LONDON (AP) — Middle East envoy Tony Blair said Thursday that he believes President Barack Obama launched his peace initiative out of concern for what might happen to Israel if Palestinian statehood is endorsed by the U.N. General Assembly.
Speaking to an audience of Middle East-focused business leaders at London's Royal Institution, the former British prime minister said that Obama was "frankly worried about the position that Israel is in."
Blair described Obama's initiative — rejected by Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu — as "an attempt to fill a vacuum which he sees as dangerous, particularly dangerous for Israel in the run-up to September," when the assembly is expected to take up the issue of Palestinian statehood during the U.N.'s annual meeting.
Watch out Dr. Jones, there's a new sheriff in town.
Seventeen lost pyramids and more than 1,000 tombs have been uncovered in a satellite survey of Egypt.
Researchers at the University of Alabama also located more than 3,000 ancient settlements in the area after studying images produced by a state-of-the-art infrared technique which allowed them to clearly see the ruins underground.
With two pyramids already confirmed by scientists, they believe there are thousands more unknown sites in the region.
"I could see the data as it was emerging, but for me the 'aha' moment was when I could step back and look at everything that we'd found," Dr. Sarah Parcack, who led the survey, told the BBC. "I couldn't believe we could locate so many sites all over Egypt."
Writers who leverage their skills as copy editors can earn bigger paychecks, diversify their portfolios and spend more time doing what they love. Learn how you could be one of them.
Few writers grow up with dreams of one day becoming copy editors. I have no scientific data to back up this assertion, but my hunch is that most of us who imagined ourselves as professional wordsmiths—and ultimately pursued careers in publishing—had paths more akin to Hemingway’s in mind. Perhaps this is because, as editorial jobs go, copy editing is not very glamorous; it is painstaking and underappreciated. No one has ever won the Nobel Prize in Literature for double-checking an author’s use of sport-fishing terms or making sure that Santiago is spelled correctly in all references. Yet people with well-honed grammatical skills are an asset to any industry. What creator of any written material wants his work published without someone else’s careful eye giving it the once-over? Not me.
Brandilyn Collins is an award-winning and best-selling novelist known for her trademark Seatbelt Suspense®. These harrowing crime thrillers have earned her the tagline "Don't forget to b r e a t h e..."® Brandilyn's first book, A Question of Innocence, was a true crime published by Avon in 1995. Its promotion landed her on local and national TV and radio, including the Phil Donahue and Leeza talk shows. Brandilyn is also known for her distinctive book on fiction-writing techniques, Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors (John Wiley & Sons). She is now working on her 20th book.
In addition, Brandilyn’s other latest release is Final Touch, third in The Rayne Tour series—young adult suspense co-written with her daughter, Amberly. The Rayne Tour series features Shaley O’Connor, daughter of a rock star, who just may have it all—until murder crashes her world.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Torn from the front lines of medical debate and the author's own experience with Lyme Disease, Over the Edge is riveting fiction, full of twists and turns—and powerful truths about today's medical field.
Janessa McNeil’s husband, Dr. Brock McNeil, a researcher and professor at Stanford University's Department of Medicine, specializes in tick-borne diseases—especially Lyme. For years he has insisted that Chronic Lyme Disease doesn't exist. Even as patients across the country are getting sicker, the committee Brock chairs is about to announce its latest findings—which will further seal the door shut for Lyme treatment.
One embittered man sets out to prove Dr. McNeil wrong by giving him a close-up view of the very disease he denies. The man infects Janessa with Lyme, then states his demand: convince her husband to publicly reverse his stand on Lyme—or their young daughter will be next.
But Janessa's marriage is already rocky. She's so sick she can hardly move or think. And her husband denies she has Lyme at all.
Welcome to the Lyme wars, Janessa.
“A taut, heartbreaking thriller. Collins is a fine writer who knows how to both horrify readers and keep them turning pages.”
