Tag Archive for Book Review

When You Don’t See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey Story Book Review

When You Don't See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey StoryWhen You Don’t See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey Story by Rebecca Baker

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“When You Don’t See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey Story ” by Nadine Hennesey and Rebecca Baker, is a stirring true story of Nadine Hennesey, who found her life completely changed after the unexpected death of her husband, less than a year after they had married and while she was pregnant with her child.

A story of strength, faith and hope, Nadine shares her inspiring story as she follow God’s desires for her life, sometimes, not always knowing what laid ahead of her, and all the while, dealing with the devastating loss of her husband

Taking readers to the war stricken land of Kosovo and the events leading up to her travel there, that changed her life, inspired the lives of others and will encourage those who are faced with devastating circumstances in their own life,”When You Don’t See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey Story ” , is a first person story that will take readers to what feels like the ends of the world and the edge of emotions.

Filled with personal anecdotes and encouragement, not to mention reminders of the sacrifices that missionaries make to share not only God’s word, but acts of love and compassion, often in places where those simple virtues seem absent,”When You Don’t See His Plan: The Nadine Hennesey Story ” inspires the readers that no matter what the circumstances are in their life, that they can overcome, even when we may not see God’s total plan at hand.





***Thank you to RBC Publishing for the opportunity to read and review this book***

“Behind the Veils of Yemen” Book Review

Behind the Veils of Yemen: How an American Woman Risked Her Life, Family, and Faith to Bring Jesus to Muslim WomenBehind the Veils of Yemen: How an American Woman Risked Her Life, Family, and Faith to Bring Jesus to Muslim Women by Audra Grace Shelby

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“Behind the Veils of Yemen” by Audra Grace Shelby, is a fascinating and eloquent true story, of Audra’s and her family, personal experience, when they relocated to Yemen, to begin work there as missionaries.

Filled with rich details of the Yemeni culture from meals to wedding traditions to basic phrases that are customary to greet each other, what makes, “Behind the Veils of Yemen” stands out, is that this isn’t about just the women of Yemen, that Audra encountered and ministered, but how her and her family life there, were transformed and their faith in God was strengthened by their personal experiences.

The stories she shares are haunting and presents a look, “Behind the Veils of Yemen” , that those in the States often don’t hear or maybe only hear very brief glimpses of and the way, Audra, writes, is a story that is filled with strength and hope, in and through our Father in Heaven.

I felt that the ending of the book was a bit rushed and yearned to find out more about what happen after the events in Yemen, but the rest of the book, is a powerful testimony to the spirit of faith, hope and persistence.

The reader will find themselves hanging on to the detail of daily life of the Yemeni culture as shared by Audra and the complicated interactions she find, living as a foreigner among the Yemeni people.

Her experiences are both eye-opening, heart breaking, convicting and live readers asking, how strong are they to be able to do the same as Audra and her family.

Although the book shares about the Muslim women that Audra encountered and befriended, if you are expecting a “missionary book” about conversions, Audra doesn’t focus on that; Instead, she focuses on the real life struggles and experiences of being a missionary family in the Middle East, learning both the languages and customs, sharing personal insights into the culture and on the trials that her and her family personally endure of times of sickness that they had encountered and how as Christians, sharing the Gospel with other faiths and culture.

This isn’t really a book that focuses a lot on the Yemen women or culture, but rather is more like a personal biography of one missionary families experience, but it is still a compelling and fascinating read to look into.

Disclaimer: This post contains my personal opinions and does not reflect the opinion of any organization I am/was associated with or affiliated to.The product I have reviewed was/is based on my honest opinion and was not influenced or edited by anyone / Thank you to Bethany Publishers for the complimentary copy, in exchange for my honest opinion.

“God Makes Lemonade” Book Review

God Makes LemonadeGod Makes Lemonade by Don Jacobson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“God Makes Lemonade” is a series of stories, collected by Don Jacobson, that illustrates, that life will throw us curveballs, but though we may feel that there isn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, reading the stories of those, whose lives were turned upside by unexpected events, only to come out in the end, stronger and for the better, is a hopeful reminder that life isn’t as sour as we may think.

Don writes in the afterward,”Love can change the world, and faith can get us through tough times. But sometimes we act like we can live without hope. I don’t know about you, but the times I’m best at loving and being faithful are the times I’m also filled with a sense of hope.

Can’t that be said about any of us.

We have our faith and we have love for those who are around us and even those we’ve yet to know, but in “God Makes Lemonade”, these series of collections, take things one more and adds hope to the mixture.

For many….its more than just having faith, but also having that needed hope, not about the future, but about the next hour, or the next day, and with, “God Makes Lemonade”, Don Jacobson, brings a collection, that is a reminder, of those lemonade moments, when life seemed sour, only to have God sweeten it unexpectedly.

Something to note about, “God Makes Lemonade”, not only does it bring, to the reader, a collection of stories that enrich the heart, but proceeds from the book, goes to the LemonAid Foundation, that is geared toward supporting single moms.

You can read more stories of “lemonade” that people have discovered in their life, by going to godmakeslemonade.com and following “God Makes Lemonade” on facebook at facebook.com/godmakeslemonade.

No matter where you are in life, this is a collection of stories, that will lift your heart, bring tears to your eyes and a humble reminder of the life, God has blessed us with.

****Thank you to Glass Road Publications for a copy of “God Makes Lemonade” in exchange for my honest, unedited opinion.****

“Love on the Line” Book Review and Giveaway

Love on the LineLove on the Line by Deeanne Gist

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“Love on the Line” by Deeanne Gist, is not your usual historical romance and that made,”Love on the Line” all the more a fun read! The story of a strong, independent woman and a Texas Ranger, undercover, set in the not so wild frontier of Texas,”Love on the Line” had all the elements of a perfect Friday night reading, to cozy up with, next to the fire, with a rich, hot chocolate on the table beside you.

The characters are well developed, the background for the story, well researched, and just even the backstory, of the main character, Georgie Gail, will have the reader, caught up till the very end of this wildly, funny, filled with charm, reading.

What makes,”Love on the Line” just a sweet and fun read, is that this is not your usual, sugary love story, but a story about standing up for what you believe in, about honesty, about the strength of character, that makes this book stand out as a Christian based story, historical fiction with a perfect touch of romance that is really more touching then ever, that will leave the reader, swooning for a “Luke Palmer” who is dashing though at the same time, charming as he meets his match with headstrong, Georgie Gail.

“Love on the Line” is very original and fun at the same time and this is not a “girly” book, but a solid read, that is both smart and very endearing and, if you’re like me, find it so hard to put down and have to keep reading till the end.

I’m normally not a big fan of romance novels, so with “Love on the Line”, instead I find a very smartly written book that has the element of romance, that is sweet and endearing, yet at the same time,the characters are strong in their own right and hold out as characters, on their own, that you will find yourself just growing close with and silently cheering out when you realize, “Wait..this has romance in it too”.

What I really enjoyed as well about,”Love on the Line” is that Georgie Gail is not a helpless damsel in distress; She is a strong, well rounded character who can hold her own but at the same time, not afraid to let her femininity show through, and even though she proves she can hold her own in a man’s world, at the same time, allows herself to be vulnerable and open when love finds her heart.

Deeanne Gist, perfectly writes a story that you will find yourself recommending to friends to read, placing it in your purse or backpack to bring on vacation, or if you have a Nook or Kindle, downloading it to read, while the fire is going or by the pool in the summertime.

Either way, “Love on the Line” left me feeling, for a historical fiction, it captured the time period wonderfully and had enough romance, for the romantic in me to indulge in a little, “That is so sweet”.

Ms. Gist, really brings the characters to life and writes the story in such detail that its not overwhelming, but helps the reader, just have a mental image of what they think the characters are thinking, feeling and must look that I fear if a movie was made, I could only hope it would match up to how delightful the book, itself is.

With the holidays around the corner, and you’re looking for a book to take with you on vacation, or just to read while warming up by the fire, drop by Georgie Gail’s, small hometown, and discover,”Love on the Line”.

Line. To celebrate Deeanne’s publisher, Bethany House, is hosting the Love on the Line iPad2 giveaway an Author Chat on Facebook! Enter today and follow the link below to RSVP for Deeanne’s rip-roarin’ Facebook Party!

One fortunate winner will receive: 

  • A Brand New iPad2
  • An Autographed Hardback Copy of Love on the Line by Deeanne Gist

 

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends on November 7th. Winner will be announced at Deeanne’s Author Chat Facebook Party. Deeanne will be wrapping up the Love on the Line celebration by chatting with friends new and old! So grab your copy of Love on the Line (it’s okay if you don’t have one yet- you might could win one!) and join Deeanne on the evening of November 8th for a rip roaring book chat, a little

trivia and lots of giveaways (books, and Amazon, iTunes & Starbucks gift certificates)!

Enter via E-mail Enter via FacebookEnter via Twitter

Don’t miss a moment of the fun. RSVP today and tell your friends. Hope to see you on the 8th!

“Sunrise on the Battery” Book Review

Sunrise on the BatterySunrise on the Battery by Beth Webb Hart

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“Sunrise on the Battery” by Beth Webb Hart centers on socialite, Mary Lynn, who finds her comfortable life in North Carolina, turned upside down as she grapples balancing a renew faith and her husband new found faith in God.

A contemporary fiction, “Sunrise on the Battery” is a good book for those who are not into historical fictions, but find themselves more oriented toward more modern day stories of balancing life in today’s world and learning about what God desires for us.





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:

Sunrise on the Battery

Thomas Nelson (October 11, 2011)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

With a B.A. in English Literature from Hollins University and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Sarah Lawrence College, Hart serves as an inspirational speaker and creative writing instructor at conferences, retreats, schools, libraries and churches across the country, and she is the recipient of two national teaching
awards from Scholastic, Inc. and the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. She lives with her husband, composer Edward Hart, and their family in Charleston.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

She wanted her husband to attend the town’s society-driven church.

God answered her prayer in a radical way.

An emptiness dogs Mary Lynn Scoville. But it shouldn’t. After all, she’s achieved what few believed possible. Born in the rural south, she has reached the pinnacle of worldly success in Charleston, South Carolina. Married to a handsome real estate developer and mother to three accomplished daughters, Mary Lynn is one Debutante Society invitation away from truly having it all. And yet, it remains—an emptiness that no shopping trip, European vacation, or social calendar can fill.

When a surprise encounter leads her to newfound faith, Mary Lynn longs to share it with her husband. But Jackson wrote God off long ago. Mary Lynn prays for him on Christmas Eve…and her husband undergoes a life-altering, Damascus Road experience. As Jackson begins to take the implications of the Gospel literally, Mary Lynn feels increasingly isolated from her husband…and betrayed by God. She only wanted Jackson beside her at church on Sunday mornings, not some Jesus freak who evangelizes prostitutes and invites the homeless to tea.

While her husband commits social suicide and the life they worked so hard for crumbles around them, Mary Lynn wonders if their marriage can survive. Or if perhaps there really is a more abundant life that Jackson has discovered, richer than any she’s ever dreamed of.

Product Details:

List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (October 11, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595542000
ISBN-13: 978-1595542007

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Mary Lynn Scoville

December 24, 2009

It was the morning before Christmas, and Mary Lynn was preparing for her sunrise jog around the tip of the Charleston Peninsula. She stretched her thighs and calves in the gray light of her piazza, then bounded out of her South Battery home, traveling west toward the coast guard station like she did every morning as part of her effort to “finally get back in shape” since her fortieth birthday, six short months ago.

By the time she reached Tradd Street, the gray had turned to a soft, creamy light, and she hung a left and rounded the corner onto Murray Boulevard where she traced the west tip of the peninsula as buoys bobbed in the churning water of the harbor and pelicans—beak first, wings pulled tight against their large prehistoric bodies—dove for breakfast in a thrilling kind of free fall.

At her husband Jackson’s strong suggestion, she stayed clear of the darkened cars parked along the edge of the waterway leading up to White Point Gardens. Unseemly characters gathered along the water’s edge at night and often fell asleep there, not to mention the handful of homeless folks who made their berths on park benches. There had been a murder in one of the cars last year as well as a rape, but the light was too high in the sky for any of that now. As her friend from her bluegrass days, Scottie Truluck, boldly proclaimed the day after someone broke into her house and took off with her laptop and her sterling silver tea set, you couldn’t let fear get in the way of your city life.

Mary Lynn hit her stride, as usual, at the High Battery as a lone sailboat with little blinking white Christmas lights encircling its mast pushed through the choppy water. She felt her heart rate rising and she became conscious of her breathing, so she attempted to take her mind off of her workout and the pounding of the pavement on her knees by going through her to-do list for the day as she passed the Carolina Yacht Club where Jackson had been offered a membership after his second time through the application process. Hot dog! An invitation to join this exclusive, tight-knit club was a kind of proof that they had been officially accepted by Charleston society. Not an easy feat in this historic southern city that, after two brutal wars and a depression that stretched on for half a century, had good reason to be wary of outsiders. Of course, they both knew they had Mark Waters—an older friend with hometown ties—to thank for this and many of the doors that had been opened to them.

Still, Mark didn’t run the entire city (especially not the old-Charleston set) no matter how deep his pockets, and the yacht club membership meant that they had finally passed some sort of insider’s test after their move to the city ten years ago. And that, along with the invitation Mary Lynn received last year to join the Charlestowne Garden Club and another to serve as chairman of the board of the old and prestigious Peninsula Day School, made her feel like this truly was their home. Their real home. She smiled even as she panted. She and Jackson, two country bumpkins from Meggett, South Carolina, were somehow making their way into Charleston society. Who’d have ever thunk it?

But that wasn’t even the primary goal for Jackson, who was the sharpest, most focused man Mary Lynn had ever known. The real goal for him (and he had written it down and asked her to put it in her jewelry box in an envelope marked “family mission statement”) was to give their three girls the life he and Mary Lynn never had. This meant a top-rate education, exposure and immersion in the fine arts, and frequent opportunities to see the big wide world beyond the Carolina lowcountry or the United States for that matter.

“Not just education, baby—cultivation,” he would say as they lay side by side in their four-poster antique bed purchased on King Street for a pretty penny, Jackson resting some classic novel he should have read in high school on his chest. Then Mary Lynn would look up from the Post and Courier or Southern Living or lately, the little black leather Bible Scottie had given her after the birthday luncheon meltdown, and smile.

Every time Mary Lynn and Jackson discussed their children, she had an image of her husband tilling the soil of their daughters’ minds and dropping down the little seeds like he did every spring growing up on his daddy’s farm. “Just like the tomaters, darlin’,” he’d say in his exaggerated country accent. “Only now it is little intellects that will one day be big as cantaloupes!”

