I'm an old woman, sick and tired of the voices rattling in my head. I am ready for this day, my final hours before I disappear into the hereafter.
I didn't always live in this white walled room, away from those I love, watched twenty four hours a day by a Filipino nurse down the hall. Once, life was filled with adventure and purpose. At least that's what everyone has told me. My days have grown faded, blurry, run together in an endless sea of confusion. It's hard to distinguish what is real anymore. There are only a few things I still recognize as reality, things I will take to the grave.
My husband, John, is one. The day after we were married he began building a church in the fields of the Lone Star State. He was a preacher who spoke with fire in his soul. A few years after the church was finished he decided it was time to move west. He was convinced it was God's will, so I followed. In the summer of 1981 we piled everything we owned in the back of our Ford pickup and headed towards California.
From the moment we arrived our lives were filled with hopes and dreams. John poured himself into building another church in Newport Beach. Soon life found a rhythm. I never imagined what would happen in the years that followed. The church grew by the thousands. People flocked to hear John preach. We enjoyed the success in our ministry, along with the unexpected perks: popularity, money, and influence. John wrote a book that skyrocketed to the top of the bestseller list. The church phone rang off the hook with speaking opportunities. We believed it was all part of God's plan.
Ten years later I had my hands full with two young boys while John was busy traveling the world. I went with him on occasion, but for the most part I stayed home and watched my babies grow into young men. At times it was as if I were a single parent. I could've spoken up. I could've objected to the sacrifices we made in the name of God. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. Instead I enjoyed the comforts of being a wife, our beachfront home, a private jet leased by the church, a cabin in Lake Isabella, John's seven figure salary, as well as his book royalties. A bonus was the respect given to us whenever we entered a room by those who didn't know us. It was flattering, and addicting.
This isn't my life anymore.
The Disillusioned (Guardian Novels) Description:
A mother’s suicide threatens to destroy a family legacy. Her sons, Sam and Daniel, are forced to leave their comfortable worlds behind and search for a woman they believe can unlock the secrets that have remained hidden.
They are propelled into separate journeys from Los Angeles to the heart of the Zambezi where they are forced to confront a man known as Die Duiwel. On their adventures they will find themselves in a place where death is one breath away, where thousands of children are disappearing into the darkness, and where the woman they are searching for is on the hunt for revenge.
When they stand face-to-face with the forgotten slaves of Africa they will fight to redeem what has been lost.
