Preston Gillham

Because our enemy is described as the “prince of the power of the air,” anything that has to do with the air is his domain. That means most forms of communication travel through/via his domain.

Whew. Ever wonder where that nonsensical confusion comes from during a discussion that turns into a fight? Ever done a test on dropped calls and then watched the Tech’s eyes as you report your findings?

Cell is not working. Home computer unstable. Land line not working reliably. And, no one knows why. All new SIM cards, new phone, new cable lines, new modems, new land line phones…. No progress. Hours and hours of time.

If you go out to meet the enemy and don’t encounter resistance, you’ve only gone for a walk. Done enough walking. I received a text from my friend Kevin a few days before he died of cancer. His text came early in the morning—like about 2:00 AM—stating that he had a broken beer bottle and was going after the enemy in an all-out brawl. Of course, it was a figure of speech that he and I had discussed, but I knew what he meant, and it all occurred in his hospital room.

Like Hank says in “No Mercy” at one point, “I’m not a knight. I’m a knife fighter, a barroom brawler.” He’s thinking there is more nobility in being a knight than a knife fighter, but the knights around him correct his opinion.

It should be encouraging that we have an opportunity to engage the battle. But, it is essential that we understand: warriors do not go into battle alone. Thus, the reason for the Prayer Tribe: to link us all together in a common cause that takes life and light into the enemy’s territory and strongholds.

Enough of holding our ground. Countries hold ground. Warriors seize territory, which in this case, is the hearts and lives of those caught in darkness who long to walk in the light.

For more about walking in the light, check this out.

It took seven years for me to write, “No Mercy.” I stopped and started, stopped and started. There are lots of reasons why, but the primary culprit for stopping was…

Fear!

Fear of the critics. Fear my heart’s work would languish. Fear of disappointment. Fear of public opinion, especially church leadership. Fear I would sabotage my reputation. Fear of indifference. Fear of failure.

Publishers didn’t like my manuscript—at all! They didn’t like my subsequent efforts—any of them. They wanted a formula, something safe, and predictable, and routine, and inside the box of normalcy. I couldn’t do it—wouldn’t do it. Ultimately, they gave up on my book and me.

I originally wrote “No Mercy” using a pseudonym—for protection. I feared what people would think. I feared the repercussions.

“No Mercy” is a revolutionary work. I blew up the standard (apart from printing on paper) because I didn’t want to “write another book.” Each time I stopped, I began again. I persisted. The book was in my heart and needed to be written.

Fear is not bad unless you let it paralyze you. When I’m in the Texas woods, I stop and study before I step over a log. I fear the Copperhead (i.e., a poisonous snake) that might be underneath. But I still go to the woods—and I get over the log.

As I wrote recently, fear is the belief that you can find yourself someplace where God is not. Stopping my writing of “No Mercy” inevitably drove me to the streets of my neighborhood to discuss the book project with my Father in heaven. I walked and we talked. Father was not absent—is not absent.

And “No Mercy” is written and delivered. No pen name!

In the book, Hank Henderson confronts his fears. His story shows us how to persist.

I’m not a fan of satisfaction, and I’m not in pursuit of satisfaction.

Of course, there are lots of definitions for satisfaction, but what I’m referencing is the complacency of being comfortable—satisfied with good enough—whether referencing business, product development, physical conditioning…or spirituality. In these arenas, satisfied is synonymous with complacent, stagnant, apathetic, flat, or tepid.

Anyone who is not growing and pursuing—who is satisfied—is in danger. Were we to be confronted by Rocky Balboa’s trainer about being satisfied, he would tell us, “You’ve lost the eye of the tiger.”

I’m not talking about the misconstrued, biblical concept of rest. The Bible’s concept of rest is an active pursuit of what Father has placed before us while trusting His life inside us to push forward through us. Resting is active. Trusting is tenacious. Faith is motivated.

Relationships cannot be static. Ideas can be. Concepts can be. But not relationships.