A pretty lofty mission. But a worthy one, Mary Lynn supposed. Though sometimes she grew nervous that he rode the girls too hard with their school work and over scheduled them with extracurricular activities—strings lessons, writing workshops, ballet, and foreign language. They sure didn’t have much time to lollygag or linger or strike out on an adventure as she had as a child roaming the corn fields on her uncle’s farm, climbing trees, building forts, or spending the night in a sleeping bag beneath a blanket of stars. Despite her mama’s missteps and mean old Mrs. Gustafson, who made sure the whole town knew every little detail about them, Mary Lynn had a sanctuary on her uncle’s farm. Much of her childhood she was ignorantly blissful of all the trouble and the gossip that surrounded her family as she played hide-and-seek in the corn husks with her mama, running fast through the papery leaves that gently slapped her face. Then crouching down as she heard the sweet voice of her only parent call, “Ready or not, here I come!”

But Mary Lynn had to acknowledge the fruit of Jackson’s labors. Thanks to his staying after them, the girls were well on their way to mastering a stringed instrument and they could carry on a conversation (and for their oldest, read a novel) in French and Spanish. Imagine!

Who would have guessed the upward turn their lives would take after Jackson’s daddy’s death revealed the little real estate gems up and down the South Carolina coast he had inherited from a great uncle? The timing was right and Jackson had been shrewd. He turned to Mark Waters, who showed him just how to go about it. This was in the early ’90s, well before the economic downturn, and Jackson sold each piece of property for five and even ten times what his great uncle had paid for it. Then he bought more land, bought several low-end housing projects Mark introduced him to, invested in some of Mark’s big commercial and condo development ventures, and did the same year-in and year-out for more than a decade as the market soared.

“Boy, you picked wisely,” Mama had said the first time she came to visit them at their new home on South Battery. She narrowed her eyes and looked up at Mary Lynn. “’Course I thought Mark was going to gnash his teeth when he got a gander at the skinny farm boy you had fallen for.”

“Mama, Mark was married by that point.”

“Not that nuptials ever meant much to the Waters clan.” She winked, then shook her head. Mary Lynn guessed her mama was thinking of her own engagement to Mark’s father, who had proposed after she ran his office for years. They never did make it to the altar. “But you saw something in Jackson no one else took the time to see, smart girl.” Then she walked carefully over to the portrait of some eighteenth-century British gentleman that their decorator had insisted they purchase for the foyer, rubbed the corner of its gilded frame, and shook her head in disbelief before turning back. “You saw the man in the boy, didn’t you?”

Mary Lynn had smiled. Then she walked over and kissed her mama’s made-up cheek. It felt cool like putty.

“I was just lucky, Mama.” And that was the truth. Jackson was the only boy in town she ever dated, though Mark Waters had told her more than once he’d wait for her to grow up. Of course, she wasn’t surprised that he didn’t.

Her mama had nodded her head as she walked into the foyer and rested her hand on the grand staircase’s large pineapple finial. Then she gazed up the three flights of intricately trimmed hardwood stairs, clucked her tongue, and said, “Everybody gets lucky sometimes, I reckon.”

Now if Jackson stuck with Mark and played it right, he might not have to work for the rest of his life, and he and Mary Lynn would leave a pretty penny to their girls someday. With financial security and intellects as big as cantaloupes, what more could their daughters need?

But back to the to-do list. Mary Lynn still had a few presents to wrap, and she needed to polish the silver serving pieces for the “show and tell” tea party they had hosted every Christmas afternoon for the last eight years. Jackson, who had taken up the cello a few years ago, was trying to get their three daughters to perform a movement from a Haydn string quartet (Opus 20, no. 4 in D major, second movement to be exact), and he had played the slow and somber piece on the CD player so many times over the last month that Mary Lynn found that she was waking up from her sleep with the notes resounding in her head.

She’d never really known of Haydn; she never knew a lick about classical music until they moved to Charleston and started going to the symphony and the Spoleto Festival events. Eventually they became supporters of the symphony and the College of Charleston’s music department, and now she found she could recognize a few pieces by ear, though in all honesty, she always daydreamed when she went to a concert. Sometimes it would be over, the audience would be standing for their ovation, and she’d be lost in thought about shelling butter beans on the back porch with Aunt Josey or sitting by Uncle Dale in the rocking chairs as he tuned his mandolin before they started in on “Man of Constant Sorrow” or “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” with him singing low and Mary Lynn singing the dissonant high lonesome sound while she twirled and twirled around. Uncle Dale said she had a voice that was pure sugar and more moves than a croker sack full of eels. And once when Mark Waters and his daddy, Cecil, were over, Cecil teared up over the singing and the twirling and then insisted on underwriting voice and guitar lessons from a famous country music writer who had settled in Charleston. Mary Lynn and her mother drove the fifty minutes into town for the next seven years until she graduated with two offers: one from her guitar instructor to join his newly formed bluegrass band as the lead singer, and an academic scholarship to USC-Beaufort. Since she was smart enough even then to know that an eighteen-year-old girl didn’t need to be traveling in a band, and since Jackson had proposed on bended knee, she did what felt right to her heart: she chose the scholarship and married her sweetheart.

But on those mornings when she dropped the kids off at school and had to run a few errands, she turned back to the radio station she grew up listening to, an old blend of rock ‘n’ roll and country and bluegrass, and tapped along to Elvis Presley or Johnny Cash or the Stanley Brothers as she drove through the historic streets with her windows rolled up as if she were in her own secret time capsule, transporting herself back to when she was thirteen, dancing and twirling with her mama to “Return to Sender” on the screened porch as Aunt Josey and Uncle Dale clapped and laughed.

Catherine and Lilla, Mary Lynn’s oldest girls, both played violin, and Casey, the baby by five years, played the viola. Their family quartet sounded all right, except for the cello, which made an occasional alley cat screech when Jackson came at it a little off angle. She imagined they’d be practicing all day to get it right for tomorrow’s performance.

The sun was beginning to warm Mary Lynn’s back when she turned from East Bay Street onto Broad where she planned to sprint all-out to Meeting Street, then stop and walk briskly home the rest of the way, her hands raised and clasped behind her head, her heart pounding, then slowing moment by moment as the brisk air chilled her sweaty body to the bone. What a way to wake up! She loved it. And she had shed twelve of the fifteen pounds she had been trying to get rid of since her big birthday.

But this morning, just after she bounded at full speed across Church Street and back onto the uneven sidewalk of Broad Street, the front tip of her left running shoe caught for a split second in a crooked old grate so that when she slammed her right foot down and lunged at a sharp angle to keep herself from somersaulting, she heard a tear just below the back of her knee and a pain blasted through her calf as though she had been shot at close range.

“Agh!” she screamed, falling hard on her side and grasping the back of her right leg.

She knew what had happened, and she wasn’t sure if it was her knowledge or the pain that was causing the intense wave of nausea. She spit and attempted to will her stomach to settle down as her aching muscle throbbed.

The injury, she was sure, was tennis leg, a rupture of the calf muscle on the inside of the leg. She had suffered the same kind of tear in the same place two other times before. Once when Scottie had taken her to a Joni Mitchell concert in Atlanta and she had danced a little too hard to “California,” and just two years ago, when she was standing on the top of her living room sofa, hanging a new set of silk drapes hours before hosting a Parents Guild luncheon.

Mary Lynn put her forehead on her knee and ground her teeth. The stones from the old sidewalk were cool beneath her legs, and a chill worked its way up her spine. At best, she would spend the next ten days on crutches icing down her leg every few hours. And then another six weeks in physical therapy. Or worse, she would have to undergo surgery—something Dr. Powell had warned her about after her last rupture. “Surgery means no bearing weight for four months,” he had said, looking over his tortoise shell bifocals at her. “So be cautious, Mary Lynn.”

The street was quiet on this early Thursday morning. No one was around to gawk or help her up, and she started to weep—more from the frustration, from the time she would lose in the days and weeks to come, and from the stupid grate that no one in the city had bothered to right in maybe one hundred years than from the pain that seemed to compound itself with every new beat of her heart.

She put her clammy palms on the sidewalk and rotated her body over to her left side toward the entry way of the Spencer Art Gallery, and then she slowly felt her way up the side of the stone building until she was upright. She would have to walk on her tippy toes until she flagged someone down or found an open store where she could use the phone to call Jackson.

Mary Lynn swung her head back and forth in an effort to shake off the stars she was seeing. She walked a good block, carefully, on the balls of her feet to the corner of Meeting and Broad singing “Walk a Mile in My Shoes” by Elvis just to keep herself going. When she rounded the corner where St. Michael’s Episcopal Church stood, she spotted Roy Summerall, the rector, chatting animatedly to a familiar-looking man who leaned against a parked taxi cab, steam rising from his coffee mug.

She recognized the man as soon as he glanced in her direction. It was Craig MacPherson, Alyssa’s father. (Alyssa was one of Catherine’s best friends.) He had lost his job as a real estate appraiser during the recent economic crisis, and he was forced to pull Alyssa out of the Peninsula Day School, the private school Mary Lynn’s daughters attended. Now she could see that the rumor she heard was true. He was driving a cab to make ends meet.

Then just as she relaxed the balls of her feet after her favorite line in the chorus—“Yeah, before you abuse, criticize and accuse . . .”—in her relief over finding some folks she knew could help her, the pain shot through her leg, worse than before, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the base of the large white church column closest to Broad Street.

The men must have heard her retching. By the time she looked back up again, wincing and straining to get upright and back on her tip toes, they were by her side, gently placing her arms around their shoulders.

“You all right, Mary Lynn?” Reverend Summerall asked. She had been attending his church with Scottie every now and then, and she had met him once briefly at a Downtown Neighborhood Association gathering awhile back, but she was sort of surprised that he remembered her name.

She pulled her arm back around, wiped her mouth with the back of her fleece jacket, then placed it on his shoulder again. “Tennis leg.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I tore a muscle in my calf. It’s happened to me before.”

The men made a quick plan to carry her to the cab.

“On three,” Craig MacPherson said, and after he called out the numbers, she felt them lift her up and carefully scurry her down the sidewalk before setting her gently in the backseat of Craig’s taxi.

“Let’s get you home,” Craig said.

“Wait.” Roy put his hand on her shoulder and uttered a quick prayer. She couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t matter. She had no problem with prayers. In fact, she was starting to like them. She’d been going with Scottie to a women’s prayer group at the church every Wednesday afternoon for almost two years now, and she had become downright used to listening to folks pray out loud for one another’s needs, though she’d never had the nerve to join in.

“Thank you.” She looked up and swiveled her head back and forth to meet both sets of sympathetic eyes. “I’ll be okay.” And then to Roy, “Sorry to leave a mess on your portico.”

The priest smiled. “Don’t worry about that. Just take care of yourself. I’ll check in on you later.”

Mary Lynn nodded, and Craig gently closed the cab door and walked around to the driver’s side. She was surprised by how clean the car was. It smelled like soap and maybe gardenias? Some sort of flower, anyway. And when she looked up to see Craig’s picture and license displayed on the visor, she noticed a drawing that Alyssa must have made for him. It was of the steeple of St. Michael’s with the sun shining through the second tier balcony. The one with the handsome arches. Then she saw the girl’s name inscribed in the far right corner.

Sitting down felt much better, and Mary Lynn was astonished by how much the pain receded when she took weight off of her leg. She needed to get ice on her calf as soon as she got home, and she would have to elevate her leg (up higher than her heart as she recalled) to stop the ache. That was how she would spend the whole afternoon—her leg in a pillow with a rope tied to the ceiling beam. That and calling all of the guests to cancel tomorrow’s tea.

But she felt so much better at this moment. Whew. Sitting down in the back of the clean cab with the bright sunlight shooting through the windows, she felt relief. As if, for a moment anyway, it had never happened.

As they turned off of Meeting Street onto South Battery, she could see her historic white clapboard home in the distance, particularly grand in its Christmas décor—fresh garland around the doorway and piazza rail, two magnolia-leaf wreaths with large gold bows on each piazza door, and even a little red berry wreath around the head of the statue in the center of the fountain in the side garden. That had been Casey’s idea, and it added a little whimsy to the decorations, Mary Lynn thought. To her it made the house wink to the passersby as if to say, There are children who live here! It’s not a just a photo from Architectural Digest. See? Every time Mary Lynn saw it, she grinned.

As Craig went around to help her out of the car, she turned to face him and still did not feel the pain. He took out his cell phone. “Should I call Jackson to meet us down here?”

“No,” she said. “He’s probably on his morning walk and I’m sure the girls are still asleep.” She reached out her hand. “If you help me out, I can make it in on the balls of my feet.”

Like Mary Lynn, Jackson had a morning ritual—walking their black Labrador, Mac, up King Street to Caviar & Bananas, munching on a scone and an espresso, reading the New York Times, preparing for a meeting with Mark or mapping out the day, the week, or the month—depending on how exuberant he was—and walking briskly home. Sometimes she ran into him a block from their house on her way home from her morning run. He usually brought something back to her—a muffin or a strawberry dipped in chocolate, which she discreetly gave to Anarosa, the housekeeper, to take home to her little boys. And now that the girls were out of school for the holiday, he brought something for them as well. Casey always enjoyed her treat, but the older girls were watching their weight and they, too, gave their treat to Anarosa.

When Craig leaned forward, she put her arm around his shoulder and let him hoist her up on her tippy toes. Then she took a step forward on the balls of her feet, still leaning on him, and she didn’t feel any pain. She took another step. Nothing. Her calf felt normal. She almost put her heels down, but she was afraid to.

When a horn from a driver stuck behind the recycling truck blasted just yards ahead, she was so startled, she leaned back and was forced to put her heel on the sidewalk.

The pain behind the back of her knee was not there.

She looked up at Craig. Her eyebrows furrowed. She rubbed the back of her leg. No tenderness. Nothing. What in the world?

“Hurt bad?” he said. He shook his head in an effort to commiserate. Then he stepped back and leaned forward with his hands on his knees to give her a little space. Maybe he thought she might get sick again.

She looked up at him. Had she dreamed the whole thing? No. She had heard her muscle rip. She had felt the shot of pain. It had happened to her two other times in her life, and she knew precisely what it was.

She decided not to answer Craig. It was just so strange. After a few seconds he lifted out his hand and she leaned into it expecting the pain to kick in, but it didn’t. Once she was on the piazza, she thanked him and he headed back to his cab. Then she unlocked the door, walked in the house with her heels firmly planted on the hardwood floor.

Was she fine?

