Five Miles South of Peculiar by Angela Hunt is a poignant yet joyful novel of a Southern family finding its way home. The Caldwells of Peculiar, Florida have always lived in their estate The Sycamores, but in 2018, exactly fifty years after the death of the family founder, all of the property will pass into the hands of the city. Despite this looming deadline, Darlene and Nolie Caldwell continue living life at The Sycamores as it's been lived for the past fifty years, without thought of social networking or computers. Nolie spends her time sewing beautiful aprons and dreams of the day when she'll meet a good man to help ease the wounds of a past love. Darlene is a force of nature within Peculiar, running most of the town's groups, while almost having a relationship with the mayor. When Darlene's twin sister Carlene returns home from a successful life on Broadway (and hiding a secret), Darlene is at first thrilled to unite with her other half, but the twins were in love with the same man, who became Darlene's husband, and that wound is still tender and deep in them both. The three women are all looking for something, but they each need to heal the pain between them before they can find it. Hunt has created another powerful novel filled with people you not only want to know, but feel like you've met. This story may not have a time-traveling serial killer or vampires falling in love with ghosts; instead it has heart and a deep understanding of people. Hunt doesn't have to use flashy storylines to create a novel that is impossible to put down. The story of the Caldwell sisters will stay with me, because of Hunt's ability to craft such fully fleshed characters. I love the author's work, and this novel will certainly gain her some new fans.
Thank you to Glass Road Publicity for providing me with a copy of this book for review.
The Fine Art of Insincerity by Angela Hunt is an insightful look at the relationships that shape us especially that between sisters. Ginger, Penny, and Rose spent their childhood summers that their Grandma Lillian's cottage on St Simon's Island. Since then, they've racked up nine marriages between them, rivaling Lillian's seven marriages before her death. The three have grown apart in many ways over the years, and are forced to come together to clean out the cottage for its sale. Each woman arrives on the brink of major change in her life (even if she isn't aware of it yet). Penny has decided to leave her husband, Bob, because even though he loves her, he wants a child, and she's already found his replacement. Rose has postponed her impending suicide to spend this weekend fooling her sisters into thinking she's fine, so when she drives off of a bridge they will think it was an accident. Since a miscarriage two years ago, Rose has isolated herself from any joy in the world, including in her relationship with husband, Wort. Ginger has always felt like she knows better than her younger two sisters, especially after she nearly raised them herself after their mother's abandonment. She arrives filled with advice and judgment on their many marriages, but when a phone call to her husband Mike shocks her and shakes her foundations, she is forced to reconsider everything she thought she knew. Hunt is absolutely one of the best writers in the business. I love how she never shoves religion on readers. Narration alternates between the sisters, giving readers an inside view into their lives and how they view this weekend of reconciliation. This is a fantastic read about relationships, faith, love, and most of all hope.
Thank you to Glass Road Publicity for providing me with a copy of this book for review.
I've been getting a lot of offers lately to review books from publishers for "Christian fiction" that is anything but. Now I am not a reader who only dips her toe in the Christian fiction pond. I read a wide variety of genres, and while the majority of what I review is Christian, the majority of what I read is not, so I don't have an issue with secular books. I do however, have an issue with books that are marketed as Christian when they don't fit the mold. The mold is pretty broad, there are plenty of books that are Christian that never mention God's name or have a faith aspect. Angela Hunt is a genius at writing books like that; Christian themes of redemption, salvation, love, etc, without beating the reader on the head with lots of Christian language. Publishers need to understand that any book that has a child of Jesus and Mary Magdalene is not going to be considered Christian fiction by those readers. Instead they are going to be angry, hurt, and betrayed at the misleading label. Books that depict the Bible is being full of lies or the entire church as being evil cannot be considered Christian because they attack two of the core tenets of faith. It's a bit sad actually that some publishers are so clueless as to what Christianity actually is that they think that just because Jesus or the Bible are mentioned in the book, that it makes it Christian fiction.
On the other hand, I have been reading some terrific contemporary romances that are clearly Christian fiction, and reviewers are flambeing the authors because the main character isn't Christian enough or because the Christian elements are subdued. I think that those reviewers are doing a disservice to those authors. I sat in on a discussion with librarians about Christian fiction. Each one had selected a book from the genre to read and discuss at the meeting. One of the librarians was horrified by the talk about faith and Jesus that seemed over the top to her. It turned her off to the book, the author, and the entire genre, and that is so sad to me. Not every Christian fiction book will appeal to secular readers, but I think that if authors want to reach a broader audience, they occasionally need to tone down the jargon.
