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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!

 

 

 

 

Amish romance writer Laura V. Hilton, of Horseshoe Bend, AR is a pastor’s wife, stay-at-home mother of five, homeschooler, breast cancer survivor and avid blogger. Her passion has long been the mission of Christian fiction, initially as a reviewer, but in the past two years as the author of four successful novels including The Amish of Seymour series (Patchwork Dreams, A Harvest of Hearts, and Promised to Another) and Healing Love, first of The Amish of Webster County. Her books have sold thousands of copies and garnered kudos from reviewers and readers alike with A Harvest of Hearts receiving the 2012 Laurel Award.
Visit the author’s website.

Janna Kauffman enjoys her job as a personal shopper for the homebound in her Amish community. But when Janna’s niece, Meghan, comes to live with her family—part of a plan by Janna’s sister to rid her daughter of her rebellious ways—Janna spends less time shopping and more time explaining Meghan’s erratic behavior to local police officer Hiram “Troy” Troyer, who was raised Amish but left the faith after a fatal accident that killed his brother and also a brother of Janna’s. Frequent interactions draw Janna and Troy together, rekindling an attraction they first experienced in their youth. What will become of their relationship? And will headstrong Meghan ever tame her ways?

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99

Paperback: 256 pages

Publisher: Whitaker House (April 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1603745076

ISBN-13: 978-1603745079

ISLAND BREEZES

Janna had dreams of one day marrying Hiram Troyer, but he jumped the fence. She went on to develop a comfortable lifestyle. That was before cousin Meghan dropped in and stirred everything up.

Then Troy showed up and really messed with her life. The man of her dreams was back.

Janna jumped into a relationship with him and had to come to grips with the idea of marriage to a man who might never choose to join the church. If Troy didn’t choose baptism, then Janna would be shunned.

You’re going to need that box of tissues before Janna makes her decision.

Although this is the second book in The Amish of Webster County series, it is a good stand alone read. I’m hoping there will be a third book.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Janna looked away, but not before he glanced back at her. She did a double take. She thought his eyes were blue, like Hiram’s, but she couldn’t be sure; he turned around and walked away. Probably headed for the doughnuts. She smiled and turned her attention to her shopping list.

10 bags carrots (5 lbs. ea.)

When she placed the carrots in her cart, the hair on the back of her neck stood up with a tingling sensation, as if someone were watching her. She turned and caught the policeman’s glance just before it slid away. A thrill shot through her to think that an Englischer might be attracted to her, an Amish woman, but she stifled it. His interest was a moot point. Of course, he might have just been curious about why she’d loaded her cart with so many carrots.

He disappeared around a corner and down an aisle. She picked up her list again.

10 oranges (Emma Brunstettler)

Emma believed that an orange a day kept all sickness away. And it seemed to work for her. Janna selected ten ripe ones and loaded them into Emma’s mesh bag. The hair on the back of her neck rose again, as did her pulse. Her breath hitched.

She wouldn’t look. Instead, she lowered the bag of oranges into the cart. Somehow she missed, though. They tumbled out and went rolling across the floor.

“Klutz.” A woman carrying a plastic basket stepped over the fallen fruit and hurried away.

As Janna bent to pick up the first of the escaped oranges, she noticed a pair of legs wearing blue pants approaching. It might be a store manager, coming to yell at her. Hopefully not. Worse, it might be the police officer. Had he witnessed her clumsy humiliation? She didn’t know which she dreaded more. She risked a glimpse as he crouched and started gathering up the oranges. The police officer. He grinned as he reached out to hand them to her. She tried to keep her burning face averted as she stretched out a quivering hand to accept the fruit and then stuffed each piece back inside the bag.

His smile would have made her weak in the knees, if she weren’t already squatting. Even so, she put one hand on the floor to keep her balance.

He stood, picked up his few grocery items from the edge of a display, and turned to go.

She found her voice. “Danki.”

He glanced back at her and winked, causing her heart rate to accelerate even more. “Careful with those oranges. They’ll get you every time.” He strode toward the checkout lines. She smiled when she noticed the box of doughnuts and canister of coffee he had tucked under one elbow. In his other hand was a bag of apples.

Janna gripped the bag of oranges in one hand and slowly stood, watching him as he moved through the checkout line, even as she gave herself a silent yet stern lecture for ogling him the whole time.

An hour later, she pushed the cart, piled full with her bagged purchases, outside and across the parking lot to her buggy, her thoughts still on the handsome police officer.

She started sorting through the bags, searching for the Yoder family’s groceries to load first, since their home was the last stop she would make along her delivery route.

“Janna Kauffman?” An Englisch man’s voice shattered her concentration.

Janna’s heart stuttered. Was it him? She stopped rifling through the plastic bags in her cart and looked up. A policeman approached, but he wasn’t the one from the store. This man had dark hair, and sunglasses covered his eyes. Her heart crash-landed somewhere in the vicinity of her toes.

“I’m Officer Pete O’Dell.”

Janna summoned a smile. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

He didn’t grin back. His lips didn’t even twitch. She stiffened, trying to prepare herself for the bad news she felt sure she was about to hear. She searched her mind for possibilities. She knew she hadn’t double parked, and dropping oranges wasn’t against the law. Ach, maybe there’d been an accident.

Just then, the passenger door of the police cruiser parked behind him opened. Her rush of thoughts stopped as the blond officer from the store climbed out and approached her, sliding his sunglasses down from the top of his head to cover his eyes.

Her face heated again in shame for having stared at him in the store. He looked at her buggy, and the stacks of coolers labeled with the full names of Amish men. “Where’d you get all these?” He opened up the lid of a red cooler labeled “Elam Troyer”—the father of her childhood crush. That seemed like a slap in the face. The cooler would be empty, except for an ice pack.

Janna sucked in a breath. The officers probably thought she’d stolen the coolers. “It isn’t what you think.” She waved a hand toward her cart, still piled with plastic bags. “I do their grocery shopping.” Embarrassed at being caught in yet another humiliating situation by the cute cop, she pulled her shopping list out of her pocket and shoved it toward him.

He took it and began scanning it.

Officer O’Dell shifted his weight. “Are you the guardian of a Meghan Forrest?”

Renewed panic filled Janna. She pushed down her fears and nodded. “She’s my niece.”

“Has she contacted you today?”

“No, but she can’t; she’s in school.” At least, that’s where she was supposed to be. But if he was asking, then maybe it was Meghan who was about to receive bad news. “Is it her mom?” She froze, dreading the answer. If anything had happened to her sister Sharon, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Your niece was just picked up for shoplifting,” said Officer O’Dell, matter-of-factly. “We need you, as her guardian, to come to the police station.”

“Excuse me?” Janna shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. “I think you must have the wrong person. Megan is still in class.” She glanced at the position of the sun, then looked for a watch. She found one, conveniently located on the arm of the handsome officer. Almost noon.

The other officer still studied her shopping list, not contributing anything to the conversation.

“Well, apparently she decided to skip school today. Will you come with us to the station, Ms. Kauffman?” Officer O’Dell’s question sounded more like an order, as if she had no choice.

A knot formed in her stomach. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” But she stood there, staring at the plastic bags in the cart. Plastic bags full of perishables. She needed to deliver the food first. Or sort it, at the very least, load it into the coolers, and pray that it would still be cool enough after she’d handled the situation with Meghan. Otherwise, she’d have to pay out of her own pocket to replace the spoiled food. Besides, late or incomplete orders wouldn’t help her business any. And here, she’d been marveling at how well her day had been going.

“Now would be a good time, Ms. Kauffman.” Officer O’Dell grabbed a plastic bag from her cart and tossed it into the buggy.

Janna reached for the bag and pulled it back out. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said again. Maybe he hadn’t heard her the first time. “I have to get these bags sorted and put the food in the coolers so it won’t spoil.”

“Go on, O’Dell. I’ll help her.” The blond policeman handed her back her list. He ran his fingertip over Elam Troyer’s name written in black permanent marker, then turned is dark sunglasses in her direction. “What can I do?”

Officer O’Dell scowled and strode back to his cruiser.

Janna swallowed. She wasn’t Meghan’s parent—just one of her temporary guardians, until Sharon felt ready to welcome Meghan back home. She sighed. Since the police probably wouldn’t ask a parent to fly in, she would have to deal with it. Unless Daed could do it. For a second, her hopes flared. Then died. Nein, Daed and Mamm were in Springfield, visiting someone in the hospital. Their driver wouldn’t bring them home again until this evening. She was it.

“I don’t know if you can help,” Janna said. “I need to pack the items on my list in the proper coolers. I tried to keep the orders separate in the store, but the bagger sort of packed them into the cart at random, so I still need to figure out who gets what.” Normally, she was better organized, but this time, the police officer had taken her rational capacities prisoner.

“Then, you tell me which cooler it goes into and I’ll put it in.”

She watched his eyebrows rise above his dark glasses. He really did seem familiar…

“So, why do you do their grocery shopping?” He tapped his fingertips on the lid of Elam Troyer’s red cooler.

She shrugged and decided to answer generally. The Troyers’ reasons were personal and certainly none of his concern. “Oh, various reasons. Some are too sick or old or physically unable; some are mamms with newborns at home. Others are widowers with no interest in shopping.” She looked through the contents of one bag, consulted her list, then handed it to the officer. “This goes to Elam Troyer.”

