"Interesting subject and great characterizations. "President Fionn" is filled with lively, colorful characters who illuminate a fascinating time in Irish history (and world history!). Spanning 30 years, from Dublin during the depression to the swinging 60s. Fionn is an Irish boy (dubbed 'president' by his doting grandfather) surrounded by the turmoil and upheavals of the mid-twentieth century. Though a dreamer by nature, Fionn can't help but become caught up in the times and is especially fascinated with President John F Kennedy, who he follows hoping to be noticed by the great man.
What a wonderful tale of Irish life, the love and pain that comes with close families, and the dreamer that we all want to love. Christine Mary Flemming has written a tale of hope for the future and entanglement with the past that will resonate with readers. I look forward to reading more of her books!
I found this story extremely emotional, filled with highs and lows. It's the story of a young Irish boy and the hardships (mostly family-related) he faces while growing up. The book doesn't fall into common tropes or predictable events... it simply reflects real life... the characters and dialogue are equally believable and rich. It's a brilliant novel that you'll think about long after you've finished reading it"
"This book has amazingly been both heartbreaking and heartwarming. It takes you on a road down tragedy and the struggle of a soul to survive that tragedy, with unexpected and at first unwelcome help from the family he tried so hard to forget. The path Fionn takes leads him not only to discover the flaws and illusions he has created about himself, but about the people around him. Set in 1930s and 1960s Ireland was a historical breath of fresh air, both fascinating and enlightening. The characters will enthrall you, as you see how their lives unfold and how Fionn overcomes his past to realize his childhood dream. I would highly recommend this book to anyone, and hope to see more from Christine Mary Flemming in the future."
Em struggled her way back to consciousness. Moving her cheek on the floor, she puzzled at the sensation. Linoleum was supposed to be smooth and hard, not soft. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked at a table leg about a half an inch from her nose. Wiggling on her belly away from the table leg, Em placed her hands flat and prepared to push herself up. Her eyes widened. Her hands were on either side of a large, red rose embroidered into a rug. She jerked in shock, banging her head on the bottom of a wooden table.
“Ouch,” Em said, rubbing the top of her head.
After scooting backward so she wouldn’t hit her head again, Em sat up and looked around the room. Gone were the sink and the shiny, new chrome faucets. Gone, too, were the refrigerator and stove. In fact, the whole kitchen had disappeared, along with the worn linoleum. “That’s no great loss; in fact, that’s the best part of this crazy dream I’m having,” Em thought.
Em’s brows knitted together. She must be dreaming, although she couldn’t remember ever having the sensation of touch in a dream. Her fingers rubbed across the pile of the rug.
On the ledge over the fireplace, which was no longer bricked in, sat a clock. It ticked rhythmically and showed the time to be ten o’clock. To the right of the fireplace was a beautiful needlepoint chair. Two dark wood chairs faced each other, their cushions upholstered in a floral pattern. One rested to the left of the fireplace, the other was next to the doorway. Each chair had a walnut wooden table next to it, with an oil lamp on each. Against the far wall was a settee, the cushion a slightly worn dusty rose. The walls were painted a moss green. The heavy drapes on the windows next to the fireplace matched the settee. Chills ran down Em’s spine. It all looked so real.
Turning around to look behind her, Em saw the antique writing table that had been sent out to be restored. A small dark wooden chair perched between the drawers. Trembling, Em pushed herself up off the floor on shaky legs. She tentatively touched the smooth surface of the writing table.
“Mom!” Em screamed.
A door slammed and Em heard footsteps.
But instead of her mother, the biggest black man she had ever seen filled the doorway. He wore a stained and faded white shirt and calf-length brown work pants. His feet were bare and covered in dirt. His short cropped hair looked like a gray Brillo pad. He held a long-handled, curved knife. Em took a step backward, lost her balance, and fell, hitting her head on the mantle of the fireplace. Pain exploded in her head. She crumpled to the floor.
.jpg)
Alison Neuman lives in Alberta, Canada, where she works as a freelance writer. Nearing the end of her studies at Grant MacEwan College, she was inspired to complete the first draft of Ice Rose: A Young Adult Spy Novel. The YA novel integrates her love for gadgetry with the broad imaginative license afforded by the secret agent genre, and features a female protagonist in a wheelchair. It was published in 2010 by Fireside Publications.
Alison Neuman lives in Alberta, Canada, where she works as a freelance writer. Nearing the end of her studies at Grant MacEwan College, she was inspired to complete the first draft of Ice Rose: A Young Adult Spy Novel. The YA novel integrates her love for gadgetry with the broad imaginative license afforded by the secret agent genre, and features a female protagonist in a wheelchair. It was published in 2010 by Fireside Publications.