In one romance I read several months ago, the main character was not a Christian at the beginning of the book. She was living with her boyfriend and became pregnant. He left her, and she decided to have the baby on her own, with the help of some Christian friends and neighbors. At the end of the book, the character still hadn't had her come-to-Jesus moment, but she had learned some deep lessons about faith and had softened her view of Christians in general. Reviewers were vicious in their attacks on the book, the author, and the character. How sad! This was a fantastic romance that would appeal to a wide audience, but Christian readers attacked it because it wasn't Christian enough. Ugh!
Obviously there's a fine line between what is Christian fiction and what isn't, and that line is different for each reader. I often find Christian elements in completely secular writing (Dean Koontz, for example, has become very spiritual in recent years). I think that publishers need to be more aware of what Christian fiction isn't rather than try and market the new DaVinci Code to Christian markets. I also think that Christian readers need to keep their minds open to books with characters outside their comfort zone. I think that most Christian fiction authors would love to have one of their books break into the secular market, but unless we're willing to let those writers out of the box, it will never happen. Christians are supposed to be reaching out.
To be clear, Angelology, my review today, was NOT sent to me as Christian fiction, and I appreciate the publicist not trying to market it as such. Today's rant was about a few other books that I've been receiving/hearing about recently. Angelology by Danielle Trussoni jumps on The DaVinci Code bandwagon with a suspenseful story about the battle between angels and angelologists that has been fought for millenia. Sister Evangeline has lived most of her life at St. Rose Convent's Sisters of Perpetual Adoration. She knows that her parents were involved in dangerous research regarding angels, but nothing more. Verlaine has been hired by Percival Grigori to track down some mysterious letters between Abigail Rockefeller and Mother Innocenta, abbess of St. Rose, during WWII, but after meeting Sister Evangeline, his search quickly becomes a quest to save his life and discover what was so important in those papers. Trussoni has created a fascinating world in which history has been made by the Nephilim, an angel/human hybrid who have manipulated humans for their own gain. Only the angelologists have had the courage to oppose them, and the history of this battle makes for some great reading. The Nephilim make for terrifying villains, and the action scenes are very well written. The story bogs down about midway with a very long flashback through the eyes of (what was up til then) a minor character. The main characters aren't given the information that the reader now has, which makes for some confusion as to who knows what. The major twist is fairly obvious, but Trussoni handles it well leaving room for a sequel. My request for future volumes in the series is no more flashbacks that just break up the action and deflate the building tension. This is definitely a great beach read for the summer.
Thank you to Penguin Group for providing me with a copy of this book for review!
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!
Christy Award winner Angela Hunt writes books for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected. With over three million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of The Tale of Three Trees, The Note (which became a Hallmark holiday film), and more than 100 other titles. Angela has won gold and silver medals from ForeWord magazine’s Book of the Year Award and has received the Lifetime Achievement Award from a major readers’ magazine.
List Price: $13.99 Paperback: 228 pages Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (April 2, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 1414332955 ISBN-13: 978-1414332956
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
With one elbow propped on her desk, Peyton MacGruder chewed on the edge of a fingernail and glared at the clock on the wall. On days like this, when she was twenty minutes away from her deadline and far from finished with her column, she could swear that the minute hand swept over the clock face at double speed.
She transferred her gaze to the computer monitor and fluttered her fingers over the keyboard. Some days the magic worked and the words flowed. Other days she might as well be typing gibberish.
She skimmed the half-completed column on her screen and tried to focus her thoughts. Last week a reader had written that she was afraid to trust a brother-in-law who had stolen from her in the past. Peyton had answered that forgiveness was important, but experience could not be ignored. And when it came to matters of the heart, caution should always trump passion. Dozens of readers had e-mailed, filling her in-box with responses, most of them supportive.
Now she was working on a recap that included reader comments, but everything she’d written so far looked like extended self-congratulation. She needed a corroborating opinion . . . and any column could be improved with an appropriate quote, couldn’t it? She reached for her dictionary of popular quotations, scanned the index, and jabbed her finger at an appropriate entry. Smiling with satisfaction, she propped her reading glasses on the end of her nose and worked the quote into her piece:
And so, dear readers, when it comes to dealing with relationships, perhaps we should keep the words of Eumenides in mind. That venerable sage once wrote, “There are times when fear is good. It must keep its watchful place at the heart’s controls. There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.”
Perhaps a happy heart is, at its core, a cautious heart.
There. She leaned back and clicked the word count tool. Seven hundred words—not bad. The dragon lady shouldn’t have to cut any of this column.
After a quick proofread, Peyton clicked Send and addressed the file to Nora Chilton, senior features editor. Another click and away it went.
She turned as something slapped the surface of her desk. Mandi Hillridge, an overenthusiastic intern from the University of North Carolina Wilmington, stood in the aisle, her arms filled with folders. Peyton picked up the envelope Mandi had tossed her way and studied the return address. “Am I supposed to know this Eve Miller?”
