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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:


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:


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:


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:


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:


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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Oct. 21, 2009
Emmy's Equal by Marcia Gruver

My review: Well, one thing about only taking a carry on the airplane, you cannot take all the books you want to bring....I think they would think it was over the top if I took 10 books...I am not sure why? = 0 Anyhow, I have not been able to read this book yet, but will read and post a full review soon! -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:


and the book:


Emmy’s Equal

Barbour Books (October 9, 2009)

***Special thanks to Angie Brillhart of Barbour Publishing for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Marcia Gruver lives with her husband in Huffman, Texas, and has published various articles, poems, and devotionals. Her novel, Love Never Fails (renamed Chasing Charity), won third place in the 2007 American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) Genesis Contest. Marcia is a member of ACFW, Fellowship of Christian Writers (FCW), and The Writers View.

Visit the author's website.


Product Details:

List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (October 9, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602602077
ISBN-13: 978-1602602076

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Humble, Texas, August, 1906


The stagnant well appeared bottomless, as dank and murky as a grave. Emmy rested her arms on the cold, jagged stones and leaned to peer into the abyss. Mama’s embroidered lace hankie, shimmering in the meager light, hung from an outcropping of rock about four feet down. Narrowing her eyes, she peered at the spot of white that stood out from the surrounding darkness and heaved a sigh, stirring the fetid air below and raising a noxious odor that took her breath.

She pushed up her sleeves and blasted a droopy blonde ringlet from her eyes with a frustrated puff of air. There was no help for it—at the risk of certain death, she had to retrieve that handkerchief.

A figure loomed, drawing alongside her with a grunt.

She jumped, and her heart shot past her throat. Chest pounding, she wasted a glare on the dark profile, noticing for the first time a scatter of lines around his eyes and tiny gray curlicues in his sideburns.

“Nash! I nearly leapt over the side.” She swatted his arm. “I’ve asked you to stop sneaking up on me. I’ve a good mind to fit you with a cowbell.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, as deep as the chasm. “I didn’t go to scare you, Miss Emmy.” He bent his lanky body so far she feared he’d tumble headfirst into the never-ending shaft. “Say, what we looking for inside this hole?”

“We’re not looking for anything. I’ve already found it.” Emmy clutched his shirtsleeve and pulled him away. “Go fetch me a lantern, and be quick about it.” She tucked her chin in the direction of the palomino pony languishing under a nearby oak, nibbling at the circle of high grass around the trunk. “Take Trouble. He’ll be quicker than walking.”

Nash frowned and rubbed the knuckles of one hand along his temple, as if an ache had sprung up there. “What you need a lantern for, with the sun up and shining the past five hours? There’s plenty of light to see.”

She braced herself and pointed. “Not down there.”

Nash’s sleepy eyes flew open. His startled gaze bounced along her finger to the circular wall of weathered stones. “Down there?” He took a cautious step back. “What’s in this sour old pit that might concern you?”

Emmy swallowed hard. She could trust Nash with anything but dreaded his reaction all the same. “It’s. . .one of mama’s hankies.” She squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head.

His shoulders eased, and he ambled over to gaze inside. “Is that all?”

If only it were. Emmy risked a peek at him. “You don’t understand.”

He winced as if she’d spoken a bad omen. “Uh, uh. Not from her good batch? Them she’s always cackling about?”

Emmy cringed and nodded.

The delicate, lacy linens held an uncommon depth of meaning for Emmy’s mama. Hand embroidered in Germany by her grandmother then brought to the Americas and placed in Mama’s hope chest, they represented heart, hearth, and homeland to Magdalena Dane. In equal measure, they represented distress, discontent, and discord to her only daughter, because the bothersome bits of cloth seemed determined to cause Emmy grief.

Nash’s stunned expression hardened into an accusing glare. “Why, Miss Emmy? Why you done brought about such misery? You ain’t s’posed to touch ’em, and you know it.” His graying brows fluttered up and down, like two moths bent on escape. “There’s scarce few left, and your mama blames you for them what’s missing.”

She moaned and flapped her hands. “I didn’t mean to take the silly thing. It was warm when I rode out this morning. I knew I’d likely sweat, so I snagged a hankie from the clothesline. I never looked at it until a few minutes ago. That’s how this terrible mishap came about. I held it up as I rode, staring in disbelief. Trouble was galloping across the yard when the wind caught it and. . .” She motioned behind her. “The willful rag drifted down the well before I could stop the horse and chase after it.”

Emmy lowered her eyes then peered up at him through her lashes. “None of this is my fault, Nash. Papa should’ve covered this smelly cistern months ago, and those wretched handkerchiefs have a mind of their own.”

The hint of a smile played around Nash’s lips. “If so, they harbor a mighty poor opinion of you.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.

Wagging his head, he rested the back of his hand on his side. “In all my years of working for your family, of all the fits I’ve seen your mama pitch, the worst have been over the loss of them fancy scraps of cloth.” He shuddered. “Miss Emmy, I’d be mighty grateful if you’d wait and break the news to her after I leave for the day. She gon’ be powerful upset.”

Emmy held up and wiggled a finger. “On the contrary. I won’t be upsetting Mama.”

“How you figure that?”

“Because there’s no need to tell her.”

Nash propped his elbow in one hand and rubbed his chin with the other. “Missy, I thought you was done telling lies and scheming. Don’t forget you’re a saint of God now.”

A saint of God. Yes, she was, through no fault of her own. Like Elijah’s fiery chariot, God had swirled into Emmy’s life in a weak moment and delivered her from herself. Not that she minded His day-to-day presence. In fact, she rather enjoyed the peace He brought. It was during times of temptation when she found the constant stirring in her heart to do the right thing a bit of a bother. Yet no wonder, really. In the past, she’d had precious little practice in doing the right thing.

She blinked up at Nash. “I have no plans to lie, and I won’t need to scheme. We’re simply going to return great-grandmother’s hankie to Mama’s clothesline, washed, rinsed, and fresh as a newborn calf.”

Nash stared then shook his head. “No ma’am. You jus’ forget about what we gon’ do. Question is how are you gon’ pull it off?”

“I’ll show you.” She shooed him with her hands. “Run fetch that lantern like I asked and leave the rest to me.”

Still shaking his head, Nash mounted Trouble and laid in his heels. The horse bolted the short distance across the yard to the well-kept shed tucked behind Emmy’s two-story house. With a furtive glance toward the porch, Nash eased the door open and slipped inside.

While she waited, Emmy watched a rowdy band of crows swarm Nash’s cornfield. The black bandits bickered and pecked for position before settling in for a meal, oblivious to the mop-headed stick Nash had dressed in a ragged shirt and floppy hat and then shoved in the ground. She dared not call his attention to the culprits or he’d bluster after them, shouting and waving his arms like a demented windmill, leaving her to cope alone with her pressing dilemma.

She jerked her gaze from the birds when Nash rode up and slid off Trouble to the ground, a lighted lantern in his hand.

Handing over the light with a flourish, he lowered one brow and pinned her with a squinty look. “Here’s what you asked for. Jus’ be sure to leave me plumb out of the story when you go explaining yourself to your mama.”

He turned to go, but Emmy caught hold of his shirttail. “Not so fast. I’m not done with you.”

Nash covered his ears and reeled away. “Don’t tell me no mo’. I ain’t seen nothing, and I ain’t heard nothing. If anybody needs me, I’ll be feeding the chickens.”

Emmy aimed a haughty laugh at his back. “It’s too late for that. You’re in up to your hat, and it’s no less punishment than you deserve for sneaking about all the time.”

Nash dug in his heels and stood facing the grove of loblolly pine at the edge of the yard, his body stiff as a post.

Repentant, she softened her voice to a plea. “I’m sorry, Nash. I had no call to utter such a thing. It’s just. . .I can’t do this without you.”

Arms dangling at his sides, he tipped his head toward the sky and whispered something, a prayer no doubt, before turning to face her. “What you want me to do?”

She peppered him with grateful kisses then grabbed his hand. “Come over here.” Hauling him to the gaping cavity, she lowered the lamp. “See? There it is.”

They gazed at the only bright spot in the oppressive gloom, their ability to see inside the shaft made no better by the frail circle of yellow light.

Nash shrugged and drew back from the side. “Too far down. May as well wave it goodbye then go fess up to what you done.”

Emmy gripped his arm. “Nonsense. We can get it out of there.”

“How, short of fishing it out with a cane pole? And I got no hooks.” He scratched his head. “I reckon I could take my hammer and pound a bend in a nail.”

She shook her head. “Too risky. If the hankie slips off it’ll settle to the bottom, and that’ll be the end of it.” She drew a determined breath. “I have a better idea.”

Nash’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, reaching new heights, even for him. “What sort of idea? Harebrained or foolhardy? Them’s the only two kinds you have.”

She swallowed hard and fingered the wooden bucket sitting on the wall. “I’m going to straddle this, and you’ll lower me down to fetch it.”

The shaggy brows bested their last mark. “You cain’t mean it, Miss Emmy.”

“I do so.”

“Then your idea is both harebrained and foolhardy. You must be plain tetched up under them pretty white locks. S’pose that rope snaps in two?”

“Oh, pooh.” She patted the heavy hemp coiled around the crank. “This rope is thick and sound.” She pointed over her shoulder at the horse. “You could lower Trouble down that well.”

He nodded. “Yes’m. That’s exactly what I’d be doing.” He jerked off his weathered hat and dashed it against his leg. “Don’t ask me to put you in that kind of danger. No, missy. I won’t do it. Not for nothing in this wide world.”

Touched, Emmy smiled at the man who’d been like a father to her over the years, far more of a parent than her own papa, who didn’t stay home often enough to have much practice at the role. She took Nash’s hand and squeezed it. “I won’t be in any danger. As long as you’re holding the handle, I know I’ll be safe.” She peered up into his sulky brown eyes. “You know if you don’t help me I’ll just find a way to do it myself. I have to get that hankie.”

He gaped at her. “The silly thing ain’t worth dying for, is it? Your mama has fussed at you before, and you lived to tell the tale. Why is this time so all-fired special?”

She squared around to face him. “I can’t have her angry about anything just now. I’m planning to ask permission to go to St. Louis when Mama travels with Aunt Bertha to South Texas. It’ll be hard enough to convince her as it is. If she gets in a snit, my plan is doomed.”

“Why they going off so far?”

“It’s Aunt Bertha’s idea. Now that she has money, she’s determined to go into the cattle business. She’s bent on learning all she can. Papa knows a very successful rancher down south who’s willing to teach her everything he knows.”

“Cain’t you jus’ stay home?”

“They’ll be gone for a month or better. Mama refuses to leave me here alone for that long, and I’d much prefer going to see Charity.”

Nash smiled and nodded. “ ’Specially with her jus’ done birthing the little one.”

Emmy beamed. “Exactly. I can help Charity bring him home.”

A thrill coursed through her at the thought of seeing Charity and Buddy’s new baby boy. Emmy and Charity were as close as twin sisters, best friends like their mamas had always been. Emmy’s mama and Aunt Bertha had grown up together in Jefferson before moving to Humble.

Last year, a handsome young oilman came to town and found oil on Aunt Bertha’s land. Charity wound up married to him and soon left for St. Louis to meet his parents. When Buddy found out she was expecting, he kept her in the city so she’d be close to good medical care.

Not a day had passed that Emmy didn’t think of Charity and long to see her. She was coming home next month, bringing little Thad to meet the family.

Nash narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t jus’ trying to sneak off to St. Louis to see that oilman friend of Mistah Buddy’s, are you? Don’t think I didn’t see you making eyes at him the whole time that preacher was trying to marry off Miss Charity.”

Emmy whirled. “Who? Mr. Ritter?” She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “Jerry Ritter was just a passing fancy.”

Nash raised a cynical brow.

“Oh, pooh, Nash! You stop that!” She fiddled the row of tiny buttons on her sleeve. “Besides. . .Aunt Bertha claims Mr. Ritter was recently betrothed to a childhood sweetheart.” She flicked off an insect from the cuff of her blouse and dashed away her humiliation with the same resolve. “Therefore, my desire to be in St. Louis has nothing to do with him. I just need to see Charity. If I get into any more trouble, Mama’s bound to haul me with them to that dreadful desert town instead. If she does, I’ll just dry up along with it and perish. I mean it!”