If you are standing still, you are regressing. You are relational. Your Father in heaven is relational. If you are satisfied, you are complacent. If you have fallen prey to taking your relationship with Christ Jesus for granted, you are now susceptible to the temptation of entitlement.

Entitlement sours the soul.

Satisfaction is exactly what our enemy would love to see us adopt, and once we do, he then persuades that our satisfaction is spirituality. Before we know it, we are soured. Before we know it, our spirituality is soured.

Love, a fire, a wellspring, the wind—these are never satisfied, and each is a biblical picture of our Heavenly Father’s disposition. Further, these are fueled by Father’s furious grace and mercy that will not be satisfied until our hearts are connected to His…and we know it, don’t doubt it, and live like it, love like it, and carry ourselves (i.e., literally our physical comportment and mental posture) like it.

“No Mercy” is a story about a man who recovered his fiery passion for life, love, adventure, and spirituality.

Getting started is the hardest part. The passage from no momentum to having momentum is remarkably difficult, especially if initiating momentum signals that you are embracing a foreboding change. The greater the change, the harder it is to take the first step.

Even if the status quo is not working very well, or is completely bankrupt, change can be threatening. Familiar routines, habits, and predictable outcomes are appealing. In fact, many people opt for the familiar even though it is broken. Covey has noted that doing again today, what you did yesterday, while believing you will get a different outcome tomorrow is a form of insanity. I don’t think he literally means “insane,” but when you sit down to think about it, such behavior is irrational at best.

Everywhere I look there is change occurring in the Believing community, and not just a little bit. The changes occurring are disruptive. Disruptive change is change that is so fundamental that returning to the status quo will never occur.

While there are convulsive reactions to these spiritual changes, I believe the disruption is a good thing. In fact, I think it is quite possible the disruption in the status quo is being driven by God.

All the indicators point to stagnation inside the church. Anecdotally, committed Believers are longing for their faith to be more relevant in their daily lives and are frustrated that they are not finding the organized church more facilitative of this desire. The disruption has already begun.

God wants to take us to a new place—His place. He wants to refocus us. He wants to disrupt the abnormalcy of spiritual apathy and return us to what Nee called the normal Christian life—a life of heart-to-heart connection with God that disrupts the status quo and propels us toward our spiritual desire to walk with God in His light.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? It’s the first step that is the hardest.

And what does the first step look like?

It is a prayer: “Father, take me where you are going. Tell me about yourself. I want to walk in the light.”

Here is a story about a man who stepped into the light.

Envision two rivers: one is moderately fast, the other flows fast and furious. In both instances, envision yourself standing on the bank, studying the flow rate, weighing the risk of crossing to the other side, but knowing that if you opt to do nothing—to stay on your side of the river—you will die a pitiable death.

Crossing the river is a visual image conveying the disruption involved in changing.

The first river, the one with the moderate current, represents those changes that require you to adjust. Entering the river will most certainly change you, but in time, you will cope and manage, and regain your footing on the other side. You can see it, and can imagine what crossing will mean to you.

The second river, the torrent, represents disruptive change. Crossing this river will revolutionize your life, and this sounds really cool. The trick is, the revolution and its risks are uncertain. You can wade into the raging current, swim for all you’re worth, believe you will survive the experience, but there is no guarantee where you will land on the other side. Crossing could be ruinous or glorious. Your life will most certainly be transformed radically, so profoundly you will never be able to return to the status quo of the river bank where you stand now.

Staying where you are—on this side of the river—is an option, but a poor one. This side of the river is heart-degree dissatisfaction. Either quickly, or after a passage of time, you will suffer the loss of courage, possibility, honor, and determination. All these are things your soul needs to live a robust life.

This parable applies to all change. But with the portrayal of the second river, I’m specifically thinking about spiritual change. Revolution. Return to a fiery heart-disposition akin to your Heavenly Father’s fiery heart-passion.

God’s intent is evident, but there is a torrent between where you are and what can be. Where do you begin?

To read a story about the journey–and adventure–of crossing over, click here.