She shook her right leg out. She walked. She did a few lunges, then jumped up and down several times, which caused Mac to bark and run into the foyer where he stopped, stared, and tilted his head as if he were as confused as she was.

Had Reverend Summerall’s prayer been answered?

“How was your run?” Jackson handed her a chocolate croissant in a waxy little bag. He was back sooner than she expected.

How many calories in a chocolate croissant? Way too many for a gal beating back a middle-age paunch in the midst of the holiday season. And how was her run? Well, she wanted to tell him the whole story, but something held her back. He had made it clear since she started going to church with Scottie that he had no interest in religion. He wasn’t going to stop her. It didn’t bother him that she went. He just didn’t want her to expect him to follow along with all of that. He had a mission, after all, and he was focused.

He cocked his head. “Your jog all right, baby?”

She looked into his bright green eyes. They blinked slowly. It was the first time they had made eye contact today.

“Amazing,” she finally said. She smiled and lovingly squeezed his shoulder. Then she gently accepted the little waxy bag and headed to the pantry where Anarosa kept her purse.

Maggie’s Journey Book Review

Maggie's JourneyMaggie’s Journey by Lena Nelson Dooley

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Reading, “Maggie’s Journey”, I could not put the book down and found myself disappointed toward the end, that there was an end to the book; I wanted it to continue because I was so curious about the main character, Margaret Lenora Caine, and rather or not, she would find answers to her questions.

At 283 pages, readers will discover, not a historical romance, but a wonderful, historical fiction, based in a time when trains have become a method of travel in the States and more homes were beginning to use a telephone, while telegrams were a form of finding out information of what was happening across the world, but for Margaret Lenora, none of these will answer the questions she had about herself, her family, and even her faith, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, when she discovers, the secret she was adopted.

Lena Nelson Dooley, weaves a wonderful tale of family and love and self-identity, set against the background of a still young country, and filled with historical based tidbits, that will delight readers of historical fiction.

Margaret Lenora Caine, is a strong and lovable character, and even with the mini-backstories that happen in the backgrounds, the reader will not find themselves distracted from the overall reading, as they follow Margaret Lenora Caine as she travels to Arkansas to learn more about who she is and her place in the whole scheme of things.

Personally, I was ecstatic to know that there is a second book coming in May 2012, for the series, though right now May seems too far away and I want to know more about what happens to Margaret and answers to some of the questions that the reader are left alluded to, but this is what makes this book a great read, for those who are looking for a historical fiction that will sweep the reader away.

The story has strong characters, a firm story that doesn’t run into rabbit trails, characters that will sweep the reader away, and if you are like me, you’ll find yourself unable to put the book down and wishing instead, that the author, would have just continue writing more about Margaret, instead of leaving you hanging for more.

This both creates a book, that will have you waiting, impatiently for the next book in the series, having to re-read the book just to get your fill again of Margaret Lenora Caine and hoping for more glimpses of this delightful read,be it vacation, you’re on a holiday, or need a book that will warm your heart and leave you still wanting more.

So if you are looking for a book that will sweep you off your feet and finding yourself reaching the shelf to re-read again, I strongly suggest you try out,”Maggie’s Journey” by Lena Nelson Dooley.


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:

 

Maggie’s Journey

Realms (October 4, 2011)

***Special thanks to Kim Jones | Publicity Coordinator, Charisma House | Charisma Media for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Lena Nelson Dooley is an award-winning author with more than 650,000 books in print. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers—where she received the Mentor of the Year award in 2006—DFW Ready Writers, and Christian Authors Network. She lives in Hurst, Texas, with her husband of over 45 years.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

A girl who’s been lied to her whole life…

On her eighteenth birthday, Margaret Lenora Caine finds a chest hidden in the attic containing proof that she was adopted. The daughter of wealthy merchants in Seattle, she feels betrayed both by her real parents and by the ones who raised her.

Maggie longs for a place where she belongs. But her mother’s constant criticism and reminders that she doesn’t fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing have already created tension in their home. With the discovery of the family secret, all sense of her identity is lost.

When Maggie asks to visit her grandmother in Arkansas, her father agrees on the condition that she take her Aunt Georgia as a chaperone and his young partner, Charles Stanton, as protection on the journey. Will she discover who she really is and, more importantly, what truly matters most in life?

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 4, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616383585
ISBN-13: 978-1616383589
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

September 1885

Seattle, Washington Territory

Margaret Lenora Caine sat in the library of their mansion on Beacon Hill. Because of the view of Puget Sound, which she loved, she had the brocade draperies pulled back to let the early September sunshine bathe the room with warmth. Basking in the bright light, Maggie concentrated on the sketch pad balanced on her lap. After leaning back to get the full effect of the drawing, she reached a finger to smudge the shadows between the folds of the skirt. With a neckline that revealed the shoulders, but still maintained complete modesty, this dress was her best design so far, one she planned to have Mrs. Murdock create in that dreamy, shimmery green material that came in the last shipment from China. Maggie knew silk was usually a summer fabric, but with it woven into a heavier brocade satin, it would be just right for her eighteenth birthday party. And with a few changes to the design, she could have another dress created as well.

Once again she leaned forward and drew a furbelow around the hem, shading it carefully to show depth. The added weight of the extra fabric would help the skirt maintain its shape, providing a pleasing silhouette at any ball. She pictured herself wearing the beautiful green dress, whirling in the arms of her partner, whoever he was. Maybe someone like Charles Stanton, since she’d admired him for several years, and he was so handsome.
“Margaret, what are you doing?”

The harsh question broke Maggie’s concentration. The charcoal in her hand slipped, slashing an ugly smear across the sketch. She glanced at her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her bosom. Maggie heaved a sigh loud enough to reach the entrance, and her mother’s eyebrows arched so quickly Maggie wanted to laugh . . . almost, but she didn’t dare add to whatever was bothering Mother now. Her stomach began to churn, a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation. Lately, everything she did put Mother in a bad mood. She searched her mind for whatever could have set her off this time. She came up with nothing, so she pasted a smile across her face.

“I’m sketching.” She tried for a firm tone but wasn’t sure it came across that way.
“You don’t have time for that right now.” Florence Caine hurried across the Persian wool carpet and stared down at her. “We have too much to do before your party.”

Of course her mother was right, but Maggie thought she could take a few minutes to get the new design on paper while it was fresh in her mind. She glanced toward the mantel clock. Oh, no. Her few minutes had turned into over two hours. She’d lost herself in drawing designs again. No wonder Mother was exasperated. She jumped up from the burgundy wing-back chair. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m sorry, Mother.”
Florence Caine took the sketch pad from her hand and studied the drawing with a critical eye. “That’s a different design.”

Maggie couldn’t tell if she liked the dress or not, but it didn’t matter. Designing was in Maggie’s blood. Her grandmother was a dressmaker who came up with her own designs instead of using those in Godey’s Lady’s Book or Harper’s Bazar. And, according to Mother’s sister, she never even looked at a Butterick pattern. Aunt Georgia had told her often enough about all the society women who wouldn’t let anyone but Agatha Carter make their clothing. They

knew they wouldn’t be meeting anyone else wearing the exact same thing when they attended social events in Little Rock, Arkansas. Not for the first time, Maggie wished she could talk to her grandmother at least once.
With the news about people being able to converse across long distances with something called the telephone, someday she might talk to her that way. But Maggie wanted a face-to-face meeting. Knowing another dress designer would keep her from feeling like such a misfit. Mother kept reminding her that she didn’t really fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing in Seattle. At least, Daddy let her do what she wanted to. She didn’t know what she’d do without him to offset Mother’s insistence, which was becoming more and more harsh.

According to Aunt Georgia, the business Grandmother Carter started was still going strong, even though her grandmother had to be over sixty years old. Maggie planned to go visit her relatives in Arkansas, so she could tour the company. She hoped her journey would happen before she was too late to actually meet Agatha Carter. Her deepest desire was to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps, since she had inherited her talents.

The sound of ripping tore through her thoughts. Aghast, she turned to catch her mother decimating her sketch. She lunged toward the paper, trying to save it, but Mother held the sketch just out of her reach.

“What are you doing?” Tears clogged her throat, but she struggled to hide them.
Dribbling the tiny pieces into the ornate wastepaper basket beside the mahogany desk, her mother looked up at her. “Just throwing it away. You had already ruined it anyway.”

Anger sliced through Maggie’s heart, leaving a jagged trail of pain. She still wanted to keep the sketch. She could use it while she created another. Her plan was to ask her father to help her surprise Mother. The design would set off her mother’s tall stature and still youthful figure. She planned to ask him for a length of the special blue satin brocade that would bring out the color of Mother’s eyes. The dress would make Mother the envy of most of her friends when

the winter social season started in a couple of months. Now she’d have to begin the drawing all over again. So many hours of work and her dreams torn to shreds.
“Darling.” That syrupy tone Mother used when she was trying to make a point grated on Maggie’s nerves. “When are you going to grow up and forget about your little pictures of dresses?” Little pictures of dresses? The words almost shredded the rest of Maggie’s control. She gripped her hands into fists and twisted them inside the folds of her full skirt.
They’d had this discussion too many times already. She gritted her teeth, but it didn’t help. In a few days she would be eighteen, old enough to make decisions for herself—whether her mother agreed or not.

She stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow her. “Those aren’t just ‘little drawings,’ Mother. I am going to be a dress designer.” The icy disdain shooting from her mother’s eyes made Maggie cringe inside, but she stood her ground.

“Margaret Lenora Caine, I am tired of these conversations. You will not become a working girl.” Mother huffed out a very unladylike deep breath. “You don’t need to. Your father has worked hard to provide a very good living for the three of us. I will not listen to any more of this nonsense.”
Maggie had heard that phrase often enough, and she never liked it. Mother swept from the room as if she had the answer to everything, but she didn’t. Not for Maggie. And her sketches were not nonsense.

She tried to remember the last time she pleased her mother. Had she ever really?
Her hair was too curly and hard to tame into a proper style. And the hue was too red. Maggie wouldn’t stay out of the sun to prevent freckles from dotting her face. She could come up with a long list of her mother’s complaints if she wanted to take the time. She wasn’t that interested in what was going on among the elite in Seattle. She

had more things to think about than how to catch a husband. Maggie wanted to get married someday. But first she would follow her dream. Become the woman she was created to be. That meant being a dress designer, taking delight in making other women look their best. If it wasn’t for Grandmother Carter, Maggie would think she had been born into the wrong family.

The enticing aroma of gingerbread called her toward the kitchen. Spending time with Mrs. Jorgensen was just what she needed right now. Since she didn’t have any grandparents living close by, their cook and housekeeper substituted quite well in Maggie’s mind. She pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose and sniffing like the bunny in the back garden while she headed across the brick floor toward the cabinet where her older friend worked. “What is that

heavenly smell?”

Mrs. Jorgensen turned with a warm smile. “As if you didn’t already know. You’ve eaten enough of my gingerbread, for sure.”

Pushing white tendrils from her forehead, the woman quickly sliced the spicy concoction and placed a large piece on a saucer while Maggie retrieved the butter from the ice box. Maggie slathered a thick coating on and watched it melt into the hot, brown bread. “Here’s something to drink.” Mrs. Jorgensen set a glass of cold milk on the work table in the middle of the large room.

Maggie hopped up on a tall stool and took a sip, swinging her legs as she had when she was a little girl. Mother would have something else to complain about if she saw her. That’s not ladylike and is most unbecoming. The oft-spoken words rang through Maggie’s mind. But Mother hardly ever came into the kitchen. Mrs. Jorgensen met with

Mother in her sitting room to plan the meals and the day’s work schedule.
“This is the only place in the house where I can just be myself.” Maggie took a bite and let the spices dance along her tongue, savoring the sting of spices mixed with the sweetness of molasses.

“Ja.” The grandmotherly woman patted Maggie’s shoulder. “So tell me what’s bothering you, kära.”
Tears sprang to Maggie’s eyes. “Why doesn’t Mother understand me? She doesn’t even try.”
She licked a drip of butter that started down her finger, then took another bite of the warm gingerbread. Heat from the cook stove made the enormous kitchen feel warm and cozy, instead of the cold formality of most of the house.
Mrs. Jorgensen folded a tea towel into a thick square, then went to the oven and removed another pan of the dessert. “What’s the bee in her bonnet this time?”
Maggie loved to hear the Scandinavian woman’s quaint sayings. “She won’t consider letting me continue to design dresses.”

Maggie sipped her milk, not even being careful not to leave a white mustache on her upper lip. “I’ve drawn them for our seamstress to use for the last five years. As many of them have been for Mother as for me. And she’s enjoyed the way other women exclaimed over the exclusive creations she wore. I don’t understand why she doesn’t want me to continue to develop my artistic abilities.”

“Your father is a very wealthy man, for sure.” The cook’s nod punctuated her statement. “Your dear mother just wants what is best for you.”
“Why does she get to decide what’s best for me?” Maggie felt like stomping her foot, but she refrained. That would be like a child having a tantrum. She would not stoop that far now that she was no longer a child. “Soon I’ll be eighteen. Plenty old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Yah, and you sure have the temper to match all that glorious red hair, älskling.” She clicked her tongue. “Such a waste of energy.” After enjoying the love expressed in Mrs. Jorgensen’s endearment, Maggie slid from the stool and gathered her plate and glass to carry them to the sink. “You’re probably right. I’ll just have to talk to Daddy.”

The door to the hallway swung open. “Talk to me about what?” Her tall father strode into the room,

filling it with a sense of power.

“About my becoming a dress designer.”

A flit of pain crossed his face before he smiled. “A dress designer?” Maggie fisted her hands on her waist. “We’ve discussed this before. I want to go to Arkansas and see about learning more at The House of Agatha Carter.”
Her father came over and gathered her into a loving embrace. “I said I’d think about letting you go. There are many details that would have to be ironed out first. But I didn’t say you couldn’t go.”

Maggie leaned her cheek against his chest, breathing in his familiar spicy scent laced with the fragrance of pipe tobacco. “I know. But Mother won’t let me. Just you wait and see.”

He grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. “Maggie, my Maggie, you’ve always been so impatient. I said I’d talk to her when the time is right. You’ll just have to trust me on this.” His eyes bored into hers, and his lips tipped up at the ends. She threw her arms around his waist. “Oh, I do trust you, Daddy.”

“Then be patient.” He kissed the top of her head, probably disturbing the style she’d worked so hard on this morning.

Mrs. Jorgensen stopped slicing the gingerbread and held the knife in front of her. “I thought you weren’t going to be home for lunch, Mr. Caine.”
“I’m not. I’ve only come by to pick up my beautiful wife. We’ll be dining with some friends at the Arlington House hotel downtown.” He gave Maggie another hug and left, presumably to find her mother.