A muscle flickered in his jaw. She wondered if the name meant something to him.

But it was probably her overactive imagination.

***

He should be shot for neglecting his parents like he did. Hiram Troyer, better known as Troy, removed his hand from the top of the cooler, lifted the lid, and lowered the plastic bag inside. He’d run by their house on the way home and check on them. If they were paying someone else to do their grocery shopping, then something must have happened.

He held up another bag. “Same family?”

She nodded distractedly as she sorted through another bag.

He dropped it in the cooler, keeping his gaze on her. Janna Kauffman. I’d figured she would have gotten married by now. She always stood out at the singings and frolics, back when—. No point going there. That was a lifetime ago. Still, when he’d seen her eyes for the first time in years, it had felt like an earthquake, rocking his heart and rearranging his mind. The aftershocks still rumbled through him.

But his thoughts were no longer scrambled; they were crystal clear—and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just didn’t know how he was going to do it.

Janna handed him several more bags. “These are the last of Elam Troyer’s.”

He was glad his sunglasses hid his eyes as his gaze slid down her curvy body beneath the usual cape dress, hers lavender. She was still as attractive as ever, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She’d skipped the black bonnet the women usually wore over their prayer kapps when they went out—but he’d seen other women do that, especially as the days got warmer. And they’d been reaching 80 degrees almost daily for almost a week now. Eighty-two, he thought he read on the digital sign in front of the bank. He could have been mistaken, though, because gazing into Janna’s eyes left him reeling. He looked away.

He’d left Meghan locked up in custody in the otherwise empty police station. He slid his glance back to Janna, then away. “Hurry and finish.”

Okay, that was a bit abrupt, but he needed to get back to the station before the manager of the store Meghan had allegedly robbed showed up to give a statement. She’d been running the cash register and needed to find someone to cover for her.

Troy glanced in the direction of the police station. Maybe O’Dell had gone straight back there. Troy had told him he’d talk to Janna, but, as usual, O’Dell hadn’t listened. Probably because a hint of action beat the dispatcher job O’Dell was supposed to be doing today.

Come down to it, Troy needed to do his job, instead of standing there staring at this woman. He needed to get away from Janna and the feelings she awakened in him.

***

Years of striving to be the model bishop’s daughter, and here she was, on her way to the police station. At least she wasn’t the one in trouble. She hoped shoplifting wasn’t punishable with jail time. Sharon would never forgive her if Meghan ended up with a sentence to serve. Maybe she could talk the nice blond policeman into going easy on her niece. And somehow keep the news from her older sister.

As Janna maneuvered her buggy into the parking lot of the police station, she began to regret the samples of meat and cheese she’d succumbed to while shopping. They weighed heavy in her stomach.

She climbed out of the buggy, tied the reins to a telephone pole, and went inside the station, wishing again that she didn’t have to handle this. Wishing the problem would just disappear. If only the blond policeman had waited for her. But he’d disappeared before she could talk her horse, Tulip, into leaving the grocery store parking lot.

Officer O’Dell sat at the reception desk with his feet propped up in front of him, a full mug of coffee in one hand, what appeared to be a McDonald’s burger in the other. The room smelled like fresh-brewed coffee. A glance around showed an almost full pot on a file cabinet.

“Ms. Kauffman,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Go on in.” He pointed abruptly over his shoulder at a partially closed door.

Janna inclined her head to acknowledge his directions and then stepped over to the door. She knocked once, then pushed it open.

The blond officer sat behind a big desk, talking on the phone. King of the office, apparently. He cast a quick glance in her direction but made no visible acknowledgment of her presence. He was handsome, but instead of the friendliness she’d seen earlier, now his expression was stern. She probably didn’t know him. Maybe she’d just seen him around town a time or two.

Meghan sat hunched over in a far chair. She didn’t look over at all. Not gut.

A woman wearing tight black pants and a low-cut hot pink stood against the wall on the other side of the desk. She, too, kept her eyes down, as she played with the bangles on her wrist.

Janna inhaled as deeply as she could, given the knot in her stomach. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, hoping to keep her snacks down.

The officer finally set the phone in its cradle and looked up at Janna. His blue-eyed gaze pierced her. He was good-looking but scary—not someone she’d want to tangle with on a dark dirt road. Or even in a brightly lit office.

He nodded at the empty chair facing his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

She thought she’d rather stand, like the woman with the bangle bracelets. Position herself right there by the garbage can, in case her food decided not to stay put. But obediently, she dropped compliantly into the chair. Again she glanced over at Meghan, who studied the floor as if fascinated by the pattern in the linoleum tiles.

Janna cleared her throat. “I’m sure this is just a simple misunderstanding.”

The officer slid a card holding a pair of earrings across the desk. They were dangly and sparkly. Definitely something Meghan would wear. “We found these in your niece’s possession.” His voice was stern. “Would you like to see the surveillance video?”

Not really.

He went ahead and pushed a button of the remote control on his desk. On the monitor behind him, a rather grainy picture appeared of Meghan and someone Janna didn’t know. She must have gotten away, or maybe they’d put her in another room. Despite the poor quality of the film, it was clear enough to see both girls slip some merchandise into their pockets.

He pushed another button, and the screen went blank. His cold eyes speared Janna again before he shifted his gaze to Meghan. “Shoplifting is a serious crime, and it usually lands you in jail for up to a few months. But, since this is your first offense, we’re willing to work with you.” He gestured to the woman with the bracelets. “Ms. Taft, the store manager, has said she won’t press charges if you agree to six weeks of community service. I just talked to the DA to make sure this was agreeable. He said you could begin Monday after school. You’ll report to the county courthouse. And you will not enter that store again. If you do, the management won’t hesitate to report you for trespassing.”

Janna nodded. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.” I hope. She glanced at Meghan to look for any indication that she felt the same way, but her niece’s face was impassive.

He tapped the card holding the earrings. “The DA also expects you to pay for the merchandise you stole. Three times the retail value.”

Janna glanced at Meghan. “How much did they cost?”

“Forty-nine ninety-five,” said the woman standing there. Her tone was less than friendly.

Janna couldn’t hold back her gasp. “And you want her to pay three times that much?” Acid burned in the back of her throat. She stood and moved to the trashcan.

“Take a seat, Ms. Kauffman.” This officer meant business. She wondered what had become of the kind gentleman who’d help her gather her fallen orange and later load her buggy with groceries. This man looked the same, but his attitude and bearing were completely different.

Janna cast him a frantic look, then lost the contents of her stomach—and what was left of her pride.

Ms. Taft gagged.

“Eww, Aunt Janna. Gross!”

At least Meghan had generated a reply.

Blinking back tears, Janna wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

The officer stood, opened a miniature refrigerator, and produced a bottle of water. Her throat burned.

“Thank you.” She reached to accept the water from him.

When their hands touched, fire shot through her fingertips, and she glanced quickly at him. His blue eyes widened as they met hers, but his expression remained sympathetic. Maybe he was friendly after all, and not so scary. She set the garbage can outside the door and then approached his desk again.

“Now. Back to business.” The officer’s voice hardened, and he sat down, all traces of kindness gone. “As I was saying….” He repeated himself, with enough force to make Janna’s stomach churn again. No matter the punishment Daed would kum up with for Meghan, it couldn’t be harsh enough for forcing Janna through this torture.

Something the policeman said must have penetrated Meghan’s indifference. She flung a wad of cash on the desk. Her hands didn’t even shake.

Janna stared in disbelief at the bills. Sharon sent Meghan a monthly allowance, but with the way Meghan spent money, Janna hadn’t thought she’d have any money left.

The manager reached for the stack and flipped through it. Apparently satisfied with the amount, she slid it into her pocket. “Thank you, Officer,” she almost purred. Then, she turned to Janna and hissed, “If that thieving brat ever sets foot in my store again, you can be sure I’ll have her arrested.” She flipped her hair, spun on her heel, and stomped out of the office.

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Kauffman.” The uniformed man rose to his feet. “You can go now. I’ll escort your niece back to school.”

Janna didn’t even try to force a smile. “Thank you, sir.” She turned to Meghan. “I expect you to kum straight home after school. We are going to have a talk.”

“What. Ever.” Meghan punctuated the words with a sneer. “You aren’t my mom.”

Her comment struck like a fist, knocking the air from Janna’s lungs. No, she wasn’t Meghan’s mom. But she had once been her favorite aunt. They’d been more like sisters, really, since they were only five years apart.

Janna glanced at the police officer on her way out. In light of the humiliation she had just suffered, she decided that if she never saw him again, it would be way too soon.

She also decided that, whatever Sharon’s reasons for sending Meghan to Seymour to live with her Amish relatives, they weren’t gut enough.

Celebrate the release of Unbreakable with Nancy Mehl by entering her Kindle Fire Giveaway and RSVPing to the March 5th Author Chat Party on Facebook!

One fortunate winner will receive:

• A Kindle Fire
• Books one & two in Nancy’s Road to Kingdom series (Inescapable and Unbreakable)

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends on March 4th. Winner will be announced at the “Unbreakable” Author Chat Party on March 5th. Connect with Nancy, get a sneak peek of her next book, try your hand at the trivia contest, and chat with readers just like you. There will also be gift certificates, books, and fun Mennonite-themed giveaways.

