To write a book…

A fifteen-year journey of an author’s first book.

It was the year 2000. I was finally finished with high school. The thought of college was daunting and seemed premature. Throughout the year before I graduated, I had prayed numerous times that God would help me to accomplish the grand goal of finishing high school. For someone who was not a scholar, it was a significant achievement. And God did hear my prayers.

Ten years before my high school graduation, when I was 10, my grandmother bought each of my 3 brothers and I a diary, or as I preferred to call it, a journal. Captain Nemo used the word Log, and other men in books and movies used the word Journal. The two words seemed more fitting for a ten-year-old boy than the word diary, which typically denoted that the owner was a girl.

My young mind rationalized that this was the time of life to begin cultivating a talent that would develop into a hobby and maybe a way to make money later on in life. I considered painting, but when a ten-year-old tries to paint, it can be challenging to look at a hastily painted creation that is certainly not a Rembrandt and continue to believe that he will make money at it one day. I enjoy painting and drawing, but at this point the idea of making a living at it contributes extra fare to chuckle city.

So, my 10-year-old self decided that I would make writing my hobby. In the ten years from that point up until my high school graduation, I would now and then try to write stories. So I used my new journal from my grandmother to write my 1^st big, not so epic narrative. And I discovered that I did not know how to write.  I did not know how to craft a story, and I sometimes wonder if I still have that problem. So, the 1^st story I wrote was like soup that someone had forgotten to season.

As a youngster, when I made soup, it did not have much flavor. I understood the concept of seasoning, but I did not know how to do it. I like the soup I make now. I know how to season soup and it is usually pretty good, according to my wife, that is. My first story was like a joke with no punchline. 

The first few stories were usually about halfway finished and were typically about animals and the various adventures they had. At some point I graduated from writing in my journal to using my family’s 486 computer. It ran Windows 3.1 and my parents had purchased WordPerfect 5.1 for it. It had a blue screen backdrop rather than the white ones that is integral to word processors today.

In my freshman year of high school my family moved from Alaska to South Texas. It was a culture shock in some ways, but it was a definite climate shock. And the first job I got was working in a bakery on the Academy campus. Needless to say I was always sweating, and on break I used to sneak into the walk in refrigerator to take some much prized short catnaps. I did end up startling one of my supervisors at one point.

The radio was always on in the cafeteria, which was also a bakery. Once a day an audio adventure came on the air and one day it was about a girl who was writing a story about people stuck on a desert Island. And I thought, “Why don’t I try that?” The idea circulated in my head until my Jr. year in High School and I began writing my own epic about people stranded on a desert Island. I made it about 4 chapters in length over the course of several weeks. It was amalgamations of plot elements from a variety of different books I had read which I coalesced.  Part of it included plot material that was completely original.

There was an on-going joke in the house between my brothers about how the island in the book was overrun with Chihuahuas and it made for good laughs all around. In my last year of high school, I noticed that I could not find the word processor, WordPerfect on any computer I used, and instead of WordPerfect there was this interloper called Microsoft Word, which I believed was grossly inferior.

I did manage to graduate from high school, and I escaped having to take an algebra class, much to my relief. But college was a whole new game.

The small college that I went to was in New York and it was called CPE.  There were a number of teachers there who had written a number of books and were good authors in their own right. My college English teacher Nicole Crozier (soon to be Parker) came up with stories on the fly to embellish whatever point she was trying to get across to her students. She gave a couple of lectures on the well of imaginary stories and her point was that they were excellent ways of bringing up or establishing a certain point. Being somewhat squeamish at that time, I was horrified one day when when the future Mrs. Parker announced that we would be reading a selection entitled, “the embalming of Mr. Jones.” 

I sat there in her class rather placidly, and in my mind I was exclaiming, “how can she possibly want to read about embalming people around lunchtime!?” Now when I remember it, I am able to chuckle at my 20 year old self. It was during my time in my English teacher’s class and our own discussions that I realized that any writing I did needed to have a point. That in the grand scheme of things, writing that led people to make a serious life decision would do more good than all the comedy or drama I could write, and as a result, my writing did not lose all of it’s comedic potential, but I became more interested and focused in writing with the grand scheme of things in mind.   

I thought my writing was somewhat passable before my 1^st year in college, but after being around teachers who had written so much and whose knowledge was so vast and broad compared to my own, I felt quiet intimidated. The bar seemed to be set so far over what I ever though was doable by myself that settling for literary mediocrity seemed an inescapable fate.

Of course none of my teachers suspected that I felt this way, and one seasoned History teacher, Lawrence Maxwell, who was an accomplished writer, and whose father had written many bedtime story books and Blue Bible storybooks was very liberal in giving me advice and encouragement. We had a lot in common and I often consulted his sage advice, which he readily gave.  I learned a lot in his lectures and in our private conversations.

One teacher who had published half a dozen books mentioned that in writing, he could reach more people than in any other way, and that thought inspired me.  I had wanted to be a real writer for years and my desire to emulate the writers and teachers at my college increased a lot.  People like my English teacher Nicole Parker,  my History teacher Lawrence Maxwell.

Unlike my teachers, like Harry Janetsko who was the academic dean, I had no breadth of knowledge to pass on in writing. I could not write about theology because I knew nothing about it. I could not write about history when 90% of what Mr. Maxwell taught in his lectures was news to me.  I felt that I could only follow in the footsteps of John Bunyan in writing something that was exceptionally edifying and creative in scope. I felt that an allegory was my best bet. I believed at the time that I would not have to rely on having mastered a specific branch of learning in order to write a good allegory.  I found out later that having a rudimentary knowledge in some fields did help a lot. I did not want to borrow from anyone else, although I felt that a nod to writers like John Bunyan was fitting. I wanted to be as original and creative as I could be.

I did not at first realize what a tall order this was, but I prayed about it, and God answered my prayers over the next few years and beyond. I did write a little about theology, but I felt that it was not my forte. And so, my search for an original literary concept began.  I was well aware of what the Bible says about no new thing under the sun.

One of the things I did at CPE (The Center for Personal Evangelism) was canvassing, which was essentially going from door to door selling religious books, cook books, children’s books and the like. The intent of the books was to pave a way to bring the 3 Angels messages to the person, or what we often called, the prospect’s, home.  The cookbooks, children’s books and health books were designed with this ultimate goal in mind.

Selling books was not something I was really good at and not something I relished. When one of the schools leaders and literally one of the most successful canvassers in America, Tim Baily went canvassing with me door to door, I was astounded. I truly felt that I was in the presence of canvassing greatness. When I sold books, I dreamed of the day when I would be a part of a ministry doing something I was actually good at. At that point, I was better at selling that writing. In retrospect, I cannot call my 20-year-old self a good writer, but I can’t say I was a bad writer, or that I did not put in a lot of effort into it. 