Grinding the toe of his oversized boot in the dirt, Nash sighed and shifted his weight. “I don’t know, Miss Emmy. . .”

Emmy stifled a grin. She had him. “I’ll be just fine. I promise. Now help me climb up.”

Still mumbling his objections, he offered an elbow to Emmy so she could pull up and sit on the uneven stones. Unfastening the buttoned flap on her split skirt, she swung her legs over and settled on the side, trying hard not to look past her boots. “Turn your head while I sit astride the pail. It won’t look so dainty in this outfit.”

Nash gazed toward the field, obviously too distracted to notice the raiding crows.

Still clinging to his arm, Emmy held her breath and pulled the dangling rope closer, guiding it between her legs. “All right, I’m ready. Lean your weight into the handle. I’m about to push off.”

Nash shifted his gaze to the sky. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Please protect this chil’.”

Holding her breath, she scooted from the edge, squealing when her body spun and dipped about a foot. “Nash! Have you got it?”

“I’ve got it. Stop squirming now. You heavier than you look.”

Emmy forced herself to still, more afraid than she’d expected to be. She felt more than saw the yawning gulf, a great gaping mouth poised to swallow her whole. “Hand me the lantern and then you can lower me. But go slowly, for heaven’s sake.”

She breathed a prayer as she spiraled past the opening and descended. Glancing up, she bit her lip and watched the rope unwind from the wobbly reel, outlined by a circle of light. Misguided but determined white roots that had pushed through cracks in the mortar groped at her, snagging her hem and sleeves. Crisscrossed nets of taught, silky threads offered whispers of resistance before giving way and sticking to the exposed parts of her legs. Emmy held the soft glow of the lamp closer to the side, shuddering when eight-legged bodies skittered in every direction. She gritted her teeth, suppressing a shriek and the urge to order Nash to haul her out of the wide-awake nightmare.

You can do this. Just a little more and you’ll be there. Three more turns and you’ll have Mama’s hankie in your hands. This will all be worth it then.

Exhaling her relief, she drew even with the jutting rock that had caught the precious heirloom. Holding the lantern out of the way, she swayed her body until the motion brought her closer to the wall.

She snatched at the white spot. Instead of soft linen, she felt thick, sticky padding. In place of the crush of a napkin gathered in her palm, there was the unmistakable writhing of something alive.
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Oct. 21, 2009
Love is a Battlefield- Book Review

My Review- I am sorry I am late on posting this.....I am actually halfway through this book right now as I was reading on the airplane. In this story (so far) a young park ranger with some major hurts to deal with is doing the one thing she loves....being a park ranger. But.....it seems like life just keeps piling on blow on top of another as when she is jilted at the altar in her wedding dress and comes back to find out someone else got her job and her office. She accepts a seasonal position as that is all she can do and fills her day with glares and wonders why the new guy who took her job has to be so handsome.....meanwhile the new employee is dealing with a past of his own and is trying to just keep going in everyday life..... I am enjoying this book and looking forward to finishing up the story! It seems like a great cute, romantic story compared to some of the heavy reading I have been doing lately! -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:


and the book:


Love is a Battlefield

Barbour Books (October 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Angie Brillhart of Barbour Publishing for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




Annalisa Daughety lives in Memphis, Tennessee, where she works as an event planner. After attending Freed-Hardeman University, where she majored in American Studies, Annalisa worked at Shiloh National Military Park as a park ranger. She’s a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and loves gardening, shopping, and watching sports. For more information, visit her Web site at .

Visit the author's website.





Product Details:

List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602604770
ISBN-13: 978-1602604773

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


If someone had told Kristy O’Neal that the battlefield at Shiloh would see another casualty nearly one hundred and fifty years after the battle ended, she’d have thought they were crazy.

Yet, two weeks ago, one last soldier had been injured on the majestic field. And Kristy had the battle scars to prove it. Admittedly, her wound was emotional, not physical, but she still wondered if the splintered pieces of her heart might be tougher to knit back together than a bullet-shattered bone.

Ready or not, her recovery time was over, so she squared her shoulders and headed back onto the hallowed ground. Never let it be said that Kristy couldn’t soldier up with the best of them. Ranger hat firmly in place and gold badge glinting in the May sunlight, she marched briskly to the visitor center.

“Morning, Kristy.” Ranger Owen Branam stopped putting money in the cash register slots long enough to nod in her direction. “You have a nice trip?” He closed the drawer, finished with his preparations for the day’s visitors.

Nice trip? A cruise spent faking allergies to explain away tears. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?

“Lovely.” she managed what she hoped was a convincing smile. “The weather was great.” Scooting past him, she attempted to make it to her office without further questioning.

“Umm. Kristy?”

The apprehension in the older man’s voice made her stop in her tracks. She slowly turned to look back at Owen.

He ran his finger around the neck of his shirt as if he had a little too much starch in the collar. “The chief asked me to have you go straight up to his office when you got in.” He motioned toward the counter. “You can leave your things here. I’ll keep an eye on them while you’re upstairs.”

Only five minutes into her morning and her plan to fly as far under the radar as possible had already gone out the window. So much for the low-key first day back she’d hoped for.

“Thanks, Owen.” Kristy put her hat on the counter and tucked her purse underneath the desk.

As she got to the top of the stairs, an unfamiliar voice called out a greeting to Owen. Twisting around, she peeked over the railing. Wow. A Johnny Depp lookalike was helping Owen straighten the brochures. The second thing she noticed about him, after his movie star resemblance, was the park service uniform he wore. Surely, he wasn’t a new employee. She’d only been gone a few weeks. Things didn’t usually happen that quickly at Shiloh National Military Park.

“Glad to have you back.”

The gruff voice of Chief Ranger Hank Strong made her jump and turn around.

She felt her face grow hot. Had he been watching her ogle Ranger Depp? She cleared her throat.

“Glad to be back.” She followed him into his office and perched on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in front of his desk. Her gaze skimmed over a hodgepodge of furniture, maps, and historical books. None of the furnishings matched, except for Hank’s oversized desk and equally oversized chair that had always reminded her of a king’s throne.

“Good, good.” Hank settled himself behind the desk and peered at her over his round bifocals. “Look, Kristy. There’s no easy way to tell you this.” For a moment, an expression that looked like uncertainty flitted over his weathered face.

Uh-oh. As befitted his name, Hank Strong was always sure of himself. Whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it.

“I told you before you left on your trip there’d be a job waiting for you when you got back,” Hank paused.

Kristy could tell he was choosing his words carefully.

She nodded. “Yes. And believe me, I’m so grateful.” When she’d turned in her two-week notice, it had felt like she was letting him down, letting the park down. After all, she’d begun working at Shiloh while she was still in college. It was the only place she’d ever worked—or ever wanted to work, for that matter. After her plans had abruptly changed, she’d been relieved when Hank stepped in and told her there was still a place for her at Shiloh.

“Well, there was one thing I didn’t mention.”

“Oh?” Why do his words sound so ominous?

“By the time I found out you weren’t moving and were still available to work, your position had been filled.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kristy. The paperwork had already gone through. There was nothing that could be done.”

She tried to catch her breath. Knowing she was at least able to come back to work at the park was the only thing that had gotten her through the past two weeks. “But you said. . .” Her voice trailed off as she willed herself not to panic.

“I know. I said I had a position for you. And I do.” He leaned back a little in his chair, visibly relieved to have the bad news off his chest. “You’re welcome to stay on as a seasonal ranger.”

Seasonal? That was where she’d started, nine years earlier, the summer after her freshman year of college. She glanced around, hoping for a paper bag she could breathe into. Of course, what she needed most was a rewind button that would allow her to go back in time and decide not to quit her job. But if she could travel back to the past, knowing what she did now, there wouldn’t have been a reason to leave Shiloh in the first place.

“You want me to be a seasonal?” Kristy’s voice squeaked. “What about my salary?”

A frown drew his bushy brows together. “There’ll be a pay cut. And you’ll move to the office shared by the seasonal staff. In fact, Owen has already put your box of office doodads in there.”

If she hadn’t been so shell-shocked, she probably would’ve laughed at his word for the contents of the box she’d left in her former office weeks earlier. Instead, all she could think was how she’d planned to stop by and pick her things up once the movers arrived. But the moving van had been permanently rerouted.

“You can still live in park housing. I know you’ve already packed most of your things, but Owen said he didn’t think you’d actually moved anything out yet.” He handed her a manila folder. “Your decision, kiddo. We’d love to keep you around. You’re a great park ranger. But I understand if you want to go in a different direction now.”

She took the file from him and glanced at the paperwork inside. The contents of the folder would effectively help to move her back down the career ladder she’d been climbing.

“What happens in September?” The seasonal positions at Shiloh ran from Memorial Day through Labor Day. And since they were only a few days shy of Memorial Day, she figured she should feel lucky there was even a seasonal position still available. They usually filled pretty quickly.

“Well.” He leaned back even farther and pressed his fingertips together. “At that juncture you’ll have a few options. Perhaps a permanent position will open here. Or we can look around at other parks and try to get you a transfer.”

Or I can leave the park service.

He rose to his feet. “If you want to think about it for a day or two, that’s fine.”

She knew Hank well enough to know that giving her time to consider the offer was his way of being sympathetic. Despite her trembling legs, she managed to stand. “Thank you,” she mumbled and scurried for the stairs, her mind spinning like a recently fired cannonball.

A permanent position opening at Shiloh was pretty much out of the question. Most of the rangers planned to stay until retirement age, some of them even longer. And she wasn’t interested in a transfer. This was the park she loved. Kristy had grown up in nearby Savannah, Tennessee, and some of her earliest memories were of the cannons and monuments at Shiloh.

Owen avoided eye contact with her as she descended the stairs.

Thanks a lot, buddy.

He’d obviously known what the meeting was going to be about, but hadn’t had the nerve to give her a warning before she went upstairs. Kristy couldn’t blame him though. No one liked to be the bearer of bad news.

And with her newfound knowledge, the mystery of the unfamiliar ranger was solved. The Johnny Depp lookalike was the ranger who now had her position. Not to mention her office.

She silently gathered her hat and purse from the front desk and took them to the room reserved for seasonal staff. As she passed the office she used to occupy, a fleeting glance told her that Ranger Depp wasn’t inside. The seasonal office, if it could even be called an office, was full of old desks and equipment. Kristy turned on the light and took in the sparsely decorated white walls. It was a far cry from the cheerful yellow she’d painted her former office last year. Thankfully, the other members of the seasonal staff wouldn’t arrive until Monday. At least I should have peace until Memorial Day. She could even move the desks and junk, buy some paint for the walls, and live out the next few days in Pretend Everything’s Okay Land.

Except, eventually, she’d have to face reality.

She flipped on the computer and silently tapped her fingers on the desk as she waited forever for it to boot up.

Can I do this? Can I take a step down in pay and status? Seasonals were at the low end of the totem pole. She remembered those days all too well. Getting assigned the tasks no one else wanted to do and being expected to do them without grumbling. Would they do that to her again? Or would she continue to be treated as permanent staff, despite the demotion?

Demotion. Ouch.

Either way, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

She glanced down at the box of her things on the floor next to the computer, and tears flooded her eyes. Empty picture frames peeked out from the box flaps. The pictures that had once been in them were nowhere in sight. Someone had wanted to spare her feelings today. Either that, or they didn’t want to be stuck with an emotional female to console.

The frames might’ve been without pictures, but Kristy knew what they’d once held. Her heart pounded as she grabbed all three frames and tossed them in the trashcan, taking unexpected pleasure in the sight and sound of shattering glass. A yellow and white wad under a large shard caught her eye. She couldn’t resist carefully fishing it out of the can, even though she knew better.

Kristy unwrinkled the ball and smoothed it out on the old, beat-up desk, running her hand over the creases in the paper. Fancy paper, as Owen called it months ago when he’d first seen it. Her vision blurred with fresh tears, but she didn’t need to read the words to know what they said.

For a long moment, she stared down at the engraved invitation.

To her wedding.
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Oct. 16, 2009
The last Word Kathy Herman

My Review: I am planning on reading this book on my trip this week...I will post a review when I get back. - 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:


and the book:


The Last Word (Sophie Trace Trilogy)

David C. Cook (2009)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:





Best-selling suspense novelist Kathy Herman has written fourteen novels, including CBA bestsellers The Real Enemy, Tested by Fire and All Things Hidden, since retiring from her family’s Christian bookstore business. Kathy and her husband, Paul, have three grown children and five grandchildren and live in Tyler, Texas.