Grab your copy of Unbreakable and join Nancy on the evening of the March 5th for a chance to connect with Nancy and make some new friends. (If you haven’t read the book, don’t let that stop you from coming!)

Don’t miss a moment of the fun, RSVP today. Tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 5th!

Unbreakable

By Nancy Mehl

Gentle and unassuming, Hope Kauffman has never been one to question the traditions of her Mennonite upbringing. She quietly helps her father run Kingdom Quilts and has agreed to the betrothal he arranged for her with the devout but shy Ebbie Miller.
Despite the attempts of Hope and other Kingdom residents to maintain the status quo, changes have already begun to stir in the small Mennonite town. The handsome and charismatic Jonathon Wiese is the leader of the move to reform, while Ebbie insists Kingdom must remain true to its foundation. When Hope’s safety is threatened by a mysterious outsider, she can’t help but question what she’s always been taught about the Mennonite tradition of nonviolence.
As it swiftly becomes apparent the threat Hope faced is only the beginning, the town that’s always stood so strong finds itself divided. With tensions high and their lives endangered by an unknown enemy, will Hope and the people of Kingdom allow fear and division to break them or will they draw on the strength of the God they serve?

ISLAND BREEZES

Kingdom seems like a really nice town. It’s not perfect, but then no place is perfect. Kingdom is having some problems as some of the Mennonites are becoming a bit too liberal.

Hope is engaged to one of the church elders, but her heart does strange things when she’s near Jonathon (who happens to be one of those liberals).

In the midst of trying to figure out her heart’s desire, Hope’s life is threatened by an outsider.

In the end the people of Kingdom have to decide if they’re strong enough to protect the town’s families without resorting to violence. Hope has to decide which man is the one for her.

This is the second bookin the Road to Kingdom series, but it is a good stand alone read. I’m not only looking forward to the next one, but also will be reading the first. Thank you, Nancy Mehl.

***A special thank you to litfuse for providing a review copy.***

 Nancy Mehl lives in Wichita, Kansas, with her husband Norman and her very active puggle, Watson. She’s authored fourteen books and is currently at work on a new series for Bethany House Publishing. All of Nancy’s novels have an added touch – something for your spirit as well as your soul. “I welcome the opportunity to share my faith through my writing,” Nancy says. “God is number one in my life. I wouldn’t be writing at all if I didn’t believe that this is what He’s called me to do. I hope everyone who reads my books will walk away with the most important message I can give them: God is good, and He loves you more than you can imagine. He has a good plan for your life, and there is nothing you can’t overcome with His help.” Readers can learn more about Nancy through her Web site: www.nancymehl.com. She is also active on Facebook.

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!

 

 

 

 

Jerry Eicher’s bestselling Amish fiction (more than 210,000 in combined sales) includes The Adams County Trilogy, the Hannah’s Heart books, and the Little Valley Series. After a traditional Amish childhood, Jerry taught for two terms in Amish and Mennonite schools in Ohio and Illinois. Since then he’s been involved in church renewal, preaching, and teaching Bible studies. Jerry lives with his wife, Tina, and their four children in Virginia.
Visit the author’s website.

Jerry Eicher (nearly half a million copies sold) returns with the first book in another of his delightful series centering on Amish life.

Here is the story of a young Amish girl, Katie Raber, who finds she wants more from life than to be known as simply “Emma Raber’s daughter.”

 

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 336 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (February 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736952519

ISBN-13: 978-0736952514

ISLAND BREEZES

Jerry Eicher continues to leave me wanting more. He brings both Emma and Katie out of the darkness and into the light.

It’s a love story and a coming of age story, but the ending is only the beginning. There’s questions there waiting for answers. Will Ruth leave them alone? Will Mabel soften her heart? Will Katie continue to run with the Mennonites?

I want to know what’s going to happen next in Katie’s life. I hope we don’t have long to wait for the next installment of the Emma Raber’s Daughter series.

 
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Yah, she was Emma Raber’s daughter. That’s how most people in the community thought of her. She even thought of herself that way—just an extension of her mamm. Mamm was nice enough, and Emma really loved her. So, nee, she wasn’t really complaining. But sometimes her mamm did unusual things, and that made Katie seem so…well, weird to the other young adults in the Amish community. For one thing, there would be no rumspringa for Katie. Everyone else she knew among the Delaware Amish would have their time to run around and try out the ways of the world. But not Katie. Emma Raber wouldn’t even consider such a thing for her daughter. And the Amish youth gatherings were few and far between. Mamm was suspicious of even those. “Too much socializing,” she had said.

She could live without rumspringa. Or without Ben Stoll, for that matter. So what, Katie told herself, it might even be best for her if Ben were unobtainable. He might not be all that wunderbah if she ever got to know him. Katie sighed. These were desperate excuses, and she knew it, but lately Mamm’s restrictions were becoming harded and harder to bear. She was only trying to make herself feel better. Ben was wunderbah. Even her friend Arlene Miller wasn’t above stealing a glance at Ben—and that with her boyfriend, Nelson Graber, sitting right across from her at the Sunday night hymn singings!

Katie wondered if all the girls were as taken with Ben as she was. She was aware of everything about him. She noticed when he wore a new black suit at communion time every spring. She noticed the way his buggy shone when the sun rays bounced off the sides at the Sunday meetings. The boy must spend hours waxing the black vinyl of his buggy, she thought. And most of all, she noticed the way Ben smiled when he was happy, which seemed like most of the time. What would it be like to be the kind of girl who made Ben smile that smile? Ha! Certainly a simple, plain soul like Emma Raber’s daughter couldn’t be such a girl…ever.

Katie tried to look away from the fast-approaching buggy. She was way too fascinated with the boy. If Mamm knew her feelings, Katie knew she’d be given a lecture the size of the state of Delaware and right at the kitchen table after supper. Yah, Mamm would not understand how she felt. Life had been hard for Mamm, especially when it came to men. Hadn’t Daett passed away when Katie was still a young girl? The loss had been so painful for Mamm that she might never marry again.

The beat of horse hooves on pavement grew louder. Katie eased open her buggy door just enough to make sure that whoever was in the passing buggy could see it was her in case a greeting was forthcoming. With her hands on the reins, Katie held her breath as the buggy approached and passed without its buggy door opening even an inch. Katie saw the unmistakable outline of Ben’s face through the small window. His hat was tight on his head, and his eyes were looking straight ahead. The moment passed in a flash without the smallest flicker of a hand wave through the window. And then the buggy was gone.

It was the sun in his eyes, Katie told herself. That’s why Ben hadn’t slid open the buggy door or bothered to wave. But she knew better. Ben wasn’t being mean. No, she just wasn’t worth the effort. He had greater and better things on his mind than paying attention to Emma Raber’s odd daughter. Now if she were beautiful, or charming, or funny, or even talkative at the Sunday-night hymn singings, it might be different. With such qualities, perhaps her plainness could be overcome. But all that was a dream that would never come true. She couldn’t be what she wasn’t.

Perhaps she should settle for Joe Helmuth from down the road. Joe walked with a limp from a hay wagon accident when he was five. He would take over his daett’s farm someday, but the scars from that long-ago day would never leave him. The problem was that Joe didn’t pay Katie any attention either.

Well, at least thinking about Ben Stoll helped ease the pain a little, Katie decided. She was only Katie Raber, after all. The girl who could barely open her mouth without dumb words falling out all over each other. If she could only be more like the rest of the Amish girls in the community. But that could never be either, not with how Mamm felt about things.

Katie slapped the reins against her horse as her thoughts swirled through her mind. She couldn’t remember much about Daett. He’d been gone since she was three years old. She could remember happy times though. Going to the barn with him when they did the evening chores. But that was so long ago. If she only had a daett, Katie decided, life would be different. If Mamm married again, Katie figured both of them would be better accepted in the community and Mamm might change her ways. The most obvious possibility was widower Jesse Mast. And he’d come calling on Mamm again just the other evening. Mamm hadn’t said anything about the visit, but Jesse had surely spoken of marriage.

Yah, Mamm should marry again, Katie decided. Mamm’s sorrow over losing her husband was still written on her face after all these years. Was it not high time things changed? Yah, and Katie would pray about the matter.

Da Hah must already be thinking the same thing if He was sending Mamm a suitor in the person of Jesse Mast. So why couldn’t Mamm see this and accept Jesse’s offer of marriage? Was she turning him down because he wasn’t much to look at? Yah, he was a little rough around the edges. But it wasn’t like Mamm to be so concerned with outward appearance. She went more by a person’s kind heart than how he looked on the outside. Perhaps it was the fact that Jesse’s frau, Millie, had died and left him with a family of five children. Was that why Mamm objected? She didn’t want her household increased so dramatically?

Nee, Katie decided that couldn’t be the reason either. Mamm didn’t mind hard work. And if a large family was the problem, she should have been happy after turning down Jesse. Instead, Mamm had walked around the house with the lines on her face running deeper than ever. So why had she turned Jesse down? That was assuming Mamm had turned him down. The proposal of marriage was just a guess on Katie’s part, but she was sure she was right. It couldn’t have been anything else. The two had talked for a long time while sitting on the porch swing. Afterward, Jesse had stood in the yard for a few moments longer, still speaking with Mamm. He’d held his hat in his hand, the sweat ring in his hair still apparent from where the hat had been pressed tightly on his head. Then Jesse had walked back to his buggy, his head bowed. Even Jesse’s horse, Lucy, had looked depressed as they drove down the lane.