For ten years, my seasoned History teacher Mr. Maxwell would always help me, and we often exchanged e-mails and telephone calls. Whenever I e-mailed him something that I had written, he would always encourage me. He would tell me how I could write it differently, and write more effectively. When I wrote something that was not correct as far as the historical context went, he would point out my mistakes and makes suggestions which I was more than happy to incorporate in what I wrote. When I turned 30 and had just arrived at Ouachita Hills, he passed away, and ever since then, I have greatly missed his friendship, his advice, and less significantly, the fact that he was happy to edit and critique the things I wrote.

When I was 23, I had my first real literary success which could not have happened without help and encouragement from Nicole Parker. It was an article I wrote for Insight magazine. When I was 18, I had a horrific nightmare about being lost. In the dream or nightmare, I was living in the future when probation had passed, and when God had decided who was lost and who was saved, and those who missed the mark (or had gotten it) had not yet perished. The nightmare did not have a happy ending except for that fact that I woke up and realized that it was a dream. In the article I related the dream and the conclusions I drew from it.

During the same summer I was a canvasser again, but this summer I was canvassing in Oregon.

One day, while I was canvassing, an idea struck me forcibly that my mind was like a fortress, or a Castle. There were ports of entry into my mind just like gates on a Castle. The thought was so strong and forcible that I started making notes. With the same energy of someone chasing pieces of scrap of paper that the wind is blowing away, I wrote down the thoughts I had and they steadily accumulated. I had not ceased being on the lookout for a literary idea that could become an allegory. And I realized that this could be it.   

In what I believed to be providential, the people I stayed with while canvassing connected me with people in South Korea who were looking for an English teacher. If they wanted someone who knew a lot about grammar, I would have been disqualified, but it was more conversational English. A lot of problems arose to prevent my going and a lot of prayers were said. But in the end, thanks to the generosity and understanding of Eugene Prewitt to whom I owed a massive debt and had not actually met, and against a lot of odds, I was able to fulfill a life long dream of living in another country. So, I went overseas to teach English in South Korea. Fortunately I did not have to teach much grammar since it was another subject that I was not very good at. Very much on the side of my busy schedule, I continued writing about the Castle story and within a year, I had a short screenplay on it.

About that time, I met someone who became my best friend.  I would sometimes send too much money to people that I owed debts to in the states, and I would end up eating much more rice than I liked. I don’t know how my friend knew of my limited means, but she would frequently take me out to eat, and before long I did not use her name, but I called her Noona, which in Korean, means older sister.  There are times when people question whether they really love someone, and there are times when there is no question about it. You can say definitively that you love someone.  That is the way I felt about my Noona. I truly loved her, and I still feel the same way.

To make a long story short, Noona actually suffered from mental illness. I did not recognize any of the symptoms then that are now obvious to me. There are of course many people who suffer from mental illness, and if you do not know much about mental illnesses, then these people might be the ones you would least suspect. Even when she told me she was afraid of death, I was in denial about how serious the situation was. I had never encountered someone who was so mentally depressed and I had not a clue about what to do other than be the best friend I could be. Well, on Feb 14, 2006, I learned that she had committed suicide. I was having a lot of personal problems besides this at that time and I really did not recover from it for some years. But God provided good friends who did not replace Noona, but who helped heal the hurt and dysfunction I felt for the next several years.  People I owe a massive amount of gratitude to like Jonathan, Heather, Miguel, Jared, Sarah, Aileen, Katie and Genie who were self sacrificing friends at Union College and significantly my family. Later, God brought other people in my life whose friendship healed me even further. People like my future wife Kathy Curtis and a best friend, Handel Smith. 

Not long after Noona’s death, I realized with searing clarity how real the battle between good and evil was. The enemy had stolen my dear friend and I now viewed him as a wicked tyrant in degrees could not have before Noona's death. When I thought of my beloved Noona, I seethed with rage and pain, and I longed for a way to invade the enemy's kingdom and steal his victims from him. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I wanted to hurt him as he had hurt me. At this point in my life (2006) I had become irrational on multiple levels. Yes, we must by the grace of God win souls for the Kingdom and yet, it should be love for God and the unspeakable value of souls that motivates us, not revenge against an enemy we cannot hurt without God's help. Later, my motivation would shift from revenge on the devil to the salvation of souls, but God would have to take a hand for that to be in an way successful. But at that time, to me, the importance of finishing the Castle story, of making it a book, and winning as many to the side of Christ as possible with it, became an obsession. In retrospect, my actions and sentiments, irrational and feeble efforts as they were now seem somewhat pathetic. But at the time I reasoned, “Didn’t Jesus win people with parables?” In part, yes. And my lack of life experience from which to write something other than an allegory, strengthened my resolve to be successful in writing my allegory and completing this Castle story.

In late 2006, I left Korea and went to my 2^nd college (not counting a semester of community college), which was in Lincoln NE. I was plagued by some health problems. Also, there was the recent trauma of Noona’s death 6 months prior to this.  I had no appetite to study or go to school, thus my grades were not that great. If I had taken the time I spent on the Castle story, which I that point I called, “The Silent War”, and spent it on classes, I probably would have gotten better grades. By this point I was obsessed with writing and finishing the book. I had dreams of it being published by either Pacific Press or Review and Herald.

My behavior at this time was somewhat irrational and so were a lot of my hopes.  The cash advances that usually went along with a book being published added to the substantial motivation I already had. For a college student who is not impoverished, but who can’t find or keep a job, the financial benefits of being a successful writer were hard to temper with the hard facts of reality.

To say that the influence of other books and movies did not creep into what I wrote would not be true either. In a lot of books and movies, something the authors or producers seemed to take a fiendish delight in was killing off one or more of the main characters, and so rather than kill one of my main characters in the Castles story, I rewrote part of it to where he was severely injured and rendered useless for most of the plot. Around this time, I took a lot of literary classes and decided to incorporate elements of Shakespearian writing into my work. In retrospect it was a mistake for the type of book I was writing.

To make a long story short, I did finally finish what I was calling “Entity Castle” in the summer of 2008. But, sad to say, much of it had a worldly tint. When I finished it, I was at home and my parents had a surprise party to celebrate its completion. I would spend the next several years editing it…trying to make it perfect. But, it was not the sort of allegory I had initially envisioned, or any kind of book that God could sanction, and while I spent perhaps thousands of hours on it, I met with many repeated rejections from various publishing houses.

