The Blooming Onion

alien-722415_1280I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

“You like that onion head boy,” My brother accused shrilly. He ended it on a questioning note but it was more of a proclamation. His high pitched voice was incredulous and filled the room. He was teasing but my face flushed. I was in high school at the time. Easily embarrassed, I sought the approval of others when it came to my choice in men, something I’ve since gotten over. But at the time, my brother’s declaration was enough to bring pause.

Irving was my first HUGE crush. I mean, I fancied myself in love with him. I had spent the entire summer mooning over him. Now he was back in my life and giving me the attention I always wanted. As my brother’s words sank in, so did my heart. I beheld the picture of my love thru the lens of my fickle emotions and thought: He has an onion head? He does! How have I not noticed that before? His head seemed especially bulbous and his neck shrunken. Onion like. He was even the color of the root. Sadly, I dismissed my would-be paramour for nothing more than the shape of his head. Time revealed that was a good decision, for he turned out to be as fickle as myself. Ah, young love! But I have never regretted my decision to NOT add the onion head to our gene pool. Still, I am a fan of the onion.

I love the scene from Gone with the Wind where Scarlett O’Hara bites into an onion. In the movie, it’s a potato. But the book says she bites into an onion. Now I love onions raw and sliced on a burger, diced and on a hot dog or taco. I chop up yellow for my potato salad or put slivers of red on a bed of fresh green lettuce leaves. I sauté them in pretty much any dish. But to bite into a whole, uncooked onion (or a potato, for that matter) is unimaginable. This scene spoke to her desperation. Scarlett had gone from riches to reality. Finding sustenance in dire straits, on the edge of starvation, she vowed: I’ll never be hungry again!

I’m gearing up in preparation for my next round of book signings and let me just state, it is a harrowing process. Even though I’ve done this before – heck, I’ve been singing and teaching since I was a young girl – I should be used to being in the public eye by now. Yet, each time, I build up such a case of nerves. Just the devil, I know, creating fear where there should be none. He’s very effective at that.

I paused in the midst of my panic attack and reminded myself: the onset of these feelings are usually brought upon because I’m looking at myself. I don’t feel equal to the opportunity, I fret. I’m an introvert, I said to myself mournfully, right before my last event. Why do I keep putting myself in this position? It’s pretty funny, in retrospect, so this time I decided to cut to the chase. The conclusion I came to put me back on track. I realized it’s not me. It’s you, Lord! It’s always you. Never can I do anything in and of my own ability. It is in you that I live and move and have my being. I abide in the True Vine. I borrow my power from you. I can do this.

“Onions have layers. Ogres have layers… You get it? We both have layers,” Shrek.

This morning I appreciated the onion analogy ala Shrek. It has layers. Anyone who’s ever eaten a blooming onion can attest to its appeal. The fun is in peeling away each crusty, deep fried level, working your way to its center. It occurred to me that I’m kind of like an onion, too – the fried variety, LOL! I find myself in hot oil from time to time but as I am raised from the intense heat, I can see the layers more clearly. They have been revealed because of my situation. I bloom in that heat, though initially, it seems stressful. An occasion for me to cry can morph into something wonderful. And when I am lifted up I will be transformed for the experience, a beautiful batter dipped creation, a culinary wonder. Those crispy protrusions pull back and open to display the core of which the onion is built around, that holds it all together.

So many great comparisons can be drawn from the onion. My core is His strength. Overheated situations peel back me and reveal Him. At my center, I hope you will find Him. Or, you can think of it like this. The Bible urges us to circumcise our hearts, to get rid of those layers that separate us from Him – that pride and stubbornness – so that He can replace our hard heart with a tender one. One that is more pliable and receptive to His way and will. The most tender part of the onion is the heart. You just have to get past all of the layers to reveal it. As I am peeled away, I get closer to the person he has called me to be. I decrease, He increases. Like the heart of the onion, I am hidden in Christ. I could go on and on. But I think you get the picture! I am an onion!

Be blessed.



Press Release for IMMACULATE


Contact Person: Loria Boyle
Book’s Name: Immaculate, 2nd novel in the Touched series

Email Address: [email protected]
Web site address:

Mailing address: P.O. Box 181, Midlothian IL 60445

“Immaculate” Release & Book Signing

Meet & Greet Author, L.G. Boyle

Chicagoland Area, July 22, 2016 – Join Author L.G. Boyle to kick off the release and book signing of her second novel, Immaculate, on Sunday, August 7th hosted by Grant Memorial AME Church, 4017 South Drexel in Chicago at 1:30 pm. The first novel in the series, Touched, was sparked by the Sunday school teachings of Loria Gillespie-Boyle. Writing under the pen name, L.G. Boyle, the results have far exceeded her expectations, wowing friends, family and strangers. Touched and Immaculate are both available in paperback and Kindle on Amazon. The books can also be downloaded electronically via her blog and website,

L.G. Boyle creates a universe where the characters leap across time as their tale becomes intertwined with great stories of the Bible. The premise is lifted from a popular scripture where Jesus tells his disciples, “Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for such is the kingdom of God.” After the people bring their little ones forward so that he can bless them, the Young Master (Jesus) endows three of the children (Mal, Ari and Martha) with gifts taken right out of the legendary Israelite exodus from Egypt.