Katie had been ready to ask Mamm what Jesse wanted, but one look at her face caused her to change her mind. Mamm looked troubled and yet, at the same time, ready to give someone a piece of her mind. A question from Katie could easily have resulted in another lecture she didn’t want to hear. A lecture about being satisfied with one’s lot in life and not reaching for the stars. That was the standard lecture Mamm always gave when Katie dared complain about attending more of the Amish youth gatherings.

“You don’t know how nice you have it,” Mamm would say. “We have enough to eat, a roof over our heads, and horses to drive us to work and church. What more could we ask for?”

Well, Katie thought, there was plenty more to ask for. All kinds of things a young woman could want. Things that were out there just waiting to enrich one’s life—and, happily, things that were not forbidden by the Ordnung. Like liking a boy. Like someday loving a man who would love her back and consider his life empty without her. Someone who’s eyes would light up when he saw her. Someone who called her sweet things on Sunday nights as he sat on the couch beside her. Wasn’t that what dating couples did? Mamm wouldn’t say when Katie asked, other than muttering something about useless talking until all hours of the night.

How could such time be considered wasted? Katie wondered. It would be glory indeed to sit beside a boy—a soon-to-be man so near she could touch him. What delight it would be to hear his deep voice rumble when he spoke or feel his eyes watching her long before she looked up to meet his gaze. Nee, this couldn’t be wasted time. It would be a touch of heaven, and the most worthwhile thing a girl could set her heart on. Especially if the boy were Ben Stoll…

Katie sighed. So had Jesse Mast asked for Mamm’s hand? Had she turned him down? She’d sent him away looking disappointed, so something was going on. And then there was that look on Mamm’s face in the evenings after the sun had set and the house was quiet. Mamm didn’t like the loneliness of their house either—the hours without a man’s voice being heard. She’d been silent after Jesse left that night, staring at the kitchen wall and seemingly more troubled than usual.

What could she do to help? Katie wondered. She should do something, yah.

A car passed Katie’s buggy, its engine roaring. Katie forced her mind back on the road ahead. Her horse, Sparky, knew the way to Byler’s Store. He should after all this time she’d worked there. But even so, he mustn’t be allowed to go his own way.

Ahead of her, Bishop Jonas Miller’s place was coming up. His wife, Laura, was out in the yard hanging wash on the line. Katie leaned out of the buggy to wave, and Laura paused long enough to wave back before bending again to her work. At least the older Amish folk didn’t think she was strange, even with her Mamm the way she was.

Katie settled herself in the buggy seat again. If Mamm married Jesse, she might have to stay home from her job at Byler’s and help with the added work five children entailed. But that would be an attractive kind of work—more normal almost. And it could lead to other kinds of normalness in her life. And perhaps even to a boy sitting on the couch beside her some Sunday night after a hymn singing. Yah, somehow Mamm must be persuaded to accept Jesse’s offer of marriage.

Katie turned into the parking lot at Byler’s and pulled Sparky to a stop at the far end of the hitching rail that was located on one side of the store. She climbed down, unhitched the buggy, and led Sparky around to the back where he could munch at stray pieces of grass during the day. She tied him to the fence with a long rope before walking back to the buggy. She pushed both doors shut before heading to the employee entrance of the store.

Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul.

While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”

When he had said this, he died.

And Saul approved of their killing him.

Acts 7:58-8:1

When the Heart Heals

 

Sisters at Heart – #2

By Ann Shorey 

Readers are invited to travel back to 1867, to the town of Noble Springs, Missouri, for an engrossing story of love’s tentative first steps and fragile future in the face of opposition. With tenderness and grace, Ann Shorey tells the story of Rosemary, a sympathetic but strong woman determined to thrive in a world that doesn’t always understand.

Courageous and unconventional, Rosemary Saxon served as a nurse during the Civil War, a service that has caused most women in town to regard her as unfeminine and downright vulgar. Although she would like to put her experiences as a nurse behind her, she must support herself. She takes a position with Dr. Elijah Stewart and a mutual attraction begins to develop. But when a sophisticated woman arrives in town claiming to be Elijah’s fiancée, a heartbroken Rosemary decides to leave Noble Springs and start fresh. Can Elijah convince her of the mystery woman’s deception before he loses her forever?

ISLAND BREEZES

The Civil War left many with hearts that needed healing. Rosemary was one, as well as many others in Noble Springs.

Rosemary served as a nurse during the war. Nursing was not looked upon as a noble profession back then. Rosemary’s choices left her with precious few friends, so why would she want to become Dr. Stewart’s nurse?

It definitely wasn’t because she was trying to snag a husband. It was food on the table, pure and simple.

It appears that winning the hearts of the town’s people will be a long, hard battle.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***

Ann Shorey is the author of Where Wildflowers Bloom, The Edge of Light, The Promise of Morning, and The Dawn of a Dream. She has also published selections in the Cup of Comfort series and in Chicken Soup for the Grandma’s Soul. Ann and her husband make their home in southwestern Oregon.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life. They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.

Available February 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group

 

Picture Perfect

Weddings by Design Series – #1

By Janice Thompson

Known for her contagious humor and cast of quirky characters, Janice Thompson gives her fans more of the bridal business drama in a brand-new series all about those long-suffering people who make beautiful weddings happen. Picture Perfect is the first in the new series and brings our favorite character, Bella, back in a big way, while introducing new characters readers will love. Fans will laugh out loud as they experience this breezy and entertaining novel from a great storyteller.

Feisty wedding photographer Hannah McDermott has dealt with her share of difficult brides. But none can compare to the ultimate Bridezilla she’s dealing with now. Still, she’s trying desperately to impress Bella Neeley, Galveston Island’s most sought-after wedding planner, so she can take the top spot in Bella’s list of recommended photographers–a spot currently occupied by her arch-rival, Drew Kincaid. What she doesn’t count on, however, is falling head over heels for the competition.

ISLAND BREEZES

Janice is back and she’s brought that wonderful group of people in Galveston with her. Add in the Splendora bunch, toss some Irish Americans into the Italian mix, and it turns into a hilarious bunch of quirky characters.

We have super hunk Brock back for awhile, but Drew is a heart stopper I hope ww have around for a nice long while.

He’s Hannah’s competition in the bridal photography business. Both want to be number one on Bella’s list of recommended photographers. In order to do that Hannah has to get through her Bridezilla client’s wedding without doing bodily damage to the bride.

Will she survive long enough to find a love of her own? What kind of obstacle course is out there waiting for her? If this book doesn’t make you smile and feel good, then there’s something terribly amiss with your feelgooder.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.”

  Janice Thompson is a seasoned romance author and screenwriter. An expert at pulling the humor from the situations we get ourselves into, Thompson offers an inside look at the wedding business, drawing on her own experiences as a wedding planner. She is the author of the Weddings by Bella series and the Backstage Pass series. She lives in Texas.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life.? They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.

Available February 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

I saw this over at The Looking Spoon and just had to share it with you.

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!

 

 

 

 

 

Johnnie R. Jones was saved in Hawaii in 1971. He was licensed to preach in 1974 and ordained in 1976. He has pastored churches in Virginia, Alaska, and Texas. He is a graduate of Tunstall High School, Dry Fork, Virginia; Dallas Baptist University, Dallas, Texas; and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, Fort Worth, Texas. After high school, Johnnie served four years in the U.S. Air Force.

Johnnie has written articles for the Southern Baptist Texan and has written numerous articles for several daily newspapers. He is chief editor and publicist for SYD Publications, McKinney, Texas. He has authored four books and numerous booklets. Johnnie is currently founder and revivalist of His Abounding Grace Ministries, Inc., McKinney, Texas. This is volume one of a series of novels based on the first century A.D.

Martyrdom. Fraud. Stoning. Beheading. Miracles. The early church experienced it all!

The Bible’s Book of Acts includes page after page of high drama, yet the average reader can’t help but be struck with the gaps that exist in this New Testament account of the early believers. What happened to those individual, unsung followers who risked their lives to participate in the birth of the church? What pain and crises occurred among those who gave their all to advance the cause of Christ?

In his dramatic novel, Acts of the Spirit-Filled, Johnnie R. Jones helps the reader envision how common, oppressed people became empowered by God’s Spirit and turned their world upside down with a powerful Gospel. Interweaving fictional dialogue, narration, and historic events, Jones paints a graphic picture of the struggles, trials, and passions that propelled Christianity forward during a dark and dangerous time.

This theatrical account of the early church is the first volume in Jones’ Acts series and is based on events described in Chapters 1-12 of the New Testament Book of Acts.

Product Details:

List Price: $19.95

Paperback: 322 pages

Publisher: CrossHouse Publishing (January 10, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1613150385

ISBN-13: 978-1613150382

ISLAND BREEZES

I always enjoy biblical fiction, but this is the first time I’ve read any like this. I really like this concept of taking one book of the Bible and telling the story chapter by chapter.

This brings the history of our faith to life. I’m looking forward to the next volume. 

