Word Sabbath - Doogie's Graduation

Who Made You a Princess

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:

Shelley Adina

and the book:

Who Made You A Princess? (All About Us Series, Book 4)

FaithWords (May 13, 2009)

Plus a Tiffany's Bracelet Giveaway! Go to Camy Tang's Blog and leave a comment on her FIRST Wild Card Tour for Be Strong and Curvaceous, and you will be placed into a drawing for a bracelet that looks similar to the picture below.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Award-winning author Shelley Adina wrote her first teen novel when she was 13. It was rejected by the literary publisher to whom she sent it, but he did say she knew how to tell a story. That was enough to keep her going through the rest of her adolescence, a career, a move to another country, a B.A. in Literature, an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction, and countless manuscript pages. Shelley is a world traveler and pop culture junkie with an incurable addiction to designer handbags. She writes books about fun and faith—with a side of glamour. Between books, Shelley loves traveling, playing the piano and Celtic harp, watching movies, and making period costumes.

Visit her book site and her website.


It's All About Us is Book One in the All About Us Series. Book Two, The Fruit of my Lipstick came out in August 2008. Book Three, Be Strong & Curvaceous, came out January 2, 2009. And Book Four, Who Made You a Princess?, came out May 13, 2009.


Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (May 13, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446179620
ISBN-13: 978-0446179621

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

NOTHING SAYS “ALONE” like a wide, sandy beach on the western edge of the continent, with the sun going down in a smear of red and orange. Girlfriends, I am the go-to girl for alone. Or at least, that’s what I used to think. Not anymore, though, because nothing says “alive” like a fire snapping and hissing at your feet, and half a dozen of your BFFs laughing and talking around you.

Like the T-shirt says, life is good.

My name’s Shani Amira Marjorie Hanna, and up until I started going to Spencer Academy in my freshman year, all I wanted to do was get in, scoop as many A’s as I could, and get out. College, yeah. Adulthood. Being the boss of me. Social life? Who cared? I’d treat it the way I’d done in middle school, making my own way and watching people brush by me, all disappearing into good-bye like they were flowing down a river.

Then when I was a junior, I met the girls, and things started to change whether I wanted them to or not. Or maybe it was just me. Doing the changing, I mean.

Now we were all seniors and I was beginning to see that all this “I am an island” stuff was just a bunch of smoke. ’Cuz I was not like the Channel Islands, sitting out there on the hazy horizon. I was so done with all that.

Lissa Mansfield sat on the other side of the fire from me while this adorable Jared Padalecki look-alike named Kaz Griffin sat next to her trying to act like the best friend she thought he was. Lissa needs a smack upside the head, you want my opinion. Either that or someone needs to make a serious play for Kaz to wake her up. But it’s not going to be me. I’ve got cuter fish to fry. Heh. More about that later.

“I can’t believe this is the last weekend of summer vacation,” Carly Aragon moaned for about the fifth time since Kaz lit the fire and we all got comfortable in the sand around it. “It’s gone so fast.”

“That’s because you’ve only been here a week.” I handed her the bag of tortilla chips. “What about me? I’ve been here for a month and I still can’t believe we have to go up to San Francisco on Tuesday.”

“I’m so jealous.” Carly bumped me with her shoulder. “A whole month at Casa Mansfield with your own private beach and everything.” She dipped a handful of chips in a big plastic container of salsa she’d made that morning with fresh tomatoes and cilantro and little bits of—get this—cantaloupe. She made one the other day with carrots in it. I don't know how she comes up with this stuff, but it’s all good. We had a cooler full of food to munch on. No burnt weenies for this crowd. Uh-uh. What we can’t order delivered, Carly can make.

“And to think I could have gone back to Chicago and spent the whole summer throwing parties and trashing the McMansion.” I sighed with regret. “Instead, I had to put up with a month in the Hamptons with the Changs, and then a month out here fighting Lissa for her bathroom.”

“Hey, you could have used one of the other ones,” Lissa protested, trying to keep Kaz from snagging the rest of her turkey-avocado-and-alfalfa-sprouts sandwich.

I grinned at her. Who wanted to walk down the hot sandstone patio to one of the other bathrooms when she, Carly, and I had this beautiful Spanish terrazzo-looking wing of the house to ourselves? Carly and I were in Lissa’s sister’s old room, which looked out on this garden with a fountain and big ferns and grasses and flowering trees. And beyond that was the ocean. It was the kind of place you didn’t want to leave, even to go to the bathroom.

I contrasted it with the freezing wind off Lake Michigan in the winter and the long empty hallways of the seven-million-dollar McMansion on Lake Road, where I always felt like a guest. You know—like you’re welcome but the hosts don’t really know what to do with you. I mean, my mom has told me point-blank, with a kind of embarrassed little laugh, that she can’t imagine what happened. The Pill and her careful preventive measures couldn’t all have failed on the same night.

Organic waste happens. Whatever. The point is, I arrived seventeen years ago and they had to adjust.

I think they love me. My dad always reads my report cards, and he used to take me to blues clubs to listen to the musicians doing sound checks before the doors opened. That was before my mom found out. Then I had to wait until I was twelve, and we went to the early shows, which were never as good as the late ones I snuck into whenever my parents went on one of their trips.

They travel a lot. Dad owns this massive petroleum exploration company, and when she’s not chairing charity boards and organizing fund-raisers, Mom goes with him everywhere, from Alaska to New Zealand. I saw a lot of great shows with whichever member of the staff I could bribe to take me and swear I was sixteen. Keb’ Mo, B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Roomful of Blues—I saw them all.

A G-minor chord rippled out over the crackle of the fire, and I smiled a slow smile. My second favorite sound in the world (right after the sound of M&Ms pouring into a dish). On my left, Danyel had pulled out his guitar and tuned it while I was lost in la-la land, listening to the waves come in.

Lissa says there are some things you just know. And somehow, I just knew that I was going to be more to Danyel Johnstone than merely a friend of his friend Kaz’s friend Lissa, if you hear what I’m saying. I was done with being alone, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t stand out from the crowd.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like this crowd. Carly especially—she’s like the sister I would have designed my own self. And Lissa, too, though sometimes I wonder if she can be real. I mean, how can you be blond and tall and rich and wear clothes the way she does, and still be so nice? There has to be a flaw in there somewhere, but if she’s got any, she keeps them under wraps.

Gillian, who we’d see in a couple of days, has really grown on me. I couldn’t stand her at first—she’s one of those people you can’t help but notice. I only hung around her because Carly liked her. But somewhere between her going out with this loser brain trust and then her hooking up with Jeremy Clay, who’s a friend of mine, I got to know her. And staying with her family last Christmas, which could have been massively awkward, was actually fun. The last month in the Hamptons with them was a total blast. The only good thing about leaving was knowing I was going to see the rest of the crew here in Santa Barbara.

The one person I still wasn’t sure about was Mac, aka Lady Lindsay MacPhail, who did an exchange term at school in the spring. Getting to know her is like besieging a castle—which is totally appropriate considering she lives in one. She and Carly are tight, and we all e-mailed and IM-ed like fiends all summer, but I’m still not sure. I mean, she has a lot to deal with right now, with her family and everything. And the likelihood of us seeing each other again is kind of low, so maybe I don’t have to make up my mind about her. Maybe I’ll just let her go the way I let the kids in middle school go.

Danyel began to get serious about bending his notes instead of fingerpicking, and I knew he was about to sing. Oh, man, could the night get any more perfect? Even though we’d probably burn the handmade marshmallows from Williams-Sonoma, tonight capped a summer that had been the best time I’d ever had.

