Preston Gillham

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!

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.

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

It’s Thursday night—probably Friday morning by the time you read this post. I was just sitting by the fire and thinking backward when it occurred to me that I should let you know what’s on my mind.

I fought a brutal battle against feeling insignificant for years–and have now written a book about it called, “No Mercy.” The battle over significance culminated on another cold night a few years ago while I was sitting on a curb, in my neighborhood, with my dog. It’s a story for another day, but I came to realize that evening that I was significant because my Heavenly Father chooses to spend time with me.

The victory came from space. Not outer space, but realizing that since no one else—not the dog that was sitting between my legs, nor my dear wife with whom I sleep—can occupy the same time and space that I do, I’m singular. These can be close, but they can’t be completely integrated into where I am.

Therefore, no one occupies the same place in time and space that I do…except for my Father, who lives in me. That makes me significant. Singular. Important. Noticed and valuable by virtue of the fact that God spends time alone with me.

He could be anywhere. Everywhere. And He is. But most importantly, He is in me, where I am, and no one else is there—can’t be—and that makes me singularly significant.

Like I said, it’s a story for another day.

Significance and recognition—the subject of my thoughts this cold night—are not synonyms. Father resolves my need to be significant by connecting with me, and with me alone, in my space and time and place.

But recognition is different. Of course, He recognizes, e.g. “Well done, good and faithful servant,” but I believe He intends for those around us to play a part in our recognition.

Herein is the problem. God is dependable and absolutely faithful, and I wish the same could be said for me. But I am human, fatally flawed, and undependable. When humanity is introduced into your equation, you should expect disappointment. Drag.

I need to be recognized. To be sure, I won’t die without it, but I will suffer without it. Analogously, I need to be touched, but I won’t die without it. Like my need to be touched, I need to be recognized, and while Father is sufficient to carry me forward with/without touch, He is sufficient to carry me forward with/without recognition. I believe this. I believe Him. So, I’m OK in the long run, but I feel vulnerable sitting snuggly by my fire.

It is tricky to manage this battle against recognition—to be noticed. It is not as clearly defined as the battle with significance. It comes down to what a friend of mine calls “keeping your own counsel.” From my experience, keeping my own counsel is like balancing the ingredients in a complex recipe. Get it right, it’s good. Get it wrong, you feed it to Fred (that’s our garbage disposal’s name). Fred lives large at our house.

There are those aspects of life that Father deems so important that He singularly takes care of them, e.g. significance. There are those aspects of life that Father partners with us to achieve, e.g. recognition.

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.

It’s Sunday night—probably Monday morning by the time you read this post. I was just sitting by the fire and thinking backward when it occurred to me that I should let you know what’s on my mind.

I fought a brutal battle against feeling insignificant for years. It culminated on another cold night a few years ago while I was sitting on a curb, in my neighborhood, with my dog. It’s a story for another day, but I came to realize that evening that I was significant because my Heavenly Father chooses to spend time with me.

The victory came from space. Not outer space, but realizing that since no one else—not the dog that was sitting between my legs, nor my dear wife with whom I sleep—can occupy the same time and space that I do, I’m singular. These can be close, but they can’t be completely integrated into where I am.

Therefore, no one occupies the same place in time and space that I do…except for my Father, who lives in me. That makes me significant. Singular. Important. Noticed and valuable by virtue of the fact that God spends time alone with me.

He could be anywhere. Everywhere. And He is. But most importantly, He is in me, where I am, and no one else is there—can’t be—and that makes me singularly significant.

Like I said, it’s a story for another day.

Significance and recognition—the subject of my thoughts this cold night—are not synonyms. Father resolves my need to be significant by connecting with me, and with me alone, in my space and time and place.

But recognition is different. Of course, He recognizes, e.g. “Well done, good and faithful servant,” but I believe He intends for those around us to play a part in our recognition.

Herein is the problem. God is dependable and absolutely faithful, and I wish the same could be said for me. But I am human, fatally flawed, and undependable. When humanity is introduced into your equation, you should expect disappointment. Drag.

I need to be recognized. To be sure, I won’t die without it, but I will suffer without it. Analogously, I need to be touched, but I won’t die without it. Like my need to be touched, I need to be recognized, and while Father is sufficient to carry me forward with/without touch, He is sufficient to carry me forward with/without recognition. I believe this. I believe Him. So, I’m OK in the long run, but I feel vulnerable sitting snuggly by my fire.

It is tricky to manage this battle against recognition—to be noticed. It is not as clearly defined as the battle with significance. It comes down to what a friend of mine calls “keeping your own counsel.” From my experience, keeping my own counsel is like balancing the ingredients in a complex recipe. Get it right, it’s good. Get it wrong, you feed it to Fred (that’s our garbage disposal’s name). Fred lives large at our house.

There are those aspects of life that Father deems so important that He singularly takes care of them, e.g. significance. There are those aspects of life that Father partners with us to achieve, e.g. recognition.