Mandi shifted her burden from one arm to the other. “I doubt it. I think she’s a reader.”
Peyton ran her fingertip across the ragged edge. “Why has this letter been opened?”
“Because Phil Brinker didn’t check the address before he tore into it. Our stellar mailroom staff mistakenly delivered it to him while he was in New York working on that story about the media covering the media. He just got back and told me to bring it to you.” Mandi stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “You want me to go fuss at the guys in the mailroom? One of them’s kinda cute.”
Peyton glanced over the short walls of the reporters’ cubicles and saw Nora stepping out of the elevator. “No.” She propped both elbows up on her desk. “I want you to get me two Tylenol. Extra strength.”
“You have a headache?”
“Not yet.”
Mandi turned in time to see Nora approaching, a folded newspaper in hand. Even from her desk Peyton recognized the distinctive banner that contained her byline and staff photo. Had Nora come down to complain about a column that had already run? She wouldn’t, unless one of the higher-ups sent her to confront Peyton about some obscure point.
“About that headache—” Mandi lowered her voice—“I’ll bring the bottle.”
The young woman hurried away as Nora approached Peyton’s desk. The editor waved the paper before Peyton’s anxious gaze and nodded. “By the way, about this column last week? You were absolutely right.”
“That’s a nice change.” Peyton managed a smile. “About what?”
“Passion. It should always be tempered with caution. Especially when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
Peyton straightened in her chair, not certain why the editor had felt compelled to personally deliver this bit of elaboration. “You speaking from conviction or firsthand experience?”
Nora managed a coy smile. “None of your business. Anyway, you’ve been doing really good work lately. I had my doubts at first, but you’ve grown into the job.”
“You came all the way down here to pat me on the back?”
“Actually, I came down here to tell you that in addition to writing the Heart Healer, I’m going to need you to handle a feature or two for the Lifestyles section. We got the call last night; Marlo Evans had a baby boy, so she’ll be out on maternity leave for the next several weeks.”
Peyton dropped her head to her hand and groaned. “Why not use freelancers?”
“Because I don’t have the patience or the finances to deal with neophytes. The budget cuts have made it necessary for all of us to pick up the slack now and then. Besides—” her mouth curved in a wry smile—“you’re fast and you’re good at researching. A feature or two shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
“But I’m swamped with—” Peyton swallowed the rest of her complaint as sports editor King Danville moved into her line of vision. A warm feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and brought a smile to her lips. Would she ever stop feeling all gushy and girly whenever King approached her desk?
King glanced at the features editor before returning Peyton’s smile. “Hello, Nora.”
Nora’s chin dipped in a stiff nod. “Kingston.”
Like a flower seeking the sun, Peyton shifted to face the man who had recently brought new joy to her life. “I was just telling Nora that these days I don’t have time to keep up with my column and write a weekly feature, no matter how occasional it is.”
Nora glanced from Peyton to King and then arched a brow. “Perhaps if you temper your newfound passion, you’ll find the time.”
King grinned as the editor smiled and moved toward the elevator; then he pulled a white bottle from his jacket pocket and shook it. Peyton placed the familiar rattle within seconds: Extra Strength Tylenol, as requested.
“Ran into Mandi in the coffee room,” King explained. “She said you were going to need these.”
“She was right.” Peyton sighed. “Nora seems to think I can sit down and whip up a decent feature while I’m outlining my next column. I don’t know where she got the idea that I’m some kind of writing machine.”
“Maybe from the fact that you write so fast you make the rest of us look like we’re moving backward.”
Peyton shook her head, unwilling to accept praise she didn’t deserve. She knew the truth—she could turn an assignment around quickly because outside the newspaper office she had no life. While other writers struggled to work amid the pressures of family schedules, children’s homework, school events, sporting activities, and the needs of a spouse, Peyton only had to take care of herself and her two cats.
At least that’s the way things were before King and Christine came into her life. The situation was a little different now, and she was feeling the pressure.
“I’m not that fast,” she insisted. “And I’m not that versatile.”
“Then don’t cave so quickly, MacGruder. Just because Nora’s your boss doesn’t mean you have to let her push you around.”
“I was ready to push back until she played the guilt card. When she mentioned the budget cuts, I realized how lucky I am to even be employed. How can I not agree to write whatever she wants?”
“That’s what I like about you—you’re a solid team player.”
“I’m a pushover.”
King smiled and stepped to the side of Peyton’s desk. “In that case, I’d better prescribe two of these—” he held up the bottle of pain relievers—“or one of these.” Before Peyton could point out that they were surrounded by coworkers in cubicles, he bent and pressed a kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes, ready to forget about an audience of staff reporters, clerks, and copy editors, but the kiss didn’t last.
She looked up at him, unsatisfied.