I went back to Oregon over the summer of 2008 to be a canvassing leader which I was not good at. Then I returned to Lincoln NE in the fall. This was one of those times I did not have things together. Life began to fall apart in various ways. I finally got a job, but it was at McDonalds. My academic record began to catch up with me and I was denied entry to the college I had been attending due to my academic failures. Finally, all I was doing was working and sometimes eating at McDonalds and playing video games most of the time.  I had a mountain of student debt and private debt also.  Finally I returned to Oregon in December.  For most of the time in the fall of 2008, I did not write, or care to write. The Castle story collected dust, and I despaired of ever being a writer at all. I had not resisted letting the last several years of college draw me from my commitment to God and writing.  Something was broken, and life lacked a rhyme or reason.

Back in Oregon as 2008 became 2009, I began to consider again, my spiritual life. I recognized that I had made concessions to worldliness. I began making an effort to change what I watched and listened to. I went to community college for a semester and took literature classes and a Spanish class. In my own opinion at the time, I had been tainted and was in many respects a worldly person.  I did not feel like the same energetic person who had gone to Korea a few years before.

But God had not given up on me. I spent quite a lot of time at my Uncles house, and his family spoke Spanish a lot. Adventist Spanish broadcasting was frequently on television and one show that was often on the air was a show of a group of young people. On the show, they were always studying the Sabbath school lesson in Spanish.

I was taking Spanish classes at this point and my Korean and Spanish were all mixed up. When I watched that program, I would wonder to myself, “do those people speak English?” Little did I know that those people on that Spanish show would become friends of mine. It was not long until I learned that the show was produced by Ouachita Hills College, a small SDA college in Arkansas. I had attended a high school in Arkansas in the mid to late 90’s and a few of my friends had told me about Ouachita Hills.

Although the 1^st college I went to in New York was very conservative, my experience there had been a good one. Apart from that, I had had a lot of unpleasant experiences with groups that were very conservative, and in contrast, I viewed the conservative’s proverbial antonym with a lot of favor.  At this point I viewed religious liberals very favorably.  

I began; quiet reluctantly, to feel the strong impression that God wanted me to go to Ouachita Hills. It was like a Doctor telling a patient, “you have this problem,” and the patient exclaims, “That can’t be right…it mustn’t be right!” "It is a small Adventist College in the sticks,” I would remind myself. Both my book and myself were in need of a dramatic change. But before the book could be changed, God would need to change me.

At that point, I told myself that I had a good reason for not going to Ouachita Hills. I had no money. And with no prospects of having a job, I told God that if He provided the money, I would go to Ouachita Hills. I saw this as good insurance that I could avoid going there. I had unconsciously put Ouachita Hills in the same category as other very conservative groups I had encountered.  Later I would find that my conclusions were quite inaccurate. Shortly after I had promised God that I would go to Ouachita Hills if He would provide the funds, someone asked me to housesit for them and told me that they would be happy to pay me. I had given my word and I was stuck. I was angry with myself for having promised God I would go to Ouachita Hills, but I had given my word.

When I had gone to Korea in 2003, one of the people who was instrumental in my going there was Eugene Prewitt who at that point was a staff member at Ouachita Hills. Although we frequently spoke on the phone, I did not actually meet Eugene until the fall of 2009 at Ouachita Hills.  CPE, the small but beloved college I went to in New York in the fall of 2000, had since folded and in an ironic twist of fate, had been, in some respects absorbed by Ouachita Hills and in some way Eugene was instrumental in that also.  Some of the furniture at Ouachita Hills had been at CPE and there was an almost eerie familiarity that I initially resented. Paving the way to Korea in 2003, Eugene had forgiven a debt of multiple thousands in what I had owed to CPE. Once I started working in Korea in 2003 and sending regular payments, Eugene cancelled more 50% of the debt I owed him. Eugene was the only person I thought I knew at Ouachita Hills and in truth that was only partially accurate. It turned out that there were a few people at Ouachita Hills I knew. I did not know that some of my relatives were attending Ouachita Hills either. Also, my English teacher from CPE in New York, Nicole Crozier Parker, was an alumnus of Ouachita Hills and in class she had made some cryptic but positive comments about Ouachita Hills.

If God wanted me to go to Ouachita Hills, it could not be a bad place if a person like Eugene Prewitt worked there and if my friend and English teacher Nicole had been a student there. My former history teacher, Lawrence Maxwell, had mentioned Eugene in a positive way a number times in our conversations without my having brought up his name. That and Eugene forgiving my debts made up for the fact that I had not met him up to the point.  
With some misgivings, I now had money to fly to Arkansas and even though we had never met in person, the fact that Eugene Prewitt was there made it easier. And I also hoped that I might see Nicole Parker there at some point. About a month after I got to Ouachita Hills, Lawrence Maxwell very kindly sent me an introduction he had written for the castle story. Then, about two months later Mr. Maxwell passed away. I was very sad, and my friendship with Eugene was strengthened by the fact that we had both known and loved this man. Of course, nobody took the place of Mr. Maxwell, but it was a comfort to me to be around someone who had been close to him.

My roommates at OH (Ouachtia Hills) were the best I could ever have asked for. I brought my laptop along with me with several of my cherished games. I was typically quiet and avoided people some of the time. But in my mind, there were a number of exclamations on a variety of issues. “Oh goodness! They make their own fake cheese! I can’t bear to eat anymore granola! Oh that is right! I will have to canvass again! Help! This place really is in the middle of nowhere! Please please! No math classes! Oh no, I am ten years older than most of the students! Ugh! I hope they don’t find out. Ack! I am older than some of the staff members! How depressing.” Now I look back, and while it is not comedy, it is a little amusing. Anytime anyone was going to Arkadelphia not far away, I made every attempt to go along, and I am afraid that I was a trial to some long suffering staff members.

Not long into the 1^st year, I discovered much to my dismay that John Bunyan had written a book called, “The Holy War for Mansoul.” And its plot was disturbingly similar to mine. Much chagrined, I remembered what the Bible said about no new thing under the sun, and for several years after that, the Castle story collected dusk. I really began to despair of ever being a writer. But good things were happening too.

As the year progressed, I began to wonder, I am I changing? I began to take a lot of comfort in the songs the students sung, and the relationships I made warmed me. Some people said, “Brent, you are changing.” And I thought, “well that was a nice thing to say. Is it true?” I had expected to be lectured by the students and staff once they discovered how much I loved cheese on veggie pizzas. I don't know if it ever became common knowledge, but my roommates knew and I never heard a word about it from anyone. This surprised me. My roommates went to great lengths to make me feel welcomed and this touched me.  Some of the things I brought with me such as cherished games eventually made their way to the trash, and I did not miss them as I had supposed I would. Replacing one pastime with another helped a lot.

My feelings on canvassing did not change much although the mission of it was still important to me. On one canvassing trip, one girl exclaimed, “Oh I love canvassing!” “Well that is one nut you should avoid,” I thought to myself. “Be polite, but avoid her.”

