Preston Gillham

Some people say my book, “No Mercy,” is outside the box.

I disagree. Oh, sure. I published it unconventionally, and I speak to issues that are not often revealed in nice company, but I had no intention of writing a book that is not relevant.

The concept of “No Mercy” is revolutionary, granted. And the literary style is outside the norm, but the story of Henry “Hank” Henderson is not uncommon. He is a normal person, living a fairly normal life, who encounters the revolutionary God of heaven.

And some say, “That’s odd: a revolutionary God. It’s outside the box. Abnormal, really.” No it’s not! That God cares, persists, and pursues is what He does, and has done, since He created mankind.

Had I written a book that was outside the box, then the concept of God I presented would have been remote, removed, indifferent, and irrelevant. I didn’t write a fantasy! I wrote about real life and a real-time, interactive God utilizing the literary elements of fiction and allegory.

Why? Because I hope Hank’s life-story sparks a revolution in our life-stories.

There are two types of revolutions: a) those fueled from outside, and b) those fueled from inside. “No Mercy” is the latter. Hank is like you and me. While fictional, he is not hypothetical. And, God is not distant. He is relevant. He is not outside the box. He is inside the box where we live. If God was outside the box, He never would have incarnated Himself. Like TR described, God is in the arena. He is active on the channel as my friend, Lamar, says. He is present and accounted for.

I’m hearing from two types of readers. The fist group encounter Hank, identify with him, generalize from his experience in “No Mercy” to their own lives, and emerge alongside him three-hundred pages later transformed. The other group appears to be afraid—scared that if they identify with Hank, their lives will be revolutionized like his. They seem fearful about transformation—as though it will take them to a place that is not OK.

Here is a thought about fear.

In the meantime, Hank’s story (i.e., “No Mercy”) is intended to instigate change through personal identification.

Revolutions are not driven purely by intellectual ascent, but by passionate identification, and collaboration resulting in true transformation from inside the box—inside the box of life.

Everyone needs private space, but leaders realize their private lives shrink as their responsibility increases. This is a burden of leadership—but it is also a privilege.

Leaders live in fishbowls. Good leaders understand this and use this transparency to their benefit and others’ good.

A friend of mine who runs a large company tells me he takes note of when he coughs during a meeting. Some would say he is obsessed. I would say he is a leader who comprehends the weight of leadership.

People are watching. They are looking for clues and indicators, anything that will help them feel secure, aware, confident, and informed.

Leadership is a privilege. It is a humbling honor to know people manage their lives by gauging theirs by yours.

Leaders cannot lead private lives in the same way the rest of us do. They are on display, whether they like it or not. Their lives are a barometer and field guide.

This means leaders must be deeply rooted in something greater than themselves.

Leaders who are selfish and self-centered, miscue. Leaders who are not anchored, drift. Leaders who believe their lives are private, behave irresponsibly. And the people who follow suffer.

But the leader who is anchored, the leader who is self-assured, and the leader who is self-aware has the opportunity to lead people well. Of course, this begs the question: Anchored to what? Self-assured about what? Self-aware in what way?

Scripture says about Believers that our souls are anchored in Christ. It says we are confident in Him. It declares that our identity is secure in His identity. These are fundamental truths for every follower of Christ.

Relating this to leadership, if a leader is organized and focused spiritually, then the foundation is laid to be transparent—deliberately; to put his life and leadership on the table for examination. Like Paul (and Jesus) say, “Imitate me.” Every one of us—including leaders—needs to be led in some way.

Leadership that begins with that transparency embraces the burden and beauty of leadership knowing that those who follow will do so with a sense of security.

We all imitate. Leaders have the opportunity to demonstrate what others will emulate.

Here is a transparent look into a leader’s life. He has gone to the trouble to write his experience down for our observation and imitation.

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.

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.

My friend Kevin died of cancer on Saturday, but he wasn’t just my friend. He had a lot of friends—praying friends—who are godly, righteous people. Certainly hundreds, if not several thousand, souls were imploring God to heal Kevin.