Visit the author's website.





The Last Word, by Kathy Herman from David C. Cook on Vimeo.



Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Format: Paperback
Number of Pages: 340
Vendor: David C. Cook (2009)
ISBN: 143476785X
ISBN-13: 9781434767851

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Police Chief Brill Jessup pored over the department’s budget for the rest of the fiscal year and couldn’t see any way she could afford to hire another patrol officer without going to the city council. She sighed. The last time she asked those tightwads for additional funds she practically had to beg.


A strange noise interrupted her thoughts. She peered through the blinds on the glass wall into the bustling detective bureau and listened intently. There it was again.


A burly man appeared in the doorway. He bumped off either side, then staggered into her office. Facedown. Hands dripping with blood, clutching his abdomen.


“What in the world …?” She jumped to her feet, frozen in place.


Detective Sean O’Toole looked up and stretched out his hand toward her, his eyes screaming with pain. He collapsed in front of her desk and hit the floor.


“Officer down!” she shouted. “I need an ambulance—now!”


She hurried around the side of her desk, grabbed the clean hand towel next to the coffeepot, and got down on her knees. She laid the towel over the bloody wound and applied pressure.


“Sean, talk to me. What happened?”


The detective’s face was ashen. “He c-came from behind … put me in a choke hold … stuck a knife in my gut … said he was coming after you—to f-finish the job.”


“You never saw his face?”


“No. Hairy arms. White guy. Navy blue short sleeves. Smelled like c-cigarettes. Deep voice.”


“Where did this happen?”


“Hallway. Watercooler.”


Sean moaned, his face pallid and contorted with pain, his eyes slits of icy blue.


“Come on, Sean, stay with me.”


Detective Captain Trent Norris burst into her office. “I’ll take it from here, Chief.”


“How did he get from the watercooler to my office without someone in the DB seeing he needed help?”


“I guess we were all focused on other things. It’s been crazy.”


Trent got down on the floor and swapped places with her, his palms pressed over the wound. “Hang in there, buddy. The paramedics are just down the block. They’ll be here any second. You’re going to be fine. Stay with me. Talk to me.”



Brill sprang to her feet and hurried over to the officers who crowded outside her door. “O’Toole was just stabbed by some lowlife who snuck up behind him at the water cooler. We’re looking for a white man wearing a short-sleeve, navy blue shirt, possibly bloodstained.”


She locked gazes with Sean’s partner. “Detective Rousseaux, secure the scene and make sure it’s not compromised.


“Captain Dickson, lock down the building and search every corner of every room.


“Sergeant Chavez, set up a containment for two blocks around the building.


“Sergeant Huntman, clear the route to St. Luke’s and make sure we have officers in radio cars ready to escort the ambulance. Come on, people, move it!”


The officers scrambled in all directions, and she ran out to the restroom.


She tore off paper towels until she had a stack, folded them in half and held them under the faucet, then pressed out the excess water and rushed back to her office.


She got on her knees and gently pressed the wet towels onto Sean’s forehead, all too aware he was sweating profusely and still bleeding despite the pressure Trent was keeping on the wound. “We need something to elevate his legs.”


She went over to the bookshelf and grabbed several thick books and put them under Sean’s feet, hoping he wouldn’t die of shock before the paramedics arrived.


Lord, don’t take him now. He’s young. He’s got a wife and three kids.


“Come on, buddy, talk to me.” Trent patted Sean’s cheeks. “What else do you remember about this creep?”


“Tell Jessica I love her. The kids, too. Promise me.”


“You’re not going to die,” Trent said. “The bleeding’s slowing down. Talk to me, Sean. We want whoever did this to you.”


“He’s coming after the chief. Going to kill her.”


“Who’s going to kill her?” Trent’s dark eyes shot Brill a glance. “Give us something else. You’re too sharp of a detective to have missed anything.”


“Had a mark. Top of right hand.”


“What kind of mark?”


“A tattoo. Or b-birthmark. Size of a quarter.”


Brill heard voices and heavy footsteps in the DB, and seconds later two paramedics glided through the door and asked her to stand aside with Trent.



She observed in disbelief as the pair worked to save her detective’s life, heartsick that she might have to tell his wife and children he’d been murdered on her watch—and just feet away from armed police officers.


She started to brush the hair out of her eyes and realized her hands were bloody. She shuddered with the realization that whoever thrust a knife into Sean O’Toole had threatened to finish the job when he got to her.


~~~~~~~~~


Five hours later Brill sat at the conference table in her office with Detective Captain Trent Norris, Detective Beau Jack Rousseaux, Patrol Captain Pate Dickson, and Sheriff Sam Parker trying to assess where they were in the case.


“It’s a miracle Sean made it through surgery.” Brill looked from man to man. “We could be sitting here planning his funeral.”


“He’s too stubborn to die,” Beau Jack said.


“Stubborn’s no match for a knife blade, Detective. I want this animal locked up.”


“Don’t forget he threatened to come after you,” Trent said.


“How’d he get in here, anyway?”


Pate’s face turned pink. “One of my sergeants, Tiller, reported that a white man dressed in navy blue coveralls with the Miller’s Air Conditioning logo on the pocket was standing outside the door when he arrived this morning. The guy said he was here to fix the AC. He had a toolbox and a big smile. Dark hair and mustache. Big guy. Looked fifty to fifty-five.”


“So the sergeant just keyed in the combination and let him in without checking with maintenance?” Beau Jack said. “Real smart move.”


Pate stroked his chin. “Come on, Miller’s service people are in here all the time. The sergeant let down his guard. We’ve all done it.”


“Yeah, well, my partner nearly died because Sergeant Tiller let down his guard.”


“What’s done is done,” Brill said. “It’s not like we have a precedent for this kind of thing in the Sophie Trace PD.”


Beau Jack stuck a Tootsie Pop in his mouth. “I guess we do now.”


“We definitely need to tighten security,” Trent said. “Since we have no idea who this guy is, everyone we bring into the DB to be interviewed will be suspect.”


“I can’t spend the rest of my life in fear of this nutcase coming after me,” Brill said. “I have a job to do. Trent, you take charge of tightening security. All of us need to heighten our awareness of our surroundings. Anything or anyone that doesn’t feel right, check it out.”



Sam’s white eyebrows came together. “I can’t believe y’all were that trusting. My deputies would never let unauthorized individuals into a secured area. They’re trained to follow protocol.”


“So are my officers.” Brill forced herself not to sound defensive.


“But those of you in the county sheriff’s department deal with a broader range of criminals. Until now, the Sophie Trace PD had no reason to fear an officer being attacked in a secured area.”


“I’ll cover it in each briefing,” Trent said. “From this day forward, no one gets in the secured area until he has clearance. I don’t care how inconvenient it is to check him out.”


Brill looked over at Pate. “Tell me about your search of the building.”


“No evidence was found in the building, ma’am. My officers searched every nook and cranny and checked the sinks for hair and blood. Doesn’t appear the attacker stopped to clean up.”


“How’d Chavez do with the containment?” she said.


“He contained a two-block area around city hall, checked license plates, and talked with pedestrians. That yielded one female witness who passed the suspect on the sidewalk around 10:45—just after O’Toole was stabbed. The suspect was headed down First Street at a pretty good clip. Our witness says he was overweight, average height, dressed in navy blue coveralls and a black windbreaker and carrying a gray toolbox. She said he was wearing sunglasses and did not have a mustache. She’s working with Tiller and our sketch artist. We ought to have something soon.”


“Did she see which way he went?” Trent said.


Pate shook his head. “Once he passed her, she didn’t give him a second thought until Chavez questioned her.”


“Well,” Brill said, “I’m eager to see the sketch. If this man has threatened to come after me, I’d sure like to see if I recognize him.”


~~~~~~~~~


A short time later, Brill sat at her desk and studied the artist’s sketch of the man who stabbed Sean O’Toole. Sergeant Tiller was the only one who saw the suspect’s eyes, and the female witness was the

only one who saw his mouth without the mustache. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to the face or even explain what it was about him that looked familiar.


Her cell phone vibrated, and she read the display screen.


“There you are,” she said. “I guess you got my message?”


“Honey, I’m so sorry,” Kurt Jessup said. “I’ve been following the news. I’m glad Sean pulled through. Must’ve been horrible for you.”


“I thought we were going to lose him.”


She told Kurt everything that had happened from the time Sean O’Toole staggered into her office until the paramedics took him to St. Luke’s in an ambulance—except that the assailant told O’Toole he was coming after her to “finish the job.” Why get into that over the phone?


“Sounds intense. You must be emotionally drained.”


“I don’t think it’s caught up with me yet. It was surreal washing Sean’s blood off my hands, and I had to throw away my uniform shirt. Beau Jack lent me the extra shirt he had in his locker so Emily wouldn’t have to see the mess. Does she know about the stabbing?”


“Yes, but I made sure she’s not planted in front of the TV, listening to the gory details. It’ll just trigger thoughts of the hostage ordeal, and we both know she’s not over it.”


Are any of us? Brill glanced up at the clock. “I’ll be home in forty-five minutes. Is Vanessa there yet? I can hardly wait to see her.”


“She’ll be here between seven and eight. Said not to plan on her for dinner.”


“By the time I get home, it’ll be too late to cook anything,” Brill said. “And you know what Friday night is like. If we go out, we’ll have to wait forever, and I don’t want Vanessa to come home to an empty house.”


“I’ve got it covered, honey. I bought a baked chicken and a quart of potato salad at the grocery store. We’ve got stuff here for a green salad. That should work.”


“What would I do without you?”


Kurt laughed. “I have no idea.”


“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”


“Love you, too.”


Brill hung up the phone and looked out the window. Through the leafy trees and beyond the ridges of hazy green foothills, the blue gray silhouette of the Great Smoky Mountains dominated the early evening sky. She sat for a moment and just enjoyed the beauty and the calm.


Lord, thank You for letting Sean pull through.


Her office phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yes, LaTeesha.”


“Captain Donovan from the Memphis PD is on line one for you.”


“Thanks.” She pushed the blinking button. “Hello, John.”


“Hey. It’s great to hear your voice. Saw you on the news last fall. I figured you’d make a name for yourself, but I didn’t think you’d go to such extreme measures.”


She smiled. “Things got pretty crazy, all right. So are you enjoying my old office?”


“Not today. I’ve got bad news … Zack Rogers was stabbed night before last. Happened in his driveway. Some worthless piece of garbage came up behind him and stuck a knife in his gut, and said to tell District Attorney Cromwell he was coming after him. I didn’t call you because the doc said Zack was going to be all right. But his heart gave out …”—John’s voice cracked—“an hour ago. No one saw it coming. His kids are still in high school, and with their mother dead … well, it’s a tragic loss. I knew you’d want to know since you and Zack were partners for so long.”


Brill felt a wave of nausea sweep over her, a decade of memories flashing through her mind in an instant.


“The thing is,” John said, “we knew Zack was being targeted because one of my detectives was stabbed last week, and the perp told him he was coming after Zack. We offered Zack protection, but you know how independent he was—bound and determined he could take care of himself.”


Brill’s heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. “John, one of my detectives was stabbed today just outside the detective bureau. The attacker told him he was coming after me, to finish the job. This can’t be a coincidence.”


There was a long moment of dead air, and she figured John was processing the implications.


“You and Zack helped put away lots of perps, Brill. And Jason Cromwell was district attorney during the time you two were partners. Did anybody ever threaten you?”


“Are you kidding? All the time. We blew it off.”


“Well, looks like one of them was dead serious. Anybody in particular stand out?”



“Sure, Bart and Sampson Rhodes. But they’re lifers and not eligible for parole. Zack and I busted them what, nine or ten years ago? If they had been serious about taking us out, they could’ve snapped their fingers and gotten it done in nine or ten minutes.”


“Maybe they’re patient,”


“Or maybe this is someone else,” Brill said. “Someone who was forced to wait a long time for the chance to get even—someone who served out his sentence. Someone who wouldn’t think of hiring a hit man, but rather delights in the systematic elimination of the people who put him away. Someone who enhances his enjoyment by first stabbing a person who is close to the intended victim and making sure that person lives long enough to tell the intended victim that he or she is next.”


“You’ve worked with the FBI profilers so long you actually sound like one.”


