You Never Know is the author’s response to Writers Digest’s annual month-long challenge to write a piece of flash fiction every day for a month and is his initial entry into the world of writing fiction. The title of the collection comes from the first story.
A collection of thirty-one flash fiction short stories, each story is a thought-provoking snapshot that captures a different aspect of what it means to be human and elicits a wide range of emotional responses. By the way, flash fiction stories are typically no longer than 1,500 words and may be as short as the now-famous six-word stories, allegedly started by Ernest Hemingway.
Comments from early readers:
— Wow! Crazy. Great story.
— I was engaged immediately.
— Sharp, well-paced, with natural dialogue and engaging characters.
— Oh, gosh. That was a sad one.
— Nicely done. Authentic dialogue and a good story line.
— Well-written and realistically frightening.
— I was hooked.
— Could be the start of a television series.
— The ending really makes this special.
— I love this story. Great premise!
— That is hilarious!
— I’m laughing my head off!
— Very theological without even bringing up theology.
— The story took me back to my own experience.
— It really touched me.
— Amazing story of perseverance and love.
— Holy crap! I just read your story.
— What a story. It has a triple twist.
— You inspired me.
— Superb!
P. E. Linzey is an award-winning author who completed the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at the University of Tampa with a dual emphasis in Fiction and Nonfiction. He uses his full name for nonfiction (Paul E. Linzey), and his first and middle initials for fiction (P.E. Linzey) as a way of differentiating.
He is a member of several writers associations, was a university Associate Professor of Creative Writing and Composition, and is a speaker at writers conferences, schools, churches, and other groups. You may see his full list of writings on his website: https://paullinzey.com/ and you are welcome to contact him using the Connect page.
After the symphony came to a crescendo and the program concluded, the visiting violin soloist took a bow, received her bouquet of roses, and approached the microphone.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for your kindness. Thank you for being here tonight. It is an honor to accompany your symphony orchestra for this performance. And one more thing. I want to thank Ms. Alberta Carter for being here. Today is Ms. Alberta’s one hundredth birthday. Happy birthday, Alberta!”
The audience broke into another round of applause, and as they headed towards the exits, a reporter approached Ms. Carter.
“Ms. Carter, may I ask a question or two?”
“Certainly. What do you want to know?”
“I am covering this event on behalf of the local television station. How do you know Samantha, the guest violinist?”
“Do you mind if I sit down to tell you the story?”
“Not at all. In fact, I will sit down, too. If you don’t mind.”
“How do I know Samantha?”
– – – – – – – – – –
Every Sunday afternoon, seven students from downtown Alexandria’s River’s Edge School of Music arrived at 1:45 to set up for their music session at the George Washington Center for the Aged, otherwise known as “the old folks home.” Nobody knew for sure when the retirement home was built. The building itself was so run down that the musicians joked it had probably been there since George Washington himself was an old man.
They had been coming every Sunday, rain or shine, since the music school was formed in 1997. Of course, the members of the group changed every year as some graduated from the program and new students enrolled. But the woman in charge of community service at the school always made sure there were seven musicians ready to play and talk and smile every Sunday afternoon.
The combo always had at least one guitarist, pianist, and drummer. And depending on the participants in a given year, the instruments might include a flute or clarinet, a trumpet or trombone, and in good years, a violin and cello.
The residents enjoyed their Sunday afternoon concerts. They liked seeing the young people. They loved having something to alleviate the boredom. They craved the human connection to the outside world. But what meant the most to them was the affection offered by the instrumentalists.
“The Kids” would smile and talk with them. They often offered a hug or a pat on the back, and being touched by someone other than a medical professional was rare these days. Whenever the topic of conversation got around to family, the consensus among the residents was that after the first year in the home, most of their relatives and friends stopped visiting. All they had to look forward to were the weekly worship service led by the community church, the sabbath service conducted by the local synagogue, and the music program.
“Who’s that? A new violinist?” ninety-one-year-old Margaret asked eighty-nine-year-old Alberta.
“I think so,” Alberta replied. “I haven’t seen her before.”
“She looks too young to be at the music school, doesn’t she?”
“They get younger every year, Margaret.”
“You’re right about that!”