--Publishers Weekly
“Tense and dramatic. Holds its tension while following the protagonist in a withering battle.” –NY Journal of Books
“A frightening and all-too-real scenario. Very timely and meaningful book.” –RT Reviews
“If you know someone who suffers from Lyme, you need to read this compelling novel.” –Lydia Niederwerfer, founder of Lyme-Aware
I'm about half-way through and really enjoying this one. I especially like the first-person point of view; that's a nice change for Brandilyn. I feel like I'm in the character's skin and can experience every ache and lack of mental focus. The Lyme plot idea is gripping and rings with originality, and the pacing and writing are excellent, as always. (I always learn so much as an author just by studying how Collins writes her books.) Lyme is a real-world issue that has affected a few people I know, and I commend Brandilyn for educating the reader while entertaining. (I must admit, however, that while the medical information is there for those interested, I find myself skimming through it. I'm more interested in the plot.) When I return home after summer walks, I'll certainly pay more attention to the ticks that cling to my socks and crawl on my legs (these aren't the same kind of ticks, thankfully).
So far I have only a couple of minor gripes: the characters lack roundness (the main character's husband, Brock, is just plain bad), and any spiritual component is barely mentioned, but my opinion could change by the time I finish the novel. I'm looking forward to seeing how this plot unfolds and seeing if the main character can get help and protect her daughter. This is an original, captivating medical thriller deserving to be read.
Waterfront home located on a rural lake north of Newberry. Home sits on 200' of frontage & the lot consists of large pines. Beautiful view of the lake from the living room/kitchen area & sun room. There is 1900 sq. ft. with 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, 2 lofts for extra sleeping, sun room & computer room/5th bedroom. Lots of closets and storage area. Kitchen, dining & living area is one large room. Kitchen features an island & new counter tops. Interior of home has open beams, sky lights & knotty pine walls for that "UP North" appeal. Has lots of extras: Two decks, boat house, swimming dock & a dock for the boat. Pike Lake has a sandy beach & shore for swimming. Water is shallow for a distance of 30 feet. For heat there is propane heaters in each bathroom & the living/kitchen area. Two wood stoves & for power there is a generator/battery system located in a separate building. 12 volt system for everyday use to power lights & refrigerator. Pole barn/garage is large enough to store a 5th wheel with a concrete floor. Pike Lake is 292 acres in size and is a great fishing lake for northern pike & large mouth bass, along with decent numbers of walleye & a few perch.
Preacher Harold Camping Gets Doomsday Prediction Wrong Again
So it seems Harold Camping's latest prediction that the world will end Saturday, May 21, 2011, is proving to be false.
The deadline for the apocalypse passed in the Pacific islands, New Zealand and Australia without a bang.
According to the Christian broadcaster, Judgment Day was supposed to bring a massive earthquake, powerful enough to throw open graves, followed by a slow death for all non-believers over the next five months across the globe. He went on to say only 200 million people will be saved and those left behind will die in earthquakes, plagues, and other calamities until Earth is consumed by a fireball on October 21.
Saw the series finale last night (season 4, episode 6). While my wife and I loved the final episode, I am so disappointed to see this beautiful, family-friendly TV show come to an end.
Adaptation of Flora Thompson's memoir of her Oxfordshire childhood, set in the small hamlet of Lark Rise and the wealthier neighbouring market town, Candleford, at the end of the 19th Century.
Opinion: But it was the president's demand for land swaps that will be key to any solution.
BOSTON — For an American president, calling for a Palestinian state based on 1967 borders with mutually agreed upon land swaps, was a bold move.
U.S. President Barack Obama made it clear to both the Israelis and the Palestinians that the status quo was “unsustainable,” and that “Israel must act boldly to advance a lasting peace. He was no less insistent that the Palestinians get their act in line, and poured cold water on their proposed U.N. vote on statehood in September.
