Pebbles in my Pocket

A Most Unsuitable Match by Stephanie Grace Whitson

2011-09-13T22:41:00.004-05:00

Book Description:
History Brought to Life through a Surprising Romance

Miss Fannie Rousseau is a young woman of privilege traveling west to uncover the truth behind a family secret.

Mr. Samuel Beck is on a mission to atone for past failures that still haunt him.

Their meeting aboard a steamboat to Montana sparks an unlikely attraction. They are opposites in every way... except in how neither one can stop thinking about the other.

Will the end of the journey bring the end of their relationship, or is it just the beginning?

My Thoughts:
A Most Unsuitable Match was a worthwhile read. By no mean a thriller, edge-of-your-seat read…In my opinion this book falls under the category of comfortable, historical fiction. There was very little romance involved, I did love the way one of the characters compared love to, “finding your echo.” It makes wonderful, perfect sense. But I thought this book more of a journey, which often read like a diary. Was I to describe it in one sentence I’d say, “the journey of a young women’s birth into womanhood.” Thru hardship and lose, laughter and memories, Fannie learns what it means to survive on the wild frontier.

I thought narratives of the Wild West were faithfully portrayed. I especially enjoyed the historical accounts of what it meant to navigate a streamer on the Mississippi and Missouri. Having ferried down the Mississippi River, coupled with Mark Twain’s books gracing shelves of every school I ever attended, you mentally knew the importance of the Miss. But I never really thought about the fact that it was depended upon for trade and travel to all States in the upper North West.

Most of the characters were well drawn out. For being one of the main characters I would have liked to see more interaction between Fannie and her love interest, Samuel Beck. As catchy as the title is, I didn’t think it suited. Even the attire of Samuel doesn’t depict the whole of his character. The young blind boy, Patrick, was a charming character emerging far too late in the novel. Loved the role he played, not to mention his wit and wisdom given in an innocent, childlike way. He was incredibly endearing.

Over all it’s a good story. A light read. I read it slowly over the period of about a week. There were very few twists and turns and even fewer surprises. But I did enjoy it.

**This book was available for review by Bethany House Publishers. With special thanks!

Gabby, God's Little Angel by Sheila Walsh

2011-08-30T19:58:00.005-05:00

Book Description:

This first book in a delightful new series offers a comforting message for young readers—God loves you very much and is always watching over you!

What little girl wouldn’t love her very own guardian angel? Parents and children alike will be won over by this humorous tale of Gabby, a guardian angel in training who has much to learn about taking care of God’s little ones. Her new assignment is to protect a young girl named Sophie, but Gabby soon realizes that watching after Sophie is a bigger challenge than she had expected! After a close call while riding her pony, Sophie learns what the Bible says about guardian angels: “He will put his angels in charge of you. They will watch over you wherever you go” (Psalm 91:11 ICB).

My Thoughts:
The most adorable thing about this book is, by far, the pictures! I already see my girls running their hands over the gorgeous, glittery cover!

The story line is predictable and basic. Nonetheless it would make a cute gift for any little girl. The scriptural message that the Lord sends his angels to watch over us is the context of this story. The author presents it in a childlike and understandable way that will undoubtedly bring questions from your children. Thus the story sets up a perfect opportunity to bring the truth of scripture to your child on their level.

I really liked the way the writing was set up. It’s set up in an attractive way that will help the reader present it more dramatically. It reminded me of the way that Jill Eggleton writes her books. Words like swooping, zooming flying, Oops, wild ride are written in large, bright, bold form. This will definitely draw the child eyes. As I read thru it I saw many opportunities you could teach young children phonics from the descriptive way Sheila Walsh has written this story.

**This book was made available for review by Booksneeze.

Arleta Richardson's Grandma's Attic Series

2011-08-30T19:34:00.001-05:00

Publisher's Description:

Nobody can tell a tale quite like Grandma! Your 8- to 12-year-olds will be delighted by her faith-affirming, high-spirited stories of life on a 19th-century Michigan farm. Share in her memories of a treasured old rag doll, a schoolgirl's slate, a button basket, a hilarious newborn goat---and more! Approx. 150 pages each, four softcovers from Cook.Arleta Richardson’s beloved Grandma’s Attic Series returns with Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic and Treasures from Grandma's Attic, the third and fourth books in the refreshed classic collection for girls 8 to 12. These tales recount humorous and poignant memories from Grandma Mabel’s childhood. Combining the warmth and spirit of Little House on the Prairie with a Christian focus, these books transport readers back to a simpler time to learn lessons surprisingly relevant in today’s world.

Richardson’s wholesome stories have reached more than two million readers worldwide. Parents appreciate the godly values and character they promote. Children love the captivating storytelling that recounts childhood memories of mischief and joy. Ideal for home, school, or church libraries, or to give as a gift certain to be treasured.

My Thoughts:

Mabel is adorable! She is a newly discovered treasure.

I had no expectations of these wonderful books. I simply thought they might be worth investing in since I’m always on the lookout for good literature for the girls. These turn out to be for the whole family!

I loved them. They are wonderfully sweet and unpredictable. I mean, I knew that Mabel (think Curious George) would get into some tight spot in every story, but it kept me guessing. Probably because they’re based on the real life adventures of best friends Mabel and Sarah Jane.

They are also very well-written. Not fickle or just average. I’d love to read these aloud to my kids. Mabel’s conscience always kicks when she strayed from the straight and narrow that her parents teach and live by example. Mabel and Sarah Jane always walk away with a lesson learned and an adventure that has managed to be passed down to over two million people.

Recommended. Very much so!

**Some of these books have been made available for review by B&B Media Group, Inc. Sincere thanks! I am looking forward to purchasing the missing two to complete the set.

CBD is selling them at a great price!

Review: To Win Her Heart by Karen Witemeyer

2011-07-11T14:36:00.000-05:00

Book Description:
Do They Have a Fighting Chance at Love?

After completing his sentence for the unintentional crime that derailed his youthful plans for fame and fortune, Levi Grant looks to start over in the town of Spencer, Texas. Spencer needs a blacksmith, a trade he learned at his father's knee, and he needs a place where no one knows his past.

Eden Spencer has sworn off men, choosing instead to devote her time to the lending library she runs in the town her father founded. When a mountain-sized stranger walks through her door and asks to borrow a book, she's reluctant to trust him. Yet as the mysteries of the town's new blacksmith unfold, Eden discovers hidden depths in him that tempt her heart.

Eden believes she's finally found a man of honor and integrity. But when the truth about Levi's prodigal past comes to light, can this tarnished hero find a way to win back the librarian's affections?

My Thoughts:
Karen Witmeyer captured my heart in the her debut book Tailor-Made Bride. Its a wonderful, light, witty, entertaining read. I highly recommending it.

So it was with high expectations that I picked out this book. The cover is pretty clever too. And while I enjoyed this book, it didn't humor me like the first one did. I actually found myself skipping parts of it. There were other parts that were totally endearing, but nah...it wasn't the page-turner that Tailor-Made Bride was. I would still recommend this book who anyone who enjoys this genre. Karen Witemeyer is a delightful new author sure to impress.

**A copy of this book was provided free of charge by Bethany House Publishing. Purchasing info. here.

Precious Moments Storybook Bible Review

2011-07-11T11:23:00.000-05:00

Book Description:

In this special Bible storybook, beloved Bible stories are combined with the endearing art of Sam Butcher's Precious Moments® characters.

Every story is illustrated with full color borders that playfully decorate the page along with large images to help bring the Bible story to life for your child. Their interest will stay on the page as you read the delightful paraphrased stories from the International Children's Bible® while they are entertained by the art that has engaged millions of children around the world. The text is a large and very readable 14-point size. . . great for beginning readers! Also included will be a section for children's songs, special prayers, and a presentation section with family tree, etc.

My thoughts:
I think I've grown rusty doing book reviews...but it's kinda like riding a bike...once you get the hang of it, it becomes a part of something you remember.

This is a sweet, quaint book. Honestly though, if it weren't for the out-of-this-world cute pictures, I don't imagine many children would pick it up and read it. Unless they were very spiritual individuals. It basically takes a chapter/verses of the Bible and reads them to the child on their level. Could be used comfortably for devotions. If I had to chose for the children that frequent my bookshelves, I'd pick something more along the lines of the picture Bible I grew up with.

**I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com http://booksneeze®.com/ book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

i miss blogging...

2011-05-23T13:30:00.001-05:00

Auto Draft

2011-01-04T11:11:00.000-06:00

City of Tranquil Light by Bo Caldwell

2010-12-16T15:20:00.000-06:00

Bo Caldwell’s City of Tranquil Light (Henry Holt and Company), is a searing love story of a man and a woman, their God, and the country they jointly loved and a deeply researched and page-turning portrait of a country in utter turmoil. The story is based on the lives of her maternal grandparents who were missionaries in China in the early 1900s. For years her mother had urged her to write about them and when she dove into the research, she found their lives full of conflict, danger, and heartbreak, as well as joy and fulfillment.

At the center of the novel are Will and Katherine, two Mennonite missionaries from the heartland who have come to China because they feel called by God to serve the poor and spread the Good News. But this is more than a missionary story; it is really the portrait of a marriage set against the backdrop of a radically shifting nation that is plunging into revolution.

“City of Tranquil Light by Bo Caldwell is a wonderful novel set in China in the early years of the 20^th century.

Funny, exciting, and heartbreakingly sad, it showcases the power of the gospel.” ~ World Magazine

In Conversation with Bo Caldwell,

Author of City of Tranquil Light

It’s been nearly ten years since your first novel, The Distant Land of My Father, was published. What took you so long?That’s a question I’ve asked myself. Part of the answer is that life intervened. I started the novel in 2002 and wrote perhaps 80 pages, and although I didn’t like them much, I’vecome to accept that mediocre first drafts are often part of my process. In 2004 I was diagnosed with stage-one breast cancer (I’m now healthy and cancer-free), so that fall and the first half of 2005 were given to chemo and radiation. It took another year for my head to clear enough to write fiction, and I returned to the novel in 2006 and finished it two years later. The other part of the answer is easy: I’m a slow writer, something I’vemade peace with.

City of Tranquil Light is based on the lives of your grandparents who were missionaries in China and Taiwan. Where did you draw the line between their experiences and the fictional characters of Will and Katherine? The biggest difference is that, unlike my characters, my grandparents had five children. I chose not to deal with fictional children because they would complicate what felt like an already complex story. Also, my grandparents lived in five different cities in China and worked in Taiwan after the communist takeover of China. I had my characters settle in one place so that I wouldn’t have to keep rebuilding cities, and I chose to have my characters stay in the U.S. once they returned because I wanted to focus on what leaving China meant for them, on aging, and on their marriage. Finally, while my grandparents’ lives were certainly the primary inspiration for the book, I was also inspired by the lives of other missionaries, and I incorporated parts of their stories as well as my grandparents’. The line between what really happened to any of these people and what I made up or exaggerated is already blurry, and, in my experience, will become more so as time passes.

China has played a large role in both of your novels. What does the country mean to you? China represents a connection to my childhood and to my family. It’s where my grandparents lived most of their lives and where my mom and her siblings grew up. Family dinners with my grandparents were always Chinese food, and I used to help my mom make chiaotza—steamed dumplings—when I was little. All my aunts and uncles knew how to make them. Everyone in my mom’s family had at least a couple of pieces of Chinese furniture in their homes, and my grandparents had many Chinese items. So in a weird way, there’s also a connection for me between China and home, although I’ve never been there.

In the book, you create a richly detailed vision of China in the early 20th century. Can you tell us about your historical research into this period of Chinese history? I’m not a fast researcher, but I’m thorough, and I learned much more than what appears in the novel. I started with historical books about China, mostly from the library and used bookstores, then read biographies and autobiographies of missionaries who’d served in China, many of whom my grandparents had known. These books presented history through a narrower lens. I saw how historical events had affected specific individuals and places, which made those events more real and immediate.

How did you decide to tell the story from two different points in time? Trial and error. The first draft was entirely in Will’s voice, and early readers said the story needed more of Katherine, for which I am very grateful. Someone also mentioned the word journal. At first I thought her journal might appear all in one section, but once I started writing it I began interspersing it and enjoyed the dialogue that began to take shape. And I learned that rather than echoing or contradicting what Will said, Katherine could enlarge upon it and expand it, which appealed to me.

Will and Katherine’s faith brings them together and gives their lives both challenges and purpose. Did writing about their love and faith have any impact on your own marriage and/or faith? Writing about Katherine’s decline made me value the present with my husband. We’re both healthy and (relatively) young, and I hope we have lots of years ahead of us. But writing about Will watching Katherine’s decline caused me to be more grateful for what we have now. And yes, the novel affected my faith strongly. When I started it in 2002, I tried to imagine my grandfather’s faith and to portray it accurately, but when I returned to the novel in 2006, after chemo and radiation, I no longer wanted that distance. I came to believe that although it was riskier to write about my own faith and what was in my heart—instead of hiding behind my grandfather—it was also more worthwhile.

City of Tranquil Light tells the story of two extraordinary lives filled with hardship and joy. What did you learn in writing about those lives? I learned about the cost of marriage, which I first saw with my parents. My mom and dad were married for 56 years, and when my dad passed away in 2000, I watched my mom lose him then begin her life without him. She was very brave, and although the way in which she did that was remarkable, it still broke my heart. When I read biographies of missionaries, I saw one spouse or the other go through the same thing: this devastating separation after decades of companionship. But I also saw them survive it, as has my mom, and go on to live good lives. If you marry and are fortunate enough to grow old together, one of you will lose the other. But people survive that, and they even thrive, despite that great loss. That inspires and encourages me.

Do you think you could endure the hardships your grandparents endured?My gut response is no—I love the comforts of home—but we endure what we have to endure, don’t we? I’m also not sure I could have stayed as long as they did, and remained so faithful to a calling. But I don’t think my grandparents knew they could do those things, and although I haven’t endured anything like they did, I’ve surprised myself by the ways I’ve gotten through some challenges in my life, and that’s something that excites me. We don’t know how we’ll be in a crisis. We often respond in ways we never dreamed we would, or could, which is a fact that gives me hope.

City of Tranquil Light by Bo Caldwell

Henry Holt and Company - September 28, 2010

ISBN: 978-0-8050-9228-8/287 pages/hardcover/$25.00

http://us.macmillan.com/cityoftranquillight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My thoughts:

I gonna grumble first: About half way thru this fascinated, incredible book I noticed it said "fiction" on the back cover. I'm sure my jaw dropped! Although the author stated the book is based on the lives of her grandparents, I still assumed it was would be a biography... I so didn't want it to be fiction!!

You wouldn't either. Sometimes it reads like poetry, then it throws you off with a touch of humor, it will quiet honestly move you to tears as well. It's a story about hardship, survival, faith, lose, love, hope, culture, geography, history...it's everything really. No textbook will teach you what this book taught me. I loved it. I soaked it in. The hardship the people of China endured seemed unbearable at times, the friendships the main characters established were bound tighter than blood relations. The faithfulness of the Chinese Christians who stood alongside Will and Katherine touched me profoundly. Perhaps the most fascinating though is the story interwoven about the bandit chief throughout the novel. I can't help but wonder that parts of that are true and which were based on the author's imagination.

Wonderful, stirring story. I highly recommend it. You'll be transported into an another place and it'll be worth it.

This book was made available for review by B & B Media.

FIRST Presents Baby Bible Christmas Storybook by Robin Currie

2010-12-02T00:00:00.000-06:00

I found this book to be too condensed even for our youngest grandchildren. It's a very easy read that perhaps an older sibling might enjoy reading and explaining to a younger toddler. I have found that even the youngest of children want details, ask countless questions and this book is just too simply for a curious mind.

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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Robin Currie

and the book:

Baby Bible Christmas Storybook

David C. Cook; Brdbk edition (October 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Karen Davis, Assistant Media Specialist, The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Rev. Dr. Robin Currie is the Early Childhood Librarian/Preschool Liaison for the Glen Ellyn Public Library and serves on the staff of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, a Chicago suburb. She is also the retired pastor of Grace Lutheran Church in Glen Ellyn. Before and during seminary she was a children’s librarian for public libraries in Illinois and Iowa. She holds master’s degrees in Library Science from the University of Iowa and in Divinity from the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago, as well as a Doctor of Ministry in preaching from LSTC. Her published books include seven resource collections for librarians and over a dozen children’s Bible story collections.

Visit the author's blog.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Board book: 36 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; Brdbk edition (October 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0781403685
ISBN-13: 978-0781403689

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER (Click on pictures to see them larger):

Masquerade by Nancy Moser

2010-11-13T11:19:00.000-06:00

About the book:

They risk it all for adventure and romance,
but find that love only flourishes in truth...

1886. Charlotte Gleason embarks from England with conflicting emotions. She is headed for New York to marry one of America's wealthiest heirs--a man she has never even met. When her doubts gain the upper hand, she swaps identities with her maid Dora. She wants a chance at "real life," even if it means giving up financial security. For Charlotte, it's a risk she's willing to take. But what begins as the whim of a spoiled rich girl becomes a test of survival beyond her blackest nightmare.

For Dora, it's the chance of a lifetime. She is thrust into a fairy tale amid ball gowns and lavish mansions, yet is tormented by the possibility of discovery--and humiliation. And what of the man who believes she is indeed his intended? Is this what her heart truly longs for?

My thoughts:

Loved the title, loved the cover!

Though I found the plot of this book to be somewhat unbelievable, I enjoyed it. (You know, stuff that happens only in books). After reading it you’d agree that the author did her homework in researching the dire circumstances of the early immigrants. That alone makes it a worthwhile read. But I also enjoyed the flip side of the story. The rich family who had everything but happiness in their lives…Beatrice was so annoying, she reminded me of Miss Bingley in Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Surprisingly she showed promising signs of change, and I waited for her to become Dora’s friend and confident. I was disappointed with the conclusion of the novel. I wanted to know what happened with the members of the Tremaine family. I felt they all played such a major role in this book and suddenly poof! they are gone??

I especially liked Conrad. Sure he wasn’t Mr. Darcy, but I found myself cheering him on as the story progressed. I was sure Dora would develop more than feelings for friendship towards him. I felt for him when Dora told him she couldn’t marry him. We end up learning more about him then the doctor Dora becomes engaged to in the end.

Strangely, this isn’t really a romance. Just a fun adventure you’ll find yourself enjoying. Lots of drama jump from the pages. My first Nancy Moser read and likely not my last.

A review copy of this book was provided by the publisher.

The Snowflake by Jamie Carie

2010-11-13T04:06:00.000-06:00

About the book:

Christmas 1897. Ellen Pierce and her brother are determined to reach the Alaska gold rush. But when ice stalls their steamship, all seems lost, until Buck Lewis makes a decision: he'll lead all who dare to follow on foot toward Dawson City.

Buck is determined to leave behind a heartbreaking past. No amount of ice or weather will stop him. But he never counted on a woman joining a dangerous wilderness trek--or on falling in love with her.

As their journey unfolds and Christmas approaches, Ellen and Buck discover that the greatest gift of all can't be wrapped in paper and tied with a bow. It comes from, and is received in, the heart.

Come share in a soul-deep romance that gives a joyful reminder of a redeeming God who makes us each unique, yet loves us all the same.

Rachel's Review:

What a delightful new novella from an author that never disappoints. Carie’s novels are really deep, insightful stories that make you feel as if you were there experiencing it along with the characters.

I really admired the way Ellen Pierce remained by her brother’s side and took care of him despite the cruel way he treated her. During their long and deadly trek to Dawson City she put up with him and stayed behind with him when he became sick. Ellen felt bad that she was relieved when her brother died. I guess many of would have felt that way after being treated so cruelly by a person.

Buck Lewis made the voyagers feel confident that they would make it to Dawson City in spite of the cold and lack of food. He was strong and courageous with a tender heart, which is why Ellen Pierce found a place in his heart when he witnessed how her brother treated her. He admired her strength and integrity and came to care for her.

I really loved the ending; it was so sweet and romantic the way Buck made Ellen’s dreams come true and made her feel special and loved.

A review copy of this book was provided by publisher.

In Every Heartbeat by Kim Vogel Sawyer

2010-11-13T03:47:00.000-06:00

About the book:

Three best friends, three cherished dreams, three searching hearts...

As three friends who grew up in the same orphanage head off to college together, they each harbor a special plan for the future. Libby Conley hopes to become a famous journalist. Pete Leidig believes God has called him to study to become a minister. And Bennett Martin plans to pledge a fraternity, find a place to belong, and have as much fun as possible. But as tensions rise around the world on the brink of World War I, the friends' differing aspirations and opinions begin to divide them, as well.

When Libby makes a shocking discovery about Pete's family, will it drive a final wedge between the friends or bond them in ways they never anticipated?

Rachel's Review:

An interesting story of three friends who went off to make their way in the world. It touched me the way Libby, Pete, and Bennet, stuck together and stood up for each other. They were three individuals who did not let the rest of the college students dictate their minds and lives.

All three had a difficult and harsh childhood and I guess that helped form them into strong and independent young people. Each had their struggles and their way of working them out but I admired Pete especially. He was considered a cripple with the loss of his one leg and he struggles with feelings of bitterness over it and from being abandoned by his parents; but he didn’t let it overcome him. He was a respectful and ambitious young man and everyone looked up to him, especially Libby. Libby quickly realized that nobody wanted a woman journalist and reporter and had to lower her standards and write for magazines.

Libby’s life was driven by her need to be recognized and needed by someone, but her love and esteem for Pete changed her and made her realize what really mattered.

I was proud of Pete for going out and looking for his family and despite them abandoning him, Pete reached out to them and gave them a better life. He and Libby changed the life of Pete’s family forever.

A review copy of this book was provided by publisher.

Within My Heart by Tamera Alexander

2010-11-13T03:32:00.000-06:00

Aboout the book:

Sometimes the greatest step of faith is taken neck-deep in fear.

Determined to fulfill her late husband's dream, Rachel Boyd struggles to keep her ranch afloat with the help of her two young sons. But some days it feels as though her every effort is sabotaged. When faced with a loss she cannot afford, she's forced to trust Rand Brookston, the one man in Timber Ridge she wishes to avoid. And with good reason. He's a physician, just like her father, which tells her everything she needs to know about him. Or so she thinks....

Dr. Rand Brookston ventured west with the dream of bringing modern medicine to the wilds of the Colorado Rockies, but the townspeople have been slow to trust him. Just as slow in coming is Rand's dream to build the town a proper clinic. When a patient's life is threatened, Rand makes a choice—one that sends ripples through the town of Timber Ridge. And through Rachel Boyd's stubborn heart.

From the beloved, bestselling author of From a Distance and Beyond This Moment comes an unforgettable story about faith in the face of fear, about tarnished hopes and second chances, and ultimately about the resilient courage and tenacity of hearts broken——and mended——by love.

Rachel's Review:

From the first word the story kept me captivated. The prologue gave me goose bumps even though at the time I didn’t quite understand what purpose it was going to serve in the book.

After the previous book I couldn’t wait to read Rachel’s story and it sure didn’t disappoint me. Rachel was the same headstrong and independent woman and I wanted to shake some sense into her for the way she blamed her former best friend Daniel for her husband’s death. I guess we all want someone to blame when tragedy strikes; we want to take our anger and grief out on someone.

Dr. Rand Brookston admired Rachel and secretly felt himself drawn to her. He had memories from his past coming back to haunt him. Rand and Rachel needed to overcome their differences and past and see what the future held for them. Rachel needed to see that all doctors weren’t like her father and see Rand for the compassionate and considerate young man that he was.

I think all you Tamera Alexander fans won’t be disappointed in Within My Heart.

A review copy of this book was provided by the publisher.

Almost Heaven by Chris Fabry

2010-11-10T16:41:00.000-06:00

About the book:

Billy Allman is a hillbilly genius. People in Dogwood, West Virginia, say he was born with a second helping of brains and a gift for playing the mandolin but was cut short on social skills. Though he’d gladly give you the shirt off his back, they were right. Billy longs to use his life as an ode to God, a lyrical, beautiful bluegrass song played with a finely tuned heart. So with spare parts from a lifetime of collecting, he builds a radio station in his own home. People in town laugh. But Billy carries a brutal secret that keeps him from significance and purpose. Things always seem to go wrong for him.

However small his life seems, from a different perspective Billy’s song reaches far beyond the hills and hollers he calls home. Malachi is an angel sent to observe Billy. Though it is not his dream assignment, Malachi follows the man and begins to see the bigger picture of how each painful step Billy takes is a note added to a beautiful symphony that will forever change the lives of those who hear it.

My Thoughts:

You know, this isn’t just an incredible story. If I could write like Chris Fabry, I would scour high and low to get my material published. Second paragraph, chapter one reads like this:

“I believe every life has hidden songs that hang by twin threads of music and memory. I believe in the songs that have never been played for another human soul. I believe they run between the rocks and along the creekbeds of our lives. These are songs that cannot be heard by anything but the soul. They sometimes run dry or spill over the banks until we find ourselves wading through them.”

I think I read that ten times. Not only is that beautifully poetic. It etches, calls into your soul, ringing with truth. This passage is a classic example of Chris Fabry’s gifted hand.

Every year I read two or three books I find it very hard to write a review on. They are so powerful that I cannot put into words what I feel about them. Almost Heaven is such a book. Last year I read June Bug, also penned by Chris Fabry. This one falls somewhat into a different category but if I could give it a ten star review, I would. And like June Bug, it has left a lasting impression on me.

I sometimes wonder why the Lord asks more of some people then of others. I’ve wondered that many times thru out my life. The pain, suffering and attacks by evil that Billy endured broke my heart. It must take a special grace to walk thru fire like that. And I know that the Word of God teaches us that “whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,” but I really couldn’t put myself in Billy’s shoes.

Another thing that spoke powerfully to me throughout this story was the portions spoken from an angel’s perspective. Malachi was Billy’s charge, protecting him from a very young age from harm and evil. If you’re a fan of C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters, these conversations will speak to you. I loved this section. Included are dialogues between Malachi and the evil forces trying to thwart Billy. This isn’t merely a product of the author’s imagination, in Daniel chapter 10 we can read that the warrior angel Michael came to Daniel and accounted of a battle between the forces of good and evil. Evil was attempting to hinder the answering of Daniel’s prayers. Pretty sobering stuff. It’s really opens your eyes as to what’s going on outside our ‘realm.’ Our Savior must have an awesome love to fight for his children like that…I cannot fathom it.

My name is going inside the cover of this book. Most differently one of the best reads of 2010.

A copy of this book was provided for review by Glass Road Media.

Amy Inspired by Bethany Pierce

2010-11-07T13:07:00.000-06:00

With rejections piling up, she could use just a little inspiration...

Amy Gallagher, aspiring writer, has an unabashed obsession with words. She gave up a steady, albeit unexciting, job to pursue a life of writing. However, two years and one master's degree later, she finds herself almost exactly right back where she started. Discouraged by the growing pile of rejections from publishers and afraid that she has settled, Amy knows something has to change.

Then she meets the mysterious, attractive, and unavailable Eli. Amy finds herself struggling to walk the fine line between friendship and something more with Eli, even as she tries to cope with the feeling that her friends and family are moving on without her. When the unexpected begins pouring in, Amy doubts the love and fulfillment she seeks will ever come her way. Forced to take a close look at who she has become, the state of her faith, and her aspirations for her life, she must make a choice: play it safe yet again or finally find the courage to follow her dreams.

My Thoughts:

Reading this novel I was reminded why I don’t read much contemporary Christain fiction novels of this sort. One or two a year more than satisfy my appetite.

I’m not saying this book wasn’t good, it was certainly interesting enough…or maybe I should say it certainly did its part in educating me in secular Christendom. There were about a thousand thoughts in this book I couldn’t agree with. I know that my conservative, sheltered upbringing plays a part in my alienation from mainstream Christian thinking of today, but nonetheless, I thought the Christian message of this book shallow and mostly empty.

The book was fairly well written, I did finish it. But it was melancholy and had an air of lonesomeness that I feel the author never conquered. It felt like the main character never secured or overcame her troubled thought-life, which also played out in her real life. The more admirable characters lifestyles weren’t disciplined or structured either. It seemed they just lived, you didn’t know if they were coming or going.

If the message of this book is indeed what Christianity is all about, it’s troubling. No wonder there is such a falling away from the Christian faith. And we all have bad days where we wonder what this life is all about, but shouldn’t we have an overall victorious perspective?

I really wouldn’t know for what reason I’d recommend this book.

A copy of this book was provided by the publisher.

Where Hearts are Free by Golden Keyes Parsons

2010-11-04T17:08:00.000-05:00

Book Description

The odds are stacked against Bridget and Philippe reuniting. But God has a plan for them if they'll only believe.