“Do any good?” he asked.
“Not sure. Try again. Maybe increase the dosage.”
He bent, his lips warming hers with more passion this time. When he finally pulled away, Peyton exhaled a long sigh of happiness . . . and the writers around her erupted into applause.
Peyton grinned as her cheeks warmed. “They approve.”
“I don’t give a fig about them. What did you think?”
“Um . . . better.”
“Only better? Well, you know what they say about practice making perfect . . .”
As the other reporters hooted and King leaned in for yet another kiss, Peyton pressed her palm against the center of his chest. “You know, it’s this kind of temptation that led to Marlo Evans’s maternity leave. And in turn, to my impending headache. So maybe we should get back to work.”
With a roguish grin, King straightened and stepped away from her chair. “Yes, ma’am.”
“But after work—” Peyton squinted at him—“would you want to go for a jog with me and Christine? We wanted to run the paths down by the shoreline.”
King shook his head. “Enticing offer, but I’ve got to run out to the university after I finish up today. David needs to talk to me about something. He says it’s important.”
Peyton nodded, once again reminded that their relationship was not as simple as it would have been if they’d met in their twenties. She had Christine to consider, and King had David. Both children, hers and his, were nearly grown, and both had been forced to deal with the aftermath of their parents’ unwise decisions.
“MacGruder.” King’s voice, warm and insistent, drew her from her thoughts. “Maybe I’ll stop by your place later.”
“I’d like that.” Peyton offered him a forgiving smile. “I’ll be waiting.”
King took two steps toward his office, then halted. “Hey—” he turned, propping his arms on the cubicle wall—“I found an interesting e-mail in my in-box this morning. A friend in New York said my name recently came up in a board meeting at the Times.”
Peyton felt a frigid finger touch the base of her spine. “The New York Times?”
He chuckled. “Hard to imagine, huh? Moving from the Middleborough Times to the Gray Lady?”
“Your name came up in a board meeting? What does that mean, exactly?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ll keep you posted.”
As he walked away, exchanging gibes with other writers as he passed their desks, Peyton felt fear blow down the back of her neck. Any other journalist would be salivating at the thought of writing for the Times, but King never seemed to get ahead of himself. Contentment was one of his primary virtues, and Peyton hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on his ability to remain satisfied with the status quo.
What would she do if she lost him?
The thought struck like a blow to the chest, stealing her breath. Until recently, she had managed to keep herself detached from complicated personal relationships. But then the tragedy of a horrific plane crash taught her about the brevity of life and the importance of connection. Now she was desperate to understand two precious people, but understanding took time, and time was something she no longer possessed in abundance.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and steady her pulse. No one was abandoning her; the world had not shifted on its axis. Her imagination was simply working overtime, a tendency that nearly always resulted in needless worry and borrowed trouble.
With her gift for imagining disaster, maybe she should have been a novelist.
When she swiveled toward her computer, determined to set her fears aside and tackle her e-mail, her gaze fell again on the envelope from Eve Miller. The postmark was five days in the past, so by now the woman’s comments were old news. And in an electronic society, old news was dead news.
Peyton tossed the envelope into a bin filled with unopened letters and turned her attention to her in-box.
***
Peyton slid behind the wheel of her car, tossed her purse into the empty passenger seat, and fumbled with the buckle of her seat belt. When she was certain the car’s computer wouldn’t scold her for forgetting some vital procedure, she turned the ignition switch and waited for the automatic seat to slide forward, tilt, rise, and whatever else it did to adjust to her frame.
King had talked her into buying this vehicle last weekend, insisting that her old car was only a few miles away from imploding. “Ninety-eight thousand miles?” he exclaimed after glimpsing her odometer. “Good grief, MacGruder, are you going for some kind of endurance record?”
She had to admit the new vehicle was nice, but its myriad bells and whistles bewildered her. She hadn’t taken the time to read the manual, and she barely managed to sit through the salesman’s demonstration. “I don’t have time to fuss with fancy gadgets,” she told the desperate young man who had greeted her and King at the auto dealership. “So just point me toward something safe and inexpensive. Something I won’t have to give up chocolate to afford.”
Like a village matchmaker, the salesman grinned and fixed her up with this sleek blue machine, which he kept calling a crossover—a cross between a sedan and an SUV. She had a feeling the vehicle was too big to be economical or politically correct, but since an entire row of similar vehicles waited behind a fence at the dealership, the manager was probably eager to move his inventory. Regardless, the car earned good crash ratings, it used less gasoline than a tank, and it had the one accessory she couldn’t live without: a CD player.
Before putting the car in gear, Peyton punched the button of the stereo system and relaxed when the professional reader’s voice poured through the surround sound speakers. She’d bought this audiobook about mothers and daughters shortly after telling Christine the truth about their relationship—yes, they were reporter and reader, but they were also biological mother and daughter. Eighteen years and difficult circumstances had kept them apart, but a series of newspaper columns had brought them back together.