Well, as providence would have it, I ended up marrying her, and while it has not always been smooth sailing, she has been a soul mate and someone I love in a deep yet quiet sort of way. She has had a consecrative and sanctifying influence in our home, and I can’t imagine life without her. 

Academics were always trial to me, but the staff and teachers went out of their way to help me. I sometimes think that I was a trial to some of them, but they helped me to realize an oft despaired of dream of mine to graduate from college. It was the happiest day of my life until two days later.

And two days after I graduated, Kathy and I got married. So, I remember very little from that time of planning a wedding and trying to finish college classes which included a dreaded math class whose bark was worse than it’s bite. Later in that year of 2011, Kathy and I departed for South Korea. I had longed to go back to South Korea and at the same time I was tense remembering my experience with Noona. But not long after I went back, I made another best friend. 

One night around the end of November of the year I returned to Korea, I went to the church, which was part of the elementary school I was employed at. They were having an open house. There were many people there. I was standing in the hall and watching people come down the stairs when unexpectedly a foreigner stepped down the stairs, and when I saw him, I knew that he was special in a positive sense. I did not know why, but I felt an instant connection and he became one of the best friends and confidants I have ever known.

Later, Handel Smith would end up working in the same school, and spiritually speaking, we seemed to sharpen each other, and we often had very long and interesting conversations about the Bible. Handel and his wife Minjoo, who was also a good friend and an amazing chef were the sort of people I felt that anyone would be happy to be around. He was a frequent and generous guest in our home, and the constant subjects like the sanctuary, newstart, and prophecy as well as character development were subjects that were dwelt on a lot.  I was not perfect, yet at Ouachita Hills and later with Handel and Minjoo being around so much, my faith grew and I felt I was living a life God could approve of. Among many other aspects, something very unique and special came of this period.

The Castle story was on my computer, but it had not been touched in a long time. A seed of interest began to well up, and I reluctantly began dusting it off in the metaphorical sense. On the one hand I felt that spending more effort on it was a waste of time, and yet I could not just chuck it. And yet, how much work should I put into it? Was it worth it? It had been rejected so often, and I was weary of reaching for stars. I no longer relished the foresight and effort to conceive of its hypothetical success.  But in the metaphorical sense, I took the failure that was my book down, and prayed.

I began reading, and I realized that I no longer harmonized with much of what was in the book.  But I harmonized with the initial mission of the book. When I had written the article for Insight magazine in 2003 which was my only literary success, I had prayed and asked the Lord to give me the title. And not long after I prayed this prayer, a phrase kept cropping up in the back of my mind. At first I thought this phrase was, well, rather corny. “God’s shock therapy!” But even though I ignored the thought, the phrase kept cropping up even though it was not related to anything I was talking about or reading. After a while I realized that it was a good title and it became the title of that magazine article.

Well, I decided that I should do the same thing for the castle story. I prayed and asked God to give me the title He wanted for the Castle story. And once again a word that was unrelated to anything I was thinking, talking, hearing or reading about kept cropping up.  And again, my first impression was that the word was weird, but the more I thought of it, the more it seemed to encompass and describe what the book was about. And, the word in the back of my mind, and the answer to my prayer was SoulCastles.

But SoulCastles had so many problems. So many contradictions to what a good book should be, especially the kind of book I envisioned. To make a long story short, SoulCastles was almost 300 pages, and I painstakingly cut out over 100 pages. When I was finished, I could not find one bit of material that I could call worldly. But, I had a big problem. The plot was like swiss cheese. Nothing made sense anymore. There were too many unconnected points. There were huge holes in the plot.

Years before, when I began to write worldly elements into the book, and I was not living the way I should, it was like someone flipped a switch, and I had almost no ability to write well or be creative. It was a prolonged period of writers block. But at Ouachita Hills and after I returned to Korea and had spent so much time around Handel and Minjoo, I began to live the way I believed God wanted me to live, and it was like someone flipped a switch again, and I was able to write well once more.

Then something special and unique happened that I never anticipated. SoulCastles had many flaws in that there were huge holes in the plot. So much did not make sense.

In one week, I had two dreams that were specifically about SoulCastles. In the dreams I observed creative plot material that fitted SoulCastles like a jigsaw puzzle.  Over the course of several months I rewrote SoulCastles using the plot developments I had seen in my dreams. This was around 2013-2014. When I had added everything I had seen in my dreams, the plot was better than anything I could ever have made up.

So, I cannot say that SoulCastles 100% original. I must be truthful and say that God must take the credit for it. There have been times that I wondered if SoulCastles is going to go anywhere, and I remember my initial reasons for wanting to write it. And, at that time, Handel was very encouraging regarding this book which helped. I also remember that God gave me two dreams for it. I am trying to sell it on Amazon, but like math, and like grammar, marketing is something I know nothing about.

When I was younger in my early 20’s and before that, I had a good singing voice. I have not shared this before, but it made me proud in a way that was not constructive. I took efforts to control my pride, but my singing ability made me vain in ways that now make me embarrassed, and blowing my own horn is something I try to avoid. I did finish college by the grace of God, because of teachers who went beyond the call of duty to help me and because of my own effort, but I have no reason to be proud or vain. I have written a book but I have no reason to be proud. I have traveled the world and lived overseas, but I have no reason to be proud. I honestly hate what pride does and I have viewed it as an enemy for sometime.

This is not to say that I don’t take pride in good work or accomplishments. But blowing my own horn is hard for me. I don’t know how to advertise SoulCastles or market it. All of my guesses have not accounted for much. And there is the other nail-biting consideration that has dogged me. What if SoulCastles is boring? What if people are too kind to say so or too busy? Is this paranoia? Sometime back I realized that worry of this sort is a waste of time, but human nature can’t help wondering about something like that. 

In an attempt to nullify the possible truth that SoulCastles was boring, I was able, with the help of many good friends who shared their time and efforts, to produce an audio dramatization on SoulCastle complete with background noises, orchestrated music and a multi-voiced cast of friends. I am not worried about the audio version being boring, but I do worry about the book version.

Every once in a while, God will show me how I can change something to enhance someone’s perception of it being interesting.  Recently I realized how I could make it less expensive to sell on Amazon. In the plot, the character I had rendered useless because of an injury was used to deepen the plot in a way that did not kill him or injure anyone else.  

SoulCastles is in a sense, my first-born, and as God has brought me closer to conversion, SoulCastles has also changed for the better. It has been 20 years since high school and while I can’t think of any subject I could even claim to be slightly informed in except, perhaps maybe my Religion degree, I do have much more life experience and this has brought about two books that are in the works, as well as another one, a testimony about my Uncle who escaped from Cuba. I can call myself a writer now. Can I call myself successful? I am going to let that be God’s call, and by His grace, I will do the best I can as a writer regardless of what happens. The people I have mentioned by name in this rather long article are people who I feel that have contributed to any success I might have, and people who I admire, respect and like. This would also include my parents and my Aunt and Uncle though I did not mention them by name.