It’s 1687, in the burgeoning town of Philadelphia, and for seven years, Bridget Barrington has watched with growing affection as Philippe Clavell worked as an indentured servant for her father, a wealthy landowner.

Her father rejects her request for Philippe to be a potential suitor as he has none of the qualities Mr. Barrington hoped for his daughter's future husband, the least of which is a respectable income.

Heartbroken, Bridget accedes to her parents’ wishes and gets engaged to a man she does not love. However, Bridget's husband-to-be does not love her, but only her wealth.

But there's always light in the midst of darkness for those who have faith. This stunning historical romance concludes the gripping Darkness to Light series.

Rachel's Review:

Should we follow our hearts and face rejection or should we do what is expected of us? That’s a universal question that everyone has to face. Bridget Barrington was stuck between the man she loved and following her parents wishes. Phillipe Clavell had to choose between the woman he loved and his freedom.

Bridget and Phillipe both made the choice that most people make to avoid conflict. Bridget gave up on Phillipe and agreed to marry the man her parents choose for her and Phillipe agreed to stay away from Bridget and gain his freedom.

Bridget had resigned herself to her fate and reluctantly agreed to an engagement to a man much older than she and too prissy for her taste. As their engagement continued Bridget realized what a cruel and immoral man she was marrying and wanted to get out. Phillipe realized that freedom wasn’t the same without the woman he loved and went back to rescue her.

I enjoyed every word as the story unfolded. The sweet romance and tragic events kept me intrigued. I learned that doing what people expect of us isn’t always the right way and that we should follow the heart where it leads.

**This book was made available for review by publisher.

FIRST Presents Finding Becky by Martha Rogers

2010-11-02T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Martha Rogers

and the book:

Finding Becky

Realms (October 5, 2010)

***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Book Group | Strang Communications for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Martha Rogers is a former schoolteacher and English instructor whose first book in the Winds Across the Prairie series, Becoming Lucy, became an immediate best seller. Morning for Dove (May 2010) is the second book in this series. Her book Not on the Menu is a part of Sugar and Grits, a novella collection with DiAnn Mills, Janice Thompson, and Kathleen Y’Barbo. Rogers lives with her husband in Houston, Texas.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 5, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616380241
ISBN-13: 978-1616380243

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Oklahoma Territory, June 9, 1905

Rebecca Haynes slammed her book shut. If those children didn’t quiet down soon, she would scream. A mother ought to be able to control her own young ones, but the haggard, worn look of the woman across the aisle told Rebecca that the problem was more than unruly children. She was just the type of woman Rebecca hoped to liberate in her efforts with the women’s suffrage movement. The landscape outside the train window sped by, drawing Rebecca closer to home with each clack of the wheels. To this point the journey had been quite pleasant, but when the mother with her brood of three had joined the travelers, all peace disappeared. Not that she blamed the mother, but the commotion was bothersome. Rebecca turned her attention to the youngsters. They had quieted down some, but the two older ones still roamed the aisles while the baby whimpered in her mother’s arms. She loved children, but she preferred the well-mannered, quiet ones like the cousins she’d met during her stay in Boston. A deep sigh escaped. How she would miss the friends she’d made while in college at Wellesley. Her aunt Clara had made sure she would have the best education possible, and Rebecca had loved every minute of it, but it was now time to go home and see what a difference she could make in the world.

She mused at the similarity of her situation with that of Lucy Starnes, one of her cousins from Boston now living in Barton Creek. Just as Lucy had come to live in Oklahoma Territory to live with her aunt and uncle, Rebecca had traveled to Boston to live with an aunt and uncle there. The difference being that Lucy’s parents had died, forcing her to move out West to live with family. Rebecca had gone back East to further her education and get to know her father’s family.

Now she was headed home to Barton Creek, where she hoped to begin the steps toward a career in journalism. Mr. Lansdowne, her new boss, had balked at first at the idea of having a female reporter working for him, but then he’d relented and hired her. Her father was bound to have had some influence there, but that didn’t matter. She had the job, and if she did it right, she’d be ready for a larger city paper when the opportunity arose.

A hand tugged at her skirt. A blond-haired little boy gripped the fabric with grubby fingers. She glanced over at the weariness in the face of the mother and realized the load carried by the young woman was taking its toll. Instead of scolding the child, Rebecca’s heart softened, and she took matters into her own hands. She grasped the boy’s hand in hers and removed it from her skirt, thankful for the gloves she wore. His bright blue eyes opened wide in surprise. “And what is your name, young master?”

At first he said nothing. He tilted his head as though deciding if it would be all right to answer. A grin revealed a space in his bottom row of teeth. “I’m Billy, and I’m six.”

“Hello, Billy. That’s a fine name.”

A little girl wedged her way next to Rebecca. “My name is Sally, and I’m six years old too. What’s your name?”

A smile filled Rebecca’s heart, her previous vexation gone. The two were twins. No wonder the mother had her hands full. Her heart filled with sympathy. “My name is Rebecca.”

The twins looked at each other, then back to Rebecca. As one voice they said, “We like that name. Can you tell us a story?”

“Children, please don’t bother the young lady.” The mother cast an apologetic frown toward Rebecca.

“That’s all right. I’ll tell them a story.” Doing so would give their mother a much-needed break to take care of the baby.

The mother rewarded her with a relieved smile. Rebecca reached down and lifted Sally to her lap while Billy climbed up beside her. Since she planned to be a writer, Rebecca decided to make up her own story for the two. As she wove the tale of two children on a great adventure across the plains in a covered wagon, Sally’s and Billy’s heads began to nod.

The young woman across the aisle laid her now sleeping baby on the seat and came to Rebecca’s side. “I’ll take them now.”

Though almost reluctant to let her go, Rebecca handed Sally to the mother, then picked up Billy. She followed the two back to their seats. The mother laid Sally on the seat facing her own, then picked up the baby. “You can put Billy by his sister.”

“Do you mind if I sit here and hold him? You must have your hands full with the three of them.”

A tentative smile formed. “That would be nice.”

Rebecca settled herself and shifted Billy so that his weight was more evenly distributed. Just as she craved to speak with another woman, the young mother might enjoy the same. “My name is Rebecca Haynes, and I’m going to Barton Creek.”

The weariness left the woman’s eyes, replaced with a sparkle of excitement. “I’m Ruth Dorsett, and I’m headed for Barton Creek myself.”

Rebecca searched her memory for a recollection of a Dorsett family in Barton Creek. Of course, in the four years she’d been gone, many new families had moved to the town. “I grew up there. Are you visiting, or do you live there now?”

A sadness veiled Ruth’s face. “My husband passed on a few months ago, so we’re going there to live with my parents.”

A lump formed in Rebecca’s throat. “I’m so sorry about your husband. Who are your parents? Perhaps I know them.”

“Their name is Weems. Ma owns a dressmaking shop, and Pa works in the telegraph office.”

“Oh, I do know them. I remember when Mrs. Weems opened her business. We were so glad to have someone who could keep us up-to-date on the latest fashions. She does wonderful work.”

“Thank you. They heard about the opportunities in Oklahoma Territory and moved there when Pa learned they would open a new telegraph office in Barton Creek.”

“Business is doing quite well for your mother. Will you be helping her?”

“Most definitely. Ma taught me to sew at an early age, and I’ve been doing it for my family. I was learning to be a nurse when I met my husband, a doctor, and quit to marry him. I helped with his practice until our babies came along, and then gave assistance whenever I could. Henry was killed in an accident with his buggy going out to deliver a baby on a stormy night. After he passed on, I didn’t know where to turn. I didn’t have the time or money to finish my nurse’s training. The people in Glasson, Kansas, were so helpful, but they weren’t family. After a few months, Ma insisted that I come live with her. She’s delighted to have her grandchildren so close.”

What a small world. Rebecca marveled at the coincidence. The people in Barton Creek were going to love Ruth and these adorable children who had captured Rebecca’s own heart with their big blue eyes and captivating smiles. Now that Aunt Clara lived in town as Doc Carter’s wife, she would certainly spoil them if Mrs. Weems didn’t, and Ruth couldn’t be much older than Lucy. They would be great friends, and Doc Carter could probably use her nursing skills.

The young woman’s desire to work with her mother in business and her nurse’s training impressed Rebecca. If more women would be willing to take charge and seek careers besides baking, cooking, and taking care of children and husbands, more would be willing to join the movement to secure voting privileges for women. Perhaps she could convince Ruth to join the fight. Women had as much right to have a say in who ran the government as any man.

“The twins told me they are six, but how old is the baby?”

Ruth eyed the sleeping child. “Emma is fifteen months old and just started walking without falling every few steps.”

“They’re all beautiful children.” Talking with Ruth reminded her of the story she wanted to write for the editor of the Barton Creek Chronicle. If she were going to be a success at the newspaper, she must show her capabilities right away. “Ruth, if you will excuse me, I have some work I must do before our destination. We’ll talk again later, and I’m happy to already find a new friend in Barton Creek.”

“So am I. It’ll be nice to have someone I can visit with and talk to on occasion.”

Rebecca placed the still sleeping Billy beside Sally. “I look forward to it.” Someday in the distant future she might have such a family, but at the moment her mission was to become the best reporter in Oklahoma Territory and then on to bigger and better opportunities in a larger city.

A grin spread across her face. No matter that she’d won the traditional Hoop Race at Wellesley. After her dunk in the fountain, she’d declared she would break the tradition and not be the first in the class to marry. Hoots and hollers from her fellow classmates told her they didn’t believe that. Let them laugh. She’d prove there was more to life for a woman than being a wife and mother. Although nothing was wrong with that, she simply wanted to see what the world had to offer before settling down, if she ever did.

Geoff Kensington studied the attractive young woman in the seat across from him. She had amazed him several times during this trip. First she’d been reading a book by Sarah Orne Jewett, then she befriended the children who had made enough noise to be heard across the prairie, and then she sat and spoke with their mother. Remarkable! None of the young women he’d known in Chicago would have had anything to with the children, much less their mother. Now the young lady furrowed her brow and stared at a tablet while she tapped a pencil against her cheek.

The stylish cut of her light brown gored skirt and braid-trimmed jacket was of a fashion he’d seen worn by women in the upper classes in Chicago, and it fit her form quite nicely. Her straw hat trimmed in matching ribbon and braid sat at a rakish angle on her upswept hair. He stroked his chin, trying to decide on the color of her hair. Finally he decided that it reminded him of the fine cherry furniture in his mother’s dining room.

In the conversation with the young mother, he had overheard her name, Rebecca Haynes. What a stroke of luck. She had to be kin to one of the men he hoped to meet on this trip. Ben Haynes, Sam Morris, and Jake Starnes were three of the most successful ranchers in the state, and he needed their support for the project he’d been assigned. Perhaps Miss Haynes was Ben’s daughter.

Geoff pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He had two hours to charm the lovely Miss Haynes before their arrival in Barton Creek. If his good fortune held out, the children would sleep until then, and he could have an uninterrupted conversation with her.

He stood and bowed. “Pardon me, Miss Haynes. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Geoffrey Kensington, spelled with a G, and I overheard you tell Mrs. Dorsett that you are going to Barton Creek. That is my destination also.”

Miss Haynes’s cheeks blushed pink. “Yes, Barton Creek is my home.” She smiled and indicated the seat next to her. “Please, Mr. Kensington, would you join me?”

“Thank you, I’d be honored. I do have many questions about the town.”

She laughed. “Ask away, but I haven’t been home for four years. I’ve been at college. Wellesley to be exact.”

So, Miss Haynes was not only pretty but well educated too. What a stroke of good fortune to have chosen the same train for the final leg of his journey. “That is a fine school for young women. What are your plans now?”

Her smile only served to accent her beauty. “I’m going to be a reporter for the Barton Creek Chronicle. It’s a weekly newspaper now, but Mr. Lansdowne hopes to publish it more often in the coming year.”

“How interesting. I’ve heard that more women are going into the field of journalism these days. Are you a supporter of the suffrage movement?”

Her eyes, more green than brown, opened wide with excitement. “Oh, yes, I am. I’ve read everything I can about Susan Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Carrie Chapman Catt. Did you know Mrs. Catt has been in Oklahoma, and that women here almost had voting rights granted to them in 1899? And she worked for a newspaper for awhile too. She’s wonderful.”

“Those are all fascinating women.” The animation now in her expressive hands and eyes beguiled him and reminded him of his sister, who was near Rebecca’s age. Even if he didn’t support the movement, he could appreciate her enthusiasm. It might even be a help to him in the business he had in Barton Creek. “Are you related to Ben Haynes, the cattle rancher?”

“I am his daughter. His aunt Clara is the one who insisted that I go back East to go to college. Both of my parents are originally from Boston.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting that city. I’ve spent most of my time in Chicago and St. Louis. But at the moment I’m more interested in Barton Creek.” And the attractive young woman seated with him.

“Then I shall be happy to share my town with you.”

Her voice had a musical quality that enchanted Geoff. This assignment would be the best one yet in his career. “I have business with your father regarding a cattle purchase. Perchance you will be able to introduce me to him when we arrive.”

“Oh, yes, I’d be delighted to do just that. Father has some of the best cattle to be found in the Territory.”

“Then I shall look forward to our meeting.” He grinned and sat back to enjoy her description of the people in Barton Creek.

Rob Frankston paced the platform at the train station. He flipped open his watch and read the numbers. Two minutes since he last looked. The train was supposed to be on time, but he could neither see nor hear any indication of it coming on the tracks.

The Haynes clan and several friends milled about as a group near the depot, as anxious to see Becky as he was. Of course their reasons were far different from his. He’d waited four years for Becky to return to Barton Creek. He’d loved her since they were thirteen, but she never gave any indication of her feelings one way or the other in those last years of school. Her correspondence with him while he attended the University of Oklahoma indicated nothing more than friendship, and even those letters declined the past year.

When she had up and proclaimed her plans to go off to college in the East, he had to bite back his own disappointment. Aunt Clara spotted his hurt. She took him aside one day and, without naming Becky, told him that if he loved someone more than life itself and let her go her own way, true love would bring her back. He prayed that would be true with Becky’s return to Barton Creek.

The newspaper had announced her arrival with bold headlines in the weekly edition. Rob read of her accomplishments and shook his head. Becky had certainly grown up and made her contribution to activities at the college. After reading the account, even his mother had been impressed, and that was no easy task.

He raked a hand through his dark hair and resumed his pacing.

Matt Haynes, Becky’s brother, made his way toward Rob. The tall, lanky cowboy had captured his sister Caroline’s heart, but he seemed in no hurry to court her.

Matt stretched out his hand in greeting. “I see you’ve decided to join us in welcoming Becky. She’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so, but she hasn’t written to me much this past year, so perhaps she’s forgotten her friends here.”

Matt laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. She was probably busy with all those things the paper said she did at Wellesley. You know our Becky. When she’s involved in something, she gives it all she’s got.”

Yes, he did know, and that was one of the things Rob loved about her. Back in their school days here, she had always been a leader and one to speak her mind and do things her own way. She could ride and herd cattle as well as any man on the ranch, but then could appear as a beautiful young lady on Sundays at church.

“She is really someone special.” He sighed. “I hope your father thinks I’m good enough for her.”

With hands on his hips, Matt chuckled. “You won’t have any problem there. You’re gaining a fine reputation in the law firm.”

Rob couldn’t be so sure about that. What with all the run-ins his mother had with Becky’s mother, the Haynes family might not be so interested in letting him become a member, good reputation or not. As the mayor’s wife, his mother may think it her duty to set high social standards and be particular about the people with whom her children associated, but he didn’t intend to let her run his life.

In the distance a train whistle sounded, and Matt nodded toward his family. “Come on over and join us. Be a part of our welcoming party.”
Rob grinned. “Think I’d like that.” He followed Matt back to the group. In the next half hour he’d know whether he still had a chance with Becky. If not, then he’d spend day and night winning her love no matter what anyone may say or do.

For You They Signed by Marilyn Boyer

2010-10-29T08:39:00.000-05:00

Book Description:

In 1776, 56 men signed their names on a document that they knew might well mean their certain deaths as traitors to England. Standing on principles of faith and liberty, these men forged a powerful call for freedom and human dignity still resonating today in America. Yet, historical revisionists have distorted or attempted to wipe away every trace of this nation's Christian heritage, including the heartfelt faith of these founding fathers.

More than simply facts and figures, For You They Signed provides an abundance of resources within one volume, including:
• A full year of life-changing, challenging family or group devotional character studies
• Over 90 illustrations, biographical summaries, and insightful quotes
• Character quality definitions, Patrick Henry's speech delivered to the signers, the Christian nature of state constitutions, and the Christian nature of America's universities.

The Declaration of Independence remains one of history's most enduring achievements, and this text will help you value those freedoms these men fought for in an insightfully fresh way. It will also assist you in catching the God-given vision of these faithful new Americans, igniting a fire for your family, community, and the generations to come. Here is a volume that should be found in every private and public library in America... a meticulously documented look back to the true birth of our nation.

They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor so that we could be free!

My Thoughts:

I cannot imagine the enormous amount of research that must’ve been done for this project. Must have taken years to accumulate what was needed to author a book like this. It is a treasure and it couldn’t have been more timely. We live in a time with the basis on which this great country was founded on is in danger by those that hold the highest of offices. It’s not just the president and his very questionable administration, it’s our government, the high and mighty we elect to speak for us in Washington. I tell you one thing; they have little in common with these men.

So how many writers of the Declaration of Independence can you name? About three, right? Same here! I think I came up with five. The rest are just names I would have passed over in passing. That’s why you need this book for your library. It’s an in-depth look into every writer’s life. All 56 of them! Like I said, the research done for this book must have been tedious. It really is quite something…I got goose bumps reading it. It’s not meant to be read thru in one or two sittings. It’s really considered a textbook, coming in the form of a study guide. It’s a valuable resource for you and your students as they endeavor to understand the fundamental principals upon which we were founded on.

Highly recommended!

This book was made available for review by New Leaf Press.

FIRST Presents Uncertain Heart by Andrea Boeshaar

2010-10-25T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar

and the book:

Uncertain Heart (Seasons of Redemption, Book 2)

Realms (October 5, 2010)

***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Book Group | Strang Communications for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar is a certified Christian life coach and speaks at writers’ conferences and for women’s groups. She has taught workshops at such conferences as: Write-To-Publish; American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW); Oregon Christian Writers Conference; Mount Hermon Writers Conference and many local writers conferences. Another of Andrea’s accomplishments is co-founder of the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) organization. For many years she served on both its Advisory Board and as its CEO.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 5, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616380233
ISBN-13: 978-1616380236

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Milwaukee, Wisconsin, June 1866

Stepping off the train, her valise in hand, Sarah McCabe eyed her surroundings. Porters hauled luggage and shouted orders to each other. Reunited families and friends hugged while well-dressed businessmen, wearing serious expressions, walked briskly along.
Mr. Brian Sinclair . . .
Sarah glanced around for the man she thought might be him. When nobody approached her, she ambled to the front of the train station where the city was bustling as well. What with all the carriages and horse-pulled streetcars coming and going on Reed Street, it was all Sarah could do just to stay out of the way. And yet she rejoiced in the discovery that Milwaukee was not the small community she’d assumed. There was not a farm in sight, and it looked nothing like her hometown of Jericho Junction, Missouri.
Good. She breathed a sigh and let her gaze continue to wander. Milwaukee wasn’t all that different from Chicago, where she’d visited and hoped to teach music in the fall. The only difference she could see between the two cities was that Milwaukee’s main streets were cobbled, whereas most of Chicago’s were paved with wooden blocks.
Sarah squinted into the morning sunshine. She wondered which of the carriages lining the curb belonged to Mr. Sinclair. In his letter he’d stated that he would meet her train. Sarah glanced at her small watch locket: 9:30 a.m. Sarah’s train was on time this morning. Had she missed him somehow?
My carriage will be parked along Reed Street, Mr. Sinclair had written in the letter in which he’d offered Sarah the governess position. I shall arrive the same time as your train: 9:00 a.m. The letter had then been signed: Brian Sinclair.
Sarah let out a sigh and tried to imagine just what she would say to her new employer once he finally came for her. Then she tried to imagine what the man looked like. Older. Distinguished. Balding and round through the middle. Yes, that’s what he probably looked like.
She eyed the crowd, searching for someone who matched the description. Several did, although none of them proved to be Mr. Sinclair. Expelling another sigh, Sarah resigned herself to the waiting.
Her mind drifted back to her hometown of Jericho Junction, Missouri. There wasn’t much excitement to be had there. Sarah longed for life in the big city, to be independent and enjoy some of the refinements not available at home. It was just a shame the opportunity in Chicago didn’t work out for her. Well, at least she didn’t have to go back. She’d found this governess position instead.
As the youngest McCabe, Sarah had grown tired of being pampered and protected by her parents as well as her three older brothers―Benjamin, Jacob, and Luke―and her older sisters, Leah and Valerie. They all had nearly suffocated her―except for Valerie. Her sister-in-law was the only one who really understood her. Her other family members loved her too, but Sarah felt restless and longed to be out on her own. So she’d obtained a position at a fine music academy in Chicago―or so she’d thought. When she arrived in Chicago, she was told the position had been filled. But instead of turning around and going home, Sarah spent every last cent on a hotel room and began scanning local newspapers for another job. That’s when she saw the advertisement. A widower by the name of Brian Sinclair was looking for a governess to care for his four children. Sarah answered the ad immediately, she and Mr. Sinclair corresponded numerous times over the last few weeks, she’d obtained permission from her parents―which had taken a heavy amount of persuasion―and then she had accepted the governess position. She didn’t have to go home after all. She would work in Milwaukee for the summer. Then for the fall, Mr. Withers, the dean of the music academy in Chicago, promised there’d be an opening.
Now, if only Mr. Sinclair would arrive.
In his letter of introduction he explained that he owned and operated a business called Sinclair and Company: Ship Chandlers and Sail-makers. He had written that it was located on the corner of Water and Erie Streets. Sarah wondered if perhaps Mr. Sinclair had been detained by his business. Next she wondered if she ought to make her way to his company and announce herself if indeed that was the case.
An hour later Sarah felt certain that was indeed the case!
Reentering the depot, she told the baggage man behind the counter that she’d return shortly for her trunk of belongings and, aft er asking directions, ventured off for Mr. Sinclair’s place of business.
As instructed, she walked down Reed Street and crossed a bridge over the Milwaukee River. Then two blocks east and she found herself on Water Street. From there she continued to walk the distance to Sinclair and Company.
She squinted into the sunshine and scrutinized the building from where she stood across the street. It was three stories high, square in shape, and constructed of red brick. Nothing like the wooden structures back home.
Crossing the busy thoroughfare, which was not cobbled at all but full of mud holes, Sarah lifted her hems and climbed up the few stairs leading to the front door. She let herself in, a tiny bell above the door signaling her entrance.
“Over here. What can I do for you?”
Sarah spotted the owner of the voice that sounded quite automatic in its welcome. She stared at the young man, but his gaze didn’t leave his ledgers. She noted his neatly parted straight blond hair―as blond as her own―and his round wire spectacles.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Sinclair.”
The young man looked up and, seeing Sarah standing before his desk, immediately removed his glasses and stood. She gauged his height to be about six feet. Attired nicely, he wore a crisp white dress shirt and black tie, although his dress jacket was nowhere in sight and his shirtsleeves had been rolled to the elbow.
“Forgive me.” He sounded apologetic, but his expression was one of surprise. “I thought you were one of the regulars. They come in, holler their orders at me, and help themselves.”
Sarah gave him a courteous smile.
“I’m Richard Navis,” he said, extending his hand. “And you are . . . ?”
“Sarah McCabe.” She placed her hand in his and felt his firm grip.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McCabe.”
“Miss,” she corrected.
“Ahhh . . . ” His deep blue eyes twinkled. “Then more’s the pleasure, Miss McCabe.” He bowed over her hand in a regal manner, and Sarah yanked it free as he chuckled.
“That was very amusing.” She realized he’d tricked her in order to check her marital status. The cad. But worse, she’d fallen for it! Th e oldest trick in the book, according to her three brothers.
Richard chuckled, but then put on a very businesslike demeanor. “And how can I help you, Miss McCabe?”
“I’m looking for Mr. Sinclair, if you please.” Sarah noticed the young man’s dimples had disappeared with his smile.
“You mean the captain? Captain Sinclair?”
“Captain?” Sarah frowned. “Well, I don’t know . . . ”
“I do, since I work for him.” Richard grinned, and once more his dimples winked at her. “He manned a gunboat on the Mississippi during the war and earned his captain’s bars. When he returned from service, we all continued to call him Captain out of respect.”
“ I see.” Sarah felt rather bemused. “All right . . . then I’m looking for Captain Sinclair, if you please.”
“Captain Sinclair is unavailable,” Richard stated with an amused spark in his eyes, and Sarah realized he’d been leading her by the nose since she’d walked through the door. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do with the likes of me.”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Mr. Navis, you will not do at all. I need to see the captain. It’s quite important, I assure you. I wouldn’t bother him otherwise.”
“My apologies, Miss McCabe, but the captain’s not here. Now, how can I help you?”
“You can’t!”
The young man raised his brows and looked taken aback by her sudden tone of impatience. This couldn’t be happening. Another job and another closed door. She had no money to get home, and wiring her parents to ask for funds would ruin her independence forever in their eyes.
She crossed her arms and took several deep breaths, wondering what on Earth she should do now. She gave it several moments of thought. “Will the captain be back soon, do you think?” She tried to lighten her tone a bit.
Richard shook his head. “I don’t expect him until this evening. He has the day off and took a friend on a lake excursion to Green Bay. However, he usually stops in to check on things, day off or not . . . Miss McCabe? Are you all right? You look a bit pale.” A dizzying, sinking feeling fell over her.
Richard came around the counter and touched her elbow. “Miss McCabe?”
She managed to reach into the inside pocket of her jacket and pull out the captain’s last letter―the one in which he stated he would meet her train. She looked at the date . . . today’s. So it wasn’t she that was off but he!

