The Tulip Driven Life

By: Thomas F. Booher To get The Oerken Tree as an E-Book go  here . To get more details into the world of Eskathoer and peak into the mind of the author, as well as to stay updated on the book and the series, like the Facebook page  here . C.S. Lewis has called Christianity the "true myth." Here is a bit of context to help us understand what he means (you can find the quote here ): Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened: and one must be content to accept it in the same way, remembering that it is God’s myth where the others are men’s myths: i.e., the Pagan stories are God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, using such images as He found there, while Christianity is God expressing Himself through what we call 'real things'. As Christians, we are called to magnify His story, the story of redemption, for His glory. The...

By: Thomas Clayton Booher Here is a previous post in this series:  Here If one is going to write about three youngsters who are summoned from planet Earth to another planet in a galaxy not that far away (only 2.5 million light years), they have to have a way to get there. How far is 2.5 million light years, anyway? Matt, one of the three siblings of the novel, the youngest to be exact, was roused from his sleep their first night on the planet because Caleb, his older brother, left a desk lamp on. Matt was pretty dreary. After all they had had a longer than usual day (literally) and a late night of it. He would have called out to Caleb to take care of the little problem, but Caleb was snoring away, which apparently signaled there was nothing that would awaken him short of a not so gentle shake. Matt might have thought of throwing his pillow, but if that didn’t work, he’d have to get up for sure, just to get his pillow back. It might have been worth the try, but I su...

By: Thomas Clayton Booher I have always enjoyed science fiction, and more recently, fantasy. I read The Gods of Mars , by Edgar Rice Burroughs as a young lad, and was pleased when Carl Sagan mentioned in Broca’s Brain that he also did at about the same age. He was more erudite than I, however. He later looked back upon it and his youthful fascination was dampened when he realized that it was far more fiction that it was science. His point was that the best science fiction has its roots in scientific fact. His novel, Contact , was written on that premise, and it was a good read. I tend to agree with him. There are deep wonders in the creation no matter which direction we look in. We can look outward and marvel at the billions of galaxies whose sizes alone are incomprehensible populating a volume of space that is billions of light-years across. Or we can look in the other direction until we encounter subatomic particles that take up only billionths of an inch. There are k...

By: Thomas Clayton Booher This post first appeared here . In response to my article  On Fantasy Christ Figures , I was asked what I thought about Aslan, the great Lion in C S Lewis’s  The Chronicles of Narnia  series. It is a good question. In answer, let me begin by a statement from the original article, “Everything that Christ did was revelatory of the Father. His body language, facial expressions, speech, choice of words, etc. was all revelatory.” I believe that postulation to be true. Even as Christ walked amongst us before his resurrection and subsequent session at the right hand of the Father, Christ was  The Revelation of God  – the final revelation, as Hebrews 1:1,2 implies. His followers, in particular, the Twelve, not only witnessed what he  did , but they bore witness to  him . I may observe what one does from a distance, even on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. It could be a co-worker, a celebrity, my pastor, a teacher...

By: Thomas Clayton Booher Author’s Note: This article demonstrates how writing (in particular, fictional writing) reflects God’s work at creation and thereby gives writing a certain nobility. However, I don’t want the reader to think that if he is not a writer that he is doing nothing noble. All of our labors are to bring glory to God, and many of them do that through the imitation of God as the Grand Creator: cooking, gardening, carpentry, mechanical engineering, chemistry, hair dressing, interior design, landscaping, architecture, computer games, painting (commercial and fine art), et. al. For those of you who have an interest in writing, I hope this reinforces what a splendid labor awaits you. Reflecting God’s Creation Work in Our Writing Man was created in God’s image and as such it is a certainty that writers, members of the race of men, are also created in his image. There are many things that go into the meaning of ‘God’s image’ but I want to dwell a little o...

I believe I posted chapter 1 a long time ago as well. This, however, is the recently revised, and hopefully much improved, version (though it is still far from its final form). Hope you enjoy and your interest is piqued.  Book Excerpt Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Fletcher Booher Chapter 1 The tavern was old, smelling faintly of manure and smoke from the villager’s shoes and pipes. Grime and dirt salted the stone floor, and the dim candle light revealed walls stained with ale. A cloaked, hooded man huddled against the corner wall, one leg extended, the other bent. He rested a stein of ale on top of the bent knee, uncomfortably bracing his weight with the free hand, eyes fixed on the golden liquid in front of his concealed face. The hooded man was familiar with Old Mason’s Tavern, too familiar, and many who frequented the tavern were too familiar with him. At times he would drink himself into a rageful fit, cursing and spitting at others who had done him no w...

Book Excerpt Copyright © 2011 by Thomas Fletcher Booher Chapter 1 The tavern was old- it smelled of manure and smoke, grime and dirt salted the stone floor, and the dim light revealed walls stained with ale. A man was sitting on the ground against the corner of the wall furthest from the bar. He had one leg fully stretched out in front of him; he bent his other knee up near his face as he hunched forward, the sole of that shoe planted firmly into the dusty floor.   He wore a dark cloak with the hood over his head and held a mug of ale in one hand, resting that arm on top of his bent knee. His weight was shifted towards his other hand which  braced against the floor, supporting him. He sat there motionless, eyes fixed on the golden liquid in front of his face. The hooded man was familiar with Old Mason’s Tavern, too familiar, and many who frequented the tavern were too familiar with him. At times he would drink himself to a fit of rage, cursing and spitting at ...