Impulses of Deeper Birth

By Karen Elizabeth Hann

“Not my best day, Lord, Peter prayed silently. However, I’d quite appreciate it if You would help me survive it. Although, if Ollie dies, I would respectfully request You take me, too. I’d rather get shot than have to deal with Fee.”

What was supposed to be a quiet day goes horribly awry for Peter Wentworth when he picks his younger cousin Ollie up at the airport. A hitchhiker that shouldn’t be trusted, a Raging Judge, a frantic belly-crawl through dog droppings... it all adds up to a rather crazy little adventure. In the midst of it all, Peter still seeks to share his faith in Christ, but will his zeal for the Gospel cost him or Ollie their lives? And would it be easier to just be martyred in a cult compound in the back country of Colorado or have to face down his formidable cousin Fee and confess he put her beloved little brother in danger?

A short story that takes place fourteen years before the events of the Sonatas of Grace series, Impulses of Deeper Birth is a rollicking little tale to showcase the beginning of a deep and profound friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Elizabeth Hann
• Release date: Oct 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463972984

Karen Elizabeth Hann

Karen Elizabeth Hann is a freelance writer and editor from Alberta, Canada. She spends most of her time slaving away for her feline overlord who directs her every move, demanding she write more and more so he can have the very best quality kibble. She earned her BA at the University of Lethbridge and her MA at the University of New Brunswick. She has published poetry and essays. Glory in the Flower is her first novel.

Book preview

Impulses of Deeper Birth

Karen Elizabeth Hann

Impulses of Deeper Birth

Copyright © 2018 Karen Elizabeth Hann

All rights reserved.

Lethbridge, Alberta

For David Bell.

Table of Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

A Note from Karen

Sneak Peek of Glory in the Flower

Part 1

The outward shows of sky and earth,

Of hill and valley, he has viewed;

And impulses of deeper birth

Have come to him in solitude.

- William Wordsworth

Saturday, May 28, 10:37 PM

Peter Wentworth had never made a habit of predicting what his days would be like when he woke up. Twenty-three years wandering God’s green Earth had taught him that such practice was useless—his Maker tended to send a whole lot of surprises his way.

If Peter had predicted something this day, it would not have been narrowly dodging a pile of dog crap as he belly-crawled across a White supremacist compound with a scratchy rope still tied around one wrist. He wouldn’t have considered he’d be praying frantically for God to let him get to his Durango and somehow finagle both himself and his younger cousin out of this accursed place alive. Their other option, he knew, would be some unmarked grave somewhere. He wouldn’t have imagined at all that he would be a bit woozy from all the weed smoke floating through the air, but still desperate to keep his head clear enough to drive out of here and back down the narrow road from where they’d come.

But, at this very moment, it was where he was at. Gravel digging into his elbows, knees, and belly. The scent of dog waste thick in the air as his cousin Ollie did not manage to avoid what Peter just had. It made a rather foul bouquet with the weed being smoked and the meth being cooked and the septic tanks that had obviously not been properly emptied. Peter was an outdoorsman at heart, and used to less than sanitary conditions, but this wasn’t natural.