Rachel Starr Thomson

Last week when I blogged on Haunt of Jackals for the CSFF Blog Tour, I was hoping to stir up conversation. Well, thanks to everyone who jumped in with many different viewpoints, conversation has been stirred! In fact, Eric Wilson, the author of Haunt, was gracious enough to offer a response of his own. If you were intrigued by the posts or would like to read a great discussion on God and fiction, I encourage you to read all three days again with the comments.

I was hesitant to do a negative review at all, because as an author I know they can sting. So I’m very glad that others whose response to the book was positive have chimed in on the conversation. Take a look at what they have to say!

Here’s the posts:

Day 1: http://www.rachelstarrthomson.com/2009/10/haunt-of-jackals-csff-blog-tour/

Day 2: http://www.rachelstarrthomson.com/2009/10/a-review-haunt-of-jackals-day-2/

Day 3: http://www.rachelstarrthomson.com/2009/10/god-in-fiction-haunt-of-jackals-day-3/

“The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the LORD hath made even both of them.”

Proverbs 20:9

I wrote the fantasy novel Worlds Unseen six years ago. At the time, I had some loose ideas about what it could say–besides telling a good story, which was my first priority! It touched on some of my beliefs about life: the spiritual realities behind the physical world, nature’s allegiance to its Creator, and the way most of us live our lives ignorant of the world’s true history and what it means to us today.

Worlds is primarily about Maggie Sheffield, a very normal young woman who stumbles into the spiritual realities of her world by accident and must learn to deal with them. However, equally important to the story are the two Gifted: a wanderer named Nicolas Fisher, who hears things no one else can, and Virginia Ramsey, a blind girl who sees visions.

Proverbs 20:9 made me think of these two immediately: “The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the LORD hath made even both of them.” In Worlds Unseen, Virginia and Nicolas are not only Gifted, they are gifts–gifts to the world. Those who believe what the Gifted tell them will arrive at the truth about life, and with it, real freedom.

In the story, though, Nicolas and Virginia are both outcasts. One wrestles to accept his own gift and thus refuses to live among people; the other is feared and ultimately betrayed because of the truth she sees. It’s not easy to be the only people in all the world who understand what life really is–especially when the truth shatters everything we have believed.

Nicolas and Virginia aren’t without parallel in our own world. They are my fantasy version of the Old Testament prophets, of the New Testament apostles and saints, of everyone to whom God has given clarity of vision and ears that understand. Often, these real-world Gifted were despised and rejected, driven out and even crucified. Isaiah was one such Gifted man. David, king and psalmist, was another. Mary; Anna; the Apostle Paul. John the Beloved, witnessing the Revelation while in exile on the Isle of Patmos, was one. And ever since their days, God has not ceased to send to us people who see and hear, and who will open our own understanding if we let them.

Perhaps you can think of someone who has filled this role in your life. A parent; a sister; a friend; a teacher. A singer or poet. Such people do not create or renew truth. They simply show us, through scripture and by the Spirit of God, what has always been there.

Perhaps, in the darkness of the world around, the one who sees and hears is you.

Like my fictional Seventh World, the people around us live in darkness and deception. We who have the Word of God at our fingertips and the Spirit of God in our hearts are in this world, not just as passers-by, but as gifts. In prayer, Jesus said of His disciples, “As thou [Father] hath sent me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world” (John 17:18).

You, believer in Jesus, are in this world not as an accident and not as a judge. You are here as a gift, bearing the gifts of sight, hearing, and true reality.

May we use these gifts well: to bring into the darkness a burning, holy light.

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Worlds Unseen is available for purchase or as a free ebook from www.LittleDozen.com. It’s sequel, Burning Light, is due out December 2008.

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This post is cross-posted from Peculiar, where I blog each week on scripture and walking with God.

Why, you may wonder, has Rachel posted a picture of four pots of dirt on her blog?

Ah, but you just think those are four pots of dirt. The truth is something much greater. Those four pots are an herb garden. They are glorious and green. They are healing for headaches and upset stomachs; they are salve to sore throats and aching lungs.

I forget that at times, and then I feel silly for lugging those four pots out into the sun so my herb garden can thrive, and for watering them every night and sometimes praying that my unproven thumb will prove green. But I’m right. There’s magic in that dirt.

Have you ever heard a song that melted you or carried you away to some verdant, misty paradise? The song “Perfect Day” does that to me. Every note, every instrument, every word reaches deep into my heart and calls forth a response.

The other day I was typing and I heard my little sisters playing outside my bedroom door. In their story, Keturah was a fairy who sang instead of talking. She sang her whole story: where she had come from, why she had come, what she was searching for. It was rambling and warbly and a little off-key. But there was a seed in it. A storytelling seed, a musical seed, a calling-f0rth-response seed. Someday she’s going to reach people with music.

Recently I sat down and faced a blank page. Pushing aside thoughts that I was wasting my time and couldn’t possibly pull it off this time, I typed some letters. But they wouldn’t stay letters, no, as letters will, they turned themselves into sentences and formed a paragraph. This is what they said:

It was raining in the fields. Cold rain. Taerith stretched out his arms and raised his head, letting the rain hit his face and run down the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth and gulped convulsively as the liquid trickled into his throat. It was good of the sky, he thought, to give him water. He had been at work with the other men, harvesting late corn, but the rain had put an end to the work for now. The fields were nearly bare anyway. Water puddled around his boots–held together now with string and patches–and turned the trampled furrows to mud.

There’s magic in those little ink blots. They’re not just letters now, they’re a story–a story of a man who is sent away from his family and forms a new one by laying down his freedom to serve a slave girl and a persecuted queen, to befriend an imprisoned priest and fight next to a half-blood warrior. (You can read what there is of that story here.)

Beginnings. Rarely do they resemble what we know, by faith and a sort of passionate instinct, they will become. Off-key ditties don’t sound like symphonies. Jumbles of a’s and b’s and h’s don’t look like literature. Children don’t look like mothers and fathers, prophets and servants, yet there’s magic in them. God put something in them that will grow if it’s tended, into something green and tall and beautiful.

Keep hauling your pots into the sun, watering the dirt, writing those words, playing that piano. Keep investing in the lives of your children and grandchildren and brothers and sisters and friends. What you sow, you shall reap.

Taerith was last through the door, with Kardas only a few paces behind him, but just before the tavern’s noisy dim closed in over him, he saw a hand clap down on Kardas’s shoulder and heard a voice intone, “Greetings, my lord Half-Blood.”

Taerith drew his hunting knife and was back on the street in an instant. Three men stood around Kardas. They held no weapons that Taerith could see, yet their expressions were unmistakably threatening. The chief of them, a tall, stocky man with a half-shaven head and a dull wine-coloured cloak, drew his hand back from Kardas’s shoulder. He glowered at Taerith with such displeasure that he almost expected him to hiss.

“Who is he?” he asked.

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The Eight Chapter of my novel-in-progress,Taerith, hath been posted! Comment, all ye who enter here.