“It seems that Captain Sinclair has forgotten me.” She felt a heavy frown crease her brow as she handed the letter to Richard.
He read it and looked up with an expression of deep regret. “It seems you’re right.”
Folding the letter carefully, he gave it back to Sarah. She accepted it, fretting over her lower lip, wondering what she should do next.
“I’m the captain’s steward,” Richard offered. “Allow me to fetch you a cool glass of water while I think of an appropriate solution.”
“Thank you.” Oh, this was just great. But at least she sensed Mr. Navis truly meant to help her now instead of baiting her as he had before.
Sitting down at a long table by the enormous plate window, Sarah smoothed the wrinkles from the pink-and-black skirt of her two-piece traveling suit. Next she pulled off her gloves as she awaited Mr. Navis’s return. He’s something of a jokester, she decided, and she couldn’t help but compare him to her brother Jake. However, just now, before he’d gone to fetch the water, he had seemed very sweet and thoughtful . . . like Ben, her favorite big brother. But Richard’s clean-cut, boyish good looks and sun-bronzed complexion . . . now they were definitely like Luke, her other older brother.
Sarah let her gaze wander about the shop. She was curious about all the shipping paraphernalia. But before she could really get a good look at the place, Richard returned with two glasses of water. He set one before Sarah, took the other for himself, and then sat down across the table from her.
He took a long drink. “I believe the thing to do,” he began, “is to take you to the captain’s residence. I know his housekeeper, Mrs. Schlyterhaus.”
Sarah nodded. It seemed the perfect solution. “I do appreciate it, Mr. Navis, although I hate to pull you away from your work.” She gave a concerned glance toward the books piled on the desk.
Richard just chuckled. “Believe it or not, Miss McCabe, you are a godsend. I had just sent a quick dart of a prayer to the Lord, telling Him that I would much rather work outside on a fine day like this than be trapped in here with my ledgers. Then you walked in.” He grinned. “Your predicament, Miss McCabe, will have me working out-of-doors yet!”
Sarah smiled, heartened that he seemed to be a believer. “But what will the captain have to say about your abandonment of his books?” She arched a brow.
Richard responded with a sheepish look. “Well, seeing this whole mess is hisfault, I suspect the captain won’t say too much at all.”
laughed in spite of herself, as did Richard. However, when their eyes met―sky blue and sea blue―an uncomfortable silence settled down around them.
was the first to turn away. She forced herself to look around the shop and then remembered her curiosity. “What exactly do you sell here?” She felt eager to break the sudden awkwardness.
“ Well, exactly,” Richard said, appearing amused, “we are ship chandlers and sail-makers and manufacturers of flags, banners, canvas belting, brewers’ sacks, paulins of all kinds, waterproof horse and wagon covers, sails, awnings, and tents.” He paused for a breath, acting quite dramatic about it, and Sarah laughed again. “We are dealers in vanilla, hemp, and cotton cordage, lath yarns, duck of all widths, oakum, tar, pitch, paints, oars, tackle, and purchase blocks . . . exactly!”
swallowed the last of her giggles and arched a brow. “That’s it?”
grinned. “Yes, well,” he conceded, “I might have forgotten the glass of water.”
Still smiling, she took a sip of hers. And in that moment she decided that she knew how to handle the likes of Richard Navis― tease him right back, that’s how. After all, she’d had enough practice with Ben, Jake, and Luke.
finished up their cool spring water, and then Richard went to hitch up the captain’s horse and buggy. When he returned, he unrolled his shirtsleeves, and finding his dress jacket, he put it on. Next he let one of the other employees know he was leaving by shouting up a steep flight of stairs, “Hey, there, Joe, I’m leaving for a while! Mind the shop, would you?”
She heard a man’s deep reply. “Will do.”
At last Richard announced he was ready to go. Their first stop was fetching her luggage from the train station. Her trunk and bags filled the entire backseat of the buggy.
“I noticed the little cross on the necklace you’re wearing. Forgive me for asking what might be the obvious, but are you a Christian, Miss McCabe?” He climbed up into the driver’s perch and took the horse’s reins.
“Why, yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“I always ask.”
“Hmm . . . ” She wondered if he insulted a good many folks with his plain speech. But in his present state, Richard reminded her of her brother Luke. “My father is a pastor back home in Missouri,” Sarah offered, “and two of my three brothers have plans to be missionaries out West.”
“And the third brother?”
“Ben. He’s a photographer. He and his wife, Valerie, are expecting their third baby in just a couple of months.”
“How nice for them.”
Nodding, Sarah felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She really hadn’t meant to share such intimacies about her family with a man she’d just met. But Richard seemed so easy to talk to, like a friend already. But all too soon she recalled her sister Leah’s words of advice: “Outgrow your garrulousness, lest you give the impression of a silly schoolgirl! You’re a young lady now. A music teacher.”
Sarah promptly remembered herself and held her tongue―until they reached the captain’s residence, anyway.
“What a beautiful home.” She felt awestruck as Richard helped her down from the buggy.
“A bit ostentatious for my tastes.”
Not for Sarah’s. She’d always dreamed of living in house this grand. Walking toward the enormous brick mansion, she gazed up in wonder.
The manse had three stories of windows that were each trimmed in white, and a “widow’s walk” at the very top of it gave the struca somewhat square design. The house was situated on a quiet street across from a small park that overlooked Lake Michigan. But it wasn’t the view that impressed Sarah. It was the house itself.
seemed to sense her fascination. “Notice the brick walls that are lavishly ornamented with terra cotta. The porch,” he said, reaching for her hand as they climbed its stairs, “is cased entirely with terra cotta. And these massive front doors are composed of complex oak millwork, hand-carved details, and wrought iron. The lead glass panels,” he informed her as he knocked several times, “hinge inward to allow conversation through the grillwork.”
“!” Sarah felt awestruck. She sent Richard an impish grin. “You are something of a walking textbook, aren’t you?”
Before he could reply, a panel suddenly opened, and Sarah found herself looking into the stern countenance of a woman who was perhaps in her late fifties.
“Hello, Mrs. Schlyterhaus.” Richard’s tone sounded neighborly.
“Mr. Navis.” She gave him a curt nod. “Vhat can I do for you?”
Sarah immediately noticed the housekeeper’s thick German accent.
“’ve brought the captain’s new governess. This is Miss Sarah McCabe.” He turned. “Sarah, this is Mrs. Gretchen Schlyterhaus.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Sarah tried to sound as pleasing as possible, for the housekeeper looked quite annoyed at the interruption.
“The captain said nussing about a new governess,” she told Richard, fairly ignoring Sarah altogether. “I know nussing about it.”
grimaced. “I was afraid of that.”
Wide-eyed, Sarah gave him a look of disbelief.
“Let’s show Mrs. Schlyterhaus that letter . . . the one from the captain.”
Sarah pulled it from her inside pocket and handed it over. Richard opened it and read its contents.
The older woman appeared unimpressed. “I know nussing about it.” With that, she closed the door on them.
Sarah’s heart crimped as she and Richard walked back to the carriage.
“Here, now, don’t look so glum, Sarah . . . May I call you Sarah?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” No governess position. No money. So much for showing herself an independent young woman. Her family would never let her forget this. Not ever! Suddenly she noticed Richard’s wide grin. “What are you smiling at?”
“It appears, Sarah, that you’ve been given the day off too.”

FIRST Presents Catching Moondrops by Jennifer Erin Valent

2010-10-18T01:00:00.000-05:00

What a book! What a series! Simply take my word of it and get this series for your library!

I don't like to read books about the South, especially not when it's a about the history of it...I can't make myself read books about slavery. And I don't like the language...I like the Old English stuff.

I did have to get used to the language and to be sure...it took grit for me to read this series but I will never be sorry. I did a lot of cheating because I couldn't stand not knowing what would happen next, so I read ahead.

The writing in the book is a craft. Purely. It's skilled and rich and alive. You will be in the South when you read this. The author had what it took to bring me into the story. I was there. I have an image of every character in my mind, I hated the evil in it and couldn't wait for the good to prevail. The evil is real, you sense the hatred in the people that are part of the Klu Klux Klan. But the people with goodness and goodwill and Jesus stood up to it and it made all the difference.

Three books. Powerful Storytelling. Order them today!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jennifer Erin Valent

and the book:

Catching Moondrops

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (September 20, 2010)

***Special thanks to Maggie Rowe of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jennifer Erin Valent is the 2007 winner of the Christian Writers Guild's Operation First Novel contest. A lifelong resident of the South, her surroundings help to color the scenes and characters she writes. In fact, the childhood memory of a dilapidated Ku Klux Klan billboard inspired her portrayal of Depression-era racial prejudice in Fireflies in December. She has spent the past 15 years working as a nanny and has dabbled in freelance, writing articles for various Christian women's magazines. She still resides in her hometown of Richmond, Virginia.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 384 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (September 20, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414333277
ISBN-13: 978-1414333274

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

There’s nothing in this whole world like the sight of a man swinging by his neck.

Folks in my parts liked to call it “lynching,” as if by calling it another word they could keep from feeling like murderers. Sometimes when they string a man up, they gather around like vultures looking for the next meal, staring at the cockeyed neck, the sagging limbs, their lips turning up at the corners when they should be turning down. For some people, time has a way of blurring the good and the bad, spitting out that thing called conscience and replacing it with a twisted sort of logic that makes right out of wrong.

Our small town of Calloway, Virginia, had that sort of logic in spades, and after the trouble it had caused my family over the years, I knew that better than most. But the violence had long since faded away, and my best friend Gemma would often tell me that made it okay—her being kept separate from white folks. “Long as my bein’ with your family don’t bring danger down on your heads, I’ll keep my peace and be thankful,” she’d say.

But I didn’t feel so calm about it all as Gemma did. Part of that was my stubborn temperament, but most of it was my intuition. I’d been eyeball to eyeball with pure hate more than once in my eighteen years, and I could smell it, like rotting flesh. Hate is a type of blindness that divides a man from his good sense. I’d seen it in the eyes of a Klansman the day he tried to choke the life out of me and in the eyes of the men who hunted down a dear friend who’d been wrongly accused of murder.

And, at times, I’d caught glimpses of it in my own heart.

The passage of time had done nothing to lessen its stench. And despite the relative peace, I knew full well that hearts poisoned by hateful thinking can only simmer for so long before boiling over.

In May of that year, 1938, that pot started bubbling.

I was on the front porch shucking corn when I saw three colored men turn up our walk, all linked up in a row like the Three Musketeers. I stood up, let the corn silk slip from my apron, and called over my shoulder. “Gemma! Come on out here.”

She must have been nearby because the screen door squealed open almost two seconds after my last words drifted in through the screen. “What is it?”

“Company. Only don’t look too good.” I walked to the top of the steps and shielded my eyes from the sun. “Malachi Jarvis! You got yourself into trouble again?”

The man in the middle, propped up like a scarecrow, lifted his chin wearily but managed to flash a smile that revealed bloodied teeth. “Depends on how you define trouble.”

Gemma gasped at the sight of him and flew down the steps, letting the door slam so loud the porch boards shook. “What in the name of all goodness have you been up to? You got some sort of death wish?”

A man I’d never seen before had his arm wound tightly beneath Malachi’s arms, blood smeared across his shirt front. Malachi’s younger brother, Noah, was on his other side, struggling against the weight, and Gemma came in between them to help.

“He ain’t got the good sense to keep his mouth shut, is all,” Noah said breathlessly.

I went inside to grab Momma’s first aid box, and by the time I got back out, Gemma had Malachi seated in the rocker.

Gemma gave him the once-over and shook her head so hard I thought it might fly off. “I swear, if you ain’t a one to push a body into an early grave. Your poor momma’s gonna lose her ever-lovin’ mind.”

Along with his younger brother and sister, Malachi lived down by the tracks with his widowed momma—as the man of the house, so to speak. He’d taken up being friends with Luke Talley some two years back when they’d both worked for the tobacco plant, and they’d remained close even though Luke had struck out on his own building furniture. Malachi was never one to keep his peace, a fact Gemma had no patience for, and she made it good and clear many a time. Today would be no exception.

“Goin’ around stirrin’ up trouble every which way,” she murmured as she pulled fixings out of the first aid box. “It’s one thing to pick fights with your own kind. Can’t say as though you wouldn’t benefit by a poundin’ or two every now and again. But this foolin’ around with white folks’ll get you into more’n you’re bargainin’ for.”

The man who’d helped Noah shoulder the burden of Malachi reached out to take the gauze from Gemma. “Why don’t you let me get that?”

Gemma didn’t much like being told what to do, and she glared at him. “I can clean up cuts and scrapes. I worked for a doctor past two years.”

Malachi nodded towards the man. “This here man is a doctor.”

I was putting iodine on a piece of cotton, and I near about dropped it on the floor when I heard that. Never in all my born days had I seen a colored man claiming to be a doctor. Neither had Gemma by the looks of her.

“A doctor?” she murmured. “You sure?”

He laughed and extended his hand to her. “Last I checked. Tal Pritchett. Just got into town yesterday. Gonna set up shop down by the tracks.”

Gemma handed the gauze over to him, still dumbfounded.

“What d’you think about that?” Malachi grinned and then grimaced the minute his split lip made its presence known. “A colored doc in Calloway. Shoo-whee. There’s gonna be talkin’ about this!”

The doctor went to work cleaning up Malachi’s wounds. “I ain’t here to start no revolution. I’m just aimin’ to help the colored folks get the help they deserve.”

“Well, you’re goin’ to start a revolution whether you want to or not.” Malachi shut his eyes and gritted his teeth the minute the iodine set to burning. “Folks in these parts don’t much like colored folk settin’ themselves up as smart or nothin’.”

Gemma watched Tal Pritchett like she was analyzing his every move, finding out for herself if he was a doctor or not. I stood by and let her assist him as she’d been accustomed to doing for Doc Mabley until he passed on two months ago. After he’d bandaged up Malachi’s right hand, she seemed satisfied that he was who he said.

Noah slumped down into the other rocker and watched. “It’s one thing to get yourself an education and stand for your right to make somethin’ of yourself. It’s another to go stirrin’ up trouble for the sake of stirrin’ up trouble.”

“I ain’t doin’ it for the sake of stirrin’ up trouble. I done told you that!” Malachi flexed his left hand to test how well his swollen fingers moved. Ain’t no colored man ever goin’ to be free in this here county . . . in this here state . . . in this here world unless somebody starts fightin’ for freedom.”

“Slaves was freed decades ago,” Noah said sharply. “We ain’t in shackles no more.”

“But we ain’t free to live our lives as we choose, neither. You think colored people are ever gonna be more’n house help and field help so long as we let ourselves be treated like less than white people? No sir. We’re less than human to them white folks. They don’t think nothin’ about killin’ so long as who they’re killin’ is colored.”

“Don’t you go bunchin’ all white people together, Malachi Jarvis,” I argued. “Ain’t all white folk got bad feelin’s about coloreds.”

Malachi waved me off in exasperation. “You know I ain’t talkin’ about you, Jessilyn.”

Noah had his hands tightly knotted in his lap and was staring at them like they held all the answers to the world’s problems. “All’s you’re doin’ is gettin’ yourself kicked around.” He looked up at me pleadingly. “This here’s the second time in a week he’s come home banged up.”

I put a hand on Noah’s shoulder and set my eyes on Malachi. “Who did it?”

He put his bandaged right hand into the air, palm up. “Who knows? Some white boys. You get surrounded by enough of ‘em, they all just blend in together like a vanilla milkshake.”

“How’s it you didn’t see them? They jump you or somethin’?”

“Don’t ask me, Jessie. I was just mindin’ my own business in town and then on my way home, they start hasslin’ me.”

“What he was doin’,” Noah corrected, “was tryin’ to get into the whites-only bar.”

Gemma sniffed in disgust. “Shouldn’t have been in no bar in the first place. There’s your first mistake.”

“Whites-only, too.” Noah kicked his foot against the porch rail and then looked up at me quickly. “Sorry.”

I smiled at him and turned my attention back to Malachi. “It’s a good thing Luke ain’t here to see this. He don’t like you drinkin’ and you know it.”

His eyeballs rolled between swollen lids. “I don’t know why he gets his trousers in a knot over it anyhow. Ain’t like there’s prohibition no more. And he’s been known to take a swig or two himself.”

“Luke says you’re a nasty drunk.”

“He is.” Noah knotted his hands back in his lap. “And he’s been at the bottle more often than not of late.”

“Quit tellin’ tales!” his brother barked.

“I ain’t tellin’ tales; I’m tellin’ truth. They can ask anybody at home how late you come in, and how you come in all topsy turvy. He comes home in the middle of the mornin’ and sleeps in till all hours the next day.”

“What about your job at the plant?” Gemma asked.

Malachi closed his eyes and waved her off, but his brother provided the answer for him. “Lost it!” He loosened his grip on his hands and snapped his fingers. “Like that. There’s goes his income.”

“I said I’ll get another job.”

“Oh, like there’s jobs aplenty around these parts for colored folk. And anyways, if you find one, how you gonna’ keep that one?”

Gemma had her hands on her hips, and I knew what that meant. I leaned back against the house and waited for the lecture to commence.

“You talk a fine talk about colored folks needin’ to stand up for equality, but you ain’t doin’ it in any way that’s right and good. You’re goin’ about town gettin’ people’s goat, and tryin’ to get in where you ain’t wanted, and gettin’ yourself all liquored up and useless. Now your family ain’t got the money they depend on you for, and why? Because you walk around livin’ like you ain’t got to do nothin’ for nobody but yourself.”

“I’m standin’ up for the rights of colored folks everywhere.” Malachi was angry now, pink patches spreading on his busted-up cheeks. “You see anyone else in this town willin’ to go toe to toe with the white boys in this county?”

“Don’t put a noble face on bein’ an upstart.”

Malachi pushed Tal’s hand away and sat up tall. “You call standin’ up to white folks bein’ an upstart?”

Doc Pritchett tried to dress the wound on Malachi’s temple, but Malachi pushed his hand away again. That was when the doctor had enough, and he smacked his hands on his thighs and stood up tall and determined in front of Malachi. “I ain’t Abraham Lincoln. I’m just Doc Pritchett tryin’ to fix up an ornery patient, and I ain’t got all day to do it. So I’m goin’ to settle this argument once and for all.” He pointed at Gemma. “She’s right. There ain’t no fightin’ nonsense with more nonsense, and all’s you’re doin’ by gettin’ in the faces of white folks with your smart attitude is bein’ as bad as they’re bein’.” Then he pointed at Malachi. “And he’s right, too. There ain’t never a change brought about that should be brought about without people standin’ up for such change. And sometimes that means bein’ willin’ to fight for what’s right.”

Gemma swallowed hard and didn’t even try to argue. My eyes must have bugged out of my head at the sight of her being tamed so easily.

“Now, I’m all for civil uprisin’,” Tal continued. “I don’t see nothin’ wrong with colored folk sayin’ they won’t be walked on no more. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with wantin’ to use the same bathroom as white folks or sit in the same chairs as white folks. Way I see it, none of that’s goin’ to change unless someone says it has to.” He squatted down in front of Malachi again and stared him down nose to nose. “But all this hot-shottin’ and show-boatin’ ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ but get your rear end kicked. Or worse. You aim to stand tall for somethin’? Fine. Stand tall for it. But don’t you go around thinkin’ these battle scars say somethin’ for you. You ain’t got them by bein’ noble; you got them by bein’ stupid. All’s these scars say is you’re an idiot.”

It was one of the best speeches I’d heard from anyone outside my daddy, and if I’d ever thought for two seconds put together to see a colored man run for governor, I figured Tal Pritchett would be the man for the job. As it was, I knew he was the best man for the job he had now. Sure enough, being a colored doc in Calloway would be a challenge. But I figured he was up for it.

Regardless, he shut Malachi up, and for the next five minutes we all watched him finish his job with skill and finesse. When he’d fixed the last of Malachi’s face, he stood up and clapped his hands. “Suppose that should do it. Don’t see need for any stitchin’ up today. Let’s hope there’s no cause for it in future.” Then he looked at me. “You got someplace out here where I can wash up?”

I held my hand out toward the front door. “Bathroom’s upstairs.”

He hesitated. “I’d just as soon wash up out here.”

I caught the reason for his hesitation but didn’t know what to say. As usual, Gemma did.

“I done lived in this here house for six years now, and I’m just as brown as you. You can feel free to go on up to the bathroom, you hear?”

He looked from Gemma to me, then back to Gemma before nodding. “Yes’m.” And then he disappeared inside.

“Ma’am,” Gemma muttered under her breath. “Ain’t old enough to be called ma’am, least of all by a man no more’n a few years older’n me.”

“You know what happens once you start gettin’ them crows feet . . .”

Gemma whirled about and gave Malachi the evil eye. “Don’t go thinkin’ I won’t hurt you just because you’re all bandaged up.”

Noah got up and paced the porch until Tal came back outside. “Doc, you have any problem gettin’ your schoolin’?”

Tal shrugged and leaned against the porch rail. “No more’n most, I guess. There’s a lot to learn. Why? You thinkin’ about goin’ to college?”

You could have heard a pin drop on that front porch. Never, and I mean never, in all the days Calloway had been on the map, had there ever been a single person, white or black, to step foot at a college. The very idea of that mark being made by a colored boy was a surefire way to start war.

And Noah knew it.

He looked at his feet and kicked the heel of one shoe against the toe of another. “Ain’t possible. I was just wonderin’ aloud, is all.”

“What do you mean it ain’t possible? All’s you’ve got to do is work hard. You can get scholarships and things.”

But Noah took a look at his brother, whose face was hard and tight-lipped, and nodded off toward the road. “Nah, there ain’t no use talkin’ over it. We’d best get home anyhow.”

Tal didn’t push the subject. He just picked his hat up off the porch swing and plopped it on his head. “Miss Jessie. Miss Gemma. It was a fine pleasure to meet you, and a kindness for you to give us a hand.”

“You should stop by sometime and meet my parents,” I said. “They’re off visitin’, but I’m sure they’d be right happy to know you.”

“I’m sure I’d be right happy to know them, too.” He turned his attention to Gemma. “You said you worked for a doctor?”

“I worked for Doc Mabley. He was a white doctor. Died some two months ago.”

“He let you assist?”

“Only with the colored patients. Doc Mabley was kind enough to help some of them out when they needed it. Otherwise I kept his records, kept up his stock.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Gemma, I could sure use some help if you’d be obliged. An assistant would be a good set of extra hands, and I could use someone known around here to make my introductions.”

Gemma eyed him up before slowly nodding her head. “Reckon I could.”

“Wouldn’t be much pay, now, you know. Ain’t likely to get much in the way of fees from the patients I’ll be treatin’.”

“Don’t matter so long as I have good work to put my hands to.”

“That it would be. My office is right across the street from the Jarvis house.”

Malachi snorted. “Shack’s more like it.”

“Room enough for me,” Tal said. Then to Gemma, “You think you could stop in sometime this week to talk it over?”

“I can come day after tomorrow if that suits.”

“Nine o’clock too early?”

“No, sir! I’ve kept farm hours all my life.”

He grinned at her. “Nine o’clock then?”

“Nine o’clock.”

Malachi watched the two of them with his swollen eyes, a look of disgust growing more evident on his face. He’d made no secret over the past year about his admiration for Gemma, and the unmistakable attraction that was growing between her and Tal was clearly turning his stomach.

“Mind if we go home?” he muttered. “Before I fall down dead or somethin’?”

Gemma tore her eyes away from Tal to roll them at Malachi. “Would serve you right if you did.”

“And on that cheery note . . .” Malachi groaned on his way down the steps. “I’ll bid you ladies a fine evenin’.”

I gave Noah a playful whack to the head, but he ducked so it only clipped the top. “Luke will be back home tomorrow evenin’. He’ll be itchin’ to see you, I’m sure.”

“I’m itchin’ to see him.” He took the steps in one leap, tossing dust up when he landed. “You tell him to come on by and see us real soon.”

“And tell him to bring his cards,” Malachi added. “He owes me a poker rematch.”

I squinted at him suspiciously. “Only if you play for beans.”

“I hate beans.”

Malachi leaned on Tal for support and Noah scurried to catch up and help. I watched them go, but I wasn’t thinking much about them. I was thinking about Luke. It had been two months since he’d left to collect customers for his furniture-making business, and every day had seemed like an eternity.

The very thought of him got my stomach butterflies to fluttering, but one look at Gemma told me it was another man who had stolen her attention. “That

Doc Pritchett’s a fine man.” I looked at her sideways with a smirk. “Looks about twenty-five or so.”

“So?”

“Good marryin’ age.”

She crossed her arms defiantly. “Jessilyn Lassiter, what’s that got to do with anythin’?”

“Only what I said. I’m only statin’ fact.”

“Mm-hm. I hear ya. You’d be better off keepin’ your facts to yourself.”

She grabbed the first aid box and headed inside, but the sound of that door slamming told me I’d got to her.

It told me Tal Pritchett had got to her, too.

This place, close to home...

2010-10-14T18:22:00.000-05:00

I knew I’d regret it.

I left Francine Rivers, Grace Livingston Hill and Paul Hutchens sitting on the thrift store shelf today. My fingers lingered on their worn spines, aching to claim them for a secure place on my ever-growing, constantly-dusty bookshelf. But I remembered the boxes of items we hauled out of the house a few weeks earlier. Unneeded, unwanted, unused items collecting dust year in year out. Fall house cleaning can make you leave sought after, collectors books on the thrift store shelf (and regret it later).

Besides, I have near a dozen books by those authors yet unread. So many books, so little time...

At the same thrift store a few weeks ago, Thomas and I browsed thru shelves of countless genres. Every now and then he’d reach for a book I recognized and hand it to me, wondering if it would be something worthwhile. Inwardly I cringed. I knew about the book, my hands had held it a mere week earlier. It was sitting on another bookshelf then…a bookshelf in my ever-dusty room (something I blame entirely on the books I haul home). I didn’t dare tell him the books were rejects from my personal shelf. No, not rejects. That’s rather a harsh word when talking about my books. But I knew I'd never read them. I further reasoned with myself that were my dreams to own a bookshop one day ever dawn upon some ancient, distance horizon…well, no use going there….by that time books, in their present state, will likely be a foggy memory to children. Hidden in their pockets will be some tiny gadget with millions of megapixels memory to store "books" in. The books I love to bring home to read in the quiet evenings will be no more. How utterly dreadful!

I take all my visiting friends to our local thrift store, but they don’t quite see the significance of it. Probably because I’ve been visiting alongside with it for close to a decade and we’re like old friends. I know which corners I want to visit first. And, almost like programmed radar, I must come to the book section twice. Never surprises me that I usually find a treasure the second time around. I’ve basically built our school library from that thrift shop, more or less. I have to give credit to the booksales I attend too as well. But first recognition goes to a thrift shop that, thirty years ago when it first opened for business, local folks laughed and said, “How will you survive for more than a few weeks? Everyone will have brought their unwanted stuff to you and what then?” Virginia told me that story on the 25^th anniversary of the store’s existence. It arouses a chuckle whenever I think of that…it’s the most successful, most thriving thrift store for miles around. It seriously amazes (and thrills) me!

The thrift store will bear witness to that fact that my local town was built by folks of strong Mennonite origin. You should see the German bibles I’ve gotten from there. I have one that's over a hundred years old. And dad’s dotes on this particular one I got for him. His favorite German dictionary was rescued from there as well. If I remember correctly, it cost me a whooping 0.45 cents. Of course, it could've been purchased on a half price day...?

Today in school during story time, I adorned a dress sewned the previous day. As children do, they admired and complimented it, wondering where I'd gotten it. I asked them to guess...eventually had to give them a hint...said it starts with the letter “C”. Knowing my fondness for the thrift store, one of my boys immediately connected the sound with the word “Salvage.” Not entirely correct but I got the biggest kick out of it.

Were you ever to come by this way for a spell, you can be sure I'll extend the invitation to, “come, and spend time at my favorite thrift shop.”

P.S. It’s half price this week.

P.P.S. They also sell some pretty incredible chocolate...

FIRST Presents Eat This and Live! For Kids by Don Colbert

2010-10-14T01:00:00.000-05:00

My thoughts:

If nutritious food were as attractive as the approach of this book, we'd all be health nuts!!

That's the first thing that caught my attention about it. The other thing that I'm almost positive about is that were I to put this book in any child's bookshelf, they would actually take it read it. It's printed in bright, attractive colors that are SURE to capture their interest. Everything is in small, but meaningful, tidbits. (Kind of like an early children's encyclopedia). It's actually inspiring...and insightful...not to mention educational.

This is a health book you'd actually read...and better yet, your child!

Recommended!

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Don Colbert

and the book:

Eat This and Live! For Kids

Siloam; 1 edition (September 7, 2010)

***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Book Group | Strang Communications for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Don Colbert, MD, is board-certified in family practice and anti-aging medicine and has received extensive training in nutritional and preventative medicine. He is the author of numerous books, including two New York Times best sellers, Dr. Colbert’s “I Can Do This” Diet and The Seven Pillars of Health.

Joseph A. Cannizzaro, MD, has practiced pediatric medicine for thirty years with specialties in developmental pediatrics, nutrition, and preventive medicine. He is the founder and managing pediatrician for the Pediatricians Care Unit in Longwood, Florida.

Visit the author's website.

Here's a video about the adult version, Eat This and Live!:

Product Details:

List Price: $17.99
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: Siloam; 1 edition (September 7, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616381388
ISBN-13: 978-1616381387

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

EATING HABITS OF

THE NEXT GENERATION

Eating Habits and Our Future

How Has an entire generation of hefty eaters changed the face of the world? By starting young. And once again, this unflattering trend originated in America. In the United States, 17.1 percent of our children and adolescents―that's 2.5 million youth―are now reported to be either overweight or obese.

As a result of childhood obesity, we are seeing a dramatic rise in type 2 diabetes throughout the country. And because of the connection obesity has with hypertension, hypercholesterolemia (high cholesterol), and heart disease, experts are predicting a dramatic rise in heart disease as our children become adults. The Centers for Disease Prevention and Control (CDC) reports that overweight teens stand a 70 percent chance of becoming overweight adults, and that is increased to 80 percent

if at least one parent is overweight or obese. Because of that, heart disease and type 2 diabetes are expected to begin at a much earlier age in those who fail to beat the odds.2 Overall, this is the first generation of children that is not expected to live as long as their parents, and they will be more likely to suffer from disease and illness.

If you do not take charge of your food choices for yourself, at least do it for your children. Children follow by example, by mirroring the behavior of their parents. Don't tell them to make healthy eating choices without doing it yourself. I'm sure most of you love your children and are good parents. But ask yourself: Do you love your children enough to make the necessary lifestyle changes? Do you love them enough to educate them on what foods to eat and what foods to avoid? Do you love them enough to keep junk food out of your house and instead make healthy food more available? Do you love them enough to exercise regularly and lead by example?

If you answered yes to those questions, it is important that you not only take action right now but also that you make changes for them that last a lifetime.

But let me be honest; this is not an easy fight when it involves your children's lives. As the little boxes of information on this page illustrate, the culture in which your children are growing up is saturated with junk food that is void of nutrition but high in toxic fats, sugars, highly processed carbohydrates, and food additives. Consuming these foods has become part of childhood.

You can do it, but you must be prepared to stand strong! That's why I am ecstatic that you have picked up this book. I believe you now hold a key to truly changing your life and your children's lives.

Stand Strong!