It says in Proverbs 16:3, that when we commit our ways to the Lord in whatever we do, that He will establish our path. Matthew 6:33 says, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I had taken this to heart, years ago. And, I do not want to take it to heart so that I will experience success as a writer, but I want to seek God’s kingdom and His righteousness because I want to seek His Kingdom and righteousness.  I hope that this testimony has been a blessing to you and that we will seek God ‘s Kingdom and His righteousness and watch the results that He brings into our lives in regards to the talents and successes He has given us. On one hand, I hesitate to ask people to read SoulCastles. I don't want to blow my own horn. I fear their impression of it being a dull book, and on the other, I think of the gospel message that I, by the grace of God, incorporated into it and the ways it could be a blessing to people who will read anything that is interesting. I will not be offended by anyone who had a word of advice for me in what they consider as something that makes a book fun to read. At present, I am praying for God's will, trying to think of what I can do to improve SoulCastle's and its success and waiting to see what happens.  But whatever happens, whether SoulCastles is a success or not, I will be content, cheerful and by the grace of God, zealous for His Kingdom and the gospel. 

Death defeated...

Before I write anything, I want to assure readers that this article ends on a positive and faith filled note.                                                                                                         A few months ago while I was on the phone with my wife, she asked me to share something. Sometimes, sharing is really difficult for me. It is almost like an invisible vice that I just about do not have the strength to untighten. It is not that I do not want to share. I had not seen my wife in 5 months although I had talked her almost every day. So I searched my mind for anything. There are sometimes when I think of things, but decide not to share either because I myself have not formed a solid opinion or a conclusion on it myself, or I am concerned that showing a side of me I have never shared would be depressing to her. In this case, death would be true of both of those things. But I want to be able to share and as such making an effort is a good place to start. In many cases it is a good thing because I inevitably learn something about myself in sharing that is interesting, answers questions or at the very least, or the very most, helps me communicate with my wife better. I love my wife and am sometimes frustrated that I am not able at time to share with her more deeply than I do. But I do have hope in regards to this predicament.

When I was younger and lived in South Texas, there was a swimming pool that had a high dive.  I had learned to dive off the short dive, but I never had the courage to dive off the high dive. My adventuresome older brother did it, but I never could. But I did work up the courage several times to jump, rather than to dive off of it though. Some people may think about public speaking that way I did about jumping off of that high dive. I don’t mind public speaking as long as I can make a story out of it. Then I feel quite comfortable. Telling my wife that I thought a lot about death…more than what was good for me was like working up the courage to jump off the high dive. I don’t think about death as in suicide. I have not been tempted or seriously thought about suicide myself. I think people who do either have no hope, are in a lot of pain, or have some mental issue. But I do think a lot about death which may come as a surprise to a lot of folks. I know that for me, death is nothing to be afraid of as long as a I do not do something terrible and then get hit by a train the next minute. I have the assurance that if I die, I have a Savoir who will look after me even in death. So every morning, I try, and it is not always easy, but I try to meet and communicate with Him each day in prayer and Bible study. It is not that this will save me, but it is forming a vital connection that will not be destroyed even in death.

I have never shared this with anyone, and the idea that I would dwell so much on death was a surprise to my wife. Then after some time when I had explained myself, it made some sense to her. I am usually able to communicate much more accurately and with greater lucidity if I am writing rather than talking.  There were some aspects and unmentioned details of my conversation with her that I did not mention and this writing is for her as much as it is for my need to express myself.  So a good question is why someone would dwell on death so much? Almost any other topic is bound to be better, more cheerful and not so depressing. But, this story about death, does have a happy conclusion despite some of the things I will mention shortly. When I was a younger person I used to ask God that He would help me to make people laugh and that He would grant me a talent in this area. And in some respects God did answer my prayer. I tried to remember and tell clean jokes when the opportunity presented itself. I would read what Solomon said in Proverbs about crying being better than laughter, and the idea was depressing. Was Solomon crazy? No, I think he was really depressed. I am happily married to one person, but if I had 700 wives, and 300 concubines, I might be depressed too. I would feel sorry for all those women, because undoubtedly and deservedly so, their desire not to share a man they loved with anyone else was a right they were denied and something that every woman and every man deserves.  

When I was about 10, my maternal grandparents died about a year apart from cancer. At 10 years old, I did not really understand death. In some ways I do not understand it now even though I know from the Bible that death is like sleep. You don’t know anything until you wake up, or until God resurrects you, and the Bible is clear that God will resurrect everybody at some point in time. I could not fathom the idea that grandpa and grandma were just gone.  In my young mind, it was easier to believe that they must be living somewhere on the earth were we could not find them. I guess this was a fantasy that made it easier to bear the loss even though I would remind myself that that as the Bible said, they really were gone. Death was such a mystery. Yes…the Bible is clear about death. It is a sleep. And even with decisive and clear facts in front you that someone is dead, why they died and where they are as far as sleeping until the resurrection, this does not take away the morbid mystery of death. You never really recover from the death of a loved one. You move on, and there is a certain place in your heart…a hallowed golden hall where their picture is lovingly put up. And also an ache that you cannot escape. An ache not erased, but made easier to bear by those who are alive. Those who you can still hug and kiss.

Those upon whom you can still bestow affection in a way you cannot do for the loved one who has departed, ticket in hand on death’s silent train.  But there is another aspect also. I heard my aunt and my mother comment that they were thankful that their parents died with all of their faculties and that they would be remembered that way.  

My next experience with death was much more painful than anything I have experienced in life. I have been unable to grieve any further about this for several years. One is reason could be that the wound, although not forgotten, has healed. Another is perhaps because time has worked arm in arm with God.  It has been 12 years since the event and more than likely I have shed no tears over it because that God has healed the hurt I felt. I am inclined to think the last reason is the one that counts. So, in 2003, the inconceivable happened. I actually went to a foreign country to live and work. I was in love with the idea, in love with the country (South Korea) and flying sky high. Life could not be better except that I missed my family, and this contributed to wearing me down in the next 2 ½ years.  I had lived in South Korea for about a year, when she came into my life. Ju Jong Ran (주정란). Truth be told, she sort of scared me when I first met her.  She was a vivacious, good looking person who spoke English well. What I did not know at first was that she had to go to the jungshin pyeongwha (정신평와) or mind hospital infrequently. The reason she scared me was because of the looks she would give me, whether they were on purpose or not. I became even more concerned when she asked me privately if I had ever had marital relations with anyone which at that point was pretty far down on the totem pole of importance. At times when my friend was not around, the Pastor’s wife would get this very concerned look in her eyes, and she would very kindly tell me, (not about my friend) “Brent, you need to be careful. Some people may try to tempt you.”  Fortunately, God saw to it that this never occurred. I did not have a degree, or any skills to speak of, and I knew that if I were to have a family, or support one someday, I would need to do what birds do who build nests before they have eggs. What was more, I believed, and believe in saving myself for the person I would, or could eventually marry.