Touched has thrilled readers of all ages, ranging from ten years to senior citizen. One reader recommends the stories because they are “wholesome, suspenseful, and inspirational.” The sequel, Immaculate, picks up right where its predecessor left off. As may be inferred from the title, the heroes (and heroine) go on a quest to save the Christ child.

Fans of Christian fiction read more than most Americans, a survey in May of 2015 revealed, and buy books more often. They also have a tendency to follow books in a series, according to the report: Christian Fiction Readers: Worth Pursuing, Worth Keeping. Historical fiction, under which Touched and Immaculate fall, is a popular genre. The author envisions that her work will birth many such tales, and is already at work on her third novel.

L.G. Boyle is a great fan of the Bible and loves to tell her versions of the stories found therein. At the urging of her friends, she began to write a blog, The Word in My Life, to encourage others by applying Bible scriptures to life events. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram as lgboyle1. For a full biography, go to


Press Contact:
Secondary Contact: Norvella Johnson, Assistant
Email Address: [email protected]

Links to Book: Touched and Immaculate

High resolution photos available at

Twitter and Instagram, lgboyle1


Groaning Pains


“But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.” Romans 8:26

“I love the Lord, he heard my cry and pitied every groan.” Whitney Houston (The Preacher’s Wife soundtrack)

She sat by the window of her bedroom, sunlight streaming across her aged features. The sunbeams revealed a face full of wisdom. Casting her gaze around the room, she focused with her one good eye. I watched as she pulled her paralyzed, atrophied arm closer to her torso using her fully functioning hand. A huge sigh escaped her, full of hidden meaning as she exclaimed:

“Oh God!”

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Seeing her outwards signs of distress, the way in which she stroked her arm as if to comfort herself, I was concerned. She looked up at me from her wheelchair and replied:

“Nothing. I just felt like saying, ‘Oh, God!'”

I never did find out the cause of my late mother-in-law’s angst. Clearly, something was bothering her, although she would not share it with me. Instead she infused all that she was thinking into that simple phrase, Oh, God. I’ve come to find out since, that it is a prayer. Sometimes, just saying His name is a source of comfort, for HE alone knows what we’re going through. When we are in so much pain that we cannot form the words or give voice to them, an “Oh, God!” will do.

When I was a little girl, my family would travel “down south” frequently. Thirteen hours in a car filled to capacity with only stops to use the restroom. My mother would pack our meal so that we could eat along the way. She stored the fried chicken, fresh and hot, in a shoe box lined with foil. (She always kept shoe boxes because they could come in handy later. Don’t know where she kept them, though, for they would materialize at just the right time, as needed.) She supplied a homemade cake, as well – my mother made THE best yellow cake with a chocolate, ganache-type icing. I can’t remember the other accoutrements but I knew the chicken was always accompanied by a soft loaf of Holsum bread. Usually, our host would provide similar vittles for the return journey. Now that was some good eating!

On one occasion, my Uncle Edmund was driving and it was winter. We were on the road to “Miss’ippi” (as folks from Mississippi pronounced it) on a dark road. As he drove across a bridge, the tires struck a patch of ice, sending the car into a tail spin. As we, the occupants, held on for dear life, I remember my grandmother, Mama Bessie, crying out from the back seat: “JESUS!” The car stopped on a dime, just before we would have crashed through the rail. So sometimes, you don’t even have time to say a prayer. That night I learned that “JESUS!” would do in a pinch.

Still, there are other times when words fail us altogether. We cannot even find it in us to speak His name, so great is our misery. We can rest assured that he hears us, nonetheless. Our spirit cries out on our behalf, talking to Him, telling our Father what words alone cannot convey. Situations in life can drive us to our knees. Mentally, if not in actuality, we’re crawling in our disposition. Grief often has us on our faces, in the dirt, on the floor. But repeatedly, the Bible says, God heard the cries of the oppressed and he delivered them; famously so, in the case of the Israelites. Notably, so, in my own life. I am convinced that Our Father still hears every moan of distress. He sees every sign of dismay. During our most painful moments, we can take comfort. He hears our inner scream and will deliver us from our affliction.

