Chapter 1

Eyes to See and Ears to Hear

Having eyes, do you not see? And having ears, do you not hear? And do you not remember?

Mark 8:18

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Romans 8:1

We . . . shall assure our heart before Him, in whatever our heart condemns us; for God is greater than our heart, and knows all things.

1 John 3:19–20

I


can't believe it!" "How could I have been so blind?" "How
can I ever forgive myself for letting such a thing go on? I left my child so vulnerable!" "Where was I? How could I have failed
to see?"

Questions such as these have arisen from the bleeding and bewildered hearts of thousands of parents who have just discovered that their child, who they felt had been so safe in their love, nurture, and protection, has been sexually molested by one they trusted. There are no simple answers that can instantly take away the pain.

Dealing With Self-Condemnation

As parents or loved ones of an abused child, we must begin by dealing with our own self-condemnation for our failure to be what we so desperately wanted to be and overcome the need to punish ourselves by wallowing in the misery of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys." It is a fact that Jesus bears our grief and carries our sorrows (Isa. 53:4), but we have to release to Him the burden of our woundedness, anger, and hate. The first step is to choose to forgive ourselves. With the support and, if needed, the coaching of a prayer partner or prayer minister, we should pray, confessing both our feelings and our faith:

Lord, I am overwhelmed by my grief. My heart condemns me for my failure to protect my child. I don't know what to do; it seems like the whole world is crashing in on me, and I'm spinning in confusion. O God, I need some answers! I know that in You there is no condemnation at all. I don't know how to forgive myself, but by an act of my will I make that choice. And I choose to trust You to deal with my heart and set me free from condemning self-accusation or any other way in which I might punish myself.

The prayer minister or prayer partner needs to respond, strongly affirming:

Thank You, Lord, that You weep with and for Your children. You have heard this prayer, and Your heart is full of compassion. Thank You for Your forgiveness, love, and healing balm that You are pouring into this wounded and repentant heart right now. (Person's name), in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, you are forgiven. Receive that forgiveness. Lord, lift off the weight of guilt. Bring all thoughts and feelings of condemnation to death on Your cross. Quiet the inner storms, and comfort (person's name) in this time of fear. Lord, we stand together in the strength of Your Spirit and choose to put our trust in You. We invite You to take charge of us and every aspect of this difficult situation we face. Let us do all things in Your wisdom, according to Your grace, love, and power.

Following the prayer, we need to walk in a continual discipline of reckoning self-accusation and condemnation as dead on the cross each time we recognize that we are beginning to entertain such thoughts and feelings. If we do not, the process of healing stops. Each time we can say to the Lord, "Here I go again, putting myself under guilt. In Your name, Jesus, I renounce that and choose to walk in Your forgiveness." And then go on with whatever tasks we have to do.

Understanding Why We Had No Eyes to See

Beyond choosing to forgive ourselves, we need answers to the question, "How could I have been so blind?"

By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; and by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches. A wise man is strong, and a man of knowledge increases power.

—Proverbs 24:3–5

The first answer is that we did not want to believe it possible that a trusted friend or loved one, especially a father or stepfather, could have abused our child. If we suspected at all, we probably resisted the idea, feeling guilty that such a thing would even cross our mind. If suspicion persisted, fear of possible consequences of discovering truth overcame our ability to confront the issue. And so we suppressed our thoughts and feelings to the point of total denial. Unwittingly we became literally blind, deaf, and insensitive to reality.

Linda was a lovely, gentle woman whom John and I had known well for many years. Her marriage to Bill was written in tension, dictated by his frequent explosions of violent, unexplainable temper and punctuated by her tearful but persistent and often placating attempts to gather the broken but still workable pieces of their home life together for the sake of their children. Though Bill professed to be a born-again, Spirit-filled Christian, he had fallen into adultery numerous times. He had begged for forgiveness and had declared vehemently on each occasion that he was truly repentant, had learned his lesson, and would never fall again.

Finally, when he was caught seducing a teenage babysitter, Linda recognized that he could never change until he dealt with deep issues in his heart. But he stubbornly avoided taking the initiative to submit himself to a prayer minister, even though friends and family strongly encouraged him to do so. It was not until Linda obtained a legal separation that he relented by agreeing to receive extensive prayer ministry, that being the prerequisite for any thought of reconciliation. John and I had ministered to the two of them from time to time as much as Bill had been able to allow. But we had seen that he was always more interested in patching a quarrel than in truly healing his marriage or transforming his life. Knowing that we were too close to Linda to minister to them with sufficient objectivity, we recommended that they go to a couple we knew who are among the finest counselors available in either the Christian or secular community.

During the ensuing seven months, Bill faced many of the root causes for his insecurities and for his need to defile women. He dealt with a number of basic sources for his anger. His counselors determined that he had progressed far enough to return to his family. For a period of time he was able to manifest the effects of his healing, and Linda for the first time began to celebrate real hope for a stable marriage. It was at this point that Bill decided he could sustain his new life on his own—without counseling or a support group—and the healing process was aborted. He continued to play the role of the new man, making all the right sounds, but allowed no one to relate closely enough to know him or to haul him to account when he began to fall back periodically into former patterns of irritability and temper.

Bill's and Linda's fourteen-year-old daughter, Karen, who had always been a responsible, sensitive, loving child and good student, began to exhibit rebellious, irresponsible behavior. Truancy and unexplained absences from home grew in frequency. Often Linda would arrive home from work to discover that Karen was nowhere to be found. Attempts to enforce discipline elicited angry, defensive outbursts. When anyone invited Karen to talk about her problems, she defiantly rejected every attempt to reach her and retreated into sullen moodiness.

Finally and with great difficulty she came to her mother with a horrible story of sexual abuse. Her father had been molesting her since the time of her parents' separation, which meant that she was being abused all during the time of their counseling and reconciliation!

Shattered, torn, fearful, and confused, Linda confronted her husband. Bill adamantly denied all accusations, claiming that Karen's imagination was running away with her, that she had been unduly influenced by the stories of friends who had been abused. He went on, dramatically playing the role of the injured party. Linda didn't know whom or what to believe. Finally, after repeated questioning, he confessed to having "touched" her "once or twice." As Karen's behavior progressed more and more to the extreme, however, it became evident that he was guilty of much more than he had been willing to confess.

Realization of what had been taking place for years within her home overwhelmed Linda with the force of a tidal wave. She had wanted so desperately to believe that Bill was changing and had so set herself to celebrate every little sign of his improvement that she had shut out the little signals that might otherwise have alerted her to the presence of trouble. Now she had no alternative but to put him out of the home in an effort to protect Karen. If she had not, the state would likely have taken her children from her. She and the children proceeded with family counseling throughout most of the next year and received a great deal of healing from that source as well as through support groups within her church.

Bill received counseling for sexual rehabilitation while serving a term in prison. He and Linda are divorced. She and the children have rebonded, and the Lord is blessing and redeeming their lives as only He can.

Equipping Our Eyes to Recognize Symptoms of Sexual Abuse

A second answer to parental blindness may lie in the simple fact that few people have either the experience or the knowledge that would equip them to identify (in the behavior of their children) the symptoms that commonly result from sexual abuse.

Educating oneself to recognize sexual abuse symptoms "after the fact" might seem to some to be too late and somewhat useless. This is not the case at all. An important part of healing begins as we are enabled to identify in right perspective the painfully mystifying behaviors of our children. As we realize clearly and specifically that their strange, out-of-control, and often hurtful responses proceed from woundedness and fear, we can begin to relate to them easily with tenderness and compassion rather than with frustration and anger. We can seek their forgiveness not only for our failure to protect them but also for many wounds and unbearable pressures we inflicted on them in the blindness of our desperation to rescue them from self-destructive patterns.

Most victims of sexual abuse have worried about themselves and have struggled with feelings of guilt they haven't known how to handle. Children have felt they were "bad"; teenagers have seen the bewilderment and hurt in their mother's eyes and have felt responsible for injury to younger siblings; they may have wanted to stop running, cease punishing, and ask for help but couldn't. An enlightened and empathetic parent can help them to know that their feelings and behavior were normal reactions to the abuse they experienced, that they were not terrible or crazy. A prayer minister can help victims to see these things, but a parent who is an affirming part of the process can lay an effective foundation for reconciliation and rebonding.

An informed parent of an abused child can also help to provide immeasurable encouragement and healing to others who suffer similar heartbreak.

The following lists of symptoms are not intended to be comprehensive or exhaustive. Rather they serve to provide signposts that point to possible abuse. It is important to realize that children who exhibit some of these behaviors might not be victims of abuse but could be acting out other pressures, upsets, and influences in their lives. This information is a composite of John's and my own experiences in prayer ministry that we found confirmed in varieties of written material and in conversations with parents, other prayer ministers, and preschool instructors.

Behavioral Symptoms in Toddlers and Preschool Children

Anxiety in the presence of persons with whom they used to be comfortable; being ill at ease around particular people or types of people; for instance, tense and/or tearful withdrawal from the presence of men and boys

Sudden unaccustomed fear of bathrooms or shower rooms, or nervous resistance to being undressed

Masturbation that exceeds curious exploration and discovery: preoccupation with excessive sexual manipulation or rubbing themselves against chair arms, pillows, dolls, etc.; sex play with other children beyond the normal "playing doctor" games: inserting objects into the ****** or anus, imitating aspects of adult love play. (In some homes pornographic movie scenes will have made disturbing impressions.) One preschool teacher reported that she had observed several children who tended to group together in a corner of the schoolyard playing a game of pulling down one another's pants. On one occasion she discovered a child trying to initiate oral genital stimulation.

Sleeplessness, disturbed sleep, nightmares

Excessive crying, clinging to a parent, not wanting to leave the house, unusually fearful responses to being left with a babysitter

Sudden personality changes: i.e., a normally quiet child becomes hyperactive or negatively aggressive toward other children.