I made it a point to avoid going near Jong Ran’s home which was not far from where I lived in the church where I taught English. She was a new Adventist, and uninformed about a lot of things I had known all my life. I saw her in church, and at the local church run restaurant where she began to spend time helping and being befriended by the women who cooked delicious food there. I ate lunch there every day and so I saw her every day. Then she joined my English class. She took the name Crystal since at that time I had told her about a girl in the states I really liked. I taught 3 mornings a week to mothers who wanted to improve their English for the sake of their children, and since Jong Ran and I began to spend so much time together, I started calling her Noona (누나) which means older sister in Korean. She was the age I am now (39) when I met her, and I would not have known that if she had not told me. I would have guessed that she was in her early 30’s. When I started calling her Noona, a little of the wind went out of her sails, but she was still as friendly and as kind as ever. Before long I spent more time with her than anyone else whether that was at the restaurant or the mountains, movies, class or church. And she did change a lot.

Typical of someone who grew up in Alaska, I was an avid movie watcher, and at first we would go to the movies a lot. Gradually she wanted to go to the mountains more and more, and I did not object.  Sometimes I would bring my KJV Bible and we would discuss its message and its challenging lingo. I remember her saying to me after I had known her for about 6 months “Brent, it is better to go to the mountains than the movies.” Korean people for the most part love hiking and spending time in the mountains, and it is a very big deal there. Gradually she began witnessing to younger people in and outside of the church. There were times I sent too much money to pay off my bills and I would eat a lot more rice than I liked. I don’t know how she knew, but she did, and she would take me out to a pizza restaurant which was and is my favorite food. We went to a lot of other restaurants besides playing ping pong with the young pastor at the church who was our friend. She treated me just like a little brother. She bought a suit for me, and a coat. She liked buying gag gifts too. She gave me a bar of chocolate one time and I when I tried to eat it, I realized that it was a mirror that looked just like a chocolate bar. I still have those things, and have tried to extend the life of these garments she bought.

But, over time, I saw for myself the progressive effects of her mental illness. She confided in me the fact that she could not have children, and this nearly broke her heart. Her husband was a workaholic if I ever saw one, and I realized why she spent so much time around me. I still have some notes the we wrote while in church. She would often translate for me so I could understand what the Pastor’s sermon was about.

I shared openly and freely with her and she did the same. One evening, she told me it was her birthday, and we are eating kim-bab in a rice roll restaurant. After a minute, I excused myself and said I would be right back. I went out of the restaurant to a Paris Baguette bakery store which you can find all over the place in Korea. I bought a small birthday cake and brought it back to the restaurant for her. She said with great surprise that she could not bear to eat it, and that she wanted to take it back to her home for her step children whom she loved and her husband to see. I guess they had forgotten her birthday.

We had a close connection after I likewise confided in her (early on) that the same disappointment that brought on her depression in regards to a lack of children was my reality also. Because of this, we were very close and I can say that my love for her was so great that I was able to forgive her for committing suicide.  I still love her very much and though she is gone; I have been able to make peace with what happened.  Gradually, her decline deepened, and the vivacious person gradually disappeared. After a while I learned that her step daughter had run away, and this broke her heart. I missed my own family very much and a lot of comforts of western society. One day in the restaurant, she told me that she was afraid of death. “How could she be afraid of death,” I thought to myself. She is not sick. Well, she was actually quite sick, and never having met someone like that, I missed a lot of the clues which are plain to me now that she struggled with severe mental illness and depression. I did not understand at first that she was fighting against the urge to commit suicide and against depression which at that point was something I did not understand at all. After a year and a half, I still loved Korea, but I was weary of the intense schedule I had in working for an English institute and working every day except Saturday. I needed a rest but could not get one.

There was another complicating factor. All my life until I was in my early 20’s, I did not understand what normal guys went through in their early teens.  I had an idea or course, but I did not understand it from an experiential point of view. To a lesser extent in college, and to a greater extent when I arrived in Korea, I began taking medication that allowed me to experience what most guys experience when they go through puberty, only I was 24 at this point. All of a sudden I had to stop my eyes from going to places they should not go to. All of a sudden I felt lust, and before too long I noticed that I needed to start shaving. I did not notice that I broke no bones during this time either. My days of singing 1^st tenor were long over. After a year and a half, I began to fear for my integrity. In a city of 1.5 million people, I felt constantly bombarded by temptation and I was making more money that I ever had in my life.  I wanted my integrity more than anything else at that point, so I stopped taking some medication round about October. What I did not realize was how intense and consuming the withdrawals could be or that not taking the medication would interfere with the production of neurotransmitters and various enzymes. But I thought it was a want at this time and I did not realize that it was a need. From that time, I began to make some irrational choices.

Jong Ran was sympathetic but I did not know what was happening to me. I did not realize how much our friendship meant to her. It was one of those times where I made a choice without consulting the Lord. I wanted to go back home. Jong Ran did not want me to leave, and prayed that the Lord would keep me in the city I was living in at the time. I was upset at the Institute where I worked.  Leaving for a few weeks to visit family for a few weeks in the states was a big deal to me. The institute had said that if I worked for them that my family could come and visit me, but that they could not spare me. Because of this, I decided to leave that place. And even my love for Jong Ran could not keep me from this. This was round about November. As I mentioned, I was not thinking rationally at this time.

  I wanted to stay after a while, but I had arranged for a friend to take up residence at the place I worked, and when I mentioned to the Pastor that I wanted to stay, he arranged for one of his friends in the countryside to employ me, and I ended up moving to the country to work for another school. I introduced my friend to Jong Ran and hoped that he would be as good of a friend with her as I had been.  I think he was a good friend and did his best. Jong Ran’s depression deepened after I went to another town, and I tried to call her now and then, but not being around, I could not know that her condition was getting worse. The last time I saw her was at a camp called Immanuel in the countryside where she had gone for treatment. This was about January. She hated winter and it was a depressing time for her. When she saw me, she got the smile that she used to have when I first met her, but it did not last. I spent time with her and we talked and I was happy to be near her again, although I could tell that her depression was severe. As the vehicle drove out of the camp, I looked back and saw her walking along the road talking to a Pastor’s wife and I kept her in sight for as long as I could. Then, somewhere around the 10^th of February, she went on an errand to supposedly buy some sort of liquid that was used to kill weeds and she disappeared.

