Author of The Final Call Series
My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Carlson, told me in front of the class, “One day, Annie, you will write the great American novel.” I had no idea what to do with that information. After all, I was planning to be a doctor, or maybe a fashion designer. I was far too busy to sit down at my mother’s, the manual typewriter and plunk keys all day, or to spend my time refilling my fountain pen, and getting ink all over my hands… electric typewriters and ballpoint pens had not yet been invented, and computers were strictly science fiction.
I struggled through high school but sailed through college. I taught school for a year and decided that was not for me. Neither was waterfront director at a summer camp, head lifeguard and swim instructor, manager at a large retail operation, assistant buyer, and countless other jobs.
All that time I was making my own clothes and a few things for others as well. I made the decision to stop trying to find someone else to work for and instead, work for myself. I became a full-time fashion designer and, before long, was selling my creations to about six hundred stores all over the US. I had offices and reps in many major cities, and I got to travel a lot with my business.
When Nordstrom Seattle asked to take my line to their New York buying office and recommend it to all Nordstrom buyers, I was sure I had arrived; this would make me a millionaire. It had only taken me twenty years to become an overnight success.
It would all end that same Sunday afternoon, abruptly, while my line was being shown in New York. On my way home from a Seahawks game, the car was hit broadside on the passenger side, where I was seated, by a reckless driver, running a red light. It would take me three years to walk again, and in the process, I lost everything.
I was actually homeless for about six months, living in the back of my van, washing my hair in the only gas station in town with warm water. A massage therapist, during my recovery, tried to console me by telling me, “You will look back on this accident as the best thing that could ever happen to you.” I thought she had rocks in her head; It would be several years before I would realize she was right.
Also, in my recovery, my doctor discovered my big secret… something I was very embarrassed about, something I had managed to hide from everyone my whole life: I couldn’t read. Yes, I got through college and had been the CEO of my own business for twenty years, but I had never read a book, even a textbook. I understood the principle of reading, and I recognized the alphabet (one letter at a time) and could even read a sentence or two, but not a whole paragraph. The words would jump around on the page, and the letters would not be in the right order. I would instantly get a headache and had to close my eyes. I called it a scrambled brain.
My doctor diagnosed my scrambled brain as severe dyslexia. He immediately put me through a process of brain retraining using eye movement and simple exercises. That same evening, I started reading my first novel. It was an action-adventure, and I could not put it down. I was 42.
Now able to read, I tried my hand at marketing and moved to the top two percent of all marketing executives in that company.
A few years later, I was minding my own business, standing in a friend’s kitchen in Pendleton, Oregon, eating a peanut-butter sandwich, when my friend’s daughter, Barbara, whom I had never met, burst in and took over the conversation: It seems Barbara’s daughter was embarrassed to sit with her in the church because she was too loud. I listened politely to this ranting for about five minutes and was about to excuse myself when Barbara turned to me and invited me to go to church with her. I was afraid to say no.
That was the first time in my life I heard the TRUTH about God. It resonated with me like a silver fork striking a fine crystal goblet; most Christianity I had known in the past sounded more like a plastic spoon striking a paper plate. On hearing the Truth, I realized I must respond to it. Within the week, I was baptized with the water and the Spirit. And no, Barbara was not too loud.
A short time later, my business took me 200 miles away. I packed up my Greyhound Bus and moved temporarily to Albany, Oregon, on my way to Arizona. The little Church at Third and Pine welcomed me to such an extent that I felt like I wanted to give something back.
I asked the Pastor if there was something I could do. He informed me that he did not assign tasks, but if I noticed something that needed doing, where I had an interest… “Well, I have a degree in Secondary Education,” I said, “Perhaps I could help out in the school as a volunteer?” I reported to the school the very next morning and taught there for the next eight years, on my way to Arizona. I wouldn’t find out for several months that the whole church had been praying for a teacher. I believe I learned more from those students than they ever did from me.
After I retired from teaching math and science at that Christian high school, some of my former students asked me to write an eight-minute “radio program” they could perform at a northwest regional student convention. They wanted a hypothetical scenario of what could be happening in the last few days before the rapture of the church, according to Bible prophecy. I wrote it, they performed it, and it took first place.
Remembering what Mr. Carlson had told me in the fifth grade, The Final Call was born. This is the first of three in a series. Number two should be out in the Summer of ’18, and the third within a year later.
Enjoy the read, and may God Bless You.
Annie Peterson