Excessive and chronic itching and/or tenderness in genital areas

Behavioral Symptoms in Children From Primary School Age to Preteens

Decline in consistency and quality of schoolwork: inability to concentrate, assignments not completed, truancy, tardiness, falling grades

Disturbed sleep, nightmarish dreams, inability to sleep; wearing multiple layers of clothing to bed

Decline in energy level due to anxiety, exhaustion, and/or lack of sleep

Fear of being alone with men or boys; avoidance of particular people with whom the child used to be comfortable; withdrawal from friends and activities previously enjoyed

Change in eating habits: nervous or distracted picking at food, compulsive overeating for comfort

In girls: poor personal hygiene in a girl who normally cares about her appearance (attempting to make herself unattractive)

Exaggeration of normal personality traits: i.e., a daydreamer becomes even more out of touch with the world, an energetic child becomes hyperactive, etc.; sudden dramatic swings to opposite personality poles

Invention of irrational excuses not to participate in school or extracurricular activities that formerly inspired enthusiasm

Sudden inordinate modesty, self-consciousness about the body; fear of restrooms and showers

Sudden cessation of conversational sharing

Bed-wetting when it was not a problem previously. A child can be so wounded by sexual abuse that he/she suppresses awareness of sex organs, and thus fails to respond to the body's signals that would normally awaken the one who needs to urinate.

Increasing inability to relate well to peers

Unexplained anger and aggressive behavior

Reluctance to go home after school

Running away: boys tend more to run by withdrawing. Girls tend to literally run away from home.

Behavioral Symptoms in Adolescents

Running: A girl may leave school in the middle of the day to go riding with a friend. She may go to a friend's home, fail to notify her family of her whereabouts, and perhaps spend the night. She may disappear for a number of days, fleeing from the home of one friend to another. When she returns, it is with irrational excuses or often with no excuse at all. When challenged, she "can't remember" what her friend's address is, or she "doesn't have a phone." She may exit by a window in the middle of the night.

She tends to keep company with friends who are several years older than she, and many of the crowd she chooses are dropouts with no responsibility to occupy their time, with no visible parental support or supervision.

She may take with her no change of clothes, no cosmetics, not even a coat for her periodic excursions.

When questioned or confronted, her response is evasive and emphatic: "I'm OK. I can take care of myself."

We have observed such behavior in girls as early as the seventh or eighth grades, intensifying wherever molestation continues to be a threat. Usually the abuser is the father or stepfather, though similar responses may be made to avoid someone in the home who is not that closely related.

The victim may have experienced the initial molestation several years earlier. The first violation inflicted the deepest wounding and established a base of confusion and fear. Subsequent experiences reinforce the wounding, even though the child may have learned to fantasize in an effort to shut them out of her consciousness. If the molestation consisted only of fondling, she may have sensed in her spirit the wrongness and uncleanness of the act, but the one who touched her was Daddy (or some other trusted adult). Children are trained not to say no to adults, especially to their parents. She needed to be loved and affirmed. He represented authority. He said everything was all right. But it didn't feel right. She struggled with conflicting emotions and began to manifest avoidance patterns. She no longer wanted to sit on his lap. She resisted his hugs that earlier she had sought. She no longer wanted her daddy to tuck her in at night. She wanted to sleep with her door closed. If her mother worked, the girl would play at a neighbor's house until she was sure her mother had returned home. These changed patterns develop gradually into more easily recognizable running patterns as she grows to adolescence.

The true reasons for an abused child's behavior are seldom obvious. In the story I shared earlier (Bill, Linda, and Karen), it was easy to attribute Karen's earlier rebellious actions to her father's increasing temper tantrums. Teenagers will not stay around to be yelled at if they can help it! In the best of circumstances, neither do teenagers respond as well to the responsibility of chores, rules, and regulations as they did when they were children. Even well-adjusted teenagers naturally become self-centeredly involved in their own world of activity and forget to come home on time. Unfortunately, Karen's behavior was ascribed to a normal process of individuation aggravated and exaggerated by her father's temperament—until it exploded into frantic rebellion out of all proportion to the known facts of the father's temper and tension in the home.

Drug and alcohol abuse

Inability to sleep: desperate attempts to crowd out anxious thoughts by reading in bed until the early hours of morning; futile attempts to lose self in the sound of loud rock music through earphones; nightmares; exhaustion

Inability to concentrate or stay awake in class; unfinished school assignments; failing grades

Increasing disrespect of authority; intolerance of normal flaws in adult behavior; spasmodic acting out of parental roles, as if to "show them" how they should conduct themselves

Promiscuity

Going to bed fully dressed

Obesity

Pervasive anxiety

Self-mutilation; suicidal talk or attempts

Notifying the Authorities

When a sexual abuser has been identified, he must be reported to the proper authorities. This is not to be understood as taking revenge. In most states it is a requirement of law. It is also a matter of facing facts. Abusers are compulsive and will repeat the crime until the root causes for their propensity to act in such a way have been brought to death on the cross and they have been completely healed. If an abuser is the father or the stepfather of the abused, he must be separated from the home until he has been declared safe by those who are qualified to discern. Even then, he needs continuing supportive counsel until resurrection life in the Lord Jesus Christ has been securely built into the fiber and structure of his being. Let the Christian understand that such wisdom and love are for the abuser's sake as well as for the victim's. "The advantage of knowledge is that wisdom preserves the lives of its possessors" (Eccles. 7:12).

There are undoubtedly hundreds of thousands of cases of childhood sexual abuse that have never been reported. What has happened in the lives of those people? I have seen a great deal of what I call "crippled coping" in many we have ministered to. Some who have sought out ministry were already aware that their present problems were rooted in early experiences of molestation. But a large number have come, having only perplexing symptoms. Suppressed memories then spontaneously surfaced in the prayer ministry process.

The following list from an article titled "Long-Term Effects of Unresolved Sexual Trauma" is a valuable and, for us, a confirming diagnostic guide I wish we had discovered long ago:1

Characteristics of Women Who Were Victims of Childhood Sexual Trauma

Recurrent and intrusive recollections, dreams, or "reliving" of experiences

Generalized anxiety, mistrust, and/or social isolation

Difficulty forming or maintaining nonexploitive intimate relationships

Sexual dysfunction (aversion, anorgasmia [inability to achieve orgasm], vaginismus [******l tightness that can prevent intercourse])

Chronic depression, self-blame, and poor self-esteem

Acute anxiety or depression related to symbolically important life changes or anniversaries

Dissociative features (memory problems, confusion, depersonalization)

Vague somatic complaints without objective findings

Phobic avoidance, often generalized to apparently unrelated situations

Diminished self-protection, masochistic strivings, and repeated victimization

Identity focused on a sense of "badness" and stigmatization

Contempt for women, including themselves

Tendency to fear men yet overvalue and idealize them as well

Tumultuous adolescence (early pregnancy, running away, substance abuse)

Pseudoresponsible, caretaking role applied inflexibly ("parental child")

Passivity and unassertiveness

History of promiscuity or prostitution

Impulsive or self-injurious behavior (suicide attempts, self-mutilation, substance abuse)

Chronic post-traumatic stress disorder (emotional numbing, hyperalertness, etc.)

Inappropriate guilt, underlying resentment

Intergenerational transmission (abusing own children or marrying a man who does)

Defection from family's religion

History of childhood learning problems

In our years of ministry we have observed all of the above characteristics in people who experienced sexual abuse as children. We have also seen that helping women to identify their hurts, understand and express their feelings, and develop ways of coping are only the beginnings of healing.

Fullness of healing is accomplished by the person of the Lord Jesus Christ as He is invited through prayer to enable forgiveness, to transform the inner man, and to do a work of renewal in the mind (Rom. 12:2). Whether diagnosis is made and healing is begun in childhood or many years later, no one has to be consigned to live in a wounded, crippled state forever. "For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus" (Phil. 1:6).

It was a really nice day. I wrote out my schedule last night for today so that it would go smoothly in spite of all the things I had planned and it worked well!  I am really loving this schedule thing,  at least for my upper level of my house. My lower level is sort been ignored, but some day, people!!

Not the most flattering picture, but I went to Tricia Goyer's book signing today at Borders, which was fun!! I got her to sign my copy of Love find's you in Lonesome Prairie Montana before I read it tonight! I will post a full review soon, but I really am enjoying this line of books.  Of course her book the Swiss Courier is another really good one, I really enjoyed and will be posting with the blog tour and review on the 20th.

After the book signing I went over to a  meet the doula's tea, which was nice, but somehow one of the invites said 1-3 and another said 2-4 so some of us were there at 2 and some were there at 1....it worked out though, although we really got to get more expectant moms there. There were two moms there this time, which made it nice! I stopped for a few minutes to chat with some friend's and visit with my sister which was nice before I came home and made homemade pizza pockets to go with the homemade spaghetti sauce I made that morning.

I am tired out, lots of long nights lately with some nasty nightmares, but  days have been good! The older two boys worked with my brother in aw all day today and they are tired out this evening. It is really good for them!

Well, clean boys are put to bed, two of the four Saturday night showers were done and the other two took them last night.  Everyone is clean,  most of the laundry is done, folded and put away, floors did not get washed and the laundry room still needs to be cleaned, but you know, I am happy!!!

Good night!

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Nov. 5, 2009

Beets

It is fairly frequent I hear about someone who hates beets. I have grown up thinking beets are one of the most delightful vegetables so it is hard for me to understand!!

One of our favorites sounds really simple and people wrinkle up their nose, but they taste different this way!
Peel your raw beets, grate on the cheese grater and then melt some butter in a  skillet. Fry on all sides until tender. These are so yummy you will find yourself picking them out of the pan!

Another good way that most people do not know at all, is in this wonderful Chocolate cake. I have used this for birthday cakes as well. It has alot of oil in it, but it makes a very high, fluffy, moist cake. I have cut the oil down in the past and added more beets.  I use cooked beets and I also cut the sugar down!
RED BEET CAKE

1-1/2 c. sugar
5 eggs
1-1/2 c. oil
2-1/4 c. canned or fresh red beets, grated
1/2 c. cocoa
2-1/2 c. + 2 Tbsp. flour
dash salt
2 tsp. vanilla
2-1/4 tsp. baking soda
Cream sugar and eggs.  Add oil, beets, and cocoa.  Mix in flour, salt, vanilla, and baking
soda.  Pour into a 9x13" pan and bake at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes or until
done.
NOTES:
A very good dark chocolate cake.  This is very moist.

Then of course, nothing would be complete in mentioning beets if you did not have some Russian recipes. Borcht is a Russian vegetable soup, which I have not made in forever. It has a grated beet in it..... and has a flavor like no other if you follow the directions to the letter.