The only thing that would make it perfect would be finding some way to be alone with that man. I hadn’t been here more than a day when Danyel and Kaz had come loping down the beach. I’d taken one look at those eyes and those cheekbones and, okay, a very cut set of abs, and decided here was someone I wanted to know a whole lot better. And I did, now, after a couple of weeks. But soon we’d go off to S. F., and he and Kaz would go back to Pacific High. When we pulled out in Gabe Mansfield’s SUV, I wanted there to be something more between us than an air kiss and a handshake, you know what I mean?

I wanted something to be settled. Neither of us had talked about it, but both of us knew it was there. Unspoken longing is all very well in poetry, but I’m the outspoken type. I like things out there where I can touch them.

In a manner of speaking.

Danyel sat between Kaz and me, cross-legged and bare-chested, looking as comfortable in his surf jams as if he lived in them. Come to think of it, he did live in them. His, Kaz’s, and Lissa’s boards were stuck in the sand behind us. They’d spent most of the afternoon out there on the waves. I tried to keep my eyes on the fire. Not that I didn’t appreciate the view next to me, because trust me, it was fine, but I know a man wants to be appreciated for his talents and his mind.

Danyel’s melody sounded familiar—something Gillian played while we waited for our prayer circles at school to start. Which reminded me . . . I nudged Carly. “You guys going to church tomorrow?”

She nodded and lifted her chin at Lissa to get her attention. “Girl wants to know if we’re going to church.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lissa said. “Kaz and his family, too. Last chance of the summer to all go together.”

And where Kaz went, Danyel went. Happy thought.

“You’re not going to bail, are you?” Carly’s brows rose a little.

It’s not like I’m anti-religion or anything. I’m just in the beginning stages of learning about it. Without my friends to tell me stuff, I’d be bumbling around on my own, trying to figure it out. My parents don’t go to church, so I didn’t catch the habit from them. But when she was alive and I was a little girl, my grandma used to take me to the one in her neighborhood across town. I thought it was an adventure, riding the bus instead of being driven in the BMW. And the gospel choir was like nothing I’d ever seen, all waving their arms in the air and singing to raise the roof. I always thought they were trying to deafen God, if they could just get up enough volume.

So I like the music part. Always have. And I’m beginning to see the light on the God part, after what happened last spring. But seeing a glimmer and knowing what to do about it are two different things.

“Of course not.” I gave Carly a look. “We all go together. And we walk, in case no one told you, so plan your shoes carefully.”

“Oh, I will.” She sat back on her hands, an “I so see right through you” smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “And it’s all about the worship, I know.” That smile told me she knew exactly what my motivation was. Part of it, at least. Hey, can you blame me?

The music changed and Danyel’s voice lifted into a lonely blues melody, pouring over Carly’s words like cream. I just melted right there on the spot. Man, could that boy sing.


Blue water, blue sky

Blue day, girl, do you think that I

Don’t see you, yeah I do.

Long sunset, long road,

Long life, girl, but I think you know

What I need, yeah, you do.


I do a little singing my own self, so I know talent when I hear it. And I’d have bet you that month’s allowance that Danyel had composed that one. He segued into the chorus and then the bridge, its rhythms straight out of Mississippi but the tune something new, something that fit the sadness and the hope of the words.

Wait a minute.

Blue day? Long sunset? Long road? As in, a long road to San Francisco?

Whoa. Could Danyel be trying to tell someone something? “You think that I don’t see you”? Well, if that didn’t describe me, I didn’t know what would. Ohmigosh.

Could he be trying to tell me his feelings with a song? Musicians were like that. They couldn’t tell a person something to her face, or they were too shy, or it was just too hard to get out, so they poured it into their music. For them, maybe it was easier to perform something than to get personal with it.

Be cool, girl. Let him finish. Then find a way to tell him you understand—and you want it, too.

The last of the notes blew away on the breeze, and a big comber smashed itself on the sand, making a sound like a kettledrum to finish off the song. I clapped, and the others joined in.

“Did you write that yourself?” Lissa removed a marshmallow from her stick and passed it to him. “It was great.”

Danyel shrugged one shoulder. “Tune’s been bugging me for a while and the words just came to me. You know, like an IM or something.”

Carly laughed, and Kaz’s forehead wrinkled for a second in a frown before he did, too.

I love modesty in a man. With that kind of talent, you couldn’t blame Danyel for thinking he was all that.

Should I say something? The breath backed up in my chest. Say it. You’ll lose the moment. “So who’s it about?” I blurted, then felt myself blush.

“Can’t tell.” His head was bent as he picked a handful of notes and turned them into a little melody. “Some girl, probably.”

“Some girl who’s leaving?” I said, trying for a teasing tone. “Is that a good-bye?”

“Could be.”

I wished I had the guts to come out and ask if he’d written the song for me—for us—but I just couldn’t. Not with everyone sitting there. With one look at Carly, whose eyes held a distinct “What’s up with you?” expression, I lost my nerve and shut up. Which, as any of the girls could tell you, doesn’t happen very often.

Danyel launched into another song—some praise thing that everyone knew but me. And then another, and then a cheesy old John Denver number that at least I knew the words to, and then a bunch of goofy songs half of us had learned at camp when we were kids. And then it was nearly midnight, and Kaz got up and stretched.

He’s a tall guy. He stretches a long way. “I’m running the mixer for the early service tomorrow, so I’ve got to go.”

Danyel got up, and I just stopped my silly self from saying, “No, not yet.” Instead, I watched him sling the guitar over one shoulder and yank his board out of the sand. “Are you going to early service, too?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “I’m in the band, remember?”

Argh! As if I didn’t know. As if I hadn’t sat there three Sundays in a row, watching his hands move on the frets and the light make shadows under his cheekbones.

“I just meant—I see you at the late one when we go. I didn’t know you went to both.” Stutter, bumble. Oh, just stop talking, girl. You’ve been perfectly comfortable talking to him so far. What’s the matter?

“I don’t, usually. But tomorrow they’re doing full band at early service, too. Last one before all the turistas go home. Next week we’ll be back to normal.” He smiled at me. “See you then.”

Was he looking forward to seeing me, or was he just being nice? “I hope so,” I managed.

“Kaz, you coming?”

Kaz bent to the fire and ran a stick through the coals, separating them. “Just let me put this out. Lissa, where’s the bucket?”

“Here.” While I’d been obsessing over Danyel, Lissa had run down to the waterline and filled a gallon pail. You could tell they’d done this about a million times. She poured the water on the fire and it blew a cloud of steam into the air. The orange coals gave it up with a hiss.

I looked up to say something to Danyel about it and saw that he was already fifty feet away, board under his arm like it weighed nothing, heading down the beach to the public lot where he usually parked his Jeep.

I stared down into the coals, wet and dying.

I couldn’t let the night go out like this.

“Danyel, wait!” The sand polished the soles of my bare feet better than the pumice bar at the salon as I ran to catch up with him. A fast glance behind me told me Lissa had stepped up and begun talking to Kaz, giving me a few seconds alone.

I owed her, big time.

“What’s up, ma?” He planted the board and set the guitar case down. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” I blurted. “I forgot to tell you that I think you’re amazing.”

He blinked. “Whoa.” The barest hint of a smile tickled the corners of his lips.

I might not get another chance as good as this one. I rushed on, the words crowding my mouth in their hurry to get out. “I know there’s something going on here and we’re all leaving on Tuesday and I need to know if you—if you feel the same way.”