“But she looks so sad.” Alberta made this observation softly, and Margaret didn’t make out all the words.
“What did you say?”
“I said she looks so sad.”
“Oh dear. You’re right about that, too!”
“Margaret, do you have any note paper with you?”
“No, dear. But I can ask the receptionist if he does.”
Margaret excused herself from the program and shuffled out of the room and down the hall to the entrance of the facility.
“Young man? Might you be able to loan me some paper?”
“Of course, Ms. Margaret. How much would you like?”
“Oh, perhaps two sheets, an envelope, and a pen? Would that be all right?”
“Yes ma’am. Here you go.”
After the receptionist handed her the stationery from the George Washington Center for the Aged, and included the pen and envelope, Margaret made her way back to the music room and sat down next to her friend.
“What are you going to do, Alberta?”
“I want to write her a note and invite her to come visit us sometime, if she ever wants to talk. Who knows? She might want to.”
“That’s a lovely idea. You never know.”
Alberta wrote the note, included her own name and room number, and asked one of the nurses if she would hand it to the young violinist after the next song.
“Of course, Ms. Alberta. I’d be happy to do that for you. But you know our policies. I’ll have to open it and read it first.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t seal it.”
The nurse read the note, sealed it, and after the next song, she walked over and gave it to the young girl. She looked at the envelope, then up at the nurse, who pointed over to where Alberta and Margaret were sitting. Alberta waved and smiled.
When the concert was over, the musicians packed up their instruments and took about thirty minutes to talk with the residents. The violinist approached Alberta.
“Hello. My name is Samantha.”
As Alberta started to introduce herself and her friend to Samantha, the young girl started to cry, then turned and ran down the hall, her violin in one hand, the envelope in the other.
Four days later, before Alberta started getting ready for supper, there was a knock on her door.
“Ms. Alberta?” knock, knock, knock. “Ms. Alberta?” knock, knock, knock. “You have a visitor.” The nurse shouted to make sure she was heard.
Alberta opened the door and immediately recognized Samantha.
“Come in! Come in! I am so glad to see you!”
“Hello. My name is Samantha.”
“Yes, I remember, Samantha.”
“I was so surprised when the nurse handed me your note last Sunday. You see, I am brand new to the music school, and I wasn’t expecting that.”
“That was the first time I have written a note to one of the student musicians. But I saw you and noticed three things about you. One, you are a very good violinist. Two, you are very pretty. And three, you seemed so sad. I hope you don’t mind my saying so. I don’t mean to offend you.”
“No, not at all, Ms. Alberta. I was hoping that nobody would notice how sad I was, but I do need someone to talk with, and after reading your note and seeing you wave to me, I wondered if . . .”
“What is it, Samantha?”
“I wondered if I could come and visit you once in a while.”
“I would like that.”
“I come from a small town, not far from here. A week after I was accepted into the music school, my family died in a car crash. Hit by a drunk driver. My mom and dad and little brother were on their way to my last high school concert. They never got there.”
Alberta reached out and placed a hand on Samantha’s wrist. Samantha stopped talking long enough to shed a few tears, wipe her eyes, and then continue.
“My parents almost always sat in the same place. But I just assumed they got there a little late and had to sit farther back. I didn’t find out what happened to them until after the program ended.”
“Oh, Samantha. I’m so sorry.”
“I have no other family. Nobody who wants me, anyway. My grandparents are dead. My aunt doesn’t have time for me. Or interest, for that matter. And when I read your note, well, for the past few days, I wondered if you might be willing to be my family. I’m not asking for money or anything. I just, I just need someone I can talk to once in a while.”
“Samantha, I would be delighted to be your family. It would be an honor.”
For the next four years, Samantha visited Alberta once a week, in addition to participating in the Sunday events, and they became quite close. After Samantha graduated and turned professional, Alberta followed her career, sending her a card or flowers from time to time. And whenever Samantha returned to the area, she visited Alberta at the George Washington Center for the Aged.
– – – – – – – – – –
“Wait a minute!” the reporter gasped. “Are you Alberta Carter who used to be first violinist of this very symphony?” “Yes, I am,” the centenarian replied. “More importantly, Samantha and I are family.”
This is the second story in the collection, providing the title for the book. It is available on Amazon. Most of the stories are shorter than this one.