RUSSIAN BORSCHT
Start with a pot according to the amount you want to make.
I usually make about 2 gallons so I'll tell you that size.  You can boil a bone to get broth
or add cooked meat and bouillon or you can make it meatless. Fill pan 1/3 full of cubed
potatoes (about 1-1/2" cubes) and fill with water or broth.  Add salt to taste.  Simmer
until potatoes are soft; add 1/2 head cabbage very finely sliced. Meanwhile in a frying
pan brown 1 diced onion
in 1 Tbsp. oil, add 1 grated carrot when onion is yellow, and fry a little.  Add 1 grated
fresh beet or about 5 small canned beets grated. Fry a while. Add 1 small (8 oz.) can
tomato sauce and 1-2 cans water. Simmer about 5 minutes.  Add to large pot. Simmer
about 15 minutes. Add a bay leaf and 2 tsp. dillweed.
Serve with sour cream on top.
NOTES:
Some people also put a little rinsed sauerkraut in instead of some of the cabbage.

Another one is a salad that I like alot. It is sort of a twist on potato salad...
Cooked beets, peeled and cubed about 1 c.
Cooked potatoes, peeled and cubed about 2 c.
Cooked carrots, peeled and cubed about 1 c.
Diced green onion or regular onion 1/4 c.
4 pickles chopped
2 t. oil
salt, pepper and dillweed to taste
 It is really colorful and yummy!

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Nov. 4, 2009

Menu 11/4-11/9

Wednesday: Baked potatoes, maple winter squash, avocado and tomato salad
Thursday: Roasted chicken, carrots and potato bake  
Friday: Roasted chicken soup,  bread
Saturday: Calzones, salad
Sunday: Chicken Enchiladas, salad
Monday: Leftover dinner......unless there is not enough. Potato soup
Tuesday: Taco salad...

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Nov. 3, 2009

Friends

I think sometimes it is easy to think we do not need friends. It is easy to believe we can do it on our own.

I know people who are scared to have friends as  they worry about the influence on their children. I know that even my mom used to tell me, "Friends will come and go, but your brothers and sisters will be there forever." I know there is truth to that, but lately when I look at some of the people that I am still friends with, they were the people that I was  friends with as a child. That may not be terribly common, but I still hear from my friends I grew up with. Because of modern marvels like Facebook, I may even know what they ate for breakfast this morning!!

But when it comes down to when you are struggling through a rough patch, I know whom I can depend on to be a friend. It is the friends that you have known for years, through good times and bad and they still love you and like having you around. It is the ones who can tease you about something you did when you were 12 because they were there too....or know why you reacted to something the way you did, because you have always been that way and they don't judge you.

It is friends that you make too as you get older that are important. Last night I shared a meal with a friend who moved into a new house! She has had so many hard things in her life, yet, we were able to rejoice together about this beautiful new house she has....and I could understand her feelings about it, because I know how she grew up, I knew her parents, and I know friends of the family, those are just something sometimes other people can't get.

I love my family! They are wonderful, but I am so thankful for friends.

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” Proverbs 17:17, KJV.

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Nov. 2, 2009

Headaches, school.....things that don't mix

I was trying to do school with the boys this morning with a very bad headache and discovered they simply don't mix.  I  had some aches in my back all day yesterday and I think it prevented me from sleeping well, which in turn meant I woke up happy, but with a headache. "sigh"

So, when you have students that are singing or humming with their work, it is irritating.

I woke up after dreaming I found my lost papers! Never mind that the place I found them in the dream does not exist here, but I was so happy to have found them. My husband though when I woke up and greeted him with " I found the papers!!" and then followed by "Oh, I am not asleep anymore, in the dream...oh well, I did not find the papers!!!" He looked bewildered!!!

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Nov. 2, 2009

Watch over me By Christa Parrish

Watch Over me
By Christa Parrish
Reviewed by Martha Artyomenko

Deputy Benjamin Patil is one to find the infant girl, abandoned in a field, just hours old. She is left in a plastic grocery sack, conjuring up all kinds of imagined or unimagined thoughts of the type of person who would do such a thing. As the police try to find the mother, the deputy and his wife, Abby, take in the baby as a foster child.
Will the baby bring healing to their wounded marriage, or will it open up new or rather, old wounds for the both of them?  Can they choose to  go on and fight for their marriage, or just give up as so many others before them?

My Review:
This book was not a book you want to pick up if you are looking for  a happy, go lucky, fictional story. This story has enough pain in it to be real.  Ben  is a veteran that is suffering from guilt for not saving his friend and is struggling with his marriage now as he closes himself off from his wife in his pain. His wife is suffering her own pain from the past, and now God in the middle of it all places a child in their home.  Then also, there is Matthew, the deaf boy who has alot of strikes against him, but is brilliant despite his disability. What can he do to help with the healing in this family? Can they find the mother of the baby?

I enjoyed reading this story, even though it was a hard one to read. When I finished it, I wondered why it was ended that way, I wished for  a different ending, but sometimes real life is more like this book. Watch over me is a tale of pain, heartache and the joy that comes in the middle of those things. This book will touch your heart and your soul and cause you to dig deep within. - Martha

(Thank you to Bethany House Publishers for providing this review copy)

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Oct. 31, 2009

Last Breath by Brandilynn Collins

My Review: Yikes! I am behind on my reading, skip reading for a couple days and I am all behind! I wrote reviews on the wrong ones....I will post a review of this one shortly!

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:

Brandilyn & Amberly Collins

and the book:

Last Breath (Rayne Series #2)

Zondervan; 1 edition (October 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Lindsey Rodarmer of ZONDERKIDZ for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Brandilyn and Amberly Collins are a mother/daughter team from northern California. Brandilyn is a bestselling novelist, known for her trademarked "Seatbelt Suspense". Amberly is a college student in southern California. She and her mom love attending concerts together.

Visit the author's website.


Here's a video about the first book in the Rayne Series:



Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Zondervan; 1 edition (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310715407
ISBN-13: 978-0310715405

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Your father sent me.

The last words of a dying man, whispered in my ear.

Were they true? What did they mean?

Your father sent me. The stunning claim drilled through my head, louder than the crowd’s screams.

Guitars blasted the last chord of Rayne’s hit song, Ever Alone, as Mom’s voice echoed through the Pepsi Center in Denver. The heavy drum beat thumped in my chest. With a final smash of cymbals the rock song ended. Multicolored laser lights swept the stadium, signaling the thirty-minute intermission.

Wild shrieks from thousands of fans rang in my ears.

I rose from my chair backstage. Tiredly, I smiled at the famous Rayne O’Connor as she strode toward me on high red heels. In the lights her sequined top shimmered and her blonde hair shone. She walked with confidence and grace, the picture of a rock star—until she stepped from her fans’ sight. Then her posture slumped, weariness creasing her beautiful face. Mom’s intense blue eyes usually glimmered with the excitement of performing, but now I saw only the wash of grief and exhaustion. How she’d managed to perform tonight, I’d never know. Except that she’s strong. A real fighter.

Me? I had to keep fighting too, even if my legs still trembled and I’d probably have nightmares for weeks.

Your father sent me.

I had to find out what those words meant.

“You’re a very brave young lady,” a Denver detective had told me just a few hours ago. I didn’t feel brave then or now.

“You okay, Shaley?” Mom had to shout over the screams as she hugged me.

I nodded against her shoulder, hanging on tightly until she pulled back.

The crowd’s applause died down. A heavy hum of voices and footsteps filtered from the stadium as thousands of people headed for concessions and bathrooms during the break.

Kim, the band’s keyboard player and alto to my mom’s lead vocals, stopped to lay a darkly tanned hand on my head. A strand of her bleached white-blonde hair was stuck to the gloss on her pink lips. She brushed it away. “You’re an amazing sixteen-year-old.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Mick and Wendell, Mom’s two remaining bodyguards, approached without a word. I gave a self-conscious smile to Wendell, and he nodded back, sadness flicking across his face. His deep-set eyes were clouded, and the long scar across his chin seemed harder, more shiny. At five-eleven, Wendell is short for a bodyguard but every bit as muscled. Tonight his two-inch black hair, usually gelled straight up, stuck out in various directions. He hadn’t bothered to fix it since the life and death chase he was involved in just a few hours ago. Seeing that messed-up hair sent a stab through me. Wendell was usually so finicky about it.

Mick, Mom’s main personal bodyguard, folded his huge arms and stood back, waiting. Mick is in his forties, ex-military and tall, with a thick neck and block-shaped head. I’ve rarely seen emotion on his face, but I saw glimpses of it now. He and Wendell had been good friends with Bruce, Mom’s third bodyguard.

Bruce had been killed hours ago. Shot.

And he’d been trying to guard me.

My vision blurred. I blinked hard and looked at the floor.

“Come on.” Mom nudged my arm. “We’re all meeting in my dressing room.”

Mick and Bruce flanked her as she walked away.

Usually we don’t have to be so careful backstage. It’s a heavily guarded area anyway. But tonight nothing was the same.

Kim and I followed Mom down a long hall to her dressing room. Morrey, Kim’s boyfriend and Rayne’s drummer, caught up with us. He put a tattoo-covered arm around Kim, her head only reaching his shoulders. Morrey looked at me and winked, but I saw no happiness in it.

Ross Blanke, the band’s tour production manager, hustled up alongside us, trailed by Stan, lead guitarist, and Rich, Rayne’s bass player. “Hey.” Ross put a pudgy hand on Mom’s shoulder. “You’re doing great.” He waved an arm, indicating everyone. “All of you, you’re just doing great.”

“You do what you have to,” Stan said grimly. His black face shone with sweat.

Narrowing single file, we trudged into the dressing room. Mick and Wendell took up places on each side of the door.

Marshall, the makeup and hair stylist, started handing out water bottles. In his thirties, Marshall has buggy eyes and curly dark hair. His fingers are long and narrow, deft with his makeup tools. But until two days ago, he’d been second to Mom’s main stylist, Tom.

“Thanks.” I took a bottle from Marshall and tried to smile. Didn’t work. Just looking at him sent pangs of grief through me, because his presence reminded me of Tom’s absence.

Tom, my closest friend on tour, had been murdered two days ago.

Mom, Ross, Rich and I sank down on the blue couch—one of the furniture pieces Mom requested in every dressing room. Denver’s version was extra large, with a high back and overstuffed arms. To our left stood a table with plenty of catered food, but no one was hungry. I’d hardly eaten in the last day and a half and knew I should have something. But no way, not now.

Maybe after the concert.