Now Peyton wanted nothing more than to be the mother she would have been if tragedy hadn’t intervened. A heaven-sent miracle had restored the child she’d been forced to surrender for adoption, and Peyton didn’t want to forfeit this second chance to love. And parent. And occasionally nag.
She and Christine were still in the midst of that awkward getting-to-know-you phase, but Peyton felt they’d made great strides in their relationship. They tried to talk every day, even if only briefly, and though Christine still lived in the house she’d inherited from her adoptive parents, she felt free enough to drop into Peyton’s home unannounced, as any daughter naturally would.
Still, Christine rarely called Peyton “Mom.” When necessary, she called Peyton by name . . . or she didn’t call her anything at all.
“By late adolescence,” a confident voice intoned as Peyton put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, “most daughters can be placed in one of three categories—distant, dissatisfied, or dependent. Do any of these words remind you of the young woman in your life?”
Peyton shook her head and shifted into drive. The author needed a fourth category for Christine—maybe delightful. They were still in the honeymoon phase, each of them unbearably grateful to have found the other. They might have disagreements later—in fact, they probably would—but for now Peyton was thrilled to be able to know and love the young woman who had never been far from her thoughts and prayers.
“Outstanding mothers devote most of their time to their children, instilling healthy values into daughters who will become outstanding mothers themselves,” the reader continued, “but unsuitable mothers abandon and abuse.”
Peyton winced at the author’s use of the word abandon.
“Bottom line, if you provide your child with what she needs—clothing, shelter, food, affection—you, concerned mother, are off the hook if your daughter makes unwise decisions. After you have taught your child right from wrong, your daughter has the freedom to choose . . . right or wrong. Do not blame yourself if she chooses to learn life’s lessons through negative experiences.”
Peyton frowned as she pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. Over the years, she’d covered dozens of stories involving teenage delinquents—wayward boys who got mixed up with guns and drugs, runaway girls who ended up on the street or in the hospital because they went looking for love in all the wrong faces. Behind every sad teenager’s story, Peyton found a distraught mother who couldn’t seem to understand how her child ended up in such a deplorable state.
She hated to admit it, but every time she interviewed one of those mothers, she’d walked away feeling resentful and slightly smug, convinced that she would have managed better if only given a chance. But now that she was being given an opportunity to mother a teen, she had no idea what she was supposed to do.
To make matters worse, her time of greatest influence would be limited. After the plane crash in which her father died, Christine had taken time off to grieve, but soon she’d go back to school and get busy with her studies. She’d probably meet a young man on campus and want to settle down. Then she’d center her world on her husband and her children, and she’d expect Peyton to focus on being a doting grandmother, not a mom. So this precious opportunity to parent her daughter would be relatively short-lived.
Peyton pulled up to the red light at an intersection and snapped off the CD player. The bookstores were loaded with books about how to parent newborns, toddlers, middle schoolers, and teens, but no one had much advice for brand-new parents of young adults.
No one even seemed to be able to answer Peyton’s most basic question: at eighteen, which did Christine need most: an authority figure or a friend?
The Note II: Taking a Chance on Love by Angela Hunt is the novelized version of the Hallmark movie. Peyton MacGruder's career as the Heart Healer is taking off at the newspaper, as is her relationship with fellow reporter Kingston Danville. The new bond with the daughter she gave up for adoption 18 years ago is a little shaky, but Peyton is loving every moment of getting to know Christine. After writing a column about the value of choosing caution over passion, she receives a letter from a reader, Eve, who scolds her for being shortsighted and maybe missing out on something wonderful. As the two women get to know each other, they are both forced to confront choices and rethink their lives. Hunt is one of my favorite writers, and while it can be difficult to make novelizations as enthralling as their movie counterparts, she brings each character to life. Being a long time fan of Genie Francis, Hunt perfectly captured the actress' nuances and mannerisms making each scene vivid. The plot, though a bit fluffy, is rendered with care and depth, and the lesson about learning to trust your heart is a good one. It's a perfect, quick beach read for summer.
Today is the last day to sign up to win Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes by Robin Jones Gunn. You don't want to miss this latest adventure in the long-running and popular series. Send me an email by 10 pm tonight to be entered.
Christmas has come and gone, and it was a busy and good day, if not as much about Jesus and Jesse and I would have liked it to be. We waited for the older two kids to come home Christmas morning before opening presents, and then we all headed over to my mom's to open gifts there. After lunch, Jesse and my stepdad, Jeff, headed to Green Bay to tow home the Saturn. While they were gone, Jake, Doogie, my stepbrother Jeremy and his brother-in-law David played Wii. Mom, Molly, my sister-in-law Krissy, and I played Apples to Apples, a board game, in the kitchen. Jesse and I make a tradition of buying a new board game for our family every Christmas, and Apples to Apples was it this year. It's incredibly fun, and the game went on with players leaving and coming back for hours.