Early in my military career, I showed up at a new infantry battalion one day and started meeting some of the guys. The Sergeant Major introduced himself and asked, “Hey Chaplain, do you have your Gotcha Cards?”
“No, Sergeant Major. I’ve never heard of a Gotcha Card, and don’t know what it is, so I’m pretty sure I don’t have one. What is it?”
“Our previous chaplain, every time he heard one of us cuss or swear or use the Lord’s name in vain would pull out a business card, but all it said in big bold letters was GOTCHA. So when the guys heard we were getting a new chaplain, they started wondering if you were going to be like the last one.”
“I bet you guys hated him.”
“Yes. We. Did.”
“Tell you what. I’m not planning on having any Gotcha Cards printed up, so you can relax. Cuss if you want. I’m just here to love you guys.”
Apparently, a bunch of Soldiers were listening to the conversation, because as soon as I made that last statement, a cheer erupted from around the corner.
“You’re gonna fit in fine here, Chaps. Nice to have you aboard.”
Over the next two years, I led more than 25 of those guys to faith in Christ, and I never once said, GOTCHA. Oh, they cussed, alright. But I figured it was the Holy Spirit’s job to reach them, and he does a pretty good job. I just had to do my part, which was love them and be consistent in setting an example of what a Christian is and does.
This is the opening story in my new book titled Gotcha.
Several years ago when we lived in Florida, a hurricane blew threw our town, leaving a path of destruction. While driving one day, I noticed a home that had been damaged, and the entire fence around yard had been literally blown away. I mean, it was just gone. What amazed me was although the fence was gone, the gate that had been in the middle of the fence was still there, standing alone, all by itself, still closed and latched to a post on each side, almost as if it were a monument. I pulled over to the side of the road and took a picture, but the image itself is still clear in my mind.
That was the idea I used for the first story in the collection titled You Never Know. Something as simple as a gate can become a symbol — a memorial — for what happened in a place, for the life that happened there, for the people whose lives were touched in some way. And that’s what these flash fiction stories are all about.
People, Life, Relationships, Pain
Laughter, Sorrow, Victory, Failure
Ambition, Uncertainty, Excitement, and Surprise
Dreams, Premonitions, the Unknown, and Death
How we think and feel about these concepts.
And how we experience them in our day-to-day lives.
Each story reveals a small aspect of what it means to be human. And in reading them, perhaps you’ll connect with something inside yourself, relate to other people, and find a measure of hope for your own circumstances.
My first Flash Fiction collection, You Never Know, will be available on March 7 both as a print book and an ebook. Each story elicits an emotional response and leaves the reader with something to think about. I had fun writing these stories, and I think you’ll enjoy reading them. Would you like to meet some of the characters you’ll encounter? Okay, since you asked.
Janeesha is a young lady who has to make a career decision. Molly loved her husband, Freddy, through thirty-one years of failure. The clown always wanted to be an accountant. Sam, the Golden Retriever, who was the loyalest friend a man ever had. George had a nickname for everyone: those he liked as well as those he didn’t. Samantha was a violinist whose family didn’t show up for her concert.
These and many other characters fill the stories with pain, joy, sorrow, and surprise.
You Never Know is my response to Writers Digest’s annual month-long challenge to write a piece of flash fiction every day for a month, and is my initial entry into the world of writing fiction.
A collection of thirty-one flash fiction short stories, each one is a thought-provoking snapshot that captures a different aspect of what it means to be human and elicits a wide range of emotional responses. By the way, flash fiction stories are typically no longer than 1,500 words and may be as short as the now-famous six-word stories, allegedly started by Ernest Hemingway.
My recent trip to Ukraine exceeded my hopes and expectations. In fact, it was one of those ministry projects that you know you’re supposed to do, but you don’t know all that is involved or exactly what the Lord is up to until you’re in the thick of it. I knew I was invited to teach chaplains and pastors at the Poltava Theological seminary Monday through Friday in the afternoon, and that my associate, Dr. Sharon Ackerman would teach in the morning on the same days. What I didn’t know—in fact, nobody knew until the circumstances presented themselves—is that I would be speaking to pastors, chaplains, military leaders, and community representatives in six different locations. I expected this to be an amazing week of ministry in the classroom, but it turned out to be much more than that. This was a powerful, life-changing experience that took place throughout the nation of Ukraine.