Obama wanted to get his own vision of a solution on the table before he met with Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu today, and before the Israeli prime minister addresses Congress. As predicted, Netanyahu’s reaction was negative, saying that a return to 1967 borders would leave Israel indefensible.
DNA breakthrough heralds new medical era – and opens ethical Pandora's box
A blood test that can show how fast someone is ageing – and offers the tantalising possibility of estimating how long they have left to live – is to go on sale to the general public in Britain later this year.
The controversial test measures vital structures on the tips of a person's chromosomes, called telomeres, which scientists believe are one of the most important and accurate indicators of the speed at which a person is ageing.
As 'Dawn Treader' releases to DVD, Walden's president says despite declining numbers, they're moving ahead with the next Narnia film, 'The Magician's Nephew.'
It's been a little over a decade since Walden Media acquired the film rights to C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia, and for Walden co-founder and president Micheal Flaherty, it's been an exhilarating ride—even if it has been something of a roller-coaster.
The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe opened in December 2005 to a massive audience, earning more than $1 billion in box office ($745 million) and DVD sales ($332 million) combined. Critical reviews were good (76 percent positive at Rotten Tomatoes), and the franchise was off to a great start.
Now, more than ever, authors are finding clever ways to market their material. One such tools is a Facebook Fan Page. Many people have a Facebook page—if you don’t, shame on you. But not everyone knows about the power of a Facebook Fan page.
There are several advantages of having a Fan page.
1. Unlimited followers (Facebook personal pages allow a combination of friends and pages of only 5,000)
2. Separation of personal page and fan pages
3. Ability to have several fan pages
4. Analytical reports
5. E-commerce integration
6. Blog Integration 7. RSS Integration 8. Apps and Add-ons 9. Custom Landing Pages and More 10. It’s absolutely FREE
MUNICH – A German court has convicted 91-year-old John Demjanjuk of thousands of counts of acting as an accessory to murder as a Nazi death camp guard.
The Munich state court did not immediately give the reasons behind its conviction Thursday of the retired Ohio autoworker.
Demjanjuk sat in a wheelchair before the judges as they announced their verdict, but showed no reaction.
The court sentenced him to five years in prison. It was not immediately how much credit he would get for time already served.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Charisma House | Charisma Media for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born in Baltimore, Maryland, Mike now lives in Hanover, Pennsylvania, with his wife, Jen, and their three daughters. He is a regular columnist for AVirtuousWoman.org, was a newspaper correspondent/columnist for over three years, has published several articles for The Candle of Prayer inspirational booklets, and has edited and contributed to numerous Christian-themed websites and e-newsletters. Mike is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers association, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance, the Relief Writer’s Network, and FaithWriters, and plans to join International Thriller Writers. He received his BA degree in sports exercise and medicine from Messiah College and his MBS degree in theology from Master’s Graduate School of Divinity.
Sam Travis lives in a Civil War era farmhouse in Gettysburg, PA, where he awakens one morning to find an old journal with an entry by a Union soldier, Lt. Whiting…written in Sam’s own handwriting. When this happens several more times, both at night and during waking “trances,” Sam begins to question his own sanity while becoming obsessed with Lt. Whiting and his bone-chilling journal entries. As the entries begin to mimic Sam’s own life, he is drawn into an evil plot that could cost many lives, including his own. Can the unconditional love of Sam’s daughter, Eva, break through his hardened heart before a killer on the loose catches up with them and Sam’s past spurs him to do the unthinkable?
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback:
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (May 3, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616382740
ISBN-13: 978-1616382742
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
Gettysburg, 1863
Captain Samuel Whiting removed his gloves and sat on the cot in his tent. It had been a long, grueling day of battle, and his clothes were soaked through with sweat. He’d lost more men, good men, family men. Men who would never return home to their wives. Boys who would never again cross the thresholds of their parents’ homes.