“About . . . ?”

“About me. As I feel about you.”

He put both hands on his hips and gazed down at the sand. “Oh.”

Cold engulfed me, as if I’d just plunged face-first into the dark waves twenty feet away. “Oh,” I echoed. “Never mind. I guess I got it wrong.” I stepped back. “Forget about it. No harm done.”

“No, Shani, wait—”

But I didn’t want to hear the “we can still be friends” speech. I didn’t want to hear anything except the wind in my ears as I ran back to the safety of my friends.

Who Made You a Princess by Shelley Adina is the fourth book in the All About Us series about a group of teenage girls attending the elite Spencer Academy in San Francisco. Shanni Hanna has been on the sidelines in the previous novels, but she takes her turn on center stage here. In her senior year at the school, Shanni's deciding between Stanford and Harvard to get her MBA in business, but her love life has been pretty boring up til now. After meeting surfer cutie Danyel, Shanni's ready to find out what it means to be in love, but then Rashid, the Prince of Yamir, a oil-rich kingdom near Saudi Arabia starts attending the school and paying hard to ignore attention to Shanni. Shanni's hard pressed to choose between the two hotties: Danyel prays for her and writes sweet poetry, but Rashid gives her a $2 million diamond necklace and and never goes anywhere without his two bodyguards. What's a girl to do? I really love this series for teen girls. The characters are real without being cardboard stereotypes, and they struggle with issues of faith along with the real world troubles that make being a teen heaven and hell all wrapped together. The characters have been growing with each novel, and that makes them a joy to read. I was a bit worried that Adina was going to take the cliched road with this plot of prince vs pauper, but the twist is an unexpected doozy with implications that will still be rippling in future novels. I hope the senior year at Spencer Academy is extra long, because I will miss this series when it ends.

I've been avoiding making lists for Doogie's graduation party, which is unlike me, because I make lists for EVERYTHING. I think I was procrastinating because I didn't want to acknowledge the scope of this party. The invite list is inching close to 200! Which means that my list of food is woefully small, as are the chairs we have here! The next week will hopefully be controlled panic as things come together. I know that on Saturday, around 3:00 (an hour and a half after the party starts), I will finally start to breathe and recognize that everything's going to work out. Until then, dial my stress level to 11.

Rose House

This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
Rose House
WaterBrook Press (May 5, 2009)
by
Tina Ann Forkner


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Tina Ann Forkner writes contemporary fiction that challenges and inspires. She grew up in Oklahoma and graduated with honors from CSU Sacramento before settling in Wyoming. She lives with her husband, their three bright children and their dog and stays busy serving on the Laramie County Library Foundation Board of Directors. She is the author of Ruby Among Us, her debut novel, and Rose House, which recently released from Waterbrook Press/Random House.



ABOUT THE BOOK

A vivid story of a private grief, a secret painting, and one woman’s search for hope

Still mourning the loss of her family in a tragic accident, Lillian Diamon finds herself drawn back to the Rose House, a quiet cottage where four years earlier she had poured out her anguish among its fragrant blossoms.

She returns to the rolling hills and lush vineyards of the Sonoma Valley in search of something she can’t quite name. But then Lillian stumbles onto an unexpected discovery: displayed in the La Rosaleda Gallery is a painting that captures every detail of her most private moment of misery, from the sorrow etched across her face to the sandals on her feet.

What kind of artist would dare to intrude on such a personal scene, and how did he happen to witness Lillian’s pain? As the mystery surrounding the portrait becomes entangled with the accident that claimed the lives of her husband and children, Lillian is forced to rethink her assumptions about what really happened that day.

A captivating novel rich with detail, Rose House explores how the brushstrokes of pain can illuminate the true beauty of life.

If you would like to read an excerpt from Rose House, go HERE

The winner of Mark Mynheir's The Night Watchman was Sue Schaal, congrats to her! I'm starting a new book contest today in honor of Doogie's graduation from high school. Fans of Chicken Soup for the Soul take note! There will be two winners for this contest. The first will receive 3 Chicken Soup books: High School, Getting into College, and Campus Chronicles. The second winner will get 2 Chicken Soup books: Getting into College and Campus Chronicles. To sign up, just send me an email before 10am on Monday June 1st. I'll announce the winners here on Monday and start a new contest. Good luck!

Finding Faith in a Skeptical World

The award ceremony for seniors was this morning at 9am. I have been excited about attending for over a month, because I knew that he was being honored in video production (it was a secret his teacher let me know to make sure I would be there). Doogie is so busy this week with all of the senior events, but this was one of the few that I could take part in, and I was so looking forward to it. After dropping back down to 5mg of prednisone a day, I was having a hard time functioning this week. But I pushed myself to go to work yesterday. I was falling so far behind and was feeling terribly guilty about it, so I went in expecting to work the entire day. By eleven, I was completely done in. Last night I didn't sleep much at all, and I tried to catch up this morning, but I ended up calling Doogie and apologizing, because I just couldn't do it. There was no way I was going to be able to drive into town and then sit in the PAC for over two hours.

I called the doctor and begged for help, so I'm going in to see him tomorrow morning. No matter how bad the pain is, I have to see him in the hopes that he can find something to help me manage this pain. I cannot miss Doogie's graduation on Sunday! I'm getting better about not stressing when the house falls apart when I'm in pain, and Jesse's been taking care of everything so well. I've even been managing not to be grouchy in this midst of the pain; God has been pouring His peace out on my soul. But the idea of missing my oldest child, only son's graduation makes me want to cry.

I don't even know how to describe the pain. It's like something is eating away at each of my joints and its breath is like fire. Please pray for my relief and for God to give me the strength to make it to graduation.

Finding Faith in a Skeptical World by Chet Galaska is a first rate primer on the problems of faith. Galaska, a former atheist, comes at finding faith from the point of reason, explaining why belief in God makes sense. It's a tough argument in a world that has come to value relativism and turns to science for explanations for everything. Creation vs evolution, the crimes of Christians, the existence of Hell, all of these are difficult questions for those who consider faith to overcome. Galaska's book is perfect for them and for those who have recently come to faith. I've read many of these books, I understand that there isn't enough room for the author to address each of these issues in depth, so he provides some of the basic arguments for each of these and in the back gives resources for those interested in more resources. Some of his anecdotes are very powerful, especially the story about his son and a Golden book, and I appreciated his metaphor of a prism to viewing faith. It's a great kickstart to conversations about faith, especially for youth.

Today is your last day to sign up to win a copy of Mark Mynheir's The Night Watchman. Just send me an email before 10pm to get entered!

20 Boy Summer

For the last week or so Mia and I have been reading a chapter each night from one of my favorite books from when I was a child: No Flying in the House by Betty Brock. I read it repeatedly as a kid, so when I found it at Goodwill recently I couldn't wait to share it with Mia. Reading nightly to her is one of those goals that I always have, but rarely meet as often as I should. I'm a mom who tries to create "moments" for the family. You know what I mean; moments that will live in the collective family memory forever along with the beautifully scrapbooked pictures. Every one is dressed nicely with appropriate facial expressions, and everything, EVERYTHING goes according to plan, my plan.

Needless to say these moments are few and far between. I plan every minute item to make it perfect, but as things start going wrong, my stress level climbs until I'm snapping at everyone, and the moment is no longer perfect; it's not even one anyone wants to remember!