James writes, “The effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much” (5:16 b), which begs the question: Did Kevin not have any righteous people—or the requisite number of righteous people—praying for his healing?

A friend from another state called on Sunday to report that during their church service the pastor reported that “Sally’s” struggle against cancer was progressing toward victory. The cancer in her brain was gone and other, cancer indicators had declined by 50% over the last week. “Keep praying,” the pastor said. “Your prayers are working.”

Why are the righteous people praying for Sally experiencing success and the righteous people who prayed for Kevin suffering defeat?

Part of the answer lies in this: the definition of “accomplishes much,” from the James quotation. Someone we love, like Kevin, is diagnosed with a dread ill and we presume God wishes him healed. We pray, and we assemble teams of pray-ers, and we pray hard, fervent supplications for what we deem in Kevin’s best interest and our preference. At best, God will agree with us. More troubling, God is not paying attention to Kevin’s plight, but our prayers get His attention and healing occurs. Or…we conclude we are stuck with a God who doesn’t care, plays favorites, or is capricious. All are bad options.

What if accomplishing Kevin’s healing is not on God’s agenda? In other words, in His sovereignty, He knows healing Kevin is a bad plan.

We presume God agrees with our assessment, that healing is the right and best thing, and we effectively pray to that end. Then, when Kevin dies—and Sally lives—we question our fervor, our righteousness, and God’s fairness. When we are disappointed, we lapse easily into assuming we didn’t try hard enough, pray long enough, or assemble a formidable enough team to storm the gates of heaven and secure Kevin’s healing. Or, we are left with a God we would rather avoid.

And the devil has a field day in our disillusioned souls.

So why pray at all? If God is going to do what He’s going to do regardless of our prayers, no matter how effective, what’s the point?

At first glance, it would appear we should carefully define “accomplish much,” and once done, then pray successfully in agreement with God’s will and enjoy the control we derive by discerning the mind of God. I’m not buying that. When I pray like that it feels like I’m negotiating a real estate deal.

When confronted with Kevin’s cancer nine months ago, I went to my place of prayer: the streets in my neighborhood. I prayed, and said, “Father, what are you thinking?” I didn’t wait for His answer, but quickly got sidetracked by my shock and dismay and reverted to telling Father the outcome I desired with this bleak diagnosis. On this went: “Father, what are you thinking?”—but no break to let God answer, before—“Let me tell you what I’m thinking.”

I was persuasive. I asked for favors, pleaded for mercy, and bargained for healing. I hammered on the gates of heaven. I cried. I wailed. When I saw Kevin’s pain, I prayed more fervently.

You know what? This is typical, normal behavior for a friend who has gotten shocking, unpalatable news. It’s the rough equivalent of running around in a panic when the skillet on the stove catches fire.

Not long after Kevin’s diagnosis, my initial shock calmed, and I went to the streets and said, “Father, what are you thinking?” And then, I was quiet. I waited for His reply. Then, back and forth we went in dialogue about the concern at hand: Kevin’s health and the extenuating issues. This is the rough equivalent of realizing the skillet is on fire, gaining my wits, and managing the situation.

Here is my conviction regarding complex issues like cancer: Father wants us to tell Him what is on our mind. He wants to hear from us without edit. I believe He longs for an honest, forthright conversation with us. But take note: Conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. If I do all the talking when God and I get together, we don’t get nearly as much accomplished as when we communicate.

I just hung up the phone from talking to my friend, WO. Man-to-man, friend-to-friend, adult-to-adult, WO and I discussed our loss with Kevin’s passing. Back and forth our conversation went: talk, listen; talk, listen. That’s how dialogue works. One way communication is called a sermon, or a lecture. For the most part, sermons and lectures are not very effective forms of communication. Interaction, on the other hand, is much more effective, meaningful, and powerful. This is what God desires. It is what we are equipped to do. It is what bonds us together.

Prayer is a dialogue. God, in Christ, made us righteous people so He could interface with us. The seizing of that reality affords us the effective ability to communicate with God. And make no mistake, that communication is a two-way street—a dialogue. This “accomplishes much.”