“Would you be wanting another piece of gingerbread, kära?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to ruin my lunch. I have some things I need to do. Can I come back to eat a little later?” She hoped her father could prevail against Mother’s stubborn stance on the question of a trip to Arkansas.

Mrs. Jorgensen waved her out the door. “You’re probably not very hungry after that gingerbread.”
Maggie went into the library to retrieve her sketch pad, then headed upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted to get the drawing on paper again before she forgot any of the details. She pulled her lacy panels back from the side window and scooted a chair close. With a few deft strokes, she had the main lines of the dress on the thick paper. Then she started filling it in. As each line appeared on the drawing, she felt an echoing movement in her spirit. Deep inside,

she danced through the design as it took shape, much faster than the first time. She was so glad she could recall every detail.

While she drew, her thoughts returned to Grandmother Carter. Everyone said she took after her grandmother . . . everyone except Mother. Why isn’t she happy about my talent?

Maggie wandered through her memories, trying to recapture how it was when she was a little girl. She remembered Mother playing with her when they lived in the smaller, but comfortable house in Oregon City. They didn’t have servants then, but the three of them laughed and enjoyed life together. Then for some reason, her mother had started talking to her father every chance she got about moving to a larger place. Now that Maggie looked back on those memories, she realized that her mother seemed almost frantic to get away from where they lived, as if something were wrong with the town. Maggie never understood why.

She couldn’t have been more than five years old, but some of the events stood out. The hurry to leave town. The long trip. For quite a while after that, she missed playing with her friends. And she didn’t make new ones when they arrived. No other small children lived in the neighborhood. Even when she started school, she stayed to herself. She had been shy as a young girl.
After they moved to Seattle and her father bought one of the empty buildings and opened Caine Emporium, Mother changed. She became more distant, almost cold. She was no longer the laughing woman. If Maggie didn’t know better, she’d think something made Mother bitter. Maybe that was one reason she wanted to design this special dress. To brighten her mother’s life. Bring back the woman who sometimes flashed through her memory at odd times, making her long for the warmth she had luxuriated in as a small child. Finally, the drawing met her approval. Just in time to eat lunch. Maybe this afternoon she could finish the other sketch with the changes to make the dress more appropriate for her mother than herself.

Once again the kitchen welcomed her, and she enjoyed eating there with Mrs. Jorgensen. If Mother had been home, they would have had the meal in the formal dining room, complete with china, crystal, and silver. Such a fuss for an ordinary day.

“Margaret.” Her mother’s voice rose from the foyer below. “I’m home.”
Looking at the names of people she’d placed on the invitation list, Maggie finished writing Charles Stanton’s name and put the pen down. “Coming, Mother.”
She rushed out of her room and stood at the top of the staircase. “Did you want me?”
“Yes, dear. I thought we could get some shopping done this afternoon.” Her mother still wore her gloves and cape.

“Is it cold?”
Mother nodded. “It’s a bit nippy, so wear something warm.” “I’ll get my things.” Maggie hurried back to her room and gathered a light jacket, a handbag, and her gloves. When she arrived in the foyer, Mother stood tapping her foot

impatiently. “I had hoped we could buy most of the things we’ll need today.”
Maggie bit her tongue to keep from reminding her that she wasn’t the one who had frittered away so much of the day. If Mother wanted to go shopping, why didn’t they do it earlier? She could have gone along for the lunch with Daddy. But evidently Mother preferred spending time with Daddy instead of her. She took a deep breath and followed her mother to the coach sitting in front of the house. Mrs. Jorgensen’s son, who was their driver, stood beside the open

door, ready to assist them into the conveyance.

“Erik, please take us by the Emporium.” Mother took hold of his hand as she stepped up into the vehicle.

Maggie followed suit. “Why are we going to the store? Are we going to shop there?”
The door snapped shut, and Erik climbed into the driver’s seat. “I forgot to get money from your father when we were at lunch.” Mother settled her skirts as the coach lurched forward. “I believe your father is signing papers with young Charles Stanton this afternoon. It will be nice to see him again. Did you add him to your guest list?”

Maggie nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She hadn’t seen Charles since she was about sixteen, but she still remembered the girlish secret infatuation she’d had when she was younger. He’d been so handsome, and kind too. Would he be changed since he’d graduated from university? She would soon find out. She settled back into the carriage seat, suddenly looking forward to the afternoon’s events.

Letting Go of Worry Book Review

Letting Go of WorryLetting Go of Worry by Linda Mintle

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

We live in trying times and reading, “Letting Go of Worry” is a great way to remind ourselves that at the end of the day, there are things we can control and things that we can’t control and things that we just have to wait out and be patient about; However, being human, its hard to not want to see results now, instead of waiting.

For many, worry, seems to be our first nature; No matter what happens, that is the first thing we do, before finding out if there was something to even worry about and with, Linda Mintle’s, “Letting Go of Worry”, the reader is introduced to biblical based ways to stop worrying, really, stop worrying, and find ways to work through the issues that weigh heavily on our minds.

Like many good books that recognize that not all things are easily, “self-fix”, Linda does remind that,”If you feel you have excessive worry or worry to the point that it interferes with your everyday living, consider seeing a mental-health therapist trained in treating anxiety disorders. An evaluation can help determine if your worry has become anxiety. Anxiety disorders are treatable. There is help.”

“Letting God of Worry” are for the issues that are manageable on one’s own and unlike anxiety disorders, that really, needs the guidance and help of a trained professional, there are steps for everyday worrying that with work and prayer, can be worked through and the individual can learn how to manage.

What Linda Mintle covers are things such as:
the spiritual roots of worry
· what to do when anxious thoughts arise
· how to have peace about their health, job, money, and relationships
· practical ways to cultivate a truly worry-free life
· the biblical secret to lasting contentment

This isn’t a cure all….We are going to still have times in our lives when we are going to worry about something and who doesn’t, but we also have to find ways to make worry manageable where it doesn’t overtake our lives and control us.

“Letting Go of Worry” is one book to read and learn how, instead of letting worry control you, you control worry.


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:

 

Letting Go of Worry: God’s Plan for Finding Peace and Contentment

Harvest House Publishers (October 1, 2011)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Dr. Linda Mintle is a national speaker and bestselling author of more than 15 books, including I Love My Mother, But…and I Married You, Not Your Family. She appears regularly on several national television and radio shows and is a network news contributor. She also hosts her own website. In her general clinical practice, she specializes in marriage and family therapy, eating disorders, and infertility. A licensed clinical social worker, she holds a PhD in urban health and clinical psychology. She and her family live in Virginia.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Dr. Linda Mintle confesses that for years she believed worry was an inevitable byproduct of our modern, busy lives. But as she explored God’s Word for guidance, she discovered that worry isn’t supposed to be managed. It’s supposed to be released completely.

Through personal and biblical examples, Mintle reveals reasons and ways for readers to rethink their core beliefs as they surrender worry to God and discover:

· the spiritual roots of worry
· what to do when anxious thoughts arise
· how to have peace about their health, job, money, and relationships
· practical ways to cultivate a truly worry-free life
· the biblical secret to lasting contentment

With godly instruction, Scriptures for meditation, and the hope of a renewed perspective, readers can let go of worry and embrace a transformed life of peace, forgiveness, and faith.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (October 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930582
ISBN-13: 978-0736930581

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Everyone Worries, Don’t They?

There is a great difference between worry
and concern.  A worried person sees a problem, and a concerned person solves a problem.

Harold Stephens

Everyone worries, don’t they? Maybe, but that does not mean it is good for us! At the risk of sounding like a mom, I’ll say that just because everyone is doing it, does not mean we should. To believe worry happens and it cannot be stopped or controlled is wrong thinking! Our physical, emotional and spiritual health depends on dealing with worry the proper way.

You see, worry feeds on itself. It devours the soul and makes life miserable. It wastes a great deal of time and effort that could be applied elsewhere. Worry takes us down a negative path that typically ends in anxiety and distress, a path most of us want to avoid. And while we cannot change the facts associated with our worry, we can change our decision to worry. Worry invades our thoughts, but we decide if we will focus on it.

So the question is, is worry something we accept as a given and try to manage, or is it something from which we can be free? The answer is yes. Yes, we can learn to manage our worries. We can schedule a worry time each day, write down our worried thoughts, and do much more to manage it. Any therapist will tell you that worry can be managed. That is our job. We have an arsenal of tools that includes medications and behavioral strategies to help manage it. But is this the best we can do?

A better goal is to rid our lives of worry and learn to cultivate a life of peace and contentment. Personally, I am opting for a worry-free life, one that allows me to break away from the worry habit. Managing worry is too time-consuming and depressing. I have done it many times in my life. But from my faith perspective, managing worry is like managing adultery—both are just plain wrong and need to be stopped.

Like any habit, worry can be broken. To do so will take patience, intention, and understanding. We must pay attention to our bodies, examine our thinking, and look closely at our feelings. This means challenging the notion that worry simply happens and there is nothing we can do about it. There is much we can do about it, which is the focus of this book.

One of the reasons we hang on to worry is because it is easy to do. Worry helps us avoid the reality of the moment. It pulls our attention to an illusory world and allows us to disconnect for a short time. Although we may not be aware of it, a purpose is served when we worry. This is why it is so attractive.

In addition, most of us are good at worry. We have had many opportunities to practice. Worry has become a normal way of operating in our day-to-day living. It is like drinking our morning coffee, a habit we perform regularly without giving it much thought.

So here is the deal—you can worry and try to manage it, or you can choose to eliminate it from your life. The choice is yours. This book will focus on letting go of worry, not managing it. It will look at worry holistically and give you exercises at the end of each chapter to help you release it.

In order to say goodbye to worry, we begin by understanding the not-so-obvious but important difference between concern and worry. It is fine to be concerned about any number of issues, but not so fine to worry about them. Concern and worry are different.

What is worry?

The word worry is related to the ancient German word wurgen, meaning “to strangle.” Now there is a pleasant thought. Any word that has such a negative root cannot be good for us! Worry strangles the life out of us! It certainly feels that way when we worry. Worry is defined as “something or someone that causes anxiety; a source of unhappiness.” It includes both how we feel and think.

The word’s meaning has changed a bit through the centuries. Webster’s 1828 dictionary defines worry as “to disturb, to tease, to harass, to weary.” Today’s Webster says to worry means to harass, to annoy, or to bother. As a noun, worry refers to a state of mind; anxiety; distress; care; uneasiness. In other words, worry involves a state of mind and engages our mental process, leading to anxious feelings or an anxious state.

Thus, worry is a way to think, a mental habit. And this mental habit leads to feeling anxious. The focus of worry is typically future events where there is uncertainty about the outcome. To the worrier, the future is perceived as potentially negative, which creates feelings of anxiety.

Based on these definitions, are you beginning to see that worry is not associated with good things? Strangling, distress, disturbance, anxiety—not exactly the words we want to describe our behavior or thoughts! And certainly not words we associate with peace and calm.

Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my…

In the famous movie The Wizard of Oz, our heroine, Dorothy, cautiously proceeds down the yellow brick road searching for the Wizard, unsure of what she might encounter. Word is that lions, tigers and bears lurk in the dark of the forest, waiting to pounce on Dorothy and her companions. Concerned, Dorothy asks, “Do you suppose we’ll meet any wild animals?” The Scarecrow answers, “Mm, we might. Animals that eat straw?” The Tin Woodman replies, “Some, but mostly lions, and tigers, and bears.”

Dorothy, a stranger to the land, has no way of knowing how real or unreal the threat of attack is. She responds with her now famous “Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my…” Was that an “oh my…” of concern or worry? What is the difference between being concerned versus worried?

Both concern and worry involve thinking, taking energy to focus on important issues. Yet they are distinctly different. Concern is normal and natural. In her travels, Dorothy does not know what to expect and is asking questions. She is in a strange land and making a long journey to an unknown destination. What might be on the road ahead?

Worry, on the other hand, is destructive, unhealthy, and misplaced. Worried thoughts focus on negativity and the what- ifs in life. Whereas concern moves us forward, worry keeps us stuck. Worry is the Scarecrow paralyzed by fear. He does not want to move on down the road—what if the animals eat straw?

Concern involves caring and meeting a need. Concern is the Tin Woodman reassuring the Scarecrow that while there might be wild animals that eat straw, it is unlikely, and there is a bigger goal—finding the Wizard. In other words, Scarecrow, it is not all about you and the slight possibility of being eaten. Stop looking for trouble and start thinking about finding the Wizard!

Concern comes out of a maturity and growth. It involves the ability to see reality, feel empathy or compassion, and care about others. Concern says, we are in the forest, let’s take precautions but not lose our cool. Keep moving down the yellow brick road and solve problems when and if they materialize. Dorothy gets it, and she mobilizes the group to action.

Worry, on the other hand, is pointless and immobilizing. It circles the same problem with no real solution or control over what is happening. Most often it leads to anxiety.

In fact, worry causes more problems. It distracts from the goal, gets in the way of our destination, disrupts our plans, and creates havoc along the way. But concern prompts action that is in our control and works to solve the problem. It allows us to focus on a problem with the intent to do something about it.

Consider these comparisons between worry and concern. They will help you examine your thoughts and feelings:

WORRY CONCERN

Circles the problem Solves the problem

Brings inaction Brings action

Feels out of control Takes control where possible

Distracts from the problem Focuses on the problem

Disrupts a plan Puts forth a plan

Concern is normal—worry needs to be eliminated

Once we understand the difference between concern and worry, it is freeing. It is normal to be concerned about life, people, and circumstances. We care about others and plan for the future. However, what we do with normal concerns is important. The temptation is to allow them to become times of worry. This example illustrates the difference between someone who is genuinely concerned and someone who is worried.

When Bill lost his job, he felt terrible. There were bills to pay and mouths to feed. Without an income, there would soon be a problem for his family. Instead of worrying about what could happen if he failed to find employment, Bill immediately applied for new positions. He updated his resume, worked his contacts, and stayed active and positive looking for a new job. His appropriate concern over losing his job spurred him on. He realized the consequences and took action. And that is what concern does—gets us to focus on the here and now and not be distracted by the negatives of a situation. Concern also helps us plan and move forward. It does not disrupt our plans or keep us stuck.

A worried Bill would have acted differently. Worried Bill would have been up all night, rehearsing the possibilities of debt while feeling paralyzed by fear. Mentally, he would be thinking about what he could have done to avoid losing his job. While this might have been productive if it had changed his behavior for future employment and brought clarity to his job loss, all worried Bill does is focus on those things he cannot control—the terrible job market, his age and ability to compete with younger colleagues, finding a salary commensurate with his experience, and so on. Panic sets in, and worried Bill believes there is too much working against him. He is immobilized by worry—stuck. Anxiety overtakes him, and he makes no moves forward.