I started thinking about this the other day when I remembered a box that my mother let me play with very rarely when I was a child. It was light blue with pink flowers I think on the lid, and she kept it in the buffet in the music room. In my entire childhood, I think I only was allowed to play with it 4-5 times. Mom saved it for those rare occasions when I had completely and utterly exhausted every resource I had to save me from boredom. It was filled with Cracker Jack prizes she had saved from her own childhood: tiny plastic mazes, little figures of cowboys and Indians, joke books, etc. Each item was its own little treasure for me, and I took them out one by one and played with it before removing the next. Those afternoons are wonderful memories for me, but if those were the only memories I had of time with my mother, how sad that would be! Those were special moments, but they had very little to do with who I grew up to be.

I don't remember Mom and Dad reading to me nightly, although I know they did (Your duck's white and mine is pink. Both are jolly don't you think? Right, Dad?) because I was reading at four and obviously have retained a deep love of it today. I don't remember most of the afternoons I came home from school or the suppers Mom made every night either, but the collective warmth of the few memories I have tell me that love was a part of my daily diet from both my mother and father.

It's made me rethink how I try to schedule moments and times with my children. I think it's far more important for me to be there for them every day, supplying love and their daily needs, than it is to have those scrapbook ready moments. Mia will probably not actually remember me reading her No Flying in the House, but hopefully when she thinks about the book, she will remember it fondly and want to share it with her own child, because of the time we spend cuddling in bed while I do poor British accents and read about a little girl who can kiss her elbow.

20 Boy Summer by Sarah Ockler is a terrific beach read for older teenage girls and their mothers. Anna Reilly spent her entire childhood in love with best friend (and neighbor) Frankie's brother Matt. Anna's wish on her 15th birthday is for Matt to kiss her, and before the night is through, her wish comes true as Matt confesses his feelings for her. He makes her promise not to reveal their relationship to Frankie, because he will take care of that when their family goes to California for summer vacation. The day before the trip, Matt dies in a tragic accident, and the secret remains untold. Fast forward a year: Anna's going to California with Frankie and her parents, and the girls make a vow to meet twenty boys in their twenty days in the sun, but Anna's heart still belongs to Matt, and she doesn't know how to let go. Ockler does a wonderful job of depicting teenage love with its intensity and confusion. Her portrayal of the grief experienced by the girls is heartbreaking, from Frankie's acting out to Anna's withdrawal. Anna's emotions and hormones are running high, but Ockler handles that with sensitivity, while Anna doesn't always make the best choices, she has a good heart, and the reader can't help but ache with her. My fifteen-year old daughter Molly also read the book and said: I thought the book was good. It expressed a girl's thoughts very clearly, although it dragged at times. Molly finished the book almost as soon as she got it and has since reread some of her favorite scenes (like the birthday cake fight), which is always the mark of a book she truly likes. By the end of the novel, Anna learned a great deal about being a friend and in love and what it means to be true to yourself.

Just a warning for Christian parents/teens: this book would be rated PG-13 for some sexual scenes and alcohol use.

Today was Doogie's last day of school! He has a busy few days ahead of him: banquet, picnic, award ceremony, rehearsal, plus filling out job applications. The reality hasn't hit me yet; I'm not quite sure how I will react when it does.

The Night Watchman

I don't have a lot of profound thoughts today. I've been spending my time checking out a few websites that make me laugh like crazy, and everyone needs a little of that. Check them out for some laughs yourself!

CakeWrecks has pictures of professional cakes gone horribly, horribly wrong along with snarky commentary. Most are for all audiences, but there are a couple that would be PG-13, so keep that in mind.

AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com was featured in Entertainment Weekly so I'm sure they are getting a ton of extra hits this week. That's how I discovered them, and oh my goodness, it's funny!

The video from today I found on CuteOverload.com. Mia and I watched it Sunday afternoon when she was in a bit of a funk, and it perked her right up. I've since watched it with Doogie, Jesse, and Molly and I laugh just as hard every time. And I mean, come on, who doesn't want to see a cat yodel?

The Night Watchman by Mark Mynheir is the first in the Ray Quinn series about a retired police officer who can't seem to get detective work out of his blood. Ray was crippled by an ambush that also murdered his partner/fiance eleven months ago. Now he's working as a night watchman at a condo that doesn't require any more of his skills than his ability to do countless Sudoku puzzles to while away the hours. When a pastor and a prostitute are found shot to death in one of the condos, Quinn starts poking into the murder/suicide verdict, but what he finds brings him full circle, back to the shooting that ended his career. Myrnheir has created a great cast of characters for a possibly long running series: curmudgeonly Ray, naive Crevis, and faithful Pam, and they each come with intriguing subplots. Ray is an easy character to like with his love of all things John Wayne and his refusal to let the bad guy get away. His injury creates vulnerability as well as making sure that he can't be a superman who can fight his way through every battle. Ray has to rely on his wits and allies far more than most private detectives, and that makes me want to come back to read more of his investigations soon.

I'm giving away a copy of this book to one lucky reader! All you need to do is send me an email before 10 pm on Thursday, May 28th. Good luck!

Along Came You

I didn't sleep much last night and woke up with my hips aching. Mia was bored from three days of no school (I'm getting worried about summer!). The day did not start off on the best foot. After the bumpy start, I rested up and Mia played on the Wii for awhile. The weather has finally warmed up enough for me to enjoy my glider on the front porch. I grabbed a blanket, a couple of pillows, a book, and a bottle of water, even leaving my phone inside. I sat and felt the sun and gentle breeze on my face. I love the sound of my windchimes and the smell of lilacs. It was a perfect moment and I revelled in the peace.

Until Mia realized that I was outside without her. The Wii was immediately turned off and she flew outside with her own blanket and book. She opened her book and chattered away without ever seeming to take a breath. I tried to explain to her the joy of the smells and sounds and quiet of nature. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Oh how I love this peace! Mommy, I really love sharing peace outside here with you. Isn't it nice and peaceful out here just the two of us enjoying the peace. From now on, if I see you out here having peace, I'm going to come out here and have peace with you whether you like it or not, because I love having peace with you. This peace is so nice Mommy!"

I had a choice; I could snap at her and kick her off of the porch making both of us miserable in my pursuit of peace. Or, I could have some "peace" with my little girl who will only want to spend time with me like this for a short time. So we read a book for Mia and Mommy's Book Blog and took some funny pictures. She laughed so hard that we both nearly cried. The book we read couldn't have been any more appropriate for the day.

Along Came You by Karona Drummond and Estelle Corke is a touching look at how a mother's life changes after she has a child. First, Mia's thoughts: The book was about Mommy and me and how much we love each other. I really liked at the end where the mom said that life was amazing after you [the little girl]. That was the sweetest thing! There was a funny picture in there where the mom had food in her mouth so she looked like a walrus *giggles*. This book made me feel a thousand times a million happy because it reminded me of our family and my family makes me happy! It made me laugh, and I love to laugh! Now my (Mom's) thoughts. This book about a mother's love thoroughly captured the fun and joy of being a mother in the subtle and not so subtle ways our lives change. Meals, travel, and even sleep will never be the same after a child is born. Corke's illustrations have just the right amount of whimsy and emotion. The language is simple, and the repetitive structure allowed Mia to try to guess what was coming next. It's a sweet book, perfect for expecting or new moms, or even for old timers like me!