He leaned forward, removed his boots, and stretched his legs. The air in the tent was still and muggy. At least outside there was a light breeze to carry away the stench of the wounded. In here, the smells hung in the air like a haze. Beyond the canvas walls the sounds of soldiers—heroes—in the throes of agony wandered through the camp like the souls of dead men looking for rest. But there was no rest in a place like this.
A single oil lamp sat on the floor, casting an orange glow about the tent’s interior. Samuel turned the knob on the lamp, giving more wick to the flame. The light brightened and the shadows darkened. From a writing box he removed a leather-bound journal, the one his mother had given him before he left to join Mr. Lincoln’s army. At the time he thought he was doing the right thing, thought he was fighting for a noble cause.
Now he thought differently. There was nothing noble about this war, nothing honorable about the way it was being fought nor the reasons for which it was being waged.
After dipping the tip of his quill into an inkwell, he put the tip to the paper and began to write. The words flowed from his hand, though they were not born of him but of something else, something dark and sinister, something to which he had finally given himself.
In the corner of the tent a shadow moved. He saw it from the corner of his eye. It was a shadow cast not by the oil lamp’s flame but by some other source, a source Samuel did not fully understand but felt.
The shadow glided along the canvas, following the angles of the tent, and came to a stop beside the cot. There it seemed to lurk, to hover, as if curious to see what was being written on the pages of the journal. A chill blew over Samuel, penetrated his clothes and
flesh, and settled into his bones.
The shadow began to throb in rhythm with Samuel’s beating heart. His quill moved across the paper more rapidly now, the point carving words—vitriol—at an alarming pace. His heart rate quickened and, with it, the pulsations of the shadow.
At once a strong wind ruffled the canvas and brought with it a low howl that sounded more like a moan. It did not originate from outside the tent, from wounded and homesick boys, but rather from within, from the shadow. The wind circled the tent’s interior, stirred
the pages of the journal, Samuel’s hair, his clothes, and finally, as if in one final great sigh, extinguished the light of the lamp.
Captain Samuel Whiting was engulfed by darkness.
One
Present day
Sam Travis awoke in the middle of the night, cold and
terrified. The dream had come again. His brother. The shot.
You did what you had to do, son.
He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Next to him Molly stirred, grunted, and found his arm with her hand. “You OK, babe?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna go get some water.”
“You sure?”
He found her forehead in the darkness and kissed it. “Yeah.”
The house was as still and noiseless as a crypt. Sam made his way down the hall to Eva’s room, floorboards popping under his feet. He cracked the door and peeked in. The Tinker Bell night-light cast a soft purple hue over the room, giving it a moonlit glow. Odd-shaped shadows blotted the ceiling, like dark clouds against a darker sky. Eva was curled into a tight ball, head off the pillow, blankets at her feet.
Sam opened the door all the way, tiptoed to the bed, and pulled the covers to his daughter’s shoulders. She didn’t stir even the slightest. For a few hushed moments he stood and listened to her low rhythmic breathing.
The past six months had been hard on them all, but Eva had handled them surprisingly well. She was just a kid, barely seven, yet displayed the maturity of someone much older. Sam had never known that her faith, much like her mother’s, was so strong. His,
on the other hand . . .
He left the door open a few inches. Farther down the hall he entered the bathroom, where another night-light, this one a blue flower, reflected off the porcelain tub, toilet, and sink. He splashed water from the faucet on his face. Remnants of the dream lingered and stuttered like bad cell phone reception. Just images now, faces, twisted and warped.
After toweling off, he studied himself in the mirror. In the muted light the scar running above his ear didn’t look so bad. His hair was growing back and covered most of it. Oddly, the new crop was coming in gray.
From downstairs a voice called Sam’s name. A chill tightened the arc of his scar.
He heard it again.
“Sammy.”
It was neither haunting nor unnatural, but familiar, conversational. It was the voice of his brother. Tommy. He’d heard it a thousand times in his youth, a hundred ghostly times since the accident that had turned his own brain to mush. The doctor called them auditory hallucinations.