Dr. Ackerman’s topic for the week was Medical Ministry, and included issues like trauma, injury, PTSD, compassion fatigue, and depression. She taught on personal healing, spirituality, and the consequences of war, and how it impacts the individual, family, and community. Her interpreter was a local pastor who is brilliant and talented in her own right. The presentations were so good and rich that I wanted to stay and learn from Dr. Ackerman.
New Life Church and the Poltava Theological Seminary
My sessions centered on Chaplain Ministry During Wartime, and included issues such as critical incident response, temptation, loneliness, and the inner struggle we all face when we’re in danger. The dual focus for both Sharon and me was to help the pastors and chaplains effectively manage their own thoughts, emotions, spirituality, and responses to war and then be able to minister to their soldiers, parishioners, and family members who are also impacted by the war. We discussed the fact that the chaplain is a voice of hope, strength, and sanity. And at all times, chaplains represent their government, their church, and in a very real way, their God.
My interpreter was Sofiya Schug. I met Sofiya when I preached at the United States Naval Academy last January. She is the lead soprano in the USNA Protestant Chapel Chorale, with a beautiful, powerful voice. When the pastor introduced me as the guest speaker, he mentioned that I would be going to Ukraine. After the service, Sofiya came up to me and told me who she was: a multilingual Ukrainian-American, married with children, and a professionally trained singer. After hearing about our mission to Ukraine, she felt a strong calling to go and help in any way needed. Sofiya became a true friend and served as my interpreter everywhere I went. She was a tremendous asset to our work in the classroom, in remote locations, and while traveling.
Sharon, Sofiya, and I flew into Krakow, Poland, where we visited Auschwitz, Birkenau, and Schindler’s factory. What a way to get into the mindset of oppression and living in a war-torn country! Then, we took a bus to Lviv, followed by an overnight train to Poltava. Igor Skripnichenko is the president of the Poltava Theological Seminary. He met us at the train station and took us to our hotel. That night, we had dinner with him and his family. They have become dear friends.
My overall assessment of the ministry, the experiences, and the Ukrainian people is that this was definitely a lifechanging experience and that, the Lord willing, I will go again. It was incredible to minister and fellowship with pastors, chaplains, and community leaders. Being able to see and talk with volunteers at the seminary, the churches, and the youth group outreach team was priceless. But let me tell you about some of the special moments that occurred during my time in Ukraine.
I started one of the sessions talking about some of the items I always had in my duffle bag when I was in the Army. The first thing I pulled out of my bag was a roll of toilet paper, explaining that in the Army, you never know where you might end up on a given day, and whether there’ll be any toilet paper in that location. One of the chaplains in the back of the room raised his hand and said, “There’s none where I am serving right now.” When I football-passed the roll of TP to him, he caught it, and the other chaplains broke into applause. I took several band-aids out of my bag and said I always carried a dozen or so bandages in my shoulder pocket whenever I went out with soldiers. One pastor who is a volunteer chaplain, called out, “I cut my finger pretty bad this morning, and nobody had any bandages. I’d like one.” So, I gave him a couple of band-aids. When I mentioned that I always traveled with a flashlight, one of the chaplains said he needed one. I proceeded down the list of several more items. Then I started teaching. When the day was over, the guy who got the bandages came up to thank me, showing me his finger nicely wrapped, and that the bleeding had stopped.
One of my sons creates handmade wrist bands and other items out of nylon 550 cord. When he found out I was going to Ukraine, he offered to make a few things to give out to the chaplains. So, I took five wrist bands, three key fobs, and a lanyard: all made out of blue and yellow paracord, the colors of the Ukrainian flag. I gave away two items per day, and after one of the sessions, a chaplain came up to me, threw his arms around me, ripped off his army patch and handed it to me, saying, “This is not for you; it’s for your son.” Then, because I wore a blue and yellow wrist band all week, one of the other chaplains who got a wrist band, wanted a picture of the two of us giving a fist bump and showing off the Ukrainian colors on our wrists. I think they liked the handmade items almost as much as the content of our teaching. In any case, it didn’t take long to develop a rapport and a love for one another as we delved into the topics for the week.
