The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing;
he frustrates the plans of the peoples.
The counsel of the Lord stands forever,
the thoughts of his heart to all generations.
Happy is the nation whose God is the Lord,
the people whom he has chosen as his heritage.
Psalm 33:10-12
Rather childish and definitely not behavior becoming to the office of President of the United States.
Anger management problems?
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!
and the book:
Realms (June 7, 2011)
***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Charisma House | Charisma Media for sending me a review copy.***
Martha Rogers is the author of Becoming Lucy; Morning for Dove; Finding Becky; Caroline’s Choice; Not on the Menu, a part of a novella collection with DiAnn Mills, Janice Thompson, and Kathleen Y’Barbo; and River Walk Christmas, a novella collection with Beth Goddard, Lynette Sowell, and Kathleen Y’Barbo. A former schoolteacher and English instructor, she has a master’s degree in education and lives with her husband in Houston, Texas.
Visit the author’s website.
This is a new series by Martha Rogers.
“Summer Dream is a sweet, heartfelt, and well-written story about faith in action and a love that never fails. I can’t wait to read the rest of this series.”—Andrea Boeshaar, author of Unexpected Love and Undaunted Faith
A Heart in Need of Redemption. An Unlikely Love. And a God Who Can Bring Them Together.
As the daughter of a small-town minister in Connecticut, Rachel Winston fears that the only way she’ll ever find a husband is to visit her aunt in Boston for the social season. But when Nathan Reed arrives in town, she can’t help but wonder if he could be the one.
Although attracted to Rachel, Nathan has no desire to become involved with a Christian after experiences with his own family. What’s more, until he resolves his anger with God and his family, he has no chance of courting her.
When Nathan is caught in a devastating blizzard and lies near death in the Winston home, Rachel and her mother give him a lesson in love and forgiveness that leads him back to his home in the South. Will he make peace with his family and return before Rachel chooses a path that takes her away from him?
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (June 7, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616383607
ISBN-13: 978-1616383602
ISLAND BREEZES
This book was one of those where you know what he’s thinking and you know what she’s thinking. And all you, as a reader, can do is hope they don’t really mess it up.
Now you all know I’m not going to tell you what happens. You need to read this book yourself. It’s a good one.
Just know that you will definitely need that box of tissues!
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER
Why did Papa have to be so stubborn? Rachel Winston stared at the gray clouds outside her window and fought the urge to stomp her foot like a spoiled child. However, young women of twenty years must behave as befitting their age, as Mama so often reminded her. Perhaps she should have shown the letter to her mother first. Too late for that now; Papa would tell Mama as soon as he had the opportunity.
The back door closed with a thud, and Rachel shuddered. Papa had left for the church. His departing meant she needed to finish dressing or she’d be late, and then Papa would be even more upset with her. It wouldn’t do for the preacher’s family to be late for the services.
The paper in her pocket crackled when she moved toward the bed to retrieve her boots. Rachel fingered the crumpled edges of Aunt Mabel’s letter. There was no need to read it again, for she knew the words by heart. Her aunt’s invitation to come to Boston for an extended visit had arrived at a most inopportune time with the winter weather in the northern states at its worst. Even so, she shared the letter with Papa, hoping he might be agreeable to the visit.
A metallic taste soured her mouth, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to squelch it. Papa argued that the unpredictable weather of February made travel from Connecticut to Boston dangerous. If only one of the many Boston trains came to Briar Ridge. Aunt Mabel meant well, but her timing left something to be desired. Papa didn’t even want her going to Hartford or Manchester to board a train. It took over three hours by horseback to make the journey to Hartford—longer in bad weather.
She grasped the wrinkled letter in her hand and pulled it from its resting place. “Oh, Auntie, why did you wait until now to invite me for a visit?” she said to the letter, as if Aunt Mabel could hear her. “Last spring when I graduated from the academy would have been perfect, but you had to travel abroad.” A deep sigh filled her, then escaped in a long breath and a slump of her shoulders.
Aunt Mabel believed that a young woman should go to finishing school before she thought of marriage and had offered to pay for Rachel’s tuition. Papa had frowned on the idea, but her mother finally prevailed. For that, Rachel was most grateful, and she wouldn’t have traded those years at the academy for marriage to anyone. But now that she was twenty, she found that the pool of eligible bachelors in her area was slim to nonexistent.
Going to Boston would have provided the opportunity to meet more young men.
Rachel sat on the bed to ease off her slippers and bent over for the winter boots thatwould protect her feet from the slush. The frozen ground outdoors called for them, but they were not the choice she would have liked to wear to church this morning. Rachel shoved her feet down into the sturdy boots designed for warmth, not attractive appearance.
Of the eligible young men in Briar Ridge, only one came to mind, but then Daniel Monroe didn’t count. His sister had been Rachel’s best friend since Papa came to be pastor of the Briar Ridge church nearly seventeen years ago. Daniel treated her more like his sister anyway. Two years older, and just starting out as a lawyer, he was far more knowledgeable than she, and keeping up a conversation with him took more effort than she deemed it to be worth. Rachel had finished at the seminary with good marks, but Daniel’s conversation interests leaned more toward science and new inventions like electricity and the telephone than things of interest to her.
Rachel’s anger subsided as she pulled on the laces of her boots. As she reflected on her father, she remembered that he loved her and wanted only the best for her. He had promised that when spring came, he’d talk to her about the trip. Until then she would be the obedient daughter he wanted her to be and dream of the trip ahead. The Lord would give her patience, even though that was not one of her virtues.