When you are concerned, you live in the moment but do not ignore the realities of life. You see problems and challenges but keep moving forward. When you worry, you also see problems and challenges but get stuck in them. There is no moving forward.

Concern does not need to become worry

So if our goal is to say goodbye to worry, how do we stop concern from morphing into worry? Is there a line between them? I believe so. And we must recognize when we have crossed that line.

To give an example, let’s say you had a fight and your spouse threatened divorce (this is a no-no in marital fighting!). The fight was heated, but you eventually worked through it. Apologies were made. Your spouse insisted he did not mean the divorce comment. The heat of the moment led him to say hurtful things.

The next week, another conflict arises and, for a moment, you recall the last fight: “Maybe he does want a divorce…” But you do not dwell on that thought and decide to deal with the present conflict. Once again, the two of you work through the conflict. Nothing about divorce was mentioned this second time. But then you revisit the thoughts you had a fight ago: “Maybe he was thinking about divorce and did not say it. He probably wants out of the marriage. What else is he not telling me?”

Your thoughts have now moved from normal concern to worry. Your “mind-reading” is causing you to feel distressed and think your relationship is in trouble. Rather than ask about that past comment, you fret over what could be real or unreal. The mental gymnastics of worry begin!

Something negative from the past is not a problem as long as you do not dwell on it and assume it will repeat. Worry is created when negative thinking sticks around long after the fact.

So in the example above, there was concern about the divorce comment, but that comment was over and done, a thing of the past. However, resurrecting the negative thought brought worry to the relationship.

Now, if you were bothered by the potential meaning of the divorce comment (was it careless, intended, a way to provoke, or something else?), then the proactive strategy would be to ask your spouse if he meant what he said, because it was hurtful and raised doubt in your mind. This is an action step and a way for you to take control over those potentially worrisome thoughts. With no move to action, the comment can take on a life of its own and turn to worry.

When we take apart the above example, we notice two things:

Something from the past was revisited and resurrected.
The negative was assumed, and the person operated in doubt instead of clarifying the comment (a problem-solving skill).
Concern moved to worry through revisiting the past and assuming the negative.

Here is another example. Jennifer noticed she was gaining weight. Her pants felt tight and she was eating when bored. Jennifer was concerned about the weight gain so she decided to make a behavioral change. When she felt bored, she worked crossword puzzles instead of eating. This activity distracted her. Concern about weight gain moved her to action and pushed her to make a plan and take control over an area of her behavior that felt out of control.

Jennifer could easily have moved her concern to worry. Here is how. She could focus her thoughts on how difficult it is to lose weight. After all, she has failed many diets and gained weight in the past. She could obsess on past dieting failures and also on how difficult it will be to break the current habit of eating when bored. What if she fails again? What is she does not lose weight? She will not be able to fit in her clothes. Her pants are already tight. This is depressing. Anxiety rises and she feels hopeless about doing anything. There is no moving forward because she is stuck in anxiety.

Basically, Jennifer is now circling the problem, becoming immobilized and doing no problem-solving. She allows distress to distract her from planning any helpful strategies. Her focus on past failures feeds worry.

Can we be concerned about events, issues, and people in our lives? Absolutely. Can we cry out to God about our concerns and feel deeply emotional? Certainly. King David did so regularly, as documented in the Psalms. Concern and catharsis are not worry. Worry goes beyond concern and catharsis and leads to a host of problems. In a word, worry looks backward and revisits failure and looks forward and assumes the worse.

Fear, a close relative to worry

Worry is often associated with fear. As with worry and concern, there is a difference between worry and fear. Consider this. If we are swimming in the warm Gulf waters and someone yells, “Shark!” fear is our natural response. Fear is a warning system built into our bodies as a natural reaction to danger. The danger is specific, timely, comes and goes quickly, and sharpens our senses. It is healthy to feel fear in the midst of a shark sighting. Fear acts like an alarm and often prompts us to action—in this case, swim as fast as you can and get out of the water!

Worry deals with what might happen and is a type of manufactured fear. So, for example, worry is when we again take a swim in the Gulf. There is no shark danger this time, but we worry that there could be. The entire time we swim, we feel anxious, thinking something bad could happen even though there is no evidence of it.

In this case, worry develops by thinking that danger could be hiding in those waters. In other words, worry takes fear and adds what if…to our thinking. Our thoughts move from the present reality to the possibility of danger. Although there is no present danger, we act and think as if there is. Worry remembers a time when a shark sighting happened and assumes it could happen right now. This resurrects fear.

Fear is often at the heart of worry. It motivates us to begin the what if cycle of worry. What if a shark is hiding? What if I get caught in the water? What if I cannot swim fast enough? What if no one sees me in trouble? And so on. Worry takes a real threat or a perceived danger (fear) and turns it into a way to focus on the uncertainty of the future: You could get hit by a car, struck by lightning, lose your money in the stock market, and so on ad infinitum. While fear can be traced back to a specific event or experience, worry is vague and ill defined.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychiatrist Dr. Edward Hallowell, a former Harvard professor, described worry as “a special form of fear.” He explained that simple fear becomes more complex once we add anticipation, memory, imagination, and emotion to the mix. This “special form of fear” consumes both time and energy and threatens our mental and physical health. He was right. When you break down worry, fear is usually behind the scene. And that fear can translate to worry when we allow our thinking, emotions, and imagination to take us there.

Worry and anxiety

You may also think that worry is not all that different from anxiety. I believe there is a difference, but it is a matter of degree and complexity. Anxiety has physical, mental, emotional, and behavioral components to it. When we are anxious, our heart races, palms sweat, blood pressure rises, and pupils dilate. Mentally, anxiety involves negative self-talk and negative automatic thoughts. Behaviorally, anxiety causes us to avoid or escape situations.

Worry could be thought of as the mental part of anxiety. It is a type of negative self-talk that promotes negative possibilities. It goes beyond normal thoughts of danger and threat and becomes a form of self-harassment that keeps us stuck and distressed.

Worry triggers anxiety arousal in the body. And when this arousal remains for a period of time, it can result in health problems, procrastination, relationship stress, and more. Like fear, chronic anxiety creates stress on the body and can get in the way of everyday living. On top of that, it steals our joy.

If unchecked, worry can lead to a host of anxiety-related disorders. When it becomes a way of life and involves multiple areas of living, it can develop into a generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). Health anxiety, or hypochondria, develops when benign body signs are interpreted as potential illness. Worry that takes the form of self-criticism, guilt, feelings of incompetence and helplessness, or pessimism can lead to depression disorders. Obsessive thoughts followed by compulsive behavior that is intrusive and frightening are what characterizes obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Panic is felt when worry involves a loss of control and fear. After a trauma, worry about more danger and flashbacks of the trauma can develop into posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Worry about embarrassment and social performance can intensify to a point of developing social anxiety or a social phobia. Finally, fear regarding an object or thing can turn in to a specific phobia like being afraid of dogs, spiders, or heights.

Here is the challenge. Understand that your body reacts to normal situations of fear and anxiety, but do not allow fear or anxiety to linger, like a dysfunctional friend. Become aware of worried thoughts before they become a chronic problem that is fear-based or anxiety-producing. Know the difference between worry and concern, between fear and anxiety. Do not allow worry to lead you to a state of anxiety and fear. The rest of this book will help you to achieve these aims.

Worry-Free Exercise

Body:

Check for physical tension. Do you have any of the physical signs of anxiety such as a racing or pounding heart, sweaty palms, difficulty breathing, stomach upset, frequent urination, diarrhea, muscle tension, headaches, fatigue, or insomnia? Be aware of your body and the physical sensations that creep in with stress, anxiety, fear, and worry.

Soul:

List your concerns—those things that bother you and could potentially become areas of worry. Using the table on page 21 (the differences between worry and concern), go through each concern and determine:

Is this a concern, or has it turned into a worry?
Is this concern something that is in or out of my
control?
If it is in my control, what am I doing about it?
If it is not in my control, can I allow it to be that way without worrying?

Your goal is to empty this list by the end of the book.

Spirit:

Take your concerns to God. Meditate on Deuteronomy 31:8:

The Lord himself goes before you
and will be with you;
he will never leave you nor forsake you.
Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

Note: If you feel you have excessive worry or worry to the point that it interferes with your everyday living, consider seeing a mental-health therapist trained in treating anxiety disorders. An evaluation can help determine if your worry has become anxiety. Anxiety disorders are treatable. There is help.

In A Place to Belong: Out of Our Comfort Zone and into God’s Adventure Book Review

A Place to Belong: Out of Our Comfort Zone and Into God's AdventureA Place to Belong: Out of Our Comfort Zone and Into God’s Adventure by Lisa Troyer

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Using five basic principles of:
* Acceptance, embarking on adventure in relationship

* Authenticity, exchanging the familiar for the extraordinary

* Affirmation, enriching the lives of those around you

* Accountability, receiving the comfort of companionship

* Action, stepping into the journey and walking into the purpose

Lisa Troyer, explores helping women address their heart needs in an ever changing world.

Everybody wants to belong somewhere.

Everybody wants to feel accepted and Lisa Troyer, explores in “A Place to Belong” how as women we need to step out in faith, trusting God and His guidance and growth and move beyond the strongholds that may keep us from growing as Christians, mothers, daughters, wives and women.

We live in a world of quick fixes, everyone seems to have answers that conflicts with each other, temporary solutions, just either don’t think or about, or talk about the things that are heavy on our minds, but often without a clear direction.

“A Place to Belong” is for those who even as an adult, find it hard, due to difficult pasts, bad choices, feeling social awkward, present situations, whatever is the case and to encourage women to move beyond being stuck always in the past, but to move forward, find those special relationships to grow and just not feel like there isn’t a place that as a woman, as an individual,that they don’t belong and in the process…potential miss in what God has laid out for them.

It seems that as women, we are pressured to be perfect when deep down we don’t feel like we are perfect or assume that the person next to us, must have it all together so something must be wrong with us, but in Lisa Troyer’s “A Place to Belong”, its a reminder that in God’s arms…we each have a place that we do belong and can belong and its just a matter of trusting Him, growing in and through Him and allowing Him to do what He needs to do in our lives.

This is a great book to share with those who you might feel need that little extra encouragement and reminder that they do matter.



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:

 

A Place to Belong: Out of Our Comfort Zone and Into God’s Adventure

Barbour Books (September 1, 2011)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Radio personality, recording artist, speaker and author Lisa Troyer finds herself heart-deep in ministries that are changing lives forever. Her incredibly successful Circle of Friends women’s ministry, formed over a decade ago, is growing in all directions. With partners Dawn Yoder and Jocelyn Hamsher, Lisa and her Circle of Friends offer women’s conferences, counseling services, worship music, life skills classes and marriage/family resources. No matter the outlet or the venue, Lisa uses her gift of encouragement, her influence and her resources to open doors for women everywhere to discover their significance and belonging through Christ.

Active on the business side of the music industry for many years, Lisa worked as a copyright administrator for what is now Provident/Integrity Music, as well as a consultant for well-known European Christian recording artists. In Nashville, she also sang demos for songwriters, but never dreamed of recording music herself.

After several years in Nashville, much to everyone’s surprise, including her own, Lisa made the decision to return home to join the family business and explore what kind of ministry God had planned for her. As Lisa began to develop a deeper, more intimate relationship with God and, subsequently, became more involved with the steady stream of hurting women God placed in her path, she knew that she had found her calling.

Lisa’s passion for God, authentic love for people and undeniable giftings have landed her dead center in the middle of a burgeoning ministry beyond her wildest expectations. She lives in Berlin, Ohio, with husband and best friend Bob, and their two precious children, Jillian and Christian.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Every woman needs a place to belong—and that’s the underlying theme of the new book from Lisa Troyer, president of Circle of Friends Ministries, singer/songwriter and radio host. In A Place to Belong: Out of Our Comfort Zone and into God’s Adventure (Barbour Publishing), Troyer shares her own journey to acceptance as well as the story of a group of dynamic “women helping women” who call themselves the Circle of Friends. Troyer encourages readers to form their own circle of friends, a safe place of truth and love where women can develop lasting relationships and discover together the purposes of God for their lives.

Though refreshingly warm and simple, A Place to Belong is far from shallow. Troyer’s passion to lead others into the bottomless love of God compels her to plunge deeply into the heart of the issues all women face, but most keep to themselves. With tendencies toward depression, anxiety attacks and an eating disorder, she knows firsthand the bondage of secrecy and shame. “Living with a secret,” Troyer admits, “doesn’t make it go away. It doesn’t change your heart. As well hidden as your secret it, that is how deeply lonely you will be. I’ve been there. I know it’s true.”

In A Place to Belong, she explores five principles that address the heart-needs of women today:

* Acceptance, embarking on adventure in relationship

* Authenticity, exchanging the familiar for the extraordinary

* Affirmation, enriching the lives of those around you

* Accountability, receiving the comfort of companionship

* Action, stepping into the journey and walking into the purpose

By learning to apply these concepts, women will not only experience freedom themselves but will also develop a biblical, transformational ministry to lead others within their own sphere of influence to freedom as well.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (September 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616265051
ISBN-13: 978-1616265052

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

I Had a Secret

This is my story. Acceptance means you can tell yours.

Day after day for four years in high school, I felt his eyes on me. His aftershave lingered in the aisle as he walked past rows of students, and I remember what his presence felt like when he stood close to me.
I kept his secret all that time and for many years afterward. Protecting him was not my agenda. I thought I was protecting myself.

I was not going to be one of those girls.

I was not going to get that kind of reputation.

He was a married man, and I was not going to give in to what he asked of me.
School is supposed to be safe, for crying out loud. He had no business doing the things he did, and I knew that at the time. But I was fourteen, a freshman in high school, and I didn’t want to walk the halls in my smalltown high school and have everybody see the cloud of inappropriateness that hovered over me. Who would whisper behind my back? Who would

pull away from me if they knew?

So I kept quiet.
He asked me out, and I kept quiet. He made physical passes at me, and I kept quiet. He offered to purchase alcohol for a friend, and I, sadly, accepted the offer. I remember the warm spring day in early May of my sophomore year when he asked if I needed anything for the weekend and suggested he join me for a drink. And I kept quiet. He looked at me in that way, and I kept quiet. I felt ashamed and confused, and knew this was wrong, but I kept quiet. I sat in his classes every year and earned awards. He was part of my day, part of my routine existence, and no one but my best friend ever suspected the things he suggested to me in private moments. She did not know everything, but she knew something was going on. But she kept quiet, too.
I wasn’t the first girl with whom this teacher behaved in inappropriate ways, and I wouldn’t be the last. I knew just enough about his previous victims to know their reputations were trashed. He was the predator, but they paid the price, and I was not going to let that happen to me.

