you for taking a moment to read this, and for celebrating with me.

With great joy,

Ariel

Wordless Wednesday

The Smell of Rain

It came last night while I was making dinner. The clouds settled low over this desert town as they bubbled with moisture. I threw open my kitchen windows and breathed in that unforgettable scent. The smell of rain. A life-giving fragrance, clean and laden with the promise of refreshing. It comes to us in the moments before and after an autumn shower, a lingering reminder that God can wash away anything unclean, even the dusty residue of a long summer.

Twenty four hours later, my windows are still open, the sky is still gray, and that precious rain still soaks into a lawn that not two days ago was charred from relentless heat. North Texas does not see rain often, and when those heavy drops descend upon our dry soil, it is received gladly. I am not yet weary of this gift of rain. And I am not yet weary of how God quenches this thirsty heart.

“Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.” (Deuteronomy 32:2 says)

Sometimes my heart is like this desert where I live. Parched. In need of refreshing. This new life in me yearns for moisture to soften the hard soil around my tender roots and the new growth that pushes upward. I need the rain. I need God to nourish me like showers on new grass and abundant rain on tender plants. I’ve seen what happens when a tender shoot, fresh from the soil, shrivels for lack of water. I've seen it happen in me.

Bring the rain, Jesus.

Wordless Wednesday

The Quiet Comes

Big boys yawn and fervently try to convince me they are not tired. Babies press fists to heavy-lidded eyes. Like candles, they melt down on this late summer evening. Giggles one moment, tears the next and then as dominoes they tumble into bed.

And so the quiet comes to this home in north Texas. I soak it in, dripping with silence.

But oh, the minutes tick away, one by one, creeping toward tomorrow. And this mother will lay a weary head on pillow, blankets kicked off and melt as well. This day spent without a buffer from the heat has drained me.

Thanks be to the God who invented rest - who modeled it for us. May it find me in these midnight hours and may I wake tomorrow alert, alive, and able to be all that I ought.

Patience

I used to be patient. I never lost my temper. Never yelled.

Then suddenly I had children. And all of that self-control evaporated amidst five years of pregnancy, nursing, and newborns. Little one spills breakfast cereal and mommy's frustration sloshes out. Baby is nauseated by the smell of a clean shirt. Oldest child takes the best toy - the red Hotwheel - from little brother and in an instant the Civil War breaks out at my feet.

My friend Jenny listens to me lament, "I don't know what happened. I used to be so patient. Now I'm worn thin. Frayed at the edges."

And she laughs at me, this Jenny of mine, mother of five children. "No dear," she says in her wit-and-wisdom-way, "It's not that you were patient. It's that your patience was never tried."

Never tried. Never tested. Never pushed to the limits on sleepless nights and never-ending days.

But love is patient, kind, long suffering...

...and one day, one child, at a time this mommy learns to love. And laugh.

Honey For A Mother's Heart

Words That Lift A Weary Heart, Sent From An Online Friend:

"There is nothing more holy than caring for a sick child.
Jesus holds us when we are sick all the time."

This after welcoming a sick child into my bed in the middle of the night, only to wake up in a sea of vomit less than an hour later.

Laundry. Oh the laundry! And the scrubbing. And the disinfecting. Only to do it all again. Over and over.

And the reminder that this season of servanthood creates holiness. Stripping the "me" from Mommy. Becoming one poured through instead of one who soaks up.

Because Jesus knows that I am sick too.