“Unfortunately, John, I think I’m right.”


©2009 Cook Communications Ministries. The Last Word by Kathy Herman. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.

0 CommentsPost A Comment!Permanent Link
Oct. 14, 2009
Getting ready for a trip....

I am working on getting ready for a trip, so will be gone for a few days!! It is going to be fun, but it is stressful trying to get everything lined up and ready for the trip. I am trying to get a bunch of school done today as they will miss a couple days with me gone. "sigh"

Everything is lining up though, except I lost some important papers and I can't find them for the life of me! I am frustrated about that as I am not sure if I did it or my children did! I have a feeling I did it rather than my children, I may have even filed them to keep them "safe"....

So, looking for a suitcase to use as well.......one that I can carry on and not have to pay for checking a bag. I also need a place to stay overnight in the town I am going to......Details, details!

1 CommentsPost A Comment!Permanent Link
Oct. 14, 2009
Already Gone by Ken Ham

My Review: This handy book opens a new world to us church going people on the reasons why children do not stay in church and why they are in the sense of this book "Already Gone". This book goes through reasons how to change this in our children, how sometimes Sunday school can actually be causing our children to drift away from the church and ways we can fix this in our families.

I found the research fascinating as I had heard people talk about it, but have never seen firm research on why this happens. This is an important book for parents to read who are concerned about their children growing up and staying in the church. I may not agree with everything, but I think there was some very helpful info in this book. - 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 authors are:

Ken Ham, and Britt Beemer, with Todd Hillard

and the book:


Already Gone: Why your kids will quit church and what you can do to stop it

New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (May 28, 2009)

***Special thanks to Robert Parrish of New Leaf Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORs:




Ken Ham, founder and president, Answers in Genesis. He is one of the most in-demand speakers in the world today, representing Answers in Genesis (AiG) at many events throughout the year.

Visit the author's website and book blog.






C. Britt Beemer is chairman and founder of America's Research Group (ARG), a consumer behavior research and strategic marketing firm. He is a speaker at major trade and industry events.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 176 pages
Publisher: New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (May 28, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0890515298
ISBN-13: 978-0890515297

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Part 1:

An Epidemic on Our Hands


Epidemic (Ep-i-dem-ic)1

1. A disease or anything resembling a disease; attacking or affecting many individuals in a community or a population simultaneously.

2. Anything which takes possession of the minds of people as an epidemic does of their bodies; as, an epidemic of terror.


A majority of twenty-somethings — 61% of today’s young adults — had been churched at one point during their teen years but they are now spiritually disengaged (i.e., not actively attending church, reading the Bible, or praying).

George Barna
Chapter 1


Guard what has been entrusted to you, avoiding worldly and empty chatter and the opposing arguments of what is falsely called “knowledge” — which some have professed and thus gone astray from the faith. Grace be with you (1 Tim. 6:20–21).


I dare you. I dare you to try it this Sunday. Look to the right, and look to the left. While the pastor delivers his message, while the worship team sings their songs, while the youth pastor gives his announcements, look to the right and look to the left. Look at the children and look at the teens around you. Many of them will be familiar faces. They are the faces of your friends’ sons and daughters. They are the friends that your children bring home after youth group. They are your children . . . the ones who have been faithfully following you to church for years.

Now, imagine that two-thirds of them have just disappeared.

That’s right, two-thirds of them — the ones who go to secular school, even those homeschooled or sent to Christian school, the boys and the girls, the kids who are leaders of the school’s Bible club, the kids who sit in the back row with their baseball caps pulled low over their eyes — imagine that two-thirds of them have just disappeared

from your church.

Yes, look to the left and look to the right this Sunday. Put down your church bulletin; look at those kids and imagine that two-thirds of them aren’t even there. Why?

Because they are already gone.

It’s time to wake up and see the tidal wave washing away the foundation of your church. The numbers are in — and they don’t look good. From across Christendom the reports are the same: A mass exodus is underway. Most youth of today will not be coming to church tomorrow Nationwide polls and denominational reports are showing that the next generation is calling it quits on the traditional church. And it’s not just

happening on the nominal fringe; it’s happening at the core of the faith.

Is that just a grim prediction? Is that just the latest arm-twisting from reactionary conservatives who are trying to instill fear into the parents and the teachers of the next generation? No, it’s not just a prediction. It’s a reality — as we will document clearly from commissioned professional and statistically valid research later in this book. In fact, it’s already happening . . . just like it did in England; it’s happening here in North America. Now. Like the black plagues that nearly wiped out the general population of Europe, a spiritual black plague has almost killed the next generation of European believers. A few churches are surviving. Even fewer are thriving. The vast majority are slowly dying. It’s a spiritual epidemic, really. A wave of spiritual decay and death has almost entirely stripped a continent of its godly heritage, and now the same disease is infecting North America.

Many of us saw it coming but didn’t want to admit it. After all, our churches looked healthy on the surface. We saw bubbling Sunday schools and dynamic youth ministries. As parents and grandparents we appreciatively graced the doors of the church, faithfully dragging our kids with us, as our ages pushed into the 40s and 50s and beyond. But a vacuum was forming: there were the college students who no longer showed up for the Sunday worship service, the newly married couple that never came back after the honeymoon. . . . Sure, there were exceptions and we were grateful for their dedication. For the most part, however, we saw that the 20- and 30-somethings from our congregations were increasingly AWOL. To be honest, none of us really wanted to admit it, did we? And so we began to justify to ourselves that maybe it wasn’t happening at all.

Recent and irrefutable statistics are forcing us to face the truth. Respected

pollster George Barna was one of the first to put numbers to the epidemic. Based on interviews with 22,000 adults and over 2,000 teenagers in 25 separate surveys, Barna unquestionably quantified the seriousness of the situation: six out of ten 20-somethings who were involved in a church during their teen years are already gone.1 Despite strong

levels of spiritual activity during the teen years, most 20-somethings disengage from active participation in the Christian faith during their young adult years — and often beyond that. Consider these findings:


Nearly 50% of teens in the United States regularly attend church-related services or activities.
More than three-quarters talk about their faith with their friends.
Three out of five teens attend at least one youth group meeting at a church during a typical three-month period.
One-third of teenagers participate in Christian clubs at school


That’s all well and good, but do these numbers stand the test of time? Is the involvement of churched children and teens continuing into young adulthood? Unfortunately not. Not even close. The Barna research is showing that religious activity in the teen years does not translate into spiritual commitment as individuals move into their 20s and 30s (and our own research, you are about to discover, will illuminate you with reasons as to why this occurs).

Most of them are pulling away from church, are spending less time alone studying their Bibles, are giving very little financially to Christian causes, are ceasing to volunteer for church activities, and are turning their backs on Christian media such as magazines, radio, and television. What does this look like numerically for today’s

20-somethings?


61% of today’s young adults who were regular church attendees are now “spiritually disengaged.” They are not actively attending church, praying, or reading their Bibles.
• 20% of those who were spiritually active during high school are maintaining a similar level of commitment.
19% of teens were never reached by the Christian community, and they are still disconnected from the Church or any other Christian activities.


Shortly after Barna blew the whistle on the problem, individual denominations and churches began to take an honest look at what was happening as their children and teens began disappearing into the young adult years. Their findings confirmed the trends that Barna had found. Dozens of groups have looked at the issue from slightly different

angles. Each study yields slightly different results, but their conclusions are unanimously startling. For example, when the Southern Baptist Convention researched the problem, they discovered that more than two-thirds of young adults who attended a Protestant church for at least a year in high school stopped attending for at least a year between

the ages of 18 and 22.

There are exceptions, of course. Here and there we find a smattering of churches with vibrant participation from the 20-something age group. In some cities, we are seeing congregations develop that are made up almost exclusively of people from this age group. But unfortunately, these are the exceptions and not the rule. The trends that we are seeing can no longer be ignored. The epidemic is a reality. The abandoned church buildings of Europe are really just buildings, yet they are graphic symbols — warnings to those of us who are seeing the same trends in our local congregations: we are one generation away from the evaporation of church as we know it. Slowly but certainly the

church of the future is headed toward the morgue and will continue to do so — unless we come to better understand what is happening and implement a clear, biblical plan to circumvent it.

The trends are known; more and more are finding out about them — but the vital question concerns what is the root problem of why this is happening. We need to know why if we are going to formulate possible solutions.


Twenty somethings struggle to stay active in Christian faith.

20% churched as teen, spiritually active at age 29
61% churched as teen, disengaged during twenties
19% never churched as teen, still unconnected


Who, Why, and What?

I began traveling and speaking in the United States in the 1980s. As an Australian, it didn’t take long before I felt I had a good feeling for the pulse of American Christianity . . . and I saw some tremendous needs. At the time, America could rightly be labeled the greatest Christian nation on earth, the center of the economic world — and

although the Church was equipped with nearly every conceivable tool and luxury for developing and expressing its faith — I could see that the Church was in great need.

Since moving to the United States in 1987, I have spoken in hundreds of different churches from many denominations, numerous Bible colleges, seminaries, and Christian conferences on American soil. I have talked with the pastors; I’ve listened to those in the congregations; I have experienced “worship” in almost every conceivable style and form. The ministry of Answers in Genesis is deeply committed to the American church. In fact, the faltering health of the Church in the greatest Christian nation on earth is what motivated my wife and me to move our family to this country in the first place. My wife and I testify that God called us as missionaries to America — particularly the American Church — to call it back to the authority of the Word of God beginning in Genesis.

The Bible calls the Church “the Body of Christ.” Today, over 20 years after our move, the statistics prove that His body is bleeding profusely. The next generation of believers is draining from the churches, and it causes me great personal and professional concern. I’ve sat in the grand, but vacant, churches of Europe. I know where this is headed. Where Europe is today spiritually, America will be tomorrow —

and for the same reasons, if the Church does not recognize where the foundational problem lies and address it.

When I began to seriously ponder Barna’s numbers, naturally I wanted to find out more. For help, I called on a trusted and respected supporter of Answers in Genesis. As the chairman of America’s Research Group, and as a leading marketing research and business analyst expert, Britt Beemer specializes in studying human behavior. Over the decades he has conducted dozens and dozens of surveys for leading corporations as well as small businesses. He analyzes the marketplace and the clientele, and makes recommendations that keep the companies excelling in a competitive world. When we were considering building the Creation Museum, we asked Britt if we could reasonably

dream of 250,000 people visiting each year. Britt did his research and predicted that 400,000 people would visit the museum in the first year! He was wrong by two days. (The 400,000th visitor entered the museum 363 days after we opened.) Needless to say, when we had questions about the epidemic of people leaving church, we turned to him for answers.

Our goal was simple: We wanted to know who was leaving, why they were leaving, and what (if anything) could be done about it. To that end, Britt and his America’s Research Group initiated a qualified study with probing questions to get powerful insight into the epidemic the Church is facing. To get to the core of the issues, his team studied only those whom we are most concerned about: every person in our

sample said they attended church every week or nearly every week when they were growing up, but never or seldom go today.

We selected those between 20 and 30 who once attended conservative and “evangelical” churches. We wanted to look at the churches that claim to be Bible-believing congregations with Bible-preaching pastors. According to Barna, about 6 percent of people in their 20s and 30s can be considered “evangelical.” This is about the same as the number of teenagers (5 percent).4 The results from Britt’s research would

undoubtedly have been more drastic if we had considered more liberal congregations. We deliberately skewed the research toward conservatives so that we could all understand that whatever problems showed up would be much worse for the church population in general.

After 20,000 phone calls, with all the raw data in hand, Britt began to analyze the numbers. The things he discovered— as well as the things he didn’t discover — began to shed light (in a quite astonishing way) on this monumental problem facing the future of Christianity.


The sample included:

1,000 individuals from coast to coast
Balanced according to population and gender
With just over half being aged 25-29
With under half being aged 20-24


First of all, he didn’t discover anything abnormal about the group as a whole. There weren’t an unusual number of homeschoolers, or secular school kids, who were leaving. There wasn’t a significant number of females compared to males that had decided to leave. In other words, the 60 percent plus of the evangelical kids who choose to leave the church look pretty much like the 40 percent who decide to stay — at least on the outside. The breakdown of those who left really fits the profile of the evangelical population in general.

So at first, the who question didn’t seem to give us many answers. So then, why? Why did they leave the church? When we asked them this open-ended question, we got an earful.