I told stories from my own war-time ministry experience in Iraq, plus a few of my father’s experiences during World War II. I discussed ministry priorities and gave them an assignment. By the end of the week, they had to turn in a list of their church’s priorities, the priorities of the Ukrainian Chaplain Corps, and their own personal ministry emphases. I mentioned the priorities that guided my work: the four ministry priorities of my church, the Assemblies of God; the priorities of every military chaplain in the United States; and my own ministry emphases. By the end of the week, they all had researched and memorized their own priorities. I have a picture of the entire group holding up their assignment.
I brought up the fact that as pastors and chaplains, we cannot afford to be impressed or intimidated by rank, wealth, fame, or celebrity because to the degree that we are impressed or intimidated, we lose the ability to minister. We represent the highest power, the King of Kings, the One who outranks everyone, and we have the responsibility and the privilege to care for and speak into the lives of people at all levels. That was a fascinating discussion.
One of the sessions focused on the need to trust God for miracles. We all are limited in what we can do, and when we reach the end of our abilities, we depend on the Lord to demonstrate his presence, answer prayer, change lives, and intervene in our circumstances. Then I showed a 7-minute segment of “The Ten Commandments” movie. When Pharaoh’s army pinned the Israelites against the Red Sea, the Lord told Moses to stretch out his staff and the waters separated, allowing the people of God to walk across on dry ground. Sometimes we find ourselves in circumstances beyond our control. It looks like we are out of options and all is lost. That’s when we have to trust God for the miracle.
A few months before going to Ukraine, I got a phone call from a man in Arkansas. He attends the church where my nephew worships, and my nephew had mentioned me at his church, asking them to pray. This man had pastored a church in Ukraine for ten years before COVID, and still has a heart for the people there. While he was praying, the Lord spoke to him. “The people of Ukraine are fighting two wars: a military war and a spiritual war. It is important that they win both wars.” He asked me to share that message with the pastors and chaplains in Ukraine, and I did. After I told the class about this Baptist pastor in the United States who was praying for them and what he had heard from the Lord, one of the chaplains in the class exclaimed, “That’s exactly what the Lord said to me when I was praying a few days ago!”
I did a session on team ministry and the need to be ready for anything. Then I had them do a couple of team-building activities that led to further discussion in small groups. I tell you what, these men and women are anointed by God, hungry to learn from the Word as well as from practical hands-on ministry. They are making a huge difference in the lives of their soldiers, parishioners, and communities.
At the end of the first day in the classroom, Igor told me that some of the chaplains weren’t able to attend the sessions because of the war. Then he asked if I would be willing to go out to where they were. “Well, it depends on where they are,” I replied. He assured me that it would be safe. And since Sharon agreed to take on some extra teaching sessions, the next day we drove out to where the chaplains were serving with their soldiers.
We showed up at a remote army base where two chaplains, five nurses, and about thirty-five morale officers were graduating, having finished their military training. I was the commencement speaker, with Sofiya as my interpreter. However, before I spoke, Sofiya sang the national anthem. She took everyone by surprise. Nobody imagined there could be a professional opera singer out there. And nobody expected the passion, the energy, and the rousing rendition of their song . . . in their language. The next several places we went, we started with Sofiya singing, and you could feel the emotion in the room, the pride, and the instant openness to whatever I had to say.
After lunch, we drove to another base where we met another thirty-five or so chaplains. As in most groups, some were active duty and many were pastors serving as reserve chaplains. I taught some of the same material I covered at the seminary because these chaplains were originally scheduled to be in the class in Poltava.
Between sessions, Igor introduced me to the senior Protestant chaplain, who explained one of the reasons he was glad I was there. According to his story, the week prior to my arrival, the lead Orthodox chaplain had told him, “I’ll wager a case of our finest kvas that the American chaplain doesn’t show up. Nobody comes out here.” The Protestant chaplain accepted the bet. Then they waited. When I walked into the room, I didn’t know why several of them had a funny look on their face, but now I knew. My new friend was looking forward to receiving a case of his favorite beverage!