Sam exited the bathroom and stood at the top of the staircase. Dim light from the second floor spilled down the stairs into the foyer below, and the empty space looked like a strange planet, distant and odd. Who knew what bizarre creatures inhabited that land
and what malicious intentions they harbored?
He heard that same voice—Tommy’s—calling to him. “Sammy.”
Sam shivered at the sound of his name.
A dull ache had taken to the length of the scar.
Descending the stairs, Sam felt something dark, ominous, present in the house with him. He stopped and listened. He could almost hear it breathing, and with each breath, each exhalation, he heard his own name, now just a whisper.
He started down the stairs again, taking one at a time, holding the
railing and trying to find the quiet places on the steps.
From the bottom of the stairway he looked at the front door,
half expecting it to fly open and reveal Tommy standing there, with
half his head...
You did what you had to do, son.
He looked left into the dining room, then right into the living room. The voice was coming from the kitchen. Turning a one-eighty, he headed that way down the hall.
At the doorway Sam stopped and listened again. Now he heard nothing. No breathing, no whispers, no Tommy. The kitchen held the aroma of the evening’s meal—fettuccine Alfredo—like a remote memory.
“Tommy?” His own voice sounded too loud and strangely hollow.
He had no idea why he said his brother’s name since he expected no reply. Tommy had been dead for—what?—twenty-one years. Thoughts of his death came to Sam’s mind, images from the dream. And not just his death but how he’d died.
You did what you had to do, son.
From off in the distance Sam heard a cannon blast. Living in Gettysburg, near the battlefields, the sound was common during the month of July when the reenactments were going on. But not in the middle of the night. Not in November. Another blast echoed across the fields, then the percussion of rifle shots followed by a volley of more cannons.
Sam walked back down the hall and opened the front door. He saw only darkness beyond the light of the porch lamp, but the sounds were unmistakable. Guns crackled in rapid succession, cannons boomed, men hollered and screamed, horses whinnied and roared. The sounds of battle were all around him. He expected Eva and Molly to stir from their sleep and come tripping down the stairs at any moment, but that didn’t happen. The house was as still and quiet as ever.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam stepped out onto the porch. Three rotting jack-o’-lanterns grinned at him like a gaggle of toothless geezers. The air was cold and damp, the grass wet with dew. Nervously he felt the bandage on his index finger. He’d slipped while carving one of the pumpkins and gouged his finger with the knife. Molly had thought he should get stitches, but he refused. It was still tender, throbbing slightly, healing up well enough on its own. Here, outside, the loamy smell of dead wet leaves surrounded him. Beyond the glow of the porch lamp, the outside world was black and lonely. The sky was moonless.
Across the field and beyond the trees the battle continued but grew no louder. Sam gripped his head and held it with both hands. Was he going crazy? Had the accident triggered some weird psychosis? This couldn’t be real. It had to be a concoction of his damaged brain. An auditory hallucination.
Suddenly the sounds ceased and silence ruled. Dead silence. No whispers of a gentle breeze. No skittering of dry leaves across the driveway. No creak of old, naked branches. Not even the hum of the power lines paralleling the road.
Sam went back inside and shut the door. The dead bolt made a solid thunk as it slid into place. He didn’t want to go back upstairs, didn’t want to sleep in his own bed. Instead he went into the living room, lay on the sofa, and clicked on the TV. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was watching an old Star Trek rerun.
Sam’s eyes opened slowly and tried to adjust to the soft morning light that seeped through the windows. He rolled to his side and felt something slide from his lap to the floor with a papery flutter. He’d not slept soundly on the sofa.
Pushing himself up, he looked out the window. The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, and the sky was a hundred shades of pink. The house felt damp and chilly. The TV was off. Leaning to his left, he saw that the front door was open. Maybe Molly had gone out
already and not shut it behind her.