Our prayers regarding Kevin’s cancer were not in vain. How can visiting with God about a subject that is important, like Kevin, be considered pointless? Were you not inspired as you considered Kevin’s life? Were you not challenged to walk more closely with God as a result of discussing Kevin’s life with God and others? Are you not a better person after discussing Kevin with God?

I am, and in this way, my prayer did “accomplish much.” Effective prayer is not about Kevin or Sally or cancer or healing. The accomplishment is defined by God, and the only way to discover the definition, is to discuss it with God.

Do I miss Kevin? Terribly. Would I bring him back if I could? Not in a million years. Am I still discussing Kevin’s life and death with God in prayer? You better believe it.

Pres posting this.

Thank you, Reny, for keeping us focused and tribal. On Friday, five minutes before noon, I handed off “No Mercy” to Steve, my editor. You have been praying for him. As I write, he is hard at work.

Steve and I are proving to be a good team. You have prayed that we would be. Father heard, and answered.

The scope of our work together changes tenor and pace in this phase. The edits Steve suggested in the first edit were substantive, e.g. this character needs to be developed; this time sequence is confusing; this discussion is redundant; I suggest; let’s think about; what if you? The upcoming edits are line edits: punctuation, grammar, redundant word use, inconsistency, etc.

But Steve’s work is about far more than making “No Mercy” a showcase of literary style. In a nutshell, he is working to make “No Mercy” safe for me to publish and readers to read.

As you will soon see, “No Mercy” is a very personal book—to me and to the reader. One of my reviewers wrote, “At times I feel you have been allowed supernatural privilege to view the film that plays in my soul, and at other times I am almost embarrassed, as I feel I have been privileged to view yours!”

Poor writing creates insecurity. Think about riding in the car with a good driver versus riding with a poor driver: When you ride with a good driver you are free to enjoy, immersing yourself in your thoughts, discussions, daydreaming. But when you are with a hack driver, you are too distracted by his poor skills to do anything beyond worry if you’ll make it to your destination—alive.

Steve is laboring right now to ensure the readers of “No Mercy” will not feel they are in the hands of a hack writer. Rather, that they feel secure to immerse themselves—vulnerably—into the story and personally identify with the main character, Henry “Hank” Henderson.

As Reny has written to you, “No Mercy” is a book about connecting with God. It is a novel about encountering grace, succumbing to the tragedy of independence, and coming face-to-face with the mercy of your Heavenly Father.

You can readily see what Steve is up against for the next two weeks. Please intercede on his behalf accordingly. More on my next steps from Reny. She’ll be in touch with you early in the week.

Thank you for gathering around and praying. I can’t tell you how encouraged I am to be surrounded by the tribe.

Bless you,

Preston

Seth Godin writes in his blog today that he wants to hear my opinion. Based upon my reading of Godin, I imagine if he were my boss, he would want to hear my opinion—or my comment.

But leaders like Godin are not as common as they could be. Dianne and I have been reading through the book of Acts in the Bible. It is one leadership failure after another thus far.

Acts 5:17-18 says, “But the high priest rose up, along with all his associates (that is the sect of the Sadducees), and they were filled with jealousy; and they laid hands on the apostles, and put them in a public jail.”

Why did these leaders do this? They felt their job was in jeopardy and their authority in question. They were threatened, so they reacted. Poorly. Even after they hear wise counsel from a colleague toward the end of the chapter, they release the apostles, but not before flogging them.

Threatened folks threaten. An insecure individual is not a safe person. Leaders, like the rest of us, are prone to believe that maintaining is job one. However, this belief is rooted in insecurity and promotes threat.

Jesus taught that we are secure in Him—secure enough to accept opinion, receive counsel, consider alternatives, and that we are secure enough to lay our lives down on behalf of another.

As you read my posts from the last few days, you can practically hear frustration oozing from the lines. The technical glitch was ridiculous. Getting it resolved bordered on insane. But I persisted. The glitch is gone (I think).

