I have been working on a book for sometime now - some have asked when they could see a preview of the script which is now almost 300 pages long and another 1.000 in my head.

You asked for it - getting letters from publishers - Not sure who I can trust. I have written 100s of songs and arranged many more - I have had publishers offer me $10 per song for them to publish and own it and no royalties - I told them that I would rather give them away - and so I have for many, many years.

Drum roll please:


Don’t Blame That On God
By Otmer Horn










CHAPTER ONE - Questions

I am sitting in my office looking at a blank screen. “What shall be made of this?” I asked myself. “Is this the way I started out?” Was I just a blank page in a book waiting on someone or something to fill me and make me useful to the world, which I was born into or did I have a destiny? Am I the only one who asks these questions? Who are these people who are looking down on me? What do they want? Why is it so cold? Where did I come from? Why is it that I cannot remember? Why is it so bright here? Where is here?

Questions pour through my pitiful little mind like water through a sieve but there is nothing I can hold onto. I hear sounds but I have no idea what they mean. I just wish everyone would just shut up!!!!! I’m hungry. Yes, that will do for now then I will sleep, sleep, and sleep. The soft humming, somehow it is so soothing.

I have never considered myself to be especially smart or intelligent, mainly because I have always had more questions than I had answers. This one thing I do know that every day is just like the first. It is a blank page. There may be many more of them, which were arranged by an unseen Hand, but this morning started out a fresh new page. There was nothing dirty on it; it was clean and bright like a sunny morning after a rain filled night. Just like that newborn baby, each new day comes out of the darkness adjusting its eyes to the brightness of the morning.

I look at my hands. Silent now. Palms facing up toward my wondering eyes then folded in silent prayer. God help me to put these thoughts on paper. Take my jumbled thoughts and make some sort of sense from them. Take also the words that fall from my mind onto this page and put them in the order, which you would have them be for all time. My right hand is life; my left hand is death. How far can I stretch them out? How much time is represented between the two? Will life end as suddenly as a clap of thunder or in applause as we rise to meet eternity?
... (to be continued)

__________________
The one great fallacy of fundamentalism is that we actually believe that while we are confessing the sins of others that the Lord will not look as intently on our own.

As I have gotten older, I have tended to become less dogmatic over certain issues: "(1 Cor 2:2 KJV) For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified."



www.otthorn.com

www.jcfaith.com/otmerhorn