A Story About Starting Again (Resurrection Year excerpt)

I have just finished the first draft of my next book with Thomas Nelson publishers, called Resurrection Year. It is a memoir about broken dreams and new beginnings. In a few days I fly to Nashville to plan the book’s April/May 2013 release, then there’ll be editing and rewriting to be done. There will be much more to share with you in the months ahead, so please subscribe to my newsletter for updates!

Would you like to a read a scene from the book?

I’ve had a small team reading along as I’ve been writing. The general feedback has been that people have cried through the first two chapters, felt hope awaken in the next two chapters, then had their own new beginnings dreamed up by the end. That’s a good sign.

Here’s a scene where that hope has begun to rise for Merryn and me, after our broken dream. The picture above is of the children it describes.

You can start again after a dream has died.

God is a God of new beginnings.

***

Bubbles, bubbles everywhere—soft, shimmering, translucent. Balls of delight floating gently in the air—with little faces staring in amazement. A young man hoping for spare change works his tricks like a magician—his magic wand a couple of sticks looped with rope, his top hat a bucket of soapy water, his white dove a giant bubble flying into the sky. He soon draws a crowd in the piazza.

A little boy watches in wide-eyed wonder as one of these transparent beauties hovers. It is large enough to pick him up and carry him away, but rises and falls like a feather. At just the right moment the boy gives a shout and jumps up to touch the bubble. It bursts like a party balloon pricked with a pin, showering the boy with suds as he giggles.

Another bubble floats through and a girl rushes towards it, but retreats when she realises its speed. She winces as the bubble pops over her head, splashing her and the pavement with lather.

A girl in a yellow top can no longer resist. She’s been filming the fun on her handycam but throws that to her mother so she can join in. A bubble as wide as she is high hangs just before her. She pretends to carry it in her arms before exploding it with a finger.

Another boy rushes in to play, followed by a fourth child, and a fifth—a flurry of smiles and squeals breaking out on a sidewalk filled with sparkling spheres.

The children run and jump and reach to the sky, chasing and popping the bubbles. Free of reservations, constraints and inhibitions, they enjoy the present moment, revelling in their excitement, delighting in the gift of bubbly, soapy play.

Their happiness is contagious, spreading like pollen in the breeze. They are playful. They are joyful. They are free.

And so are we.

***

Question: Have you experienced a broken dream? How did hope begin to rise again for you? How did you start again?