“Jeanette Windle is a top-notch storyteller”
–Publishers Weekly
As daughter of missionary parents, award-winning author and journalist Jeanette Windle grew up in the rural villages, jungles, and mountains of Colombia, later guerrilla hot zones. Her detailed research and writing is so realistic that it has prompted government agencies to question her to determine if she has received classified information. Currently based in western MT, Jeanette has lived in six countries and traveled in almost forty on five continents. Those experiences have birthed sixteen international intrigue novels, including Veiled Freedom (ECPA Christian Book Award and Christy Award finalist), sequel Freedom’s Stand (ECPA Christian Book Award, Carol Award, Golden Scroll Novel of the Year finalist), and Congo Dawn (2013 Golden Scroll Novel of the Year) as well as such non-fiction titles as Forever Faith: The Abe Cruz Story (2021 Christian Market Award winner and Golden Scroll Finalist); Forgiven: the Amish School Shooting, a Mother’s Love, and a Story of Remarkable Grace (ECPA Christian Book Award and Christian Retailing Best Awards finalist), and All Saints, also a Sony Affirm movie. Jeanette mentors developing nation writers in both English and Spanish on all five continents.
"Action-packed thriller . . . Windle's treatment of the Drug Enforcement Agency's fight against drugs in Bolivia is impressive. Recommend to readers who enjoy fast-paced novels with international settings." — CBA Marketplace
Windle is skillful at capturing the setting and politics of South America, where she grew up . . . an exciting read. — Joseph Bentz, CBA Marketplace, July 2002
A NOTE FROM JEANETTE: Living Joyously in Life’s Storms.
“The LORD thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High . . . was heard in the whirlwind, [His] lightning lit up the world; He makes the clouds His chariot and rides on the wings of the wind; He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed.” (Psalms 18:13; 77:18; 104:3; 107:29)
Growing up as a daughter of missionaries in Colombia’s equatorial zones, I’ve always loved storms. Monsoon rain thundering on roof tiles. The jungle canopy tossing furiously like surging waves on some wild, green sea. That fresh, earthy scent of raindrops exploding against hot dirt. Mud-brown floodwaters lapping at the concrete edging of our elevated verandah.
Though small and helpless against nature’s fury, I remember no fear, only joyous delight in a power far greater than myself. Somewhere up there in the thunder and lightning and rain, God was playing with His creation.
I realize now that my delight in the storms came from my own position of safety. My home was built like a fortress, the brick-and-concrete walls, barred shutters, and heavy doors that kept our expat family safe from thieves, riots, or guerrilla insurgents impervious to the worst tropical deluge.
In later years, I encountered storms less friendly. I well remember my first Miami hurricane. Storm shutters up and power out, my husband and I huddled with our children in the dark as a 120-mile-per-hour wind tore at our roof until it seemed one more huff-and-puff would blow our house down. And yet there was that delightful moment when the gale subsided and we gathered courage to step outside into the storm. Broken palms, ripped-off roofs and blown-down fences were everywhere. But the rain no longer blew straight sideways. The air was warm with the pungent earthiness of crushed plant matter.
The eye of the storm had settled over us.
Since those halcyon childhood downpours, I’ve learned more than I wished about storms. Like you, my reader, I’ve now met political and economic storms, gale winds of war. Storms of loneliness and separation. Storms of personal failure and temptation. Of grief and pain and betrayal. Worse, storms that shake not me, but those I love.
These days I find myself more often than ever before in storm-tossed corners of our planet. Guatemala. El Salvador. India. Sri Lanka. The Philippines. Brazil. Kenya. Afghanistan. Sometimes traveling with others, often alone. “Aren’t you afraid of what could happen?” I’m often asked.
Have I learned to fear the storms?
Only when I lose sight of where and whose I am. I belong to the Almighty Creator of the Universe whose weather antics delighted me as a child, whom Scripture describes as riding on the wings of the wind, making storm clouds His footstool, thunder and lightning His playthings. He is King of Kings–and my heavenly Father who loves me passionately. And He loves and cares for those I love far beyond what I ever could. Whatever tempest shakes my world brings no cause for fear but joyous dancing. Why? Because at the eye of every storm is my heavenly Father’s almighty hand, where I am lovingly and safely cradled.