At first, we were surprised (and a little disappointed) that there wasn’t a single reason. It would have been nice to find a single identifiable virus somewhere. How simple it would have been to stereotype the whole group and point out one germ that had been causing the sickness to spread. But the numbers didn’t say that. A single identifiable culprit didn’t appear.

Other researchers have come to similar conclusions. When LifeWay did their research for the Southern Baptist Convention, 97 percent of the “dropouts” listed one or more specific life-change issues as a reason they left church. The most frequent reason they gave for leaving church was almost an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.


The top 10 reasons were:

1. 12% Boring service

2. 12% Legalism

3. 11% Hypocrisy of leaders

4. 10% Too political

5. 9% Self-righteous people

6. 7% Distance from home

7. 6% Not relevant to personal growth

8. 6% God would not condemn to hell

9. 5% Bible not relevant/not practical

10. 5% Couldn’t find my preferred denomination in the area


“I simply wanted a break from church” (27 percent). The transition into college and adulthood also affected many: “I moved to college and stopped attending church” (25 percent), and “work responsibilities prevented me from attending” (23 percent). Others simply “moved too far away from the church to continue attending” (22 percent). In all honesty, these kinds of results just seemed too shallow for us at Answers in Genesis. And they seemed too superficial to Britt as well. We have a massive epidemic on our hands, and researchers seemed to be content with answers that sounded like “I just didn’t feel very good,” or “I wasn’t there because I chose to be someplace else.” Too many researchers accept simple, superficial answers. They acknowledge that there is a massive shift taking place in the spiritual lives of young adults, but when it comes to really figuring out what’s going on, they kind of throw up their hands and sigh, “I guess that’s just the way it is!”

End of story? Not hardly. This is precisely why we teamed up with an expert like Britt Beemer who probes, and probes, and probes until he finds the right reasons. We found the real reasons, though some of them will shake many churches to their very core.

Never content with the easy answers that people give to justify their behavior, Britt is an expert in consumer behavior who taps into their minds as he finds out what people really believe in order to reveal what is driving their behavior. Until Answers in Genesis commissioned this study, never before had this type of research been conducted — and our research was formulated to not just deeply probe what people believe but answer the questions in regard to WHY people believe what they do. We can now identify the real answers as well as the causes affecting young people who leave the church.

As Britt studied his data, it was obvious that multiple issues are behind the exodus from church. The why? question would prove to be more complicated than many expected. But soon, as the numbers became more clear, patterns emerged, assumptions were destroyed, and quirky findings surfaced. One of the most important and startling findings turned out not to answer the why? question, but rather the when? question.


Of all the 20 to 29-year-old evangelicals who attended church regularly but no longer do so:

95% of them attended church regularly during their elementary and middle school years
55% attended church regularly during high school
11% were still going to church during college


I think this is one of the most revealing and yet challenging statistics in the entire survey — and something we didn’t expect. Most people assume that students are lost in college. We’ve always been trying to prepare our kids for college (and I still think that’s a critical thing to do, of course), but it turns out that only 11 percent of those who have left

the Church did so during the college years. Almost 90 percent of them were lost in middle school and high school. By the time they got to college they were already gone! About 40 percent are leaving the Church during elementary and middle school years! Most people assumed that elementary and middle school is a fairly neutral environment where children toe the line and follow in the footsteps of their parents’ spirituality. Not so. I believe that over half of these kids were lost before we got them into high school! Whatever diseases are fueling the epidemic of losing our young people, they are infecting our students much, much earlier than most assumed. Let me say this again:

We are losing many more people by middle school and many more by high school than we will ever lose in college.
Many parents will fork out big bucks to send these students to Christian colleges, hoping to protect them in their faith. But the fact is, they’re already gone. They were lost while still in the fold. They were disengaging while they were still sitting in the pews. They were preparing their exit while they were faithfully attending youth groups and

Sunday schools.

What a reminder to parents (and Christian leaders) to do exactly what God’s Word instructs us to do — to “train up a child in the way he should go . . .” (Prov. 22:6). And further, “These words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house,

when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up” (Deut. 6:6–7; NKJV). What a reminder to teach children from when they are born — and a reminder to be diligent in providing the right sort of training/curricula, etc., for children.

Sadly, I think many see children’s programs as entertainment, teaching Bible stories, and so on, but when they get older we need to think about preparing them somehow for college — but as our research showed, by then they are already gone! For most, it was basically too late!

This topic regarding when we begin to lose our kids is where the study began to get very interesting and very illuminating. For example:


Those who no longer believe that all of the accounts and stories in the Bible are

true:

39.8% first had doubts in middle school
43.7% first had their doubts in high school
10.6% had their first doubts during college


Clearly, there is a slightly delayed reaction going on. The doubts come first, followed shortly by departure. Students didn’t begin doubting in college, they simply departed by college. Again, if you look around in your church today, two-thirds of those who are sitting among us have already left in their hearts, it will only take a couple years before their bodies are absent as well.

The Beemer study has a tremendous amount to offer the churches, the pastors, the parents, and the researchers who are sincerely looking into this problem. Britt’s study didn’t look just at behavior; he looked at belief. By making correlations between those beliefs and the behavior and intentions of those who have left the Church, the veil was lifted, powerful new insights were revealed, and very surprising results were

illuminated. In the pages ahead we will give you the highlights of some of these numbers. But brace yourself, because in many instances the results are shocking, and they point a finger at many well-intentioned, firmly established programs and traditions of churches that are utterly failing the children who faithfully attend every Sunday morning.

You will need to swallow hard and be prepared to consider things very carefully; Be ready to give up long-held, cherished notions in regard to certain church programs of which perhaps you would never have considered the slightest possibility that there was such a serious problem as this research clearly showed.

First, we will investigate key aspects of the epidemic, including:

the effects of Sunday school
the two different kinds of kids who are leaving the Church and why it’s so important to know the difference
why the Church has lost its value and is now considered irrelevant
Second, we will investigate the solutions that are within our grasp:

how to defend the Christian faith and uphold the authority of the Bible from the very first verse
what it means (and doesn’t mean) to live by the Bible
the revolution that is reclaiming “church” in this culture
Along the way the investigation will be spiced up with a variety of fascinating findings regarding the following:

music
friends
unbiblical church traditions
teaching
beliefs about Genesis
If you are a parent, a pastor, or a Christian educator, then this research is for you. Or maybe you are one of the millions of students who are thinking about leaving the Church or have already done so. If so, I challenge you to let the numbers speak for themselves and then be ready to allow God to use you in new ways to make a difference for the sake of the next generation and the Church. Even though the results were obtained in America, because it has had the greatest Christian influence in the world and has been an enormous influence on the world (Christian literature, missionaries, etc.), it is likely that such research would show similar (at best) or much worse results in other

countries.

Yes, I challenge you. This Sunday, look to the left and then look to the right. According to our research, two-thirds of the children and teens you see will be gone in a matter of years. What can be done about it? Plenty, as you will soon see!


Britt’s Bit: The AIG-ARG Connection

On behalf of Ken Ham, I want to thank you for picking up this book. I make my living generating numbers and statistics, and they are an important part of my personal ministry. When numbers and statistics are interpreted correctly they mean something. They aren’t just arbitrary measurements for things that don’t matter. Numbers do

matter. They represent things that are real, that are measurable, that can be observed, and (in many cases) that can be changed with the right remedies. That’s what America’s Research Group is all about. At ARG we draw conclusions that are meaningful to our clients. We are behavioral scientists who study human behavior. ARG provides each

client a foundation built on practical, useful information that ensures their ongoing success.

That’s why I am such a firm believer in Answers in Genesis. Not only is their ministry important, but AIG is a reminder of what God can do through one person who steps out in faith and allows God to use them to defend and proclaim the truth. Ken moved his family to the United States more than 20 years ago, having started a ministry out of the trunk of his car and a few cardboard boxes in his house. I don’t think anyone would have believed (particularly Ken) what God had in store for a ministry of such humble beginnings.

Today, the Answers in Genesis website gets millions of visitors per year. Tens of thousands of resources (books, DVDs, curricula, magazines, etc.) move through AIG’s warehouse year after year. A small army of trained speakers are reaching tens of thousands of people face-to-face on every continent on the globe except Antarctica. (As far as I know, no one has volunteered to go there quite yet!)

I love keeping track of the AIG ministry and what people say about it. I’ve been tracking public opinion religiously (pun intended), and I have a deep desire to protect and to equip this ministry. When the Creation Museum opened, it created a national media tsunami, and at least one-third of the comments voiced about the ministry were clearly negative. The naysayers had their day, but they didn’t last. Today, only 1/20th of the comments about the museum are negative. I think that is an amazing accomplishment. As I projected, 400,000 people came through those doors in the first year.

I make my living studying human behavior and attitudes statistically, which gives me a unique viewpoint of how and why people act the way they do. I sincerely invite you to come along with my friend and ministry cohort Ken Ham as he takes you on a personal tour through my numbers. I’ll be throwing in my “bit” on a regular basis, giving you my take on the statistics and their importance. As you begin to understand the trends of the past, and see where the Church is at present, you will discover highly practical action points that will make a difference in the future. I believe that if you get a handle on a few of the numbers that describe what is happening in the Church today, you will see the potential for change that resides within you as a pastor, a parent, or a Christian educator. And that’s important. The next generation is counting on us.

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Oct. 11, 2009
The issues of our daily life.....

There are so many things that people are involved in, protesting against abortion, writing petitions against this bill or that bill, parental rights, or many other such "good" things.

I say "good" because to me, that is the easy way out! We take the time to protest abortion, but have you gotten close enough to some of the women in your church to know if they have considered abortion?  You sign petitions for parental rights, yet when the young mom in your church is overwhelmed with her children and timidly asks you for help babysitting....do you hesitate because you know they can be a handful? Yet, you wonder why she did not sign your petition, because she thinks she may get more help from the UN than the local church or so it seems......


 I would encourage you today, instead of attacking the big issues and looking for your answers in  things that simply sound good, but put your words into actions. You can sign your petitions and protest abortions, but get down to the local pregnancy center and volunteer at the Teen MOPS group. Take time to  go to the ladies gatherings in your church, while it may not sound important, it is those relationships that build the church, not all the talk.

I was blessed to be a part of a bible study group that brought me closer to God than any church services. Why? Because they were honest with one another, we were committed to the bible study group, it was not something we knocked off the list every time something else came up and we took the time to really care about each other. If someone was struggling  with something, marriage problems, emotional issues, we knew, because we took the time.

Instead of focusing on the issues, maybe get to the root of the issue. We are so self focused, we cannot take time to care often. We say we care, and then we turn around and show with our actions we really do not.

The next time when someone says something about how they cannot handle more children, instead of marching into a diatribe about how birth control is wrong and all your beliefs (which I have nothing against, by the way), but stop instead and look below the surface why they may be in the place they are and how you can help  to make things better, instead of using words.

So to end this.....we can remember that song on "My Fair Lady"


"Show Me"


"Never Do I Ever Want To Hear Another Word.
There Isn't One
I Haven't Heard.
Here We Are Together In What Ought To Be A Dream;
Say One More Word And
I'll Scream!!

Show Me!!"

3 CommentsPost A Comment!Permanent Link
Oct. 11, 2009
So glad to be home this morning!



It is quite frigid outside!! It is supposed to warm up later in the week, when I am supposed to be traveling, but it is sure nice to be home right now. I am planning on going to church with my husband later.

I have considered taking pictures last week at Church with my husband as it is truly a different experience. They decorate the church beautifully with leaves, fruits, vegetables etc as they celebrate Thanksgiving. They have a big meal then all together, which means several main dishes, mashed potatoes, and all kind of salads and desserts and tea of course. My favorite is this carrot garlic spicy salad. It is julienned carrots with minced garlic, oil and some spices. I love it with the mashed potatoes, which they make so good by adding tons of butter and whipping them with a special mixture on the end of a drill!

After the meal, they take the children upstairs to choose vegetables and fruit and my children  were so excited to get carrots, canteloupe, pears and a tomato!!!

We have been blessed with alot of fruit and vegetables this year, which is really nice. When we got the snow, T. asked "Can we eat the peaches now?" I told him he had to wait until it snowed!