“Moll?” But there was no answer. “Eva?” The house was quiet. Sam stood to see if Molly was in the yard and noticed a notebook on the floor, its pages splayed like broken butterfly wings. Bending to pick it up, he recognized it as one of Eva’s notebooks in which she wrote her kid stories, tales of a dog named Max and of horses with wings.
Turning it over, he found a full page of writing. His writing. Before the accident he’d often helped Eva with her stories but had never written one himself. He’d thought about it many times but had never gotten around to doing it. There was always something more pressing, more important. Since his accident he’d had the time, home from work with nothing to do, but his brain just wasn’t working that way. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. His attention span was that of a three-year-old.
Sitting on the sofa, he read the writing on the page, the writing of his own hand.
November 19, 1863
Captain Samuel Whiting
PennsylvanIa Independent Light Artillery, Battery E
I am full of dArkness. It has coMpletely overshadowed me. My heart despairs; my soul swims in murky, colorless waters. I am not my own but a mere puppet in his hanD. My intent is evil, and I loathe what the dAy will bring, what I will accomplish. But I must do it. My feet have been positioned, my couRse has been set, and I amcompelled to follow. Darkness, he is my commander now.
I can already smell the blood on my hands, and it turns my stomach. But, strangely, it excites me as well. I know it is the darKness within me, bloodthirsty devil that it is. It desires death, his death (the president), and I am beginning tounderstand why. He must die. He deserves nothing more than death. So much sufferiNg has come from his words, his policies, his will. He speaksof freedom but has enslaved so many in this cursed war.
See how the pen trEmbles in my hand. I move it,not myself but the darkneSs guides it, as it guides my mind and will. Shadowy figures encircle me. I can see them all about the room, specters moving as lightly as wiSps of smoke. My hand trembles. Iam overcome. I am their slave. His slave.
I am not my own.
I am not my own.
I am notnotnotnotnotnotnotno
my own
Sam let the notebook slip from his hands and scrape across the hardwood floor. Gooseflesh puckered his skin. He thought of last night’s battle sounds, of Tommy’s voice and feeling the darkness around him—the darkness. He remembered the grinning jack-o’lanterns, the click of the sliding dead bolt. He had no memory of turning off the TV and opening the door, nor of finding Eva’s notebook and writing this nonsense.
What was happening to him?
He stood and went to the front door, barely aware of his feet moving under him. With one elbow on the doorjamb he poked his head outside and scanned the front yard, listening.
“Moll?” His voice was weak and broke mid-word. There was no answer. If Molly was out here, she must be around back.
Then, as if last night’s ethereal battle had landed in his front yard, a rifle shot split the morning air, and the living room window exploded in a spray of glass.
My Review
Once again, Mike Dellosso delivers another high-octane suspense thriller that kept me turning the pages, as usual. I think I put the novel away in three evenings; I had a very hard time putting it down. Mike has got this pacing thing down to a science. He once again expertly spins a yarn that pits the light against the darkness—a common theme in his books—though this novel seems to lean a little heavy on the darkness side, as the title implies.
As typical, the story offers some familiar ingredients: childhood innocence, relational conflicts, a supernatural twist that defies explanation, a haunting past with its share of secrets, and a creepy villain. The plot moves along at a quick pace with plenty of hooks and barely a lull in the action, and his prose seems even stronger than ever. Perhaps the contribution of Eric Wilson on this project made everything that was great even better. Like Darlington Woods, the novel feels a little rushed and far too short—but that's probably a good thing. Yet another hundred pages to deepen the characters, more fully explain Samuel Whiting's connection, and further explore unanswered questions would have been most welcome. I especially liked the parallel back story and how it was superbly integrated into the main plot.