There is no more peace and quiet here. Molly's on the computer, Mia's on the Wii, Jesse's listening to his audiobook in the kitchen, and I, of course, am blogging. That's what passes for normal around here. I'll have to sneak a moment of peace another time...when Mia can't catch me! :)

A Passion Denied

After reading Mama's Got a Fake I.D. (reviewed yesterday), I can't help but think about my own identity. I was named Christina (Christina after my dad's grandmother and also after Christy by Catherine Marshall, I book I have yet to read) at birth, but before I even made it out of the hospital my father and Uncle Leon had nicknamed me Spook. No one has any idea as to the origin of the nickname, but it stuck for several years. My mother's entire side of the family calls me Christina to this day, and that is what I used in school until I was eleven or so, then I became Chris. My dad's whole family calls me Christy. I can always identify how someone in my life knows me by what they call me. Even my stepbrother Jeremy who I met just seven years ago call me Christina, not because that's how I introduced myself or refer to myself, but because that's what my mother calls me. People I went to grade school with call me Chris, so they are easy to identify. I underwent a serious identity crisis in junior high and changed my preferred moniker to Christy, and I've stuck with that in the twenty+ years since.

Sometime around the age of ten, my dad stopped calling me Spook and in high school my uncle's family reverted to Christina as well, and I have always felt like some important part of my identity, of who I truly am, disappeared with the evanescence of Spook, as crazy as that sounds. It feels like everything that fell apart in my life happened after she left, and I can't help but wonder who Christy would be today if Spook was still a part of her.

I've since acquired new names, as most women will. To my husband, I am Luv. When Doogie and Molly were small, they called me Mama, but with the birth of Mia and her calling me Mommy, they have since switched to Mom, which I prefer. When I think of myself by names, those are what I use: Christy, Mommy, Luv, those define me today.

Before Doogie was born I decided to name him after his father and grandfather, making him Douglas Bruce Kallies III. It does have a certain majesty to it, but it's quite a mouthful for a little guy. His dad was saddled with the nickname Boots as a baby (due to the casts he wore for clubfeet), and his entire family still calls him that. It's even his email address, so it's a name he wears proudly, but I wanted a little more say in what my son's nickname would be, hence Doogie. Yeah, I know what was I thinking?!? My father hated the nickname, so Doogie, like me, has a divided nickname based on his family. My side of the family calls him Buck, his dad's calls him Doogie. At school he's Tito (don't ask, I don't have a clue). And now I actually call him Bud more than Doogie.

Molly was named after the Irish folk song Cockles and Mussels, so her full name is Molly Malone Kallies, but the only time I ever call her that is when she's in big trouble. She seems to stick with Molly and doesn't have a lot of nicknames other than the occasional few I've used since she was born: Moll Doll and Molly Mae. Signing her name on Christmas cards is remarkably easy compared to signing the rest of us: Christy, Christina, Doogie, Buck, Doug, Mia, Belle.

Who's Belle, you may be wondering, well that's my dad again deciding he didn't like the nickname I came up with. Mia was born Amelia Isabelle Lockstein, named after a great-grandmother and a great-great grandmother. For short Jesse and I came up with Mia Belle, meaning my beauty, which has been shortened even further to Mia. That's how she is known at school and how we introduce her. Except that my dad's side of the family calls her Belle, which she loves. Jesse and I have a wide range of nicknames for her: Little Bear, Bella, Pookie, Babybear, along with the usual terms of endearment (honey, sweetie, dear). This is a little girl with a whole lot of names! In fact, the other day I called her Amelia because she was pushing her limits and she stopped dead in her tracks and said, "What did you call me that for?" I explained how I call the other two kids by their full names when they are in trouble and that she was getting close to the line. She accepted it without further comment, and changed her behavior, but it made me laugh to think that the only time she's called by her real name is when she's in trouble!

I wonder if as Mia gets older she will take on a different form of her name, maybe even revert to Amelia. Will Jesse and I drop certain nicknames as she matures, and will she miss them as much as I missed Spook? Does each of these names make up another small portion of our personality, or are they just silly names? I believe that there is a power in words. Each one of my kids' nicknames tells them that they are special to the one who uses it. Dad has recently assigned a nickname to Molly because she felt left out by Buck and Belle, so he calls her Max. So names must bear some weight on our souls, even the absence of them. I look forward to getting to the doors of Heaven someday and finding out what name Jesus has for me; that will be the one I truly treasure!

A Passion Denied by Julie Lessman is the third book in her potent Daughters of Boston series. Lizzie O'Connor has been in love with James Brady since she first set eyes on him when she was just thirteen. In the five years since, he has been her spiritual mentor and what was initially infatuation has grown into a mighty passion for a man who loves God with all of his heart. But Brady has some secrets in his past, secrets that he feel are too dark to ever dare expose them to Lizzie. His denial of his love for her sets up a chain of events that will change the entire O'Connor family. Lessman has created a true bodice-ripper for Christian romance fans without ever crossing the bounds of propriety. I love the honest conversations between the married sisters about the marital bed and the troubles they each face there. Faith and Charity are back with their fiery personalities still in place. Lessman further mixes up the plot by throwing the marriage of Patrick and Marcy, the parents, into jeopardy. Too often, books show couples experiencing passion and desire before marriage and then after the honeymoon phase showing only dissolution and drama. All of the O'Connors are filled with passionate love that expresses itself, even after twenty-six years of marriage. I don't think that this book was as strong as the first two in the series. Patrick & Marcy's troubles could have carried its own book, and Lizzie's constant running back to Brady despite his frequent demolishing of her feelings made me want to give her a good shake. She bounced from man to man a bit too easily. I do love how Lessman portrays Faith's dilemma of working after marriage, as well as other social issues of the 1920s that set the scene perfectly. I do hope that Lessman continues the series with Katie, the last of the O'Connor daughters, as well as the two boys: Steven and Sean. This is a family I look forward to spending more time with soon!

Doogie's at a Memorial Day cookout with friends. Molly's dogsitting for the weekend, and Mia's spending the day burning off energy at my mother's. The house is still except for my music and the sound of windchimes outside. I am loving every moment of this! Of course, I will be glad when they are all home again and the house is filled with the sound of their voices.

Mama's Got a Fake I.D.

After missing my doctor's appointment on Wednesday, he called and bumped my prednisone dosage from 5 mg a day to 20 mg a day. By that evening, I was already feeling the effects of the drug. The pain was reduced, I had lots of energy, and my handwriting became messy. The handwriting thing happens because I lose some fine motor control. It doesn't affect a lot, just writing, fastening a necklace clasp, things like that. Whenever I get a boost from prednisone, I always tell Jesse that while I may gain some weight, at least the house will get clean! This time is a bit different though. While my pain level has been reduced, it's still not anywhere near normal. I consider normal to be a 4-5 on a pain scale of 1-10. I can live and still get things done at a 5, when it starts creeping up the scale I become less and less capable. Monday-Wednesday of this week were 8.-9. I couldn't help crying from it, so while today being at a 6 is a relief, it's not what I'm accustomed to from steriods. I am at least tackling some housework. Our bedroom is straightened, and I'm hoping Jesse will help me tackle the closet this weekend. I'll finish the living room and maybe bathroom by the time Jesse gets home from work.

Today's pictures come from Friday night. Jesse's parents took us out for supper for his birthday, which he shares with his mother. We left Molly to babysit Mia with lots of junk food and instructions as to her bedtime. Mia was asleep when we returned home, and everything seemed normal. The next day Molly asked me if I had looked at the pictures she posted on her Facebook profile. Apparently Mia wanted them to do a photo shoot, so Molly took a few (39!) pictures. These are my favorites. I love my girls!