A friend and I have this informal book club we started, well, it is sort of a leftover dinner/book club. We share leftovers and discuss a book. So far we have talked about Anna Kareina, Little Women, This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness, To Kill a mockingbird, among others!!! This week it is The Big Fisherman by Lloyd Douglas and next week we want to read Quo Vadis.....so this weekend we decided to watch the movie first, so maybe we can enjoy the book better. We have a knack for picking books over 600 pages long!!  We got halfway through the movie last night before our children were too sleepy! It has been fun to have a friend to do things with!
She is buying a new house too and moving the end of this month, so that will add to our fun!

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Oct. 9, 2009
Surviving one bad year by Nancy Carmichael

My Review: When I picked up this book and read the title, I thought "A bad year? How to survive only one bad year? What if you have had several?" I think the author must have though that as well when I read the beginning chapter.

This frank way of looking at many different horrible things that have happened to other people's lives and yet how they survived, overcame and did not lose their faith in God was wonderful to read. I sat down to read it in the evening and just could not put it down. The stories in the books are heart wrenching, death, mental illness, cancer, dementia, teen pregnancy, things you hope will never happen to you, but only someone else. This small guidebook will help you or someone you care about through Surviving One bad year.....

There was one story in particular that was very painful to read, the details were vivid and I struggled with that, it is probably worse for me as it was a mother, it was a true story and I could feel her grief and agony in the story and in the details, it just paralyzed me for awhile.

This book is one of those books though I will think of when I see a friend or someone hurting as it is a great guide for dealing with the pain and heartache of the unthinkable. "Thanks to Howard Publishing for my copy of Surviving One Bad Year"- 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:


and the book:


Surviving One Bad Year

Howard Books (October 27, 2009)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Nancie Carmichael and her husband were the founding publishers of Christian Parenting Today, Virtue, and Parents of Teenagers magazines, and she is the author or coauthor of more than a dozen books. For thirty-five years, Nancie and her husband have conducted conferences across the U.S. and Canada on marriage, family, parenting, and leadership. They have five children and nine grandchildren.


Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Howard Books (October 27, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1439103240
ISBN-13: 978-1439103241

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Introduction


To You, My Friend


This book is dedicated to you, my friend, in the midst of your impossible year—a year marked forever by an event that threatens to consume you. I have written out of my own experience and that of others to offer hope that you will survive and, indeed, thrive.

Our common thread is that we are walking through something we cannot control; and as much as we try, we don’t see a pain-free or easy solution. We only know we have to get through it. You may have lost a family member to death; you may be facing a serious illness, a divorce, or financial reversal. Or perhaps your loss is difficult to define. Your life has simply hit a stall, and you are filled with a quiet desperation as you go through the motions. You feel stuck and wonder, “Is God there? Does He care about me? Surely there’s more…”

As a friend suffering from brain cancer wrote me, “Everyone carries a bag of rocks. Some are bigger, some smaller.” Some losses are certainly more traumatic and life-altering than others, but loss is loss. Trouble is trouble. Pain is pain.

Life can wear us down, and sometimes we're tempted to give up. Our dreams recede, and we feel we’re living on the edges of life, numbed by onslaughts great and small. But as I am realizing from my own experience, we don't have to be "beaten down." God’s mercies are new every day, and they are freely available.

I don’t know what your bad year holds for you. One friend who’d had a series of bad years told me, “Forget the one bad year! How about my whole life?” We all go through tough times. The point is to see them for what they are, and to respond in a way that allows good to come out of the bad.

I’ve come to believe that our heavenly Father can bring good out of every bad thing that happens here on earth. Though we live in a broken world where pain and loss and sickness abound, our loving God redeems all the suffering that Satan has unleashed on the world. Believing this, we walk by faith, not by sight, knowing that nothing comes to us except the Father allow it.

Years ago, there was a much-admired elderly woman in our community named Mrs. Cooksey. A friend asked her the secret of her exemplary life. She looked up, a little twinkle in her eyes, and gave this one-word answer: “Trouble!”

I’ve written this book in two parts: part 1 is written for you in the first days and weeks of crisis. When a huge wave of pain knocks us down, we can’t think about how we’re going to reach the shore; all we can do is try to keep our heads above water. Part 1 will give you some emergency tactics to help you stay afloat. Then, in part 2 I’ve shared some strategies that will help you through the long haul—that will show you how to navigate the stormy waters of pain and make your way to the peaceful shore.

Yes, your life right now is difficult. It seems impossible. But it is your life, in all its complexity and beauty. Stop and see it for what it is: acknowledge your losses, and disappointments, but be mindful of your blessings as well. As we go through this year together, remember that God has promised to be with you and that He will never leave you or forsake you, no matter what.


There is no permanent calamity for any child of God;

Way stations all, at which we briefly stop

Upon our homeward road.


Our pain and grief are only travel stains which shall be wiped away,

Within the blessed warmth and light of home,

By God’s own hand some day.












PART ONE


Emergency Help for When the Crisis Hits


[quote or scripture TK]




[Faceplate]


If knowing answers to life’s questions

is absolutely necessary to you, then forget the journey.

You will never make it, for this is a journey of unknowables—

of unanswered questions, enigmas, incomprehensibles,

and most of all, things unfair.

Madame Jeanne Guyon





Chapter One

“I Can’t Do This”


So, things happen. One minute you’re sailing through life on peaceful waters, when all of a sudden from out of nowhere, a giant wave capsizes your safe existence—and life is never the same again. An unexpected loss can knock all the breath out of you and send you plunging into dark waters, where you are instantly paralyzed. Fear, shock, and confusion flood in, and you are thrust into shut down mode. We know we have to keep going, but how?

Or perhaps you’re experiencing a sense of loss that has developed over time. Gathering clouds hover overhead, and you have a growing awareness that some unnamed dread is approaching—you can feel your joy and purpose hopelessly slipping away. How will you find your way through these murky waters? Or maybe there’s a problem or issue in your life that you’ve tried to ignore and now it’s finally erupted. You’re forced to stop your life and refocus your attention.

My own bad year grew out of a series of less eventful ones that we managed to cruise through—until one October day four years ago when I realized there was no getting through this one. Not without a lot of tears and pain, at least.

Being a mom was all I wanted. In a span of ten years, my husband, Bill, and I had four wonderful, energetic, fun-loving little boys. My life was perfect. Almost. It just seemed that someone was missing. Though each of our four sons is priceless, I knew how it worked: “A son’s a son ’til he takes a wife; a daughter’s a daughter all of her life.” How would I get my daughter to round out my perfect life? The logical solution was adoption. Simple.

After two or three years of paperwork and a roller coaster search, my husband, Bill, and our four sons—Jon, Eric, Chris and Andy (ages fourteen down to eight)—and I were at the Seattle airport waiting to pick up our daughter, Kim Yung Ja. She was three-and-a-half years old; thirty-six inches tall; had short, dark, straight hair; and had spent most of her life in an orphanage north of Seoul. A volunteer carried her off the plane and placed her in our arms. We were enchanted by our tiny little daughter and renamed her Amy Kim Carmichael. We then proceeded to make her a Carmichael. Or tried to.

You can imagine her transition. She came from a place where everyone looked like her to a place where the people had round eyes, blond hair, and a strange language. And with no say in the matter, she found herself plopped into a family and expected to be like them.

If you had asked me twenty-one years ago to tell you about adoption, I would have spoken of it in glowing terms—the perfect solution for infertile couples or for parents like me with a yearning that just won't go away.

But that was before the most traumatic year of our family’s life. What would I tell you now about adoption? Imagine accepting an amputated arm from another person and attaching it to your own body—hoping the graft will take.

When Amy was in her early twenties, she decided she wanted to live on her own. She began to have a lot of fun—far too much fun. We heard rumors of her being involved in out-of-control-partying. I wondered, Who is this person? How can she just “wig out” like that?
My sons and daughters-in-law warned, “If she doesn’t change her ways, there’s a train wreck ahead.” We spent sleepless nights, praying and worrying. We tried to talk sense to her. We tried tough love. We consulted professionals. I knew something strange was going on in her life, but she was twenty-one, so there was only so much we could do.

One October Friday, as I prepared to go to out of town for a speaking engagement, I sensed an urgency to connect with Amy, so I asked if she could meet me at Red Robin for lunch. She agreed and showed up looking very depressed. I ordered my usual chicken salad, and she ordered her usual rice bowl. “How are you, Amy?” I asked,

“Not so good. One of my friends at work is pregnant and her boyfriend doesn’t want to marry her.”

“Oh. . . What is she going to do?”

“Everybody’s telling her to get an abortion.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think that would be right.”

“Well, what about her family?”

She gave a little sigh of disgust. “Oh, if her family found out, they’d disown her.” By this time, my heart was beginning to pound. “Amy, will you tell your friend we’ll be glad to help her if she wants help?”

Later in the car, she burst into tears: “Mom, it’s me! I’m pregnant.” Then she said, “Now I know how my birth mother felt. There’s no way I can be a mom now. I’m going to place the baby for adoption.”

Stunned into momentary silence, I thought, Maybe she’s wrong; maybe she isn’t pregnant after all. And then I said what countless other mothers have said to their daughters: “Honey, we’ll get through this.” That’s what we parents do—we go into automatic overdrive and do what we must to help our family. Rescue the survivors. I suddenly realized I had just joined a vast club of mothers—a club I’d never wanted to join. This was not my dream for my daughter.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: I suddenly realized I had just joined a vast club of mothers—a club I’d never wanted to join.]]

I took her back to her apartment, and we sat on her bed and cried and prayed together. I told her to hang on, we’d get through this and to wait until Monday when we could go to the doctor. I knew I had to go home and tell Bill, and then somehow go on to my speaking engagement. Where had I gone wrong, where had I failed her? How could we have avoided this?

As I drove, waves of anger, shock, and grief poured over me.

How can Amy handle another life-defining loss? How can I walk through this with her? I can’t do this!

Although things looked impossible for all of us at the time, later on we would be amazed at how God directed our steps in the confusing and painful months ahead.


You, Lord, are my shepherd. I will never be in need….

You are true to your name, and you lead me along the right paths.

I may walk through valleys as dark as death, but I won’t be afraid.


Stories of Loss

In the following pages, we’ll take an up-close look into the lives of several people who were unexpectedly thrashed by overwhelming waves of loss. In these true stories, you just might see reflections of your own experiences or of those you love and care for. The camaraderie we feel in knowing that others have walked this way before us brings much-needed comfort and the hope that you, too, will survive your own bad year.


No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond

the course of what others have had to face.

All you need to remember is that God will never let you down;

he'll never let you be pushed past your limit;

he'll always be there to help you come through it.


“I’m Bankrupt. I’ve Lost Everything!”

Brad and his wife, Susan, were small retail owners in their late fifties and had worked hard to get where they were. Retirement was just around the corner, and they looked forward to having weekends free. Their dream was to ride their motorcycles across country.

When Brad’s parents passed away, they were surprised to realize they had a sizable chunk of money to invest. After investigating several possibilities to get the best possible return on their investment, they decided to invest in a real estate venture in California. The real estate market was booming, and they were assured that this was a “slam-dunk.” They sold their small business and added that to the investment as well, and then looked forward to a comfortable life.

Who could have foreseen the rapid economic down-turn with foreclosures and bankruptcies? A lot of people didn’t—and certainly not Brad and Susan. One morning when Brad didn’t receive his monthly payment from the real estate company, he called the CEO’s office and got a recording that the phone had been disconnected. Worried, he made several other phone calls, only to be told that the company he had invested everything in had just filed for bankruptcy.

Brad felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He said, “You read about it every day, but when it happens to you, it’s an earthquake.” He finally reached an attorney who represented the company and was told, “It may be a good idea for you to get a job.”

Numb with shock, he and Susan realized that almost overnight, they had no income. What could he do, at his age, to provide for his family, to simply pay the bills?

It was humiliating, embarrassing. Fear descended upon him, wrapping him in its clutches, smothering him until he could hardly breathe.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Fear descended upon him, wrapping him in its clutches, smothering him until he could hardly breathe.]]

Sure, they had their faith, but how would they get through this one? Forget a comfortable retirement; how would they survive? At the time, stress was their constant companion; but Brad and Susan were to discover a God who would lead them through an impossible journey to know His provision in ways they could never have imagined.



Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life.

Thus says the Lord who makes a way in the sea

and a path through the mighty waters.…

Do not remember the former things, nor consider the things of old.