 
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Prologue

“Deus Sol Invictus; Deus Sol Invictus!” Toward the east, Tiberius looked into the darkest hour. “Invincible god of the sun, arise and burn up the advances against my enemies!” The scribe wrote carefully as the emperor paced the floor, chanting toward the eastern horizon, awaiting the dawn of a new day. There was silence for a moment . . . then he spoke again. “There is a people whose love for the divine spurn our gods, and they spurn me!”

“O Divine One?” asked the scribe. “Who would dare spurn man’s deity? Who would dare spurn your power?”

The emperor continued his easterly gaze. “They see the Unseen One as their Deity—not our gods and not me!”

The scribe returned to his quiet writing. For hours, the emperor had been awake, pacing the floor, talking—speaking many words of random thoughts.

Suddenly, over the distant, eastern range, the sun burst forth in rays of beauty. “There, scribe!” the emperor cried, as he pointed to the sun. “There is one of our gods!” He shielded his eyes as he squinted at the brilliant ball of fire.

“Yes, Divine One, there is Sol.”

“How can these people not worship it? How can their Unseen One exceed the glory of this brilliance!?”

The scribe began to write again, but the emperor grabbed his quill and threw it to the floor. He lifted the scribe out of his chair and turned him to face the east. “Look with me, scribe; do you see beyond the sun? Is this not our supreme god!?”

The scribe feared to move his hand to shield the sun’s rays. He opened his eyes, trying not to disclose his indirect stare into the blinding ball of fire. “Divine One, many of your servants remain sightless today for trying to see into Sol. They say everything is now unseen.” He raised his hand to shield the rays from the emperor’s eyes. “Divine One, do not attempt to see into it, lest it blind you as well.” The emperor did not reject the scribe’s motion to shade his eyes. “You must continue to see so that words of divinity may be written.”

Tiberius released the scribe, who promptly picked up his writing tool, sat at his table, and gingerly dipped his quill tip into the ink. “My servants do not cherish what is written by me or the emperors before me. Augustus tried to appease these easterners with laws of moral fidelity—he even set up courts to uphold these laws. Yet these easterners ignore our rule over them. My commands do not inspire them. They abhor my edicts!”

He turned toward the scribe once again. “What have you written? Read the words to me!”

The scribe trembled. “O Divine One, these words are not ready to be repeated. Allow me time to straighten them out.”

“Straighten them out?” He reached out to grab the scribe’s pages, but stopped. “Straighten them out,” he said again. “Straighten them out.” He looked toward the east; his hand became a fist as he raised it into a beam of the sun’s invasion into the room. “Sol has given me a word of prophecy for the easterners: ‘straighten them out!’”
Near Bethany of Judea

Acts 1

A blinding light immersed the ascending figure, causing hundreds of onlookers to gasp and fall back to their knees. Only a handful of men remained standing, defying the radiant barrier. An awestruck silence overcame the crowd, that is, until a single voice cried out:

“Lord Jesus, don’t leave again!”

Peter stood with his hands and arms lifted toward the light. He was a disciple of Jesus—not just any disciple, but the one who Jesus had said would “shepherd” His followers, the one who would lead and protect His followers from the ravenous wolves of mankind. But he was not ready to go it alone without his Master—without Jesus beside him!

Peter ran to a large rock and climbed on top of it to get the attention of Him one last time.

“Jesus, it’s me—Peter! . . . Jesus!”

Too late—Jesus was engulfed into the brilliant cloud that continued to rise into the clear morning sky. Where is He going? Peter’s mind began racing to the controls of the next moment (a normal response of his). I want Him back—I need Him!

“Master, please come back.” This time he spoke in a surrendered voice—a voice that revealed the obvious: Jesus was gone. Peter shielded his eyes with his hands to stare at the bright cloud that had covered the One he had come to love.

Peter had surrendered to Jesus as the long-awaited Deliverer of Israel; He was the One of whom Moses spoke in the Sacred Writings:

“Jehovah God will raise up for you a Prophet, from the midst of your brothers, just like me; Him shall you listen to . . . and I will place My words into His mouth; and what I command, He shall speak.”

Peter was convinced: Jesus is that “Prophet;” I saw Him speak with Moses and Elijah! And the cloud—this same cloud!—overwhelmed us on that mountain top. On that mountain, the brilliance of the cloud momentarily engulfed him and two other disciples: James and John, the sons of Zebedee. Back then, he thought Jesus was preparing a new camp—a staging ground to wrest Jerusalem out of the grip of a troubled Roman Empire. But just as quick as the cloud appeared, it dissipated, taking Moses and Elijah with it.

Words of Jesus began to flood Peter’s mind: “Feed My sheep.” . . . “Before Abraham existed, I Am.” . . . “Destroy this temple and I will raise it up in three days.” . . . “Lazarus! Come forth!” He thought this through: Jesus proved Himself as the One who had power over life and, now, power over death. He is the Deliverer—the One to set our people free from the empire’s control. But why leave now? Why not deliver us now? This departure, however, was different; it was with finality.

Peter looked up toward the sky and spoke in his heart one more time: Jesus, my Master, please return now and lead us to restore the kingdom. We cannot seize the temple grounds without Your presence and without Your power. He slowly slid off the rock and looked up, only to see the fading remnants of the engulfing cloud.

Someone nearby broke the silence of the moment: “Why do you Galileans stand here gazing at the fading cloud? Jesus is gone; but He is coming back, just as you saw Him leave. Go now and do what He has told you to do.”

Peter glanced at the two men beside him and the others, and then looked back in the direction of the cloud. Do what He has told me? he repeated in his mind. Do what He has told me? Do exactly what? What do these strangers know that I don’t already know? Jesus has told me so much; I can’t begin to— He stopped abruptly. The men beside him were gone! Peter looked around; others seemed equally dazed at the occurrences of the moment.

“Where are they!?” Peter shouted, turning in a circle. He ran toward several other men and pushed them aside as if someone was hiding behind them. “I can’t take another disappearance! Where are they!?”

“Peter! Peter!” Another disciple, John, ran up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. “Did you see them?”

“See who!? Where!? When!?”

“Those two men! Right here! Right now!”

Peter stared into the young lad’s face. Once again, he wondered why Jesus would include himself, a seasoned fisherman, to try to keep up with the younger men whom his Master had called to be His disciples. About a month ago, John easily outran him to a grave site where Jesus had been buried—Ah, but he was too afraid to venture in. Peter had to smile as he remembered the empty tomb of Jesus. That’s why Jesus chose me. Someone needs to take charge of these young men and lead them until He returns.

Peter brushed some dirt off his hands and straightened his outer garment. “Yes, I saw them. Now what did they say?”

“They were angels, Peter! They said that the Master would return again, just as He left us. So we must go back to Jerusalem and wait until the—”

“Wait?” Peter interrupted John. “I hate that word! Wait? After what the priests allowed those soldiers to do to Jesus? I say we recruit these men here, head back to the city, and take the temple away from those crucifying-hungry hypocrites! They all deserve to die.” He pointed to the sky. “And I bet that same cloud will show up again and Jesus will wipe them off the face of the earth. That’s what I say we should do; no more waiting!”

John was taken aback at the words he was hearing. He had been around Peter for over three years now and knew he had little patience. “Peter, please listen to me; I heard our Master specifically say that we must return and wait—‘wait for the promise of the Father,’ He said. Think about it: in the past forty days, He did not tell us that we would soon attack the temple, and He did not train us how to assemble an army of men. He trained us with His words, remember? It was His words that changed us. It was His words that calmed that storm on the Sea of Galilee; it was His words that pushed the temple guards back and onto the ground the night He was arrested. Peter, Jesus wants more than men’s brawn; He wants their whole being—He wants their hearts.”

Peter realized that, once again, his emotional reaction was premature. “John the Lover,” he said. “Always speaking from the heart.” Peter looked around and saw the other disciples and friends looking toward him and John. “Yes, we should gather our bags, walk back to the grand old city, and prepare for our next move.” He spoke within hearing range of the other disciples. “Come on, men; it’s time to move on.”

While walking, Peter began to size up the crowd that remained. The 500 or so who had spent the day with Jesus were from various towns and villages, primarily in Judea. However, a mixed group from Galilee and Judea—about 120—was related to the disciples and household of Mary, Jesus’ mother. Jesus had referred to the disciples as His new “apostles” for His “kingdom.” Some—including Peter—had wives and children.

Nicodemus and Joseph were members of the Sanhedrin council; they believed in Jesus, but remained secret followers so as to be aware of possible plots against His life. Next were some more men, their wives and children, and Mary Magdalene, who ministered to a small group of Galilean women—outcasts—but accepted by Jesus and who always seemed to be around whenever the Master taught. (Sometimes the women interrupted the Master’s teachings, bringing children and the sick to Him.)

Finally, there was Mary, the mother of Jesus, and her other children, though late in believing, yet joining now in the following. This comprised the 120 followers who were walking back to Jerusalem while the others fanned out onto the trails that led elsewhere.

“Go now, and do what He has told you to do.” Peter thought this through. I saw Him alive after the burial. I thought He was a ghost; but ghosts don’t eat fish and bread, do they? No, it was Him. I saw His death scars; He is alive now, but no longer as a man . . . why? What’s the purpose of His disappearance? And what’s the purpose of this following? I’m the oldest of the disciples—thirty-two—so I must put a plan together. I must know what to say and do when we get back to the villa.

“Andrew?” asked Peter, looking for his brother, who was another disciple. “Andrew, my parchment scholar?”

