A sneek peek excerpt from "Hope Re-written," rewritten. Love Letters to Miscarried Moms : The Prodigal's Son
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A sneek peek excerpt from "Hope Re-written," rewritten. Love Letters to Miscarried Moms

by Samantha Evans on 02/13/20

Silly Paul

The white collar, white-gloved Sanhedrin held great power, authority and sway over all ecclesiastical and political matters. Commoners revered their station. The Romans feared their influence. They possessed great wealth, and no one dared question their opinions or insult their intelligence.

Then, Jesus.

Jesus challenged their power and authority, insulted their wealth and won every debate they engaged him in.

Paul, appalled by the blasphemous teachings of Jesus, set out to kill Jesus followers. Paul took great pride in his high position.“Circumcised on the eighth day of the people of Israel of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews, in regard to the law, a Pharisee, as for zeal persecuting the church and as for legalistic righteousness, faultless.” (Philippians 3:5,6).

Instead of a 2X4 as He did with my husband, God used a blinding light with Paul to shape their “understanding.” Different methods. Same jolting result.  

Suddenly, Paul found himself on the opposite side of his own belief. The Holy Spirit unlocked his intellect and revealed Jesus as the Law’s hope fulfilled. “Yet, whatever was my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ” (Philippians 3:7) Flip!

When Paul killed Christians, he assumed he was snuffing out an itty, bitty candle.

Oops. Silly Paul.

Cuz’ then he met Hope and Hope didn’t flicker like a flimsy candlewick. Hope blazed brightly enough to blind him. Only after Paul went blind did he see the Truth (Acts 9).

I wish Hope would create a firework display in front of me, declaring, “Here I am.!”

I have a problem opposite from Paul’s. I desire to find Hope, but every time I get close it slips through my fingers.

I stared vacantly out the office window. The static in my brain made listening difficult and the helpful advice of a friend buzzed around me like a fly. Despite the vast number of words she spoke, the only words that penetrated were “cling to Jesus.”

Before you think, wow, how profound, you should hear what my brain used the words for.  

My mind conjured an image of me as the hemorrhaging woman who reached out in faith for Jesus’ cloak for healing (Luke 8:42-44). Only, my story didn’t play out the same way as Luke’s. When I reached for Jesus’ cloak, the fabric slipped through my fingers. Jesus and his disciples were already striding away, heading for the next town.

I’m gonna miss him! Desperation coursed through me, igniting one final burst of energy. I lunged and clasped Jesus’ cloak. Jesus doesn’t notice me! My elusive Hope walked as fast as a motorboat ferrying a tuber. I tightened my grip. Cling to Jesus. Cling to Jesus. Cling to Jesus. I repeated the words as I .I bounced along the road behind him, dirt and pebbles flying in our wake

Inaccurate as that portrayal is, that’s sorta how I feel right now. Hope is elusive. Grasping hope is vital.


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Front: Clint Evans (husband), Sam Evans (that's me!)
Back: Friends Eric Sprinkle (co-author) and Scoti Domeij (publisher)

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My Testimony
The Gift of Suffering: Part 1
My Testimony
The Gift of Suffering: Part 2
I'm an author. Yet, every word I have ever typed has been typed with one hand. Due to mild cerebral palsy, my right hand isn't much more than a prop to help me look normal. In "The Gift of Suffering" I share my story, and challenge others to follow my example in being vulnerable in the midst of brokenness.  
"Often times when Christians ask, 'why do bad things happen to good people,' what they're really asking is, 'why do bad things happen to God's people?' I have a theory, and you may not like it..."
"I heard her kiss me." 
I spent six months in a body cast. Yes, you read that right. Hear the story of how my loving God brought me through it all in "The Gift of Suffering Part 2."
The door at the back of the plane opened and people started disappearing. The goggles that Tandem Man passed over my shoulder provided zero comfort. He pressed me forward toward the opening and my camera man nonchalantly hung sideways outside the door of the plane. The absurdity of his casual air momentarily distracted me from reality. 

Then I looked down. 13,000 feet down. 
-Excerpt from Adventure Devos

The greetings at the Colorado Christian Writer's Conference closely resembled a college freshman orientation. During one of these introductions, I pointed to the name tag on my collarbone. "Hi. I’m Sam.” 

The man pinched the fleece at his collarbone and, finding it nametag-less, said, “Hi. I’m North Face. Nice to meet you.” And that, friends, is the moment that Eric Sprinkle and Sam Evans became friends--and near-future co-authors.

The day prior, I awkwardly trudged through the MSP airport wearing Minnesota winter boots (vastly different from winter boots) while 80 degrees outside, but redemption came when 42 inches of snow fell in Estes, in 36 hours. The snow didn’t bother me. It was gorgeous and I’m from Minnesota, “where people help people get stuck cars out of the snow for fun,” adventurer extraordinaire Eric Sprinkle noted. I shrugged. With great boots comes great responsibility. 

I was curious about home, but had poor cell reception. “I tried to call, honey—honest.” Besides, my soul craved quiet  and quickly shoved curiosity into a snowbank.  Roads closed, trapping some people in while keeping others out. The sheer amount of snow forced the clock’s rotation to slow down. 

I hiked out the next morning before the sun rose on the white forest. In that stillness, I felt God sifting me. Ugly corners of my heart required attention and I was God’s captive audience. 

When was the last time you stepped off the page of your Choose-Your-Own-Adventure life and granted God an opportunity to speak to your heart? Adventure Devos is about taking a breath to locate God in your adventure. Because, if you learn to find him in the stillness, it will be much easier to match his pace within the chaos. 

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"In His Shoes" is the first entry of a series that chronicles the life of Pastor Clint Evans, the prodigal pastor and the Prodigal's Son. 
He lived hard and loved hard and died of cancer in June of 2019.
In this realm of navigating grief and loss, once again my heart syncs with my pen.