A Taste of the ReFoRMation . . .

Here’s an excerpt of the manuscript I’ve been working on these past couple of months.  It’s a Christian Suspense novel with a bit of Spiritual Warfare thrown in for good measure.  It’s presently going under the working title, “ReFoRMation”  Enjoy!


With Eirin on his way, and Philos tending to the woman, Suriyan now stood a short distance from his own charge, studying him with unbridled fascination.  He was intrigued by humans.  Just as he was sure humans would be fascinated by the beings they called the Heavenly Host.  Suriyan simply called them friends and family.  Over the course of his long history with these humans, Suriyan had in fact been called many things: Angel, Archangel, Seraphim, Virtue, Cherub, Cherubim, and Principality among others.  Like many beliefs humanity held of the heavenly realm, these had been both entirely accurate and entirely inadequate. 

He’d walked with Nick Lassiter, his charge, for over fifteen years now.  He could appreciate and respect the journey this man had taken, both in time and mind, and he knew full well how Nick felt about the past.

The past was the past; it was the only thing in life you could truly do nothing about.

Except learn from it.

For Nicholas Lassiter, the past was a place of loss.  Suriyan knew that all too well.  What was there to learn from loss? And such losses they were: His mother.  His father.  His faith—both in God and humanity.  His direction.  Ultimately, his purpose.

The past was the past . . .

    . . . nothing you could do . . .

            . . . except learn from it . . .

At one time, the younger Nick had given his life to God, desperately seeking a salve for the wound left by the indifference and preoccupation of his earthly father.  Hoping against hope that within his salvation the hole left by his dad’s absence would be filled in by the Father in heaven.  Yet, like so many raised without a tangible, fatherly influence, he missed the mark on what a paternal role model should really look like, and what it could truly be; he missed what it meant to be a child of God; and, most painfully, he mistook the desire for a father to show responsibility, for need of a father to simply show love.

Nick’s mother continually prayed for the Lord to watch over her son.  She was a woman not without her own faults; a simple reality of the human condition and one that Suriyan wished more of their kind would acknowledge.  Still, she was sincere in her devotion to both her God and her son.  To Suriyan, the helpless acknowledgment of a mother, any mother, to the willful abdication of a father and the role he plays in a child’s life was the height of injustice.  Of anything, Suriyan knew of justice and fairness.  From the moment of Nick’s mother’s first prayers, Suriyan had been by the young man’s side, and had remained vigilant ever since.

Her death had been a tragedy, even for Suriyan and his friends.  As anyone would when a loved one is taken away so suddenly, so needlessly, the young Nick questioned the motives of God and the wisdom and intentions of this newfound “father figure”.  He pleaded for a change of heart, a change of fate, or that the gaping wound left by the loss of the only parental influence that seemed to matter in his life might grow scabbed and callous; that he would soon be able to “get over it” or at the very least, to move on. 

When that failed, his confusion turned to rage.  He lashed out; bringing on the full force of his anger, not with burning words of accusation, but with the icy silence of detachment; not on his heavenly Father filled with infinite grace and patience, but on his living father, filled only with shame and regret.

For what little impact it may have had, his dad barely noticed.

For the man who views himself as a failure, as a husband, father and provider, the ocean of despair runs deep, with a cruel and pitiless grip on both heart and mind.  Pounding waves of guilt and disgrace crash against the shores of a fragile conscience.  There were innumerable friends and family members who waded into those waters.  But none stayed long enough to learn to swim.  Though words of encouragement were given, they merely fell through the crashing waves with barely a ripple.  Though hands reached in to offer rescue, they merely passed by unseen; fleeting shadows to a drowning man, held below the surface by the weight of a thousand “if only’s”. 

To Suriyan, George Lassiter’s death seemed almost inevitable. 

And so it was. 

After that the boy simply went numb.

Still Suriyan remained.  As the young man grew, drifted, wandered and began losing his grasp on the few tendrils of faith he’d held in those earlier days, Suriyan held fast to the strong cord of his own faith in the man he vowed to watch over.  It was true that Nick Lassiter had never outright turned his back on God, yet like so many who turn to God in the most desperate of situations, once the events in their lives turn to routine, and the emotional scars begin to heal, they find little want for a God they weren’t sure they believed in to begin with. 

The Angel knew that Nick hadn’t fully stepped off of his path.  If anything, he’d merely gotten lost along the way.  So Suriyan, the patient and vigilant guide, watched his charge with unbridled fascination. 

And waited.

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