So I said nothing.
But I had chronic stomachaches, repeated severe colds, wanted to sleep all the time, and hated going to school. School was never my favorite activity to begin with. I preferred to read what I was interested in and found little wonder in things that didn’t apply to my focus du jour. The heightened emotional pressure in high school made attendance even less motivating. My junior and senior years were especially difficult. My interest in music was increasing, but so were my level of frustration and signs of clinical depression, though I didn’t know the phrase at the time. I wonder now how I didn’t flunk out of school. Two elements of relief were my choral and humanities classes. I enjoyed singing and reading Wuthering Heights and other classic literature. I was thankful for the positive influence and encouragement of Penny McKey and Connie Evans, true educators in every sense of the word. Despite my emotional challenges, I managed to make the honor roll and progress toward graduation.

When I was a senior in high school, my stomach trouble took the form of a duodenal ulcer. Because the symptoms persisted after the ulcer healed, the gastroenterologist suggested my parents explore a psychological reason for my illness. I started seeing a psychologist, who officially diagnosed my clinical depression. His practice was not faith-based, but he had studied for the priesthood before getting married, and he encouraged my own faith. It was a safe place for me to say I was not okay without saying why I was not okay.

I still kept the secret.
After a while, my father had his doubts that the psychologist was doing any good, but I had recently turned eighteen. By the grace of God, the psychologist reminded me I no longer needed my parents’ permission to see him, and he offered to treat me for free for a few months. We spent a lot of time talking about my poor dating choices and areas of my life where I felt I had little control. Looking back now, I realize the therapist probably suspected more than he ever expressed. He was waiting for me to be ready to talk.
But still I said nothing.
My free visits with the psychologist got me through the months until graduation, and then I was free from that environment. I never had to see that teacher again. I was off to the Art Institute of Atlanta, far away from my small Midwestern town, to prepare for a career on the business side of

the music industry.
You can’t just walk away.
Just because I did not reveal what happened during high school did not mean the experience had no effect on me. It was years before I told anyone the whole sordid truth and faced the huge impact it had. The depression that began during those years has been a specter for all of my adult life.
On the outside, things looked good. My dad wanted me to take his financial investment in my education seriously, so he said, “No bad grades and no partying, or the money stops.” I didn’t intend to give him a reason to cut me off. I now enjoyed school. I was free from my tormentor. I could be anybody I wanted to be. People who struggle with depression and don’t take prescribed medications tend to medicate themselves with something else, and that’s what I did. I plunged into a whole new social life where no one had even heard of my school or the predator who gave me an ulcer. I amassed a new cadre of friends and relished the freedom of living in an apartment by myself. I even dated a young man who presumed we would marry someday—although I knew I would never marry him. Social activities stimulated me and became the core around which my life revolved. I looked forward—never back. I was grown up now, I thought. The past was behind me. I was never going to live in my hometown again, so I had no reason to dwell on the things that happened there. After graduation from the exhaustive one-year program and an internship with the retail division of Zondervan, a publisher with a music arm, I was ready to take on the world.

In those days, a career in the music business meant New York, Los Angeles, or Nashville. My parents objected to Los Angeles, and I had no desire to move to New York. That left Nashville. So off I went with a classmate. We planned to share expenses. Neither of us had a job, nor any

prospects, but the hope of youth springs eternal. However, my friend soon found that Nashville was not the place for her and resumed her vocation of ministry and education. So I was on my own.

And I still carried my secret.
In Nashville, at the ripe old age of twenty, I found a niche on Music Row, a historic area that is home to hundreds of enterprises involved in country, gospel, and Christian music. Record labels, publishing houses, recording studios, video production companies—they’re all there. I found a job singing demos for a studio in a music publishing company, but ultimately I wanted to work for a Christian company.

I kept inquiring at Benson Records, a major Christian music publishing company that belonged to Zondervan at the time. I grew up in a family business, and I knew the easiest department to get into was sales, where the turnover is always high. So I just kept asking. Eventually I got a job.

The woman who hired me said it was not because I had any experience that impressed her. Rather, my tenacity captured her attention. So I jumped into

the sales department ready to give it everything I had. Six weeks later, a job in the copyright administration department opened, and she recommended me for that promotion since I’d had some experience on Music Row with similar tasks.
My stubbornness paid off, and I had what I wanted. I was independent. I was out of the Midwest countryside. I was on my way to a career on the business side of the music industry. I worked for a Christian company.
I stayed in Nashville long enough to know I didn’t want to work for someone else the rest of my life. The family dairy business that was the backdrop of my childhood had imprinted me with a different mind-set. I had proven I could bulldog my way into the music scene in Nashville, but for what? My parents ran their own business and employed dozens of other people. In addition to his solid business, my dad was always pursuing interests he loved. He even bought a plane. I understand my father. He is never one to shy away from a challenge or an adventure. I wanted to find that elusive intersection between work that paid the bills and being involved with activities that brought meaning to my life. When Dad invited me to return home and join the family business, I took him up on it. I could have the security of the business behind me while also exploring what kind of ministry God had planned for me.

When I chose to move back to my hometown, people thought I had lost my marbles. Didn’t I realize how hard it was to get a job at one of the country’s largest Christian music companies? If I walked away now, I might never get another chance.
My broken past was behind me. At least, I convinced myself this was true. I was twenty-four years old—a lifetime away from that high school girl with a secret—and embarking on independent music industry consulting. I worked for Cliff Richard, one of England’s most popular recording artists, from a base in the rural Midwest. I also jumped right into making cold calls to find new distribution outlets for specialty items of the family business and turned out to be pretty good at the job.

But I still had a secret.
Secrets make you lonely.
Secrets can destroy from the inside. When I kept my secret, I thought I was protecting myself, but instead I isolated myself from people who cared about me. I put up a wall to try to keep myself safe, but instead I kept out people who would have wanted to help. I regret all the years I didn’t tell my mother what happened. As a teenager, I wanted to avoid the attention that surely would come from exposing the predator—my mother would have

made sure he lost his job. He continued to prey on high school girls and eventually was found out. I just didn’t want to be the one who made that happen, and I was clueless about how deeply the events would affect me as I launched into adulthood. As hard as I tried to pretend that what happened didn’t matter after I left high school, the episodes haunted me for years.
All these years later, I still feel naked telling this story, even without including the details. But I hope we are going to travel together on the road to a transforming life in God, so you need to know that this happened to me. In the pages ahead, you’ll read about a lot of heartache. Some of it is mine, some of it reflects the lives of women I know, and some of it rises from the pages of the Bible. And yes, there are some sordid details God thinks we need to know!

Keeping a secret doesn’t make it go away.

Putting on your mask doesn’t change what’s in your heart.

As well hidden as your secret is, that’s how deeply lonely you will be. I’ve been there. I know it’s true.

So I tell you my secret and invite you into my journey with God to encourage you to step into your own journey with God. I’m not suggesting you publish your innermost wrestling in the daily newspaper or on a blog or a billboard. But I do hope you will begin to see the bountiful blessing that can come to your life if you unclench your fists and let go of whatever you have been hiding from yourself. From others. From God.
Circle of Friends is a ministry of women who both seek and offer a place to belong, a place of acceptance, a place of truth and love.

This is my story. Acceptance means you can tell yours.

“Reclaiming Lily” Book Review

Reclaiming LilyReclaiming Lily by Patti Lacy

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“Reclaiming Lily” is a beautiful,  flawlessly written book, that would capture the heart and tears in the eyes, as the reader travels with the characters on a journey of discovery and understanding.

Set in Texas, and inter-spaced with tales of one of the characters experiences, growing up in revolutionary China, the reader is brought into the lives of two very different set of families, that are united through a common love and concern for Lily, the adopted daughter of Gloria and Andrew.

If I could rate,”Reclaiming Lily” with tissue boxes, I would have to say, you would need three tissue boxes (for good measure) prior to starting this book; Covering themes of adoption, family, what is family, mother-daughter relationships, faith, finding hope, and bridging cultural divides, one would think…how could an author manage to cover all that, but Patti Lacy is able to do that and more with, “Reclaiming Lily”.

By the time, I was finished with the book, I was bawling with tears of sadness and joy at the tightly woven story of two families, in two different countries, tightly woven in one girl, and the often complicated relationships and understandings that are prevalent with adoptions.

Patti Lacy, brilliantly, weaves a tale of two different cultures and presents to the reader, strong characters, that by the end of the book, you will find yourself captivated and unable to let go of the book, even knowing you’re at the end.

Normally, when writing about very strong characters, it seems difficult to balance,the many stories going on, but “Reclaiming Lily” is an amazingly strong book, that draws the readers in and before you know it, you are lost within the characters that are incredibly fleshed out, with rich, complicated backgrounds and present day struggles.

There are no confusions of where the story going, there is not finding oneself on rabbit trails, instead, there is a feeling, of, “I have to know more, don’t stop, not here, go on”.

Patti Lacy, presents real people, with real issues, and real emotions, that one would find in an often complicated situation of different values, beliefs and cultures and weaves together, seamlessly, a story of growth, understanding, and eye opening faith that just left me breathless with each page.

What words can describe how as much I would like to share this book with others, this is one of those rare gems, I hesitate to give out,for fear of not getting it back, but yet find myself, going, “You HAVE to read this book; It’s not just amazing, but just will take your breathe away”.

If you are seeking a story about the power of love, hope and what is family, I highly recommend to read, “Reclaiming Lily”.

If you’ve had a chance to read, “Reclaiming Lily”, I would love to hear from you, leave a comment and let me know what you think of this wonderful book!

If you are wanting a copy of “Reclaiming Lily”, check out this great giveaway!

Patti Lacy is celebrating the release of her latest book, Reclaiming Lily,  with a KindleTouch Giveaway, blog tour and FB Book Chat Party!

Follow the blog tour and read the reviews!

Patti and her publisher, Bethany House, are giving away a Reclaiming Lily prize package worth over $150 to one lucky winner!!!!

 

Enter the Reclaiming Lily Giveaway and you could win:

  • A brand new just released KindleTouch with Wi-Fi
  • $25 gift cetificate to Amazon.com

But, wait there’s more!


Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. Giveaway ends on 10/19! Patti will be announcing the winner of the Reclaiming Lily Giveaway at her Party on Facebook October 20th! She’ll be hosting a book club chat of Reclaiming Lily (it’s okay if you haven’t read it – you could win a copy!) and giving away other fun

prizes! (signed copies of her books and gift certificates to Amazon.com, Starbucks, & iTunes!). Don’t miss the fun at Patti’s FB Author Page on 10/20/11 at 5pm PST ( 6 pm MST, 7 pm CST, & 8 pm EST)! RSVP today!

Enter via E-mail Enter via FacebookEnter via Twitter

Disclaimer: This post contains my personal opinions and does not reflect the opinion of any organization I am/was associated with or affiliated to.The product I have reviewed was/is based on my honest opinion and was not influenced or edited by anyone and was provided by Litfuse Publicity Group for my honest opinion.

“God,I’ve Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest Concerns” Book Review

God, I've Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest ConcernsGod, I’ve Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest Concerns by James Merritt

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

  • Why is there so much suffering in the world if God is in control

  • How can I discover God’s will for my life?

  • Why is Jesus the only way to God, and how can I defend this?

  • What should I do about the moral gray areas of my life?

  • Why should anybody believe the Bible?


  • These are some of the questions, that we all have at some point of our lives or maybe have been approached with and sadly for many churches, believers are not as properly equipped to be able to “….Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have…..(1 Peter 3:15b)”

    With, “God,I’ve Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest Concerns” the reader, through gentle writing and anecdotes shared by Dr.James Merritt, are given basic instructions to handle some of the most challenging questions that are thrown their way.

    This isn’t a final answer but rather gentle guidance to some of the most challenging questions that are on believers and non-believers minds and filled with an extensive list of notes that influenced and supplemented Dr.James Merritt, the reader will find, “God,I’ve Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest Concerns” to be 202 pages of an easy going, but enough on the surface guidance to questions that many will have.

    I enjoyed the “light reading” of the book and at the same time, the fact that Dr.James Merritt presents a matter of fact approach to challenging questions that are also at the same time, gently written.

    The modern day, anecdotes really help bring to life the replies to questions that people may have and Dr. James Merritt really presents the material in a way that is not condescending, threatening or even questioning but rather….this is from the bible’s perspective of things, followed with a “real world” application of take a look at things from this way.

    “God,I’ve Got a Question: Biblical Truth for Our Deepest Concerns” is a wonderful read, the chapters are short, but precise in what Dr. James Merritt is gearing for the readers to glean, and a great read for anyone who may either have had this questions in mind or were wondering how to approach people who have had these questions.






    View all my reviews


    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:

    God, I’ve Got a Question

    Harvest House Publishers (October 1, 2011)

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

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

    James Merritt (PhD) is a pastor, author, and host of the Touching Lives television program, seen nationwide and in 122 countries. Previously, he served as a two-term president of America’s largest Christian denomination. As a national voice on faith and leadership, Merritt has been interviewed by outlets including Time, Fox News, and 60 Minutes. He resides with his family outside Atlanta, GA.

    Visit the author’s website.

    SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

    James Merritt, popular pastor, author, and host of the television show Touching Lives, knows that when people wrestle with doubts, they are missing out on the security, promises, and power of Christ.

    Avoiding academic lingo, Merritt presents relatable, relevant responses to the hard questions that seekers and Christians hesitate to ask or answer:

    Why is there so much suffering in the world if God is in control
    How can I discover God’s will for my life?
    Why is Jesus the only way to God, and how can I defend this?
    What should I do about the moral gray areas of my life?
    Why should anybody believe the Bible?
    Whether read straight through or used as a reference for specific topics, this insightful resource reveals the uncompromised truths of the Christian faith and the depth and importance of its precepts for every person, every life.

    Product Details:

    List Price: $12.99
    Paperback: 224 pages
    Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (October 1, 2011)
    Language: English
    ISBN-10: 0736940014
    ISBN-13: 978-0736940016

    AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

    God, Is the Bible
    Really Your Word?

    I am not sure how Bart found our church, but I’m glad he did. Bart is a skeptic by nature and had wandered into our church with a pocketful of questions about God, Christianity, faith, Jesus, and the church. I love apologetics, and I would rather witness to the “convert me if you can, buddy” type than the “I am so ready to become a Christian, where do I sign?” type. (You can occasionally find the latter, though more rarely as our culture becomes more secular.) Bart was just what I wanted.