Behold, I will do a new thing.


“I Don’t Want to Be Married to You Anymore”

Jim McClelland is a big guy, a gentle guy. He was in his ninth year of being a youth pastor, and he loved every minute of his work. He’d been married to Lindsay for eight years, and they had two young sons, a preschooler, and a first-grader. Sure, there were challenges and tensions, but Jim was unaware of the crisis building inside Lindsay.

One August day, Lindsay asked Jim to sit down in the living room so they could talk. What she said rocked his world: “Jim, I don’t want to be married anymore.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

To Jim, there were three cornerstones in his life—Jesus, the Bible, and Lindsay. A three legged stool. What she was telling him did not compute. What he was hearing knocked the props out from under him.

But she was resolute. Matter-of-fact.

Jim told me, “I was absolutely deconstructed. Do you remember the pile of rubble left by the bombing of the World Trade Center? Or the explosion of the Challenger? That was me. Destroyed. I couldn’t even talk about it.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “I was absolutely deconstructed. Destroyed.”]]

Jim and Lindsay went for counseling, but her mind was made up. It was later that he discovered that she had been seeing someone else.

In those dark days, Jim was certain all was lost. He felt utterly alone. Lindsay wanted to stay together through Christmas, so the boys wouldn’t have negative emotions connected to the holiday. Somehow they made it through. After Christmas, they went through their belongings, sorting them into piles: “That’s mine; that’s yours.”

Jim said, “It was so weird, standing in the garage with all my stuff, my dreams in cardboard boxes. But then—I don’t know how he knew—my friend, my best man, showed up in my driveway, got out, and just started in, helping me pack.

We didn’t say three words. There was no conversation. But he was there. For seven months after that, the boys and I lived with my friend and his family. The boys and I didn’t have beds—just sleeping bags on the floor. The boys didn’t care so much—they thought they were camping—but one night I stood and looked at them sleeping on the floor in this tiny one bedroom apartment, and I cried. It was the lowest of the low times. I went from a guy who never cried to one who cried all the time.”

How would he get through, rebuild? Would he ever be the same, ever be happy again? And what about his ministry? What would his church think? Although life would never be the same for Jim, he was to discover a God who never let him go.


I, the Lord have called you in righteousness,

and will hold your hand; I will keep you.”


“They Can’t Find Your Mother”

Julie Wilson’s mom, Deede, was a vibrant, fifty-four-year-old real estate agent living in southern California. She had recently gotten out of a destructive marriage, and life finally seemed good again. Julie was blonde and vivacious like her mother Deede and was on her way to a much-anticipated girlfriend’s trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Julie and Deede had planned to meet at Los Angeles International airport during Julie’s layover, so they could catch up over coffee. But Julie’s mother never showed. When her mother didn’t call, Julie assumed her cell phone battery had died and that she’d been delayed in traffic. Julie continued on her journey.

Julie said, “My two friends and I got to our beautiful resort in Cabo, but somehow the whole day was strange. Something wasn’t right. On the surface, everything seemed perfect—we started the day with hot stone massages and spent time at the pool. Then we went into the town of Cabo San Lucas. But shortly after we left the resort, I felt the urgent need to get back. I tried to shake it off and enjoy the day, assuring myself that everything was okay. Our first stop was at an internet café so we could check e-mail. I was surprised not to have heard from my mother, so I e-mailed her, telling her how much fun I was having with my girlfriends. I knew she would be so happy for me.”

Julie and her friends finished their e-mail, then briefly walked down some side streets, shopping. But Julie couldn’t shake a strong sense of concern that something was wrong and suggested they go back to the resort. At the resort, they had a delicious dinner on the beach but still, she felt uneasy.

Julie said, “We left and went up to our room, and I found a message from my husband, Pete, on the phone. I panicked, as my first thought was that something had happened to Gracie—my one-year-old daughter, whom I’d left for the first time. My best friend, Vivian, was with me as I called him back.

Pete’s first words were, “Is Vivian there with you?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I just got off the phone with your brother, Michael. Julie, they can’t find your mother.”

Julie ran to the bathroom and threw up. She said, “I knew immediately that Mom was not alive. And I knew that Erwin, my stepfather, had killed her.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “I knew immediately that Mom was not alive.”]]

They soon heard that Deede’s body had been discovered, murdered. Her stepfather was ultimately charged. Julie would eventually be called to testify at the trial.

How does a daughter get through a living nightmare such as this? And where was God in all of this? For Julie, this traumatic event colored every waking moment of the days to come. But later, when she attended her mother’s trial, she felt the grace of God surrounding her and keeping her.


When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you; and through the rivers

they shall not overflow you.

When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned.


“Depression…Something I Know”

Jason Clark was a brilliant pastor of a leading church in the UK, the father of three, and a university professor. He has done a lot in his life, and he’s just this side of forty.

When Jason was nearly seventeen, he became a Christian at a wonderful church. He says, “I remember the first experience of being prayed for—having people lay hands on me, gently, lovingly; and it was the beginning of healing in my life. Church was wonderful: a place full of brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, adopted mums and dads; a place where I was loved and cared for.”

For the first time in his life, people built him up and spoke words of life into who he was and what he could be. His home life had been very different. As a child, he had to be the adult. He remembers running out in the snow in his pajamas, barefoot, chasing his mother down the street, begging her not to take the overdose she’d threatened to take. He remembers hiding in the closet for hours as he heard his parents destroy each other and their house. Then there was the pain of missing college to care for his one-year-old brother, pretending to be his father whenever they went out in public.

These things were a regular occurrence in his life, and in the midst of destruction, he determined not to be like his parents.

After he became a Christian, things went well for awhile. He grew and moved on. He went to seminary and college and married. Yet he found himself coping less and less as anxiety and depression began to hit him harder and harder. Only in hindsight did he understand that he’d suffered from depression as a child. He’d had a brief respite when he initially became a Christian for two or three years, but old pains began to resurface as life moved on.

In spite of growing anxiety, Jason pressed on. He worked a hundred hours a week to support his family, commuted three hours a day, and raised a young family, all while planting the church he hoped to someday pastor full-time. His mounting depression and anxiety were kept at bay only by working harder and harder. His first day of being a full-time pastor finally arrived. He celebrated this momentous day by having a nervous breakdown. Throughout the day, he rotated between being catatonic and suffering panic attacks. He thought he was dying, or going insane. His body, brain, soul, and mind finally gave in to an inevitable collapse.

He says, “It was tough on my wife. All I could do was get up, see the kids off to school, go back to bed, get up when the kids came home, and preach on Sunday. How I did that, I have no idea. Our church was wonderful. They told me that I had always said it was okay to be ill, and now it was my turn. During this time the church grew.”

Jason got medication and went into therapy and began to face up to his past and the abuse he’d never dealt with before. The coping mechanism he’d developed—caring for others to make up for his own lack of care—had found an unhealthy place in the church. It was easy to excel in church by caring. As a nineteen-year-old, he had led small groups and ministries with adults. He’d seen his leadership role as having an “old head on young shoulders.”

He was determined not to be his parents, to not do what they did or be who they were. This determination had helped him survive, but it finally came undone one day in therapy when his therapist asked, “Why do you define your life by who you don’t want to be, rather than who you do?” Jason realized in that moment that he had spent so many years as a workaholic, pushing, striving, and fearful that he would become his parents.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “Why do you define your life by who you don’t want to be, rather who you do?”]]

At the lowest point of his breakdown, Jason felt as if he were losing his faith. The questions and doubts he’d kept at bay came crashing in, demanding to be faced. One night, Jason took his Bible to bed and held it to his chest; he told God he didn’t know how to read it anymore, and this was a close as he could get to it. He hoped it was okay with God.

Jason says, “Now I know it was, and is. During that devestating time, I realized that Jesus was still the same Jesus I had given my life to. It was the systems I’d built up that had fallen apart. So I went back to seminary to do part-time research in theology and to think through the things I was realizing. Theology saved my faith. And theology created something new in my life, and in our church. As it helped me grow, it helped our church grow.

“I know I have a long way to go and may suffer many dark days until I die. Genetics and a family disposition to depression mean I will often wrestle with life. But in the wrestling, I find dependence on Christ, and I find recreation and new life.

“The pattern of destruction and fear I knew as a child has abated. It has not been passed on to my wife, my children. In them and in my church community, I see hope. With them, I do life in the deepest and most painful and joyful and happy ways. My anxiety and depression, like Winston Churchill’s ‘Black Dog,’ is something I know and take for a walk through life.”


Yes, though I walk through the (deep, sunless) valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear or dread no evil; for You are with me;

Your rod (to protect) and Your staff (to guide), they comfort me.…

You anoint my head with oil; my (brimming) cup runs over.

Surely or only goodness, mercy and unfailing love

shall follow me all the days of my life;

and through the length of days the house of the Lord

(and His presence) shall be my dwelling place.


“A Dreaded Diagnosis”

Jo Franz—an outgoing young wife, mother, and talented singer involved with helping her husband in ministry—had a lot going for her.

One morning she stood in the kitchen, cooking pancakes on the cast iron griddle for the youth choir when she suddenly felt as if she was falling over with dizziness. Jo landed in a chair as her husband and the rest of the choir entered the room. Alarmed, she knew she had to deal with a growing set of troubling issues. That year she’d had some strange symptoms, not noticeable to anyone but her. Now she knew there was something seriously wrong with her.

After many tests, the doctor gave her the dreaded diagnosis: multiple sclerosis, a crippling disease. She had suspected the diagnosis, because the symptoms were the same as her friend’s, who had MS. Ironically, she had even done fund raisers for the cause of MS.

It was only later when she was alone, that she broke down and cried with fear about the unpredictable life MS would bring. But MS was only the beginning of her difficult time. Soon after her diagnosis, she went through an unwanted divorce.

How could Jo live a full, vibrant life with the threat of a disabling disease hanging over her head? In those early, dark days, Jo could never have imagined how God would use her weakness to demonstrate His strength and joy.


Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength;

They shall mount up with wings like eagles;

They shall run and not be weary,

They shall walk and not faint.


“My World Changed with a Phone Call”

It was a late May afternoon. It had been cleaning day, so there was a sense of fresh order in the house. Karen’s husband would be attending a monthly board dinner meeting; her youngest daughter, Sommer, was away for the evening, and Karen looked forward to throwing a simple salad together for her solo supper.

Karen took a deep breath and savored the quiet in her home. She smiled, thinking of Sommer’s upcoming high school graduation and acceptance into college. Soon Karen and Bob would be empty-nesters—it was here already. Their oldest daughter, Hillary, had recently married a wonderful young man, and the newlyweds had moved to the Midwest to finish their education.

It was a new era for her and Bob. They had treasured every minute of parenting, but now it was time to let go.

The phone rang, interrupting Karen’s solitude. It was Hillary. But something was not right. Karen listened with growing alarm, as Hillary’s speech seemed strange. There was something very wrong. Numb with shock and suppressed fear, she responded with supernatural calm, as she said what had to be “words from God.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Numb with shock and suppressed fear, she responded with supernatural calm.]]

Karen said, “I finally got my son-in-law, Kevin, on the phone, and he confirmed that Hillary had been manifesting some strange behaviors. She’d been pacing the floors in constant motion, all the while plugged into a music headset. She had quit attending class—highly unusual for her—and was becoming reclusive. She also seemed to be having hallucinations and delusions.

What could be happening? Karen had no idea what they were facing, and immediately tried to reach her husband who was in a board meeting, but his phone was on silent. Later he told Karen she’d left him five messages, but she barely had any memory of that. She only knew she had to get to her daughter.

Kevin agreed that Karen should come immediately, and Karen got online to check flights and availability, briefly aghast at the last-minute prices; however, nothing mattered but getting there.

Over the next few months, Karen and her family began to discover that Hillary had had a psychotic break, and it appeared that she had schizoaffective disorder. One psychiatrist told them there was a “less than 10 percent chance she’ll get better in her lifetime.”

Karen wondered, How do I parent her in this new place and support my new son-in-law? How is it possible that my dreams and hopes for my child had been so drastically altered? How will we get through this? Yet Karen and her family were to learn what it meant to trust God in a strange new world.


He gives power to the weak.

And to those who have no might, He increases strength.


“Why Hasn’t God Healed Our Little Boy?”

