The following review was posted on Frank Viola's website, and I thought it so well stated how I felt about his book, From Eternity to Here, that I'd post it here. It's a review from a man named Brent Hansen, who is a morning talk radio guy apparently. To me, that's irrelevent. He just wrote down in words just what I would have written. When the message of this book got ahold of me, back in late Spring, I was forever changed and drawn back to the Lord in a way I'd never been before. Following the review is a link to a free downloadable chapter of the book.

Here’s the book we’ve been talking about: Frank Viola’s From Eternity to Here.

You can get it at the usual places online. And you really should get it. Like here: http://www.frometernitytohere.org/

I don’t say that often, and — of course — it’s true that one book does not fit all. But this is a very accessible book about a topic so important, the word “topic” seems diminishing.

It’s about Jesus. And you. And a wedding.

Many people think knowing Jesus is ultimately about one thing: Going to heaven. “I got my ticket to heaven, so the rest is details” — I’ve actually heard that.

This sounds right to some, at some level, maybe, but it doesn’t capture the love affair between God and His people. Not even close. Viola brilliantly explains what he calls the “eternal purpose of God”, and it’s a love story, since before time began.

When I read about this love story, this wedding-to-come, I can’t help but think the “ticket to heaven” idea of Christianity is a selling-short of this Great Romance. You see, it’s like saying, “All that matters is I get in the reception, and I get some of that cake. I loves me some wedding cake.”

Well, okay. We all do. But this is about love. Always has been. You see, it’s about much more than whether or not you get some cake. YOU ARE IN THE WEDDING. You’re being proposed to. You’re going to be standing up in this one, front-and-center, and the question isn’t whether you want some cake. The question is: Do you take this man…?

The question is, and always has been, not “Do you have your ticket?” but…”Do you love me?”

So do I?

Viola admits to being a romantic. I’m not — not in the typical I-love-”The Notebook” sense — but I’m glad he’s that type, because it’s allowed him some remarkable insight and appreciation into the romantic elements of the Bible, from start to finish.

Genesis to Revelation is all about Jesus. I knew that. But Viola points out the romantic storylines, played out over and again, that I’d never noticed. Fascinating stuff. (I’d never thought, before, about how “communion” is, among other things, a re-enactment, based on Jewish tradition, of the acceptance of a wedding proposal, for example. And there’s much, much more.)

This book is not overly heady, not written for scholarly-types only. And there’s far more to it than I can allude to in a short entry. If you read it, let me know what you think. It might rock your world, in the most exciting, freeing way.

- Brant Hansen

Frank gives away a free chapter of the book here. Check it out, and feel free to pass around the link. http://frometernitytohere.org/FETH_Sample.pdf

Ten years gone

I wrote the following right after my dad and stepmom died in a car accident, November 26, 1999. It was written on one of my very old journals, so in honor of my dad's memory, I wanted to repost it here. I'm doing this not for sympathy, but because it's been ten years, and I think it's time for the story to be heard again. Ten years. Seems like just yesterday, and the pain isn't much less. My dad wasn't a wonderful guy; he had so, so, many issues, but I still miss him. I miss that we had just started reconciling, and there was still so much we needed to say. I hate it that he never even really knew my younger sister Rachel at all, such an awesome person and looking so much like him. I miss that he never knew my kids, including Ethan, who is his spitting image. I miss that ever since that time, the remaining Zamrazil side of my family has all but forgotten about my sisters and I. I wish the accident hadn't happened on Thanksgiving weekend. Every year, it's my most foremost thought. I miss you, Daddy. I wish we could have gotten to know each other better.

Written the First Week in December, 1999 (after returning home)

On Friday, November 26, my dad and stepmom were killed in a car accident in Florida. My father, who had epilepsy, was driving home from my grandma's house at about 11:30 pm and had a seizure while driving. Apparently, he hit the gas hard (when he had a seizure, he always leaned all his body weight to one side) and was accellerating to about 60 miles per hour, travelling half on the road and half on the grass, knocking over two street signs, before entering the intersection at Rt. 436. It truly is a blessing that no one else was hit, because 436 is one of the busiest streets in the Orlando area. Anyway, he approached the intersection going about 60 mph, hit an incline in the intersection, and went airborne. His car hit the median and flipped over, then bounced back right-way up and landed on the other side of the street, and then landed head first in about a 10 foot ditch (basically like a sand bar - Florda's dirt) on the side of the road. His back of his car, with the momentum, continued to flip over, and the car came to a stop upside down, against the incline of the ditch. My stepmom Pat died instantly because her neck was broken when the car came to a stop. It might have been broken by "blunt force trauma" to her neck from some tables that came forward from the back seat, or it could have been from the impact itself. My dad's airbag went off, but even airbags and seatbelts (which they were both wearing) were useless when the car came to a complete stop from 60 mph, and the car was heavy because they were all packed up with stuff for the flea market that they did every Saturday. Even though my dad's body was stopped by the airbag and seatbelts, the inside of his body "kept going" at the same speed, and his aorta burst. He died about 10 seconds later. (This is all from the police report and medical examiner.)

I know that Pat didn't suffer, except for those moments when she was sure to see the impact coming, and my dad would have suffered except that he was in a full seizure likely, so we know he likely wasn't aware of anything going on around him. These are very comforting to know. Also, we know that they are now in the presence of God, face to face. My daddy no longer has any seizures or any worries. This gives the family a lot of peace, but it is still very hard, very shocking. Unlike old age or an illness, we didn't get to say goodbye. I just got a phone call early Saturday morning saying that my dad and Pat were killed the night before.