I am persistent. Persistence has carried me up and over Paradise Divide on my bicycle—and back down in ensuing darkness, sleet, and cold. Persistence has guided me through multitudinous failure—and successful innovation. It coaches me through the constant, relentless, physical pain I suffer.

Not enough persistence—you’re beaten. Too much persistence—you are abrasive.

“What demarcates persistence from abrasiveness?” I prayed one evening as I walked the hood. Thoughts came that sounded like His voice.

Abrasiveness has embedded in it self-reliance, desperation, and demand—all driven by the fear that if I’m unsuccessful, I will be conquered. I will be a failure. I will be less than the glitch, system, or person that defeated me. I will be defined by loss. Or, defined by success, if by abrasiveness I win.

Abrasiveness believes I am defined by outcome. Persistence believes I am untouched by outcome—that I am declared accepted by my Father in heaven and that this identity is secured in/by Christ Jesus.

Given this, I am free to bring every resource—physical, intellectual, emotional, willful—to the task at hand. There is no cause to leverage myself upward with fear or self-reliance—believing I’ll be a better man if I win.

Persistence is bringing all I am and possess into life’s arena—all the time—confident I am secure in Christ.

When do I become abrasive? When I leverage and overstate and posture from the belief I will be better or worse dependent upon the outcome.

Dianne (my wife) and I want to introduce you to a dear friend, Reny Madjarska, and ask you to join her in forming a Prayer Tribe to pray for us and my nearly-completed book, “No Mercy.”

Reny and I worked together for eleven years at Lifetime Guarantee Ministries. She is talented, trustworthy, and has a vibrant relationship with God.

Reny came to college at TCU from her home, Bulgaria, in 1994. She was an atheist, a card-carrying communist, and on a full scholarship in Economics. Our Heavenly Father pursued her, won her heart, and she became a follower of Jesus Christ. She has since earned a MATh, a MBA, and is currently the CFO of a financial services company in California.

“No Mercy” is a work of fiction. It’s about connecting with God, what goes wrong in the process, and how to remedy the relationship.

As Dianne and I discussed with Reny some of our challenges, she offered to assemble a tribe of people to pray. This is where I hope you enter the picture. Would you join the Prayer Tribe and pray?

As I share with Reny, she is going to write to you and post to my website, PrestonGillham.com, under the “Life” column. If you sign up by clicking this link, you’ll see “Join the Prayer Tribe” in the right column. Reny will keep you focused.

Reny has expressed concern that she, whose third language is English, is posting to a writer’s website. I have encouraged her that you are meeting to pray, not judge her writing.

So you’ll know, as Reny writes she will sign her name to her posts. If my name is on a post, it’s from me.

Thanks in advance for joining us. If you want, please pass this invitation along to others.

You will see “Join the Prayer Tribe” in the right column of PrestonGillham.com.

Bless you,

Preston

That’s how Dianne and I read the Bible. More verses than that, for longer than a paragraph takes, has proven too formidable for us to enjoy success, let alone benefit.

Mornings are demanding—and we don’t even have kids. Yikes! The alarm goes off at 4:45. Di’s out the door at 7:00. No matter how hard we try to manage our minutes, by the time we get exercises done, showers taken, and breakfast downed the clock has precious few ticks left prior to take off.

For years we just acquiesced into the jaws of defeat. But then the idea of something—anything—being better than nothing registered. It seemed a good place to start was with a paragraph. And we did, and it worked. Very well.

Measurable goals. Achievable results. Blah, blah, blah. I know. Here’s the surprise: We are enjoying reading Scripture more than ever. And, we are getting great insight too. The bite-size chunks of Bible are allowing us to savor our paragraph like gourmets. It’s rich.

There is something to be said for an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord. But, there is also something to be said for a gourmet meal presented “just so” and relished bite-by-bite so each complexity bursts in your mouth.

I eat at both kinds of places, and I digest Scripture similarly. But in the mornings, Dianne and I savor the Scripture one paragraph at a time while we drink our fruit smoothie.