Mama's Got a Fake I.D. by Caryn Dahlstrand-Rivadeneira is a compelling, if a bit controversial, look at the role of motherhood in today's Christian woman. Being a mom is hard work, and sometimes the church doesn't make it any easier with its expectations of being the perfect mom. Some women seem to be able to wear the role with ease and make it look good. This book is for the rest of us. When I was growing up, I had lots of dreams for my future, and only a few of them were about being a mother. Of course as soon as Doogie was born, my future was irrevocably and blessedly changed, but my dreams didn't just die. Caryn addresses just that frustration. How do we, as women of God, be great moms and still use the gifts that He has blessed us with? How do we juggle the two roles without shortchanging our children or ourselves? Sometimes it feels as though the church expects every woman to be completely content with her role as mother and wife with no other creative outlet, and any deviation from that is considered abnormal. But God blessed us with a variety of gifts to be used in and out of our home, and as long as we are following his leadership, it's all good. Caryn offers moms hope and encouragement to be all that God created them to be.

The winner of Hero was Linda Langer. Congrats to Linda! I'll be holding two contests next week, one to celebrate Doogie's graduation from high school!

Hero

A good friend of mine suggested awhile back that I create an Ark of Faith for myself, to get me through the hard times. She defined it as a group of Bible verses that spoke directly to my heart and would remind me of God's love for me. Over the last year or so, even without meaning to, God had been building an ark like that for me. Every couple of months, I come across a verse that speaks to me, almost yells to me, and I cling to it. It becomes another brick of the wall of my growing faith.

A few weeks ago, I came across Psalm 42:8. But each day the Lord pours his unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing his songs, praying to God who gives me life. The image of God pouring his love out on my helped me wake up each day with a smile on my face. Other versions use command, direct or send for pour, but pour catches my imagination. Last week I read Ephesians 1:6 So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son. I got hung up on the word poured, and I couldn't help but wonder what else does God promise to pour out on us. I pulled out my concordance and started searching. Here are a few of the verses I found.

Ezekiel 39:29 I will no longer hide my face from them, for I will pour out my Spirit on the house of Israel, declares the Sovereign LORD.

Malachi 3:10 Bring all the tithes into the storehouse so there will be enough food in my Temple. If you do,” says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, “I will open the windows of heaven for you. I will pour out a blessing so great you won’t have enough room to take it in! Try it! Put me to the test!

Luke 2:20 In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.

Ephesians 1:6 So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son.

Job 36:28 The rain pours down from the clouds, and everyone benefits.

Zechariah 12:10a Then I will pour out a spirit of grace and prayer on the family of David and on the people of Jerusalem.

There were so many more, but when I got done, I found that there are several things the Bible promises that God will pour out on His believers: water/rain, the Spirit (this is promised the most), blessings (second most promised), glorious grace, prayer, His blood as a sacrifice, and unfailing love.

The last several days have been miserable for my pain. I even missed my doctor's appointment this morning, because I couldn't drive. My walk has become a slow shuffle, and the pain wakes me up in the night so I can't sleep more than a couple of hours. Waking up each morning feels like a curse, I'm in agony before I even raise my head. I usually fire off a few quick prayers before getting up in the morning (help me get Mia out the door on time, bless Jesse at work, let this be a good day), but on days like these, my prayers are more intense (strength to bear the pain, wash away the guilt of chores undone and obligations unmet). I've also begun praying to see God pouring out His promised blessings on me: the Spirit, grace, prayer, and unfailing love, and I'm praising Him for His sacrificial blood. I can feel the Spirit moving in me through these tough days; my blog posts are much deeper than usual as is my nightly devotional reading. I look forward to seeing just how God will show me His love each day.

Yesterday it was Mia who showed me His love. She was playing outside for awhile, but then came in with a "surprise" for me. Usually that means a handful of dandelions or pretty rocks from the driveway. But yesterday it was a basketful of lilac blossoms. I love lilacs, the beautiful shades of purple and the heady scent, but being in so much pain, I hadn't even noticed they had bloomed. Even now my bedroom is filled with the scent of lilacs, and every breath reminds me that yesterday He poured out His love for me through lilacs and my sweet little girl. Even through the pain, I can't wait to see how He will show it to me today, and that's motivation to keep me smiling and moving.

Hero by Fred & Jasen Stoeker should be required reading for every Christian young man and his parents. Fred, author of Every Man's Battle, faced a battle against the flesh that had been passed down from grandfather to father to son, until one day looking into his two-year old son Jasen's eyes, he decided that the generational curse of adultery and pornography would end with him. Because of Fred's decision, Jasen made his own decision to keep himself pure until marrying the woman God led him to, which didn't exactly make him the most popular guy in high school. Despite temptation and peer pressure, Jasen didn't even kiss his wife Rose until the minister gave them permission during their wedding ceremony. The authors attack the strongholds of deceit that society has instilled in our brains about sex: women want it just as much as men, finding out if you are sexually compatible before marriage is necessary, God gave men a sexual desire so He of course allows them an outlet, and other lies. Jasen talks about his walk through high school and college, facing derision and coming out a strong man of God on the other side. His wife Rose also offers her point of view on what a true hero of God looks like. Their revelations about how society has warped even Christians' view of sex are startling and enlightening. It's a powerful book with a must-read message

I'm giving away a copy of this book to one lucky reader. To enter the contest, just drop me an email before 10pm Thursday May 21st.

Gold of Kings

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:

Davis Bunn

and the book:

Gold of Kings

Howard Books (May 12, 2009)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Davis Bunn is the author of over nineteen national bestsellers, and his books have sold over six million copies in sixteen languages. The recipient of three Christy Awards, Bunn currently serves as writer-in-residence at Oxford University.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $24.00
Hardcover: 352 pages
Publisher: Howard Books (May 12, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1416556311
ISBN-13: 978-1416556312

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The rain pelting Seventh Avenue tasted of diesel and big-city friction. Sean Syrrell stared out the limo’s open window and let the day weep for him.

Sean gripped his chest with one hand, trying to compress his heart back into shape. His granddaughter managed to make the end of the block only because her aunt supported her. They turned the corner without a backward glance. Not till they were lost from view did Sean roll up his window.

Storm’s survival demanded that she be cut loose. He had fired her because it was the only way he could protect her. Sean knew the enemy was closing in. He had felt the killer’s breath for days. Storm was his last remaining hope for achieving his lifelong dream, and establishing his

legacy.

But the knowledge he had been right to fire her did little to ease the knife-edged pain that shredded his heart.

The driver asked, “Everything okay, Mr. Syrrell?”

Sean glanced at the young man behind the wheel. The driver was new, but the company was the only one he used ever since the danger had been revealed. If the enemy wanted a way to monitor his movements in New York, he’d handed it to them on a platter. “Why don’t you

go for a coffee or something. I’d like a moment.”

“No can do, sir. I leave the wheel, they pull my license.”

Sean stared blindly at the rain-streaked side window. He could only hope that one day Storm would understand, and tell Claudia, and the pair of them would forgive him.

Unless, of course, he was wrong and the threat did not exist.

But he wasn’t wrong.

“Mr. Syrrell?”

Sean opened his door and rose from the car. “Drop my bags off at the hotel. We’re done for the day.”

Sean passed the Steinway showroom’s main entrance, turned the corner, pressed the buzzer beside the painted steel elevator doors, and gave his name. A white-suited apprentice grinned a hello and led him downstairs. Sean greeted the technicians, most of whom he knew by

name. He chatted about recent acquisitions and listened as they spoke of their charges. The ladies in black. Always feminine. Always moody and temperamental. Always in need of a firm but gentle hand.