As we talked, he mentioned that the military chaplains and churches of several nearby nations had come with clothing and other essentials for the pastors and chaplains to distribute. I heard him say “Latvia” and the name “Elmars” when he was talking to someone in Ukrainian, so I asked Sofiya to interpret for me.
“Are you talking about Elmars Plavins in Latvia?” I asked.
“Yes. How do you know that name?”
I met Elmars Plavins in 2007 when I was an Army chaplain in Iraq. He is the Latvian Chief of Chaplains, pastor of a large Baptist church in Riga, and was at my FOB in Iraq to visit his soldiers. The next year, I arranged for him to come to America to visit the Pentagon, our Army Chief of Chaplains, our chaplain school at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, and several other locations. This Ukrainian Protestant chaplain said “Elmars is my best friend!” and pulled out his cell phone right then and there for a video call to Latvia. I got to talk to my friend, Elmars, who I hadn’t seen since 2008.
When we got into the car, Igor told me that whenever he’s out in this region, he makes a point of visiting a pastor who lost three sons in the war. Would I be willing to meet him?
Pastor Oleksandr welcomed us to his office, and we chatted a while with Sofiya interpreting. Then he offered a tour of his church. A beautiful building that had been an opera house before the war, the place had been badly damaged, but he and his congregation have been refurbishing and rebuilding so that now it is a beautiful house of worship. Because the war has devastated the area, most of the residents are poor, hungry, and in need of assistance. Many don’t have water. The church dug a well and invited anyone in town to come get water whenever they want. There were two men filling containers when we drove up. The church collects clothing and supplies from various places in Europe and offers it to the people in town for no cost.
As we walked through the building, we came to a gymnasium where the youth group was playing volleyball. The pastor told me they were preparing for a community outreach to the teens and children in the city. They would personally deliver food, clothing, water, hope, and the love of Jesus. I was so moved that I decided I would find a sporting goods store and buy a matching blue, yellow, and white volleyball (Ukrainian colors) so that every time I see it, I am reminded of Pastor Oleksandr, his family, the youth group, and their impact in their city. That volleyball is my prized souvenir.
As we were driving back towards Poltava, suddenly Igor stepped on the gas and went much faster. He explained that he received a text alert that missiles and drones were coming into the area, and that everyone should find shelter or leave as fast as possible. Sofiya in the back seat exclaimed, “Look!” I looked out the window and about two hundred yards to my right was an explosion. Whatever it hit was quickly burning to the ground. “See those cars out in that field?” Igor asked. Those are Ukrainian drone operators who are shooting Russian missiles and drones out of the sky.” He drove a little faster. We had dinner in Kharkiv on the way home.
The next day, I taught at the seminary in Poltava. I got to check on Sharon, who was doing fine. She loves teaching and preaching, and said it was going very well. Then Igor asked if I’d be willing to go up to Kyiv. We left early the next morning. Sofiya sang and then interpreted for me as I spoke to a group of about a hundred chaplains and pastors.
When Friday afternoon came, we had an end-of-class celebration and ceremony with hugs, handshakes, and fist bumps as the chaplains prepared to go back to their soldiers fighting the war. Igor asked me, “Are you ready to go to Dnipro tomorrow? There’s a group of government representatives and community leaders who meet on Saturday to discuss the post-war reconstruction of Ukraine, and I’ve cleared it for you to be our speaker.” Sofiya sang, then I spoke on the need for the entire community to work together to rebuild and heal the land, the institutions, and the people. I told them that a community-wide response would be essential for the post-war reconstruction and healing, and that the community-wide response necessarily includes pastors and congregations because they have a built-in network with so much to offer. Then we had lunch with several dignitaries before returning for one more night in Poltava.
That night, I turned out my light and was not yet asleep when I heard an explosion. Then there were several more. I thought to myself, “The blasts seem to be about two miles away.” I went out to the hall, and people were going down the stairs to the shelter. Sofiya came out of her room and told me she had talked to Igor, who said there were five explosions about three kilometers from the hotel. There were no human casualties. He texted me and asked if I wanted him to take us up to Kyiv immediately. But by then, we received the “all-clear” message so I decided to wait until morning, as originally planned. Sofiya and I did go down to the shelter for about half an hour, mostly out of curiosity on my part. I wanted to see it.