Stan, Morrey and Kim drew up chairs to form a haphazard circle.

“All right.” Ross sat with his short, fat legs apart, hands on his jeaned thighs. The huge diamond ring on his right hand was skewed to one side. He straightened it with his pinky finger. “I’ve checked outside past the guarded area. The zoo’s double what it usually is. The news has already hit and every reporter and his brother are waiting for us. Some paparazzi are already there, and others have probably hopped planes and will show up by the time we leave.”

Is Cat here? I shuddered at the thought of the slinky, effeminate photographer who’d bothered us so much in the last two days. He’d even pulled a fire alarm in our San Jose hotel the night before just to force us out of our rooms. Now by police order he wasn’t supposed to get within five hundred feet of us. I doubted he’d care.

My eyes burned, and my muscles felt like water. Little food, no sleep, and plenty of shock. Bad combination. I slumped down in the couch and laid my head back.

Ross ran a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “Now at intermission folks out there”—he jabbed a thumb toward the arena—“are gonna start hearing things. Rayne, you might want to say a little something when you get back on stage.”

Mom sighed, as if wondering where she’d find the energy to do the second half of the concert. “Yeah.”

I squeezed her knee. If only the two of us could hide from the world for a week or two.

Make that a whole year.

Rich frowned as he moved his shaved head from one side to the other, stretching his neck muscles. His piercing gray eyes landed on me, and his face softened. I looked away.

Everyone was so caring and concerned about me. I was grateful for that. Really, I was. But it’s a little hard to know you’ve been the cause of three deaths. Under all their smiles, did the band members blame me?

Ross scratched his hanging jowl. “We got extra coverage from Denver police at the hotel tonight. Tomorrow we’re supposed to head out for Albuquerque. It’s close enough for Vance to drive the main bus without a switch-off driver, and the next two venues are close enough as well. But that’s just logistics. We’ve all been through a lot. Question is—can you all keep performing?” He looked around, eyebrows raised.

“Man.” Morrey shook back his shoulder-length black hair. “If three deaths in two days isn’t enough to make us quit …” His full lips pressed.

I glanced hopefully at Mom. Yeah, let’s go home! I could sleep in my own bed, hide from the paparazzi and reporters, hang out with Brittany, my best friend—who was supposed to be here with me right now.

But canceling concerts would mean losing a lot of money. The Rayne tour was supposed to continue another four weeks.

Mom hunched forward, elbows on her knees and one hand to her cheek. Her long red fingernails matched the color of her lips. “I almost lost my daughter tonight.” Her voice was tight. “I don’t care if I never tour again—Shaley’s got to be protected, that’s the number one thing.”

I want you protected too, Mom.

“I agree with that a hundred percent,” Morrey said, “but at least the threat to Shaley is gone now that Jerry’s dead.

Jerry, one of our bus drivers—and a man I’d thought was my friend—killed Tom and Bruce, and then came after me earlier that night. A cop ended up shooting him.

Kim spread her hands. “I don’t know what to say. I’m still reeling. We’ve barely had time to talk about any of this tonight before getting on stage. I feel like my mind’s gonna explode. And Tom …”

She teared up, and that made me cry. Kim had been like a mother to Tom. Crazy, funny Tom. It was just so hard to believe he was gone.

I wiped my eyes and looked at my lap.

“Anyway.” Kim steadied her voice. “It’s so much to deal with. I don’t know how we’re going to keep up this pace for another month.”

Mom looked at Ross. “We can’t keep going very long with only Vance to drive the main bus.”

Ross nodded. “Until Thursday. I’d have to replace him by then.”

“With who?” Mom’s voice edged.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to jump on it.”

“You can’t just ‘jump on it.’ We need time to thoroughly check the new driver out.”

“Rayne.” Ross threw her a look. “I did check Jerry out. Completely. He had a false ID, remember? That’s what the police said. I couldn’t have known that.”

“You might have known if you’d checked harder.”

Ross’s face flushed. “I did—”

“No you didn’t! Or if you did it wasn’t good enough!” Mom pushed to her feet and paced a few steps. “Something’s mighty wrong if we can’t even find out a guy’s a convicted felon!”

What? I stiffened. “How do you know that?”

Mom waved a hand in the air. “The police told me just before we left the hotel.”

We’d huddled in the manager’s office after the policeman killed Jerry.

I stared at Mom. “When was he in jail?”

Mom threw a hard look at Ross. “He’d barely gotten out when we hired him.”

Heat flushed through my veins. I snapped my gaze toward the floor, Jerry’s last words ringing in my head.

Your father sent me.

How could my father have sent Jerry if he was in jail?

“Rayne,” Ross snapped, “I’ve told you I’m sorry a dozen times—”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” Mom whirled on him. “My daughter was taken hostage. She could have been killed!”

Rich jumped up and put his arms around her. “Come on, Rayne, it’s okay now.”

She leaned against him, eyes closed. The anger on her face melted into exhaustion. “It’s not okay.” Mom shook her head. “Tom’s dead, Bruce is dead. And Shaley—”

Her words broke off. Mom pulled away from Rich and hurried back to the couch. She sank down next to me, a hand on my knee. “Shaley, you’re the one who’s been through the most. What do you want to do?”

My throat nearly swelled shut. Go home! I wanted to yell. But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. This wasn’t my tour. I didn’t have to pay the bills.

I glanced around at all the band members. Morrey was holding Kim’s hand. Stan and Rich watched me, waiting. A canceled tour wouldn’t just affect them. Rayne had three back-up singers, one of them Carly, who’d been such a help to me. Plus all the techs and roadies. They’d all lose money.

Wait—maybe Mom would let me go home and stay with Brittany. Now that Tom’s and Bruce’s killer was dead …

“Shaley?” Mom tapped my leg.

“I don’t … I can’t stop the tour.”

Ross exhaled. “Rayne?”

Mom looked at the wall clock and pushed to her feet. “We can’t decide this now. It’s only fifteen minutes before we have to be back on stage. I still need to change.”

Stan stood. “I say we figure on doing Albuquerque, and then we can decide about the rest.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rich got up, along with everyone else. I could see the business-like attitude settle on all their faces, including Mom’s. Soon they had to perform again. Every other concern must be pushed aside. In the entertainment world the saying was true: the show must go on.

Within a minute everyone had left except Mom, Marshall and me. Mom threw herself into a chair by the bright mirrors so Marshall could adjust her makeup. When he left she changed into a steel blue top and skinny-legged black pants.

I sat numbly on the couch, four words running through my mind. Words, I sensed, that would change my life.

Your father sent me.

Mom didn’t know what Jerry had whispered to me as he died. I needed to tell her.

But how? Like me, she was running on empty. It would be one more shock, another scare. I wasn’t sure she could take anymore and still perform.

Had Jerry told me the truth? Had the father I’d never known—the man my mother refused to talk about—purposely sent a killer to join our tour?

I needed to know. I needed to find out. Because if it was true—the danger was far from over.

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Oct. 29, 2009

Today was a good day.....

We managed to get back on our schedule and I figured out a plan for myself to catch up on things I have left go. I  am going to sit down each evening and  type our lesson plan, our daily chore plan with extra activities into it and print it out with menu guidelines and hole punch it and have it in a notebook! I have been so confused by trying to find  a good planner and  here I had it right in front of me.

Even my son said to me  this evening, "This was a good day! "  It felt normal again!!!

I took the boys to the dentist today,  I am not sure how they all manage to have bad teeth, but I sort of blame myself as  I did not eat very good while pregnant and I think that might be it. The older ones adult teeth seem to be good, so maybe eventually we will be done with caps and crowns and spacers....... They even said I do a good job of brushing my little ones teeth, but he still has issues.

I am working on organizing, I organized my sheets today and am working on  my office so did some stuff with puzzles. I may end up getting rid of some though as it is pretty messy!  We are getting somewhere though!!! One thing at a time.

I hope the rest of the night goes as well and tomorrow is smooth as well!

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Oct. 28, 2009

Menu- 10/28- 11/4

Wow, I can hardly believe it is November already!!! Wow!! That came quick.....
This week I am working on using the cheese I got last week cheap and up all the extra lettuce in my fridge....I guess I will have to go to the store, but I don't want to!!!

Wednesday: Pasta with meatballs and cheese sauce, salad and garlic bread
Thursday: Taco salad
Friday: Pizza, salad
Saturday: Vegetable soup, rolls
Sunday: Sandwiches, cookies and popcorn
Monday:  Company casserole, garlic bread, salad
Tuesday: Broccoli soup, muffins

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Oct. 28, 2009

Mom needs chocolate......review

My review: This great short, but sweet book will have you in stitches before you finish it!! I enjoyed it throughly!!! Each short chapter has little questions at the end that make it great for short readings at Women's group meetings or just for your own devotional type reading, with good applications for your daily mom life. We read one at out MOPS group and it skillfully combines humor with thinking about God and thoughts towards God with our busy lives as moms. This is a great one to pick up or slip into a gift basket for a busy mom you know! Just read the first chapter to see what I mean!- Martha

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:

Debora M. Coty

and the book:

Mom NEEDS Chocolate: Hugs, Humor and Hope for Surviving Motherhood

Regal (April 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Rebeca Seitz of Glass Road Public Relations, LLC for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Debora M. Coty is the author or contributor to several books, including Mom NEEDS Chocolate: Hugs, Humor and Hope for Surviving Motherhood. A resident of Florida where she lives with her husband, Coty raised two children and enjoyed a dedicated career as an Occupational Therapist before beginning to chase her God-given dream of writing. She is known for communicating sound biblical concepts with a refreshing, light-hearted style. Her writings can be read in her monthly newspaper column, Grace Notes: God’s Grace for Everyday Living.

Visit the author's website.



Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Hardcover: 224 pages
Publisher: Regal (April 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0830745920
ISBN-13: 978-0830745920

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

My Cups Runneth Over

Pregnancy

A baby is an inestimable blessing and a bother.

Mark Twain

As for you, be fruitful and multiply; populate the earth abundantly and multiply in it.

Genesis 9:7, NASB

There are a few things I’ve learned while fulfilling the “be fruitful and multiply” mandate.

Pregnancy draws you closer to your spouse. During an emergency stop in our driveway while I tossed my cookies in the grass, my husband, Chuck, tried to comfort me. Soon we were throwing up side by side. It was the most romantic thing he’s ever done. Those two brown spots on our lawn were the envy of all my friends.

