Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (25 page)

“The Eternal your God is
standing right here among you, and He is the champion who will rescue you.
He will joyfully celebrate over you;
    He will rest in His love for you; He will joyfully sing
because of you like a new husband."

Zephaniah 3:17 (The Voice)

1.
      
Many
of us long for control over our own lives, what was the turning point for
Sparrow when she finally relinquished that control? What led up to it? Is there
anything in your life you are unwilling to surrender?

2.
      
Define
the difference between sexual power and real control over your life. Is it
possible to confuse the two? Why?

3.
      
Do
you view the women in pornography as being similarly trapped as brothers, sons
and husbands? Or do you view them as perpetrators in the industry? Would most
men view pornography differently if they thought of the women as victims?

4.
      
Are
there any similarities in Sparrow’s story and the way that Christ and the world
both woo a soul? Who represents Christ in the story? Who represents the world
and what are their tactics?

5.
      
Why
did Sparrow dream of dancing? How was it different from the dancing she ended
up doing?

6.
      
Did
you feel you could identify with Sparrow in any of the following dancing
scenes?

·
        
The first time when she does it because of the praise

·
        
Later when she views it as a charade

·
        
When she dreams of it with her face and arms held high

·
        
When she gets used to doing it as a means to an end

·
        
When it is between her and Jesus and she rejoices

7.
      
Were
Leah’s parents wrong to want to protect her? Was detective Malcolm wise to
counsel Hayden the way he did? Would you feel differently if you did not know
the stripper’s story like you knew Sparrow’s?

8.
      
To
which character did you most relate?

9.
      
What
did Cori mean when she said, “No religion is better than a false one.”? Is this
true?

10.
  
When in a woman’s life
is her longing to be desired strongest? Does it decrease with age?

11.
  
Is Sparrow correct
when she wonders about the difference between modeling lingerie for a
department store ad versus any other business?

12.
  
Sparrow’s perception
of church was that they walked around congratulating themselves on how little
sex they had. Is this a common misconception? How does God feel about sex?

13.
  
Sparrow said people
have been having sex since they crawled out of the slime. How would your views
about sex, created to be pleasurable by a loving God, contrast with someone who
believed in evolution?

14.
  
Why did God make sex
to be the way it is, instead of purely functional?

15.
  
Why do you think Cori
felt unable to receive forgiveness?

16.
  
Why might Lorna have
seen the prayer/blessing from Sparrow’s Grandfather as a curse?

17.
  
There are many scenes
revolving around showers and cleansing; what does this represent?

18.
  
Why did Hayden’s
Cinderella story affect Sparrow specifically?

19.
  
What was Sparrow’s
“Pearl?” What was Hayden’s? What is yours?

20.
  
When the Grandfather
says they are on sovereign ground, did he mean something more than American
Indian territory? As believers, where do we find sovereign ground?

I'd like to thank the many people God brought into
my life who helped me on this journey.

My husband first, because it never seemed to occur
to him that I wouldn't publish someday. Maybe soon he will read something I've
written.

To Lisa Buffaloe, the first pair of eyes on
Sovereign Ground. I will never forget the weekly email critiques which inspired
me to finish.

To my son and daughter, the first two to read the
complete story. Your insight and suggestions made the difference.

To Kristine McCord and Heather Woodhaven who
sacrificed a day at my kitchen table to read my manuscript aloud—with only
chicken salad as payment. As a result the manuscript became a semi-finalist in
Operation First Novel.

Thank you Lisa Phillips for never holding back
what was lame.

To Idahope Writers, especially Ray Ellis, Becky
Llyes and Peter Leavell. Two hours a month socializing with Christians who hear
voices is just not enough.

To my family. Thank you Mom, Katie and Judy for honest
impressions.

To those who had a part in my writing journey as
well, especially Erin Taylor Young, Holly Smit and Becky Avella.

Hilarey
Johnson teaches martial arts in Idaho with her husband and three children. She
keeps a larger than normal, urban garden with chickens.

When
she isn't writing or getting lost, she loves to cook foreign foods and read
redemptive fiction. Someday Hilarey hopes to time travel.

She blogs
infrequently at
Hilarey.com
. Sovereign Ground is
her first novel.

Breaking Bonds, Book 2

Chapter 1

Whoever heard of an insomniac with a pajama
fetish? I swipe my hand down the leg of my lime-green cotton PJs but it doesn’t
help, and I still need two tries to adjust the telescope.

With a deep breath, and a double check at the lock
on my bedroom door, I’m able to slow the skipping in my ribs. It’s amazing how
blood and heart vessels work together, pumping day and night, even while people
sleep—well, while most people sleep. An insomniac doesn’t have the pleasure of
dreaming during the seven-hundred and twenty minutes our sun shines down on the
other side of the world.

I twist the focuser on my telescope clockwise—a
bit too far, back just a hair. Perfect.

Returning to my love of pajamas: Seven sets of
long-sleeve, long-pant outfits wait in my bottom drawer in two neat piles. One
drawer up contains nine matching shorts-sets, twelve nightgowns and one
baby-doll nightgown my parents don’t know I own.

