Flowers are in full bloom. The sheep are waiting for completion of the lion and the lamb.
Have been invited to tape a series of shows (as the guest) for a DirectTV program in North Carolina! Taping is on April 20. They’ve got 40-million viewers! More on this as the details come in! Check out my books at: www.annrichduncan.com.
So it’s like this: If you erupt with shingles you should get the meds within three days, or they may not be able to stop the advance of this horrrrifffffically painful virus. Of course, I had it for five days before I knew what it was. Ouch. Emergency physician and the ophthalmologist both said the meds they gave me may not stop it from blinding me. Huh? Well, they didn’t know I had angels and prayers on my side!! A guest speaker, a prophet no less (she reminded me of Tess on Touched by An Angel), well, she pulled me out of my seat in church and bellowed, “Not today. Not today! The Lord God says you are not going to die or give in to your illness today!” Well, less than a minute before she locked eyeballs with me I had given up (the pain was just tooooooo much) and was thinking about my bottle of pain killers. So, she had all the women pray for me. And one said, “Hug that cross your husband erected.” At that moment, I felt little flutters on my eyelid. All I could think of was angel wings circling around my eye.
Fast forward. Three hours later, the emergency doc says, “here’s the prescription but I’m not sure it’ll save your eye.” I heard the same thing from the Ophthalmologist the next day (Monday before Thanksgiving). However, on Wednesday (the day before Thanksgiving), I got the urge to trudge up (in the rain and sleet) to the cross here at the House of Angels. My eye was swollen almost entirely closed and the lid felt like cardboard. But, after intense prayer with my face snugged against that cross, the eye suddenly felt normal. After 45 minutes in the sleet, I went home. Checked the mirror. It was normal! And my coat, scarf & hat? Totally dry!! Praise God! www.ChristsHouseofAngels.org.
We had a beautiful ceremony at our House of Angels yesterday (Easter Sunday). The House of Angels? It’s our outdoor sanctuary for prayer and healing. To see it, go to www.annrichduncan.com and click the “About Don” button at the top. It’s a very special place. In the meantime, here’s the next few pages from The SEED, my novel of suspense.
. . . in the last installment, Melvin was thrashing around because of a nightmare involving giant mosquitoes. Soooo, here we go:
Melvin dialed Ricardo’s number. He scowled. Ricardo was a squirmy fellow with a squeaky little voice, even if he was a big shot with the FDA. Melvin only put up with the man because he often came through with easy jobs that paid good money. Very good money!
The ringing stopped and Melvin waited for the beep before leaving his coded message, “The soup’s hot–time to eat.” He knew that Ricardo would be glad to hear that the enhancer had been added to the jet fuel without a hitch. Smooth as Mom’s pumpkin pie, he murmured as he hung up.
A glance at the clock told Melvin there was still plenty of time for sleep. He yawned and scratched his expansive belly with long, satisfying strokes on his way back to the couch. He hoped Ricardo’d show up with the money before he had to leave for his shift as a security guard at the Miller Building.
As he drifted off to sleep, Melvin smiled. He expected to make a big score there, too.
CHAPTER 7: Is it a bomb?
When the mail clerk dropped the battered package on his desk, FDA executive Bob Jette had a premonition. Could this be a bomb? You never know these days–especially when you work in a federal building. He quickly dismissed the idea. Heck, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about–they take precautions with packages these days . . . even here in the Food and Drug Administration.
He turned it over. There was no return address, but the postal mark was from Tennessee. He frowned. He did not know anyone from Tennessee and he hadn’t been working on any apps from there, either. He tore it open and peered inside. “Hmm. It’s a video.” The video had a handwritten message on its label. “See that this gets to . . .”
“Hell’s bells! The ink’s smeared.”