Among professional pianists, the Steinway showroom’s basement was a place of myth. The long room was clad in whitewashed concrete. Beneath exposed pipes and brutal fluorescent lights stood Steinway’s most valuable asset: their collection of concert pianos.

All but one were black. The exception had been finished in white as a personal favor to Billy Joel. Otherwise they looked identical. But each instrument was unique. The Steinway basement had been a place of pilgrimage for over a hundred years. Leonard Bernstein, Vladimir

Horowitz, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Leon Fleisher, Elton John, Glenn Gould, Alfred Brendel, Mitsuko Uchida. They all came. An invitation to the Steinway basement meant entry to one of the world’s most exclusive musical circles.

Sean Syrrell had not been granted access because of his talent. As a pianist, he was mechanical. He did not play the keys so much as box with the music. He lacked the finesse required for greatness. But fifteen years ago, he had done Steinway a great favor. He had located and salvaged the grand that had graced the White Palace, summer home to the Russian czars.

After the Trotsky rebellion, the piano had vanished. For years the world believed that Stalin had placed it in his dacha, then in a drunken rage had chopped it up for firewood. But Sean had found it in a Krakow junk shop the year after the Berlin Wall fell, just one more bit of communist flotsam. He had smuggled it west, where Germany’s finest restorer had spent a year returning it to its original pristine state. It was now housed in the Steinway family’s private collection.

The basement was overseen by Steinway’s chief technician. He and an assistant were “juicing” the hammers of a new concert grand. Sean spent a few minutes listening and discussing the piano’s raw tones. Then he moved to his favorite. CD‑18 was more or less retired from service after 109 years of touring. Occasionally it was brought out as a favor to a special Steinway client. The last time had been for a voice-piano duet—Lang Lang and Pavarotti. For fifteen years, Van Cliburn had begged Steinway to sell him the instrument. Yet here it remained.

Sean seated himself and ran through a trio of exercises. His hands were too stubby for concert-quality play, his manner at the keys too brusque. Added to that were his failing ears, which had lost a great deal of their higher-range tonality. And his strength, which these days was

far more bluster than muscle. And his heart, which still thudded painfully from firing Storm.

This time, it took a great deal longer than usual to leave the world behind. He hovered, he drifted, yet he was not transported. The tragic elements of his unfolding fate held him down.

When peace finally entered his internal realm, Sean switched to an étude by Chopin. It was a courtly dance, even when thumped out by his bricklayer’s hands. The instrument was bell-like, a radiant sound that caused even his antiquated frame to resonate.

Between the first and second movement, his playing transported him away from the realm of business and debt and his own multitude of failings. He knew others believed he harbored an old man’s fantasy of playing on the concert stage. But that was rubbish. He was here because twice each year, for a few treasured moments, an instrument brought him as close to divinity as Sean Syrrell would ever come. At least, so long as he was chained to this traumatic ordeal called life.

Sean detected a subtle shift in the chamber’s atmosphere. He was well aware of what it probably meant. He shut his eyes and turned to his favorite composer. Brahms was so very right for the moment, if indeed he was correct in thinking the moment had arrived.

Brahms above all composers had managed to form prayer into a series of notes. Yet Brahms had always been the hardest for Sean to play. Brahms required gentle eloquence. Normally Sean Syrrell played with all the gentleness of a drummer.

Today, however, Sean found himself able to perform the melody as it should be performed, as a supplicant with a lover’s heart.

Then Sean heard a different sound. A quiet hiss, accompanied by a puff of air on his cheek.

Sean opened his eyes in time to see a hand reflected in the piano’s mirrored surface, moving away from his face. It held a small crystal vial.

Sean’s cry of alarm was stifled by what felt like a hammer crashing into his chest. He doubled over the instrument, and his forehead slammed into the keyboard. But he heard none of it.

His entire being resonated with a single clarity of purpose, as strong as a funeral bell. He had been right all along.

Sean did not halt his playing. Even when his fingers slipped from the keys, still he played on.

His final thought was of Storm, which was only fitting. She was, after all, his one remaining earthbound hope.

He was carried along with notes that rose and rose until they joined in celestial perfection, transporting him into the realm he had prayed might find room for him. Even him.

Gold of Kings by Davis Bunn is a fast-paced suspenseful thriller about the quest for an ancient treasure. Storm Syrrell's world has fallen apart. Her grandfather Sean fired her from the family business of selling rare and high priced pieces of art just before dying of a heart attack. To make things worse, she's not even mentioned in the will. Harry Bennett has spent the last three years of his life wasting away in a jail cell in Barbados for a crime he didn't commit. Sean's actions in his last days will bring them together, along with federal agent Emma Webb on a search for treasures from the Second Temple in Jerusalem that sends that traveling across the globe and fighting for their very lives. In the growing genre of treasure hunting books, Gold of Kings is unique in its various subplots of family betrayal and international money laundering. Harry and Emma are a interesting, romantic couple who seem to have too many differences to ever overcome their chemistry, and Storm is the emotional touchstone of the book with her grief over Sean's death and her struggle to understand his life. There's a lot of suspense, double-crosses, and treasure, and it would make a fantastic movie. My one quibble with the book, is that I never felt emotionally connected with the characters. I didn't feel Storm's grief or the romantic sparks between Emma and Harry. Even the nail-biting scenes were a bit removed. I'm not sure why I didn't connect with this book, but if Bunn writes a sequel (as the ending seems to imply), I'll definitely check it out to give the characters who have so much potential another chance.

The 15,000 winner was Jill Lust. Congratulations Jill! I'm so blessed to have so many wonderful readers. I'm running another contest this week, so drop me an email to get in on this one! Hero by Fred & Jasen Stoeker is a terrific guide for young men who want to live life as a hero for the Lord.

15,000 Winner!

I have a winner, but unfortunately that person didn't drop me a message. So, these are a few of the identifying details: it's a regular reader, I see their ISP pop up every day or so, and he/she checked the blog at 6:50 am and again at 1:29 pm today. If this is you, please send me an email to claim your prize!

Ulterior Motives

I have to share something I gained from my devotional reading this weekend. I don't want to offend anyone with what I have to say, so if I do, I apologize, but this is a truth that God gave me that has deepened my faith and love for Him.

I'm still reading through Passionate Prayer by Catherine Martin, and I can't say enough good things about this book. I will honestly cry tears of sadness when I finish it, because my prayer life has grown so much while reading it. The lesson was about offering thanksgiving to God, and this was the passage I read Luke 7:36-50. One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to have dinner with him, so Jesus went to his home and sat down to eat. When a certain immoral woman from that city heard he was eating there, she brought a beautiful alabaster jar filled with expensive perfume. Then she knelt behind him at his feet, weeping. Her tears fell on his feet, and she wiped them off with her hair. Then she kept kissing his feet and putting perfume on them.

When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman is touching him. She’s a sinner!” Then Jesus answered his thoughts. “Simon,” he said to the Pharisee, “I have something to say to you.”

“Go ahead, Teacher,” Simon replied.

Then Jesus told him this story: “A man loaned money to two people—500 pieces of silver^i]">[i] to one and 50 pieces to the other. But neither of them could repay him, so he kindly forgave them both, canceling their debts. Who do you suppose loved him more after that?”

Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the larger debt.”

“That’s right,” Jesus said. Then he turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Look at this woman kneeling here. When I entered your home, you didn’t offer me water to wash the dust from my feet, but she has washed them with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You didn’t greet me with a kiss, but from the time I first came in, she has not stopped kissing my feet. You neglected the courtesy of olive oil to anoint my head, but she has anointed my feet with rare perfume.

