True Light

by Terri Blackstock

  Deni took her mother’s hand, stopping her chatter. Kay turned her distraught face up to her.

  “Mom, I can clean myself up,” Deni whispered.

  Kay’s face twisted and her lips stretched tight. “I just . . . let me . . .”

  Deni gave in and let her mother clean her, weeping quietly over her daughter’s hands. As Kay scrubbed, Deni closed her eyes and sent her silent, anguished pleas up to her sovereign God. She remembered all Mark had done to honor Christ, the truths he had taught her about forgiveness and integrity, the selflessness he wore like a clean, white cloak. There was so much pain in his life — so much abandonment, betrayal, abuse . . . But he had overcome it.

  The world needed him. She needed him.

  I’ll do anything you want if you save him, she told the Lord. I’ll be a missionary. Go to Africa. Or Washington, if you say. Whatever you want, Lord, I’ll do it.

  “Deni Branning?”

  Deni opened her eyes. A doctor in scrubs, with his surgical mask pulled under his chin, stepped inside.

  “Yes?”

  “Mark Green’s mother asked me to let you know that he made it through surgery. He’s very lucky. The bullet missed all of his major organs.”

  Deni came off the table and into her mother’s arms. Her dad caught her and swung her around. Letting him go, she threw herself at the doctor. He laughed and stepped back to keep her from knocking him over.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” he said. “We’re giving him a transfusion as we speak. If any of you are O positive, you could help us out with that. Our blood supplies are dangerously low.”

  Relieved that hers would help, she followed him out of the room, weeping with gratitude as she went.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  THE FLAMES WERE LICKING HIGHER, WIDER . . . DESTROYING . . . devastating.

  Deni’s face loomed in terror within the flames. White foam rained down on her, but it didn’t extinguish anything. Instead it ignited, consuming her.

  Mark heard her screams echoing in his ears . . . Larry and Jack laughing . . . his father’s cold, sharp voice.

  It’s time you were a man.

  Tree House emerged through the flames, spitting.

  Satan roams around like a roaring lion . . .

  You are precious in my sight . . . you are honored and I love you . . .

  And then he heard Deni’s voice, soft and steady. “And my mouth offers praises with joyful lips . . .”

  She was reading Psalm 63. The flames died away and he felt cool air on his face, comfort in his spirit. “For you have been my help,” she read, “and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy . . . Your right hand upholds me.”

  He forced his eyes to open.

  “Mark? Can you hear me?”

  He saw the blur of Deni over him . . . her eyes round and anxious . . . alive . . . beautiful.

  Life came into soft focus.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  Her voice was hoarse, raspy. “They’re dead, Mark. Larry and Jack are gone.”

  His brothers dead. Loss clouded his thoughts, but relief was fast in its wake.

  “You saved me,” she whispered.

  He reached up to her. His arm felt heavy, clumsy, but he touched her face, felt the satin skin, her lips against his fingers. She took his hand, pressed a kiss on his palm. “I love you, Mark,” she said.

  “I love you too.” The words drifted deep into his spirit, settling things in his heart.

  She laid her head against his chest. “I feel so safe with you.”

  Her words banished the lingering feelings of loss. Illuminated what was gained. Framed the miracle.

  As he held her and stroked her hair, he knew the strength that came from weakness . . . the courage that came from fear . . . the faith that came from doubt . . .

  God had come through.

  And in the shadow of his wings, Mark could sing for joy.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  SOMETIMES I DON’T FEEL FEARFULLY AND WONDERFULLY made. There are days when I feel like a disappointment to God, a frustration, a prodigal that he’d rather not see come home. Those are bad days, and I admit I fall prey to them way too often.

  Tonight at church I watched a sculptor take a lump of clay and sculpt it lovingly and skillfully into an image of Jesus. I knew going in what she was going to do, yet when his features emerged, I found myself moved to tears. Delight filled my heart as I thought, I know him! I recognize those features!

  As I watched her work, I felt God whispering into my spirit, “This is how I made you. You were a lump of unformed substance. I sculpted your face out of clay, my fingers forming your cheekbones, your nose, the shape of your eyes. And when your face emerged, I smiled, because I already knew you. I delighted in you, because I created you so carefully.”

  In Psalm 139, David said:

  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.

  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.

  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

  When I think of my life as a book that has already been written, I’m even more moved. It makes me wonder how I can ever despair or question God, how I can ever lose my trust that he will answer my prayers, how I can ever fear or worry. If God knows me by name, if he knows me by touch, if he knows the number of days ordained for me on this earth, if he wrote the book of my life and knows what will happen on all future pages, if he can see around corners and over hills and knows what’s coming . . . what is there ever to fear?

  Yet, I do sometimes, and he knows it. I fear and worry and cry out and question . . . and he understands because he knit my personality in just this way. He gave me a questioning mind, an emotional heart, a cautious spirit. And he’s not finished with me yet.

  He’s still sculpting, still editing, still knitting . . . and when I let him mold me in that special way, when I succumb to his loving, skillful, strong, and sometimes harsh fingers, I become more like his image. I begin to take on the features of my Creator, the one who knows me by name, the one who took on human flesh because something had to be done about my sins. Someone’s blood had to be shed. Someone had to die. I was that precious to him.