If you're planning on taking a stand against this garbage-in, garbage-out culture, expect some opposition from every front. During the course of a year, the typical American child will watch more than thirty thousand television commercials, with many of these advertisements pitching fast-food or junk food as delicious “must-eats.” For years, fast food franchises have enticed children into their restaurants with kids' meal toys, promotional giveaways, and elaborate playgrounds. It has obviously worked for McDonald's: about 90 percent of American children between the ages of three and nine set foot in one each month.

It's All Part of the Plan

Fast-food establishments spend billions of dollars on research and marketing. They know exactly what they are doing and how to push your child's hot button. They understand the powerful impact certain foods can have. That is why comfort foods often do more than just fill the stomach; they bring about memories of the fair, playgrounds, toys, backyard birthday bashes, Fourth of July When your kids can't visit the Golden parties, childhood friends . . . the list goes on. Advertisers have keyed into this and products―most of which are brought learned to use the sight of food to stimulate the same fond childhood memories.

School Cafeteria or Fast Food Franchise?

When your kids can't visit the Golden Arches, it comes to them. Fast-food products―most of which are brought in by franchises―are sold in about 30 percent of public high school cafeterias and many elementary cafeterias.

An Alarming Trend in Children's Health

By teaching your children healthy eating habits, you can keep them at a healthy weight. Also, the eating habits your children pick up when they are young will help them maintain a healthy lifestyle when they are adults. The challenges we face are imposing. The state of children's health today is, according to recent measures, at its most dire. The rise in rates of complex, chronic childhood disorders has been well profiled. Here are some concrete examples of the current state of children's health:

Cancer remains the leading cause of death by disease in children.5

Obesity is epidemic.

Fifty percent of children are overweight.6

Diabetes now affects 1 in every 500 children. Of those children newly diagnosed with diabetes, the percentage with type 2 (“adult-onset”) has risen from less than 5 percent to nearly 50 percent in a ten-year period.

Asthma is the most prevalent chronic disease affecting American children, leading to 15 million missed days of school per year. Since 1980, the percentage of children with asthma has almost tripled.

Approximately 1 in 25 American children now suffer from food allergies.

From 1997 to 2007, the prevalence of reported food allergy increased 18 percent among children under the age of eighteen years.

One in 6 children is diagnosed with a significant neurodevelopmentaldisability, including 1 in 12 with ADHD. Autism affects 1 in 150 U.S. children, an extraordinary rise in prevalence.

Babies in one study were noted, at birth, to have an average of 200 industrial chemicals and pollutants present in their umbilical cord blood.

These statistics are sobering indeed, and perhaps the most sobering is the rise in childhood obesity. Why? Obesity plays a part in several other chronic illnesses that are also on the rise among children. And there's an unwelcome side effect―more kids are being put on prescription medications for obesity-related chronic diseases. Across the board, we are witnessing increases in prescriptions for children with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, type 2 diabetes, depression, attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and asthma. There must be a better way.

Top Three Tips for Parents

1. Lead by example. Your child will have an extremely difficult time making healthy eating choices and exercising

regularly if you don't consistently show him or her how.

2. Take baby steps that lead to lasting changes. If your child is overweight, avoid diets that promise instant

3. Take your time as you replace your child's old habits with healthy ones. This goes hand in hand with tip #2.

You're in this for the long haul. It takes time to adapt to a new lifestyle. Be patient as he or she adjusts to the new eating habits and activities that you will be introducing.

What we need now is an absolute paradigm shift. No longer are the “one drug, one disease” solutions of the past appropriate. These are times that demand out-of-the-box thinking. That's where this book can help. If your child is overweight or you want to lower his or her risk of becoming overweight down the road, there are many positive, natural ways you can address the situation. In this book, Dr. Cannizzaroand I provide you with information and ideas to help you help your child.

Understanding Childhood Obesity

Now that we've shared the bad news about the childhood obesity epidemic in the United States, let's make sure you really understand the terms overweight and obese. Many people have a general sense as to how these words are different, yet in recent years the delineation has become clearer. Various health organizations, including the CDC and the National Institutes

of Health (NIH), now officially define these terms using the body mass index (BMI), which factors in a person's weight relative to height. Most of these organizations define an overweight adult (twenty years of age and older) as having a BMI between 25 and 29.9, while an obese adult is anyone who has a BMI of 30 or higher.12 For children and teens, BMI is measured differently, allowing for the normal variations in body composition between boys and girls and at various ages.

For ages two to nineteen, the BMI (or BMI-for-age) is pinpointed on a growth chart to determine the corresponding age- and sex-specific percentile.

· Overweight is defined as a BMI at or above the 85th percentile and lower than the 95th percentile.

· Obesity is defined as a BMI at or above the 95th percentile for children of the same age and sex.

BMI is the most widely accepted method used to determine body fat in children and adults because it's easy to measure a person's height and weight. However, while BMI is an acceptable screening tool for initial assessment of body composition, please remember that it is not a direct measure of body fatness. There are other factors that can affect body composition, and your child's doctor can discuss these with you.

If you think your child may be overweight, start by talking to his or her pediatrician. (See the box on the next page for some suggested questions to ask your child's doctor.) After determining your child's BMI and targeting a healthy weight range for your child, make a plan together as a family. It's a good idea to include any regular caregivers in this plan as well. Set a goal for the whole family to get lots of exercise and eat a healthy, well-balanced diet. Keep reading for more ways to help your

family!

Wondering About Your Child's Weight?

Five Questions to Ask Your Pediatrician

I understand that you probably don't want to talk about the possibility that your child may not be at a healthy weight. To help make this as painless as possible, I recommend asking your doctor the following questions to get the conversation started.

1. What is a healthy weight for my child's height?

Your doctor will use a growth chart to show you how your child is growing and give you a healthy weight range for your child. The doctor may also tell you your child's body mass index (BMI). The BMI uses a person's height and weight to determine the amount of body fat.

2. Is my child's weight putting him or her at risk for any illnesses?

Based on your family history and other factors, your doctor can help you to determine what health risks your child may be facing. Overweight, inactive children with a family history of type 2 diabetes have an increased risk of being diagnosed with the disease. High blood pressure can also occur in overweight children.

3. How much exercise does my child need?

The National Association for Sport and Physical Education recommends at least one hour of exercise a day. Your doctor will be able to suggest specific ways to help your child, such as walking the dog, playing catch instead of video games, and other forms of activity.

4. Does my child need to go on a diet?

Although an overweight child's eating habits will probably need to change, I don't advise using the word diet because it focuses on short-term eating habits that are rarely sustainable for long-term health. Children (and adults) who become chronic dieters are setting themselves up for problems with their metabolism later in life. A healthier approach is to put your whole family on the path to a healthy lifestyle with gradual but permanent changes. The recommendations in this book are a great place to start.

5. How do I talk about weight without hurting my child's feelings?

Your child might be sensitive about his or her weight, especially if he or she is getting teased. Above all, the message must never be, “You're fat,” or “You need to lose weight.” Instead, it should be, “Our family needs to make better choices about eating and being more active so that we all can be healthy.”

Why Food Choices Matter

All men are created equal, but all foods are not! In fact, some food should not be labeled “food” but rather “consumable product” or “edible, but void of nourishment.” Living foods―fruits, vegetables, grains, seeds, and nuts―exist in a raw or close-to-raw state and are beautifully packaged in divinely created wrappers called skins and peels. Living foods look robust, healthy, and alive. They have not been bleached, refined or chemically enhanced and preserved. Living foods are plucked, harvested squeezed―not processed, packaged, and put on a shelf.

Dead foods are the opposite. They have been altered in every imaginable way to make them last as long as possible and be as addictive as possible. That usually means the manufacturer adds considerable amounts of sugar and man-made fats that involve taking various oils and heating them to high temperatures so that the nutrients die and become reborn as a deadly, sludgy substance that is toxic to our bodies.

Life breeds life. Deathbreeds death. When your child eats living foods the enzymes in their pristine state interact with his or her digestive enzymes. The other natural ingredients God put in them―vitamins, minerals, phytonutrients, antioxidants and more―flow into your child's system in their natural state. These living foods were created to cause your child's digestive system, bloodstream, and organs to function at optimum capacity.

Dead food hit your child's body like a foreign intruder. Chemicals, including preservatives, food additives, and bleach agents place a strain on the liver. Toxic man-made fats begin to form in your child's cell-membranes; they become stored as fat in your child's body and form plaque in his or her arteries. Your child's body does its best to harvest the tiny traces of good from these deadly foods, but in the end he or she is undernourished and overweight.

If you want your child to be a healthy, energetic person rather than someone bouncing between all-you-can-eat buffets and fast-food restaurants, take his or her eating habits seriously. Now is the time to help your son or daughter make the change to living foods.

Isn't it Really Just Genetics?

For every obese person, there is a story behind the excessive weight gain. Growing up, I would often hear it said of an obese person that she was just born fat, or he takes after his daddy. There s some truth in both of those. Genetics count when it comes to obesity. In 1988, the New England Journal of Medicine published a Danish study that observed five hundred forty

people who had been adopted during infancy. The research found that adopted individuals had a much greater tendency to end up in the weight class of their biological parents rather than their adopted parents. Separate studies have proven that twins who were raised apart also reveal that genes have a strong influence on gaining weight or becoming overweight. There is a significant genetic predisposition to gaining weight. Still, that does not fully explain the epidemic of obesity seen in the United States over the past thirty years. Although an individual may have a genetic predisposition to become obese, environment plays a major role as well. I like the way author, speaker, and noted women s physician Pamela Peeke said it: Genetics may load the gun, but environment pulls the trigger. Many patients I see come into my office thinking they have inherited their fat genes, and therefore there is nothing they can do about it. After investigating a little, I usually find that they simply inherited their parents propensity for bad choices of foods, large portion sizes, and poor eating habits. If your child is over weight, he or she may have an increased number of fat cells, which means your child will have a tendency to gain weight if you choose to provide the wrong types of foods, large portion sizes, and allow him or her to be inactive. But you should also realize that most people can over ride their genetic makeup for obesity by making the correct dietary and

lifestyle choices. Unfortunately, many parents forget that to make these healthy choices, it helps to surround a child with a

healthy environment.

The Waiting by Suzanne Woods Fisher

2010-10-13T11:23:00.000-05:00

She was waiting for love--and found it in the most unexpected place.

Jorie King's life is on hold. She has been waiting for Ben Zook to return to Lancaster County. Waiting for him to settle down and join the church. Waiting to marry him.

But when news arrives that Ben has been killed, Jorie is devastated. She finds unlikely comfort in the friendship of his brother Caleb. Friendship ripens into love, and two broken hearts plan for a life filled with the promise of a fresh beginning--until their worlds are turned upside down.

With her realistic characters whose weaknesses develop into strengthes, Suzanne Woods Fisher offers a reading experience that rises above the others. You will love growing in spirit with these complex people living the simple life as The Waiting transports you into a world where things aren't as simple as they seem.

Available October 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

My mom's review:

As a vivid reader of almost any Amish fiction release, this made it unto my mom list of favorites. She loved it and was sold on the story by the end of the first chapter. Like her first book in this series, there are solid characters, humor and a plot that will keep you turning the pages.

Suzanne also tackles issues not often found in Amish novels. In this you will find the topics of war and depression touches upon in the lives of some of the main characters. The cover is inviting enough, but the story will draw you into the lives of the Amish to show they struggle with much of same things we face in our own lives.

Wonderful story for all Amish readers!

This book was made available for review by Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Little Town of Bethlehem (movie review)

2010-10-06T15:06:00.000-05:00

Is Peace in the Middle East Really Possible?

New film shares true stories of hope in the midst of violence

There is no shortage of opinions, emotions, and actions regarding finding “peace in the Middle East.” While some are familiar with the issue and others are personally impacted by the conflict, many more are unaware, uninformed, and unconcerned about this critical global issue. Little Town of Bethlehem is a groundbreaking new documentary that shares the gripping story of three men—a Palestinian Muslim, a Palestinian Christian, and an Israeli Jew—born into violence and willing to risk everything to bring an end to violence in their lifetime.

Filmed on location in the West Bank, Tel Aviv, and Jerusalem, Little Town of Bethlehem brings awareness to a growing non-violent movement in the Middle East that rarely, if ever, makes international headlines.

Sami Awad is a Palestinian Christian whose grandfather was killed in Jerusalem in 1948. Today he is the executive director of Holy Land Trust, a non-profit organization that promotes Palestinian independence through peaceful means. Yonatan Shapira is an Israeli Jew whose grandparents were Zionist settlers who witnessed the birth of the Israeli nation. Today he is an outspoken advocate for the non-violent peace movement, both in his homeland and abroad. Ahmad Al' Azzah is a Palestinian Muslim who has lived his entire life in the Azzah refugee camp in Bethlehem. Today, Ahmad heads the non-violence program at Holy Land Trust, where he trains others in the methods of peaceful activism.

Little Town of Bethlehem honestly and respectfully shares Sami’s, Yonatan’s, and Ahmad’s stories. With all three men referencing both Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi during individual interviews, it is clear that their words, thoughts, and actions on nonviolence are still profoundly impacting today’s nonviolent movement. The images of these three men standing firm in the face of overwhelming opposition are inspirational, but Little Town of Bethlehem is not just about inspiring viewers. The filmmakers also raise the question, “Can the cycle of violence be broken?”

Little Town of Bethlehem was produced by EthnoGraphic Media (EGM), an educational non-profit organization exploring the critical issues of our time. Other feature films and documentaries from EGM include The Grandfathers (2009), Miss HIV (2008), and the award-winning End of the Spear (2005) and Beyond the Gates of Splendor (2002).

Like all EGM films, Little Town of Bethlehem was created with a global youth audience in mind. But this film will connect with any viewer who desires a deeper understanding of conflict resolution. “The major themes in the film are universal and timeless. The desire to end violence through nonviolence is not a demographic phenomenon, though often it is youth that mobilize. The theme of this film is appropriate for anyone who deals with conflict. This hopeful message of equality is for all,” says Jim Hanon, chief creative officer at EGM and the film’s director. “Little Town of Bethlehem doesn’t focus on who’s right or who’s wrong. The focus is on three men from different places and with different backgrounds who struggle together toward this common goal through nonviolence. We feel that the nonviolent approach promoted by the film is a humanitarian message with the power to transcend religions, nations, politics, languages, and cultures.” Watch the trailer at http://littletownofbethlehem.org/.

My thoughts:

I don’t know what to think of this film. A sincere peace effort between the Israel and Palestine certainly seems ideal, but I’m too much of a pessimist to believe its ever gonna happen. I really need to be rebuked for thinking so negatively…for as you listen to the three ppl who narrative the film, your heart goes out to them and you wish that, yes, with this attitude it will come. It has too.

The film is narrated by a Christian, a Muslim and a Jew. All in an effort to unite the two groups in a lasting peace agreement thru non-violence, they share how they came to believe that a non-violent approach is truly the one worth fighting for. Thinking that this was mostly a Christian film, I was surprised that there was more mention of Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King’s theory of peace than the teaching of Jesus and the Gospel. If you’ve been following the feuding between Israel/Palestinian this film will bring a perspective you’ve not seen portrayed by the media.

I think it would be a worthwhile experience for highschoolers studying this subject. It’s certainly not for children as there are quite a few bloody scenes. I would like to know what our high school aged students would pen in an essay after watching a film like this.

Special thanks to B & B Media Group for a review copy of this film.

The House on Malcolm Street by Leisha Kelly

2010-10-04T12:22:00.000-05:00

When tragedy steals her future, can Leah learn to trust again?

It is the autumn of 1920, and Leah Breckenridge is desperate to find a way to provide for her young daughter. After losing her husband and infant son, she is angry at God and fearful about the days ahead. Finding refuge in a boardinghouse run by her late husband's aunt, Leah begins the slow process of mending her heart.

Is it the people who surround her--or perhaps this very house--that reach into her heart with healing? As Leah finds peace tending to an abandoned garden, can she find a way to trust God with her future?

A beautifully simple story about the complexities of life, The House on Malcolm Street is a treasure.

Available September 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

My thoughts:

Loved, loved the cover. I knew from just looking at the cover that this story wouldn't be a light romance and that attracted me to it. But honestly, I had a really hard time getting thru the book. It deals almost solely with grief, so if you've lost a spouse or someone very close to you, I think you will relate very well to this book. It's a raw account of two wounded people attempting to rebuild their lives after losing their spouses.

The lack of dialogue really dragged the story out. It just moved too slow. As a lover of old literature where there are often pages upon page of no direct dialogue I don't know why this bothered me. But I simply wanted more conversation and for things to happen faster.

The novel is well written. But because of the lack of action, aside a lot of first person thought-life, I couldn't appreciate it.

Available September 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

**Special thanks to Donna Hausler at Revell Publishing for the review copy of this book.

am i paranoid?

2010-10-02T05:42:00.000-05:00

I've been paranoid about disclosing my location to readers for many months now. As a rule, I do not specifically tell them where I live. On a recent trip west a friend said, "you have writers block too often." I really do not have writers block, I would go crazy if I didn't put the words in my brain out somewhere...On a napkin, on a crinkled piece of paper, on post-it notes, on my computer, anywhere!! But when it comes to my blog...I Am Simply Paranoid! Perhaps it happened after complete strangers started calling me after finding my blog. I can understand how Hutterites can find me after some digging. But outsiders? I do not know how someone in another State located my home number. It bothered me for days.

Pictures. Not a good idea to post pictures of children on a blog that the whole world can access. I've struggled with this for months as well. This world is full of pedophiles, and recent events in a colony in Canada were a stranger tried to lure children to his car proves it. It's an eye-opener.You must see the danger in posting pictures of children, who are not even my own children, on my blog. Honestly it makes me shutter.

Dad asked to to delete my blog. I compromised and said I would delete all photos. But I'm not sure that's good enough. I know how impersonal it will be without the pictures. But no negoations there. I must also confess to you that I think my blogging days are numbered. I'm not comfortable doing it anymore. So I have some serious thinking to do. There is a tinge of sadness connected to deleleting my blog. For many days now, I've been writing about the question I get asked most as a Hutterite young lady: How do young ppl in your colonies find love?

Thoughts on all this?

Love’s First Bloom by Delia Parr

2010-09-30T01:00:00.000-05:00

She must conceal her past, her identity. What hope can there be for love?

Life changes drastically for Ruth Livingstone the day her father puts a young child in her arms and sends her under an assumed name to a small village in New Jersey. There she dutifully awaits his acquittal, certain that her father, Reverend Livingstone, soon will be cleared of the outrageous accusations against him.

When tragic events transpire, Ruth finds solace tending a garden along the banks of the Toms River—a place where she can find a measure of peace amid her growing heartache. It is also here that she meets Jake Spencer, a man who both frustrates and intrigues her. Fearful of the newspapermen intent on tracking her down and unsure of whom to trust, Ruth knows she must carefully maintain her identity as Widow Malloy. But as love begins to slowly bloom, can the tenuous affection growing between Ruth and Jake withstand the secrets that separate them?

Rachel's Review:

Jake Spencer and Ruth Livingstone were two people living a lie ... one for the good and one for the bad. Ruth was pretending to be a redeemed prostitute to keep save from her father’s accusers while Jake, one of the very people Ruth was hiding from, was full of deceit and lies to win back his brother’s favor.

Ruth’s father was a pastor who ministered to the fallen women and helped them start a new life. When he was accused of killing one of the prostitutes, Ruth was devastated and was forced to hide with the prostitute’s daughter, who no one knew about. It’s sad that people are so eager to accuse and condemn someone who dedicated his life to saving others. Why is it that people are so eager to believe the worse of people and even when they find out the accusation aren’t true, try to dig deeper to find more dirt?

No one in town knows that Ruth is the accused Pastor’s daughter except Jake, a reporter pretending to be a recovering handyman. Jake and Ruth slowly build a trusting relationship that quickly dissolved when Ruth finds out who Jake is. One thing that people always forget is that the truth always comes out some way or the other and always ends up hurting those we love most.

Ruth endured so much that she was angry at God, but she quickly found out that God is not to blame, people are. She suffered through the accusations against her father and having to be separated from him, then his death, the secrets revealed when he died, Jake’s deception, and the constant need to keep hidden from reporters who wanted to dig up more dirt about her father. But she remained strong and faithful and had a forgiving heart when Jake came back.

A wonderful story that kept my interest till the end.

Special thanks to Bethany House Publishing for a review copy of this book.

FIRST Presents Jackson Jones: The Tale of a Boy, an Elf and a Very Stinky Fish Jenn Kelly

2010-09-30T00:54:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jenn Kelly

illustrated by:

Ariane Elsammak

and the book:

Jackson Jones: The Tale of a Boy, an Elf, and a Very Stinky Fish

Zonderkidz (August 6, 2010)

***Special thanks to Pam Mettler of Zonderkidz for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jenn Kelly lives in Ottawa, Canada, but her heart lives in Paris. Or Hawaii. She hasn’t decided yet. She is an undercover garden guru, painter, and chef, which has absolute nothing to do with this book. She won a writing award in grade 4, failed English Lit in university, spent many years writing bad poetry, and then decided to write a book. This is it. She is married to her best friend, Danny, and is mom to a five-year-old boy and a dog who worries too much. She embraces the ridiculousness and disorganization of life.

Visit the author's website.

Ari has worked as a freelance illustrator for a variety of projects, mostly in children’s media. Her specialty is character design and she most enjoys illustrating humorous and wacky predicaments.

She studied editorial and children’s book illustration at the School of Visual Arts in New York City and the DuCret School of Art in New Jersey. She uses a variety of media to create my images both traditional and digital.

Visit the illustrator's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Reading level: Ages 9-12
Hardcover: 272 pages
Publisher: Zonderkidz (August 6, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310720796
ISBN-13: 978-0310720799

PLEASE CLICK THE BROWSE INSIDE BUTTON TO VIEW THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The Vigilante's Bride by Yvonne Harris

2010-09-29T01:00:00.000-05:00

Is Her Kidnapper the Only Man Who Can Keep Her Safe?

Robbing a stagecoach on Christmas Eve and abducting a woman passenger is the last thing Luke Sullivan expected to do. He just wanted to reclaim the money stolen from his pa, but instead ended up rescuing a feisty copper-haired woman who was on her way to marry Sullivan's dangerous enemy.

Emily McCarthy doesn't take kindly to her so-called rescue. Still, she's hoping Providence will turn her situation for good, especially when it seems Luke Sullivan may just be the man of her dreams. But Luke has crossed a vicious man, a powerful rancher not used to losing, and Emily is the prize he's unwilling to sacrifice.

Rachel's Review:

How can a man who’s done so much bad be so good? Luke Sullivan was a vigilant, a stage robber and a kidnapper, but was one of the most respected and admired people in the area. He had a good reason for doing the things he did, but deep down he knew was wrong and always stopped while he was ahead.

Emily couldn’t be mad at Luke long for kidnapping her from the stage. How could she when he had saved her from a fate worse than death. Luke quickly won her over with his integrity and courage. I liked the way they worked together to make New Hope, the orphanage where Luke grew up, a thriving and loving home for the children. And I admired the way Luke, in spite of his fear and hatred for Indians, turned to them and let them help him out a difficult and disastrous situation. I also liked the way the author portrayed the Indians as a group of people who had needs and a sense of humor just the like the white people, instead of savages who were just out to get white people.

You definitely don’t want to miss this book. It’s now on my list of favorite books. The story has just the right touch of humor, adventure and romance.

Special thanks to Bethany House Pubishing for a review copy of this book.

The Least Among You (movie review)

2010-09-26T09:33:00.000-05:00

Description:

Leaders are not chosen, they are called. Inspired by a true story.

Arrested in the 1965 Watts riots, Richard Kelly (Cedric Sanders) must serve probation at an all-white seminary. Although encouraged to break racial boundaries by its president Alan Beckett (William Devane), the school wants black followers not leaders. Even former missionary, Kate Allison (Lauren Holly), initially rejects Richard. A prison sentence looming, Richard meets Samuel Benton (Louis Gossett, Jr.) -- “the gardener in the basement.” As Samuel guides Richard through his many trials, Richard must choose between his dreams and his destiny.

My thoughts:

Before I watched this movie I read several negative reviews on it, and after watching it I can’t say that what I have to say will it help promote it. I simply didn’t get it. I’ve been accused of being slow, so maybe I blinked a few seconds too long on a certain scene, but I really didn’t get the message. It was jumpy, it lacked information and the acting was nothing dazzling either.

I’ve watched many civil rights movies carrying powerful messages. It’s a crucial era in this country recent history. I love the inspirational stories how African-Americans finally got their day in the spotlight. This is what I expected from this movie. But if it was about the civil rights movement I missed it. I know it was about some kind of amendments but I don’t even remember.

The president of the college had a behind the scenes story/life we never completely figure out. The former missionary professor who smokes cigarettes is by far the best actor on the whole set and we never figure out what really happened to make her so hard and cold. She has a flashback where she’s standing besides three coffins and you assume she lost her family.

To say the least I was disappointed in this film. I really don’t know for what reason I’d recommend it.

This movie was made available for review by Book Sneeze Publishing.

Glaen by Fred R. Lybrand

2010-09-26T01:00:00.000-05:00

“Almost all of our sorrows spring out of our relations with other people.”

-Schopenhauer

Book Description:

Annie is a college grad-student who is stumped about love. Her mom and dad are in the throes of a divorce, her teenage sister is obsessed with how her boyfriend makes her look, and her closest friend Jennah is on a continual ride of running off every guy she dates.

Friendships, dating, romance, and marriage—it's all confusing to Annie until the day a white-haired stranger appears in her life. Glaen is an unusual professor with an unusual name. Her white-haired unconventional mentor guides Annie on a path of discovery that unlocks the secrets of real relationships in a world gone phony. By abandoning herself to learn, Annie discovers the mystifying affect of how learning to tell the truth changes everything in friendship, family, and love.

The solutions Dr. Lybrand offers in this book will astound and free you to quit doing the very things that take away your ability to find the love and friendship you want. More importantly, you'll discover a fresh path to the possibility of greater connections with those you care most about. You'll want everyone you love to read this book...twice!

My thoughts:

And there's more truth contained in the quote by Schopenhauer than I care to admit...

This book is as unusual as its cover! It's also very interesting. That is, the theology was interesting. And it presented a viewpoint I could appreciate and learn from. I can’t say that the book reads easily for it took me several weeks to finish it. But I wanted to see how it ended and so over the course of about two weeks I slowly read it. It made me seriously think and consider things about my life.

It comes in the form of a story about a college girl who struggles with understanding relationships. She enrolls in a class taught by ‘Glaen’ teaching the mystery of real-life relationships and learns what makes them function, or not! I have to say I learned along with her.

She made careful notes that are included repeatedly in the book. What is wise, what is true, what love really means, how to chose the right kind of spouse. The bulk of information contained in this slim book will give you a lot to think about.

So although it won’t be the most thrilling book you’ve ever read there are important, timely truths in it that I’d never considered. I was a bit disappointed in the ending but I want to hang on the book for the wisdom it offers.

Special thanks to B & B Media Group for the review copy of this book.

The Andy Griffith Show (S2) - "The Clubmen" pt.1/3

2010-09-15T16:53:00.000-05:00

Nothing like a little Barney Fife adding perspective into your day! There will never be another Barney!

FIRST Presents Heart of the Lonely Excile by BJ Hoff

2010-09-15T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

BJ Hoff

and the book:

Heart of the Lonely Exile (Book Two in The Emerald Ballad series)

Harvest House Publishers (July 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Karri James of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

BJ Hoff’s bestselling historical novels continue to cross the boundaries of religion, language, and culture to capture a worldwide reading audience. Her books include Song of Erin and American Anthem and such popular series as The Riverhaven Years, The Mountain Song Legacy, and The Emerald Ballad. Hoff’s stories, although set in the past, are always relevant to the present. Whether her characters move about in small country towns or metropolitan areas, reside in Amish settlements or in coal company houses, she creates communities where people can form relationships, raise families, pursue their faith, and experience the mountains and valleys of life. BJ and her husband make their home in Ohio.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 384 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (July 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736927891
ISBN-13: 978-0736927895

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Friends Old and New

Youth must with time decay…
Beauty must fade away…
Castles are sacked in war…
Chieftains are scattered far…
Truth is a fixed star….

From “Aileen Aroon” GERALD GRIFFIN (1803–1840)

New York City
August 1847

It was a fine summer evening in the city, the kind of sweet, soft evening that made the young delight in their youth and the elderly content with their lot.

On this evening Daniel Kavanagh and Tierney Burke were indulging in one of their favorite pastimes—stuffing themselves with pastries from Krueger’s bakery as they lounged against the glass front of the building. As usual, Tierney was buying. Daniel as yet had no job and no money. But Tierney, with a week’s pay in his pocket from his job at the hotel and a month’s wages due from his part-time job at Patrick Walsh’s estate, declared he felt rotten with money and eager to enjoy it.