While the plot and pacing kept me glued, my final feelings about this novel are mixed. Unlike Darlington Woods, Darkness Follows seemed to lack any big surprises I didn't guess early in the story. A few parts of the story strained plausibility, and several critical (even theological) questions I think should have been answered weren't. (How did the window shatter?) The violence also pushed the envelope for me in a couple of spots. In spite of these quibbles, however, the novel was an enjoyable, fast-paced read, and the main character's daughter's contribution adds a touching father-daughter quality to the ending. I think Darkness Follows is darker than Mike's other novels, but he provides some much-needed light through his Note to the Reader at the end. This novel definitely provides some heart-pounding, compulsive reading, but it's not for the faint of heart.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Ken Ham: Christian Colleges Compromising Creationism, Bible's Authority, Christian News, The Christian Post http://ping.fm/PTTfs
Bush-Era Interrogations Provided Key Details on Bin Laden's Location
Years of intelligence gathering, including details gleaned from controversial interrogations of Al Qaeda members during the Bush administration, ultimately led the Navy SEALs who killed Usama bin Laden to his compound in Pakistan.
The initial threads of intelligence began surfacing in 2003 and came in the form of information about a trusted bin Laden courier, a senior U.S. official told Fox News on condition of anonymity. Bin Laden had cut off all traditional lines of communication with his network by this time because the Al Qaeda leader knew the U.S. intelligence community was monitoring him. It was said that he also didn't even trust his most loyal men to know his whereabouts and instead communicated only through couriers.
White House Officials Debate Releasing Photographs of Bin Laden’s Corpse
The Obama administration has photographs of Osama bin Laden’s dead body and officials are debating what to do with them and whether they should be released to the public, officials tell ABC News.
“There’s no doubt it’s him,” says a US official who has seen the pictures and also reminds us that OBL was 6’4”.
The argument for releasing them: to ensure that the public knows and can appreciate that he's dead. There is of course skepticism throughout the world that the US government claim that it killed bin Laden is true.
The argument against releasing the pictures: they’re gruesome. He has a massive head wound above his left eye where he took bullet, with brains and blood visible.
In July 2003, the US government released photographs of Saddam Hussein’s dead sons Uday and Qusay Hussain but not until after they’d been touched up by a mortician, making them look not quite real.
Bryan earned a bachelor’s degree in print journalism from the University of Tennessee as well as a master’s degree in historical theology at Dallas Theological Seminary. From there he went to the University of Virginia, taking a PhD in the field of ancient church history. He is currently professor of theology at Moody Bible Institute in downtown Chicago, where he has been since 2002. He teaches courses in theology, church history, and Western civilization from the ancient and medieval periods. He is the author of Getting to Know the Church Fathers: An Evangelical Introduction (Brazos, 2007), as well as several scholarly articles and essays. Bryan has always enjoyed epic adventure stories as well as historical fiction, but most of his reading these days is taken up by academia.
Today Bryan lives in downtown Wheaton in a Victorian house built in 1887. He and his wife Carolyn are parents to two children. For recreation Bryan enjoys basketball, traveling, and hiking anywhere there are mountains. The Litfins attend College Church in Wheaton, where Bryan has served on the Board of Missions and as a deacon. He also helped start Clapham School, a Christian primary school in Wheaton using the classical model of education.
ABOUT THE BOOK
The Chiveis Trilogy takes readers hundreds of years into the future. War and disease have destroyed civilization as we know it. Much technology has been discarded and history is largely forgotten. Slowly, the few survivors have begun to build new communities, and kingdoms now prosper in a kind of feudal order. But the Word of God has been lost for centuries.
After the finding of an Old Testament in book one of the trilogy, The Gift picks up the story of Teo and Ana. Exiled from their homeland and trying to survive in unknown and dangerous lands, they search for any record of the missing Testament.
Their journeys lead them into the region we know as Italy. An elite society welcomes Ana, who finds she must choose between her new life and her dream of returning to Chiveis. Will Teo and Ana’s relationship withstand the circumstances and new enemies pulling them apart? And can Teo keep ahead of a powerful and mysterious force opposing his search for the New Testament?
If you'd like to read the first chapter of The Gift, go HERE.