Childbirth classes are invaluable informational sources. At the country hospital we’d chosen, one young farmer raised his hand the week after we learned about Braxton Hicks false labor contractions. He earnestly addressed the nurse instructor, “Ma’am, my wife’s been miserable all week. Could you tell us again about them Briggs and Stratton things?” He was the same strapping fellow who confided the first week, “We ain’t ever had any babies, but we’ve birthed a lot of cows.”

The budding momma’s swelling belly and the ledge over her innie-turned-outie navel aren’t the only evolutions in the body’s profile. Average-sized breasts become huge globes that bump into everything. It’s like having volleyballs attached to your chest. These alien chest globes take on their own personalities. I called mine the Bobbing Twins, Freddie and Flopsie. I addressed them directly: “Freddie, stop bouncing around or I’m going to fall off this bike,” or “Flopsie, you’re gonna have to squeeze into this DDD cup—there is no E.”

Finally, you’re in your ninth month. Ah, but the surprises are not over. After hours of sweating, teeth grinding and PUSHing, you are rewarded with a tiny screaming miracle. The little bugger has a surprisingly strong sucking reflex, and when he latches on, it feels like a vice grip to this incredibly sensitive part of your anatomy. You’re awfully glad you did that desensitization with the washcloth beforehand. I once commented to Chuck after performing this unpleasant ritual that rubbing myself with terrycloth made me empathize with that old table he was sanding.

“Hmmm. Yes, dear,” he answered, only half listening. I later overheard him inform his sister on the phone, “Debbie uses sandpaper on her chest to get ready for the baby.” No wonder his family thinks I’m weird.

Shortly after giving birth, my friend Julia (also a nursing mother) and I decided to take a well-deserved tennis break. Leaving the babies with their daddies, we headed for the courts. The blissful quiet was shattered by a wailing infant in a passing stroller, triggering that mysterious internal milk breaker switch. Julia and I simultaneously clutched our chests like gunshot victims at the incoming flood.

“Stop it, Freddie! Not now, Flopsie!” I pleaded with the Twins as two dark, wet spots appeared in strategic locations on the front of my white tennis shirt. Julia and I mopped ourselves between points with a soggy sweatband, bringing strange new meaning to the term, “bosom buddies.”1

Son of Man, thank You for the blessing of family and the miracle of babies. Make me more like You because they may end up being like me.



Note

1. Adapted from “My Cups Runneth Over” by Debora M. Coty, first appearing in Today’s Christian Woman, November/December 2004 issue. Used by permission.

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Oct. 27, 2009

Menu last week.....

Since I got home late on Wednesday, I ended up going shopping and our menu has been a bit screwed up! Plus, the boys and F. have been going to work in the evenings at my sister's house. F. is insulating their house and the boys have been doing construction cleanup. It is really good for them to learn how to work......
Anyhow, dinner has been interesting!!!

Thursday: Fried potatoes......I think some had some eggs
Friday: Chili in the crockpot. It was an interesting chili as I had a small steak, some chunks of chicken, a can of salsa and some other stuff I dumped in along with a bag of frozen beans. It was good though!!There was a chili feed for church, but it was raining and the boys had to go work, so I did not want to go.
Saturday: Baked chicken legs, broccoli
Sunday: Leftover chicken legs, salad and sandwiches, popcorn and muffins.....
Monday: Leftover night- I did not have many leftovers, so she made black eyed peas (which were so good) and cornbread and I brought Pumpkin Cranberry  muffins with crumb topping and cheese and hot sauce with sour cream. It was yummy!
Tuesday: Baked chicken legs, mashed potatoes, applesauce and salad...and let's see if I can get this made! I have a bunch of organizing, cleaning and de-cluttering to do.

We will see what next week holds!!!

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Oct. 27, 2009

Pumpkin Patch

Enjoying lunch before playing.......
T. and a friend's little boy riding in the barrel train.....
T. loved it!!! He just wanted to ride and ride and ride as long as the man was going to go!!
But he stopped for some hot apple cider......MMMMmmmmm!!
H. posing in jail......the other little boy whom, I do not know, got in the way, but there were so many kids around we just took the picture!!

You want me to smile? A real smile???

All set to go for a tractor wagon train ride......apple cider included!!

This guy rode way up in front with strangers.....not scared of much!!!

All set to go home....it started to rain as we left, but pumpkins in hand, we had a great time!! I cooked one as soon as we got home and made a wonderful batch of pumpkin cranberry streusel muffins with some of it! I also froze a bag!!

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Oct. 27, 2009

My trip pictures

Pictures of the planes.....for the boys, while I was waiting for the flight in Denver

I am not sure what this was, but I was wondering if it was part of the Grand Canyon.....not sure, I have never seen it before!
My very cute...cousin's daughter......

My grandma cut me some beautiful roses for my bathroom! It was such a special treat!! They were so pretty and smelled wonderful!
My aunt, unloading presents after my cousin's baby shower for twins!! She got alot of diapers and lots of good stuff! It was fun, but very tiring!!
My grandma reading the paper! I really enjoyed sitting and reading the paper with them in the morning! I love reading newspapers, and it was fun to do it with someone else who also enjoyed it!
My wonderful grandparents!!! I really enjoyed being able to spend time with them, they are such amazing people!

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Oct. 27, 2009

Messages To Myself: Overcoming a Distorted Self-Image by Dr. Helen McIntosh

My Review: This one is hard for me to review as I remember reading the book, but cannot remember something that was memorable about it, other than I found it interesting. It was one of those books that was good to read, but not something that struck me personally with a chord that I had to remember it! Anyhow, since this is only for me and I am sure it will be one that strikes a chord with one of you, check out the first chapter and see if this is one that would be good for you! - Martha

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:

Dr. Helen McIntosh

and the book:

Messages To Myself: Overcoming a Distorted Self-Image

Beacon Hill Press of Kansas City (May 15, 2009)

***Special thanks to Blythe Daniel of The Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc.for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Dr. Helen McIntosh has a doctorate in Counseling Psychology, is a Licensed Professional Counselor, Certified in Reality Therapy, speaker, author, and inventor of The Peace Rug®. She spent 18 years in public education. As school counselor, she wrote the book, Eric, Jose & The Peace Rug® to help students resolve conflicts with peers. Fox News has shown interest in her work in school violence. She has written for Guideposts and ParentLife, and has been reviewed in BookPleasures.com, Good News Tucson, Chattanooga Times-Free Press, Daily Citizen newspapers, and will be reviewed on CBN.org, Miami Motherhood, Esperanza and hopetocope.com, The Christian Post, and others.

Messages To Myself: Overcoming a Distorted Self-Image is published by Beacon Hill Press (June 2009) and is endorsed by Stasi Eldredge, Kay Arthur, Steve Arterburn, Sheila Walsh, June Hunt, and Jan Silvious.

Visit the author's website and The Peace Rug®.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 160 pages
Publisher: Beacon Hill Press of Kansas City (May 15, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0834124564
ISBN-13: 978-0834124561

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

1

What Are You Thinking?

I thought I handled the blows in my life and to my sense of well-being with a learned Southern charm and grace: “Well, okay—if that’s what you think” or “If that’s what you say, then it must be true.” After all, why would anyone intentionally wound me or cause me to question his or her words or actions?

I slowly came to realize, though, that not everyone—including my loved ones—understood the power their words had over me or understood that I allowed their words to dominate my thinking and what I believed about myself. Over time, I came to understand that there were feelings and emotions deep inside that I couldn’t account for. I didn’t remember how or why they resided in my heart, but I wanted to banish them and the damage they had caused.

I didn’t know that my thoughts and my behavior were linked in any way. So when I had a specific thought about a person’s actions or a word that was spoken to me, I didn’t realize how much it affected the way I lived.

The effects of these words and actions also affected the way I viewed relationships—my relationship with myself and my relationships with others. I knew I needed to reframe (“reframe” is a term I use to mean picturing something in a different light) years of pain and frustration, but I had no role model to follow.

The Truth Chart

The Truth Chart process that I developed was initially developed for my own mental health. I began using it in 1970, but it was many years before I began sharing it with others. Now I have almost daily opportunities to share this method, and I have been surprised and humbled by the results. The participants in the classes I teach and those I counsel in my private practice continue to share that they have had dramatic changes in their thinking patterns and behaviors. These individuals have encouraged me to put these ideas into this book so others can experience what they have discovered regarding depression, emotional anxiety, and personal thought life. They have shared that these ideas are novel, concrete, and practical.

For most of my childhood and into my adulthood, I thought of myself as vanilla—you know, just plain vanilla. No sparkle, no color, nothing memorable. Certainly not jamocha almond fudge or white chocolate strawberry—just vanilla.

Many damaging messages were delivered to me by people who were important to me during the course of my life: “Can’t you do anything right?” “You’re so weak, so stupid, so clumsy . . .” I had internalized those messages, and they had become a major component in my self-talk and poor self-image. Samples of my internal scripts were “I am a zero.” “I never do anything right.”

In addition to these damaging conversations with myself, I had never really internalized God’s view of me either. These became more than just internal thoughts—they became wounds that affected me deeply. The wounds were far deeper than a skinned knee here and there, although there were many of those. The wounds I’m referring to were name-calling, displays of anger and rage, and actions against me.

Since I invited Christ to come into my life as my Savior and Lord many years ago, I’ve been totally convinced that God loves me and has a plan for my life. I knew He had forgiven my sins and answered many prayers. I’ve taught Sunday School and Bible studies since my salvation experience, and I have taught biblical life principles to others and believed them as truth. But when I had feelings of not being special or had feelings of not being of value to God, I didn’t really label those thoughts as lies. I taught others about guarding their thoughts, but I never really internalized the application of these principles into my own thought life. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe I was special to God. But there were wounds—deep internal messages from others—that superseded God’s messages to me. Fortunately, that has all changed.

Not too long ago I asked God for the name He had for me. I first heard of this concept at a conference by author John Eldredge a few years ago, but I didn’t ask God right then. This idea originated in the passage of Scripture from John 10:3 about how “the sheep hear his voice; and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out” (nkjv, emphasis added). I knew it was important for me to hear God’s name for me; I just wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. I was confident it would be something vanilla.

Recently, though, I decided I needed to know. I didn’t hear God’s audible voice, but clearly and distinctly, after a time of prayer, came the phrase “Warrior Princess.” Wow! Nothing vanilla about “Warrior Princess!” God had reframed my thoughts even about who I am.