  And so are you. God knows when you sit and when you rise. He perceives your thoughts from afar. He discerns your going out and your lying down. He is familiar with all your ways. Before a word is on your tongue he knows it completely. He hems you in — behind and before; he has laid his hand upon you. He created your inmost being, and knit you together in your mother’s womb.

  We — you and I — are fearfully and wonderfully made. His works are wonderful (Psalm 139:1 – 5, 13 – 14).

  No mistakes. No regrets. No surprises.

  I think he wanted me to tell you that today.

  TERRI BLACKSTOCK

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. In the opening scene, Zach Emory is shot after killing a deer. When you read the book, what were your initial thoughts about who shot Zach and why? Beth Branning reacts strongly to the shooting. Do you have similar fears about death? What stokes or soothes those fears?

  2. Many people assume that Mark is the killer. What drives their accusation? Did you believe there was a chance that Mark could be the killer?

  3. When neighbors in Oak Hollow hear that Mark was seen near the site of Zach’s shooting, what is their reaction? How does Mark react to this display?

  4. Mark willingly turns himself in, then finds himself in the middle of a dangerous plot. How would you react if you were in Mark’s shoes? Would your trust in God waiver at any point?

  5. It never occurred to Deni to think of the needs of inmates after the Pulses. Discuss your own town. What ministry is needed that you’ve not considered? How do those in your city aid the less fortunate?

  6. Again, Beth witnesses violence as neighborhood men assault Mark at her home. How would you help Beth cope? Is there any explanation to
the violence occurring?

  7. After the prisoners shoot Sheriff Scarbrough, his son Jimmy wants revenge. Where else in True Light do you see this desire for revenge? How does revenge influence our actions and behaviors?

  8. Discuss Mark’s choices regarding the treatment of his enemies. How has God spoken to you in your life when you’ve dealt with enemies? Does God really give instructions like “Clean the toilets?”

  9. If you’d been abused the way Mark was, would you be able to clean the cells where your attackers are imprisoned? Discuss Mark’s choices and motivations. Where do you think Deni’s motivation comes from?

  10. Mark finds out that Deni’s ex-fiancé has written, asking her to come back to him. How does Mark react? Discuss how different characters’ dreams have changed since the Pulses.

  11. Discuss the value of family in True Light. How has Mark’s family affected his life? How has the Branning family affected his life? What impact does your family have on your loved ones?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SPECIAL THANKS TO ALL THOSE WHO ENTERED MY LAST Light contest at www.terriblackstock.com. The five winners were Valerie Chess, Michelle Rowe, Angelina Linthicum, Bette Hammang, and Esther Huibers, who gave me great ideas to use in the books. I also want to acknowledge Steven E. Harris of www.knowledgepublications.com for his books Sunshine to Dollars and Surviving the Blackout of 2003, along with his disaster preparedness resources. His website is full of great ideas and was a great help to me in writing this book.

  An Excerpt from DAWN’S LIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  ON MAY 24, CIVILIZATION AS WE KNOW IT COMES TO AN end. Plumbing doesn’t work because the water treatment plants run on electricity. Trucks and trains don’t run, so stores run out of food. Generators are rendered useless. In this major meltdown of life, people are stranded where they are, with no transportation, no power, and no communication. Crime runs rampant as evil fills the void, and desperation becomes the only moral guide many people recognize.

  Eventually, word makes its way to Crockett, Alabama, that the event was caused by a star — a supernova named SN – 1999 — which is emitting electromagnetic pulses every few seconds. With no assurance of when the star might burn itself out and allow them to rebuild, people are left with a choice: will they hoard what they have until it all runs out, or will they share with those around them who are in need?

  The Brannings, an upper-middle-class Christian family, who pride themselves on their righteousness, respond like everyone else at first: they hole up at home, hoarding their food, paranoid that interacting with others will force them to share the few provisions they have. The children are angry that their lives have been disrupted. They’re bored without visual and audio entertainment. Deni, the twenty-two-year-old, is frustrated that she won’t be able to get to Washington to start her new job and be with her fiancé, who lives there.

  When Doug Branning finally comes to grips with the fact that this is not going to end soon, he breaks down before God, realizing that he’s not equipped to function without technology. How will he support his family? How will he provide food? How will they survive? As he struggles to find answers, he begins to realize that God has a purpose for him and his family through this trial. People around him have great needs — physical and spiritual. The Brannings begin to understand that they have much to learn, and much to give.

  When Deni’s eyes open to the true character of Craig Martin, her fiancé, she breaks her engagement. She’s begun to fall in love with Mark Green, a high school friend who lives in her neighborhood. But Mark is the son of a convicted killer, and when a neighbor is shot by an unknown assailant, people assume that Mark committed the crime. He’s thrown into a dark and broken prison system. Deni and her family help to find the true killer and clear his name. As they do, Deni sees Mark’s noble acts of forgiveness toward those who persecuted him, and falls more deeply in love with him.