I was very blessed with Christmas presents this year. Jesse got me a whole set of my favorite beauty products. Dove put out a line of Cucumber Green Tea items, and I adore the body lotion. Nothing else works like this stuff. I went through my first bottle in a less than a month! Jesse got me two bottles, plus shampoo, conditioner, and face wash. Doogie bought gifts himself for the first time this year. For me, he bought a large dry-erase monthly calendar for wall-mounting. I love it! He got Jesse some kitchen utensils, which Jesse loved too. My mom bought me new sheets for a our bed (yay!) and a new, incredibly soft bathrobe. I left it at the end of the bed last night, and when Mia stumbled in at 3 am to sleep on the floor she grabbed it as a blanket. Before she fell back asleep, she said that it is so soft that she wants to sleep with it every night!
Mia is unusually thoughtful for a five (almost six) year old in her selection of Christmas gifts. Tuesday night when Jesse came home from work, he kicked off his shoes, and Mia noticed that he had a hole in the toe. She came and asked me to buy him some socks for Christmas so that his toes didn't have to stick out anymore. Christmas Eve night when Jesse was leaving work, Mia called him on my cell and gave him very specific instructions about what to get me from her. So from Mia, I got a notebook for making my lists and a box of chocolate turtles. That's a lot of consideration for such a little girl!
Both the Saturn and the van are fixed, so we finally have working vehicles again! But the driver's side door fell off of Doogie's car yesterday, so we'll have to get that fixed now. And the car curse goes on!
The Face by Angela Hunt is another stellar book by one of the best writers in the business. I always know that whenever her name is on a book, it's going to be a terrific read. Sarah Sims was born without a face due to a tragic genetic condition. She's spent her entire life secluded from the world and being cared for by the CIA. Now at the age of twenty, she works for them as a computer genius living on a remote island near Spain. Her aunt Renee had clue about Sarah's existence until she comes across a letter while going through her deceased mother's belongings. Renee immediately wants to know her long-lost niece, the daughter of her only brother who died tragically shortly after Sarah's birth. Renee, a licensed psychiatrist, applies to work for the CIA as well in order to meet and get close to Sarah and hopefully free her from her life of isolation. The chapters alternate in narration between Renee and Sarah giving the reader a thorough understanding of their feelings as they get to know each other. Hunt gives a great deal of information about how faces speak their own language, which is fascinating, especially as Sarah tries to learn to use expressions which opens her heart to emotions she's never before felt. I wish I could tell you how amazing the conclusion is, but I don't want to give out any spoilers. Hunt writes a Christian book that never speaks of Christ, but the conclusion is incredibly moving, especially looking at it in terms of Jesus. Hunt has written a novel that speaks to the value of suffering as well as why for a life to be full it must have love in it.
Today's pics are of the girls opening their presents Christmas morning. Mia loved her Buddies movies; she's already watched them twice each, and Molly had been waiting for Breaking Dawn since it came out in August. I couldn't get any decent pictures of Doogie, but we got him a car stereo for the long trip he'll be making to Superior next year.
It is time to play a Wild Card!Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Christy-Award winner Angela Hunt writes for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected in novels from this versatile author. With over three million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 100 works ranging from picture books (The Tale of Three Trees) to novels.
Now that her two children have reached their twenties, Angie and her husband live in Florida with Very Big Dogs (a direct result of watching Turner and Hooch and Sandlot too many times). This affinity for mastiffs has not been without its rewards--one of their dogs was featured on Live with Regis and Kelly as the second-largest canine in America. Their dog received this dubious honor after an all-expenses-paid trip to Manhattan for the dog and the Hunts, complete with VIP air travel and a stretch limo in which they toured New York City.
Afterward, the dog gave out pawtographs at the airport.
Angela admits to being fascinated by animals, medicine, psychology, unexplained phenomena, and “just about everything” except sports. Books, she says, have always shaped her life— in the fifth grade she learned how to flirt from reading Gone with the Wind.
Her books have won the coveted Christy Award, several Angel Awards from Excellence in Media, and the Gold and Silver Medallions from Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year Award. In 2007, her novel The Note was featured as a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel. Romantic Times Book Club presented her with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2006.
In 2006, Angela completed her Master of Biblical Studies in Theology degree and completed her doctorate in 2008. When she’s not home reading or writing, Angie often travels to teach writing workshops at schools and writers’ conferences. And to talk about her dogs, of course.
The nameless cadaver on the cover of my anatomy textbook—a middle-aged man who is no longer black, white, or brown—would be counted among the orange in a census of the embalmed.