Our train was leaving late Sunday night, so Igor had arranged to be our tour guide for some sightseeing in the capital city. It was beautiful. I got some great pictures. The war seemed so far away and life went on as usual. Sofiya had grown up in Ukraine, and the church she attended twenty-some years ago was just a few blocks from where we parked. She walked over to the church and met with some friends. When Sharon and I got on the train that night, Sofiya stayed in Kyiv to visit family and friends a little longer.
I felt like I was leaving part of my heart in Ukraine. Either that, or my heart was starting to turn blue and yellow, the colors of the flag. As I returned to America, I reflected on the new relationships I had with Igor and his family, with Pastor Oleksandr, whose church was making a difference in their community, with the many pastors and chaplains I had interacted with, and with the military leaders I had met. And I wonder: what does the Lord have in mind for the future. Will there be an open door for further involvement? I hope so.
The leadership at the seminary, the churches, and the military have asked me to return. Igor wants me to help by teaching and developing curriculum at the seminary. The military asked me to help shape some courses for the National Military Academy. They want to know if my book on military ministry can be translated into Ukrainian so they can model their programs after it. And they inquired about the possibility of my overseeing a sequel focusing on chaplaincy in the Ukrainian Armed Forces. Several pastors invited me to come back and preach in their churches. And I already feel called to encourage and train pastors and chaplains.
But I am keenly aware that this was only possible because of the kindness and generosity of some wonderful people and churches who supported this project.
Pastor Phil Schneider is the Superintendent of the Illinois District of the Assemblies of God, where my wife and I are ordained and serve in ministry. Pastor Phil has been very supportive and directed his staff to provide assistance. The media director created and edited the video introducing the project. The business administration staff set up the account for tax deductible donations.
Several churches allowed me to give a presentation to the congregation. These include Hobson Road Community Church in Downers Grove, IL; Trinity Assembly in Sharpsburg, GA; and The Grove Community Church in Altona, IL.
Two organizations that gave generously to this project were the Mark and Rachel Bailey Charitable Fund and P & L Publishing & Literary Services. In addition, many friends and family gave through the spotfund campaign or sent money directly to the IDCAG account.
I want to thank all of you for your kindness. Thank you for praying. Thank you for your love and friendship. Thank you for making it possible for me to go, to have this experience, to make a difference for people in some pretty scary circumstances. Together, we made an impact on behalf of the Lord and his church.
The colors of the Ukrainian flag represent blue sky and golden wheat. As we were driving one day, Igor stopped so I could take this picture
Dr. Keith Travis is my co-writer for the book titled Military Ministry: Chaplains in the Twenty-First Century. He got an email today from a graduate student who is preparing to become a chaplain, and gave me permission to share this note.
I just wanted to thank you for the work you did on your book, Military Ministry: Chaplains in the 21st Century. Part of my “Intro to Chaplaincy Ministry” class is a review of your book. I have read it twice and I just wanted to say it’s gold! It’s very real, authentic and spot on in the 2024 military ministry. I can go on and on but I just wanted to say thank you.
It’s a great feeling to know we’re making a difference in people’s lives as they themselves are preparing for lives of service and ministry.
Have you ever wanted to make a difference in someone’s life or provide guidance for that person, but you didn’t know what to say or what to do? I think a lot of us have been in that situation before.
On the other hand, have you ever known someone that you respect or admire and you wanted to ask for input or advice, but felt awkward or unsure about how to go about it?
Journey to Mentoring is a new book that Greg White and I co-wrote a few months ago. Both of us have mentored hundreds of people, and both of us have studied and received training in what it takes to have a successful and effective mentoring experience. Greg is a trained mentor with John Maxwell’s organization, and I received training in mentoring as a military chaplain.
Mark Cole, who is the CEO of John Maxwell’s Leadership training, wrote the foreword and had this to say about the book: In Journey to Mentoring you will discover timeless principles that can serve as a foundation for building a fulfilling life. There are nuggets of truth, helpful perspectives, and expanded thinking that I believe will open your eyes to more growth opportunities. But what really brings the message to life are the personal stories and examples . . .
You may buy the book on Amazon for $12.99 by clicking on the image of the book below. Or you may get it by clicking on the Books tab above, then scroll down til you see the book.
Paul Linzey 