Shouldn’t the comfy fabric and freeing cut of
nightclothes start to filter into all daywear? Maybe this is where my obsession
began. The cotton, polyester and spandex blends create some of the most
luxurious sensations—I wish I never had to change into the heavy fabric we
usually use to make my clothes. I don’t mean people ought to walk around
outside in their lounge pants, with slip-shod manners as though they don’t
respect the society around them. But, if someone could invent a style that felt
like pajamas—I’d order from that catalog.

Now that my space probe is set, I can stretch out
and wait for the earth’s rotation to progress and pretend I didn’t get my
sister’s email.

Pretend Ava didn’t leave us.

One o’clock in the morning is when it usually gets
good. Until then, celestial bodies will ballet across the chasm of oxygen-less
dark. The place where God has gone to prepare a palace of many rooms.

Of course, that isn’t where I look.

Neither do I strain to see down in the city,
praying in vain for a glimpse at the sister who wouldn’t listen. I haven’t done
that for years. Until tonight.

Ava wanted to tell me why she left and why it’s
been so long since I saw her. She wants to know if I feel the same as she did
when she lived at home.

Even in the semi-dark, I’m distracted by the
bumblebee-yellow paper, the YWAM Discipleship Training School application
sticking out from under my Bible. The black letters, “Youth With A Mission,”
buzz in my brain as I read. I finger-trace the script of my full name:
Leah-Patrice Petra Jones. I don’t feel the same as Ava—at least not enough to
defy mom and dad. To leave my family. 

 I lift the paper and take time to match the
corners, creasing the center. It isn’t exactly disobedience that I kept the
filled-out form after my parents said, “No.” I filled it out months before
mentioning the idea…and it would be wasteful to throw it away now. It could be
used for scratch paper or something.

“Oh God, thank you for this day, thank you for
your provision, please put a hedge…” My mind and eyes wander to the ambient glare
of downtown Reno lights diminishing the glow of stars. Up here, on a hill
overlooking the city, it’s like I have sky above and sky below. I’m
trapped—suspended in stasis.

After I finish creasing the YWAM application, I
start to tear the paper. Three centimeters into the act, there is the heat of
regret deep down in my core. I slide the paper into my purse. Maybe I’ll get
the impulse to toss it sometime away from home, and I won’t be able to retrieve
it like when I am here.

“I’m ready for an adventure, God. Whatever you
need to do with me, whatever you want from me.” My words flit off into the void
as I’m distracted. That always seems to happen when I pray.

It’s weird to be so tired and yet unable to
succumb to such a simple, natural function as sleep. “How can I be still before
you, God, when my mind races like this?”

Doesn’t Psalm say he grants sleep to those he
loves? The thought makes me gulp.

When I can no longer hold it in, air strains for
release against my teeth. The sound of a sigh crescendos like a sonnet in my
lonely bedroom. Never mind, it is enough that I have eternity ahead—I’ve
probably misunderstood the meaning of that verse. Dad is adamant about not
taking verses out of context.

A knock at my door.

I scramble to open it before I’m asked why it’s
locked.

“Leah?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You can say ‘Yes Mom,’ too.” She takes a deep
breath. “You’re up late.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean…” She leans in to kiss my cheek.
The smell of her Oil of Olay night-cream reaches me before she does. “You sleep
with your blinds open?”

I don’t look at her but try to answer offhand,
arbitrarily. “Yeah, I’m a little warm. I was just about to open the window a
crack.”

“You know Dad doesn’t want your window open at
night.”

“I thought that was only because I used to sleep
on the first floor. Second story now, won’t it be fine a crack?” I cover the
tension in my forehead by lifting my eyebrows. “Just a breath of wind off the
Sierras. It’s January and still doesn’t feel like winter.”

“Okay.” Mom’s nose wrinkles up for a moment and
she looks so pretty. Maybe I should borrow her night cream.

Just to show her how little the window needs to be
cracked, I walk over and lift it less than an inch before closing the blinds
with flair.

“G’night.” She starts to turn. “Are you coming to
first service?” The question comes like a belated thought, but I’m sure it’s
what brought her up here.

“I’d rather not, Mom.” Sitting through Pastor
Thompson’s sermon twice is not the problem. It's doubling up the thirty minutes
of boring singing where I have to stifle a hundred yawns.

“Dad loves having your voice with ours on the
worship team.”

I hesitate—still living in stasis.

“But beyond that…” Mom’s eyes smile although her
mouth stays still. “Actually, Pastor Thomson will be out of town and Dad is
very excited for the substitute to meet our whole family.”

 “All right.” Definitely why she came up so late.
So we finally get to meet the visitor Dad’s been spending so much time with.
“But I better get to sleep then.”

“Yes, get your beauty sleep, Leah.”

I huff. “I need beauty sleep?”

“No, darling. You don’t need any more beauty, and
that’s the truth.”

She leaves while my cheek still tingles from her
second kiss. Truth? I relock the door and angle my telescope uphill—parallel to
the ground behind our house.

Like Jacob’s wife: weary Leah—the unloved.
Wouldn’t a beauty have a husband by now? My mom and sister are beauties. They
both had husbands and kids by my age. Ava-Nicole was the prettiest one of us
all but Dad said it was her lust for the world which made her run away and bow
down to an institute of humanism.

Truth.

The day the man I loved married a stripper, I knew
everything my parents had ever told me was a lie.