“Yes, my brother?” he said, with one eyebrow raised. “What are you wanting now?”

“I need your brains to help me. Find some papyri so you can write this down.”

“While walking? You are beside yourself! Can’t this wait until we get back to the courtyard?”

“No, no more waiting. I’ve got to formulate a plan, and we haven’t much time.”

Andrew surveyed his older brother’s face, with its wiry beard and receding hairline. It had the wear and tear of a typical, sunbaked fisherman. And right now, Peter’s face had that familiar look of determination which meant that there would be no deterring of his intentions. So Andrew began interrogating each among the group for some writing materials, hoping no one had any. But there were some parents with children that happened to have just what Andrew knew would satisfy his brother’s wish.

After retrieving the writing materials, he returned to Peter. “Very well, what do you want me to do with this? You know I can’t think, walk, and write at the same time.”

Peter laughed. “Yes, that is true. You have always had difficulty chewing grain and walking at the same time.” Andrew responded with a slight push. “Enough playing around. I want you to write what Jesus told us to do since He woke up from the land of the dead. What has He taught us?”

“James, John, Nathanael—the rest of you; I need your help over here,” shouted Andrew. “Master Peter wants some answers to what Jesus has taught us.”

“?Master’?” asked some among them.

As the other disciples drew nearer to Peter, he shot a stern look toward his brother for making such a statement. “Now, now, men; you know that I have to be ready to speak up when the time comes.”

“Yes, we’ve noticed that trait in you, old man,” said Philip, Nathanael’s brother. The others laughed.

“Come now, brethren,” said John. “Let’s remember how Peter spoke up when we were too afraid to do so.”

“Afraid!?” objected Thomas. “Who said I was afraid?”

“Oh, have you forgotten the storm on the Sea of Galilee already?” asked John. The others laughed. Thomas mumbled something under his breath.

“What is it that you want, dear friend?” asked Nathanael.

Peter spoke up. “Since the empty tomb, what has Jesus taught us to do?”

The men began to consider together as they walked, feeling that Peter, a bit pushy at times, meant well with his observations.

After stopping a few times and allowing Andrew to write, they arrived at the city gate. Peter faced the others and asked, “What do we have so far?”

John spoke up quickly: “The first thing is: Go and proclaim the good news of Jesus as the Messiah.”

“Ah yes, the good news,” said Peter. “This is true. Next?”

Andrew responded. “The next thing we have come up with is: Teach and train those who wish to follow the Master’s cause.”

“I like that, but what about baptism?”

“I was about to ask that,” said Nathanael. “Don’t we baptize before we teach and train?”

“You answer this first,” said Andrew. “Do you see any rain clouds following us wherever we go?” Some laughed. “We baptize first, when there is available water and each person understands the cost of joining Jesus—and becoming a follower with us. However, if there is no water nearby, we teach and train those who respond to our proclamation and baptize later. Our Master’s emphasis was for us to ‘make disciples’.”

“Agreed,” interrupted Peter. “So we proclaim, baptize, and teach and train; what else have we come up with?”

“Worship Him!” John said. “We worship and adore Him as our Master, our Messiah, and our Savior.”

“Then let us appoint you as our worship leader,” said Peter.

“Amen, amen!” shouted the others in agreement.

“Now, what else?” asked Peter.

“Fellowship and the breaking of bread and drinking from the fruit of the vine, in remembrance of His death and life,” responded Simon the Zealot.

“And keep the juice fresh and diluted so as not to intoxicate the younger followers,” said Judas, son of James.

“Amen, amen,” said the others.

“Who among us will take charge of our communion memorial with our Lord?” asked Peter.

“John and I have access to some used temple utensils,” said James. “We’ll take on that responsibility.” Previously, their father was a Levite and rotated in duties in the temple.

“‘We’?” asked John. “Do you have a field mouse in your garment?”

“Come now, John,” said James. “This is a part of our worship and you are our new worship leader.”

Peter wanted to press on. “Okay, you siblings work this out among yourselves and report back to us. What else? Is there anything missing of which Jesus instructed us?”

“Power,” said Matthew, another of the apostles. “Jesus said we would have power from His Spirit to do His will.”

“That’s right,” said Peter. “Anyone have a suggestion as to how we get this ‘Spirit power’?”

“Wait!” said John.

Peter turned and faced the youthful lad. “Wait, my son?”

“Yes, Jesus specifically told us to wait in the city until the promise of His Father’s Spirit comes to us. His Spirit will come and bring us power.”

“How long do we wait, John?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I; do any of you have a message from Jesus as to how long we wait?” There was no response. “Don’t we have His teachings fresh in our minds? Shouldn’t we go to the temple courtyard and begin to proclaim His message—the gospel?”

Andrew could sense his brother’s drudgery of waiting. He knew how Peter hated to wait for anything. But Andrew knew Matthew and John were correct, so how could he tell his older brother to listen to them—especially listen to John, the youngest of them all? “Peter, my brother, remember in the garden, where you cut off that man’s ear?”

“What has that to do with this?”

“Listen, my brother; we all heard the Master say to wait in the city until this power comes upon us. None of us fully understand His plans to rule over the kingdom, but He just now told us not to worry about how we were to do it, but to wait until the power of His Spirit comes upon us.”

Peter stood there, running his fingers through his beard and looking into the eyes of the others. Again, Andrew spoke up: “I say we let our newly appointed worship leader prepare us for some times of praying, singing of psalms, fellowshiping, and get us through the Feast of Pentecost, which ends next week.”

“Amen, amen!” shouted the others.

“Yes,” said Peter as he embraced Andrew. “And let’s start with the food fellowship—I’m hungry!”

“Amen, amen!” they all shouted again. As they entered the city, they all walked with a sense of togetherness and purpose.

† † †

Matthew pondered the turn of events as he entered the city of Jerusalem. He saw and experienced the ascension of Jesus; but, like the others, he was equally confused as to how Jesus planned to wrest the kingdom of His people from Roman rule. He knew the Romans well from his tax-collecting duties. They were a harsh breed with a strong military.

But Jesus had power like nothing he had ever witnessed before. Matthew had previously observed the power of Jesus against a host of temple soldiers: “Who are you looking for?” He asked the soldiers who came to arrest Him.

“Jesus, the Nazarene,” they replied.

“I am He.” But when He said that, an unseen force pushed them back and caused them all to fall down. His power was supernatural!

But now Jesus is gone; how can He continue to lead? How can this transfer of power occur? “Wait,” said Jesus. “Wait until you are enveloped in power from the Holy Spirit.” Surely this meant He was coming back. Surely this meant that the restoration of all Judea would soon take place through some sort of supernatural manifestation.

Matthew struggled with his newfound “job” as a proclaimer of this new “Way” into God’s kingdom. I was a tax collector; I dealt with statistics and money, he thought. I enjoy working alone; I’m not a proclaimer, so how can I best serve Him? What can I do to further this cause?

Matthew thought back to his decision to leave the tax business and follow Jesus. When he looked into the eyes of Jesus, he saw hope—hope of a restoration with his family, who had disowned him because of his job. And hope of a restoration with his God. He believed Jesus when He said everything was going to be restored. And with Him nearby, nothing was impossible. Then came a startling statement from Him: “In a few days I will be turned over to the authorities, and I will be gone.” And now He was.

But no sooner had Jesus left than He returned. Three days later He appeared; Jesus was back! But not as before: He appeared as in a body, but not as regular flesh and blood. He did have a body—He ate before them; but then He vanished right before their very eyes! Later, Jesus came back and taught them and revealed to them how He fulfilled all the prophecies concerning the Messiah. But why depart now? And why wait? This indeed was puzzling. Nevertheless, it was the command of the Master; now he and the others must obey.

† † †

As Philip walked with the others, his mind also raced through the encounters with Jesus since He had risen from the dead. The disciples and others went into seclusion after the crucifixion for fear of the high priest and the authorities. But Jesus found us—He appeared before us behind locked doors! He was alive! He was real—but then, as quickly as Jesus appeared, He left again. Eight days later, He appeared again to teach Thomas not to doubt His presence and the ability to reveal Himself.

His presence was external, but then He “breathed” on them and said, “Receive now the Holy Spirit.” And just like that, His presence was felt inwardly like never before! Jesus was as real, in His Spirit, as He was previously in His flesh.

I feel Your presence, my Lord, he said silently as he walked. You are with me—You are with us inwardly, as You were outwardly in the flesh. Philip recalled how Jesus appeared to the group on numerous occasions, after His resurrection. He taught them how the prophets’ foretelling of the current events related to the Messiah. Like never before, the words of the prophets became a present reality. The pieces of the prophetic puzzle began to fit.

But, again, why “wait”? What is this power going to do to us that Your presence has not already done?

Philip looked at the others; the disciples appeared to be in deep thought as well as discussing with Andrew about the main things Jesus was teaching them. “Wait until . . .” I suppose we will soon fit some final pieces of this puzzle together.

† † †

James observed his younger brother, John, as he was promoted to worship leader for the group. This reminded him of their father, Zebedee, a Levite, who had been active once as a worship leader for the priests at the temple. But his zeal to purify the Jewish system by dethroning the Herodian kingship brought conflict between the Herodians and the families of the current high-priestly lineage. To keep the peace—and power—the high priest demoted Zebedee to the daily affairs of preparing food for the other priests. That’s what led Zebedee to move to Capernaum to become a fishing merchant—and a successful one at that.