It had been a good day, Daniel decided as he polished off his last sugar kucken. His mother was visiting, as she did every other Saturday, delivered as always by one of the Farmington carriages. Every Saturday without fail, a carriage either brought her to the Burkes’, or came to collect Daniel for a visit at the Farmington mansion uptown, where his mother worked.

In truth, Daniel thought he preferred the Saturdays he spent at the Farmingtons’, for then he could visit with his friend, Evan Whittaker, and the Fitzgerald children, as well as his mother. He enjoyed his temporary living arrangement with Uncle Mike and Tierney, but often he found himself missing the daily contact with his mother and the Fitzgeralds—especially Katie.

The thought of Katie brought a smile to his face and a sting of worry to his mind. Katie was both his friend and his sweetheart; they would marry when they were of age—that had been decided long ago.

So committed to their future plans was he that Daniel paid little heed to Tierney’s relentless teasing about his “lassie.” The fact was that Katie Fitzgerald had been his girl from the time they were wee wanes back in the village, and he did not mind who knew it. But Katie had ever been frail, and the famine and the long, horrific ship crossing had taken a fierce toll on her.

Daniel could not help but fret about her health. He would have thought the good, plentiful food and proper medical attention she was receiving at the Farmingtons’ would be enough to have her feeling fit by now. Instead, she scarcely seemed improved at all.

Still, as his mother had reminded him just today, three months was not really so long a time—not with all the troubles Katie had been through. “You must be patient, Daniel John,” she had cautioned him. “You must be patient and faithful with your prayers.”

He was trying to be both, but it was hard, all the same, not to worry.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Daniel turned his attention to Pearl Street. Although darkness was gathering, most of the neighborhood seemed to be in no hurry to return to their cramped living quarters. The sultry August atmosphere carried the sounds of children playing, mothers scolding, dogs barking, and men arguing. Most of the voices were thick with Irish brogue, although German and an occasional stream of Italian could also be heard.

Almost as thick as the cacophony of immigrant voices were the odors that mingled on the night air. The ever-present stench of piled-up garbage in the streets had grown worse with the recent warm temperatures; the fumes from sewage and animal droppings were more noxious than ever.

Still, there was no spoiling the pleasure of such a fine evening. Besides, Daniel was growing accustomed to the aroma of New York. Indeed, the smell rarely bothered him at all these days; it was negligible compared to the stench of Ireland’s rotten potato fields and the countless dead bodies lying alongside the country’s roads.

“So, then,” Tierney said, downing a nut kipfel in one bite before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “will they tie the knot soon, do you think? Your mum and my da?”

It was a question Tierney seemed bent on asking at least once a week, a question that continued to make Daniel feel awkward—almost as if his mother were somehow under an obligation to marry Uncle Mike. More and more Tierney’s prodding put Daniel on guard, made him feel the need to defend his mother—never mind that he secretly harbored the same question.

“I don’t suppose it’s for either of us to guess,” he muttered in reply. “Sure, and Mother does care a great deal for Uncle Mike.”

Tierney gave a curt, doubtful nod, turning the full intensity of his unnerving ice-blue stare on Daniel. “If that’s so,” he said, “then why is she still holding out?”

Daniel bristled. “It’s not that she’s holding out,” he protested. “She just needs more time, don’t you see? They haven’t seen each other for more than seventeen years, after all! She can hardly be expected to jump into marriage right away!”

Tierney regarded him with a speculative look, then shrugged. “You’re right, of course,” he said cheerfully, shoving his hands into his pockets. As if no friction whatever had occurred between them, he tilted a quick grin at Daniel. “I expect I’m just impatient because I’m wanting to see them wed.”

Not for the first time, Daniel found himself disarmed by his quicksilver friend. The older boy had a way of making abrasive, outrageous remarks, then quickly backing off, as if sensing he had caused Daniel discomfort.

Tierney had an incredible energy about him, a tension that sometimes made it seem that any instant he might leap from the ground and take off flying. He was impatient and blunt, decisive and headstrong. Yet he had an obvious streak of kindness, even gentleness, that could appear at the most unexpected moments.

Living with him was akin to keeping company with a hurricane. Wild and impetuous one moment, eager and conciliatory the next, he was entirely unpredictable—and a great deal more fun than any boy Daniel had ever known.

He liked Tierney immensely. In truth, he wished his mother would marry Uncle Mike so they could be a real family.

“If they do get married,” Tierney was saying, watching Daniel with a teasing grin, “you and I will be brothers. How do you feel about that, Danny-boy?”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop a smile of pleasure. “Sure, and won’t I be the lucky lad, then?”

Tierney wiggled his dark brows. “Sure, and won’t you at that?” he shot back, perfectly mimicking Daniel’s brogue.

Avoiding Michael’s eyes, Nora stared at the flickering candle in the middle of the kitchen table.

The silence in the room, while not entirely strained, was awkward, to say the least. Nora had sensed Michael’s impatience early in their visit. She thought she understood it; certainly, she could not fault the man for wanting more of a commitment than she’d been able to grant him thus far.

On the other hand, she didn’t know how she could have handled things between them any differently. From the day of their reunion—Nora’s first day in New York City—she had done her best to be entirely honest with Michael. She had told him then—and on other occasions since—that she cared for him deeply but could not marry him for a time, if ever.

In the weeks and months that followed her arrival in New York, Nora’s life had changed radically. All that she had once held dear, everything familiar, had been mercilessly torn away from her. She had lost her home and her entire family except for Daniel John. Yet much had been given to her as well.

God had been good—and faithful. Daniel John had a home with Michael and Tierney, and she and the orphaned Fitzgerald children were safe and snug in the Farmington mansion with Lewis Farmington and his daughter, Sara—people who must be, Nora was certain, the kindest human beings God ever created.

Aye, she had fine lodgings—even a job—and she had friends, good friends: Michael, Evan Whittaker, Sara and Lewis Farmington, and Ginger, the Farmingtons’ delightful housekeeper. There was more food on her plate than she could eat, and a fire to warm her bones for the coming winter. Had any other penniless widow-woman ever been so blessed?

Yet when it came to Michael, something deep within her warned her to wait, to go slowly. There were times when she wanted nothing more than to run to the shelter of the man’s brawny arms and accept the security he seemed so set on offering—the security of a friendship that dated back to their childhood, the security of marriage and a home of her own. But in the next instant she would find herself drawing back, shying away from the idea of Michael as the solution to her problems.

She needed time, perhaps a great deal of time. Of that much, at least, she was certain. Time to heal, time to seek direction for her life. God’s direction.

And time to forget Morgan Fitzgerald…

“The Farmingtons seem more than pleased with your work for them,” Michael said, breaking the silence and jarring Nora back to her surroundings. “They cannot say enough good things about you.”

Struggling to put aside her nagging melancholy, Nora smiled and made a weak dismissing motion with her hand. “Sure, they are only being kind,” she said. “ ’Tis little enough they allow me to do. I suppose they still think me ill, but in truth I’m feeling much stronger.”

“I can believe that,” Michael said, studying her with open approval. “You’re looking more fit each day. I think you might have even gained a bit at last.”

Surprised, Nora glanced down at her figure. She did feel stronger physically, stronger than she had for months. “Indeed. Perhaps with all this fine American food, I’ll grow as round as Pumpkin Emmie,” she said, trying to ease the tension between them with reference to daft Emmie Fahey, one of the terrors of their youth.

“You’ve a ways to go, there,” Michael said, meeting her smile. “But you are looking more yourself, lass, and that’s the truth.”

Unnerved by the way he was scrutinizing her, Nora glanced away. “Our sons are becoming good friends, it seems.”

Michael, too, seemed relieved to move to safer ground. “Aye, they are,” he answered eagerly. “And I couldn’t be happier for it. Your Daniel is a fine boy—a good influence on that rascal of mine.”

“Oh, Michael,” Nora protested, “I think you’re far too hard on Tierney! He doesn’t seem nearly the rogue you paint him to be.”

With a sigh, Michael rose from the table to put the kettle on for more tea. “I’m the first to admit Tierney’s not a bad boy. Nevertheless, he can be a handful. And unpredictable—” He shook his head as he started for the stove. “Why, I don’t know what to expect from the lad one minute to the next, and that’s the truth.”

“It’s not an easy age for him, Michael. Don’t you remember how it was, being more grown-up than child, yet not quite either?”

Nora could have answered her own question. Michael had never seemed anything but a man grown, had never appeared to know the meaning of childishness or uncertainty, at least not in the time she had known him.

Returning with the kettle, he offered Nora more tea. When she declined, he proceeded to pour himself a fresh cup. “What I remember most about being a boy,” he said with just the ghost of a smile, “was trying to keep you and our lad, Morgan, out of the soup.”

Nora glanced quickly away. “Aye, you were like a brother to the both of us,” she said quietly.

“It wasn’t a brother I wanted to be to you, Nora,” he said pointedly, pausing with the kettle suspended above his cup. “That was your choice, not mine.”

“Michael—”

He looked at her, setting the kettle down between them. “Is it still Morgan, then?” A muscle at the side of his mouth tightened. “Is he the reason you cannot bring yourself to marry me?”

“No! No, Michael, it is not Morgan! I’ve tried to explain all this before. I thought you understood…”

His gaze on her didn’t waver. “Nora, I have tried. But I’m not blind, lass. I see the way things are.”

Nora looked away, but she could still feel his eyes on her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Morgan Fitzgerald still occupies a large space in your heart—perhaps so great a space there will never be room for another.”

“Michael—”

He waved away her protest, saying nothing. Instead, he went to stand at the window, his back to her. He stood there for a long time in silence. At last, he drew in a deep sigh and said quietly, “We’d be good together, I think. We could build a fine life, a good home—watch our boys grow to manhood.” Stopping he turned to face her. “Perhaps we could even have more children…”

He let his words drift away, unfinished. As he stood there, his gaze fixed on her face, the frustration that had hardened his expression earlier faded, giving way to a rare tenderness. The grim lines about his mouth seemed to disappear, and his eyes took on a gentle smile.

“We go back a long way, you and I,” he said softly. “And our boys—why, they’re well on their way to being brothers already. Ah, it could work for us, Nora! You must see that.” Shoving his hands down deep into his pockets, he stood watching her. “I know I cannot offer you much in the way of material things just yet, but we’d have enough, enough for us all. And things will improve, I can promise you that. I have prospects on the force—”

“Oh, Michael, you know none of that matters to me!”

With three broad strides he closed the distance between them. Bracing both hands palms down on the tabletop, he brought his face close to hers, his eyes burning. “What, then, Nora? What does matter? Tell me, lass, for I’ll do whatever I can to make this work for us. I swear I will! Tell me what I can do to convince you to marry me.”

Nora remembered he had asked her that same question once before, when he was still a young man preparing to go to America. He had done his best then, too, to convince her to be his wife.

That had been seventeen years ago. Seventeen years, and her answer was still not what he wanted to hear.

“Michael, you know you have ever been…special…to me.”

He said nothing, simply went on searching her eyes, his large, blunt hands now clenched to fists atop the table.

“I do care for you…” She did. She was not immune to Michael’s appeal, his almost arrogant handsomeness, the strength that seemed to pulse from him. But more than that, and far deeper, were the memories that bound them, the friendship that even today anchored their affection for each other. She could not bring herself to hurt him, but neither could she lie to him!

Suddenly, he stunned her by grasping both her hands in his and pulling her up from the chair to face him. Holding her hands firmly, he drew her to him. “And I care for you, Nora,” he said, his voice gruff. With one hand he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his relentless gaze. “I have always cared for you, lass, and that’s the truth.”

Trembling, Nora held her breath as he bent to press his lips to hers. Irrationally, she almost wished Michael’s kiss would blind her with love for him, send stars shooting through her. Instead, she felt only the gentle warmth, the same sweet, sad affection she had felt for him all those years so long ago when he had kissed her goodbye, regret brimming in his eyes, before sailing for America.

He knew. He said nothing, but she felt his knowing as she stood there, miserable beneath those dark, searching eyes that seemed to probe her very soul. Gradually he freed her from his embrace, setting her gently away from him with a sad smile.

“You have been through a great sorrow,” he said huskily. “And I am asking too much of you, too soon. I’m sorry, lass. Perhaps it’s just that I’m anxious for you to realize that when you’re ready, I will be here. I will wait.”

“Oh, Michael, please—don’t…”

He put a finger to her lips to silence her. “Enough sober talk for tonight. Why don’t we have us a stroll? We’ll go and find the lads and see what they’re up to.”

Relieved, Nora nodded, managing a smile. “Aye, I’d like that.”

Michael smiled, too, watching her with infinite tenderness. Framing her face between his calloused hands, he brushed his lips over her forehead. “Remember that I am still your friend, Nora Ellen. No matter what happens—or does not happen—between us, I will always be your friend.”

Nora could have wept for gratitude at his understanding, his gentleness. “Thank you, Michael,” she whispered. “Thank you for being the man you are. And thank you,” she added fervently, “for being my friend.”

Food Inc - Official Trailer [HD]

2010-09-14T17:40:00.000-05:00

the heart of my home...

2010-09-13T22:31:00.003-05:00

Sunset on the prairie...

There really isn't anything quite like it....quietening the voices of unrest in my heart.

The light and love of a child are rays of promise on a rainy day. The joy this little girl brings into my life in passing is incredible.

Tackled the last batch of tomato juice last week.

Apple season now...

..their last day as whole apples! Day after they were pressed into pure, organic apple cider.

Little man is two now. Still doesn't like me much but he's daddy's best helper, repeating everything in complete sentences and mommy's pride and joy...

Into the third week of school now. Still juggling around with finding a rhythm with everything. Trying a few things different this year so I wouldn't have to be there all hours of the day. I wanted to be home some hours of the day learning how to be a proper 'homemaker.'

Heading to the garden to pick corn before the raccoons get what's left of them!

Everyone pitches in...

...but boys will be boys...

mommy, daddy and blessing...

Heading to the next field, there's more! Finished just before the heavens opened and rain gushed out.

Together they can make a difference...

It amazes me how hard the youngest will work.

A godly man who leads the home, a Proverbs 31 woman who follows. That must be the must beautiful thing on this side of heaven.

remember the old place?

2010-09-13T18:11:00.000-05:00

I can't seem to figure wordpress out. I'm serious! I can't publish videos and now it's giving me headaches with photos as well. I decided to trot back to the old place...which was strangely familiar...Not to sound sentimental or anything but it felt like I'd come home. Silly really, I know. But I published a bunch of photos if you're interested to see what's going on the home-front.

Hope to be back on th blogging scene soon. Regularly that is.

FIRST Presents Song of the Silent Harp by BJ Hoff

2010-09-13T01:00:00.000-05:00

BJ Hoff is an amazing, gifted author.

This book is the first in an older series being re-printed. That goes to tell you how good they are. There are three more to follow. They dip into the political unrest in Ireland in the mid 1800's and center around a young widow caught in the wind whirl of it all.

I jumped at the chance to review these because I read them years ago. I was sure I would get a lot more out of them this time around because Lucy has shared some of the turmoil that is present even today in her homeland...and it all stems back to this period. Maybe even further. But I regret to say that I haven't gotten to them. I've been reading books like crazy to catch up with reviews. And these were next one the list. But I assure you, if you love historical fiction you will love these. Be aware though, they are not light reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card author is:

BJ Hoff

and the book:

Song of the Silent Harp (Book One in The Emerald Ballad series)

Harvest House Publishers (July 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Karri James, Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

BJ Hoff’s bestselling historical novels continue to cross the boundaries of religion, language, and culture to capture a worldwide reading audience. Her books include Song of Erin and American Anthem and such popular series as The Riverhaven Years, The Mountain Song Legacy, and The Emerald Ballad. Hoff’s stories, although set in the past, are always relevant to the present. Whether her characters move about in small country towns or metropolitan areas, reside in Amish settlements or in coal company houses, she creates communities where people can form relationships, raise families, pursue their faith, and experience the mountains and valleys of life. BJ and her husband make their home in Ohio.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99

Paperback: 432 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (July 1, 2010)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736927883

ISBN-13: 978-0736927888

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Daniel

Write his merits on your mind;

Morals pure and manners kind;

In his head, as on a hill,

Virtue placed her citadel.

William Drennan (1754–1820)

Killala, County Mayo (Western Ireland)

January, 1847

Ellie Kavanagh died at the lonesome hour of two o’clock in the morning—a time, according to the Old Ones, when many souls left their bodies with the turning of the tide. A small, gaunt specter with sunken eyes and a vacant stare, she died a silent death. The Hunger had claimed even her voice at the end. She was six years old, and the third child in the village of Killala to die that Friday.

Daniel kept the death watch with his mother throughout the evening. Tahg, his older brother, was too ill to sit upright, and with their da gone—killed in a faction fight late last October—it was for Daniel to watch over his little sister’s corpse and see to his mother.

The small body in the corner of the cold, dimly lit kitchen seemed less than human to Daniel; certainly it bore little resemblance to wee Ellie. Candles flickering about its head mottled the ghastly pallor of the skull-like face, and the small, parchment-thin hands clasping the Testament on top of the white sheet made Daniel think uneasily of claws. Even the colored ribbons adorning the sheet mocked his sister’s gray and lifeless body.

The room was thick with shadows and filled with weeping women. Ordinarily it would have been heavy with smoke as well, but the men in the village could no longer afford tobacco. The only food smells were faint: a bit of sour cheese, some onion, stale bread, a precious small basket of shellfish. There was none of the illegal poteen—even if potatoes had been available from which to distill the stuff, Grandfar Dan allowed no spirits inside the cottage; he and Daniel’s da had both taken the pledge some years before.

All the villagers who came and went said Ellie was laid out nicely. Daniel knew their words were meant to be a comfort, but he found them an offense. Catherine Fitzgerald had done her best in tidying the body—Catherine had no equal in the village when it came to attending at births or deaths—but still Daniel could see nothing at all nice about Ellie’s appearance.

He hated having to sit and stare at her throughout the evening, struggling to keep the sight of her small, wasted corpse from permanently imbedding itself in his mind. He was determined to remember his black-haired little sister as she had been before the Hunger, traipsing along behind him and chattering at his back to the point of exasperation.

Old Mary Larkin had come to keen, and her terrible shrieking wail now pierced the cottage. Squatting on the floor beside the low fire, Mary was by far the loudest of the women clustered around her. Her tattered skirt was drawn up almost over her head, revealing a torn and grimy red petticoat that swayed as her body twisted and writhed in the ancient death mime.

The woman’s screeching made Daniel’s skin crawl. He felt a sudden fierce desire to gag her and send her home. He didn’t think his feelings were disrespectful of his sister—Ellie had liked things quiet; besides, she had been half-afraid of Old Mary’s odd ways.

Ordinarily when Mary Larkin keened the dead, the entire cottage would end up in a frenzy. Everyone knew she was the greatest keener from Killala to Castlebar. At this moment, however, as Daniel watched the hysterical, withered crone clutch the linen sheet and howl with a force that would turn the thunder away, he realized how weak were the combined cries of the mourners. The gathering was pitifully small for a wake—six months ago it would have been twice the size, but death had become too commonplace to attract much attention. And it was evident from the subdued behavior in the room that the Hunger had sapped the strength of even the stoutest of them.

Daniel’s head snapped up with surprise when he saw Grandfar Dan haul himself off the stool and go trudging over to the howling women grouped around Ellie’s body. He stood there a few moments until at last Mary Larkin glanced up and saw him glaring at her. Behind the stringy wisps of white hair falling over her face, her black eyes looked wild and fierce with challenge. Daniel held his breath, half-expecting her to lash out physically at his grandfather when he put a hand to her shoulder and began speaking to her in the Irish. But after a moment she struggled up from the floor and, with a display of dignity that Daniel would have found laughable under different circumstances, smoothed her skirts and made a gesture to her followers. The lot of them got up and huddled quietly around the dying fire, leaving the cottage quiet again, except for the soft refrain of muffled weeping.

Daniel’s mother had sat silent and unmoving throughout the entire scene; now she stirred. “Old Dan should not have done that,” Nora said softly. “He should not have stopped them from the keening.”

Daniel turned to look at her, biting his lip at her appearance. His mother was held in high esteem for her good looks. “Nora Kavanagh’s a grand-looking woman,” he’d heard people in the village say, and she was that. Daniel thought his small, raven-haired mother was, in fact, the prettiest woman in Killala. But in the days after his da was killed and the fever had come on Ellie, his mother had seemed to fade, not only in her appearance but in her spirit as well. She seemed to have retreated to a place somewhere deep inside herself, a distant place where Daniel could not follow. Her hair had lost its luster and her large gray eyes their quiet smile; she spoke only when necessary, and then with apparent effort. Hollow-eyed and deathly quiet, she continued to maintain her waxen, lifeless composure even in the face of her grief, but Daniel sometimes caught a glimpse of something shattering within her.

At times he found himself almost wishing his mother would give way to a fit of weeping or womanly hysteria. Then at least he could put an arm about her narrow shoulders and try to console her. This silent stranger beside him seemed beyond comfort; in truth, he suspected she was often entirely unaware of his presence.

In the face of his mother’s wooden stillness, Daniel himself turned inward, to the worrisome question that these days seldom gave him any peace.

What was to become of them?

The potato crop had failed for two years straight, and they were now more than half the year’s rent in arrears. Grandfar was beginning to fail. And Tahg—his heart squeezed with fear at the thought of his older brother—Tahg was no longer able to leave his bed. His mother continued to insist that Tahg would recover, that the lung ailment which had plagued him since childhood was responsible for his present weakness. Perhaps she was right, but Daniel was unable to convince himself. Tahg had a different kind of misery on him now—something dark and ugly and evil.

A tight, hard lump rose to his throat. It was going to be the same as with Ellie. First she’d grown weak from the hunger; later the fever had come on her until she grew increasingly ill. And then she died.

As for his mother, Daniel thought she still seemed healthy enough, but too much hard work and too little food were fast wearing her down. She was always tired lately, tired and distracted and somber. Even so, she continued to mend and sew for two of the local magistrates. Her earnings were less than enough to keep them, now that they lacked his da’s wages from Reilly the weaver, yet she had tried in vain to find more work.

The entire village was in drastic straits. The Hunger was on them all; fever was spreading with a vengeance. Almost every household was without work, and the extreme winter showed no sign of abating. Most were hungry; many were starving; all lived in fear of eviction.

Still, poor as they were as tenant farmers, Daniel knew they were better off than many of their friends and neighbors. Thomas Fitzgerald, for example, had lost his tenancy a few years back when he got behind in his rent. Unable thereafter to get hold of a patch of land to lease, he barely managed to eke out an existence for his family by means of conacre, wherein he rented a small piece of land season by season, with no legal rights to it whatever. The land they occupied was a mere scrap. Their cabin, far too small for such a large family, was scarcely more than a buffer against the winter winds, which this year had been fierce indeed.

Daniel worried as much about the Fitzgeralds as he did about his own family. His best friend, Katie, was cramped into that crude, drafty hut with several others. She was slight, Katie was, so thin and frail that Daniel’s blood chilled at the thought of what the fever might do to her. His sister had been far sturdier than Katie, and it had destroyed Ellie in such a short time.

Katie was more than his friend—she was his sweetheart as well. She was only eleven, and he thirteen, but they would one day marry—of that he was certain. Together they had already charted their future.

When he was old enough, Daniel would make his way to Dublin for his physician’s training, then come back to set up his own practice in Castlebar. Eventually he’d be able to build a fine house for himself and Katie—and for his entire family.

There was the difference of their religions to be considered, of course. Katie was a Roman and he a Protestant. But they would face that hurdle later, when they were older. In the meantime, Katie was his lass, and that was that. At times he grew almost desperate for the years to pass so they could get on with their plans.

A stirring in the room yanked Daniel out of his thoughts. He glanced up and caught a sharp breath. Without thinking, he popped off his stool, about to cry out a welcome until he remembered his surroundings.

The man ducking his head to pass through the cottage door was a great tower of a fellow, with shoulders so broad he had to ease himself sideways through the opening. Yet he was as lean and as wiry as a whip. He had a mane of curly copper hair and a lustrous, thick beard the color of a fox’s pelt. He carried himself with the grace of a cat-a-mountain, yet he seemed to fill the room with the restrained power of a lion.

As Daniel stood watching impatiently, the big man straightened, allowing his restless green eyes to sweep the room. His gaze gentled for an instant when it came to rest on Ellie’s corpse, softening even more at the sight of Daniel’s mother, to whom he offered a short, awkward nod of greeting. Only when he locked eyes with Daniel did his sun-weathered face at last break into a wide, pleased smile.

He started toward them, and it seemed to Daniel that even clad humbly as he was in dark frieze and worn boots, Morgan Fitzgerald might just as well have been decked with the steel and colors of a warrior chief, so imposing and awe-inspiring was his presence. He stopped directly in front of them, and both he and Daniel stood unmoving for a moment, studying each other’s faces. Then, putting hands the size of dinner plates to Daniel’s shoulders, Morgan pulled him into a hard, manly embrace. Daniel breathed a quiet sigh of satisfaction as he buried his cheek against Morgan’s granite chest, knowing the bond between him and the bronze giant to be renewed.

After another moment, Morgan tousled Daniel’s hair affectionately, released him, and turned to Nora. The deep, rumbling voice that could shake the walls of a cabin was infinitely soft when he spoke. “I heard about Owen and the lass, Nora. ’Tis a powerful loss.”

As Daniel watched, his mother lifted her shadowed eyes to Morgan. She seemed to grow paler still, and her small hands began to wring her handkerchief into a twisted rope. Her voice sounded odd when she acknowledged his greeting, as if she might choke on her words. “ ’Tis good of you to come, Morgan.”

“Nora, how are you keeping?” he asked, leaning toward her still more as he scrutinized her face.

Her only reply was a small, stiff nod of her head before she looked away.

Daniel wondered at the wounded look in Morgan’s eyes, even more at his mother’s strained expression. The room was still, and he noticed that the lank-haired Judy Hennessey was perched forward on her chair as far as she could get in an obvious attempt to hear their conversation. He shot a fierce glare in her direction, but she ignored him, craning her neck even farther.

Just then Grandfar Dan moved from his place by the fire and began to lumber toward them, his craggy, gray-bearded face set in a sullen scowl. Daniel braced himself. For as long as he could remember, there had been bad blood between his grandfather and Morgan Fitzgerald. Grandfar had carried some sort of a grudge against Morgan for years, most often referring to him as “that worthless rebel poet.”

“Sure, and that long-legged rover thinks himself a treasure,” Grandfar would say. “Well, a scoundrel is what he is! A fresh-mouthed scoundrel with a sweet-as-honey tongue and a string of wanton ways as long as the road from here to Sligo, that’s your Fitzgerald! What he’s learned from all his books and his roaming is that it’s far easier to sing for your supper than to work for it.”

Now, watching the two of them square off, Daniel held his breath in anticipation of a fracas. A warning glint flared in Morgan’s eye, and the old man’s face was red. They stared at each other for a tense moment. Then, to Daniel’s great surprise, Morgan greeted Grandfar with a bow of respect and, instead of goading him as he might have done in the past, he said quietly, “ ’Tis a bitter thing, Dan. I’m sorry for your troubles.”

Even shrunken as he was by old age and hard labor, Grandfar was a taller man than most. Still, he had to look up at Morgan. His mouth thinned as they eyed each other, but the expected sour retort did not come. Instead, the old man inclined his head in a curt motion of acknowledgment, then walked away without a word, his vest flapping loosely against his wasted frame.

Morgan stared after him, his heavy brows drawn together in a frown. “ ’Tis the first time I have known Dan Kavanagh to show his years,” he murmured, as if to himself. “It took the Hunger to age him, it would seem.”

He turned back to Daniel’s mother. “So, then, where is Tahg? I was hoping to see him.”

Nora glanced across the kitchen. Tahg lay abed in a small, dark alcove at the back of the room, where a tattered blanket had been hung for his privacy. “He’s sleeping. Tahg is poorly again.”

Morgan looked from her to Daniel. “How bad? Not the fever?”

“No, it is not the fever!” she snapped, her eyes as hard as her voice. “ ’Tis his lungs.”

Daniel stared down at the floor, unable to meet Morgan’s eyes for fear his denial would be apparent. “Nora—”

Daniel raised his head to see Morgan searching his mother’s face, a soft expression of compassion in his eyes. “Nora, is there anything I can do?”

Daniel could not account for his mother’s sudden frown. Couldn’t she tell that Morgan only wanted to help? “Thank you, but there’s no need.”

