Christian literature Archives

A Sense of Destiny

By Dave Walker | September 23, 2021 | Comments 0 Comment

(these posts are companion posts to the book God in the ICU)

Chapter One: A Sense of Destiny.

Psalm139: 15,16 “My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of the came to be.”

Quote from God in the ICU: “When I was old enough to understand, and heard them recall the story, (of my miraculous survival) it engendered in me a sense of destiny. God had spared me for a purpose.”

In the retirement complex in which I now live, I have two good friends who live vastly different lives. Dave is lean and bright eyed with an infectious enthusiasm that shines from his bearded face. His zeal for life is contagious. When we pop around spontaneously for a visit, he and his equally dynamic wife Katie greet us with delight, but often they’re away on some adventure, or helping out at the church or with friends in need. One day a friend of theirs, whose wife was away, mentioned that the thing he hated most about his wife being absent was the fact he had to make his own bed in the morning. Dave and Katie knocked on his door at an early hour. When their sleepy friend opened up, they bounced into his house and announced, “We’ve come to make your bed!”

My other friend keeps to himself. He is affable and responds with grace and a sense of humour when we pop over. Yet he’s content to sit by himself day after day in front of the TV. He seems prepared to live out the rest of his days this way, not wanting to die, but without any zest for life.

What is the difference in these friends? Dave and Katie have a sense of destiny. They realise God has a plan for them, and fulfilling that as best they can is energising and life-giving.

Chosen by God

Our sense of destiny starts with an understanding of who we are. It was as I heard the story of how I had miraculously survived a severe malaria illness that should have killed me as a small baby, that I sensed I’d been spared by God for a purpose .

What about you? Do you know, deep in your heart that you have been chosen by God for something especially designed for you? No matter the circumstances of your birth or upbringing, you are important to God, and here for a reason.

God says, in Ephesians 2:10, “We are God’s workmanship (poema — from which the word poem comes — a work of art) created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God has prepared in advance for us to do.”

Sometimes, as I describe in God in the ICU, you might be aware of what that purpose is from early on. At other times it is more difficult. May I suggest a few things that will help?

Finding your destiny

Firstly, as you seek to find it, be other-centred. Jesus has been called “A Man for others.” His plan for you will be in line with His character. So, whether you have a passion for entrepreneurship, for public speaking, for art or engineering — whatever it is, check out how it can be used to benefit others and show them the love of Christ. Let that motivate you. My dream as a doctor was fuelled by pictures of myself at the bedside of the sick, bringing healing to them.
Secondly, follow your passion. God has made each of us uniquely, with our own aspirations. Psalm 37:4 has a double meaning when it says, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” It could mean that what you desire, He will give to you, but I wonder whether it is truer to say, as you delight in Him, He will put the desires in your heart that He wishes you to have to fulfill your destiny.
Thirdly, follow your giftings. God equips us for our destiny. I’m writing this with some reservation, because I know of many people who were terrified to speak in public, but, in following God’s calling, became eloquent and pursuasive. However, that, for the most part, was not their main calling but enhanced their vocation as God equipped them when they stepped out in obediance.
Lastly, what doors does God seem to be opening for you? Are you aware of them? Is He shutting doors and opening others?

Whether you feel it or not, you have been hand-picked by God for a purpose. There’s nothing more life-giving than walking into that.

Further Bible reading:

1 Corinthians 7:17 Philippians 2:1-4 1 Peter 2:9-10

Listen to the Music

By Dave Walker | November 10, 2019 | Comments 0 Comment

Inspirational short stories

After a delay while I had stents put into my coronary arteries and looked after a four-year-old step grandson for 10 days — a full time occupation with no time for anything else — I’m very proud to announce that my new book is in print — electronically and as a paperback.

You’ll find it on Amazon or

There is something in music that causes a surge in the heart of the listener, causing emotions that fluctuate as the music varies. A good story, well written can do that, too.