“I tell you, her sins—and they are many—have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love.” Then Jesus said to the woman, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The men at the table said among themselves, “Who is this man, that he goes around forgiving sins?”

And Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I was supposed to write out how the woman showed Jesus her devotion, but I got hung up on the last half of verse 38. As Christians, we like to pretty up Jesus; we often have a hard time dealing with him being fully human while he was on earth. Paintings of him depict a handsome man, usually with European features wearing clean robes. But Isaiah 53:2 tells us differently: He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

Did you catch that? He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was not a handsome man, and living in the times along with the nomadic lifestyle he lived, his clothes were probably not all that clean, so then neither were his feet.

When my children were babies, one of my favorite things to do was to kiss their feet, and I had no qualms about doing so. Their feet rarely touched the ground, and they certainly didn't sweat or have hair on them. I'll still occasionally drop a kiss on Mia's feet after her shower, but you couldn't get me near Doogie's feet! Those size 12 feet are nasty! (Love you honey!)

If you read earlier in Luke 7, Jesus had recently come to Simon the Pharisee's house from Nain, a village near Nazareth, about 90 miles away! So Jesus walked 90 miles from Nain to Jerusalem to have a meal with Simon. He probably made several stops along the way, I think 15-20 miles a day was considered an average day's walk. Jesus reproves Simon for not washing his feet when He entered the house, so His feet had not been washed after His long walk. His feet were dusty and dirty from the day's walk in sandals, and they were probably hairy and sweaty. Now, if you're saying, "But He's the Savior!"well, yes He is! But He was also completely human! He suffered aches and pains just like we do, and he got dirty and sweaty. He probably suffered from heartburn and felt the ache in his muscles after a long day's walk. That's why He came here, to be like us so He could suffer for us.

Now this woman comes into a strange man's home. She kneels at Jesus' feet and begins anointing them with expensive perfume, and she's crying so hard, that she's washing his feet with her tears and wiping them with her hair. And she's kissing them. Now women, for a moment, imagine this with me: kneeling at a man's dirty feet, washing them with your tears, drying them with your hair and kissing them because of your heart full of love. When I think about doing this for Jesus, it's easy to imagine, but when I place Him in reality: dirty, sweaty, smelly, it's harder for me to contemplate what this woman did for Him. She completely and utterly abased herself in an extravagant show of devotion to Jesus.

Just thinking about her makes me wonder what happened before she walked into the house. How did she hear about Jesus? What did she hear that made her so sure He was her Savior? Did she go out and buy the perfume for this purpose or had she been saving it for something else? I think her tears were tears of pure joy, because she had found the Man who would change her life, take her away from the life of sin she was living in. She was washing Him clean, because she knew that He would wash her clean, and He did! Jesus scolded Simon for his lack of hospitality, and lifted her up for her service to Him. He didn't ignore her sins, in fact He called her out on them, but He did it in a loving manner, and immediately forgave her.

I am awed by this nameless woman's act of love that has been remembered for 2000 years, because I understand her tears. I know that the story focuses on the expense of the perfume, but I think that to Jesus it was her tears and kisses that were far more precious. It's easy for us to give materially, but it's far more difficult to give of ourselves, to give to the point that we are brought to tears. I am so thankful that Jesus is my Savior, and that while He doesn't pretend that I am perfect, He loves me anyway. It fills my heart to overflowing, and I know that I would gladly kiss His sandy, sweaty feet and wash them with my tears, wiping them with my hair. Serving Jesus isn't always easy, sometimes it's dirtier and smellier than we want it to be. We want our faith to be clean and tidy, but Jesus calls us to do and be so much more.

Would you do it? Could you do what she did? Are you ready to serve the Lord, no matter how messy it might get? I'm ready, Lord, here I am.

Ulterior Motives by Mark Andrew Olsen is an intriguing and timely look at how the US handles terrorists. Greg Cahill is trying to reclaim his life from the disaster it became after an accidental shooting brought his career with the FBI to an end. He's lost his son and his wife, but found Jesus and uses his faith to bring those in jail to salvation. Omar Nirubi is on America's Most Wanted list as the successor to Osama bin Laden. When the US captures Nirubi and finds information about an impending terrorist attack, they need information out of him, but when regular torture techniques fail, something wildly different, unorthodox even, needs to be used to get the details about the plot before millions of Americans are killed. Greg and Omar are brought together, and their collaboration will determine the fate of the nation. Olsen's suspenseful novel took about 50 pages to really get moving. Initially the dialogue is a bit stilted and the action clunks, but once Nirubi is captured, the story quickly takes off and becomes a compelling read. Just recently waterboarding and black sites have been all over the news, and Olsen handles the issues fairly with an even hand. The ending was a bit too pat; the behind the scenes maneuvering that makes so many of these books fascinating is missing at the climax, leaving the reader feel a bit left out of the action.

I think I'll have a winner today for the 15,000 viewer contest! So I'm starting another contest today. I'm giving away a copy of Fred & Jasen Stoeker's Hero. If you have a teenage son, this is THE book for him! Jasen Stoeker has lived his life as a hero of God, he refused to have premarital sex or even kiss a girl before he was married, and while that may sound extreme in our society of anything goes, God's word calls us to flee from any sign of sexual immorality. The Stoeker's offer a guide to young men on how to live as a true man of God. If you are interested in signing up, drop me an email before 10 pm on Thursday, May 21st. I'll announce the winner here on Friday. Good luck!

The Ministry of Motherhood

Today was the spring concert at the high school. It's bittersweet to me, because it's Doogie's last concert. I'm so glad Molly is still in choir, so I'll have two more years to enjoy this. The theme for the songs was movies, so we heard a lot of Disney songs, along with a few other gems. Doogie had a solo in the song Arabian Nights from the movie Aladdin. Molly's solo was The Circle of Life from The Lion King. Definitely one of those days where my heart could burst out of my chest from pride.


My RA has been miserable this weekend, and I took it easy all day yesterday reserving my strength for today. When I woke up this morning, it was iffy for me to make the concert from the pain, and church was definitely out. Thank God for giving me a wonderful Bible reading last night that truly touched my heart. I spent a lot of time praising Him then, and I know that He knows my limitations and doesn't love me any less for missing church on occasion, even if it does still make me feel a twinge of guilt.

The Ministry of Motherhood by Cheryl Lacey Donovan is a guide for mothers, especially single mothers from a woman with a powerful testimony. Donovan, a pastor's daughter, became a mother at the age of sixteen. Facing the guilt of letting her parents down, but still caught up in lust with her son's father, she married him and quickly came to regret it as he abused her physically and emotionally. Throughout those tumultuous years, Donovan looked to her parents who offered her unconditional love and support, modeling God's love to her, as well as what it means to be a good mother. She has taken those lessons and distilled them into this short, informative book. There are three distinct sections to the book's success. In the first, Donovan relates a portion of her life's story with great detail and emotion. The second portion gives Scriptural verses and stories about what she was facing and how readers facing similar troubles can take her experience and learn from it. After each of those chapters is a prayer written to specifically address that issue: single parenthood, defeating lust, overcoming guilt, etc. While the book suffers from a few grammatical and spacing errors, Donovan's writing is strong and vibrant. Her message to mothers is that we are the Bibles that our children read throughout their lives, and it is up to us to ensure that what they read is truly of God.

Less than 40 viewers away from 15,000 hits! I'm looking for viewer #15,000, and if it's you, you'll win two books and a coupon for a free bottle of Country Bob's Sauce! Scroll down to the counter on the right side and check the number, if it's 15,000, drop me an email!