We make choices like that every day—every moment of every day. What are we to believe when we have certain ongoing thoughts and feelings? Thoughts and feelings may feel very real. But are they true?

The purpose of this book is to help you be attentive to your thoughts and feelings, but you must not get stuck in reflections and past hurts. Instead, look at your thoughts and feelings from the truth of God’s perspective. You are not wiping out the real and honest wounds or reflections or even the in-depth processing of these things that come to your heart and mind. They are to be validated; but don’t get stuck there.

Wounds in Action

Once you are able to see your wounds and reflections from God’s point of view, you can be freed from ongoing despondency, depression, anger, and anxiety. Remember the word I used earlier, “reframing”? Here’s a recent personal story to illustrate what reframing is.

It was the week before I was scheduled to speak at a women’s retreat. It was a cold, drizzly afternoon. I had just dropped off my granddaughter at her home and was only a few blocks away. I went through a fast-food drive-through and picked up some large containers of soup, which I put on the floor of my car to take to my mother-in-law.

Traffic was thick, as it always is on this busiest street at the busiest time in the afternoon—bumper to bumper. I have no idea how it happened, really, and I offer no excuses. But before I knew it, I was looking down at the soup that was wobbling on the floor—and I reached for it, consequently bumping the car in front of me suddenly. My car had moved forward—apparently my foot slipped—and I was thrust into one of the most embarrassing moments of my life! It was followed by such personal agony—a genuine shame attack. I am such a disaster. How could I have done that? I will never be trusted ever again to drive my granddaughters. A lot of people saw it. I felt totally exposed! I had stopped traffic, and I felt as if hundreds of pairs of eyes were watching and calling me stupid.

XXX

Hear the wound? Do you hear the stories under the wound? You can hear the ownership of responsibility, but mostly you hear the pain. We’ll reframe this in just a minute. Back to the scene.

The man in front of me was not happy. In what seemed only a second he walked back to my car and stood beside me. Oh, he was angry! And I even knew him—and his wife, who was with him. But he didn’t let that stand in the way! He quickly called the police, which, of course, you are supposed to do. Within five agonizing minutes we were summoned to drive a short distance to a service station on a corner where twice as many people could see us. There wasn’t just one police car—there were two. I was overwhelmed with an all-too-familiar sense of inadequacy and failure, by the feeling of being a bad grandmother. How scary to realize that my granddaughter was in the car only moments before! I’m too bad a driver to be trusted to drive my grandchildren ever again. These messages then multiplied and began to connect with my mother’s damaging accusations from decades before—her avalanche of accusations over the smallest of infractions. That tender place in my heart was hurting so badly.

Picture me: I stood with the police in the cold, wet rain. It was freezing outside, and I had on several jackets; but because I was fresh from a pedicure, I was wearing high-heeled jeweled sandals—and holding my teacup poodle. How silly I must have looked!

For hours and hours Satan whispered additional messages to the ones I was already having, such as “How can you possibly teach the women this weekend?” My agony was profound. It was time to reframe.

Reframing

I went to God and first said, Lord, I hurt so badly. I feel like such a failure. I feel like such a zero, so “legally blonde.” I’m very okay with the traffic ticket and the fine, and I’m fine with replacing the man’s bumper. Those things aren’t what bother me. I just hate feeling so inadequate.

Then I started looking at that accident through God’s perspective—period. I began to say to Him, The truth is—it was serious, but everyone is okay. I was careless, but I am not a failure as a person. God, I am so sorry. I hate what it feels like to be distracted. Lord, could you give me grace to bear this hurt—the grace that I enjoy giving to others but have trouble receiving myself? You are enough for this ouch. Thank you that I am adequate in you; thank you that I don’t have to be adequate in my own strength anyway. I would love to learn from this, Lord. I ask you to help me be a better driver. When I think of this accident, I choose to think of the ways I have already grown and choose now not to assume false shame. Thank you, Lord. You are enough.

This book is about the process of reframing thinking, feelings, and past or present wounds, and it’s based primarily on the following two Scripture passages. It’s also about restoring relationships—through both your self-talk and your other-talk.

Though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:3-5).

If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free (John 8:31-32).

A stronghold is like a worn path—but a path that is created by the enemy of our lives. Have you ever taken a shortcut across the lawn again and again? Pretty soon you have created a marked path. When you know you should go a different way but you keep returning to that same path, that is a stronghold. When someone has a difficult conversation with you, and the damage of the conversation is not repaired, you will continue to feel that hurt, that wound, for a long time. Then you develop sensitivity to similar wounds by others, and that, too, is a stronghold.

Maybe you tend to often take on false guilt or false responsibility from someone else’s words or actions. False guilt and false responsibility are strongholds. If you have a sad thought, then another and another—and they don’t receive attention—it becomes a stronghold. Maybe you’re plagued by recurring anxious or fearful thoughts that don’t get resolved as the wounds deepen. Those, too, become strongholds. You get the idea of how this pattern can deepen and spread to more than just one area of your life. You have not only developed a stronghold but have also established an agreement with your enemy.

It is the truth—biblical truth—that does set one free from these strongholds or bondages. Truth is the only thing that can provide freedom from these “strongholds,” “arguments,” and “every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God.”

Before we explore this, let me clarify that I’m not speaking of truth that some might interpret as positive messages that sound good and cheerful for the moment. Examples of these well-meaning but often damaging messages include “Oh, you can do it!” “You can always get another dog,” “Time will take care of that,” or “Be happy—you have so much.” The reality is that when someone is mad, sad, anxious, or fearful, there’s more important information to be gained from the expressions of emotions.

We need to look long and hard at what our thoughts and feelings are telling us about our heart. Just being positive and cheerful could serve only to minimize pain, implying that there is a fast “cure” that is not realistic. Positive messages we give ourselves or receive from others will not have a lasting effect. Only Christ can permanently relieve the hurt of deep emotional pain. Though you can be available for friends and loved ones, and others can be available for you, cheerful counsel and unsolicited advice are not the answer. The mind of Christ is required.

Careful study of the Scriptures, learning scriptural principles, and looking to the Holy Spirit for guidance give us the wisdom to see truth from His perspective.

Truth: Where Does It Come From?

I believe that God is the author of truth, wherever it is found. As a counselor in the public school system for 12 years, I could not initiate conversations about God or use biblical scriptures, but I could talk with students about more general principles of “truth.”

It’s fascinating to see how truth and reasoning are handled by the secular professionals in our society. In the field of psychology, there is renowned research to show the truth and profound importance of disputing irrational thinking as the main antidote to depression and anxiety. I had been reframing my thoughts and feelings for decades before I found this research, but it confirmed the importance of what I had been practicing to deal with my thoughts. The research states that “cognitive behavioral therapy,” or the “disputing of irrational beliefs,” is superior to pharmacology, which is using medication to aide in someone’s pain management, or even a combination of cognitive behavioral therapy and pharmacology. God’s perspective is the ultimate reframing, and it stretches beyond just knowing that irrational thinking should be disputed. The study of secular research and how it underscores the truth of what I’m sharing with you is discussed in more depth in a future chapter.

For now, let’s explore more fully what reframing of self-talk is and how to develop a mental outline to help when you are continuing the well-worn path of anger, depression, fear, or anxiety. Conquering these results of self-lies is possible.


Making It Personal

1. A suggested prayer: Lord, would you open wide my understanding of the issues of my own heart? Would you help me put a name on my hurts? Would you help me to see the damage? Would you give me the grace to cover this tender time of reflection and exploration of my thoughts and feelings? In Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

2. Don’t rush this next step. Take your time. Think about what might be past and present wounds. You can list people, events, circumstances, conversations, anything in your life that has brought hurt.

Past wounds








Present wounds








3. Are there some common themes? What might they be called? Some examples: abandonment, rejection, feelings of inadequacy. These are possible strongholds.

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Oct. 24, 2009

Double Cross - Book Review

My Review: Want a real to life heroine that is not perfect? You found the book! The story starts out with the discovery of a suicide when Taylor and Kacey thought they were going to confront a suspect. This starts them on the hunt for a murderer when Taylor notices some things that are just not quite right about it. She of course, gets herself into messes without letting anyone know and chases and close scrapes with death come about.

You will want to read the first book in this series before this one "Forsaken". This book is full of more than just mystery and fast chases, there is relationship issues as Taylor's mother tries to come back into her life, but she is a mess and you have to wonder at her mental status the entire book. You can feel the longing in Taylor's heart for a mother and yet, that longing goes unfilled.

I really enjoyed this book! I do not often enjoy books by male authors about women, so this was a happy surprise. It is also an "I" story, which is sometimes hard for me too, but this one I enjoyed to the last page and look forward to hearing how Taylor's life goes forward! -Martha

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:

James David Jordan

and the book:

Double Cross

B&H Books (October 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Audra Jennings of The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

James David Jordan is a business attorney in Texas and was named by the Dallas Business Journal as one of the most influential leaders in that legal community. He holds a journalism degree from the University
of Missouri as well as a law degree and MBA from the University of Illinois and lives with his wife and two children in the Dallas suburbs.

Visit the author's website.




Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: B&H Books (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0805447547
ISBN-13: 978-0805447545

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The day my mother came back into my life began with a low December fog and a suicide. Mom was not responsible for the fog.


I hadn’t seen her for twenty years, and the idea that she might show up at my door was the farthest thing from my mind on a Thursday morning, a few weeks before Christmas, when the music alarm practically blasted me off my bed. With the Foo Fighters wailing in my ear, I burrowed into my pillow and tried to wrap it around my head. I rolled onto my side and slapped the snooze bar, but smacked the plastic so hard that it snapped in two, locking in another minute and a half of throbbing base before I could yank the cord from the wall socket. It wasn’t until my toes touched the hardwood floor and curled up against the cold that I remembered why I was waking up at five-forty-five in the first place. Kacey Mason and I were meeting Elise Hovden at eight o’clock in a suburb northwest of Dallas. We would give her one chance to explain why

nearly half a million dollars was missing from Simon Mason World Ministries. If she couldn’t, our next stop would be the Dallas police.


Since Simon Mason’s murder earlier that year, I’d been living in his house with Kacey, his twenty-year-old daughter. I had promised to watch out for her if anything happened to him. It wasn’t a sacrifice. By that time Kacey and I were already so close that we finished each other’s sentences. I needed her as much as she needed me.