Morgan looked doubtful. “Are you sure, Nora? There must be something—”

She interrupted him, her tone making it clear that he wasn’t to press. “It’s kind of you to offer, Morgan, but as I said, there is no need.”

Morgan continued to look at her for another moment. Finally he gave a reluctant nod. “I should be on my way, then. The burial—will it be tomorrow?”

Her mouth went slack. “The burial…aye, the burial will be tomorrow.”

Hearing her voice falter, Daniel started to take her hand, but stopped at the sight of the emptiness in her eyes. She was staring past Morgan to Ellie’s corpse, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the room.

Morgan shot Daniel a meaningful glance. “I’ll just be on my way, then. Will you walk outside with me, lad?” Without waiting for Daniel’s reply, he lifted a hand as if to place it on Nora’s shoulder but drew it away before he touched her. Then, turning sharply, he started for the door.

Eager to leave the gloom of the cottage, and even more eager to be with Morgan after months of separation, Daniel nevertheless waited for his mother’s approval. When he realized she hadn’t even heard Morgan’s question, he went to lift his coat from the wall peg by the door. With a nagging sense of guilt for the relief he felt upon leaving, he hurried to follow Morgan outside.

Choosing to SEE by Mary Beth Chapman with Ellen Vaughn

2010-09-11T01:00:00.000-05:00

Book Description:

From the beginning, Mary Beth Chapman's life was not how she planned. All she wanted was a calm, peaceful life of stability and control. Instead, God gave her an award-winning singer/songwriter husband, crazy schedules, and a houseful of creatively rambunctious children. Most difficult of all, God's plans for her also included tragedy.

In Choosing to SEE, Mary Beth unveils her struggle to allow God to write the story of her life, both the happy chapters and the tragic ones. And as the story unfolds, she's been forced to wrestle with some of life's biggest questions: Where is God when things fall apart? Why does God allow terrible things to happen? How can I survive hard times?

No matter where you find yourself in your own life story, you will treasure the way Mary Beth shows that even in the hard times, there is hope if you choose to SEE.

**Special thanks to Donna at Bethany House Publishers for the review copy of this book. Available September 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group. Purchasing info here.

My Thoughts:

I love the cover of that book. How Steven Curtis Chapman looks so adoringly at his wife

As another reviewer commented, I requested this book for review out of sheer curiously. I couldn't help myself. I'd vaguely followed the Chapman family after their son Will accidentally hit their adopted daughter Maria in the driveway of their Tennessee home. Maria died as a result of the accident. I felt incredible sorrow for their lose. Even though I've never been a fan of Steven Curtis Chapman's music, I LOVED the Cinderella song he penned. Watch it here.You're in for a treat. There's also a touching story behind the song.

I can't say I really enjoyed the first part of the book. Quite honestly I wished it would move faster. Once she got to the adoption part the ball started rolling. The chapters following the death of Maria were heart-wrenching. I cried thru most of them. It was so sad. But believe me when I say that there was beauty there too. This family learned what it means to draw strength from God. You'll be encouraged by their journey.

Something that stood out to me was how the Chapman family dealt with their grief. They were very open about it. Very public even. They surrounded themselves with ppl to help them thru it, professional ppl. I don't know quite how to put this into words...it was strange but I liked it. I think grief needs to be "observed" as C.S. Lewis puts it. Among my ppl grief is dealt with on a much more private level. It's such a sensitive subject that I think we feel more than we let on. We carry it within us till the pain lessens and then we simply learn to move on. Life drops back into routine and we bury the grief that's crying for an escape. In the end it will either harden us or mature into seeds of compassion. There were several wonderful incidents in this book about dealing with grief that blessed me tremendously.

For Time and Eternity by Allison Pittman

2010-09-10T01:00:00.000-05:00

Publisher's Description:

All Camilla Deardon knows of the Mormons camping nearby is the songs she hears floating on the breeze. Then she meets one of them—a young man named Nathan Fox. Never did she imagine he would be so handsome, so charming, especially after Mama and Papa’s warnings to stay away. Though she knows she should obey her parents, Camilla can’t refuse her heart. But even Nathan’s promises cannot prepare her for what she will face in Utah.

**Special thanks to Rebecca at Glass Road Public Relations for a review copy of this book.

My review:

I can’t help but wonder what this review will look like by the time I’m finished writing it. I have no plans as how to script it and yet, I have hundreds of thoughts and questions regarding it. From the book’s description we know it’s about a woman leaving the only life known to her to marry a young man of the Mormon faith. At sixteen years of age she knew little of the realities of life, unless you count the harshness of a father who she feared more then she loved. The love and charm of Nathan Fox’s colorful personality was enough for her in that perilous moment when dire crossroads met her with a hard decision, a decision that would alter her life forever. Being in ignorance of what awaited her, it seems unfair that we live with the consequences of the choices we make. As young, yet immature trees we need more than a timid mother’s warning, or a father’s callous training to persuade us to the lifestyle they have to offer. Camilla saw no future on the farm. Instead visions of life with the gentle ppl whose songs filled the night captivated her. Nothing compared to Nathan’s charisma and his promises of unfaltering love.

And he loved her, I don’t doubt it. The first six year of devotion in a monogamy marriage proved that. History records how many LDS members struggled with the idea of polygamy marriages. The author portrays that struggle well. You also sense Nathan’s resistance when the Elders of his faith prompted the men to seek multiple spouses because it would further assure eternal life. This is often referred to as Celestial marriage. A reader commented that, though the LSD no longer allows polygamy marriages, they did so for a certain period of time because they thought it was a direct commandment of God. Wondering where God instituted such a doctrine I searched the Bible, even asked my father thinking I had missed it. Finally browsing around on the LSD website I noticed the members all referenced this commandment back to the Book of Mormons, not to the Bible itself. That isn’t good enough for me. No book holds a candle to the Word of God and therefore, in light of what the Bible teaches about the institution between one man and one woman, I disregard what the Book of Mormon teaches. Furthermore, if you want to take examples from the Old Testament concerning multiples wives it seems to me those examples proved disastrous. It was never God’s plan for a man to have more than one wife. It’s unnatural. Genius 2:24 tells us that from the beginning he designed for a man to have one help meet.

What raised further confusion for me was how polygamy originated within the LDS church. I read how members accounted that polygamy was allowed for a short time and then abandoned in 1890. Not completely though. A group referred to as Mormon fundamentalist (FLDS) still actively practice it. (This group is not to be confused with present-day LDS. LDS members are not allowed to practice polygamy). They also continue to uphold practices long abandoned by the LDS church. I find it strange that their leader, Joseph Smith, would write about God commanding him to take multiple wives but always denied that he was even involved in polygamy relationships, so did his legal wife, Emma. It’s been disputed for years as to whether he did or didn’t practice polygamy, although most ppl believe he did. If the Book of Mormons is indeed divine, why would the founder write about something he said was a commandment of God, but deny he was involved in plural marriages? Makes no sense to me.

The book raised many interesting questions. Like how I, not being of the Mormon faith, would be considered a gentile. How I as a women, have to attain eternal life thru marriage. And depending how many wives a man has, further insures his eternal position. LDS argue this, and I think rightly so. Though FLDS members still live by that philosophy. They don’t hide the fact that polygamy is a vibrant part of their lifestyle. Remember the raids on a Texas ranch about two years ago? These, among other groups of the Mormon faith, believe that living in polygamy secures their salvation.

As I was reading thru the book I couldn’t help but notice that there’s absolutely no mention that you gain salvation only by the grace of the risen Savior, Jesus Christ. In fact, I wasn’t convinced the place of Jesus Christ was understood at all. Acknowledged yes, but not accepted as the person who paved the way to eternal life for us by his shed blood on the cross. And that’s it’s ultimately by His grace that we gain salvation. This was not the message of the book. Yet present-day Mormons defensively argue that LDS are Christians. They do not appreciate the message in this book, claiming it’s filled with lies and inaccuracies. However as I researched the terms and theology interwoven in the pages of this book, I saw their presence in the articles I read, many written in favor of the Mormon faith. This book is a historical account of the history of the Mormon ppl, and from what I gleaned the practices mentioned in this book were at one time part of how they lived. Mormonism has changed and altered doctrines. Did you know that Glenn Beck is a practicing Mormon? By listening closely to the way he talks you detect it by the terms he uses. More surprisingly Stephanie Meyers, the enormously popular author of The Twilight Saga, is also a Mormon. She credits her faith for the moral integrity of her main characters. Most surprising to me was when, a few years ago, the LDS invited theologian, Dr. Ravi Zacharias, to preach at the tabernacle in Utah. Ravi was largely criticized by the Christian community for accepting the invitation.

If you’d like to read a different perspective on this book and the LDS faith, skip on over to Holly’s blog, who is a member of the LDS church. I faithfully read her book reviews. I can’t agree with many of the doctrines of the LDS faith, but I respect her choices in the same regard I want ppl to respect mine.

And I do so like Glenn Beck…

Some other LDS information I found interesting:

The LDS official website (the FAQ are very enlightening).

BBC documentary on Polygamy (This is about FLDS members openly acknowledging and living in plural marriages. Very interesting. Can view on YouTube in five parts).

Oprah takes a look into modern polygamy. These ppl are not affiliated with the Warren Jeffs community. But by LDS standards they can't be members of the church either. I have no idea how they categorized themselves. Part two.

Again these group(s) can't be a part of the present-day LDS church, I really have no idea where they'd fall in under. But here are several short interviews with young people from polygamy families. Part one, part two, part three.

Seeds of Turmoil By Bryant Wright

2010-09-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

Book Description

A clear, in-depth biblical explanation of the origin, history, and significance of the Middle East conflict.

The current conflict in the Middle East began long before the creation of the state of Israel in 1948. It originated when Abraham sinned, distorting God's promise that he and his heirs would make a great nation and inherit the land now called The Holy Land.

A historical and political account, Seeds of Turmoil clearly explains the biblical story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar and the ensuing sibling rivalry between Jacob and Esau, whose choices formed the world's three most influential religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.

This fascinating insight into the beginnings of the conflict also explains what about the land is so important today. In addition, Wright sheds light on the conflicting Jewish, Christian, and Islamic perspectives and answers the question, Does God play favorites?

My thoughts:

The Middle Eastern confict has always intrigued me. In highschool I watch hours of documentary filming on the subject and read novels on it. I honestly don't think one side is more politically correct than the other. Palestine Christians have suffered long years because in 1949 Israel won the right to have their own State. It seems only right, it was promised to them long thousands of years before. But I feel as much empathy for the Palestinians as I do for the Jews. Both of them received promises from God. It wasn't by their mistakes that life is a constant strain of war and bloodshed. The Arabs aren't the only ones with Terrorist groups, Israel has had its share of terrorist groups as well. I really don't think there will ever be lasting peace between the two groups, not with the UN's agenda. But this is all a political perspective and could argue the day long over what, how and where.

There is another perspective. One that most ppl ignore. The feud between the Arabs and Jews wasn't suddenly born in 1949. It begins with the story of Abraham. For as long as I can remember my father taught me that the strife in the Middle East stems from the Biblical background of Abraham, Sarah and Hagar. And this is what this book is about. It's a good book. Very simply put and easy to understand. If you support the Bibical idea of the Israel conflict, this book is for you. It didn't disappoint me, but reinforced what I already believed. The book was a bit to preachy for me, those places dragged out for. But I think the information is sound and worthy for my next Middle Eastern debate...

This book was made available for review by Thomas Nelson Publishing.

FIRST Present A Hope for Hannah by Jerry Eicher

2010-09-08T01:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday and today's feature are a new series by author Jerry Eicher. I was reminded how small our globe is (well, not really)! when my sister-in-law asked me if I was familiar with Jerry Eicher's books. At the time I only recognised the name. She laughed in her merry, contagious way and told me that their families lived side by side growing up in the State of Virginia. Small world indeed!

My mom is reading these books. Though she isn't finished with them she is enjoying them. Says she feels something akin to the Amish books, a connection. She is fascinated with their lifestyle and reads every Amish book I get my hands on.

I'm planning on getting the remainder of this series for our library. I read the first chapter and they seem light, easy reads. Something for those long, awaited winter months ahead perhaps?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jerry Eicher

and the book:

A Hope for Hannah

Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Karri James of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

As a boy, Jerry Eicher spent eight years in Honduras where his grandfather helped found an Amish community outreach. As an adult, Jerry taught for two terms in parochial Amish and Mennonite schools in Ohio and Illinois. He has been involved in church renewal for 14 years and has preached in churches and conducted weekend meetings of in-depth Bible teaching. Jerry lives with his wife, Tina, and their four children in Virginia.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $11.99
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930442
ISBN-13: 978-0736930444

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Hannah Byler awoke with a start. She sat up in bed and listened. The wind outside the small cabin stirred in the pine trees. The moon, already high in the sky when she and Jake went to bed, shone brightly through the log cabin window.

Beside her she heard Jake’s deep, even breathing. She had grown accustomed to the comforting sound in the few short months since they’d been married. She laid back down on the pillow. Perhaps it was just her imagination. There was no sound—nothing to indicate something might be wrong.

But her heart beat faster—and fearfully. Something was wrong—but what?

“Jake,” she whispered, her hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Jake, vagh uff.”

“What is it?” he asked groggily. He spoke louder than she wished he would at the moment.

“I don’t know,” she whispered again and hoped he would get the hint. “I think there’s something outside.”

Jake listened and sat up in bed with his arms braced on the mattress.

“I don’t hear anything,” he said, a little quieter this time. “There are all kinds of noises in the mountains at night.”

“I think something is outside,” she insisted.

They both were silent a moment, waiting and listening. Hannah half expected Jake to lower his head back to his pillow, tell her the fears were a bad dream, and go back to sleep. Instead he pushed back the covers and set his feet on the floor.

Just then a loud snuff outside the log wall stopped him. They both froze. Hannah didn’t recognize the sound. No animal she knew ever made such a noise.

“It sounds like a pig,” Jake said, his voice low. “What are pigs doing out here at nighttime?”

“It’s not a pig,” Hannah whispered back. No stray pig, even in the nighttime, could create such tension. “It’s something else.”

“But what?” Jake asked, the sound coming again, seemingly right against the log wall.

Hannah lay rigid, filled with an overpowering sense that something large and fierce stood outside.

“I’m going to go see what’s out there.” Jake had made up his mind, and Hannah made no objection.

Jake felt under the bed for his flashlight and then moved toward the door. Somehow Hannah found the courage to follow but stayed close to Jake.

Their steps made the wooden floor creak, the only sound to be heard.

Jake slowly pulled open the wooden front door, his flashlight piercing the darkness as he moved it slowly left and then right.

“Nothing here,” he said quietly and then stepped outside.

Hannah looked around Jake toward the edge of the porch. “It was around the corner,” she whispered.

Jake walked slowly toward the corner of the house, but Hannah stayed on the porch near the front door.

Jake stopped momentarily and then stepped around the corner of the house. Hannah could only see a low glow from the flashlight. In the distance by the light of the moon, the misty line of the Cabinet Mountains accented the utter ruggedness of this country. During the day, the sight still thrilled her, but now that same view loomed dangerously.

For the first time since they’d moved into the cabin after their wedding, Hannah wondered whether this place was a little too much for the two of them. Was a remote cabin, a mile off the main road and up this dirt path into the foothills of the Cabinet Mountains, really what she wanted?

“It’s a bear!” Jake’s voice came from around the corner. “Come take a look—quick—before it’s gone.”

“Gone,” she whispered.

“Come see!” Jake’s urgent voice came again.

Again Hannah found courage from somewhere. She stepped around the corner of the house and let her gaze follow the beam of Jake’s flashlight, which now pierced the edge of the clearing around their cabin. At the end of the beam, a furry long-haired bear—as large as the one she’d seen once at the zoo—stood looking back at them, its head raised and sniffing the air.

“It’s a grizzly,” Jake said, excitement in his voice. “See its hump?”

“Then why are we out here?” Hannah asked, nearly overcome with the urge to run and desperate for solid walls between her and this huge creature.

“The men at the lumberyard said there aren’t many around,” Jake said in her ear. “Mostly black bears down in this area.”

“Shouldn’t we be inside?” she asked the question another way, pulling on his arm. “It’s not going away.”

“It will leave sooner if we stay in sight rather than go inside,” he told her, his light playing on the creature whose head was still in the air and turned in their direction.

“Well, I’m going inside,” she said, her courage now wholly depleted.

“It’s going,” Jake announced, and so she paused. They watched, fascinated, as the great creature bobbed its head and disappeared into the woods.

“It’s gone,” Jake said, a bit disappointed. “That was a grizzly.”

They turned back to the cabin, Hannah following Jake’s lead. As they stepped onto the porch, Hannah considered their front door. Suddenly the solid slat door—so bulky before—now looked thin, an unlikely protection against the hulk that had just disappeared into the dark tree line.

“What if it comes back?” she asked.

“It won’t. It’s just passing through,” he assured her. “They don’t like humans. They’re wanderers anyway. It’ll probably not come this way again—ever.”

Not reassured, Hannah shut the door tightly behind them and pushed the latch firmly into place.

“Bears hang around,” she told him. “This one could come back.”

“Then we’ll deal with it. Maybe the game warden can help. I doubt it will return, though.” Jake was fast losing interest and ready for his bed again.

Jake snuggled under the covers, pulling them tight up to his chin. “These are cold nights,” he commented. “Winter’s just around the corner. I have to get some sleep.”

Hannah agreed and pulled her own covers up tight. Jake’s job on the logging crew involved hard manual labor that required a good night’s sleep. She didn’t begrudge him his desire for sleep.

“I sure hope it doesn’t come back,” she said finally.

“I doubt it will,” he muttered, but Hannah could tell he was already nearly asleep.

To the sounds of Jake’s breathing, she lay awake and unable to stop her thoughts. Home, where she had grown up in Indiana, now seemed far away, a hazy blur against the fast pace of the past few months.

What is Mom doing? she wondered. No doubt she’s comfortably asleep in their white two-story home, secure another night just like the night before and ready to face another day just like the day before.

Thoughts of her earlier summers in Montana—tending to Aunt Betty’s riding stable—pushed into her mind. This country had seemed so glorious then, and she had dreamed of her return.

The wedding had come first. She smiled in the darkness while she remembered the special day. After a flurry of letters and Jake’s visits as often as he could, Betty got her wish for a wedding in Montana. Hannah’s mother realized it was for the best. Because the plans for Hannah’s wedding to Sam Knepp ended in a disaster back home in Indiana, Roy and Kathy decided they couldn’t have the wedding there and possibly face that embarrassment again. Even Jake was in favor of the wedding in Montana—here where they had met.

Their hearts were in Montana now—close to the land and the small Amish community in the shadow of the Cabinet Mountains. But lately Hannah asked herself if living out here in the middle of nowhere was really for their best. Then she was thankful that at least she was with Jake—better here with Jake than anywhere else without him.

But as she lay in the darkness unable to sleep, she found herself wishing for close neighbors. She wished she could get up now and walk to the front door, knowing that someone else lived within calling distance—or at least within running distance if it came to that. Now, with a bear around, a night wanderer with mischief on his mind, there was nowhere to go. She shuddered.

She wondered if she could outrun a bear and reach a neighbor’s house. She pictured herself lifting her skirt for greater speed. How fast can bears run? Can they see well at night to scout out their prey?

Hannah shivered in the darkness and listened to Jake’s even breathing, wondering how he could sleep after what they had just seen. A grizzly! Jake had been sure it was a grizzly they’d heard sniffing around their cabin just outside their bedroom wall. Why was Jake not more alarmed? He had even seemed fascinated, as if it didn’t bother him at all.

She had always thought she was the courageous one, the one who wanted adventure. After all, she had come out to Montana on her own that first summer. The mountains had fascinated her, drawn her in, and given her strength. But tonight those same mountains had turned on her and given her a bear for a gift—a grizzly. Even the stately pine trees, with their whispers that soothed her before, now seemed to talk of dark things she knew nothing about, things too awful to say out loud.

She turned in the bed, hoping she wouldn’t disturb Jake. She thought of his job on the logging crew, really a job of last resort. Yes, at first it was a blessing because they needed the income, but now it had become more and more of a burden. Jake didn’t complain, but the burden was apparent in the stoop of his shoulders when he came home at night. It revealed itself in his descriptions of how he operated the cutter, navigated the steep slopes, and worked with logs that rolled down the sides of the mountains. She also heard it in his descriptions of Mr. Wesley, his boss. She had met Mr. Wesley once when he had stopped by the house to interview Jake for the job. He operated the largest timber company in Libby, and his huge, burly form matched his position, nearly filling their cabin door that day. She had been too glad Jake had gotten the job to worry much about Mr. Wesley, but after he left she was glad she wouldn’t see him every day.

Hannah shivered again, feeling the sharp chill that seeped into the log house—the same one that seemed so wonderful in summer. Winter would come soon to this strange land, and neither she nor Jake had ever been through one here.

Hannah willed herself to stop thinking. Now she knew for certain. There had been something she wanted to tell Jake but had wanted to wait until she was sure. Now on this night—the night the bear came—she was certain. The strangeness puzzled her. How could a bear’s unexpected visit and this wonderful news have anything to do with each other?

reason for not blogging...

2010-09-07T16:51:00.000-05:00

Seriously.

FIRST Presents A Dream for Hannah Jerry Eicher

2010-09-07T02:07:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jerry Eicher

and the book:

A Dream for Hannah

Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Karri James of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

As a boy, Jerry Eicher spent eight years in Honduras where his grandfather helped found an Amish community outreach. As an adult, Jerry taught for two terms in parochial Amish and Mennonite schools in Ohio and Illinois. He has been involved in church renewal for 14 years and has preached in churches and conducted weekend meetings of in-depth Bible teaching. Jerry lives with his wife, Tina, and their four children in Virginia.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $11.99
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930450
ISBN-13: 978-0736930451

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Outside Hannah Miller’s upstairs window, springtime had come. The earth was finally awakening from what had been a worse than normal northern Indiana winter.

Breakfast was finished, and her mother would soon call from downstairs for help. Her cousins were coming to visit this evening, and there was a lot of work to do.

As she secured her dark hair beneath the head covering she wore for work, Hannah glanced down at the paper on which she had scribbled the words of the poem. Surely she had time for another quick read, and that would have to do. Her almost seventeen-year-old hands trembled as she held the writing in front of her.

The words of the poem by E.S. White, written in 1908, gripped her again.

A Ballad of Spring

It’s Spring, my Love.

Bowed down with care,

Your branches are stripped and bare.

Old Winter’s past.

Its snow and cold

Have melted long and lost their hold.

The earth it waited

With bated breath for something more,

For life renewed called from its core.

It opens wide its arms.

For strength, for vigor, for its best,

It stirs its creatures to their nests.

All around it lies the warmth

Because the sun has drawn near,

Touching, caressing, there and here.

Arise, it calls.

The pomegranates bloom.

They yell that life has room.

Will you come, my Dear,

Hold my hand, touch what I bring?

Because, my Love, it’s Spring.

Hannah paused as thoughts raced through her head. Can this be true? Is there really such a feeling? Is this something I could really feel…this thing called love?

Then, from downstairs she heard the urgent sound of her mother’s voice, “Hannah, time to start the day.”

“Yes, I’m coming,” she called as she quickly placed the poem on the dresser, smoothed the last wrinkles out of the bed covers, and then rushed out of her room and down the stairs.

“The wash needs to be started right away,” her mom said as she busied herself with the dishes in the kitchen sink.

“Yes, right away,” Hannah said. After making one last check for dirty clothes in the bedrooms, she made her way down to the basement. The sparse room seemed dingy and damp, in stark contrast to the fresh spring day she had seen from her upstairs window. She’d much rather be outside, but the laundry must be done.

Hannah ran the water into the tub from the attached hose. When the water reached the fill line, she turned off the water and tossed in the first load of dirty clothes. With a jerk on the starter rope, the old tub started vibrating. The motor changed its speed and sound as the center tumbler turned, dragging the load of pants and shirts through the water.

As Hannah reached inside the washer to check the progress, the memory of the poem returned to her. Then she thought of James back in seventh grade. His grin had been lopsided but cute. He was a sweet boy—his eyes always lit up whenever Hannah looked at him. Was that the first stirrings of whatever this thing called “love” was?

Surely not. Such ideas! If someone could read my thoughts… “A dumm-kopf, that’s what they’d say,” she spoke aloud, smiling at her youthful memory.

Her hand dodged the tumbler’s wrath, but still the tumbler caught a piece of cloth and whipped water in her direction.

Then her memory moved up to eighth grade. Sam Knepp. A thirteen-year-old girl just had to have someone to like. The other girls would have thought her a true dummkopf if she had no one. And so she had picked Sam at random. What other choice had there been? Sam sat across the aisle from her. He was sort of cute. He had freckles, red hair, and a good smile. But there was that horrible habit he had of opening his mouth when he was puzzled or surprised.

When Hannah told the other girls she liked Sam, they reacted with admiration. So she had made the right choice. Maybe she was not a dummkopf. Her friend Mary stuck up for her choice. Mary was blonde and sweet on Laverne, who was truly a wonder in the world of Amish eighth graders. He was easily the best-looking boy in the district. In fact Hannah would have picked Laverne had he not already been taken by Mary. For some reason, it didn’t bother her that Annie, who was in the sixth grade, had her attention on Sam; blushing every time he walked by, but saying nothing.

No, Hannah decided, Sam didn’t fit for her. Not really. Maybe Laverne would have been a good choice, but not as long as he was Mary’s choice. Hannah supposed even now that Laverne and Mary would soon be dating.

“Hannah,” her mother called from upstairs, “are you done yet?”

“Coming,” Hannah called out. “This old washer is going as fast as it can.”

“Well, hurry up. The clothing needs to be on the line soon. The sun is already well up.”

“Yes,” Hannah called out again, “I’ll get it out as soon as I can.”

Minutes later the cycle was finished, and Hannah quickly loaded the basket with the heavy wet laundry and made her way up the steps and out to the clothesline.

Outside, the glorious spring day greeted her brightly. Hannah turned her face skyward and almost lost her grip on the basket as she soaked in the warm sunshine. What a glorious spring it was going to be! It felt so good to be young and alive.

Hannah began pinning the wet clothes onto the line till they stretched out, heavy in the still morning air. Later the breeze would pick up and dry the clothes as they flapped in the wind. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Hannah hoped the wind would stay gentle until the last piece was fully dry, but with spring days, one was never sure. The wind could have a mind of its own.

She stood back and watched with approval the first of the wash begin to move slightly in the breeze. Yes, this is going to be a wonderful spring, she decided as she picked up the basket and turned to go back inside.

The sun was still out when the first buggies arrived for the evening’s family gathering. Two buggies came in, one right after the other, and then two more arrived fifteen minutes later. Among the guests were Ben and Susan Yoder—Susan was Hannah’s mom’s cousin. Also in attendance were Leroy and John, brothers on her dad’s side, and Mose, Leroy’s brother-in-law. Other people who were in some way connected to the Millers had also been invited. Having a few outside guests allowed for some spontaneity while maintaining some of the structures formed by the natural family. Sam Knepp came that night because one of the cousins had taken the notion to invite him.

It amused Hannah to see Sam again, having just thought of him that morning. She noticed that he still had that habit of occasionally allowing his mouth to drop open almost randomly.

After a hearty supper, all the young people went outside to play. Since so many younger children were involved, they had to choose a simple game. The game they chose was Wolf, which caused Hannah to consider whether or not she might be too old to join in. The game involved races run at full speed in the darkness. When all of the cousins and Sam announced they would play, Hannah decided to join in. After all, Sam and she were the same age. If he could play, so could she.

With that decided, the game was called to order, and the first “wolf”—her cousin Micah—was chosen. He picked the big tree beside the house for his home base, hollered loudly that the game had begun, and began to count. The children scattered to find hiding places before he counted to one hundred. Hannah decided to try to bluff the wolf by hiding just around the corner of the house.

At the count of a hundred, the wolf silently moved to the edge of the house, stuck his head around the corner, spotted Hannah, and howled with glee. He easily beat her back to the tree trunk.

“That was stupid of me,” Hannah muttered as she joined Micah at the tree.

“They try that on me all the time,” the wolf crowed in triumph. “Now let’s get the rest of them. You go around the house that way, and I’ll take the side you hid on.”

Hannah imitated the wolf’s trick, now that she was one herself, but the corner of the house produced no hidden sheep. The moon had already set by now, and the only light came from the stars. This corner of the house was particularly dark, absent of any light beams from the gas lanterns in the living room and kitchen.

Hannah felt her way along the house and, hearing a noise, she turned toward the front porch where she flushed someone out of the bush and found herself in a race back to the tree trunk. Hannah wasn’t sure who she was chasing, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was who got to the tree first.