My sister and I are the only apparent heirs, with the exception of our long-lost half sister that we are trying to find*, so it has been a very busy time. We cleaned out his apartment (so much accumulation... my dad was a pack rat) and began settling his affairs as well as planned a funeral (two, really). We really haven't even had time to grieve. But it is beginning now, and it is starting to hit really hard. Please pray for us.

One thing that was really interesting is that a friend of Pat's, Kaye, had been sending her weekly poems and letters for the past four years. We received another poem from her in the mail on Tuesday, postmarked that weekend. She hadn't yet heard about the accident. This is what the poem said:
Creator God, Lord of all Life
Teach me to cherish every moment of my life
To recognize the blessing and the gift of the present,
Instead of racing through my days on the way to the future.
To realize that on this day...
in this hour...
at this moment...
I am in the presence of the King.
(B.J. Hoff, "Faces in the Crowd")

I read this poem at the memorial service on Friday, along with some comments. Actually, I sobbed this story. Right now, Daddy and Pat are in the presence of the King. We all all, through the Holy Spirit, but right now they are joyously face to face.

The biggest lesson I have come away with this past couple weeks is this: My father had kept every reciept, every paper, every THING he had ever gotten his entire life. He kept it all. Cherished souvenirs, newspapers, free promotional, unopened t-shirts even... Within the course of a few seconds, none of that mattered. With the exception of some pictures, food, and flea market products that went to charity, my dad's favorite cat (which my sister took home**) and a few pieces of furniture, it was all in the trash. "Things" do not matter. Everything is worthless except the relationships you have with family and friends and your relationship with Jesus Christ.

* My sister, Rachel, was eventually located. It took a few years, and even private investigator searches had turned very little up. We were not able to settle my dad's estate until Rachel was found. (So the result was, that as the estate executor -or legal equivilent, since there was no will- I had to daily deal with massive amounts of paperwork and mail for my dad's affairs for several years. Please, for your family. Get a will drawn up.) When we did finally connect, it was a random event -- she felt like trying to call and talk to my dad to give "one more shot" at a reconciliation. She found my number, called me at work, and found out what had happened.

** The cat didn't last long in my sister's care. She had turned mostly feral in the course of living in my dad's apartment, along with multiple untrained cats. It was a very sad situation.

Our credit card debt is gone!

Since February of 2005, we've humbled ourselves repeatedly - losing our house, going into a debt management program, seeing our credit rating tank even more, being humiliated at WIC, food stamp and medicaid offices by employees who think you are scum - and learned to live with what we can afford NOW (even if that meant...nothing, and stopping by a food pantry) instead of borrowing against some future money that may or may not come. As of yesterday, our last payment for credit card debt was paid off. I don't say that with a chip on my shoulder -- I know there is so much financial pain out there right now. I say that with a humble heart of gratitude that God has seen us through those times when we felt like we were drowning. Thanking God that my foolish financial decisions at age 18 are now FINALLY paid off.

We are not debt-free -- there's the house, we're still working on paying off Phil's car, and of course there's the SCHOOL LOANS, which are still painful. But the dumbest, most full of bad decision debt -- it's gone.

Gathering Sticks

I came across this today on the WayoftheMaster website, and I thought it was well worth reposting:

"'Careful When Gathering Sticks'

A young man wondered if he should go to a Bible school.

His business was carpet-cleaning. Because he traveled around, he personally witnessed to six or seven people each day.

His future at a mission school would mean that he would spend six months with Christians.

Then he would go out and do mission work ... if he still had a mind to. Charles Spurgeon said, 'Be careful when you are picking up sticks, that your fire doesn't go out.'

So if you are considering going to a Bible school, make sure they have an emphasis on reaching out to the world, so that you will end up with more zeal than when you enrolled.

Better still, get into a lifestyle where you will be schooled by regularly rubbing shoulders with the world."

Three years ago...

...nothing much was happening. Frustratingly so. I'd been having contractions for weeks and at my last checkup, I was dilated to 4 cm. And still Ella didn't budge.

But just a day and a half later (because of course my children all like to be born in the middle of the night), Gabriella Joy Gerth swooshed out as fast as she could, surprising everyone, including the nurse who was sure that "You have a lot longer to go. Honey." (Said about ten minutes before Ella was born, sans doctor, before anyone had time to call my doctor, nor the resident on call, nor "prep" the delivery room.)

Three years later, and I can't imagine life without my little love. Her middle name really is JOY and she lives that every day. She's still my baby. She always will be.

We've had a great couple weeks. It's remained unseasonably warm here, so we've been doing a lot of homeschooling out of doors. I'm amazed at how the kids can go outside, all three of them, and go off into their own little worlds of play. No toys needed - they just find sticks and random nuts and seeds on the ground, and they have a whole adventure for hours of fun. I'm so thankful that our homeschooling schedule gives them the freedom for that kind of learning!

We may be adding a new family member here in a couple days - the Gerth family is considering getting a kitty again! I found a sweet little grey kitten, about twelve weeks old, who was rescued with her litter from the Humane Society. The litter was scheduled for euthanization because they had no room for more kittens. They are all completely healthy, strong, and friendly and socialized to people -- they simply didn't have any room. And the best part? She has a nearly identical sister -- that my mom is considering adopting!