They found her two days later and she was gone. She had drunk the poison and of course it had killed her. I found out on Feb 14^th. For some years after that, Valentine’s day seemed a mockery to me, except when someone from Union College who I did not know very well sent me a valentine’s day card. But, my beautiful friend was gone…stolen by death. At first, I was in denial. I had always held to the thought that the fear of death would keep someone from committing suicide. I was quite naïve. During the year before her death, I had what was almost an impression to buy a digital camera. I did buy one, but the day I showed it and asked to take a picture with her, she asked to do it later when she would look better for the camera. But it did not happen, and to this day, I have no picture of her.

When she confided her fear of death to me, I told her she should make a poster of all the things she was thankful for and I made a note to make her a poster myself, but I did not get around to it.  I did not understand her pain. I had never really met anyone who knew someone who had committed suicide. It was like something in a story that was not supposed to happen, and if it did, it happened to some unfortunate person in a book, not in real life. Well of course I was not in denial long.  During the 1^st and 2^nd week of February before she died, I felt impressed to call Jong Ran, which I tried to do but did not do often enough, and I never got an answer.  I did not know grief could be so encompassing and debilitating. My memory of the time is very ambiguous and hazy.  But I remember some things.  Many times I asked, “Why Noona? Why why why!?” But she could not answer. Several times asked God, “Why? Why?!” I was not blaming Him.

A few days after Noona committed suicide, her step daughter who had been the light of her life before she had run away, came home with a new born son not knowing what had happened, and I was told that this poor girl never stopped weeping. I had gone to eat with her and Noona before she had run away so we were friends. I spent weeks afterwards by myself greiving and mechanically getting through each day. I did not really recover from that. I loved her so much, and yet to this day, I am not able to blame her, but I still have a deep love for her, even though she committed suicide. During this time, I ordered a book online. It was written by Terri L. Fivash and was called “Joseph.” To this day it is one of the best books I have ever read. It is a 400 plus page book, but I read it 3 times in a row over the course of a month. I revelled in reading it since as long as I read it, I could ignore my own reality. Death was real now…in all its ugliness and cruelty. About this time my withdrawals from the medications I was taking probably became more severe although I would not become cognizant of physiological effects of quitting the medication cold turkey until ten years later. All I thought about was leaving Korea and going home and I was quite burned out of teaching in an institute by this time. When I returned to Korea in 2011 with my new bride, I was quite uneasy because of how I had left Korea 5 years earlier.

Now some might be rightfully saying, how could anything good come out of something so awful? Well, this could be the ultimate situation for God to work in, and He did. I did not really recover from my Noona’s death for a couple of years, and I did not take medication until I returned to Korea in 2011, so my choices were not always the best for the next few years after her passing. It was after her passing, that I had an endless fascination with death. I would never even think about suicide myself. While I had been able to forgive Jong Ran, I could never put my family through something like that, and besides I had and have so much to live for that the idea is and was preposterous. Also, I did not have mental issues like Jong Ran had. I suspect that she had been through some sort of abuse earlier in life, but of course I did not know for sure. But the mystery death even with what I knew that Bible said about it lingered for years. I could not understand death. I am an experienced based person. I need to experience things to understand them and having said that there are certain things that no one should experience.  And since I would never give suicide a second or first thought, death was a topic of intrigue and mystery to me. For a while, I loved rain, and I hated sunshine. Rain seemed sympathetic while the sunshine seemed a mockery. And I found comfort in listening to sad Russian ballads and sad songs. Of course, I kept all of this to myself.

But God did heal me. And as hard as it sounds, He brought something out a situation He did not create. I realized so acutely in ways I could never have conceived before that the devil, was the enemy of mankind. My hatred for him mushroomed, but what could I do with all of that vehement hatred? It is no doubt that evil angels had a hand in my friend’s demise, and I had not been helpful enough to prevent it. My hatred for the enemy of souls increased and consumed me. What right had he to murder! What right had he to kill? What right had he to make people miserable! And me? A weak human? What could I do for revenge? After sometime I realized that my priorities were skewed.

Over time I realized that there were wiser and more constructive approaches. I liked writing, and by the grace of God I would create a book…a story that would by the grace of God, steal the enemy of Soul’s victims away from him. And if I said that I had not felt his anger at me for what I have produced by the grace of God, I would be lying. By the grace of God, I have created over the course of 15 years a book and an audiobook which I hope will steal as many victims from the devil as possible. Through a series events God has orchestrated, which includes two dreams with plot material in them, I have produced an audiobook known as SoulCastles. And it is my hope that it steals as many victims as possible, but my motive is the salvation of souls. It is no longer for revenge.  And I hope that what I have written will save souls. Her death was the primary motivation behind this work.

God also used people to heal me. When I returned from Korea in August of 2006, I went to school at Union College. I had thought by this time that I was over the worst effects of my friend’s death. But I was still very much affected by it. Kind of like people who are anxious to get over sickness as soon as possible, I was anxious to get over the intense grief I had known in the months following Feb 14. God led me to Union college where I met a fellow named Jonathan who always seemed to be at the peak of good health and fitness unlike myself at that time. We were taking the same health class and started to play tennis. Then we started hanging out together. I was still really hurt and not always making the best choices and this was reflected in my miserable grades and sometime unclean home. But Jonathan did a lot of the same things Jong Ran had done for me. He took me out to eat, and we did watch quite a few movies together and we played a lot of games too. He introduced me to his friends, and I became part of that circle. His friends became my friends, and I think I began to experience healing. They were so nice to me. They would celebrate my birthday with a party, they would loan me their cars, they would take me out to eat and they would include me in their activities. I was somewhat erratic at this time, but they were still inclusive and they overlooked my eccentricities. To this day I consider them to be among my closest friends.

Jonathan reminded me of Jong Ran in how kind he was and how he went to great lengths to include me in whatever fun things his group of friends did. Another person that God used was my future wife Kathy Curtis. She made me so many cards and poems and wrote so many letters to me. She helped me to make better decisions than I might have made otherwise and she went to so much effort to help me in school, in work and in life. She is funny, smart, helpful and lovely. Then there was Handel, who is a great friend and is probably unaware of how much healing he has helped to bring me. In the first year after my friend’s suicide, I think I laughed very little, but Handel has helped me to laugh a lot, and in times when I was stretched financially, he would always help out in little creative ways. I never told him I was stretched, but he always seemed to know.