Doug and Angela Tucker were in their second year of planting a church in Athens, Georgia. They loved their people, the challenges of starting a new work, and especially enjoyed their two children—seven-year-old Aleisha and fifteen-month-old-David. In the late spring of 1998, Angela was back at her pre-pregnancy weight, feeling good.

Angela says, “Life seemed to be clicking right along with everything under control. One morning I was outside with some ladies of our church beside the pool. I felt nauseated and thought perhaps I had the flu. One of the women suggested I may be pregnant, but that seemed completely absurd. However, she offered me a pregnancy test that she had left over as she was currently six weeks pregnant. Much to my surprise, the test was positive. I went home and announced the news to my husband, who was as surprised as I was. But, after adjusting to the news, we were very much looking forward to the birth of this little addition to the Tucker family.”

Four months into the pregnancy, Angela went alone to have a sonogram, a routine procedure. The sonographer began her work, and the longer she looked, the more questions she began to ask. Angela had been through this type of questioning before, when she’d had a miscarriage before David. With growing alarm, Angela asked, “What’s wrong?”

The sonographer confirmed that the baby was a boy, and then went on to tell Angela that although she wasn’t supposed to discuss these things with her, she saw cysts on the baby’s brain and a two-vessel umbilical cord instead of three vessels. She told her to come to a neonatalologist the next day and have an amniocentesis performed.

Angela was devastated. What did this mean? As she shared the news with Doug, it suddenly seemed very important that the baby had a name. Doug anointed Angela with oil, and they prayed for healing, asking God to give them a name for His child.

Angela says, “Immediately the name Samuel came to my mind, but I didn’t voice this to Doug. Later, Doug asked me to research the name Samuel on the computer to see what it meant. We found that Samuel meant ‘heard of God.’ We believed that God would hear our prayer and heal our child.”

Nothing was discovered from the amniocentesis except what Samuel didn’t have. He didn’t have Down’s Syndrome, and he didn’t have a myriad of other chromosome problems. With each visit to the neonatalologist, new problems were discovered: a hole in Samuel’s heart, possibly webbed fingers and toes. They were told that if Samuel made it through the trauma of birth, he would very likely die within a few hours. Two doctors told Angela that she needed to abort Samuel.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: They were told that if Samuel made it through the trauma of birth, he would very likely die within a few hours.]]

Angela said, “My heart sank beneath the depths of despair. This was the worst news I had ever had to endure in my entire life. My husband and I gathered our faith and the support of our church members and family and went through week after week of this very unstable pregnancy with Samuel. We prayed, believing that God would heal this child and that when he came from the womb, he would be as normal as any child ever born. This was not to be God’s answer.”

After a difficult delivery, Samuel finally arrived around five o’clock on January 23, 1999. He did not have a hole in his heart nor did he have webbed fingers and toes. He did, however, have very short arms and legs in proportion to the rest of his body, and he could not get enough oxygen in.

Within hours, Samuel was transferred to a children’s hospital by ambulance. Angela said, “Everything happened so fast. We were asked to sign papers saying that if Samuel died on the way, we would not hold the hospital responsible. We were told that we could not follow the ambulance for safety reasons, so they allowed us to leave before the ambulance. On the three-hour trip to Augusta, the ambulance passed us with flashing lights. The most horrifying feeling came over us, as we knew that our precious little boy was inside, fighting for his life.”

Anxious days passed, filled with tests and consultations before it was discovered that Samuel had Rhizomelic Chondrodysplasia Punctata, or RCP, a genetic bone disorder. Samuel’s cells were missing an enzyme that allowed the body to grow. Doug and Angela discovered they were both carriers of the gene and that both parents had to drop the gene down at the same time for a child to be affected. They learned that Aleisha and David were very likely carriers, but because they didn’t receive the gene from both of their parents, they did not have the syndrome.

The prognosis wasn’t good. One day in a consultation, Doug and Angela were told that Samuel would more than likely not live to be twelve weeks old; a year at the most. They were also told that Samuel was severely retarded. Angela waited until the doctor left the room, and then fell on the floor, begging God to heal her child.

An exhausting saga ensued—tubes, treatments, procedures, and learning how to care for Samuel at home. The early months of Samuel’s life was a confusing time for Angela, a time of questioning. She agonized, Why hasn’t God healed our little boy? After all, we’ve believed His Word, we’ve lived a holy standard of life, and we’re serving God with all we have in us. How can I trust Him to save me if I can’t trust him to heal Samuel?

Angela and Doug had no idea then how Samuel would change their lives. how much they would learn, or how their ministry would change in deep and meaningful ways.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd.

He will gather the lambs with his arm,

and carry them in His bosom,

and gently lead those who are with young.


To You, In the Midst of Crisis

The stories and pains we’ve shared thus far in this chapter are not unusual. All of us—if we live long enough—travel unwanted paths where we face seemingly insurmountable enemies. But even though pain and loss are common to us all, when it enters our own life, it can shake us to the core; and we are desperate for help. God has provided just the help we need.


Know That the Battle Is Not Yours

There’s a story in the Bible about a time when the Israelites faced overwhelming odds as enormous armies were coming from all around to attack them, to wipe them out. They were completely outnumbered.

Their leader, Jehosaphat, didn’t know what to do. But he called the people to fast and pray. They desperately needed to hear from God to know what to do in this overwhelming situation. After fasting and praying, the people received a word from God: "This is what the Lord says to you: 'Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's.. . .You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you."


Remember That Your Crisis Is Just for a Season

In our family’s crisis, there were principles from God’s Word that spoke to us deeply. For weeks I prayed Psalm 23 on my daily walks: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow...” Through! In all my years of reading the twenty-third Psalm, I’d never seen the word “through” before with such vivid understanding. The word “through” gave me hope; it said that our family wouldn’t stay in the valley. Yes, we were in a valley, but it was only for a season.

The crisis you are in at the moment isn’t forever. You won’t make a permanent home in the valley, and even while you are there, you are not alone.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT Yes, we were in a valley, but it was only for a season.]]


Trust God, Even When No Answers Are in Sight

The question is not so much what to do; but who do you turn to? As Angela said, “We learned to run to Him and not from Him.”

In our family’s situation, we did not see a good end game. How could we help our daughter place the only flesh and blood she knew in the arms of another family? How could we do such a thing? We love our babies. How do you love and let go? Imposssible.

There appeared to be no pain-free solution. Neither Amy nor the birth father felt ready for marriage or parenthood. We were concerned the child could be bounced back and forth if she stayed in our family. How would we solve this? We studied all the angles, over and over.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: How could we help our daughter place the only flesh and blood she knew in the arms of another family?]]

This is where you’re hoping I tell you that if you do A and B, you will get C. How I wish I could, but sometimes life is not like that. In John chapter 9, the Pharisees brought the blind man to Jesus and asked Him, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” They wanted answers. Reasons. Whose fault is this?

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: This is where you’re hoping I tell you that if you do A and B, you will get C.]]

We often romanticize how things should be, maybe from our propensity to want a story with a happy ending. But some things defy easy answers and formulas. Sometimes we live with a mess for awhile.

Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life”; and then Jesus went on to heal the man. There can be a higher purpose, a deeper meaning in life’s twists and turns. We don’t have to know all the answers when we stand in the truth that the battle is not ours, but God’s. Letting go in the midst of a crisis is completely opposite to what we want to do, but doing so is our only true hope for victory.


Know That You Are Not Alone

Sure, you feel alone. Feeling alone seems to be a common thread when you hit that “lowest of the low” place. You are left with a sense of helplessness and impotence, and fear can choke you. Songwriter Bobby Bare said in the song, “Lonesome Valley,” “You gotta walk that lonesome valley all by yourself.” But, the reality is that even though no other person walks with us, we are not alone. The psalmist said, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow…I will not fear, for You are with me.”

Jacob, running away from home, slept on a rock under the stars. Alone! But he was awestruck by the presence of God: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it…How awesome is this place!” The abiding presence of the Lord dissipated his fear, his loneliness.

Years later, Jacob returned to face his brother, Esau, whom he’d cheated out of an inheritance. The night before he encountered Esau, Jacob wrestled alone with the angel on the distant side of the river: “Then Jacob was left alone; and the Man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.”

There is something purifying about being alone. It’s where you’re confronted with what you’re really all about—where your strength lies, what your rock-bottom motivations are. Gail Sheehy, in writing about the passages of life writes: "The older we grow, the more we become aware of the commonality of our lives, as well as our essential aloneness as navigators through the human journey.”

But you are not truly alone, even if you feel like it. Again, the psalmist said, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. The darkness and the light are both alike to You.”


Hold On

It’s important to remember that in the initial stage of crisis, we’re not always thinking clearly. We don’t have all the facts yet, and fear and grief can smother hope. Try not to panic. It may not be as bad as you think. It may be worse than you think. The main thing is to wait on God and hold on tight.

When we’re in pain, we’re tempted to run away, escape, distract ourselves with mind-numbing activities. It is only human. Even Jesus Himself looked to the cross with dread. He prayed in the garden: “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me!” Then he added, “Yet I want your will, not mine.” And so we too are held by love, caught by commitment, ensnared by our relationships.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: We too are held by love, caught by commitment, ensnared by our relationships.]]

One night I wrote in my prayer journal: “Lord, I feel so exposed. …. I want to stay home, to avoid places and people that should feel safe, but don’t.” And yet, we go on, even though we don’t know how. We keep living, even if we don’t feel like it. We muddle through an impossible place, even though there’s no fine print on how to do it.


Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed,

for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you;

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”


[dingbat divider]

God holds for you new dreams and fresh possibilities. He is indeed near to your breaking heart, and it is indeed true that through His mercies we are not consumed. In the midst of despair, there is hope. Things can get better. The sun will come up in the morning.

Hold on, my friend. Don’t look at what is going around you; hold on to what you know—God is. And no matter how it looks, know that God can make a way when there seems to be no way.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Hold on, my friend. Don’t look at what is going around you; hold onto what you know.]]


When I am walking in darkness, on shifting ground,

remind me that you are still leading me by the hand. . .

no matter that I cannot feel your touch.

Remind me when I am passing through even the driest place

that you are ahead of me,

opening secret springs of water for my soul. Amen.






Personal Reflection

Read Psalm 23 meditatively, slowly. If possible, read it in different versions over several days, choosing a different version of Psalm 23 for each day. Take time to reflect on each verse; praying as you read.

In your prayer journal, re-write Psalm 23, personalizing it: (e.g., “You, Lord, are my shepherd. I can relax into Your care, knowing You care for my every need,” etc.)
Ask yourself, At this place in my life, how is He comforting me? Restoring me?
What does it mean for me to “lie down beside still waters?
Do any words or phrases in Psalm 23 speak to you more than others? Write them down, and expand on them.



Surviving One Bad Year:

7 Spiritual Strategies to Lead You to a New Beginning




Nancie Carmichael





Our purpose at Howard Books is to:

Increase faith in the hearts of growing Christians
Inspire holiness in the lives of believers
Instill hope in the hearts of struggling people everywhere
Because He’s coming again!


[Howard Logo] Published by Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Surviving One Bad Year © 2009 Nancie Carmichael


All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Howard Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.



Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TK


ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-0324-1

ISBN-10: 1-4391-0324-0

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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Unless otherwise indicated all Scriptures are taken from the New King James Version (NKJV). Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible®. © Copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org). Scripture quotations marked TLB are taken from The Living Bible, copyright © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked CEV are taken from the Contemporary English Version, copyright © 1995 by the American Bible Society. Scripture quotations marked The Message are taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked AMP are from the Amplified Bible®, copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission (www.Lockman.org).



Contents


Introduction: To You, My Friend


PART 1: EMERGENY HELP FOR WHEN THE CRISIS HITS


Chapter One: “I Can’t Do This”


Chapter Two: It Hurts to Lose


Chapter Three: After the Cards Stop Coming



PART 2: SPIRITUAL STRATEGIES TO LEAD YOU TO A NEW BEGINNING


Chapter Four: Strategy #1: Release the Healing Power of Words


Chapter Five: Strategy #2: Take Care of Yourself


Chapter Six: Strategy #3: Reach Out to Other People


Chapter Seven: Strategy #4: Put One Foot in Front of the Other


Chapter Eight: Strategy #5: Sing a New Song


Chapter Nine: Strategy #6: Let Go, So God Can Hold You Close


Chapter Ten: Strategy #7: Trust God for All Seasons