Be blessed,


I love the LORD because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy.
Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!
 Psalm 116:1-2


Immaculate Book Launch!

book signing 2016
“… and, lo, the star, 
which they saw in the east, went before them, 

till it came and stood over where the young child was.” Matthew 2:9

So excited for the upcoming book launch of Immaculate in paperback! It’s been a wonderful journey for me, as well as for Mal, Ari and Martha. Filled with perils on their side, it has been fraught with disappointments and delays on my side. But, at last, it is here! I hope to see you there – stay tuned for details on how you can download a free copy of the book that began the series, Touched. As always, I pray that you would be blessed in your every endeavor as you pursue the gifts our God has placed in you. Just to whet your appetite, I’ve included the prologue of Immaculate. Enjoy!




… stood overlooking his kingdom. His lands stretched before him with his people working below. Some tended sheep and goats while prodding them with sharp sticks. Others kept their plots of vegetables, which were laid out in neat rows. Sulayman saw those who had dedicated their lives to service, ministering before the God of their fathers, day and night. There were those, also, who guarded the contents of their Temple and kept its holy relics and secrets. Precious items were held within that, should they be discovered, might bring joy to some and dismay to others. The news of their survival might even start a war over their possession.

But he and his people were undoubtedly the heirs and protectors, a right bequeathed to him by his forefathers. Sulayman stood evidence to that link as he was named after the very king rumored to have entrusted these objects to Sulayman’s own ancestor for safekeeping. And, Sulayman displayed said king’s great gift, even as much, because people would travel from afar to have Sulayman weigh in on a matter. This was how he came to his present situation.

He surveyed the scenes played out from his position on the hill outside his residence. Was he not king? Was it not his duty, religious or otherwise, to see this through? He was as conflicted as he was convicted. Surely, the revelation he’d just received (confirmed by a celestial occurrence that he, himself, had witnessed) would be occasion for great rejoicing if held true. The weight of it and what it could mean for him, for his subjects and their connection to the One True God’s own people, fell on him.

Sulayman needed to verify the event for himself, with his own eyes. His heart quickened at the thought. Could it be true? At last? His consultation with an expert in the movement of the stars, a man whose opinion he truly respected, led Sulayman to hope, against hope, that it could be so. The mere thought made his heart ache to witness this great sight. That he could be fortunate enough to see the realization of this long anticipated event during his lifetime was unfathomable.

He gathered his thoughts and himself, turned away from his view and readied for the arduous, though joyful, journey ahead…


Now available on Kindle and paperback on Amazon!

Click here to view the book trailer and download your

e-book or order your hard copy online.

It Starts With Us

philando-castile“The Lorax came out of me being angry. In The Lorax I was out to attack what I think are evil things and let the chips fall where they might.” Dr. Seuss

I saw the press conference where the fifteen year old son of Alton Sterling broke down. He tried to be there for his mother, as the oldest of five children, while she talked about how Alton was killed by police. Her son hid his face in a corner of his shirt as she spoke on the tragedy but grief soon overwhelmed him. I’m sure he had heard of the deaths of Mike Brown, Sandra Bland, Tamir Rice and others at the hands of law enforcement. He was old enough to know, as the entire black community in every city now realizes, it could happen to any of us, at any given time. But how can you prepare for this tragedy? It makes no sense. Our life expectancy shouldn’t be shortened because we are black. But none of us, man nor woman, young or old, are exempt no matter how compliant we are. I’m just as certain Sterling’s son thought, as anyone would under similar circumstances: NOT MY FATHER. How did things turn for the worse so quickly? Unbelievable. And inexplicable. It’s a sad day in America when this has become the norm, the killing of black citizens for routine infractions. It was an unjustifiable violent act against an unarmed man. A sad day, not just for blacks, but for every American.

Lately, I’ve been recalling to mind a novel by Stephenie Meyer, The Host. I enjoyed it although it didn’t reach the same level of fame as its predecessor, Twilight. The premise was one we’ve heard before – aliens come to earth and inhabit our bodies. It was regarded as a hostile takeover by humans but as one much needed by an alien race with superior technology. Because they were peaceful, they viewed our society as barbaric. They watched us for a while in secrecy and viewed our news reports. They saw all the evil that men do. These glowing, caterpillar-like creatures were inserted into the minds of humans and changed their behavior. The alien race did away with crime, poverty and sickness. As Wanda, the host, explained, “We make life better.” They were saving us and our planet from us. We were the villains.