As an overview for Beginner Seekers into the World of New Age Spirituality, I expected a smattering of this and that. But what a delightful surprise, the author more than did her homework. This is not a research project, but rather a personal journey in which the author put herself and her own life on the line and writes totally from her heart.
She reveals the most important aspect for a spiritual journey...and that is "feeling." You need to feel your way to resonance with that still small voice inside that lets you know YOU ARE HEADED IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION ON THE RIGHT PATH FOR YOU. How each of us finds our way is a very personal manner.
And yes, you are given the tools with which to seek...and very importantly the knowledge that you are not alone on your journey. Invisible helpers, energies, angels are always ready to direct and protect, offering signs along the way.
The author introduces you to various modalities for further exploration: Reiki, Chakra balancing, Dreamwork, Intuitive feelings, the Law of Attraction and the role of the Subconscious, Breathwork, Meditiation, and various other methods to "get in touch," Prayer, Visualization, Self Protection and much more. If you've just begun to search, and even if you've been "on the road" for a while, you will glean gold nuggets from this heartfelt revelation. Highly recommended.
~Julia Busch
'Do not live like most people...and you will not cry like them...Rise above wrong ideas that you have cherished...No longer fight to defend false notions that fill your days with misery...Search deep within your heart ...And find the ancient fire that can burn away any obstacles that hinder your path to peace...'
A Most Glorious Abode
As I stepped forward I pushed outward in the darkness and brushed against something. It felt much like a thin veil or curtain. As I parted the substance, an intense light filled with warmth and love fell upon me and beckoned me forward. It was a brilliant light that immediately dispersed all the darkness about me. It was soothing and satisfying. It carried a peace that I wanted to embrace. Deep inside me it felt somehow familiar; a feeling from deep within that was sweet to my soul. I stepped forward into the light.
Though as yet I had not come to a realization of where I was, I instantly perceived I was entering into a most magnificent dimension or sphere which far surpassed the beauty of any place I had ever visited. The peace was consuming and the beauty transcending.
“Where am I?” I thought to myself. “What has happened to me? Wasn’t I just fighting for my very…life!” An awareness of my true location was suddenly permeating my mind. I suddenly felt anxious, not knowing what I might see or what might happen.
Immediately in front of me stretched a lush lawn of emerald hue, yet mixed with a combination of sky-blue. I had never seen such a vibrant, brilliant color. Trees could be seen in numerous places around the landscape. They, too, were much more impressive than anything I had ever seen. Leaves and sprigs carried varieties of color such as crimson, gold, blazing yellows of fire, shades of green and blue, and deep blood-red. One stem may have numerous flowers of different variety and color. These flowers and shrubbery cast soft and deep tones of warmth and splendor, as if mixed by a master painter. I was enthralled with the beauty which encompassed me.
Before me, scattered around the lawn and trees, were numerous people grouped in small clusters, some sitting together under trees reading and having discussions, others grouped in intent discourse or thought.
Suddenly I felt someone approaching me from behind. I turned to behold the faces of some of my closest relatives. In the front of the group was my cousin, Randy McMillan, who had died nearly 20 years earlier, from leukemia. He looked great! He had been a state champion wrestler in high school, and had continued his wrestling career in college. He had been full of life and ready to take on the world when he contracted this deadly disease and died. His stature now, however, was every bit as powerful as I had ever remembered him appearing, definitely not the sickly young man that I had known at his death. And his keen sense of humor appeared to be every bit intact. He stepped toward me and greeted me with a warm embrace.
“Lance, it’s so good to see you! We’ve been looking forward to your arrival!” Randy’s words caught me by surprise. They had known I was coming.
“It’s wonderful to see you, as well. But your words confuse me. If you knew I was coming, then am I really…permanently…dead?” I asked, not certain that I wanted to have my life completed.
“We’ll talk about that later. These other family members want to get re-acquainted with you, too,” he said, pointing to the others standing in the group with us.
One by one they stepped forward toward me and introduced themselves. There was my Dad’s father, Grandpa Mark Richardson, and his wife, Grandma Mary Richardson, Uncle Howard (Randy’s father), Great Grandpa Charles Edmund Richardson, and several others.
I had not seen my Grandpa Mark since I was about three years old. All I remembered of him was an old, sickly, haggard man. He had been very ill before his death. But here he was now before me, a very good-looking young man. He looked to be about 25-30 years of age, what many would consider to be one’s prime. Though he looked so different I still recognized him immediately.
