One Smooth stone was the winner of the 2006 Best New Canadian Christian Author Award.
Alex Donnelly is running and trying to hide. He has picked a good place to do it - The Yukon - but he is pursued by friends, enemies, and most effectively, by God. Burning with the need to know about his parents, Alex returns to his birth-city, Seattle, where he discovers that his mother tried to abort him. The trauma sends him on the run again only to find out God has orchestrated a divine appointment for him back in the Yukon. The story is filled with miraculous healing, struggles with rage and an obsession with revenge for a childhood abuser. This story illustrates that God never gives up on those whom He has chosen. God’s mercy and grace extend even to those who consider themselves unworthy, and even more, to those who are considered unworthy in the eyes of the world. No matter how far you run, God will find you. No matter how bad you’ve been, God will forgive you.
One Smooth Stone is a page-turner that won't let you put the book down. Full of suspense and twists and turns, it is a story of struggle and redemption coupled with the allure of the far north.
The moments when Alex's blindness begins to lift.
One Smooth Stone
Chapter One
Alex Donnelly was alone. That’s how he wanted it. He told himself that’s how he liked it. That was a lie.
He twisted the throttle on the boat motor to the off position, leaned back, pulled his floppy-brimmed river hat off his head and turned his face toward the sun. The silted water hissed against the bottom and sides of the boat. A breeze tussled his thick black hair. He heard a hawk whistle from a high cliff and squinted to watch it plummet from its perch.
Closing his eyes, he slumped low. He would let the current take him home. He had all day and there wasn’t anyone waiting for him, except his dogs. At least they’d welcome him, if only in anticipation of food. The hawk whistled again and Alex opened his eyes, letting them fill with the sweeping green hills and wide brown Yukon River. As the boat caught and circled in a whirlpool he dipped his hand into the cold flow. Two minutes, he’d been told. If he fell in – or jumped – it would take two minutes for this river to kill him. He knew it was true because it had almost happened. He’d been looking for the cabin where he now lived, had beached at the mouth of the wrong creek and decided to wade to the other side to search for a trail. Half way across he realized he was in trouble. It was deeper than he’d thought and his legs were giving out. Then the bottom dropped off completely and he’d had to swim. He barely made it to the shore in time; he couldn’t stand when he got there. His legs were useless for several minutes, even though the sun was high and hot that day. He remembered he’d shivered for two days.
His eyes caught the gray shifting of mist in the rift of a small valley far ahead as thick clouds spilled their burden of moisture down toward the river. He could smell it as the wind brought the fragrance of poplar toward him. The trees on the banks seemed to turn their leaves toward it. He pulled his hat back on and shrugged into an old slicker. As the rain came toward him he started the motor and steered the boat closer to shore. He knew a wind could come up strong enough to keep him at a stand-still. He snorted as he thought about that. It was the story of his life right now. Standing still. But at least he wasn’t running anymore. He wondered how long it would last.
Just before the rain hit him a sudden shifting of light curved over the hills in a faint rainbow. God’s promise. Funny how he always thought that when he saw a rainbow. Someone somewhere must have said it to him. He pulled his hat down and cut the motor again, to listen, as the first softness of rain touched him. Everything around him seemed to whisper. He breathed deeply and almost smiled. Out here a person could almost want to believe in God and promises. Almost.
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August 19, 2003, Vancouver, British Columbia
Inspector Stan Sorensen slumped into the driver’s seat of his unmarked car. Another case closed. It was a good feeling, but as his eyes absently scanned the neighborhood he knew it would not last. There was always another case, always more people who’d been hurt, more creeps to chase down. He sighed. There was a time when he’d thrived on it, but retirement was going to feel so good. He flipped open his notebook and wrote one more detail down, then reached for the ignition. His hand froze as his eyes rested on a small house across the street. Much like all the others, it had seen better days. What was it that made him … Sorensen’s eyes narrowed as the memory surfaced. A young girl’s face - dark eyes that held such longing it hurt him to even remember. He sat up straight. That case had never been closed. He reached for his notebook again and made another note. He hated loose ends.
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