I slid my feet into my slippers and padded down the hall toward Kacey’s door. Chill bumps spread down my thighs in a wave, and I wished I’d worn my flannel pajama bottoms to bed under my Texas Rangers baseball jersey. Rather than turning back to my room to grab my robe, I decided to gut it out. I bent over and gave my legs a rub, but I knew they wouldn’t be warm again until I was standing next to the space heater in the bathroom.


I pressed my ear to Kacey’s door. The shower was humming. Of course she was awake. Had there ever been a more responsible college kid? Sometimes I wished she would let things go,

do something wild. For her, that would probably mean not flossing before going to bed. If hyper-responsibility got her through the day, I supposed it was fine with me. After all, she was a markedly better person than I had been at her age.


By the time I met her father I was twenty-nine, and thanks to a decade of too much alcohol and too many useless men, I was dropping like a rock. But Simon Mason caught me and held me

in place for a while, just long enough to give me hope. Then he did what he had to do, and he died for it. Some things are more important than living. He and Dad both taught me that. So now I was changing. To be accurate, I would say I was a work in progress. I hadn’t had a drink since before Simon died, and I’d sworn off men completely, albeit temporarily. Frankly, the latter was not much of a sacrifice. It wasn’t as if a crowd of guys had been beating a path to my door. I simply figured there was no use getting back into men until I was confident the drinking was under control. One thing I had demonstrated repeatedly in my life was that drinking and men just didn’t go together—at least not for me.


As for Kacey, after everything she’d been through, it was amazing she hadn’t folded herself into a fetal ball and quit the world for a while. Instead, she just kept plugging along, putting one foot in front of the other. I was content to step gingerly behind her, my toes sinking into her footprints. She was a good person to follow. She had something I’d never been known for: Kacey had character.


I shook my head. I was not going to start the day by kicking myself. I’d done enough of that. Besides, I no longer thought I had to be perfect. If a good man like Simon Mason could mess

things up and find a way to go on, then so could I. Even in his world—a much more spiritual one than mine—perfection was not required. He made a point of teaching me that.


I closed my eyes and pictured Simon: his shiny bald head, his leanly muscled chest, his brilliant, warming smile. As I thought of that smile, I smiled, too, but it didn’t last long. Within seconds the muscles tightened in my neck. I massaged my temples and tried to clear my thoughts. Soon, though, I was pressing my fingers so hard into my scalp that pain radiated from behind my eyes.


If only he had listened. But he couldn’t. He wanted to die. No matter how much he denied it, we both knew it was true. After what he had done, he couldn’t live with himself. So he found the only available escape hatch. He went to preach in a place where his death was nearly certain.


I lowered my hands and clenched them, then caught myself and relaxed. This was no good. It was too late. Not this morning, Taylor. You’re not going to think about Simon today. I took a deep breath and ran my fingers back through my hair, straightening the auburn waves for an instant before they sprang stubbornly back into place. Today’s worries are enough for today. That was the mantra of the alcohol recovery program at Simon’s church. It was from the Bible, but I couldn’t say where. To be honest, I didn’t pay attention as closely as I should. Regardless of origin, it was a philosophy that had worked for my drinking—at least so far. Maybe it had broader application: Focus on the task at hand and let yesterday and tomorrow take care of themselves.


At the moment, the first priority was to get the coffee going. I started down the hall.


When I turned the corner into the kitchen, I could see that Kacey had already been there. The coffee maker light was on, illuminating a wedge of countertop next to the refrigerator. In the red glow of the tiny bulb, the machine chugged and puffed like a miniature locomotive. Two stainless steel decanters with screw-on plastic lids waited next to the ceramic coffee jar, and

the smell of strong, black coffee drifted across the room. I closed my eyes, inhaled, and pictured the cheese Danish we would pick up at the corner bakery on our way out of our neighborhood. That was plenty of incentive to get moving. I headed back down the hall.


When I reached the bathroom I flipped on the light, closed the door, and hit the switch on the floor heater. I positioned it so it blew directly on my legs. Within a minute the chill bumps were retreating. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink, leaned forward, and squinted into the mirror. Glaring back at me was a message I had written in red lipstick the night before: Start the coffee!


I wiped the words off with a hand towel and peered into the mirror again. A tangled strand of hair dangled in front of one eye. I pushed it away, blinked hard, and studied my face. No lines, no bags, no creases—no runs, no hits, no errors, as Dad used to say. I was beginning to believe the whole clean living thing. Zero liquor and a good night’s sleep worked like a tonic for the skin.


It was tough to stay on the wagon after Simon’s death. I had never been an every-day drinker. My problem was binge drinking. With all that had happened during the past six months, the temptations had been frequent and strong, but I was gradually getting used to life on the dry side of a bourbon bottle. There was much to be said for routine. Maybe that’s why dogs are so happy when they’re on a schedule. When everything happens the same way and at the same time each day, there’s not much room for angst.


On second thought, the dog analogy didn’t thrill me. I pulled the Rangers jersey over my head, tossed it on the floor, and turned to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Standing in nothing but my bikini panties, I rocked onto the toes of one foot, then the other. My long legs were still lean and athletic. Fitness was something Dad had always emphasized—fitness and self-defense. There were times when I had hated him for it, but now I was glad for the benefits. It would be years before I had to worry about really showing age. I might have lived harder than most twenty-nine year olds, but I could still turn heads in a crowded room. No, the dog analogy was not appropriate. I had plenty of issues, but I was no dog. At least not yet.


I turned on the water and cupped my hands beneath the faucet. It was time to wake up and plan what we would say to Elise. After splashing my face and patting it with a towel, I turned around, leaned back against the countertop, and crossed my arms. I caught a whiff of the lavender cologne I’d taken to spraying on my wrists before bed. The Internet said it would soothe me into peaceful slumber. For fifty dollars an ounce, it should have brought me warm milk and rocked me to sleep. I tried to recall how I’d slept the past few nights, then caught myself. I was just looking for ways to waste time. I needed to focus. The issue at hand was Elise.


Simon informed me about the missing money just before he left for Beirut. His former accountant, Brandon, had confronted him about it, thinking that Simon had been skimming. Simon wanted someone to know that he hadn’t done it, someone who could tell Kacey that her dad was not a thief. That’s why he told me. In case he didn’t come back. And as the whole world knew, he didn’t come back.


Elise was the obvious person for the board of directors to choose to wind up the business of Simon’s ministry. She had been his top assistant for years. When I told Kacey about the missing money, though, she bypassed Elise and went directly to the board to demand an audit—impressive gumption for a twenty year old. It didn’t take the auditors long to confirm that Simon had nothing to do with the missing money.


The accountants concluded that the board had assigned the cat to clean the birdcage. Elise had set up dummy vendor accounts at banks around the country in a classic embezzlement scam. Simon’s ministries had major construction projects going, and Elise issued bogus contractor invoices to Simon

Mason World Ministries from fake businesses with P.O. box addresses that she controlled. When the ministry mailed the payments, she picked up the checks from the post office boxes and deposited them in the bank accounts. Who knows where the money went from there?


The ministry had grown so quickly during the years before Simon’s death—and Simon was so trusting—that controls were lax. When the invoices came in, the payables department

paid them without question. By now the money was probably stuffed under a mattress in some tropical paradise. That was another thing I intended to pursue with Elise. She had developed a great tan.


Before I stepped into the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and went back into the bedroom. I pulled my Sig Sauer .357 out of my purse and checked the magazine. It was full. I slipped the pistol into the inside pocket of my purse. Elise didn’t strike me as the type to get violent, but people did weird things when backed into a corner. If I’d learned anything during my time in the Secret Service, it was to hope for the best—and prepare for the worst.

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Oct. 24, 2009

Nice trip....

I was hoping to wait to blog until I got time to put pictures up, but thought I would write stuff down before I forget!

I headed off early in the morning on Thursday headed over 4.5 hours away to make it to the airport. It is a long drive, but it did it without any problems including driving in the city a bit when I had a few minutes to kill.  I was so impressed with myself! I am broadening my horizons!!!

I  only took a carry on on the flights and I was amazed at how easy it was and I don't know that I will want to check bags again!! We flew to Denver  and waited for the plane to take off and then the time came closer and they started announcing there was a problem with electrical in the kitchen on the plane. They were trying to get it fixed, and said we would take off, and take off and then suddenly they say we are switching planes. Next announcement,  we are not switching planes, they got this one fixed, and then suddenly, we are sorry, your flight was canceled. We had to wait in line for over and hour and half  to figure out what we were supposed to do next. They gave us meal and hotel vouchers, but I had to wait for the shuttle for almost 45 minutes in the chilly night and when we got there, the place that served food was about to close. I rushed to my room, ran down, ordered some food. I was so tired, I could not eat, so just went upstairs and fell asleep!

I had to get up at 3 am so barely slept after 1 am and got to the airport before 5 (the shuttle was at 4:25). The flight was supposed to take off at 6 am and what do you know, it was delayed again!!! It was more like 7 am when it took off and I was moaning my lost hour of sleep. I fell asleep on the plane though and drank orange juice so I felt better!

I had a  wonderful visit with my grandparents, they have done so many wonderful things in their lives and it was so much fun to listen to the stories and do things with them. I have realized how many things I do, I have gotten from them even though I am not around them much, things that are different than the rest of my family. I am very proud to be a part of their family!

I got to go to a  baby shower for my cousin also. She is having twins in seven weeks, a boy and girl!! It was so much fun to be able to do that, but it was a long, long shower!!!

I did not take alot of pictures, but I took a few and I got a chance to just relax, have fun and let go of some of the burdens of life, which is hard to do.

On the way home, it was interesting as it was like 2 am when I got out of the airport. It was foggy and fog freaks me out ever since  our accident in the fog, so I was driving slowly for the most part. Anyhow, here I am going the speed limit later, driving on a deserted freeway and I see a police car sitting on the side of the road. He pulls out a bit later and comes up behind me and sits there for awhile and then pulls me over. I am trying to figure out if I did something wrong, when he comes over and says that my muffler is a little loud. He checks everything and finds it all okay.....he wants to know what I am doing out this time of night, and I explain. I think he wanted to make sure I was not a teenager out on the town at 2 am or something, my muffler is not really that loud!!! Oh well, I am sure when he saw I was  30 and have never had a ticket....he figured he was safe letting me go!