Someone should have adjusted the tint before they juiced him.
I flip the book open and study the color photographs of the cadaver’s aortic arch and brachiocephalic veins, then close my eyes and try to commit the multisyllable words to memory. Here I am, near the end of my first semester of mortuary school, and I’m still having trouble keeping my veins and arteries straight.
Behind me, an irate mother in the carpool line is honking, though we have a good three minutes before kindergarten dismissal. She probably has to pick up her child and get back to work before the end of her lunch hour. While I sympathize with her impatience, I wish she’d lay off the horn so I can concentrate.
I open one eye and examine the book propped on my steering wheel. The right internal jugular branches off the right and left brachiocephalic veins, which lie outside the brachiocephalic trunk. Brachiocephalic sounds like some kind of dinosaur. Bugs would like that word.
I turn the book sideways, but the photograph on the page looks nothing like a prehistoric animal. In fact, I find it hard to believe that anything like this jumble of tunnels and tubes exists in my body, but skin covers myriad mysteries.
I snap the book shut as the bell at Round lake elementary trills through the warm afternoon. The kindergarten classes troop out into the sunshine, their hands filled with lunch boxes and construction paper cutouts. The tired teachers stride to the curb and peer into various vehicles, then motion the appropriate children forward.
My spirits lift when my red-haired cherub catches my eye and waves. Bradley “Bugs” graham waits until his teacher calls his name and skips toward me.
“Hey, Mom.” He climbs into the backseat of the van as his teacher holds the door.
“Hey yourself, kiddo.” I check to make sure he’s snapped his seat belt before smiling my thanks at his teacher. “Did you have a good morning?”
“Yep.” He leans forward to peek into the front seat. “Do we hafta go home, or can we stop to get a snack?”
My thoughts veer toward the to-do list riding shotgun in the front passenger seat. I still have to run to the grocery store, swing by the dry cleaner’s to pick up gerald’s funeral suit, and stop to see if the bookstore has found a used copy of Introduction to Infectious Diseases, Second edition. Textbooks are usually pricey, but medical textbooks ought to come with fixed-rate mortgages. Still, I need to find that book if I’m going to complete my online course by the end of the semester.
“I’ll pull into a drive-through,” I tell Bugs, knowing he won’t mind. “You want McDonald’s?”
He nods, so I point the van toward Highway 441.
“Mr. gerald make any pickups today?” Bugs asks.
I ease onto the highway, amazed at how easily my children have accepted the ongoing work of the funeral home. “none today.”
“See this?”
I glance in the rearview mirror and see Bugs waving his construction paper creation. “Yes.”
“It’s a stegosaurus. Can I give it to gerald?”
“I think he’d like that.” I force a smile as an unexpected wave of grief rises within me. like a troublesome relative who doesn’t realize she’s worn out her welcome, sorrow often catches me by surprise. Gerald, the elderly embalmer at Fairlawn, has become a surrogate father for my sons. Thomas, my ex-husband and my children’s father, has been gone for months, but in some ways he’s never been closer. He lies in the Pine Forest Cemetery, less than two miles from our house, so we can’t help but think of him every time we drive by.
I get Bugs a vanilla ice cream cone at the McDonald’s drive-through, and then we run to the grocery store and the dry cleaner. I’ll call the bookstore later. no sense in going there when a simple phone call will suffice.
Finally we turn into the long driveway that leads to the Fairlawn Funeral Home.
Gerald has poured a new concrete pad next to the garage, and as I park on it, Bugs notices that the call car is gone. “uh-oh.” He looks at me. “Somebody bit the dust.”
I press my lips together. A couple of months ago I would have mumbled something about the old station wagon maybe needing a wash, but now I know there’s no reason to shield my children from the truth—we are in the death care industry. The squeamishness I felt when we first arrived vanished the day I walked into the prep room and gloved up to help gerald lay out my ex-husband.
“Come in the house,” I tell my son. “I’ll pour you a glass of milk.”
She Always Wore Red by Angela Hunt is the second book in the Fairlawn series. Hunt, the reigning queen of Christian fiction, returns to Mt. Dora Florida with Jennifer Graham who is now in mortuary school. Jennifer's life is hectic, but when she discovers a half-sister from her profligate father, it forces her to re-evaluate her life and her view of it. McLane, the sister, is recently married and pregnant and in desperate need of support from the big sister she never knew she had. Meanwhile, Jennifer's 13 year old son Clay has fallen in with a rough lot of boys who are searching for one of the town's long held secrets. Hunt is a terrific author who makes the reader empathize with both Jennifer and McLane in their search to understand each other, especially over a touchy topic. Hunt handles abortion with compassion and an understanding of both sides of the issue rarely seen in most Christian fiction. Her books always teach me something about the nature of faith and what is means to be human.