“Oh, Grandpa, it is so good to see you.”
“It’s great to see you, Lance. We’ve been anxiously awaiting your visit.” He stepped back and took a long look at me. “You look good! I can see your Dad’s characteristics in you. I’ve enjoyed helping you and your family so much over the past years.”
I appreciated his assessment. But his final sentence caught my interest. “What do you mean by that, Grandpa? How have you helped us?”
“Oh, Lance, you’d be surprised how involved many of us are in your lives,” he responded. “It’s really quite exciting. We’ll show you more about how it works in awhile.”
Randy looked at me with a smile. “In most cases, Lance, when you pray to God for help, it is your dead relatives and loved ones who are sent by God to help you in answer to your prayers. Thus we weld links and bonds of love within the family forever. The family is the central and eternal unit of our society.” His words carried a powerful feeling of truth. It felt so right! Who would love you more, and desire to help you more, than your family and closest friends!
“And so, those relatives of yours who have lived righteous lives can be used as ministering servants, by God, to assist His children who are still in mortality. We serve you, and you serve us. It is the mode of Heaven.”
“That is so incredible,” I said. “It’s as if they are angels sent to help us.”
“Yes, it is.” Randy agreed.
Each of the words he had shared conveyed such meaning and clarity. I understood completely. And then it occurred to me. Randy had spoken these truths to me, but not with his mouth and audible voice. He had spoken to my mind. Until that moment, each of my relatives had spoken to me using their mouths. But not now. Randy’s last statements were made to me with his mind.
Instantly, I heard my Grandfather’s voice in my mind saying to me, “We do not need to speak with our mouths. We have done so to make this change somewhat easier for you. We can speak to you spirit to spirit. And by speaking spirit to spirit, we are able to communicate much more completely. Thus, you are now experiencing my message to you with multiple senses, not only with your ears.”
It was true. I had not only heard his words with my spirit and in my mind, but I had experienced them in a most wonderful way. It seemed as if I had absorbed these words. And at the same time as the words came into my mind, I saw a picture of what he was telling me. I felt the emotions he desired to communicate to me, as well. I understood on a higher level than I ever had before.
“Wow! This is amazing!” I said, using my mouth to speak back to them. “Can I speak to you in that manner, as well?”
“You did before this life. When you lived as a spirit before you were born into mortality, you had many talents and capabilities that you have now forgotten. In time, these will come back to your memory. For the moment, though, don’t worry about it,” Randy explained.
From that time on they alternated in speaking via mouth and by spirit. I could see that often they would do things in a manner to make me feel more comfortable with my new surroundings. I appreciated their efforts, but was also deeply interested in seeing how their world operated and functioned. The communication process was one of the most impressive to me. Throughout the remainder of my experience in their realm I would see, hear, feel, and internalize the messages given to me when communicated spirit to spirit.
As I looked around me, the beauty seemed almost indescribable. “Oh, how I would love to have my family see all of this with me,” I thought. Yes, they were still very present in my mind. In fact, at that moment, my heart ached to reunite with them. I was still not certain whether or not I had ended my life for good. Something inside me told me that it was not over, though logic concluded otherwise. Yet, with friends and relatives whom I loved so much present to greet me, I closed my eyes and basked for a second in the incredible peace that permeated every fibre of my being. It felt as if I were being wrapped in the arms of my mother. No, it was even more than that. It was if I were in the arms of my…maker. “That is it!” I suddenly recognized. “That is why it feels so familiar.”
At that moment, I was once again wrapped in the love of my God; yet the feelings inside me spoke that He was more than that. The spirit inside me gave me understanding beyond all that I had ever known. God indeed was my Father. I was his son. He was my Heavenly Father. He was my Creator, and more than that. He loved me as much as I love each of my children, but even more perfectly. I knew it and comprehended it completely at that moment. I felt the truth surge through my spirit just as blood courses through a mortal’s veins.
I thought back to that moment only hours earlier when I had looked into the eyes of my son and felt an intensity of love beyond any love I had felt. It was this kind of love my God, my Father, had for me.
Then my memory went further. The whole plan of life was a pattern of our former life in heaven. I had heavenly parents. There was indeed a Father, and most certainly a Mother, in heaven who loved me.
I remembered them at that moment. It was sacred. The love was so consuming, I felt I would never want to leave. And though I had not known it was possible until that moment, I cried. Yes, I was home again.
