The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.
Although I had doubts about Christianity as early as the eighth grade, I kept them buried deep until that fateful night when Wendi and I sat around the fire and shared our souls. She fully believed in the God of the Bible, and was honest and respectful in listening to me share my doubts, and in offering her thoughts on how I might be confused.
Even more than our fireside discussion, the evil she experienced later that night, and the false accusation conspiracy and subsequent trial I endured, had fed my doubts a steady diet for too many years for them not to establish deep roots. I had listened to preaching all my life extol the beauty and magnificence of the Creator God, how he was all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, and ever-present. Try as I did, I never could reconcile that God with the God who had allowed my first love, the precious Wendi, to suffer multiple rapes and then what had to be a terrifying death at the hands of the Flaming Five—not to mention what fear, pain, and suffering I had endured for nearly six months in the Marshall County Jail. No, the God that I had experienced was either incapable of coming to the aid of his children or simply didn’t care. Of course, this wasn’t my true position. It was that I didn’t believe the God of the Bible existed at all. I was just too much of a coward to admit it.
My near atheism didn’t keep me from attending church. After moving to Atlanta to attend college and up until Karla and I married, the only time I would go to church was during the rare weekends I was home. After we married, we joined First Baptist Church of Atlanta. She joined because she was and remained until her death, a faithful and committed Christian. I joined because of my love and respect for Karla, but just as importantly, I enjoyed the music (not the words) and the irrationality that spewed forth from the preacher most every Sunday.
The Pencil-Driven Life 