Karen Kingsbury - I Can Only Imagine: The Rest of the Story

I Can Only Imagine

Karen Kingsbury

Copyright

I Can Only Imagine
Copyright 2012 by Karen Kingsbury

Cover art to the electronic edition copyright 2012 by Bondfire Books, LLC.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

See full line of eBook originals at www.bondfirebooks.com.

Author is represented by Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard St., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

Electronic edition published 2012 by Bondfire Books LLC, Colorado.

ISBN e-Pub edition: 978-0-7953-2602-8

Contents

Every novelist is inspired by something or someone. We who write walk through life drink in ideas from every waking moment. We are inspired by real-life people and places, problems and plots. Then that single nugget of inspiration branches out a thousand different directions to become fiction.

Sometimes I take those behind-the-scenes nuggets onto the stage with me. And alwaysas soon as I start telling the real storiespeople listen with their hearts. Ten thousand people in one oversized living room, gripped by the truth that eventually turns into bestselling novels. Moved by the story behind the story.

Along the way, God has used the real-life stories to teach me lessons about my own life, lessons I often share from the stage. One of those lessons is this: We have one chance to write the story of our lives. Just one chance.

My brother Dave is one person whose real story taught me more about the importance of the story of my life. When I talk about Dave from the stage, people nod along and smile. Sometimes they cry. I think its because we all are either a little like Dave or its because we have a Dave in our livessomeone a little more difficult to love, a little more difficult to be patient with. Someone whose choices create a lifetime of struggle thats as hard to watch as it is to live out.

Maybe youre Dave today wondering when life will turn around and go your way. Or maybe youre like I was, struggling to love one of the key characters in the story of your life. Either way, pull up a chair and let me tell you about my brother. A big guy, 6-foot-4, with an even bigger heart and a love for life that made strangers smile when they met him.

Along the way maybe youll learn a little about writing the story of your life. The way I did.

As a New York Times bestselling novelist, people often ask me, Whats that like living with people who dont technically exist? And Im always ready with an answer. I tell them about my dear friend Irvel.

Now Irvel wasnt real in the sense of having skin, but she was real to me. The grandmother I never had. I loved her genteel manner and her tender way of playing social coordinator at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home where she lived with a handful of other fictional Alzheimers patients.

Every day around three oclock Irvel looked forward to sharing tea with the other ladies, a way to pass time while her husband Hank was out fishing. Truth was Hank had been gone for seven years, but Irvel kept his pictures on her wall and his memory in her heart. So alive that every day she watched for his return, watched for him to pull up out front, the wheels of his truck muddy from a day at the lake, a fresh catch in his Igloo Cooler. She would look for Hank until sometime after dinner.

At which point sleep would take her into the next day.

I loved spending my hours with Irvel. She wasnt a main character, but she was firmly in my heart. So when the chapter came for her passing, I caught myself writing slower and slower. Savoring the lines and living between the words so I could have a little more time with Irvel. But eventually the inevitable happened and Irvel went to be with Hank in heaven. In that moment I couldnt simply keep writing. Losing Irvel was a profound moment in my writing career. I had to set my laptop down beside my chair and have a good cry.

Thats exactly where I was when my husband, Don, came bounding into the room. Happy smile on his face he was caught in a moment between tossing a football with our boys and grabbing a sweatshirt to make up for the cool afternoon temperature. When he saw me crying in my chair, he stopped short. Since the laptop was out of view, he had no idea what was wrong.

Karen! He came slowly toward me. Youre crying! What happened?

I grabbed a few quick breaths, aching sobs still lodged in my throat. When I could find the words, I managed to say, Irvel died.

For a long moment Don stared at me, the color slipping from his face. I could see the wheels spinning, see him racking his brain. Irvel? He blinked a few times. Do we know her from church or from school?

Tears still streamed down my face, but now I allowed a little frustration into my tone. Honey! I stifled another wave of sorrow. Shes one of my characters!

He looked at me, probably wondering if he should call for help or find a straight jacket and the address to the local psych ward. Instead he rolled his eyes all the way to the ceiling. Well, I dont feel sorry for you. He crossed his arms. I mean, you killed her!

Im pretty sure hell never understand. He thinks Ill make an interesting old lady one day when Im not able to keep the kids and the characters straight. That crazy far off day when I start complaining about my fictitious friends, wondering why Ashley used to be so sweet, but now she never calls never writes.

Im not alone in this constant battle between fiction and reality.

I hear from hundreds of thousands of you on my Facebook Page who feel the characters Ive written about are real. So real that theyve placed the Baxter family on the prayer chain at their churches. The Baxters, of course, are my first family of fiction. Ive written about them from the Redemption Series (internal Amazon link) to my recent Bailey Flanigan Series (internal link), and along the way weve all come to love them. Some of us even feel like were part of the Baxter family.

So it came as no real surprise when one young woman wrote to me and explained that she had recently thrown a partya Baxter Family Reunion. She was newly dating a guy she liked a lot, so she invited him to the gathering. One problem. She forgot to tell him that the reunion was for, well, fictitious people.

It just didnt come up, she told me. I was so busy planning the party, I never thought to tell him.

An hour into the evening, when all party guests were equipped with a sticker bearing the name of his or her favorite Baxter family character, it began to occur to the guy that it was slightly strange how the reunion featured so many people with the same name. Four Ashleys, three Baileys, six John Baxters.

The womans date pulled her aside and whispered. This is the weirdest reunion. Why do so many people have the same name?

She blinked at him, perplexed. The reunion isnt for real people. Theyre characters in these books we love.

The guys eyes grew wide and he took a few slow steps backwards. The evening ended earlier than the woman had expected and for three months she didnt hear from the guy. Then one day he called her and apologized. I was at my mothers house, he said, when I spotted these books on her coffee table. I took a closer look and there were all the names from your reunion. He laughed. To tell you the truth I thought you were part of some crazy cult. He paused. But guess what? I read the first two books and Im hooked.

That Friday he asked her out for dinner and a year later they were engaged.