There is nothing like seeing your child in the hospital to remind you that God is large and in charge. Mia's been fighting a high fever and stomachache all week. On Wednesday, I called the clinic to get her for an appointment on Thursday, but nothing was available. So Jesse and I brought her in to the urgent care center in the Falls. At first the doctor didn't take us seriously, but after a blood test, she suddenly thought Mia had appendicitis and called in the surgeon. We barely had time to panic before the surgeon arrived and said that she needed a CAT scan first. But then there was a rollover on a nearby highway with five football players, so we had to sit and wait for two hours as they were a priority. It was a miserable night, and finally at eleven thirty, they decided to admit her for re-hydration and observation. Jesse and I took turns clinging to her and each other, but there was no time to break down, because for Mia we had to be strong. I spent much of the night praying. Mia had blood drawn, an IV placed, and then an enema for the CAT scan dye. After all of that, during one of the many times of interminable waiting, Jesse told Mia he was so sorry that she had had to go through all of the pain. She broke my heart with her response, "It's ok Daddy. It didn't hurt that bad." In the midst of her suffering, she offered comfort up to us.
We brought her home last night and have to keep administering tylenol and ibuprofen every few hours to keep the fever down. But she's eating and drinking now, and at least she's home. Jesse and I talked about why God allows these types of things to happen, not questioning Him, but knowing that there was a lesson for us in this. It really brought home quickly in a painful way where our priorities need to lie. What's most important aren't all of the peripheral things where we expend our energy, but in our relationships with God, each other, and our children.
I didn't bring a book to the hospital when we brought her in, but at one point, Jesse ran home and brought back books for both of us and some supper. Who did I choose to bring to the hospital with me? My friend, Angela Hunt. I know that her story will never fail to pull me away from reality for awhile and give me a break while also gently teaching my heart.
Doesn't She Look Natural by Angela Hunt is the first book in the Fairlawn series about recent divorcee Jennifer Graham and her two sons: Clay and Bugs. Jennifer's divorce from her husband Thomas has left her jobless, homeless, and rudderless. She's living with her mother (a Red Hatter who's struggling not to resent her daughter's disruption of her empty nest life) when she receives an inheritance from a long lost great-uncle: a Victorian painted lady that just happens to be a funeral home in rural Florida. Jennifer takes her sons and mother down to Mt. Dora, Florida to see her new home, Fairlawn, and decides quickly to sell the monstrosity, but that proves easier said than done. I love this new series by Hunt, who never fails to satisfy. It's not chick lit, but it's not a mystery. It's a tale filled with conflicts: Jen and her mother clash regularly about parenting, Jen and Clay have normal teenage fueled arguments agitated by a neglectful father and the loss of everything familiar. The dialog zings, and it's obvious that Hunt spends time carefully crafting each sentence for maximum punch. Along the way, Jen learns a little more about God and what truly being his servant means. The end packs a serious unexpected punch. Definitely a noteworthy beginning to a series!
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I'm blessed to be the mother of three children: Doogie, Molly, and Mia and am happily married to Jesse.
I've always loved to read, and I love talking about the books that move me.
I review books here, on Amazon, Christianbook.com, Barnes & Noble, Lunch.com, Christian Book Video, Shelfari, GoodReads, MySpace, and Facebook.
Five Miles South of Peculiar by Angela Hunt is a poignant yet joyful novel of a Southern family finding its way home. The Caldwells of Peculiar, Florida have always lived in their estate The Sycamores, but in 2018, exactly fifty years after the death of the family founder, all of the property will pass into the hands of the city. Despite this looming deadline, Darlene and Nolie Caldwell continue living life at The Sycamores as it's been lived for the past fifty years, without thought of social networking or computers. Nolie spends her time sewing beautiful aprons and dreams of the day when she'll meet a good man to help ease the wounds of a past love. Darlene is a force of nature within Peculiar, running most of the town's groups, while almost having a relationship with the mayor. When Darlene's twin sister Carlene returns home from a successful life on Broadway (and hiding a secret), Darlene is at first thrilled to unite with her other half, but the twins were in love with the same man, who became Darlene's husband, and that wound is still tender and deep in them both. The three women are all looking for something, but they each need to heal the pain between them before they can find it. Hunt has created another powerful novel filled with people you not only want to know, but feel like you've met. This story may not have a time-traveling serial killer or vampires falling in love with ghosts; instead it has heart and a deep understanding of people. Hunt doesn't have to use flashy storylines to create a novel that is impossible to put down. The story of the Caldwell sisters will stay with me, because of Hunt's ability to craft such fully fleshed characters. I love the author's work, and this novel will certainly gain her some new fans.
The Fine Art of Insincerity
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