    When I was informed of his interest, I set up an appointment to go to his house hoping to build a bridge to his heart. He intrigued me from the beginning. Bart reminded me of the rich young ruler, except he was anything but rich. A graduate of   The Citadel, his military background and training was evident from his firm handshake, confident demeanor, and his look-you-in-the-eye attentiveness. He was flanked by his family—a sweet wife who longed for Bart to come to faith and beautiful children. As I found out more about his background, I was warmly drawn to the military code of honor ingrained in his DNA.

    No small talk for Bart. He got right to the point as he began firing questions at me as if I were the target and his tongue were an AK-47. “Why are you a Christian? What is it about Jesus that is so different? How can I ever believe?” It became obvious quickly that the “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life” approach would get about as far as Rush Limbaugh at an ACLU convention.

    That night has now turned into a two-year conversation built around breakfasts, lunches, office meetings, and discussions about books I have given him by authors ranging from Lee Strobel to Josh McDowell. Frankly, it has been both frustrating and exhilarating. Sometimes it has been “three steps forward and two steps back”; at other times it has been “two steps back, forget forward.”

    The most enlightening meeting we had was our third one at a Cracker Barrel not far from our church. (I am convinced that the one place you can always feel the presence of the Holy Spirit, besides the church, is a Cracker Barrel.) I had moved Bart from atheism to agnosticism fairly early by admitting that no one can either prove or disprove the existence of God. He readily grasped the fact that taking an “I don’t know whether God exists or not” position is far more defensible than claiming an “I know for sure there is no God” approach that is possible only with perfect omniscience. Allowing for the possibility of a God enabled us to make progress on the spiritual track we were on together.

    As we waited on our breakfasts, we began the same procedure of circling each other like two boxers in the first round of a major title fight—neither wanted the other to land the first blow, and both wanted to avoid the dreaded knockdown.

    “Bart,” I began, “contrary to most philosophers, the most important question about God is not ‘Is there a God?’ ” That is what the infamous Dr. Lofton said that day in class and what most people assume is the question about any supreme being.

    “It’s not,” Bart said with eyes wide and eyebrows arched.

    “No.” I allowed a pause to get heavily pregnant before I continued. “The most important question about God is this: ‘If there is a God, has that God spoken?’ Bart, let’s assume that there is a God. Let’s retire for the time being any atheistic or agnostic thoughts. I know that’s a big jump for you, but humor me for a moment.”

    Bart shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reluctantly agreed to my scenario. I then took my AK-47 and began my rapid-fire salvo.

    “Does this God have a name? Does He know me? Does He care for me? Does He have a plan for my life? Can I have a relationship with Him? If so, how? What does He consider right and wrong? Is there life after death? Can I have a relationship with Him that transcends time and space? How can I live in such a way that pleases Him and keeps me on His good side? Why did He put me here?”

    As our breakfast was served, the look on his face was that of a boxer saved by the bell. I could tell he was trying to get his intellectual equilibrium back to counter what I admit was a self-conscious effort to knock him off balance and take the offensive early.

    He picked at his food, obviously deep in thought, then looked at me and admitted, “I don’t know how I could come up with the answers to those questions.”

    I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Bart, you can’t come up with those answers on your own, and neither could a thousand Einsteins. The only way we can know the answers to those questions is if God Himself told us—what’s known as divine revelation.”

    “So you obviously believe that God has spoken through the Bible.”

    “Yes.”

    Bart then leaned back in his chair and said, “That is a big problem because I don’t believe the Bible is God’s Word any more than I believe that this morning’s newspaper is. Both were written by men who we both know can and do make mistakes. Besides, at least today’s newspaper can be verified by present-day witnesses and other corroborating evidence. Why should I believe a book that is two thousand years old? After all, you are basing everything you believe on the Bible aren’t you?”

    I looked at Bart and thought that Jesus must have had similar feelings as He looked at the rich young ruler. On the one hand, I believed that Bart was being sincere in his question; on the other hand, I was saddened by his striking admission of complete skepticism toward God’s Word.

    (I give Bart a lot of credit for asking a legitimate question. It’s a question not only to be expected from an unbeliever but seriously contemplated by every believer as well. If you are a believer, let me ask you, “Why do you believe the Bible?” I suspect that most believers have not thought through this question, and if faced with a Bart, would quickly feel cotton in their mouths. It’s one thing to know what you believe; it’s another thing altogether to know why you believe it.)

    I took a deep breath and affirmed the legitimacy of Bart’s question. “Bart, you have raised a great question that reveals more about the differences we have than you think. I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to answer a question that will take us even farther down the road than I had hoped for at this meeting. Do you have the time for a very thorough answer?”

    He laughed. “I only have an hour.”

    “Then you just committed to another meeting, because an hour won’t be enough time.”

    “Seriously?” he said.

    I was deadly serious, and you’ll see why as I unfold to you my response to Bart over our next two meetings. I began by explaining the concept of a worldview, which is foundational to dealing with any essential question.

    First, everybody has a worldview. Everybody has a set of assumptions and presuppositions that determine the way they look at the world, their place in the world, and what they think in the world is really important. Regardless of your creed, religion, faith, or lack thereof, you bring to the table certain preconceived beliefs and codes that affect your view of truth, morality, and life itself.

    Everybody looks at this world through certain assumptions and presuppositions, some provable, some nonprovable. The Christian cannot prove that God exists, but the atheist cannot prove that God doesn’t. Both worldviews are based on faith.

    Second, there are only two basic worldviews—the Christian worldview and the non-Christian worldview. These worldviews are radically different at practically every point. Whether it is answering questions such as:

    Why is there something rather than nothing?
    How do you explain human nature?
    How do you determine what is right and wrong?
    How do you know that you know?
    What happens to a person at death?
    the Christian worldview gives answers radically different from every other non-Christian worldview.

    Third, every worldview is based on faith. Everybody looks at this world through certain assumptions and presuppositions, some provable, some nonprovable. The Christian has a worldview based on the belief that God exists. The atheist has a worldview based on the belief that God doesn’t. The Christian cannot prove that God exists, but the atheist cannot prove that God doesn’t. Both worldviews are based on faith. The question is, which worldview has the strongest evidence to support the faith of its adherents?

    Fourth, every worldview is only as valid as the evidence it is based upon. When answering essential questions, this concept must be kept in mind. It is at this point that the so-called “culture wars” are being waged. Chuck Colson put it this way: “The culture war is not just about abortion, homosexual rights, or the decline of public education. These are only skirmishes. The real war is a cosmic struggle between worldviews—between the Christian worldview and the various secular and spiritual worldviews arrayed against it.” 

    The first Sunday I was away at college, I attended a church and went to the small group (it was called Sunday school back then) for college students. As soon as the class started, a man got up without saying a word and wrote three questions on a chalkboard:

    Who am I?
    Why am I here?
    Where am I going?
    Mr. West would repeat that task every Sunday and then challenge us with some thought-provoking comments. After the first couple of Sundays, he arrested my attention with this declaration: “One word will determine what we believe and why we believe it. That word is truth.”

    Which worldview is true? Better, which worldview gives the right answers to those questions? If we are unable to answer those questions correctly, we have no discernible purpose or meaning to life.

    The Christian worldview goes beyond all other worldviews in one crucially important respect: It asserts not just truth but ultimate eternal truth. The Christian worldview provides answers for the three key themes that alone tell us what is wrong with the world and how it can be made right again, namely, creation, fall, and redemption.

    The doctrine of creation tells us we are not evolutionary accidents. We are a direct creation of the Creator of the universe. Practically all other worldviews deny this concept.

    At the same time, it is obvious something is wrong with this God-created world; either God blew it or this is not exactly the world God created. The Christian worldview tells us the problem is the introduction of sin into the world by the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden. Sin has corrupted the entire human race as well as the physical world we live in. The non-Christian view invariably denies that sin has anything to do with our problem.

    Finally, the Christian worldview tells us redemption is the only solution to the problem. We need a Savior to remedy the sin problem and to give mankind a new heart and a new mind that is truly centered on God. The non-Christian worldview denies the need for personal redemption at all.

    To many non-Christians, the Bible is no more than an antiquated collection of myths and fables. To others it is a good book, but it is not God’s book.

    If you are a believer reading this, then I know I am singing to the choir. But if you are a Bart, or even a nominal Christian, your question still remains, “But you get this view from only one source—the Bible—so why believe the Bible as opposed to any other truth source, religious writing, or human reasoning?”

    I concede it is not only a fair question but an inflammatory one given today’s culture.

    Most of this world denies that it is important to believe the Bible or even to consider it anything other than just another book. Recently, the Colorado Supreme Court threw out the sentence of a man given the death penalty because jurors consulted the Bible in reaching a verdict. The court said this constituted an improper outside influence and a reliance on a “higher authority.”  The Supreme Court of Colorado was saying in essence it is improper to consult the Bible because it is just another book.

    To many non-Christians, the Bible is no more than an antiquated collection of myths and fables. To others it is a good book, but it is not God’s book. On the other hand, two billion people, roughly one-third of this world’s population, claim to believe in the God of this book and to believe this is the book God wrote. Even the men who wrote it believed they were writing the very words of God.

    Jesus Christ made the ultimate statement concerning any word inspired by God’s Spirit when He said to the Father: “Your word is truth.”

    The biggest challenge to unbelievers—and their biggest objection to the Bible—is that it claims to be not just the words of men, but the Word of God. In the Old Testament alone, phrases such as, “God said” or “God spoke” or “the Word of the Lord came” occur nearly four thousand times (seven hundred times in the first five books, forty times in one chapter). Hundreds of years later, the apostle Paul said this about the Bible: “All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right” (2 Timothy 3:16 nlt).

    Yet Jesus Christ made the ultimate statement concerning any word inspired by God’s Spirit when He said to the Father: “Your word is truth.” 

    Now don’t miss the tremendous amount of ground Jesus covered with this statement. Jesus was not just stating that the Bible speaks truth. He was stating that this book is the very essence of truth and the standard by which all other “truth” is to be measured. Furthermore, this statement was made in a prayer Jesus was offering to God the Father. He was calling this word God’s Word. This book is God’s Word because it is truth and it is truth because it is God’s Word. But if this statement is true, there should be compelling reasons to believe the Bible is not just reliable truth but divine truth.

    My father taught me that “a man is no better
    than his word.” Well, neither is God, and He is perfectly willing to lay His reputation on the line behind the veracity of His Word.

    Put another way, a book truly written by God Himself should bear certain verifying marks and evidence that would confirm a divine imprint on its contents. Why? Because God will be judged by His words just as we are by ours. Think of how my skills as a writer, thinker, and researcher will be judged by those who read this book. Beginning with my editor, then my proofreaders, then my publisher, and finally my readers, this book will always be a reflection of me. How much more is God’s Word a reflection of His character, nature, and reliability? Perhaps that is why we read in the book of Psalms:

    for you have exalted above all things
    your name and your word.

    My father taught me early in life “a man is no better than his word.” Well, neither is God, and He is perfectly willing to lay His reputation on the line behind the veracity of His Word. But we should have solid reasons for believing that the Bible is God’s very word(s), and here are four reasons to support this claim.

    The Bible Is Historically Reliable

    What would happen if you chose ten different people from the same city to write a book about one controversial topic, such as the meaning of life? Now add these parameters: they share the same culture, same educational level, and the same language, but they are separated from each other, never allowed to talk to or consult each other. What are the chances that what they wrote would be in total agreement? You and I both know the chance of that happening would be zero.

    Now imagine a book that is actually sixty-six books in one, written over a period of fifteen hundred years by forty different authors living on three different continents (Europe, Africa, and Asia), writing in three different languages (Hebrew, Greek, and Aramaic) on many controversial topics, and yet all concentrating on one basic theme and all being in perfect agreement on their theological conclusions.

    Nobody can prove or disprove what has
    taken place in the past. All one can
    do is present the evidence.

    Would you expect there to be a literary symmetry from beginning to end with the last book being written well over a thousand years after the first one? Consider this: Genesis, the first book of the Bible, begins in a garden in paradise. In the middle of that garden are the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When you go to the last book of the Bible, Revelation, written some fifteen hundred years later, you end up again in the paradise of God and there once again is the tree of life “for the healing of the nations.”  In Genesis, man is driven out of the garden because of his sin and to keep him from eating of the tree that would have sealed his physical and spiritual death. In Revelation, he is invited to partake of the tree that symbolizes his eternal life and the removal of the curse. In Genesis, a river flows from the garden. In Revelation, a river flows from the throne of God. The golden thread that runs from Genesis to Revelation is the theme of redemption through blood sacrifice: lambs in the Old Testament and the lamb of God in the New Testament.

    But how do we know that all that the Bible says actually happened? How do we know it is fact not fable? How do we really know there was a Moses and a Red Sea crossing? How do we know there was a Goliath that David killed? How do we know there was a Daniel in the lion’s den? How do we know there was a Jesus, who died on a cross and came out of a tomb three days later? What reasons do we have to believe the Bible?

    Admittedly, nobody can prove or disprove what has taken place in the past. All one can do is present the evidence. I can’t prove there actually was a man named George Washington who served as the first president of the United States. All I can do is present the evidence. Here we need to keep two things in mind:

    The trustworthiness of any ancient historical account is based on the evidence for that account.
    The evidence must come from ancient documents and manuscripts. All ancient history is based on documentary evidence. Remember, DVDs, videos, televisions, and tape recorders didn’t exist a hundred years ago.
    Furthermore, critics love to point out that we don’t have access to any of the original documents penned by the biblical authors. We don’t have the original manuscripts that were first written when all these things took place. So how do we know we have the right stuff    ? How do we know Jesus even existed? How do we know we are reading actual historical events not made up myths? We are relying on accounts two to three millennia old. Well, to these critics we can enthusiastically say, “Glad you asked!”

    Have you ever heard of Julius Caesar? Ever read the writings of Plato? Studied Homer’s Iliad? Have you ever heard of anyone questioning the existence of any of those historical figures? Any professor of literature ever declare that Caesar was no more real than Mickey Mouse or that the Iliad really wasn’t written by Homer? Not lately…probably not ever.

    The number of manuscripts we have supporting the New Testament alone is almost forty times the number of manuscripts supporting the writings
    of Julius Caesar, Plato, and Homer combined.

    Yet these assumed to be actual historical figures and literary works have relatively shaky authentication compared to the Bible. Have you ever thought about how many copies or manuscripts we have of the ancient writings of these men and how close in time those documents are to their subject? Have you ever thought about what the time span is between the copies that we do have and the original documents? Let me just give you the manuscript evidence for the ancient writings for these three historical figures.