Just as she passed the corner of the house, Hannah’s world exploded into a deeper darkness than the evening around her. Sam, the one she had flushed from the bush, somehow collided with Hannah. He flew backward, and Hannah flew off into complete darkness in the other direction. Two other racers just missed her fallen body and dodged Sam who had now crawled slowly to a sitting position.

Young cousin Jonas, one of the children who had to jump to avoid Hannah’s body, immediately ran to the kitchen door, stuck his head in, and yelled in his loudest little-boy voice, “Someone bring a light! There’s been a hurt!”

Roy Miller, Hannah’s father, reacted first. He grabbed the kitchen lantern from its hook and ran outside.

“What’s going on?” he called from the porch, holding his lantern aloft, the light reaching out in a great circle.

“She’s hurt! Over here!” Sam called. He now rested on his left elbow and pointed toward Hannah’s still body.

As Roy approached, Sam slowly huddled closer to Hannah, both hands wrapped around his head. “Hannah,” he whispered, “are you hurt?”

By the light of Roy’s approaching lantern, Sam saw that Hannah was not moving. He took his hands off his head and gently pushed her arm but got no response. “You okay?” he asked again, tilting his head sideways to look down at her.

“Oh no, I hurt her!” Sam yelled as he jumped to his feet. He then stood speechless, his mouth wide open.

With the lantern in hand, Roy was now standing over the two young people. Glancing briefly at Sam, Roy reached for Hannah’s hand and then focused his attention on Hannah’s head, which had obviously taken the brunt of the hit as evidenced by a deep gash and wound to her left eye. Roy gently gathered Hannah in his arms and spoke to his brother, Leroy, standing beside him.

“Better take a look at Sam,” Roy said with a motion of his head toward the boy, and then he headed to the kitchen with Hannah.

Hannah’s mom met them at the door. “How bad is she hurt?” she asked, holding the kitchen door open.

“I don’t know,” Roy told her. “Let’s get her to the couch.”

Roy placed Hannah down gently and then stepped aside as Kathy got her first good look at Hannah’s head.

“We have to take her to the doctor—now,” Kathy said. “This looks serious.”

“Are you sure?” Roy said. “Is it that bad?”

“Roy, just look at her eye and that cut on her head!”

Roy, for the first time, carefully studied his daughter’s injury and then nodded. “Can someone run down to Mr. Bowen’s place and call for a driver?” he asked.

“I’ll go,” Ben said as he headed for the door.

Hannah had become alert enough to barely moan but nothing more.

Ben returned minutes later, a little breathless but with news. “Mr. Bowen said it wasn’t necessary to call for a ride. He’ll take her himself.”

“Da Hah be praised,” Roy said, worried about his daughter.

Old Mr. Bowen drove his car up to the front porch. Roy helped the groggy Hannah into the backseat.

“Why don’t you ride in the back with her?” Roy suggested to Kathy.

Kathy nodded, slid in next to Hannah, and held her upright against her own shoulder. With Roy in the front seat, Mr. Bowen pulled out of the driveway.

“Is she hurt badly?” Mr. Bowen asked.

“I can’t tell,” Roy said. “Her head seems to have…quite a gash in it. And her left eye doesn’t look normal.”

“I’ll get you there as fast as I can.” Mr. Bowen accelerated slowly on the gravel road and hung tightly onto the steering wheel. Once they reached the blacktop, he sped up considerably.

They reached Elkhart without incident, and Mr. Bowen pulled into the hospital parking lot. Roy quickly got out, opened the back door, and helped Hannah out of the car. He and Kathy took Hannah’s arms and made their way into the emergency room reception area.

The attending nurse took one look at Hannah, brought a wheelchair for her, and then took her to an examining room to wait for the doctor.

An hour later Roy and Kathy were seated in the waiting room.

“Did they say how bad she is?” Roy asked again.

“The nurse said she’ll be fine. That’s all she said,” Kathy repeated.

“Will she lose the eye?”

“No, surely not,” Kathy said, though with some uncertainty.

“We’ll just have to trust,” he said, attempting a smile and squeezing her hand.

“I’ll wait for you folks. Whatever time this takes,” Mr. Bowen assured them.

“That awful nice of you,” Kathy said. “We can call when we’re done. This could take much of the night.”

“The Mrs. understands,” Mr. Bowen said. “I don’t need much sleep myself anyway.”

“It’s still nice of you,” Kathy said with a smile as she took a seat beside Roy.

A few minutes later, the attending doctor walked into the waiting room and motioned for Hannah’s parents to follow him.

“I’m Dr. Benson,” he announced to the couple as they walked down the hall. “Your daughter is resting now. There isn’t much more we can do other than keep her under observation. We can’t let her sleep for a while, of course.”

“What happened?” Kathy asked.

“A bad concussion, that’s all, from what I can tell. The bone structure of her skull has actually been damaged where the impact occurred. That’s also what caused her left eye to protrude. We patched her up as best we could. Now nature will have to take its course. The eye, I believe, will return to normal now that we have taken the worst of the pressure off. We’d like to keep her here under observation for a day or two just to be sure.”

“Yes, of course,” Roy said. “I appreciate the prompt attention. She had us really worried. Will we be able to see her now?”

“Yes, the nurse will take you back. Do you have any questions?”

Roy and Kathy looked at each other, and Kathy said, “No, doctor, I don’t think so. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

The couple then followed the nurse into the elevator and two floors up.

Hannah lay in the bed, covered with white sheets and kept awake by a watchful nurse. The bed beside Hannah was occupied by another girl whose face was turned away from them. She moved slightly when they walked in but didn’t turn in their direction.

“You’re in good hands,” Kathy whispered and squeezed Hannah’s hand.

Hannah blinked slowly but made no other response.

“A little groggy,” the nurse said and smiled. “We gave her something for the pain.”

“We’d better leave, then, I suppose,” Kathy whispered. “They’ll take good care of you, Hannah. I’ll come back tomorrow first thing.”

Hannah nodded, and Kathy brushed her hand across her cheek.

At the doorway, Kathy glanced back quickly before she followed Roy out.

“She looked okay,” Roy assured her.

“But here—all night by herself.”

“They’ll watch her. You can come back in the morning. Half the night’s gone already the way it is.”

“I suppose so,” Kathy agreed.

Roy pushed the elevator button. They stepped inside when the doors opened and arrived at the waiting room to find Mr. Bowen had nodded off, his chin on his chest.

“We’re back,” Roy whispered into his ear.

He awoke with a start, grinned, and promptly bounced to his feet.

“How is she?” he asked as they walked outside.

“She’ll be okay,” Roy said, “but she’s staying for a day or two.”

“Sounds good for how she looked,” Mr. Bowen commented. “So let me get you folks home. I suppose you’re ready?”

“That we are,” Roy agreed.

Mr. Bowen drove slowly on the way home, taking his time around the curves. When he pulled into the Miller’s graveled driveway, he turned to Kathy in the backseat. “What’s your driver situation for tomorrow?”

“I have no one,” Kathy said, “and I have to go first thing in the morning, but I’ll call around from the pay phone.”

“No, just count on me as your driver until this is over,” Mr. Bowen said.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Kathy said, “but we don’t to want to take advantage.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mr. Bowen assured her. “I’m more than glad to help out.”

FIRST Presents Tender Vow by Sharlene MacLaren

2010-09-06T01:00:00.000-05:00

Rachel's Review:

Sharlene MacLaren's books are sought after in our library. Everyone who reads them loves them. No doubt this one will be checked out often in the coming months.

Every time I read one of MacLaren’s books I can’t wait for the next one to come out. Tender Vow is beautifully written and poignant love story full of sorrow, healing and tender love.

I can’t imagine what Rachel Evans went through losing her husband at such a vulnerable stage; a single mother with a young daughter and one on the way. I guess we can all relate to losing a loved one in some way or the other, some more than others, but Rachel’s situation struck me as especially heartbreaking. Rachel and her husband were very much in love, but just before his accident they had a huge argument over some small things that turned into mountains. The sad part is they never made up and Rachel had to live with it. I was reminded of the Bible verse that says we shouldn’t let the sun go down on our anger and how many times we do that, blaming the other. Imagine our guilt and the what ifs when our loved one is taken away without our making amends.

I highly recommend this book and hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card author is:

Sharlene MacLaren

and the book:

Tender Vow

Whitaker House (September 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling of Whitaker House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

After over thirty years of teaching, with her children grown, “Shar” prayed for direction, asking God for a new mission that would fill her heart with the same kind of passion she’d felt teaching and raising children. She began to write fiction – stories filled with fallen heroes and redeemed villains, daring women and starry-eyed children – plotlines that ultimately brought her characters face to face with God’s grace and restorative power. That choice has proven to be an excellent career move as the prolific author is releasing her 9th novel in September 2010. Sharlene grew up in western Michigan and graduated from Spring Arbor University with a degree in education. She traveled the world with a musical group before returning home to marry Cecil MacLaren, whom she’d known since boyhood. The couple lives in western Michigan.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 432 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (September 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603740988
ISBN-13: 978-1603740982

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

PROLOGUE

Icy breezes whistled through the trees in Fairmount Cemetery, prompting the faithfuls gathered there to pull their collars tighter and button their coat fronts higher, as the tent that had been set up for the occasion did little to protect them from the elements. Just two days ago, northern Michigan had experienced a warm front, unusual for late November, but today’s temperatures made a mockery of it. Twenty-nine-year-old Jason Evans shivered, no longer feeling his fingers or toes, and wondered if the numbness came from the dreadful cold or from his deliberate displacement of emotion. He still couldn’t believe it—it was just two days after Thanksgiving, and his brother, John, two years older than he, was gone. Gone.

As Pastor Eddie Turnwall from Harvest Community Church pronounced the final words of interment, sobs and whimpers welled up from the mourners. His mom’s guttural cry among them gouged him straight to the core. Jason’s dad pulled his wife closer while Jason placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. His girlfriend, Candace Peterson, stuck close by, her hand looped through his other arm. His sister-in-law—John’s widow, Rachel—stood about six feet away, clinging tightly to her father and borrowing his strength as tears froze on her cheeks. Her coat bulged because of her pregnancy of eight months, and Jason worried that the added stress of her grief might send her into early labor. Meagan, John and Rachel’s three-year-old daughter, was the only one oblivious to the goings-on; she twirled like a ballerina until Rachel’s fifteen-year-old sister, Tanna, bent down to pick her up. If she knew the significance of this day, Jason thought, she’d be standing as still as a statue. What a blessing God kept her shielded—at least, for the time being.

“And now, dear Father, we commit John Thomas Evans into your hands,” Pastor Turnwall declared. “We know—”

“No!” Rachel’s pitiful wail brought the reverend to a temporary halt. In the worst way, Jason wanted to go to her, but he had his mom to think about. Mitch Roberts supported his daughter, whispered something in her ear, and nodded for the reverend to continue. Pastor Turnwall hastened to a finish, but the last of his words faded in the howling winds.

At the close of the brief ceremony, many of the mourners stepped forward to give the family some final encouragement. Jason went through the motions, nodding and uttering words of thanks. While he longed to linger at the bronze casket, the weather made it impossible, so, as the last of the small crowd left the tent, he followed, Candace’s quiet sniveling somehow disarming him. He didn’t have the strength to comfort her, especially since she’d barely known his brother; she barely knew his family, for that matter.

“Are you all right?” Candace asked in a quavery voice.

“I’m doing okay,” he muttered, his gaze pointed downward as they walked along the frozen path. How did one explain how he really felt on a day like this?

In front of them, mourners scattered in various directions, heading for cars covered in a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. Despite the cold, Rachel walked with slow, faltering steps, sagging against her father. Even from ten or so feet back, Jason could hear her sobbing moans. The sound made his chest contract.

Without forethought, he left Candace to her own defenses and raced ahead to catch up with them.

“Rachel.” Breathless, he reached her side. “I’m so sorry.”

“Jay.” She turned from her father’s supportive grip and fell into Jason’s arms, her sobs competing with the sighing winds.

They stopped in the path, and he held her sob-racked body, feeling his eyes well up with tears. Through his blurred vision, he noted both families halting their steps to look on. One of Rachel’s girlfriends took Meagan from Tanna and headed toward one of the cars. “Shh. You can do this, Rachel,” he whispered. “Think of Meagan—and your baby.”

“I—I c-can’t,” she stammered, her voice barely resembling that of the Rachel he’d known since high school, when he and John would argue over who was going to win her in the end. Of course, it’d been John, and rightfully so. And not for a second had Jason ever begrudged him. They fit like a glove, Rachel and John.

“Sure, you can,” he murmured in her ear. “You are Rachel Evans, strong, courageous, capable—and carrying my brother’s son, don’t forget.” He set her back from him and studied her perfect, oval face, framed by wisps of blond hair falling out from beneath her brown, velvet, Chicago cuff hat. Her blue eyes, red around the edges, peered up at him from puffy eyelids without really seeing. Chills skipped up his spine, and he didn’t think they came from the air’s cold bite. “Come on, let’s get you to the car,” he urged her, thankful when Candace stepped forward to take Rachel’s other arm, and they set off together. Rachel barely acknowledged Candace, and he wondered if she even remembered her, so few were the times he had brought her home.

“I can’t believe it, Jason, I just—I can’t believe it,” Rachel kept murmuring. “Just last week, we were making plans for our future, talking about John Jr. coming into the world, wondering how Meagan would feel about having a baby brother….”

“I know.”

“He just finished painting the nursery, you know.”

“I’m glad.”

She frowned. “Tell me again what happened.”

His throat knotted. “What? No, Rach, not here.”

She slowed her steps to snag him by the coat sleeve. “I need to hear it again,” she said, punctuating each word with determination.

“We’ll talk later, but first, we need to get you out of the cold.”

“Jason’s right, honey,” Mitch said, coming up behind them. “Let’s go back to the house.”

“But I don’t understand how it happened. I need to understand.”

“We’ve been over it,” Donna Roberts said as she joined them. Tanna came up beside her mother and held her hand as they walked. Like everyone else’s, Arlene Roberts’s face bore evidence of having shed a river of tears.

“I don’t care!” Rachel’s voice conveyed traces of hysteria. She stopped in her tracks, forcing everyone else to do the same. “John was a good skier,” she said. “He knew the slopes on Sanders Peak like the back of his hand. You said yourself you guys used to ski out there every spring.” Her seascape-colored eyes shot holes of anguish straight through Jason—critical, faultfinding eyes.

A rancid taste collected at the back of his throat. “We did, Rach, and he was the best of the best, but it takes a champion skier to navigate Devil’s Run. Come on, your car’s just ahead.”

Her feet remained anchored to the frozen ground. “Did you force him, Jason?”

“What?” The single word hissed through his teeth. “How could you even suggest such a thing?”

“Rachel, now is not the time for such….”

But Rachel covered her dad’s words with her own. “Did you provoke him into taking Devil’s Run? Witnesses heard you two arguing, Jay. Why would you be fighting on top of a mountain?”

“We weren’t fight—”

“You’ve always been the risk taker, the gutsy, smug one, ever looking for a challenge. You pushed him to do it, didn’t you?”

“What? No! What are you saying, Rachel? It was a stupid accident, that’s all.”

She stood her ground, her eyes wild now. “John isn’t like you, Jay, never was. Why drag him to the top of Devil’s Run if only a ‘champion skier’ can handle it? You of all people knew his capabilities—and his limitations.”

Jason wanted to shake her but refrained, merely giving her a pointed stare instead. “I did not drag him anywhere, Rachel, and we’ve both navigated Devil’s Run before. It’s just…the conditions were extra bad that day. I told him not to try it. You have to believe me.”

“Then why, Jason? Just tell me why he’d take the chance! Why?” she wailed, thumping him hard in the chest. Shock pulsed through his veins as he grabbed her fist in midair to prevent another assault. Everyone gasped, and Candace took a full step back, looking bewildered. Blast if he wasn’t dumbfounded himself. Where did she get off blaming him for the accident? Didn’t she realize his heart ached as much as hers over John’s death?

Mitch stepped forward and put his arm around his daughter. “Witnesses say John went down of his own accord, honey, and the police ruled his death accidental. No one forced him down that slope.”

Now she threw her father an accusatory glare. “How do you know that, Dad? Were you there?”

Mitch frowned. “Well—of course not.”

As if that should have settled it, Rachel pulled away and marched up the snowy walkway, albeit with stumbling steps. In robotic fashion, everyone else followed, shaking their heads in dismay. Taken aback by her insinuations, Jason fell in at the tail of the procession. “She blames me,” he muttered.

“She’s completely rude,” Candace said, taking his gloved hand in hers with a gentle squeeze.

“No, she’s just not thinking straight.”

“I don’t see how you can defend her. She just hauled off and hit you square in the chest.”

He cared very much for Candace, but she sometimes annoyed him with her snap assessments. “She just lost her husband, Candace.”

Mitch reached the car ahead of Rachel and opened the front door for her. “Where’s Meaggie?” she suddenly asked, almost as an afterthought, turning full around to scan the cemetery.

“Aunt Emily took her back to the house,” her mother said, climbing into the back with Tanna.

“Oh.”

Before climbing into the car, she glanced about, focusing on Jason. “He was a good skier, Jason.”

Jason nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, he was, Rachel. No question about that.”

“As good as you?” she questioned with a cynical hint.

“Yes. As good as me,” he lied.

Seeming pacified, she bent her awkward, pregnant body and eased into the seat. Mitch closed the door behind her and went around to his own side, nodding at Jason’s parents, Tom and Donna Evans, and the rest of his family before climbing into the driver’s side and starting the engine.

When the car disappeared from view, Jason murmured again, “She blames me.”

“It will pass,” said Tom, removing his keys from his coat pocket. “Give her time.”

As they approached his dad’s late-model Chevrolet, Jason asked, “What about you, Dad? Do you think I’m to blame?”

“Son, please, let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Well, do you?”

“Get in the car,” his dad ordered in a tone Jason hadn’t heard since his youth. Even though he was a grown man, he felt compelled to obey. Candace climbed in ahead of him, and they all rode back to the house in icy silence.

CHAPTER ONE

Ten months later

“Mommy, will you play with me?” Meagan asked for at least the dozenth time.

Rachel scanned the kitchen, overwhelmed by the sight of empty juice bottles, a spilled box of baby cereal, a pan of lukewarm potato soup, and a pile of several weeks’ worth of mail. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her it was already 8:05 p.m. Her pounding head and jangling nerves were additional reminders of her upside-down life, and Rachel shot Meagan a weary look. “Mommy can’t play just now, honey. It’s already past your bedtime, and I still have to get you and your brother in the bathtub.” She wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand. It had been an unusually warm day for September, and the heat and humidity still lingered in the house, despite the open windows. In fact, the entire summer had been the hottest and driest Rachel could remember.

“I don’t want a bath.”

“I know, but you played hard today. A bath will feel good.”

“Uh-uh. Baths stink,” Meagan whined.

Rachel had a good comeback on the tip of her tongue, but she kept it to herself.

“Can you read me a book?”

“Not this minute, no.” Suddenly, it occurred to her that things were too quiet in the living room, where she’d left John Jr. Setting down her dishcloth, she headed toward the other room and found an assortment of magazines scattered about, their pages ripped out and thrown helter-skelter. Johnny looked up and grinned, his mouth jammed full with something. She ran across the room, knelt down beside him, and pried open his jaws, using her index finger to fish out a glob of wet paper. “Oh, Johnny-Boy, you little stinker, you’d better not have swallowed any of this.”

“If he did, it’ll come out in his diaper,” Meagan stated.

In spite of herself, Rachel laughed, something she’d rarely done since becoming a single parent. In fact, more often than not, she laid her exhausted self in bed each night and cried into her pillow, counting all the ways she’d failed at her mothering job that day, wishing John were there to ease the load.

She whisked Johnny up and headed for the stairs, deciding to leave the kitchen mess alone for now. “Come on, Meaggie. It’s bath time.” She lifted the latch on the gate and allowed Meagan to pass ahead of her, patting her on the back to urge her up the stairs.

“Noooooo,” came another expected whine.

Mustering up a bright voice, she said, “Remember, Grandma and Grandpa Evans are picking you up in the morning to take you to the circus! You’ll see elephants, tigers, horses…and I bet you’ll even see some clowns. Won’t that be fun?”

“Is Johnny goin’, too?”

“Nope. Tomorrow is strictly a Meagan day.”

“Yay!” she squealed, her mood instantly improved.

Later, with the children tucked in bed, the kitchen cleaned, and the house put back into a semi-ordered fashion, Rachel collapsed into her overstuffed sofa and heaved a mountainous sigh. Her chest felt heavy, a sensation she’d come to expect these days.

Be still, and know that I am God.

“I know, Lord,” she whispered, breathing deeply. “But it’s hard. Sometimes, I don’t feel Your presence. I will never understand why You took John.”

Be still….

She leaned down and pulled John’s Bible from a stack of books beneath the coffee table, guiltily wiping off a fine layer of dust. “Lord, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t even opened Your Word for weeks. What kind of a Christian am I, anyway? Shoot, what kind of a parent am I? I can’t even find time in a day to read Meagan a book.”

Be still….

“I’m trying.”

She opened the leather book, noting many highlighted verses interspersed throughout the slightly worn pages. John had been an avid reader, putting her to shame. She knew God more with her head than her heart, but John had known Him with both. She missed his wisdom, his courage, and his strength. Most days, it felt like she was floundering without her other half. If only she’d had the chance to say good-bye—then, maybe, she’d have fewer gnawing regrets. She gave her head a couple of fast shakes to blot out the memory.

I will never leave you nor forsake you, came the inner voice. It sounded good, but could she truly believe it?

***

Saturday morning dawned bright and full on the horizon, the skies a brilliant blue. The heady scent of roses wafted through her bedroom window. If John were still alive, he’d have headed out at daybreak and picked her a bouquet for the breakfast table. She smiled at the thought. Gentle, cool breezes played with the cotton curtains, causing shadows to dance jubilantly across the ceiling. She hauled her downy comforter up to her chin and turned her head to glance at the vacant pillow on the other side of the king-sized bed. His side always remained unruffled, no matter how much she tossed and turned in the night.

Two doors down, Johnny stirred, his yelps for attention growing by decibels. On cue, her breasts sent out an urgent message that it was feeding time. “I’m coming, Johnny Cakes,” she called out, then sighed as she tossed back the blankets, donned her robe, and stepped into her slippers. She padded across the room, stopping briefly to touch the framed photo of her and John on their wedding day before continuing to the nursery, where her towheaded, nine-month-old baby was waiting in his Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas. Oh, how she thanked the Lord she still had her beloved children. Yes, they wore her to a frazzle, but they also kept her grounded.

When the doorbell rang at nine o’clock on the dot, Meagan sailed through the house in her pink, polka-dotted shorts and matching shirt, her blond hair flying, and made a running leap into her grandpa’s waiting arms, wrapping her legs around his middle. Tom Evans laughed heartily and planted a kiss on her cheek, and Donna smiled, tousling the child’s head.

“Grandpa Evans!” Meagan squealed, reaching up to cup his cheeks with her hands. “You and Grandma are taking me to the circus!”

“No! Are you sure?” He feigned surprise. “I thought we were just going for a walk in the park.”

“Uh-uh. Mommy says we’re goin’ to the circus. What’s a circus, anyway?”

Tom laughed and began explaining what she should expect at the circus, while Donna took Johnny from Rachel’s arms and moved to the bay window for a look at the gleaming sunshine.

While her father-in-law talked to Meagan, Rachel looked on, getting glimpses of John in his every gesture. Tom Evans’ manner of speech, his pleasant face, his lean, medium build, the way he angled his head as he spoke, and even his rather bookish, industrious nature put her in mind of John.

She then thought of Jason, sort of the black sheep of the family, only in the sense that he was just the opposite with his tall, strongly built frame, cocoa-brown hair and eyes, and reckless, devil-may-care personality. And he was terribly likable to everyone—except Rachel, even though she, John, and Jason had been almost inseparable during their high school and college years. They had stuck together despite Jason’s penchant for weekend parties and John’s utter dislike of them; Jason had spent so much time socializing, it was a wonder he’d even graduated. But she and Jason had grown apart, especially after the accident, and she hadn’t seen him since last Christmas—her own choice, of course.

Tom stepped forward to plant a light kiss on Rachel’s cheek. “How are you doing these days, Rachel?”

“I’m all right,” she said with a mechanical shrug and a wistful smile. She never felt like discussing her innermost feelings.

Tom narrowed his gaze as he set Meagan down. The child scooted over to her grandma, who smiled down at her, then looked up at Rachel and said, “Say, why don’t you stop by the house tomorrow afternoon? You haven’t been over for such a long time.”

Visiting her in-laws’ home was like walking into yesterday, and Rachel didn’t know if she was ready to pass over the threshold again. The last few times had been too painful; she’d found herself glancing around the house and expecting John to come barreling out of one of the rooms. Silence followed as she bit down hard on her lip.

“Jason is coming home,” Donna went on, bouncing Johnny as she moved away from the window. “He called yesterday, and I convinced him to come for dinner. He hasn’t been home for a couple of months. I know he’d love to meet little Johnny. He asks about him every time he calls, and you know how much he loves and misses Meagan.”

Just hearing Jason’s name incited painful memories packed with guilt. For a time, Rachel had hated Jason, even blamed him for John’s death. Now, she just resented him for reasons she couldn’t define. In high school, the phrase “Three’s a crowd” had never applied to them. Instead, “All for one, and one for all” had been their motto—until she and John had become a couple, that is. After that, the chemistry among the three of them had changed. Oh, she’d had warm feelings for both brothers, and she’d even dated Jason off and on, but John ultimately had won her heart in his final two years of college with his utter devotedness to her, his promise of a bright future, and his maturity and passionate faith.

“What do you say, Rachel?” Donna asked, turning her head to keep Johnny from pulling on one of her dangling, gold earrings.

“Yes, you should come,” echoed Tom.

“I—I’m not sure. I think my parents are stopping over.”

“Oh, no; they’re coming straight from church to our place for lunch. They didn’t mention that?” Donna asked, bobbing Johnny in her arms. The two families had always been close, having lived in neighboring towns and attended the same church for years. Then, when Rachel and John had gotten married, the bond had grown tighter still.

“Um, I guess they did, but I…I forgot.” Panic raced through Rachel from head to toe. She didn’t want to see Jason, couldn’t picture him in a room without John there, too.

“Rachel.” Donna touched Rachel’s arm, her eyes moist. “We miss John more than you can imagine, but—we still have Jay. His birthday is Tuesday, remember? Won’t you come and help us celebrate it like old times?”

Jason’s birthday. She’d forgotten all about it. Yes, she did recall celebrating it as a family, just as they’d celebrated hers, John’s, and every other family member’s.

“I’m sorry; I just don’t feel like celebrating anything or anyone.”

“But he’s your brother-in-law, sweetheart. Don’t you want to see him? Remember how the three of you used to be so inseparable?”

“Mom, please,” Rachel warned her. “It’s all different now.”

“Of course, I know that. But—”

“Leave it be, Donna,” Tom said sternly. Meagan, growing as restless as a filly, tugged at her grandfather’s pant leg. “I can understand why Rachel wouldn’t want to see Jason. Too many memories, right, Rachel?” He reached up and touched her shoulder. “It’s probably for the best—you two keeping your distance, at least for now.”

She swallowed a tight knot and released a heavy breath. “Thanks.”

Donna blinked. “Well, if that’s how you feel…. But, at some point, I hope you’ll reconsider.” She shifted her fidgety body and frowned at her husband, then smiled down at Meagan and tweaked her nose. “Well, we should be getting to that circus, don’t you think, pumpkin?”

“Yes!” Meagan jumped with unadulterated glee. Oh, to be that innocent, Rachel thought.

“We’ll try not to be too late getting her home. How ’bout trying to get some rest when you put Johnny down?” Tom asked as Donna handed Johnny off to Rachel. “You look plain tuckered out.”

It sounded wonderful, but also completely unrealistic, considering the overflowing baskets of dirty clothes in the laundry room, the teetering pile of dishes in the kitchen sink, and the brimming wastebasket in every bathroom. Whoever said “A woman’s work is never done” must have been a single mom, Rachel thought. Then, nodding with a forced smile, she saw the circus-goers to the door.

FIRST Presents McKenzie by Penny Zeller

2010-09-01T01:00:00.000-05:00

Rachel's Review:

I have to admit McKenzie Worthington wasn’t on my list of admirable people at first. She was a rich, spoiled socialite who was used to being served and getting her own way. Whereas Zach Sawyer was the exact opposite; humble, kind and steadfast. A very unlikely pair... but McKenzie didn’t have ‘happily ever after’ on her mind when she married Zach. She was determined to find her sister even if it meant hurting Zach and his son.