Changes. There are adjustment changes in life, like adjusting the picnic due to rain, or adjusting to a new position at work, etc.

There are also disruptive changes, changes that fundamentally alter our lives. Our world is full of disruptive change right now—economic, technology, climate, balance of power.

The spiritual rhythm of life is in flux also, just like everything else around us, and it is disruptive. While this feels dark, it isn’t bad.

In fact, I think God is behind the disruption. Status quo spirituality is not cutting it—not for God, and not for us. We need a transformation, a reformation, a redefining of what it means to be sons and daughters of a passionate, engaged God.

I wrote No Mercy to fuel disruption. I wrote to illuminate a path in the midst of disruption. I wrote to cast a vision of how to embrace disruptive change—especially spiritual change—turn it to your advantage, and emerge transformed.

In disruptive times, it helps if we have someone to follow, to emulate. We need a guide, someone who discovers the path through disruptive darkness into the light of reformation. The life and story of Hank Henderson, the main character in No Mercy, offers us such a man for consideration.

We will never return to business as usual on any major front, including spiritually. Given this, I wrote No Mercy.

A true revolution changes the way people fundamentally behave.

People say we have had a technology revolution. I disagree. There has not been a technology revolution because the way we fundamentally do what we do has not changed—it has only gotten faster.

Google is a glorified card catalog. Accounting is still double entry. Documents continue to be stored in files. Social networks are not fundamentally different from the social networks of forty years ago, and so forth.

One of my mentors, Peter Drucker, argued that the next revolution would be a knowledge revolution. I agree. And this conviction has formed much of what I wrote about in my book, No Mercy.

How do we manage what we know and how will our lives be revolutionized?

In the book, the main character, Hank, wants to live his life like he’s always lived. But the crux of Hank’s story hinges on a true revolution within him and the concerted battle to thwart transformation.

It takes a lot of courage to do what Hank does in No Mercy. This is one reason I wrote the book. We need a pattern, a mentor, a guide along the way to show us what a revolution really looks like. A trusted colleague, even if fictional like Hank, bolsters our courage.

It is not good enough to have knowledge. It is not good enough to say you know God, or you know the Bible, or you know what’s right. A revolution will fundamentally change the way you behave and do what you do.

Until this revolution occurs, we will continue doing what we have always done. And sadly, what we know will stagnate and mold inside our souls.

A revolution like Hank’s awaits us all.

I want to introduce you to my new novel, “No Mercy,” and offer you this free copy to read, review, and share. The story is a sweeping adventure of life, love, trust, and desire.

Why are you receiving this link to the free e-book?

First, because I want to share my latest creation with you. And, I want to give you the freedom to share it with others.

I began writing No Mercy in 2003 to express some of the wisdom and insights that Father God has etched into my heart. Like “Hank,” the story’s main character, I doubted God. But over time, through persistence and care, God reached into the dark place where I lived and led me from darkness into light.

In 2008, I left my job and a certain future to write No Mercy and put on paper what I have discovered about living in the light.

Second, if you like what you read in the excerpt, a complete download of No Mercy is also available on my website–free.

If you prefer a hard copy, you can purchase a book here.

Third, if you like what you read, share it–share it until your heart is content. Please. Please forward this to an interested friend .

The option to live in the light—to walk in it and run in it—is only a step away. But the path needs some illumination. My best effort, in story form, is here, in “No Mercy.”

Again: Feel free to download No Mercy and share it generously. This is my gift—the dream of my life—to you and those surrounding you.

Enjoy reading, and like the main character “Hank” comes to understand, always remember!

Thank you for praying for me this week. The death of my friend—our friend—Kevin Walker, Walkit.org, is a monstrous loss. I told a friend today after lunch that there is no way to process Kevin’s life or death with our intellects.

If there was a recipe for greatness then we could bottle it and sell it. If greatness could be defined then we could study it. If greatness could be apprehended then we all could possess it. But there is no recipe, no definition, and no hand hold. Thinking about greatness is illusive. However, greatness can be recognized with the heart.