After Union College I went to Ouachita Hills which is a Bible college in Arkansas. It was a better fit for me than Union College although I missed Jonathan and his circle of friends. I had been in contact with some of the teachers there for years and I had a vague understanding of what went on there before I actually went there. About two years before I went to Ouachita Hills, I remember reading about how a student there had been killed in a car accident. I did not imagine that this student who I never met would have an impact on me. When I went to Ouachita hills, I could say that I had healed a lot and that the withdrawals from the medications I had not been taking for several years and that they did not affect me as much. I also made a lot of good friends at Ouachita Hills who also helped me to heal. I went there in 2009. But when I heard that a student named Luke had been the student who had been killed in 2007, I was intrigued. The interesting thing was that his younger brother became my roommate, and he was a very good roommate too. I did not talk about it much because I did not want to bring painful memories to my roommate or his other brothers. I have three brothers I love fiercely and I could only imagine what they had gone through. But I envied Luke. Since my friend’s death in Feb 2006, I was so intrigued by death although I never talked about it until a few days ago with my wife on the phone. At first, I envied the fact that Luke’s waking thought would be the resurrection of life, and that he had experienced something I never could.  But as time went on, I began to envy him for another more positive reason.

The year before, I had sold a video game system and had bought a laptop from the proceeds. It was one of my better decisions and I had prayed that God would give me a buyer which He did. I took the laptop to Ouachita Hills. One of the teachers, Eugene Prewitt happened to have Luke’s laptop but no power cord. It had not worked since a few months before Luke had died. My laptop was almost identical to Luke’s and the power cord I had worked on his computer. So Eugene lent me that computer and I perused what was on Luke’s computer. I was really impressed with what I saw on there. The kind of good spiritual music was inspiring.

The sermons were uplifting and a blessing. The pictures he had, the media and pretty much everything was a testament of someone who was in the right place spiritually…I place I could not harmonize with at that time. As I looked at Luke’s laptop, I began to envy his character which was observable by what he had put before his eyes. I realized that Luke must have been very close to the Lord in a way I was not and I began to envy that too. I noticed that his brothers also had sterling characters. But a part of me wished that it could have been me with that good character in that crash. But that did not last long because I realized that such thinking was vanity and the best I could do was prayerfully emulate such a character. As such, I thought it a good idea to spend more time around his brothers and friends. His younger brother Noah my roommate. And as I spent more time around the people at Ouachita hills, I would ask myself. Am I really changing or am I still the same? But, to my surprise some people said I had changed. I did not think a lot about death at Ouachita Hills after a few months there and the teachers and students were an inspiration to me.

I enjoy life, and I do not want to give the misimpression that I want death. I do not. But I know that in a sense, death in inevitable. The question is…which death. There are four kinds of death that I am aware of. One is the physical death everyone experiences. That is something I cannot understand because I feel that if I experience something then I truly understand it, and again, somethings should not be experienced just to understand whatever it is more fully. I have seen two beloved uncles and my precious grandmother pass away in the last ten years, and while sad, their deaths did not cause as much pain that my friends death caused. I loved my uncles and I wish I had known them better. I really loved my grandmother also.  They however, did not choose to end their lives, and from what I understand, I have the comfort and joy of seeing them again. God is all knowing and compassionate. More than likely He will take into account the fact that my friend had mental issues.

There are four kinds of death that I know of. One is the physical death. Another is spiritual death. Another is the second death mentioned in the Bible where the soul and the body die. And the forth, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly is the death of the old man. “Which old man,” some might rightly be wondering. The death of the old man is unpleasant too.  It is against human nature.  It is not something we can do on our own. We need help. But who would ask for help in regards to dying? If it is the old nature dying, that is something by the grace of God I can experience. It means asking God to let our anger die, our bitterness die, or egotism, rage…despair…and sin loving selves to die. We cannot do it. There are things we can do to contribute…things that we can do to put in the place of old habits. So, I owned something that was not the best for me last week and I sold it. And I bought a Yamaha guitar from the proceeds. I have been trying to master tremolo which is a rather difficult method of finger picking on the guitar. Difficult to play but beautiful. I can still see Jong Ran when she said “Brent, it is better to go to the mountains that the movies.” The old nature needs to die. Am I selfish? That needs to die. Am I vain? That needs to die. Am I unkind? These are some traits that are embodied in the old man…that nature of sin. Do I love sin? Naturally I do. Unnaturally I hate it. But for the unnatural to become natural, death has to happen.  And that is what I want to experience. This kind of death is not morose or morbid…but the spark of life as a new creature in Christ is born. New desires, new impulses. A mind that does not understand selfishness or greed, or negative pride. It most cases it does not happen immediately…but God is powerful and change will happen when we ask Him. It may not be as fast as we would like, but it is possible in Christ.  

I have given perhaps a lot more details than some people are interested in knowing. I am still intrigued with death. But the aspect has been altered. I am thinking about the death of the old man and the mystery of physical death. Perhaps I am seeking the closure I never had in my friend’s death. All I know is that she is buried in a city called Naju (나주) and I still have no picture of her. Maybe it is better that way, maybe not. I still love her deeply and her picture is lovingly put up in my memories golden hall along with my uncles and grandparents. I have not greived over Jong Ran in so long and I am inclined to believe that this is because God has healed my pain. The other day I began to listen to a song call bright eyes on youtube. It is a very beautiful song which I have heard since I was a child, but I did not realize it was talking about death until a month ago. The tune and the words capture so much of the mystery and intrigue that has been in my mind when I have thought a lot about death. So when Kathy asked me to share, I thought about the tidal wave of thoughts that song has invoked about death.

Death is a morbid subject. But if Jesus is your friend, you don’t have to fear it. My older confided recently that not having a fear of death anymore is of because of the grace and mercy of Christ.  

The death of the old man is death…a great change…but better the death of the old man and sin in our lives than physical death. Better the death of sin in our lives than the death of a soul. It starts by asking Jesus for help. This world will end soon.

If we think that the wildfires, floods, unrest in various political and civil places in the world, earthquakes and hurricanes are such to cause concern, we have not seen anything yet! Now is the time to ask God to prepare us for what is coming. Now is the time to recognize that the hourglass of time has but a few grains of sand left.  Our salvation starts with meeting God every day and talking to him just as you would a neighbour, friend, parent or grandparent. Our souls are priceless. Death to self is not easy, but when it is done by faith by the grace of God, a better self awaits. At the moment, I am not finding an interest is contemplating death. Maybe this means the closure I have needed. Maybe it means, for the moment, that I am tired of writing. So, the last thing I will say is, let’s talk to God every day. He is always listening whether you are mad or sad or glad, and He is always there. While the devil only wants your demise, God only wants your salvation.  I am reminded of what the Bible says and a song too. “Death where is your victory, grave, where is your sting?” (1^st Corinthians 15:55) “Hell has been defeated, the grave could not hold the King!” This has been an article about death, but it is ending on a positive note because of our hope and faith in Christ!