The only other part of the message that Bob could make out was the first three letters of the name of the person who sent it. He thought it said, “P-e-r.” So, who do I know with a last name that starts with p-e-r? He shrugged. Oh well . . . maybe if I move on to something else, it’ll come to me. As he sorted through the rest of his mail, a name popped into Bob’s head–‘Timothy Perkins. Of course! Commander Perkins was here last fall, looking into a matter for the Army’s R&D Unit. I bet he wants me to pass this on to his people. But, then again–why would he send it to me if he wants THEM to get it? Bob tried to recall his sessions with Lieutenant Commander Timothy Perkins. He works with General Carrey and that Colonel they call C.D., so I guess he’s honest–I know they’re good guys. Bob pursed his lips as he pictured the man they called Perkins. He’d been impressed by his sharp mind and his ability to process reams of data. He wondered if Perkins had a photographic memory.
Bob decided to watch the tape before taking any action. He stuffed it into his briefcase, thinking he’d watch it while his wife Carla was at her P-T-O meeting.
The rest of the day dragged along as Bob busied himself with the usual paperwork and confirmation calls. With each hour, he grew more impatient to see what was on the mysterious video. In Bob’s estimation, five o’clock did not come soon enough.
After they enjoyed a quiet dinner together, Bob gave Carla a peck on the cheek. He watched intently as she buttoned her jacket, noticed how her hair bounced with each movement. Moments later, he stared nervously as she nosed her car out of the driveway. It’s funny, he thought, how you notice the little things when you’re scared. Scared? Where’d that come from? It’s just a video.
. . . . that’s it for this one. Thank you for coming this far. Please let me know what you think in the comment box. To order The SEED, or any of the Johnny Vic historical adventures, go to my website: www.annrichduncan.com.
“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” These words of wisdom came from Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) the wife of Governor Simon Bradstreet, and the first published woman poet in America. Now, my mother once told me that she found this amazing Puritan in our family tree. Hmmm. Maybe there are a few specks of her blood flowing in these veins, causing my need to write along with the spirit to proclaim that the crops from heirloom seeds are truly God’s food. Oh well . . . it’s April! Spring is in the air! It’s also time for the next few pages from The SEED, available at several dot coms listed on my website: www.annrichduncan.com.
. . . . in the last installment, John Victor had decided to enlist his old army buddy, C.D., as a leader to turn a group of disgruntled citizens toward constructive actions. And, scuzzy but lovable Melvin was in the midst of contaminating the fuel tank at a small municipal airport with The Terminator! So, here is installment number 4 . . .
John Victor was still in the tub when Betty arrived. She called to him as she struggled through the house with her luggage. “Hello, sweetie . . . where are you?”
John’s mellow reply prompted her to call out again. “Of course, you’re in the hot tub. Do you look like a prune yet?” She bounced into the bathroom playfully wielding a gaily-wrapped package. “I’ve got something for you. When Mary and i went shopping I heard a little voice say, “Buy me for John! Buy me for John! So, I did!” She waved it back and forth, hoping to coax her husband out of his tranquil soak.
John reached for a towel and tried to snap her with it. “What a brat!” she exclaimed as she skittered out of reach. “You better be good, Johnny V or I’ll ask Jonathan to take you back!” Jonathan, the pastor of their church and a close friend, had presided over their marriage ceremony four years ago. It was the second marriage for both of them.
“I’ll tell you what, brat . . . I’ll put on the coffee and you can open your present later. When you’re dry and civilized.”
JOHN PEERED INTO the steamy bathroom mirroor as he toweled off. Lively blue eyes stared back. “Pretty darned good for an old fart. Maybe a little on the short side, but all muscle. Not necessarily handsome either, but as Betty says, I’m definitely adorable. Yup! Ah-DOR-able!” His image nodded in vainglorious agreement.
John called out, “How’s everyone in Anchorage? Mary must be ready to pop any minute.” Mary was soon due to give birth and Betty had spent the past few days helping her daughter-in-law in her efforts to furnish the nursery. Betty poked her head through the doorway. “Mary’s so cute. She positively glows . . .”
John’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at his wife. He thought, she can’t be glowing any more than you. He decided that Betty looked more like an aunt than a grandmother.
. . . . that’s it for this installment. Tune in again, (on Tuesday–yes, they’ll be shorter and more frequent) because John will get a letter asking him to find treasure from the Civil War. That project will bring him to Washington and lots of excitement!