After a while I considered McKenzie’s situation and couldn’t help admiring her. McKenzie couldn’t help the privileged life she was born into. She moved to the Wild West, married someone she barely knew, and had to make do with practically nothing... all for her sister’s sake. That took a lot of courage and gumption. And through Zach’s patience and prayers she blossomed into an independent and loving mother and wife.

Zach’s adorable son’s antics kept me laughing; I cried along with Zach when McKenzie broke his heart and rejoiced with both Zach and McKenzie as they mended hearts and she made his wishes of a God-centered and loving home come true.

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Penny Zeller

and the book:

McKenzie (Montana Skies series #1)

Whitaker House (September 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling of Whitaker House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Penny Zeller is the author of four books and numerous magazine articles in national and regional publications. She is an active volunteer in her community, serving as a women’s Bible study small-group leader and co-organizing a woman’s prayer group. Her passion is to use the gift of the written word that God has given her to glorify Him and to benefit His kingdom. When she’s not writing, Penny enjoys spending time with her family and camping, hiking, canoeing, and volleyball. She and her husband Lon reside in Wyoming with their two children.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $6.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (September 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603742166
ISBN-13: 978-1603742160

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

September 18, 1881

Boston, Massachusetts

Clutching the envelope that had just been delivered to her home, McKenzie Worthington walked into the parlor and closed the doors behind her. Sitting down, she ran her finger over the familiar, hasty penmanship on the outside of the envelope. There was no return address, but McKenzie already knew who had sent the letter. Bracing herself for the words on the pages within, she carefully opened the seal and unfolded the tattered, soiled piece of stationery.

My dearest sister McKenzie,

I write this letter with a heavy heart and a fearful spirit. I am convinced that Darius is not the man I thought him to be when I married him. He drinks almost continually, and when there is no more money to purchase his whiskey, he places the blame on me. He used all the money in my trousseau long ago, and we are constantly on the run to avoid the law. His threats are many if I dare turn him in to the local sheriff.

We are without food much of the time, but Darius always finds funds for his alcohol. All the money sent to me in the past, he has found a way to spend. I wish more than anything that I could find a way to leave this place and return home. However, Darius has threatened my life if I leave and has arranged for several of his friends at the saloon to keep an eye on me. One of his friends, Bulldog, lives nearby and watches my every move. He scares me to death, McKenzie.

Please, help me get away from Darius. He is such a mean man with a horrid temper. I fear for my life, at times. If Darius knew I was writing to you, I know he would kill me. I ask again that you please not tell Mother and Father the seriousness of my situation, since they will surely say that I deserve it for running away with Darius. But please come, and come quickly.

With much love,

Kaydie

When she had finished reading the letter, McKenzie clutched it to her chest. She could feel a tear threatening to fall, and she diverted her attention to the mantel above the fireplace. A large, three-foot-square oil painting hung proudly in the same place it had for the past ten years. McKenzie stared at the three people in the portrait and suddenly yearned for things to be as they had been then. Time had passed so quickly; the years of her childhood seemed barely a whisper in the conversation of life.

On the left-hand side of the painting, McKenzie’s younger sister, Kaydie, posed in her pink satin gown. Her long, blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, and her brown eyes seemed to hold a sparkle that McKenzie knew was long gone due to Kaydie’s present circumstances.

Sitting on a higher stool in the middle, McKenzie’s older sister, Peyton, emphasized her role as the eldest and most favored Worthington daughter. Beneath her dark, rolling locks, her large, green eyes held the look of arrogance and superiority that she continually flaunted over her less-preferred sisters.

On the right-hand side, her head tilted toward Kaydie’s, sat McKenzie, then fourteen years old. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was pinned up at the sides, and she wore her favorite turquoise gown. The smirk on McKenzie’s face had caused her mother great disturbance. “Proper ladies never smile in a portrait. Your father will be so disappointed,” her mother had scolded her. “We shall have to insist the painting be redone.”

The artist had been paid a reduced fee for failing to change McKenzie’s smile to a look of solemnity and had never been asked to paint any further portraits for the Worthington family. So, the portrait of Arthur and Florence Worthington’s daughters had never been repainted.

Once the servants had hung it above the mantel, there it had remained, serving as a memory in different ways to the different members of the Worthington household. To Peyton, it was a reminder that she was the eldest and the most obedient. To McKenzie and Kaydie, it was a reminder of enjoyable days past, when they would secretly embark on adventures that were considered unbecoming for young women from families of prestige and wealth. To McKenzie’s mother, the portrait was a disgrace because of McKenzie’s smirk, and to her father, it was the observance of a costly tradition that had been carried on from generation to generation.

McKenzie scanned the portrait again, her focus stopping on Kaydie’s face. Hang on, my dear Kaydie. I promise I will figure out a way to save you from Darius. Please don’t give up hope, she silently begged her sister. I don’t know how I will do it or when, only that I will. This much I promise you.

McKenzie sat for a moment longer in the quietness of the parlor. She recalled her parents’ disturbance when their youngest daughter had eloped with Darius Kraemer and moved West with him.

McKenzie’s mother had covered her mouth with her left hand and fanned herself with her right, clearly indicating her dismay at the situation. “I am so distraught by Kaydie’s marriage that I can barely manage day-to-day living,” she’d lamented.

“She never should have married a man so far beneath her. Now we’ll likely never hear from her again,” Peyton had said, sipping her tea. “Of course, Kaydie was always the one who thought she could do whatever she pleased and face the consequences later.” Peyton’s voice had done little to hide her smugness. “I would never do such a thing. Not only was it an unwise decision to marry someone without a pedigree and move far from civilization, but it has brought nothing but shame to the Worthington family. I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve had to make up stories to explain her absence in order to preserve our family’s impeccable reputation.”

McKenzie had glared at her older sister. “Now, Peyton, not everyone can marry such a fine gentleman as Maxwell Adams,” she’d said with more than a hint of sarcasm, thinking of how grateful she was that she herself hadn’t married Maxwell, or anyone like him. While he was polite and treated Peyton well, he was also stuffy and prudish, and he seemed incapable of doing anything for himself. It had been Peyton who had secured his position at their father’s law office. Maxwell hadn’t even been able to apply for the job himself. In McKenzie’s opinion, Maxwell was a helpless, spineless, sorry excuse for a man.

“At least I am married,” Peyton had said, glaring at her sister, “unlike some people I know.” Peyton never missed an opportunity to rub in the fact that McKenzie, as an unmarried woman, was an oddity in a society that held marriage as the highest priority for women—marriage to a man from a wealthy family and with a thriving career, of course. The fact that Peyton had been successful on both accounts gave her an edge over a sister who in most other respects won the competition war.

“Now, girls, please. This bickering between the two of you must stop,” their mother had said, wringing her hands.

“You’re right, Mother. It is a shame that McKenzie doesn’t conduct herself in a manner more in line with our upbringing,” Peyton had said, smiling smugly at her mother.

McKenzie shook her head now and pictured her mother. With the exception of her long, gray-blonde hair and the age difference, she and Peyton could be twins. Her mother’s large, emerald eyes made her look as though she were in a constant state of surprise. Her pert, upturned nose further conveyed the air about her that she knew she was from one of the wealthier families in the Boston area, both by birth and by marriage.

“Marry a man of wealth, have children, attend social gatherings, and busy yourself with acceptable volunteer work” were the maxims McKenzie’s mother sought to instill in her daughters. Kaydie had managed to fulfill one of those wishes—she’d married. Yet, it had been in defiance of her parents’ desire, for Darius was hardly wealthy. Yes, they had met while doing volunteer work, but, based on what McKenzie knew now, it had probably been a ruse.

The chiming of the tall, mahogany clock in the corner brought McKenzie back to the present, and she again focused her attention on Kaydie’s predicament. She knew that mailing money to Kaydie to secure her fare to Boston would be impossible, as she had no access to any funds; the money in her dowry would be passed to her husband alone.

Poor Kaydie had thought her normally calm and complacent life would be so full of adventure when she’d agreed to marry the wayward Darius. He’d captured her heart and taken her from security and wealth to the dangerous, uncivilized Wild West. Granted, he was an attractive man with allure brimming in his erratic personality. He’d even said all the things Kaydie had longed to hear, making the men of Boston pale in comparison. Only after it was too late had Kaydie discovered that Darius made his living by swindling and robbing. When things didn’t go according to plan, he took out his fury, both verbal and physical, on Kaydie, essentially holding her hostage in her own marriage.

Now, Kaydie was suffering because she’d fallen in love with what had turned out to be a mere façade. Her dowry, which Darius had been after from the beginning, had been spent while Kaydie had been blinded by the love she’d thought she had found.

McKenzie had always been closest to Kaydie and knew that there must be a way to help her. Besides, she knew Kaydie would do the same if the situation were reversed. She reached up to twirl one of her tendrils between her finger and her thumb, as she habitually did when she was in deep thought. Not one to allow discouragement to defeat her, McKenzie knew she had to be the one to concoct a plan to rescue her sister. Kaydie’s life depended on it. No one else knew of the four letters Kaydie had mailed intermittently to McKenzie. McKenzie had been sworn to secrecy regarding Kaydie’s predicament, and, besides, her parents would no doubt have no shortage of words regarding their judgment of their youngest daughter’s poor choice. No one else knew the way her life had taken a turn for the worse. No one else knew of Kaydie’s desperation. McKenzie was the only one who knew and the only one who could help. But how would she afford the trip west? And, once she got there, where would she stay? Who would protect her while she searched potentially dangerous towns for her sister?

Just then, it came to her—an idea so crazy, she thought that it just might work.

FIRST Presents The Berenstain Bears and the Gift of Courage by Jan & Mike Berenstain

2010-08-31T01:00:00.000-05:00

I liked this Berenstain Bear book even more then the previous one. This has the Biblical account of David and Goliath as a narrative to teach a lesson the Sister Bear about standing up for what's right. "Small, but oh my" what the line that made me smile. These are books that your children will enjoy again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jan & Mike Berenstain

and the book:

The Berenstain Bears and the Gift of Courage

Zonderkidz (April 9, 2010)

***Special thanks to Krista Ocier of Zondervan for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Stan and Jan Berenstain introduced the first Berenstain Bear books in 1962. Mike Berenstain grew up watching his parents work together to write about and draw these lovable bears. Eventually he started drawing and writing about them too. Mike is married to Andrea, and they have three children. They live in Pennsylvania, in an area that looks a lot like Bear Country.

Visit the authors' website.

Product Details:

List Price: $3.99
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Paperback: 32 pages
Publisher: Zonderkidz (April 9, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310712564
ISBN-13: 978-0310712565

PRESS THE BROWSE BUTTON TO VIEW THE FIRST CHAPTER:

FIRST Presents The Berenstain Bears & a Job Well Done by Jan & Mike Berenstain

2010-08-24T01:00:00.000-05:00

I remember the Berenstain Bear book from when I went to school. T hey've been around a long time. And they've gotten no less popular. I have many tattered copies in my classroom, and honestly sometimes I roll my eyes when another Berenstain Bear book is stuck towards me during read aloud. You wouldn't believe me if I told you I have some memorized!! But my kids love them.

So I didn't think twice about reviewing this one and one to follow in a few days. They are still wonderful read aloud books with timely values. These two are more Bible-oriented, with a verse in the beginning, where as the ones in my classroom have a fun rhyme that coincides with the story. Also, in this one Brother and Sister have a sister named Honey...so I guess time has passed since I was a girl!

There is one thing I do not like about the BB books, and that is how Papa takes the back seat with their is an issue on hand. Or rather, if he goes about correcting Sister and Brother, Mama often finds him at fault too. I don't think that is positive role model material. Father's should be leaders and I would like that protrayed in these books. Perhaps the kids don't notice the significance of it, but that is my one quibble about the BB books.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Wild Card authors are:

Jan & Mike Berenstain

and the book:

The Berenstain Bears and A Job Well Done

Zonderkidz (April 9, 2010)

***Special thanks to Krista Ocier of Zondervan for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Stan and Jan Berenstain introduced the first Berenstain Bear books in 1962. Mike Berenstain grew up watching his parents work together to write about and draw these lovable bears. Eventually he started drawing and writing about them too. Mike is married to Andrea, and they have three children. They live in Pennsylvania, in an area that looks a lot like Bear Country.

Visit the authors' website.

Product Details:

List Price: $3.99
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Paperback: 32 pages
Publisher: Zonderkidz (April 9, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310712548
ISBN-13: 978-0310712541

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Encounters*

2010-08-15T14:27:00.000-05:00

Her confidence was shattered today. Utterly. Dreams crushed with a single harsh sentence. Her self-esteem vanished after that much-anticipated word of praise fell seedless to the ground with thoughtless criticism.

In broad daylight he wraps his arms around her and she leans into his touch. His work stained hands leave an imprint on her light colored calico dress. She doesn’t care. She is the most loved woman in the world.

The old man comes home to a lonely, empty house. Love burned him in his youth. Old Readers Digest books keep him company on long winter evenings. Straining, waiting for the rhythmic sound of the door, he hopes that maybe tonight one of his many nieces and nephews will grace him with a visit.

His young son sees him from the distance and runs towards him. Childlike words resounding in daddy’s ears make the problems he just left behind lessen. The miracle of this little child continues to change his life everyday. He looks up and in the distance the outline of a woman greets him. A weary heart lifts and he knows God is in his heaven and all is well with the world...

He is known in the colony as a dreamer. Able to fix everything broken. Guiding you thru his chaotic shop you will see projects new and old, countless relics from failed ideas. To you it seems nothing and nonsense, but it makes up the fabric of his being. Needless to say, you will shake your head in wonder. I once eavesdropped on a conversation between his wife and another woman. In kind words she was asked how she can stand his mess, his over-the-top dreams, and his endless chatter. The words still ring in my ears. “I respect him, I love him, and I don’t try to change him.”

I look down the road as he slowly walks towards home. A magnificent rainbow casts its spell on the rain-soaked earth around us. A promising sign perhaps? He needs it. As he comes closer I see that he is troubled, burdened down with a situation out of his hands and beyond his control. I know the reason, but I would never ask him. I simply walk beside him and point out the beauty around us. He will open up when he is ready. Maybe tomorrow, when the songs he sings every morning wake me to a new day.

She can bring out the worst in me, and the best. The kids taunt her with her weakness to argue her way out of any situation. It’s the most infuriating habit. Coming to me with tears in her eyes she tells me how they bear down on her weakness. She cries because she knows it’s true. I sit her down beside me and probe her to “prove them wrong. Show them that you can walk away without saying a word.” The light in her eyes returns when I tell her I believe in her.

*Encounters. Situations I stumble upon thru the years…

FIRST Presents With Hearts and Hymns and Voices by Pam Rhodes

2010-08-13T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Pam Rhodes

and the book:

With Hearts and Hymns and Voices

Monarch Books (May 24, 2010)

***Special thanks to Cat Hoort, Trade Marketing Manager for Kregel Publications, for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Pam Rhodes has presented Songs of Praise—one of the world's leading religious television programs—since 1987. Prior to that she had been a journalist and TV news reporter.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Monarch Books (May 24, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1854249754
ISBN-13: 978-1854249753

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

When the phone rang, she almost missed it. She was down in the cellar, digging out crepe paper supplies for the Sunday School youngsters, and although she heard it ring, Helen ignored it. Clive was in—let him get it.

By the time she realized he was ignoring it too, and she’d climbed over the cat basket and a line of wellington boots to clamber up the stairs, Helen was breathless as she grabbed the phone.

‘Hello, St. Michael’s Vicarage, I’m sorry!’

‘I’m not,’ said a woman’s voice, with a slightly musical lilt to it. Was it Scottish? ‘St. Michael’s Vicarage is what I’m after. Is the vicar there?’

‘Well, he should be,’ said Helen, craning her neck to peer into Clive’s study, ‘but apparently not. What time is it? He’s got a funeral at ten-thirty this morning—he’s probably gone over to the church. Can I help? I’m his wife.’

‘I’m sure you can. I’d like to fix a time to come and chat with him. I’m going to be down your way on Wednesday afternoon—I just wondered if he’s got any time free then?’

Definitely Scottish, Helen thought.

‘Well, I don’t know of anything booked for that afternoon, but that doesn’t mean a thing. I’ll get him to ring you back, if you like. Can I tell him who called?’

Helen tucked the receiver under her chin as she reached for the pen, attached with tape and string to the phone, and searched for a corner of paper that wasn’t already written on.

‘My name is Jan Harding. I’m the Producer of the BBC. I want to look into the possibility of doing a Songs of Praise from Sandford.’

Helen’s pen came to a halt in mid-air.

‘Can I leave my number, and perhaps your husband—it’s the Reverand Clive Linton, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you think he could ring me later today? I’d like to get things moving.’

Helen seized the pen again, and scribbled down the number. ‘I’ll pass the message on. He’ll probably get back to you in an hour or so. Bye.’

Helen replaced the receiver, and stared at the phone. What an extraordinary call! Songs of Praise, here? Sleepy little Sandford. Population eight hundred, and shrinking? Sandford, on a road that probably went somewhere once, but no one could quite remember why. This was a backwater, a place seldom found except by accident—and for most of the locals, except perhaps the ones who wouldn’t mind a bit more B & B business, that was just fine.

Helen chuckled. Wait till Bunty heard! Think how she’d set up four committees just to organize the summer fete! Something like this would keep her happily harassed and indispensable for weeks!

That reminded her—the Parish Magazine. Bunty had already rung twice, first to remind, and then to demand, that Clive get his intro over to her by yesterday at the latest. This morning, he’d promised he would closet himself in the study first thing, and get it done.

What was the time? Helen glanced at her watch. Five to ten. Wherever was he?

Dear Clive—so well-meaning, so willing to offer, so often to disappoint. For a man whose life was structured by services and meetings, time seemed to have surprisingly little relevance. He just forgot. As his thoughts took him on to heady spiritual heights, the worldly business of getting on with the day simply faded from his mind. He never meant to let anyone down, or cause confusion. He hadn’t a hurtful bone in his body. He simply forgot. And what he forgot, Helen—good old reliable Helen—always remembered, and organized around him.

Helen reached for her coat, and glanced at her reflection in the hallstand mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. Simmering frustration always left her that way, and nowadays, it seemed to hear that frustration was all she ever felt where Clive was concerned. What an old grouch she was becoming! She gave herself a stern look in the mirror, grabbed the funeral service sheets Clive had probably meant to take with him, and dropped the key, as usual, into the black flowerpot before pulling the front door shut.

Had he been forgetful when she’d first met him, she wondered, as she walked toward the church? He probably was, but it hadn’t mattered then. At twenty-four, in his last year of a theology degree, Clive’s search for truth, and his certainty of answers in the Christian faith, made him a compelling, mesmerizing companion. She admired his clarity of thought, his passion, his vision. She found herself watching him, asking about him, wishing she knew him better. And even before he ever really noticed her among the gaggle of students who often hung around together, she was probably already a little in love with him.

It had been the Christian Fellowship that finally brought them together. He suggested they invite along a well-known evangelical minister to one of their meetings. She volunteered to write the letter, and do the publicity. He had chaired that meeting, and introduced the speaker. She had arranged the tickets, the chairs, and given the vote of thanks for the floor. A week later, he received a card thanking him for organizing such a stimulating and thoroughly enjoyable evening. She was rewarded by the warm glow of friendship in Clive’s eyes, a warmth that over the months, steadily grew into love.

‘Oh, Mrs. Linton!’

Helen’s thoughts were jolted back, as she saw the comfortable, coated frame of Mrs. Hadlow waiting at the church door.

‘Oh, Mrs. Linton. I am glad to see you, dear. I didn’t bring my key, you see, because the vicar said he’d be here. Just thought I ought to spruce things up a bit, well, for poor John, of course. So sad. Never really knew him well, but he seemed nice. Lonely, I think, all by himself, since Maisie died. His heart must have been broken. I told George, I thought it must have been broken, he missed her so much. Poor John. It’s a real shock. We’ll miss him.’

Helen smiled to herself, as she turned the key in the lock. ‘It’s kind of you to both, Mrs. Hadlow. I’ll just come and switch the lights on, and light that fire in the vestry. I’m sure Clive will be over in a while.’

‘I’ve brought my own tin of polish with me,’ said Mrs. Hadlow as she eased herself through the door. ‘I never really think you get a proper shine from a spray. It’d doesn’t smell right. I popped up to take a look in John’s garden this morning, to see if his daffs were out. His always seemed to be the first, and I thought he might like his own flowers in church this morning. Too early, though—but he did love his garden! What ever’s going to happen to that garden now? Did he and Maisie have any family, do you know? My Rosemary, she did breakfast at The Bull this morning—well, it’s Thursday, so she always does—she said there’s a couple staying there, come for the funeral today. Do you think they’re relatives? Poor man, kept himself to himself. I never really knew him well.’

Helen headed back towards the door.

‘Oh, leave the door on the jar, would you, dear? Mrs. Murray said she’d pop over. Did you hear her leg’s bad again? Those pills really aren’t working. I keep telling her she ought to go back and ask, but you know how she hates making a fuss. Anyway, she’ll want to come and pay her respects. We all do, poor man.’ And as Mrs. Hadlow began a cheerful, tuneless hum, Helen slipped away.

So, Clive wasn’t at the church. She headed for the next most logical place…

2010-08-12T12:14:00.000-05:00

I don't know, but it seems to me these men could use the advice of a woman? :)

2010-08-08T17:06:00.000-05:00

What started out a hobby with the return of a phenomenal trip to Africa has turned into a huge responsibility and somewhat of a chore for me. I’ve been blogging for well over two years. Back then it was a thrilling escape into an online world. But in this life nothing stays simple for long, with each new journey we embark on there are risks, consequences and sometimes unwilling bouts of honestly and truths you must expose about yourself.

Especially so in my case.

Because of the door I opened into my Hutterite lifestyle, I’ve gotten so much feedback from ppl in all walks of life. If I omitted every Hutterite reading my blog, I’d still have a healthy readership of outsiders who find our way of life fascinating. Which brings me to a letter I recently received from a fellow Hutterite reader. I had to alter/edit the letter a bit for privacy. This is just part of the letter, I might address other portions of it in the future. Knowing me, you can never be sure!

“Lisa, I know that even you as a blogger are limited as to which subjects you may or may not address. I know that your colony has had its share of problems. I don’t know what they are. But on your blog you blog only about good things; I’m not saying you shouldn't. But it seems that you have a perfectly well functioning society, and yet you don’t. So I wonder then, why don’t you open up a bit and talk about the reality of society, as a colony and as a Hutterite.”

I must admit the rebuke stung, even irked me. I also thought it disingenuous. But your thoughts may have drifted along those lines as well. After I calmed myself, I acknowledged the question to be a fair one. Do you, as a returning reader, feel I blog only about the pleasant things in my life? Am I trying to suggest that in my colony there are no struggles and trials? Let’s face it folks, where there are ppl there are problems. There will be clashes of opinion and personality. That’s life. This is the fallen, imperfect world that we live in. There’s nothing wrong with differing opinions as long as the Golden Rule stays intact.

But I would like to rise to the letter’s issued challenge to show that my Utopia is far from ideal or perfect.

First, I disagree that I am censored. She suggested that because I am a fellow Hutterite, I’m permitted to talk only about certain things, that if I wrote about the ‘undesirable’ issues arising among our people, I’d get into trouble. Since I’ve never attempted this in great detail, I can’t concede that being the case. But in my defense I’ll say this: I cannot in good conscience talk about situations that don’t directly involve me. To tell stories that aren’t mine to tell, to address circumstances in which I have no say so would be nonsensical and erroneous. To drag up painful past events about my colony would be resurrecting the very things I want nothing more then to leave buried. They’ve scarred us enough. Ironically though, if I’ve learned anything about life it’s that the past is never completely buried. It finds creative avenues to haunt you when you least expect it. Since this is the case with my colony the last thing I’ll do is blog in detail about the rebellion that has in the past defined my colony’s history. Dabbling about in search for a compromise on this is not an option.

Further suggested is that I portray my colony as “perfectly well functioning society”…is that what I’m doing? Correct me if I’m wrong, but the pieces I wrote about my Hutterite Heritage displayed a fair share of an imperfect, less than functional society! I was honest about the constant struggles we face in the article I wrote about The Hutterites last September. I really don’t understand what I’m missing here. To point fingers at closet drinkers, unhealthy relationships, the parents that don’t take their parental obligations seriously, the lack of spiritual guidance among our youth is not my place to discuss. I think as fellow human beings, not to mention fellow Hutterites, we’ll anonymously agree that those issues are universal. Hutterites aren’t born Christians…that’s a lifestyle each individual must chose to live, and frankly, not everyone does it. We don’t live the Utopian, more spiritual life because of a name we inherit.

What do you want me to talk/write about? What are the kinds of issues you want me to address? I can write about anything. But I will say that I use discretion and a preacher’s daughters’ judgment in what I publish. Being raised in a minister’s home, I have the utmost respect for my father and his position. I will not address situations that are not mine to discuss. It would be fruitless and unedifying.

To be further forthright about myself, as an individual I cringe at the thought of being too open about myself. You may have noticed that I never did post my last Hutterite Heritage piece. The whole truth concerning that is that I cannot make myself do it. There are truths in it about me I don’t want to admit to myself, least of all to the world. My attempt to revise, simplify, reword and even mellow it out shatters it to pieces. So it will remain absent from your eyes until I can own up to it.

Lastly, and for the record, this almost forces me to chronicle of how, seventeen years ago, my colony’s existence give birth. Even that is history. Unusually, in repetitive order, colonies branch out when they’ve reach too large in number. A plot of new land is purchased and a daughter colony is born. The mother colony bears the responsibility of nursing this new colony into a functioning industry that can stand on its own feet. This process can take years, but when all is said and done, the two colonies part ways by dividing assets and families. It’s been our way since the beginning of the Hutterite’s existences.

That isn’t the way my colony was established.

But I don’t know if I can do the story justice. I was eleven years old when we moved here. I remember the excitement of the moment. It was raining the day we arrived and mom admonished us to stay out of the mud puddles. Large planks of wood served as makeshift sidewalks. The young ladies, our neighbors, from the trailer just a few yards down waved over at us in greeting. With child-like innocence I waved back. I was bursting with excitement.

Instinctual observation in a child’s life is razor sharp when events happen out of routine. It didn’t take me long to realize that all was not well with certain people in my colony. The memories are forever branded in me. I don’t think they will ever dim or fade. I have no desire to recall them, revisit and charade alongside them like old friends. Forgive me, but I haven’t the courage or mental energy for such an exertion.

But if I learned one thing about my colony’s history, it’s that the past is never just the past. It seems to be the future as well. I never thought I’d see the day I dread it.

But today I do.

I will close for now. Any thoughts left on this subject will keep for another day. I would like to talk of just the opposite next time. What it is like to finally experience a brotherhood "who dwells together in unity."

Jesus Calling by Sarah Young

2010-08-02T09:21:00.000-05:00

About the book:

Now available in this keepsake leather deluxe edition, missionary Sarah Young brings this uniquely inspired treasures from heaven for every day of the year!

After many years of writing in her prayer journal, missionary Sarah Young decided to listen to God with pen in hand, writing down whatever she believed He was saying to her. It was awkward at first, but gradually her journaling changed from monologue to dialogue. She knew her writings were not inspired as Scripture is, but journaling helped her grow closer to God. Others were blessed as she shared her writings, until people all over the world were using her messages. They are written from Jesus’ point of view, thus the title Jesus Calling. It is Sarah’s fervent prayer that our Savior may bless readers with His presence and His peace in ever deeper measure.

My Thoughts:

This first person narrative devotional written by missionary Sarah Young failed to make my must-have devotional book list. I have to say I found it repetitive and couldn’t completely engage myself with it. I guess I’m spoiled on Oswald Chambers and Elizabeth Elliot.

The book comes in a beautiful, leather form. It’s almost small yet covers all 365 days of the year. I think I must admit I enjoyed the introduction of the book more than the devotionals itself. I will be passing this book unto a friend who admired it.

A copy of this book was provided for review by Thomas Nelson Publishers.

FIRST Presents Katy's Debate by Kim Vogel Sawyer

2010-08-02T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Kim Vogel Sawyer

and the book:

Katy's Debate (Katy Lambright Series, The)

Zondervan (May 7, 2010)

***Special thanks to Krista Ocier of Zondervan for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Bestselling, award-winning author Kim Vogel Sawyer has many titles besides “writer.” As a wife, mother of three, grandmother of six, Sunday school teacher, and speaker, her life is full and happily busy. In her spare time she enjoys drama, quilting, and calligraphy. Kim and her husband make their home in Kansas, the setting for many of Kim’s novels.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (May 7, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310719232
ISBN-13: 978-0310719236

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER: