This Week’s New Articles

Answer to the travel picture on Home Page: Mount Rushmore, South Dakota, USA

I write Christian historical fiction. For me, a former science teacher, every aspect of learning to write fiction was new. But one thing that makes it easier is that when writing about historical events, that much is off your shoulders.

Truth can be stranger than fiction.

Who could invent a young, chubby bookstore owner who travels into the wintry wilds of New York state, hires a bunch of animals, and wrestles cannon many miles south to save Boston? His name is Henry Knox, and he set up those cannon in a single night, so that the British, waking up, faced the dark snouts of artillery pointed at their positions.

No one could imagine Daniel Morgan, stricken with painful sciatica, riding his horse back and forth at the battle of Hannah’s Cowpens, his hair streaming in the wind. He arranged the militia with brilliant flair, hiding a second company behind a rise. So when the first runs away, the British think they’ve won.

I included both these events in my novel, A Fallen Sparrow. But to understand the people of this time period, you had to understand their minds and hearts.

Thanks to George Whitefield and the “Great Awakening” of the mid-1700s, many were converted. Whitefield preached up until 1770, when he preached his last sermon in Massachusetts—his crypt is in Newburyport today.

My first chapter includes both the Boston Massacre and Whitefield’s death. A twin prologue to a long and bloody conflict.

Americans resented the British presence, especially in Boston. But Christians were unsure about what to think. The Bible called on them to honor the king. But Romans 13 had limits, didn’t it? 

They were asking these questions—biblical questions. It is a good example for us. In every situation, what do the Scriptures say? Situations at home, situations facing our nation or the world.

Conforming our hearts and minds to Scripture preserves us from evil. Recently, I read a post on social media that I was tempted to refute. This young man was going off the rails. It made me think.

We wrestle not with flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, the Bible says. Our greatest responsibility is prayer. We are instructed to pray for our magistrates, pray for our rulers, that the gospel may go forth freely. The gospel is our hope, our emphasis.

And because the gospel was the emphasis of so many in the American colonies, our conflict with Great Britain did not devolve into the mayhem of the French Revolution, for the most part. It was a conservative revolution, a revolution meant to “conserve” what we had under God.

For this upcoming sesquicentennial, we can meditate on the words of the Declaration: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Endowed by their Creator. Our Founders were looking to Heaven. The bookshop owner, Henry Knox, looked to God. George Washington wrote this after the fact:

“The Man must be bad indeed who can look upon the events of the American Revolution without feeling the warmest gratitude towards the great Author of the Universe whose divine interposition was so frequently manifested in our behalf.”

My novel A Fallen Sparrow explores these themes. And like all of my writing adventures, I learned a lot!

Link to book: https://www.amazon.com/Fallen-Sparrow-American-Revolution-Russells-ebook/dp/B0B646T9BR

Link to my website: www.lynnetagawa.com

Guest Writer Bio:

Lynne Tagawa is an educator, author, and editor living in South Texas. She’s a mom of four and a grandma to six who loves writing historical fiction with a theological emphasis. A Fallen Sparrow: A Novel of the American Revolution is a 2023 Selah Awards finalist, and The Root of the Matter: The American Puritans Book One, won the 2025 Angel Book Award for Speculative fiction.

The Design of Providence, a collaborative anthology with nine other writers, including Shannon McNear and Jayna Baas released May 1^st, 2026.  Jezebel’s Children: The American Puritans Book Two will be available soon.

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For three months after the funeral, the door to Mom’s room in our house remained closed. The silence held a heavy mixture of grief and self-reproach.

My father died early, and life had always been just the two of us—a widow and her daughter. I knew her sacrifices very well , yet our shared hot tempers often led to trivial arguments. In the rebellion of youth, her love felt like a constraint. Later, in the distance of adulthood, it became a silent, steady anchor.

After I got married and moved to the US, she split her time between her retirement home and our house. She was a force of nature and attacked housework and gardening with tireless energy. This vitality created an illusion of permanence in my mind . When the stroke took her, the suddenness haunted me. For weeks, the sound of footsteps at night turned out to be nothing but my futile hope.

Three months in, my first attempt to sort through her belongings ended in a drawer filled with half-used lipstick and familiar nail clippers. The questions remained: Was she lonely? Did she resent our petty arguments? Did she know that my drive to become a successful, self-reliant woman was the expression of my love for her?

By the eighth month, the healing power of time allowed for my second attempt. Inside a stack of winter clothes sat a yellow cotton-padded coat, which I’d purchased for her years ago in Hong Kong, but she’d never worn it. Tucked within its folds was a surprise: a jade brooch.

The jade was a long-ago gift from me—inexpensive and once the subject of an argument over “wasted money.” Yet, it had been transformed. She’d commissioned an exquisite, heavy gold inlay to encase the modest stone. Under the light, it shone with a brilliance far beyond its original value.

This brooch was the answer to every lingering question. She had meticulously preserved every gesture of affection. She knew I loved her, and through the gold-bound jade, she left an ultimate message: there was no need for regret.

Note: I also wrote the above experience into my fiction-like memoir, The Way We Forgive (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BQ5LNLNB)

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“If I’d known then what I know now, I would never have done it.” We usually say this when life turns out badly and we regret a previous decision. Yet no one can return to the past and start over again. Even if, through some science-fiction time tunnel, we could travel back in time ourselves, other people and the events wouldn’t change for the sake of one person—otherwise the world would descend into chaos.

Years ago, a friend of mine desperately wanted a child. After trying for some time, the couple eventually turned to in vitro fertilization. His wife became pregnant and gave birth to a son, and they were overjoyed.

However, as the boy grew older and entered his teenage years, he became addicted to video games and lost interest in school. Perhaps there were other factors as well, he developed depression. His university studies became intermittent, and he barely managed to earn a degree. After graduation, he struggled to hold a steady job and has been depending on his parents until today.

If I were in my friend’s position, would I regret spending so much effort to bring a life into the world, only for him to become a lifelong burden in return? I don’t know the answer because none of us can predict the future.

Leaving aside painful outcomes, even when things turn out well, I sometimes wonder whether I would have made the same choices. As an example, after enduring hardship and setbacks, I finally succeeded in a difficult endeavor. When I look back, I sigh at my youthful impulsiveness and ignorance. If I had known in advance what lay ahead, I honestly might never have dared to take that first step. Yet now, being able to enjoy the fruits, I’m deeply grateful. In a way, I’m thankful that I knew nothing beforehand.

Very little in life is gained without effort. And if it happens, we rarely treasure it. Often we pay a price in the hope of some future harvest. The vision of the future—this willingness to strive for our dreams—gives us courage to move forward. Because we don’t know the future, we can live with hope and invest our energy in what lies ahead, instead of remaining trapped in regret and self-pity.

In the Bible, Jesus repeatedly emphasized through parables that we should remain faithful and fulfill our responsibilities within what God has entrusted to us. God desires we labor with hope, strive with ambition, and boldly use the resources we have been given.

Take Moses as an example. He spent forty years leading the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, hoping to enter the Promised Land of Canaan. In the end, things did not happen as he wished, and he never entered Canaan. Did that mean the forty years of his life were wasted? Not at all. God praised him as a faithful servant. He encountered God, came to understand God through those years, and witnessed God’s countless acts. He walked closer to Him than perhaps any of us ever will.

Not knowing the future is actually a blessing. It compels us to stay grounded, to make wise decisions based on the information we have today, and to accept responsibility for the consequences that follow. That is part of being human. More importantly, we can trust that whatever we experience has been permitted by God, and that under Him nothing happens by chance.