I had to leave later in the day the next day because of the fog, but stopped to say hi to my mom and was on my way home!!! It is nice to be home even though it was fun traveling.

So many sick people though and now I feel like I am fighting a cold........I am scared of getting sick, but don't think I will really get sick.

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Oct. 23, 2009

When you lose someone you love....comfort for those who grieve

My Review: Do you have a friend who has been grieving a loss? You feel helpless and don't know what to do? This little book is a good resource to have on hand, for you to read to understand grief as well as helpful for the grieving friend. This compilation of "letters" to David are well written, short and to the point and very helpful for someone who is dealing with grief.

When I read this book I realized that this is something that is a universal thing, and not just with death. People do not know how to deal with grief. When I lost my great-grandfather, I was so upset. I cried straight for 3 days and someone told me, "It's enough." I am not sure that was the right thing to do as I still feel like it was never enough, but at least he said something. Some people avoid you or treat you like you have a plague. There was a quote in the book from C.S. Lewis that something like "I wonder if there should be a leper colony for the grieving." It feels that way when you see people hesitate to approach you as they are not sure if you will burst into tears and not know what to do or if they talk cheerily about their life, you hate them.

There was something in there I have heard alot lately, how the most helpful thing to do is to sit with someone, hand them kleenex and just be there. You don't have to say anything. Words are empty, but don't say something like "I'll pray for you" and in the next sentence ask them what they are doing for Christmas.- Martha

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:

Richard Exley

and the book:

When You Lose Someone You Love: Comfort for Those Who Grieve

David C. Cook; New edition (October 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Audra Jennings of The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Richard Exley is the author of twenty-nine books and has written both fiction and nonfiction. His articles have appeared in numerous magazines, including Leadership Journal, Charisma, Ministries Today, The Pentecostal Evangel, Advance, Enrichment, and New Man. He has served as senior pastor of churches in Colorado and Oklahoma, hosted several popular television and radio programs, including the nationally syndicated Straight from the Heart, and appeared on the 700 Club, Richard Roberts Live, Action Sixty, the former PTL, The New Jim Bakker Show, and The Harvest Show. Richard and his wife, Brenda Starr, spend their time in a secluded cabin overlooking picturesque Beaver Lake in Northwest Arkansas.


Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 128 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 143476480X
ISBN-13: 978-1434764805

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

When Death Comes

The first letter


Dear David,


How often I think of the loss of your beloved and the anguished grief to which it gave birth. The initial moments have been indelibly imprinted upon my mind. I can still see you smiling bravely as you rose to greet me when I came to give what comfort I could. Somehow that brave smile was even more heartrending than the sobs that came later. Even in the moment of your loss, you still wanted to be the caregiver; you wanted to make my task easier.


In your grief, you said that you felt handicapped, that you had never had to deal with anything like this before. How right you are. Nothing in life really prepares us for the death of a loved one, especially if that death is totally unexpected. Although we know that people—even children—die every day, we never think it can happen in our family. And with good reason, for it has been estimated that the average person can go through a twenty-year period without being exposed to the death of a single relative or friend.


Still, sooner or later all of us are confronted with the inevitable. It may come unexpectedly. A phone call in the middle of the night notifies us of our brother’s sudden death. A uniformed police officer quietly informs us of a fatal car accident involving our son or daughter. Or it may come as the long-awaited blow at the end of a lengthy illness. However it happens, it is always painful and inevitably followed by grief and an almost overwhelming sense of loss.


I won’t pretend that I know entirely what you are feeling or that I can fully comprehend the depth of your grief. Nor will I pretend that I have all the answers to your tormenting questions. In truth, all I really have to share is my love and the painful lessons I have learned while dealing with my own grief and while helping others deal with theirs.


My first experience with death came when I was just nine years old. Mother was taken to the hospital sometime in the middle of the night, and Grandma Exley came to stay with my two brothers and me. For the next two and a half days, Mother struggled to give birth to her fourth child. She succeeded only after the doctors belatedly performed a cesarean section. I was too young to understand any of this, but I can remember the laughter and cheers when Grandma told us that we had a baby sister. In minutes we were announcing it to the neighborhood.


Sometime later, Dad came home and gathered us three boys around him. He was bowed with weariness and grief. With great difficulty, he told us the painful news. Yes, Mother had given birth to a daughter, our long-awaited sister, but things didn’t look good. The baby was hydrocephalic and wasn’t expected to

live. Even if she did live, she would never be normal.


Tears were running down Dad’s cheeks when he finished, and I seemed to be smothering. I couldn’t get my breath. I sat there numbly for a minute; then I burst off the couch and ran through the dining room and kitchen, choking on my sobs. I flung open the screen door, making a frightful racket, and stumbled down the back steps toward the garage.


For the better part of the next hour, I lay facedown on the dirt floor. Great heaving sobs convulsed my small frame, and it seemed like everything in the universe withdrew, leaving me alone with my pain. The dusty floor mingled with my tears, becoming mud, and I pounded my fists into the ground until I had no strength left. After a long while, my grief seemed to exhaust itself, leaving me with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.


I think I accepted Carolyn’s death that afternoon, but it wouldn’t become a reality until just before Christmas, three months later. The intervening weeks were filled with several crises. Once, Dad and Aunt Elsie rushed to the children’s hospital in Denver. When they arrived, Carolyn was critical,

at the point of death. The doctors were able to stabilize her condition, and after she had spent several days in the hospital, they brought her home for the last time. I vaguely remember Mother placing Carolyn in my lap as I sat in the armchair. She watched with a painful love as I fed my baby sister a few ounces of formula.


It seemed that each day brought some new disappointment. Soon we realized that Carolyn was both blind and deaf, and her head, larger than the rest of her tiny body at birth, became increasingly disproportionate. With a pain that still lingers, I remember watching Mother as she bathed Carolyn tenderly, then carefully measured her head to see if, by some miracle, it was any smaller. It never was. Mama would bite her lip, and silent tears ran down her cheeks as she put away the cloth tape measure.


Carolyn died in her sleep at home early one morning. Our family doctor and Aunt Elsie arrived at about the same time. He confirmed the death, and Aunt Elsie fixed breakfast, which no one ate. A short time later, the mortician came and took Carolyn’s tiny body away, and the gray December day passed in a maze of necessary activities.


The funeral service and the trip to the cemetery have been completely blocked from my memory, leaving me without a single detail. However, I do remember eating supper after the funeral. Grief rendered the food tasteless, but we ate anyway, mechanically, out of some misbegotten sense of obligation. We ate in the kitchen with one small lamp as the only light. It cast deep shadows around the table, shadows that matched the sorrow in our hearts. To this day, I have not had a sadder meal.


As a child, I was able to accept Carolyn’s death without affixing responsibility. It was enough to know that she was with Jesus, in heaven, where there is no more sickness or pain, no more sorrow or crying. By Christmas her death was already becoming a painful but fading memory.


The questions came later, after I became a pastor and found myself ministering to families in similar situations. Their desperate questions gave birth to my own: Was God to blame for Carolyn’s death? Did He kill her, or at least allow her to die? Questions like these drove me to my knees. Desperately I searched the Scriptures for understanding.


After months of painful agonizing, I concluded that sin, not God, is responsible for disease and death. That is not to say that Carolyn’s death was the result of her own personal sin, or even—God forbid—the sin of her parents. Rather, it means that sin has tainted the entire human race, and diseases and death are the inevitable consequences. Romans 5:12 (KJV) declares, “Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the

world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men.”


As I counsel those who question why humans must suffer, sometimes I simplistically explain that we inhabit a planet which is in rebellion, that we are part of a race living outside of God’s will, and that one consequence of that rebellion is sickness and death. God doesn’t send this plague upon people, nor does He will it. It is simply a natural consequence of humanity’s fallen state. Although as believers we

are new creations in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17), we remain a part of this human family—a family that is tainted by sin and death. As a consequence, we, too, suffer the inevitable repercussions of that fallen state, even though we may be personally committed to the doing of God’s will and the coming of His kingdom.


In truth, the cause of sickness and death is not God but the hated enemy, sin. Not necessarily our personal sin, nor a specific sin—for life and death cannot be reduced to a mathematical equation—but the fact of sin.


Jesus addressed the relationship between personal sin and death in Luke 13:1–5: “Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, ‘Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you no!’”


Jesus does not tell us why these particular individuals died while others equally sinful were allowed to live, but He does make it clear that the reason for their deaths is far more complicated than mere cause and effect.


As you well know, David, when death strikes unexpectedly, we long for a reason, an explanation, but often there is none. In desperation we try to make some sense out of it, but often there are simply no pat answers, no ready conclusions. In times like these we must always resist the temptation to speak where God has not spoken. Beyond the simple explanation that death comes as a result of humanity’s sinful state, God has not given us any insight into the “why” of individual deaths.


In many ways, David, death remains a mystery, even to the Christian. Why is one child taken in infancy and not another? Why is a good man stricken in the prime of life, leaving behind a wife and children, while other vicious and cruel men live to a ripe old age? Why? Why? Why? The questions are almost endless, and I must admit that I am often without answers, but of this one thing I am sure—God is not to blame! In fact, when tragedy strikes, when a loved one dies, God’s heart is the first of all hearts to break!


In His comfort,

Richard



Lord Jesus, my grief is unspeakable; the pain never goes away day or night. I can’t sleep. It seems I watch the clock tick away the minutes all night long. I have no appetite, no interest in food. The tastiest meal is tasteless in my mouth. All the color has gone out of my world, leaving it bleak and barren. Worst of all are the tormenting questions. Why did this happen? Why didn’t You answer our prayers? Where are

You when I need You?


Yet even in the darkest night I cling to You. I trust Your love and wisdom even when I cannot understand

Your ways. In my heart of hearts, I know You are too wise to ever make a mistake and too loving to ever cause one of Your own needless pain. When I weep, I choose to believe that You are weeping with me. Knowing that You share my grief gives me comfort even if it doesn’t take away the pain. The promise of Your presence and the hope of eternal life give me the strength to go on. With Your help I truly believe that my mourning will one day be turned into dancing, and until that happens, I will trust You. In Your

holy name I pray. Amen.


Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or

danger or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. —Romans 8:35, 37–39

©2009 Cook Communications Ministries. When You Lose Someone You Love by Richard Exley. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.

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