Jesus called James and John the Boanerges—“Sons of Thunder”—due to their vocal dislike of the high priest’s authority. Their father’s zeal was passed on to them, which made them targets of the ruling authorities. James remembered several times when Jesus had to intercede to prevent the Boanerges from causing conflict and physical harm to those to whom He was sent to minister.

But didn’t Jesus change all that? Shouldn’t they use that “thunder” and speak for Jesus now? But He said, “Wait.” James could hardly comprehend the waiting command. With Jesus’ spiritual presence, why couldn’t the group go to the Sanhedrin council and demonstrate who Jesus actually is? And why not sit down with the high priest and his court and demonstrate how the Master’s power could change everything? Besides, the family of the high priest knew Zebedee; surely the high priest would be reasonable with the sons of Zebedee and their friends? These thoughts occupied James’ mind as they walked back to the city to “wait.”

† † †

As she walked near the men, Mary of Magdala—also known as Mary Magdalene—listened as the apostles were describing things Jesus taught them after His resurrection. She thought back through the past month. Jesus wasn’t “teaching” me as much as He was showing me how to love Him and others. He told me how my obedience to His words was an indication of my love for Him. I love Him so much! But how can I, a single woman with a bad reputation, reveal His love to others? She did not want to walk back to Jerusalem, but to stay where she last saw Jesus. She quickly dabbed her eyes, trying to catch her tears.

“Patience, my dear,” said a voice beside her, as they walked. It was Mary, the mother of Jesus. “In time, He will reveal His plan for you.”

“Do you think I can fit in with His plans?” she asked between her sobs.

Mary smiled and held her hand. “If He knows every bird that falls to the ground, I believe He knows your heart as well. You were special to Him, and I know He is going to use you in a special way. We must have faith in Him and wait for His plan to be revealed to us all. He has promised that His presence will be known by all us who love Him.” Then she gently squeezed Mary’s hand and ventured away from her.

My Lord, Mary Magdalene prayed, I will wait as long as it takes . . . but please don’t delay Your return.

† † †

“How long must we wait, Lord?” It was Peter’s shift to offer prayers, and he was anxious to move on. A week had passed, and still there was no sign of the “promise.” He looked at a few others, some kneeling and some lying on their mats, but all asking Jesus to come and bring the promise from the Father, which they understood to be the presence and power of His Spirit. “Is the ‘promise’ Your Spirit, Jesus? Will You be seen by us but not the others? Will You dictate to us our every move? Or is it the Spirit of You in someone else, as the Father did through the kings and the prophets of our forefathers?” Peter continued to pray.

“Peter, James, Matthew!” shouted John, as he leaped two steps at a time coming up to the prayer room.

“Shhh!” said Peter. “It’s the Sabbath, John; don’t be so loud.”

John lowered his voice. “Oh, please excuse me; I’m so excited. James, our Master’s brother, has returned from Bethany! He’s in the courtyard, and he’s brought Lazarus and his two sisters, Martha and Mary!”

Maybe Your brother is our promised spiritual leader? thought Peter, as he stood up. Lord Jesus, please reveal this to me. I need some sort of sign that he is truly the one promised to reveal our takeover plans. I will submit to him, I promise.

James arrived with an entourage, his face shielded by his headgear as he walked into the outer court. Peter stepped slowly down the stairway, shrouding his feelings of anxiety. A week had transpired since the abrupt departure of Jesus. Now there were only two days left before the end of the Pentecost observance.

“Wait,” Peter whispered to himself. “Wait until the power to lead us comes.” Peter greets James, “James, peace to you, my brother. And how was your journey?”

“Peace to you, Peter. Fine, the journey has been prosperous. And you?”

“We continue to wait, just as your brother told us.”

“Yes; that is what He told us.”

“So, has He spoken to you? Have you seen Him?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Peter. Oh, hello Mother; so good to see you.” James stepped over toward Mary, as she approached the men. They each embraced and kissed.

“My dear son, so good to see your journey is ended and you have arrived safely.”

“Nothing to worry about, woman; the excitement of an insurrection is fading, and the Romans have ceased their close scrutiny over us. It also appears that the priests have ended their watch on Lazarus and have returned to their regular duties, keeping us at a distance.” John was standing next to Mary. “And you, Mother; has John seen to your needs?”

She put her arm around John. “Yes, my son, like Jesus Himself. He is so youthful and so caring. But I do miss your brother. Oh, that He would return once more; I miss Him so.”

“He’s coming back,” said John. “He said He would come back.”

“Yes, He did, John,” said James. “But I’m afraid my doubts about Him may be causing the delay.”

“No!” Peter raised his voice. “Don’t say that! If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I was the one who denied Him openly. Yet He came back to me and forgave me. Remember? He forgave me.”

“But I am his brother; I should have known better.”

Mary gave them both a stern look. “Stop it, both of you! Jesus has forgiven us all for our doubts and misunderstandings.” Then she smiled. “Now is not the time to bring back old sins of fear and doubt. We must believe Him and wait. We must prepare for these final two days of Pentecost and continue to wait.”

“I have it!” said Peter. “We’re off balance! We need another!”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked James. “What is ‘off balance’?”

“Twelve—Jesus chose twelve; now we’re only eleven. Quickly; we must gather everyone together and choose another.”

“Now what?” said Thomas, sitting at a nearby table. “Can’t we just accept that this is it? We must have misunderstood His commands. Don’t you agree, Matthew?”

“Hmm; I think we should listen to the old man,” spoke Matthew. “Maybe he is dreaming again.”

Peter ignored Matthew’s verbal jab. “Matthew, Thomas—all of you listen to me. It has always been our custom to honor our forefathers with the proper representation. Jesus chose twelve of us as His disciples; now we must replace ‘the traitor.’”

“Judas Iscariot?” asked Thomas.

“Please!—don’t say that name in my presence!”

“Peter,” said John. “Calm down or we’ll have to rub more herbs on your neck.”

The others began to laugh. Peter’s face and neck always flushed a deep red when he got overly excited. Matthew pulled a cloth out of his tunic. “Here, now, let me wipe the sweat off your brow.”

“Leave me alone! I tell you, we must select another.”

“Listen, everyone,” said John, “Please gather around us. Peter has a revelation.”

Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Ahem,” Peter cleared his throat. “Brothers and sisters, we must confront the need to honor our forefathers by selecting another follower to replace ‘the traitor.’ We know that he died according to the writings of our prophets, and I just now remember another writing that says we must replace him with another. I believe this may be the missing piece of the puzzle that prevents the return of our Master’s Spirit. We must select another.”

“Are you sure you’re reading our prophets correctly?” asked Thomas.

“Yes, I’m quite sure. This verse has come to me during many a catch of fish. God always promised me replacements for those I caught. And what He says to me about fish, I believe He says to me now about selecting another man to be one of the Twelve.”

“Then why not James, our Master’s brother? Or Lazarus?” asked Bartholomew.

“Well . . . well, because neither was there at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry when He was baptized by John. The one who joins us must be able to testify of all that Jesus began to do and teach, from the start to the present.”

“Who among us has been with us since the beginning of our Master’s baptism?” asked Nathanael. After a brief survey of the attendants, two men were found who met the requirements and agreed to be selected as an apostle—one of the Twelve: Joseph Barsabas (also known as Justus) and Matthias.

No one objected to the proceedings, except John. “Peter, shouldn’t we do what the Master said, and wait? Shouldn’t we let Him choose the replacement just as He chose us all?”

“Wait? And how long do we wait? What if this very thing is stalling His return? Do you want to continue to delay our Master’s return? I say we choose one of these men.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” asked Philip, joining them from the upper chamber.

“Uh, well, we’ll have them draw straws.” That brought a laugh or two. “Or lots—that’s right! Who has a set of lots?”

By now, the whole courtyard was filled with followers of Jesus.

Someone handed Peter a set of lots. “Step back and give me some room, will you?” said Peter, as he bent down on his knees. “Now let’s pray: Jesus, our Master, you know our hearts’ desires are to do Your will. We ask of You, please select the one to fill in the empty space of the one who betrayed You. Let this meet Your approval by the arrival of Your promise; and, Jesus, come back to us soon; Amen.”

“In His name, Peter,” said John.

“What?”

“Remember, He said to ask in His name.”

“Oh; yes, so He did. In Your name, Jesus, we ask of You.” Peter looked around, but no one was moving. All eyes appeared to be on him. “Okay, prepare the lots . . . Brothers, may Jesus choose between you two.”

The lots were cast and the name selected was Matthias.

“My dear brother, please come and kneel before the Lord

. . . Here is another, Master Jesus, who brings us to twelve. We ask of You to receive him, in Your name, amen.”

“Amen, amen,” responded others.

“Now let me get back to our meal,” said Mary. “Come Martha, Mary; we have a lot of preparations to complete.”

Supper ended with a gathering around the apostles as they broke bread together to celebrate communion with their Master. John led the group through several of the psalms and odes from the Sacred Writings. Next, Andrew read a portion of Isaiah. Then, Peter stood to share a few words of encouragement to the followers. After a few minutes, he concluded.

“Tomorrow is the final day for the Feast of Pentecost,” said Peter. “Let us finish our usual prayer shift this evening and then, tomorrow, we’ll all join together for a celebrated season of prayer at daybreak.”