What made Kevin a great man? His intellect was an aspect of him. I knew him well, but he surprised me regularly with his incisive ability to assemble disparate pieces of information into keen wisdom.

He wasn’t short on emotion and didn’t hesitate to demonstrate what he was feeling. He cried, laughed, loved, touched, and talked readily. Having worked in Eastern Europe for years, I’m somewhat accustomed to being kissed on each cheek by men when they greet me there. But I never quite got over Kevin kissing me on the head and blessing me. The only other person who kisses me on the head and blesses me is God, and I haven’t gotten over that either, but Kevin helped me not resist Him.

Kevin was a good musician, a skillful player, a fine composer, and a gifted lyricist. He and Bobby Price won a Grammy, after all. He led worship like no one else I’ve ever encountered—and I’ve encountered a lot in my profession.

No. Kevin was all of these things, but he was—is—more. He was a man of heart who walked with God, whom he called Papa. This composite, this integration, this blending of all that was in him into an expression of his heart and God’s heart is a decent definition of Kevin. Add a streak of courage, a fiery tenacity, a resilient frame, and the description is closer.

The trouble with great men is that when they pass it catches us off guard. We are left with hard questions that roil inside us in a tumult.

One of the beauties in the passing of a great man is that it holds us accountable to manage what is in our soul versus going about our business as we are prone to do when other men pass from us. If we are not aware, denial of our loss can drown us in their wake. But riding the wave of their loss can wash us with what made them great and transport us to a new place.

Like you if you knew Kevin, I’m suffering my loss. In time, I will stabilize, but I don’t want to cling to a reef of expedient stability–like work, for example, or trite dismissals–in fear of engaging the grieving process.

No. It is not time to drop anchor or search the horizon for a safe harbor. Now is the time to cry for no apparent reason. To recall and laugh. To be quiet. To cling to my friends and bury my face in their necks. Now it is time to celebrate that my Father, in His wisdom, equipped me—and you—with the capacity to grieve and remember tenaciously that He promised to never leave me destitute.

As I do this, then I pay tribute to a great man, who in death created a current to transport me through life. My final words to Kevin were, “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” I thought that meant I would see him on Wednesday. Now, of course, I understand it meant I will see him shortly.

I received an email update today from my editor. Here’s what he wrote:

“I’m still working away here. It’s been a challenge – not because of the manuscript (it’s in great shape), but because of life stuff and illness. I’m guessing some spiritual warfare thing might be at play, too. Would make sense.”

One of the misconceptions we have about warfare, especially in the West, is that war is civil—sort of a gentleman’s sport. If your opponent drops his sword, you allow him time to pick it up again. If he stumbles and falls, you give him a chance to get up and gather his wits.

The civility of not kicking a man when he’s down is a fair rule, and it is, in sanctioned matches. In the ring, the referee monitors the fight. If a fighter is cut, the ref examines him to see if he can safely continue. If he falls, the ref counts to ten while his opponent waits in his corner.

Warrior, you and I face a real enemy, on a real battlefield, but there is no referee, and it is not civil. To believe that your enemy will not kick you while you are down is a delusion. If you hold to that belief you will become disillusioned.

This is one of themes in “No Mercy.” Don’t expect mercy from your enemy. He is hell-bent on no mercy for you. Spiritual warfare is not a sanctioned fight. It is not civil. It is not fair.

Our brother, Steve, my editor, is in the thick of things. He is sick, and has been for a few weeks. His family is stressed. Life has closed in much tighter than normal, and he has associated these battles with the spiritual subject matter in, “No Mercy.” That is a noteworthy observation for us in the Prayer Tribe.

I think he is correct: Steve is under spiritual attack. Who wouldn’t be, given the content of “No Mercy?”

Tribe, would you intercede for Steve? He needs health, focus, and protection. He needs courageous souls to stand in the gap. He needs for you to intercede—now, tomorrow, and the next day. He anticipates returning the manuscript to me early next week.

Reny or I will be in touch in a few days with an update from my front.

Preston