DOUGLAS BOND BOOKS

"Bond is a rising star
in the historical fiction genre"

Welcome to Author Douglas Bond's Website

Douglas Bond, author of more than a dozen books, lives with his wife and six children in Washington State. He is a ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), has a master’s degree from Saint Martin's University, teaches English  and history at Covenant High School, and was awarded the regional Teacher Award for teaching young people how to write. He lectures on literature and Church history and leads study tours in Europe. Learn more at www.douglasbondbooks.blogspot.com 

"Everything Douglas Bond writes is a fascinating read," Joel Belz, WORLD 

"We had trouble putting Hostage Lands down. We are familiar with the great authors. You are a great writer and communicator." Bill Busshaus          Listen to excerpt of  Hostage Lands

"If you enjoy reading the fictional works of C. S. Lewis, you will love The Betrayal," Burk Parson, TABLETALK

Listen to an audio excerpt of THE BETRAYAL

WHAT'S NEW?

You've maybe noticed that www.bondbooks.net has a new look. We're still making the transition and welcome your comments and suggestions. What did you like about the old one that you don't see here? What might be useful to add to the new site? Become a member and leave your comments. 

The Betrayal was released in Dutch as Het verraad. I was in Amsterdam not long ago and was dumb struck with how devastatingly a nation can plummet from solid Reformed Christian truth. A reminder to us today. My hope and prayer is that Dutch speaking folks will here in Het verraad the unadulterated gospel of grace alone in Christ alone. Pray with me to that end.

I had the opportunity to fill the pulpit and open the Word of God Sunday, January 17, 2010 at Oberlin Congregational Church. Read an excerpt from my sermon at www.douglasbondbooks.blogspot.com. For more information go to Speaking and Reviews, etc.

Read an excerpt from Bond's best-selling novel, THE BETRAYAL

"I just finished reading The Betrayal and was blown away by how good it was. I had a hard time putting it down." Pastor Tito Lyro

Chapter 10

My New Gown

With the thud of that door and the clattering of the latch and lock, I felt suddenly alone in a strange world, barred from the glowing light within, shut out from the familial warmth enfolding my rival. While Calvin was being thus welcomed by his relations, I pondered the cruel blows fate had dealt my family. And now there was no one else to feel the bludgeoning of those blows—but I. I alone remained of what had been, for all its disappointment, my family. Infected with these thoughts, a bitterness I felt certain I was powerless to suppress descended upon me.

Yet did I reason with myself: I had escaped the contagion. I was alive. But as I ruminated thus upon my escape, my mind grew heavier. I wanted to blame another for my misfortunes, but the deepest pang of all came from within my own bosom. At root, I was no better than the bishop and his priests, than the nobles, than the wealthy merchants in their silk and ermine gowns. Had any of my family remained alive, I knew deep within me, I would have, nevertheless, abandoned them for a carriage ride to Paris and safety, or so I then thought it would afford me.

What was the crime in that? I had merely longed to live, I further reasoned with myself. Would it have been such a betrayal of my family to want life, to choose to live, rather than to die in such a plague-infested place? I could not have saved them. What could I have done? It was futile speculation, I knew. Nevertheless, I indulged myself in it with, perhaps, some notion of assuaging what remained of a rapidly tottering conscience. I desperately tried not to care about any of this. My family, my old life, it was all dead to me now.  

But death is a persistent companion, I have learned, not so easy a one to appease by striking hands in a truce. My resolves produced for me no tangible degree of comfort. In my troubled state of mind, a part of me longed to pray. I was troubled to recall my cry as I ran through the streets of Noyon but hours ago—was that a praying that was answered? Perhaps I would have met the carriage in any event, by my own cleverness and swiftness of foot.

Privileged Calvin had every reason to pray and revel in God’s kindnesses, but I, that night, looked heavenward with a scowl. I had delivered myself by myself, with no help from God, such were the assertions of an ungrateful mind. And in this frame of mind, I then, in a manner of speaking, prayed.

“God above, if you are there, you are most unkind to me.” I am ashamed to recollect such praying, yet did I then persist in it. “Therefore, will I not serve you, will I not worship you, will I not obey you. Heretofore, I give of myself to those powers that most work against you, against your will and ways, and against your servants.”

It was a prayer that invigorated me, made me feel emancipated from divine oppression and injustice, the master of myself and my fortunes, the bold possessor of new freedoms. But when the first flush of my defiance began to fade, I felt cold and empty inside.

Alone I wandered the streets of that vast city, palatial buildings, grand churches, luxurious hotels lining the streets of its fashionable districts. Then my feet took me to the Petit Pont where from the lingering smells, I was to conclude that there street merchants must regularly sell fowls and eggs, perhaps other meats. From there I wandered into the Place Maubert where I gulped in the aromas of baked bread. Then I strode along the wall encircling the city, a wall sturdy and broad, sufficiently wide for a vender to drive his cart, or a defender to position his cannon....

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