I can’t help but agree with the assessment of Wanda’s alien race on our society. Looking at our news reports is enough to make us see the need for change. We need a takeover. And though I can be a Pollyanna and choose to live optimistically, my hopes do not lie in us ever getting it together. The Bible tells us a Utopian existence can only be ushered in upon Jesus’ return. I wait and hope for that day but live in the here and now. What about THIS day? People say: We need to do more than pray! And that is true. Actions are in order. But let us not forget that prayer is our most effective weapon against evil. When the folks who are in authority misuse their power, it is the epitome of the spiritual wickedness that sits in high places. It is for this reason that our weapons of warfare cannot only be those we can see (Ephesians 6:12).

This morning I cried as I learned of the death of yet another, Philando Castile, at the hands of police. I’m angry, frustrated, fed up and tired of all three. Lots of folks on social media are silent. Speechless, I think, because we cannot comprehend the horror. We don’t watch the video because we don’t wanna know. We don’t want to cry or have sympathy for the victim because that destroys our illusion of safety via compliance. The idea that someone could deserve such a fate is ludicrous. The truth is, it can happen to anyone – black or white – and it has. There are those who like to interject: What about black on black crime? As if that could be an excuse for reprehensible behavior on the part of police. What about white on white crime? Asian on Asian? Latino? LGBT? So what? One has nothing to do with the other. Shame on those who jump to defend the perpetrators with such an argument without sparing one moment of sympathy for a life taken senselessly and so soon. But even had you cried, it would have changed nothing. But you might have been stirred to action. So let us be done with our tears and victim blaming and find a solution to this problem.

Years ago, I stood in a grocery line that was only slightly backed up and watched as the cashier gave the elderly lady in front of her hell for going over the limit and for using food stamps. Because it was a cash only line, the cashier claimed that food stamps were not cash. She was about as disrespectful to the old lady as you could be without cursing. I looked at the motherly woman and saw my own Madear and thought: She better not try that with me! And all the things I would do and say to her. When it was my turn, she proved just as belligerent to me. Of course, I told her off and called her manager to report her. He merely agreed with me, said she had been reprimanded in the past but he would talk to her again. Too late, I saw that instead of waiting for my chance to stand against her alone, I should have stood up for the old lady and then it would have been BOTH of us against her. That would have been quite a ruckus. Too many times we wait until it is time to defend our own. We walk away because we don’t want to get involved. But there is strength in numbers.

Repeatedly, the Bible urges us to “watch and pray.” The time has passed for praying only. When you see that there is a problem, instead of saying: “Someone should do something about that,” know that God has called you. Esther could have stayed comfortable in the palace and watched as her people were killed, but her Uncle Mordecai urged her to identify with the Jewish population and speak up. She fasted and prayed, then she acted. And we should watch for those opportunities to say something, putting ourselves in the shoes of those of us who are being persecuted instead of distancing ourselves. We think if we are not like them, we are safe. But this last gentleman who was killed was just a regular guy. The time has come for us to not continue to turn blind eyes and deaf ears to the problem just because it makes us uncomfortable. People are dying. In America.

Oh Lord, that you would come in and inhabit us with your spirit so that we can no longer commit vile acts against each other, being neither the recipient, nor the perpetrator. Let those who are guilty receive their just recompense. Reward them according to their deeds for only you know their hearts. Teach us to pray, give us the words to say to move you on our behalf. But you already have: Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. This is your model for prayer. And if it weren’t possible to have your will be done in this life, I don’t think you would have included that line in your example. So we will pray until YOUR will is accomplished. I don’t believe what we’re living is it. I also pray and remember that when the Israelites were oppressed and cried out for deliverance, you answered them time and again. We are your people, too. And you will answer us, for you love justice. A perfect society may be too much to hope for, but you make things better. We all can do better.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not,” The Lorax.

Be blessed,



An Eggcellent Life

egg-1368257_1280“The LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning …” (Job 42:12)

Every time you break an egg, the potential exists for something wonderful to happen. I recently introduced a friend to the frittata. Changed his life, lol! He immediately fell in love with and has been endeavoring to make them ever since. As someone who’s been cooking and baking most of my life, I can testify to the transformative power of eggs. My daughter once found a recipe for peanut butter cookies that included just peanut butter, sugar and egg. From these simple ingredients comes the the fastest cookie you’ll probably ever make. Just delicious! But eggs are so fragile. Drop one on the floor and it’s ruined. Try as you might, you cannot salvage them.

It struck me this morning how much this resembles my life. Repeatedly, my eggs have been wrecked beyond repair, like Humpty Dumpty. But God has given me beauty for ashes, from my sorrows came joy, His peace was revealed through my pain. He poured upon me the Oil of gladness and I often found that calamity brought renewed prosperity, as in the case of Job. So maybe we ought not get so turnt up about troubles as they come. They may just be new opportunities to create something great. God can create something wonderful, even out of eggs that have crashed to the floor.

Be blessed,