As everyone began to break up into their family groups, Perpetua, Peter’s wife, and Petronilla, their daughter, approached him. “Shouldn’t we be heading back home soon?” asked Perpetua.

“Abba, Father, please can we leave? I want to go home.” She nestled up close to him. The feel of her long black hair and the smell of her mild perfume gave him great inner warmth and gratefulness for his dear family.

“Now is not the time to discuss our trip back to Galilee, my dear woman,” he said to his wife. “Jesus wants us together for the time being. Look at me, my darling Pet.” She raised her head from his lap. “Jesus has specifically told us to wait for His power to come. Remember that power, my darling? It was that same power that raised your grandmother from her sick bed.”

“Ohhh,” she responded slowly.

“You and your mother may have to go ahead of me; but let’s talk about that after tomorrow’s festivities. Now you two go and prepare for bed; I’ll join you in a few minutes.” As they walked away, Peter looked around the room. Lazarus was at a window looking out over the eastern sky. He walked over to him. “Lazarus, my brother; how are you feeling these days?”

Lazarus smiled. “I am blessed beyond measure. I am alive to see how Jesus plans to change the world. This is a blessing indeed.”

“Well, He’d better come soon or the authorities will soon break up our gathering.”

“Patience, my brother; Jesus waited four days before lifting me out of the grave. Every delay is another opportunity to trust Him more.”

“I suppose you’re right; but I am anxious to see Him once more . . . Good night, and sleep well.”

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!

 

 

 

 

Jerry Eicher’s bestselling Amish fiction (more than 210,000 in combined sales) includes The Adams County Trilogy, the Hannah’s Heart books, and the Little Valley Series. After a traditional Amish childhood, Jerry taught for two terms in Amish and Mennonite schools in Ohio and Illinois. Since then he’s been involved in church renewal, preaching, and teaching Bible studies. Jerry lives with his wife, Tina, and their four children in Virginia.
Visit the author’s website.

Bestselling fiction author Jerry S. Eicher recounts his childhood in the Amish community of Aylmer, Ontario and his parents’ decision to move to Honduras. Jerry also tells of his eventual conversion to Christ and the reasons for his departure from the childhood faith he knew.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99

Paperback: 256 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (February 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736950060

ISBN-13: 978-0736950060

ISLAND BREEZES

I didn’t know there was an Amish community in Honduras. It really sounds like an odd mix, but young Jerry Eicher loved it there.

This book gives us insight into how the different cultures interacted. It wasn’t always good. The Amish were seen as rich people, and too many wanted to take advantage of their good nature, as well as to just take their belongings.

I hope Mr. Eicher continues with his story. I’ve enjoyed every one of his books that I’ve read. This one leaves me wanting more.

 
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Mom was having chest spasms, and any real doctor was miles away—across four hours of the broken, rutted, dusty Honduran road we took only as a last resort.

The running man was my Uncle Joe. The smart one of the family. The older brother. The intellectual genius. When Uncle Joe walked by, we stopped talking and listened intently when he spoke. On this day, he rushed by, not paying any attention to us children.

I knew he was coming about Mom, but I recall experiencing no fear for her life. Perhaps I wasn’t old enough to have such a fear. To me, Uncle Joe’s haste seemed more entertainment than emergency. After all, Mom had looked fine to me a few minutes earlier.

When Uncle Joe left the house some time later, he issued a favorable report that I never questioned. Nor did anyone else. The mysteries of the Englisha world of medicine were even further removed from us than the four hours to town. Uncle Joe studied the books, and we trusted him.

Years later, when our little Amish community in Central America was on its last legs and held in the grip of terrible church fights over cape dresses, bicycles, singing in English or Spanish on Sunday mornings, and other horrors that the adults spoke of with bated breath, it was the look on Uncle Joe’s face as he talked with Mom and Dad by the fence on Sunday afternoon that made things clear to me. If Uncle Joe thought something was over, then it was over.

Uncle Joe lived below us, across the fields, in a house smaller than ours even though his family was much larger. How they managed, I never thought to wonder. Their house never looked crowded. It was kept spotless by his wife, Laura, and their oldest daughters Rosanna and Naomi. We didn’t visit often on Sunday afternoons. Mostly we children dropped by on weekdays, sent on some errand by Mom or we wandered past on our meanderings around the countryside.

They kept goats in the yard, all of them tied with long ropes to stakes. One of them was named Christopher. We didn’t have goats. Dad ran a machine shop, and Mom took care of the garden. Goats were foreign to us. Smelly creatures. Mom scorned goat’s milk, even when Uncle Joe said emphatically it was far superior to cow’s milk.

We all lived near each other in those days—part of a grand experiment to see if the Amish faith could survive on foreign soil.

My grandfather, Peter Stoll, an Amish man of ??impeccable standing, had taken it upon himself to lead an Amish community to the Central American country of Honduras. He wasn’t an ordained minister, and I don’t remember seeing him speak in public. Still, the integrity of his life and his ideas so affected those around him that they were willing to follow him where few had gone before.

At the height of the experimental community, we ended up being twenty families or so. We all lived on two neighboring ranches purchased in a valley below a mountain. Most of us had come to Honduras from the hot religious fervor of the small Aylmer community along the shores of ?Lake Erie in Southern Ontario or from the detached coolness of Amish country spread over Northern Indiana. Plans were for the two to become one in mind and heart. And for awhile we did.

Those were wonderful years. The memories of that time still bring an automatic gathering of hearts among the Amish who were there—and even some of us who are no longer Amish. All these years later, most of us are scattered across the United States and Canada—except for the few of the original group who stayed behind.

Some of the people credit the joy of those days to the weather in our Honduras valley. And lovely weather it was. Balmy. Hardly ever above ninety or below forty. Others credit the culture. Some attribute our happiness to being so far from the States that we only had each other. I don’t know the full reason for our happiness. Perhaps it isn’t possible to know. But I do remember the energy of the place—its vibrancy. I do know the years left their imprints on us all.

This was my childhood. Those hazy years when time drags. When nothing seems to come soon enough. And where everything is greeted as if it had never been before. To me that land—that valley—was home. I absorbed it completely. Its sounds. Its language. The color of the dusty towns. The unpaved streets. The pigs in the doorway of the huts. The open fires over a metal barrel top. The taste of greasy fried beans. The flour tortillas and meat smoked to perfection. In my heart there will always be a deep and abiding love for that country.

Around us were mountains. To the north they rose in a gradual ridge, coming in from the left and the right to meet in the middle, where a distinctive hump rose into the air—officially named Mt. Misoco. But to us it was simply what the locals called it: La Montaña. The Mountain. Our mountain. Which it was in ways we could not explain.

To the south lay the San Marcos Mountains. At least that’s what we called them. Those rugged, jagged peaks lying off in the distance. I never climbed those mountains, but I often roamed our mountain—or rather our side of it—from top to bottom. On its peak, looking over to the other side, you could see lines and lines of ridges running as far as the eye could see.

A party of courageous Amish boys, along with a few visiting Amish youngsters from stateside, once decided to tackle the San Marcos Mountains. They threw their forces together and allowed two days for the trip. I was much too young to go along—and probably wouldn’t have anyway. But I waited for news of their adventure with interest. They came back soon enough— defeated and full of tales of dark jungles and multiple peaks that disoriented the heart. No one even caught sight of the highest point, let alone the other side.

In the summer, around five in the morning, the Southern Cross—that symbol of Christianity—hung over the San Marcos Mountains. Its haunting figure made of stars swung low in the sky. I would stand for long minutes gazing at the sight, caught up in the glory of it.

I was eight when we arrived in Honduras. We were one of the first families there after Grandfather Stoll had purchased and settled on the Sanson ranch. Dad seemed driven to the move by motives other than adventure. He was unhappy with the ordnung rules in the Amish community at Aylmer, and he wanted change. Change that didn’t include the great sin of joining a more liberal Amish church, of course.

In time Dad came to love the land along with the rest of us. And strangely, he came to love what he didn’t expect—the old ways, imperfect though they had been. My most enduring memory of Dad in those days is hearing him sing the old German songs at the top of his voice over the roar of his machine shop motors. And in the end, it came down to that question for all of them. A choice between what they loved and what they loved the most.

I grew up surrounded by men dedicated to an old faith. I saw those men, most of them my uncles, tested to the core. I saw them wrestle with the old and with the new, trying to figure out where everything fit together. I lived among giants of faith. I saw their agony and their sacrifice. I saw their choices, and it affected me deeply. Their faith had been hammered out back in the sixteenth century, in the old town of Zurich, Switzerland. Back during the time Ulrich Zwingli thundered his sermons in the old Grossmunster Church.

But in the days of my childhood, those stories of ??long ago were not mine yet. Those gallant tales of deeds done under fire and sword. Of imprisonment in noblemen’s castles. Of narrow escapes into the Swiss countryside from the murderous Berne Anabaptist hunters. Instead, my memories are of men in my own time. Men who believed that life was not worth living if you didn’t believe in something worth dying for. I was surrounded by men of passion. And if someone should make the claim that these men were misguided, I would insist the fault lay not in caring too much about religious matters. For I learned while growing up among them that this is how a person should live. That true believers follow God with all of their hearts and souls.