  The blackout continues for a year, and the Brannings learn to work together to survive, until God gives them their ultimate test . . .

  ONE

  THE PROMISE OF VIOLENCE RIPPLED LIKE STEAM OVER THE hungry, sweating mob, waiting in the rain at the door of Alabama Bank and Trust. The May thunderstorm was ruthless, pounding and cracking like a symphonic movie score foreshadowing catastrophe. Beth Branning wasn’t supposed to be here. It was no place for a thirteen-year-old, her parents had said. She was better off staying home with her brothers.

  But she couldn’t resist one peek at the anxious crowd. Even from a block away, she could feel the tension and thrill of those who would go from poverty to plenty in a matter of minutes. Armed deputies surrounded the place, along with the few running vehicles in the town — sheriff’s department patrol cars, ambulances, fire trucks. Clearly, they expected the worst. Though accountholders were only able to withdraw two percent of their holdings, it was the first time in a year that people around Crockett had any cash to carry. Criminals were bound to strike.

  Her parents had charged her brother Jeff with two jobs today. Watch Beth and Logan, her ten-year-old brother, and take ten loaves of bread they’d baked to the Sheriff’s Department, to help feed the prisoners. Jeff had been in the middle of a jam session in his room with two of his friends, and hadn’t wanted to go, so Beth convinced him to let her do it instead.

  “All right,” he said, “but don’t go near the banks. Straight there and straight back. No detours to see all the hoopla. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she said, though she made no promises.

  The rain had almost dissuaded her, but she knew the prisoners had to eat. On days like this, the ladies of the Crockett Apostolic Church, who usually cooked for the prisoners, weren’t able to bring meals. Beth’s dad had been working as a volunteer deputy last night and knew the men hadn’t been fed. They were probably starving to death.

  Leaving the crowd, she rode her bike through the pouring rain, her tennis visor keeping the water from her eyes. The raindrops pricked her skin, soaked her T-shirt, and made her shiver. The sheriff’s department was only another two miles.

  A bolt of lightening flashed in front of her, thunder cracking simultaneously. Her heart kicked through her chest.

  Okay, this was crazy. She had to get to shelter. She was too far from home to turn back now, but she’d never make it to the Sheriff’s station with lightning hitting so close. She pulled her bike onto the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel restaurant that hadn’t been open in a year and rolled it up to the porch. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked again, too close for comfort. She backed up against the wall and checked the garbage bag she’d wrapped the bread in, hoping it had stayed dry.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  She heard a man’s muffled voice, a choked cry. She looked around and saw no one.

  “No, please! I’ll give you the money!”

  It was coming from behind the restaurant. Quietly, she stole to the end of the porch and peered around the side of the building.

  She saw two men standing among the trees — a young man who looked like he was in his early twenties, holding his hands out with his wallet. A man with a black do-rag and a gray goatee stood facing him with a gun. He took the wallet, then raised the gun.

  Beth froze, unable to move or breathe.

  The gun went off, and the younger man dropped to the ground.

  Beth screamed.

  The gunman turned and saw her.

  She turned and stumbled toward her bike, dragged it off the porch. Suddenly the killer was on her, knocking over the bike. It clamored to the ground and she fell over it.

  She screamed again, and he rammed the barrel of his pistol against her forehead.

  “I won’t tell!” she squealed out. “I didn’t see anything!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please!”

  He was going to kill her. One shot, and she would be dead, just like the man.

  Suddenly, she heard the sound of a car engine, turning onto the street. Help, please help.

  The man looked toward the
vehicle, cursed, then shoved his gun into his pocket. Grabbing her silver necklace with her name on it, he jerked and broke the chain. “You so much as utter a word about what you saw, and I’ll kill you and your family, Beth.”

  The van rattled closer, and he took off then, disappearing through the trees. She scrambled to her feet, righted her bike. The van tooled by, its driver not noticing her on the ground with her bike. She thought of flagging it down, but what would she say? If the man could hear … he would come after her and her family.

  Rain soaked through her clothes, making her shiver. She got back on the bike. The bread had been smashed and lay flattened in a puddle. Leaving it, she flew home, praying the man wasn’t following her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Terri Blackstock is an award-winning novelist who has written for several major publishers including HarperCollins, Dell, Harlequin, and Silhouette. Her books have sold over 6 million copies worldwide.

  With her success in secular publishing at its peak, Blackstock had what she calls “a spiritual awakening.” A Christian since the age of fourteen, she realized she had not been using her gift as God intended. It was at that point that she recommitted her life to Christ, gave up her secular career, and made the decision to write only books that would point her readers to him.

  “I wanted to be able to tell the truth in my stories,” she said, “and not just be politically correct. It doesn’t matter how many readers I have if I can’t tell them what I know about the roots of their problems and the solutions that have literally saved my own life.”

  Her books are about flawed Christians in crisis and God’s provisions for their mistakes and wrong choices. She claims to be extremely qualified to write such books, since she’s had years of personal experience.

  A native of nowhere, since she was raised in the Air Force, Blackstock makes Mississippi her home. She and her husband are the parents of three adult children — a blended family which she considers one more of God’s provisions.