    Julius Caesar—earliest manuscripts one thousand years after Caesar lived; only ten manuscripts exist.

    Plato—earliest manuscripts thirteen hundred years after Plato lived; only 7 manuscripts exist.

    Homer—earliest manuscripts five hundred years after Homer lived; 643 manuscripts exist. Homer’s Iliad has the best manuscript support of any ancient text in the world next to the Bible.

    Now consider this—there are over 24,000 partial and full Greek manuscripts of the New Testament, the earliest one dating from just thirty five years after the book of Revelation was written. The number of manuscripts we have supporting the New Testament alone is almost forty times the number of manuscripts supporting the writings of the aforementioned historical figures combined. And the earliest manuscripts are just one generation removed from the oldest New Testament book.

    What about the Old Testament (which as you could guess is much older than the New Testament)? Recently I was in Qumran at the site of the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Fragments of almost every book in the Old Testament were found in these scrolls dated approximately 150 BC, only two hundred years after the last event of the Old Testament took place.

    No other book from the ancient world has as much manuscript support or is as closely tied to the original event as the Bible.

    Putting together all of these manuscripts and comparing them with the version of the Bible we have today, we now know that we have at least 99.5 percent of what would be considered the original document. No other ancient historical source can make that claim. But Bart still needed to ask, “How do we know they got their history right?” It is one thing to accurately record something, but that does not prove the veracity of the thing recorded.

    If I read a history book that says Custer’s Last Stand took place at Yankee Stadium while he was eating a chili dog in 1998, I would be disinclined to believe that history book. The number of manuscripts verifying the accuracy of the transmission of that account would be irrelevant. However, we have a tool to verify the historical accuracy of a document, and that tool is archaeology.

    There are hundreds of examples of how archaeology has confirmed the Bible, and entire books have been written on this one subject. I will give you just one. You probably have heard the story of how Joshua “fought the battle of Jericho and the walls came tumbling down.” For many years liberal critics denigrated this story as completely fabricated for several reasons. First, walls don’t just fall down flat because someone walks around them. Second, the Israelites could not have marched around that city seven times in one day because the city was too large. In many academic circles, the light of this story had been eclipsed by the facts on the ground.

    It is illogical to think that the God who created
    a universe that operates according to the
    scientific principles He built into it would not
    communicate in a scientifically accurate way.

    Then Professor John Garstang, a British archaeologist, excavated the site of ancient Jericho and discovered that the walls of the city had fallen so completely that the attackers were able to climb up and over the ruins into the city. Why was that so unusual? Because the evidence showed the walls had collapsed outward. Walls do not fall outward; when they are attacked, they fall inward. But in this case just the opposite occurred—just as the book of Joshua records.

    I recently visited this ancient site for the seventeenth time. Jericho is actually smaller than the seventy acres my church sits on. I could walk around Jericho seven times in one morning and then go play golf before lunch. It was entirely possible for the people of Israel to march around this city much more than seven times in one day.

    This one illustration is just the tip of the iceberg of the incredible archaeological confirmation of the Bible’s veracity. Dr. Nelson Glueck, by consensus the greatest modern authority on Israeli archaeology, said, “No archeological discovery has ever controverted a biblical reference…archeology continues to confirm a clear outline or in exact detail historical statements in the Bible.”

    As Jesus said, “Your word is truth.”

    The Bible Is Scientifically Correct

    The Bible is not a science book, but if it is true and if it is God’s Word, then just as you expect it to be historically reliable, you would expect it to be scientifically accurate. It is illogical to think that the God who created a universe that operates according to the scientific principles He built into it would not communicate in a scientifically accurate way. Another striking evidence that this book is divine truth and God’s Word is that many of the principles of modern science were recorded as facts of nature in the Bible long before any scientist ever confirmed them.

    Years ago many believed that the world was flat. Columbus had to overcome this popular opinion in order to finance the voyage that led to his discovery of America. Columbus was convinced as he sailed from Spain that he not only would not “sail over the edge” but that he would eventually find his way back to Spain. He wrote in his diary: “For the execution of the voyage to the Indies, I did not make use of intelligence, mathematics or maps. It is simply the fulfillment of what Isaiah had prophesied.” What prophecy from Isaiah was Columbus referring to?

    He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,
    and its people are like grasshoppers.
    He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,
    and spreads them out like a tent to live in.

    Columbus was convinced that the world was a circle, not flat, and that there was no danger at all of “sailing off the sea.” It never occurred to him that Scripture would be scientifically unreliable.

    Thirty percent of the Bible consists of prophecy,
    and not one of its prophecies has ever
    been shown to be false.

    Take the science of meteorology. You would expect the Master Meteorologist to know far more than your television weatherman. Years ago scientists thought that winds blew always in a straight direction. Of course, meteorologists now know that wind travels within circuits called “jet streams.” God’s Word spoke of them before Christ was born:

    Blowing toward the south,
    Then turning toward the north,
    The wind continues swirling along;
    And on its circular courses the wind returns.

    Until fairly recent times, doctors saw no need for washing their hands. Many people died from the hands of doctors themselves because they carried on those hands the very germs that would infect and kill their patients. Later, doctors began to wash their hands in still water, but the mortality rate remained high from infection caught from the very doctor who was trying to bring healing. Today, any doctor will tell you always to wash hands in running water to make sure the germs are washed away. Where did that lifesaving medical idea come from? “Now when the man with the discharge becomes cleansed from his discharge, then he shall count off for himself seven days for his cleansing; he shall then wash his clothes and bathe his body in running water and will become clean.”

    We now know that our first president, George Washington, died from a combination of pneumonia worsened by severe blood loss. The blood loss came from a common cure for many serious illnesses in the day—attaching leeches to the skin of the patient to “bleed” the illness out of the body. Usually the opposite effect happened: the patient would die from losing blood, the greatest source of energy and infection fighting power his body had. If only doctors had taken this verse seriously from a medical standpoint: “For the life of a creature is in the blood.”

    As Jesus said “Your word is truth.”

    The Bible Is Prophetically Accurate

    I would be hard-pressed to deny the veracity of the Bible just because of its incredible prophetic content and accuracy. No other book on this planet can match the Bible’s staggering accuracy in foretelling events. Thirty percent of the Bible consists of prophecy, and not one of its prophecies has ever been shown to be false.

    Many of the prophecies of Scripture are so specific and so detailed they demand an exact fulfillment. Jesus Himself fulfilled at least forty-eight different prophecies concerning everything from His lineage to His birth, death, and resurrection. The odds of any one person doing that would be one in ten to the 157th power.

    God’s truth should go beyond
    accuracy; it must be transforming.

    Not only that, many prophecies predicted extraordinary events, such as a virgin birth. In hundreds of instances, the fulfillment of the prophecy did not take place until after the prophet had already died.

    In the Old Testament alone, over two thousand prophecies have already come to pass. Nothing vaguely resembles this in any other book in the world. Twenty-six books claim to be divine Scriptures like the Bible, but not one of those volumes has any specific predictive prophecies.

    The Bible even does something unparalleled in any other literary work. It gives detailed predictions concerning entire countries, some of which are being fulfilled in the twenty-first century. One such fascinating example came to my attention.

    At one time, Egypt was the greatest nation in the entire world. It was the king of nations. It was the richest country on earth. In one prophecy about Egypt, the prophet Ezekiel said, “There shall no longer be a prince from the land of Egypt.”

    Until a few decades ago, before Egypt adopted a more democratic form of government, a prince always ruled her. But during the nearly twenty-five hundred years between this prophecy and Egypt’s change to its present form of government, none of its princes were Egyptian. That would be like prophesying today that an American will never again be president of the United States and then having twenty-five hundred years go by with no American president.

    How could anybody have predicted something like that? Only God could, who knows everything that will happen before it occurs and whose predictions become, by necessity, commands that must be obeyed.

    As Jesus said, “Your word is truth.”

    The Bible Is Personally Transforming

    Even if you have bought what I have been selling in this chapter, I still have one other thing to point out about the world’s bestselling book that should motivate believing it above all else. When I say the Bible is true, I mean the Bible is factual—it accurately records historical events. It is scientifically true—one should never worry about established scientific fact contradicting spiritual truth. It is prophetically true—it predicts many events that happened exactly as prophesied.

    But God’s truth should go beyond accuracy; it must be transforming. Something can be true and factual, but have no personal, spiritual significance. I can tell you the truth about how many buttons I have on the shirt I’m wearing right now, but who gives a rip? When I talk about the Bible being true, I mean it is transformationally true—it is capable of bringing about personal, spiritual, and eternal change in one’s life.

    Years ago I was pastoring a church in Laurel, Mississippi, and I had just finished preaching a sermon on the reality of hell (don’t hear many of those any more). Afterward a man came up to me and asked if he could see me in my office. After we sat down, he asked, “Do you really believe what you preached today?” I assured him I did. He then asked if I really cared whether people went to hell or not, and slightly miffed, I affirmed that I did. He then said, “Good. I want you to promise me you will go talk to my wife.” I told him I would be glad to. He made me promise again, to my great irritation, that I would. He then said with a sly gotcha grin, “You need to know two things about Diane—she is an atheist and she hates preachers. But you promised you would go.”

    I left my office feeling as if I had just been suckered into buying some beachfront property in Phoenix, Arizona. Nevertheless, on the following Tuesday night, Teresa and I made our way out to a doublewide trailer in 95 degree heat with all of the enthusiasm of facing a colonoscopy. (Now that I have had two, that is exactly how I felt.) We walked up to the door and were greeted by a lady wearing her hair in a bun, looking at us through thick black glasses with a scowl as menacing as a mother bear whose cubs have just been threatened.

    “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded.

    I wanted to say “Avon calling,” but instead I introduced us and said, “I’m the pastor of Highland Church and wanted to know if we could come in and visit with you.”

    “I’m an atheist and I hate preachers,” she spat out with more than a little venom.

    “I know,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you. But seeing as how we drove ten miles out here in this hot weather, could we have ten minutes of your time?”

    “I’ll give you two.”

    I decided to forego the usual ice-breaking small talk and jumped in: “Diane, do you know for sure when you die you will go to heaven?”

    “I told you I’m an atheist. I don’t even believe in heaven—and I know there is no God.”

    Praying hard and thinking fast, I said, “Diane, I don’t believe you are an atheist.”

    “Why not?”

    “Let me ask you a question. Do you know everything there is to know about everything?”

    “No, of course not.”

    “Would you say you know half of everything there is to know about everything?”

    “No.”

    “Well, let’s just pretend you do. Would you agree that in that body of knowledge you do not possess, God could exist?”

    “Wow! I never thought about that. Well, to be honest, I don’t know there is no God. I’m just not sure whether there is or not.”

    “Now we’re getting somewhere. You’re not an atheist, you’re an agnostic.”

    She smiled triumphantly. “Yes, that’s what I am, an agnostic.” (I didn’t tell her the Latin word for ‘agnostic’ was ‘ignoramus’—I didn’t think that would move things along in a positive fashion.)

    “Now, are you an honest agnostic or a dishonest agnostic?”

    “What do you mean?” she said through a puzzled look.

    “Well, an honest agnostic says, ‘I don’t know whether there is a god or not, but I’m willing to find out.’ A dishonest agnostic says, ‘I don’t know whether there is a god or not, and I don’t want to know.’ Which one are you?”

    “Well…I guess I’m an honest agnostic.”

    I asked her to wait in her chair. I went out to my car and brought her a New Testament. “This is a Bible. I want you to begin reading the Gospel of John, and I want you to read one chapter a day. After you’ve read each chapter, I want you to ask yourself two questions: Who did Jesus claim to be, and what am I going to do about it?”

    She gasped. “I don’t believe one thing in the Bible.”

    “Then it will do you no harm to read it. John has 21 chapters, so it’ll take you three weeks to read it. You won’t hear from me for three weeks. After you’ve finished, with your permission Teresa and I will come back and see where you are in your spiritual pilgrimage.”

    I then bid her goodbye as Teresa and I got up to leave.

    “Wait!” she almost screamed. “I don’t believe the Bible.”

    “I don’t care,” I said nonchalantly as I got in my car. “See you in three weeks.”

    This was Tuesday. On Sunday morning after I preached, I gave an altar call for people who wanted to commit themselves to Christ. To my palpable shock, here came Diane down the aisle smiling broadly as she reached out her hand to me. Showing my great faith in the transforming power of the Bible, I clumsily asked, “Why have you come?”

    With a smile as bright as a full moon on a clear night, she said,” I want to be baptized and join this church.”

    “Diane, you can’t do that until you’ve trusted Christ as your Lord and Savior.”

    “I have.”

    “When?”

    “Wednesday morning.”

    “But…”

    She giggled. “I didn’t get past the first chapter.”

    That evening I baptized Diane, and she became one of the most committed and faithful members of our church.

    I could tell you of many more like Diane, individuals such as Pravera, who recently came to our church and told me over breakfast how he was converted to Christ from Hinduism by closeting himself with the Bible, reading it from cover to cover, and concluding that Jesus was who He claimed to be. Pravera trusted Christ on his own in his bedroom. This world has billions of people whose lives have been eternally transformed by hearing the Bible preached or reading it on their own and believing. I challenge anyone to show me any religious work ever written that has such transformational power.

    Our second president, John Adams, put it best when he wrote in his diary. “Suppose a nation in some distant region should take the Bible for their only law book and every member should regulate his conduct by the precepts there exhibited!…What a utopia, what a paradise would this region be.” 

    In the end, there is one essential question about the Bible: Does it express our ideas about God or God’s ideas about us? Is it God’s Word to us or our words about God? Everybody on this planet has to make a decision. There are many sacred writings and religious books all saying different things about God, heaven, hell, creation, sin, redemption, and salvation. When it comes to these varying truth claims, there can be only two options. Option 1: they are all wrong. Option 2: only one is right.

    Perhaps the Bible could be just a bunch of myths and fairy tales, but the overwhelming evidence suggests otherwise. Some other religious book may be the real truth and the Bible could be totally wrong but again the evidence indicates the Bible can more than stand on its own against all other religious authorities combined.

    John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church, spoke best when he said, “I am a creature of a day. I am a spirit come from God and returning to God. I want to know one thing: the way to heaven. God Himself has condescended to teach me the way. He has written it down in a book. Give me that book! At any price give me the Book of God. Let me be a man of one book—this book, the Bible.” 

    No, Bart is still not convinced, but it has nothing to do with the evidence. As I said to him recently, “I have decided I am going to go with the man who came back from the dead, who said, ‘Your word is truth.’ I am going with the Bible.”

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