In this book, I’ve written award winning stories that will put a song in your heart, like music. Whether you find your spirit soaring like an eagle with inspiring true stories such as that of Father Damien in “Plundering a Hell on Earth”, challenged with fictitious tales containing eternal truths, such as “I Did it My Way”, weeping at the tragedy of a senseless war in “Scorched Earth, Seared Soul” or tenderly touched by the love of two women in “To Mary, and Mary”, each story will strike a chord that brings you to Jesus, or challenges your walk with Him in some way.

Listen to the music that stirs within you as you read, and you will hear God speak to you.

For the next two weeks the book is on promotion for 99c. If you buy it from Smashwords, you’ll need to quote a coupon, which is NM27P.

This is an extract from someone who previewed it:

“Loved the book! It was a real treasure trove of vignettes, little polished gems that keep me digging for more. I wept on several occasions at the beauty of your language and the emotions you evoked.”

Here’s a sample:

The Mocking

            At the cathedral exit, Jacques paused and looked at his friend. “Wait here. I’m going back to shock the priest out of his cassock!” Turning back to the aisle, he made his way towards the confessional.
            Jacques and Mario were touring the world and having a blast. Cathedral tours were not usually included with the beaches, night clubs and extreme sports, but this one was supposed to be famous. Jacques found it ornate, cold and otherworldly. He needed to inject some fun.
            Drawing back the curtain of the confessional, he sat down. “Father, I have sinned,” he said in a contrite voice.
            “Nothing is beyond God’s forgiveness, my son. Please confess your sins.”
            Jacques, his imagination at full sway, recited in lurid detail, stories of every abominable sin he could think of. He had murdered, he said, fornicated, cheated, lied, blasphemed and betrayed. Finally he stopped, waiting for a response.
            After a silence the priest spoke up in deep, clear tones. Was there a slight mocking? Had he seen the prank?
            “My son, you have much to repent of. This is the penance: At the life-size crucifix overlooking the chapel to your right, look into the face of the statue of Jesus hanging on the cross and repeat ten times, “Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” Then, with the hint of a smile in his voice, he said, “Do not let the game end here. Carry it through to the end.”
            So he DID know. Oh well, Jacques would accept the dare.
            He found the crucifix easily. He never understood this Jesus thing. Why did people make so much fuss about a man on a cross improbably taking our sins? Was the story true? It seemed unlikely. Uncertainly, he started. “Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care. Jesus, you are hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” Gaining confidence, he made it part of the fun. Beating his breast in mock despair, in a cracked voice he called, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done,” then he straightened himself, looked defiantly at the statue’s face and spat out the words, “and I don’t care.” He tried looking him in the eye, daring him to flinch, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done and I don’t care.” There, that was four times. Six to go.
            On the seventh time, as he looked into that face, he noticed, for the first time, how the thorns of the crown pierced the skin of his forehead, causing blood to trickle down into his eye. Inexplicably, he felt an urge to wipe it away. “This is silly. It’s only a statue!”
            The next time, his eyes wandered to the hands fiercely impaled with large, rough nails. Again he noticed the blood trickling, this time, from the palms to halfway along his arms before forming drops that hung, about to fall. “Jesus, you’re … you’re hanging there … for all I’ve done, and ….. and I don’t care.” He forced the words out. “I am just talking to a statue.” Why, then was he feeling so emotional about it? He looked back at the face. Those eyes; they seemed to know what he was saying and yet remained with that same compassionate look. Of course they would. They were the eyes of a statue. And yet…. what if it depicted a real person?
            Two to go. He started, “Jesus, you’re hanging there for all I’ve done and…. and… ” He felt his knees shaking, then giving way. On his knees he started sobbing, “and I DO care, Jesus. I’m not that callous. Or maybe I am. I am sorry. I am so sorry that you had to do this for us. Why do you love us so much? How could I not care, Jesus, when YOU care so much? Forgive me, please. I don’t ever want to willingly do anything that makes me more responsible for your suffering.”
            As he knelt before the cross, a tangible peace flooded his soul. Through his tear-filled eyes he half-imagined Jesus coming off that cross, laying a forgiving hand on his shoulder. And he felt clean; for the first time he could remember, he felt washed from the inside out. He looked up and saw the man-God behind the statue. He also saw, in every repeat of his own mocking another reason for those brutal nails. And, born again, he wept.
(This is based on a true story)