She smoothed her skirt down over her hips and picked up the letter to place it on the table beside her bed. A response to Aunt Mabel would go out with tomorrow’s mail to express her regrets in not being able to accept the invitation. Papa would probably write to her as well, but Rachel wanted her aunt to know how much she appreciated the invitation.
If Seth were here now, he could give her good counsel. He’d always been the one she’d turned to when things didn’t go well with Mama and Papa. She loved her older brother and missed him, but he’d be home from the seminary in May, and she could talk with him then. Since he studied to be a minister like Papa, he’d most likely leave Briar Ridge if his ministry took him elsewhere after his graduation.
She’d met a few young men while at school, but the strict rules and regulations set forth at Bainbridge Academy for Young Women in Hartford had given her few opportunities to develop a relationship. Not that she would have considered any of them, but she would have appreciated the chance.
Mama called to her, and Rachel hurried to the front hall. She noted the firm set of Mama’s jaw and braced for the scolding that would be in order. “I’m sorry to take so long, Mama.” She grabbed her cloak from its hook.
“You know how your father hates for us to be late to church. It is unseemly for the minister’s family to be the last to arrive.” Mama turned and walked outside, her back ramrod straight.
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. No time for a scolding now. She set a dark blue bonnet firmly over her hair and fastened the ties. She followed her mother out to the carriage, where the rest of the family waited. As usual, Papa had gone on ahead to open the church and stoke the two stoves to provide heat on this cold winter morning. Rachel climbed up beside her sister, Miriam, and reached for the blanket.
“What delayed you, Rachel? There’s no excuse for not being ready with everyone else.” Mama settled in her seat beside Noah, who had taken over his brother’s responsibilities until his own departure for college next fall.
“Time slipped away from me.” No need to tell her everything now. Rachel tucked a blanket around her legs and glanced at Miriam beside her. Miriam’s eyebrows lifted in question, but Rachel shook her head.
Micah piped up from the front seat. “Did you make Papa angry?”
“Micah! Of course not.” Rachel glanced at her brother Noah and noted the smirk on his face. She frowned to let him know she didn’t approve.
His gaze slid to her now. “Oh, then why did he stomp through the kitchen and ride off without a word to anybody?”
Mama clucked her tongue. “Now, children, it’s the Sabbath. Papa was late and in a hurry to get to the church.” But the look in Mama’s eyes promised she’d speak to Rachel about it later, especially after Mama learned the real reason for the tardiness.
Even though his decision disappointed her, Papa simply wanted to protect her from danger. She should be grateful for his love and concern, not angry because he said no. The promise of a trip to Boston when the weather improved would have to be enough to get her through the remainder of winter.
A recent snowfall still covered the frozen ground. Most of it in the streets had melted into a hodgepodge of brown and black slush caused by carriages and buggies winding their way toward the church. Rachel breathed deeply of the clean, fresh air that seemed to accompany snow in winter and rain in the spring.
If not for the inconveniences caused by ice and snow, she would love this time of year, even when the leafless branches of the trees cracked and creaked with a coating of ice. She gazed toward the gray skies that promised more snow before the day ended. If it would wait until later in the day, she might manage a visit with her best friend Abigail this afternoon.
However, a warm house, a cup of hot tea flavored with mint from Mama’s herb garden, and a good book might entice her to stay home on this cold, winter afternoon. Tomorrow would bring the chores of keeping the woodpile stocked and the laundry cleaned. She enjoyed the winter months, although this year she wished them to hurry by.
Miriam snuggled closer. Rachel smiled at her sister, who had recently turned thirteen. “I see you’re wearing your Christmas dress today. Is there a special occasion?”
Miriam’s cheeks turned a darker shade of red. “Um, not exactly.”
“Then what is it . . . exactly?”
Miriam tilted her head to one side and peered up at Rachel. She whispered, “Jimmy Turner.”
So her little sister had begun to notice boys. “Well now, I think he’s a handsome lad. Has he shown an interest in you?”
Miriam nodded and giggled. Rachel wrapped an arm around her sister as the buggy slowed to enter the churchyard. She stepped down onto the snow-covered ground muddied by all the wagons crossing over it. Now she was thankful for the thick stockings and shoes she wore to protect her toes. She then reached up for Micah while Miriam raced ahead.
The little boy pushed her hands away. “I can get down by myself.”
Rachel couldn’t resist the temptation to laugh. At seven, her younger brother expressed his independence and insisted on doing things for himself. He jumped with his feet square in a pile of snow and looked first at his feet then up to Rachel. She shook her head and grabbed his hand to go inside the building. How that little boy loved the snow. He’d be out in it all day if Mama would let him.
When she entered the foyer with Micah, she spotted Miriam already sitting in their pew with Jimmy Turner in the row behind her. Rachel hastened to sit down beside her sister. Miriam stared straight ahead but twisted her hands together in her lap.
When had Miriam grown up? Even now she showed signs of the beauty she would one day be. Thick, dark lashes framed her brown eyes, and her cheeks held a natural pink glow. Papa would really have to keep an eye out for his younger daughter.
Rachel glanced around the assembly room and once again admired the beauty of the old church built not long after the turn of the century. Instead of the quarry stone and masonry of the churches in Boston and even New Haven, Briar Ridge’s church walls were of white clapboard with large stained-glass windows along the sides. On bright days, sunlight streamed through them to create patterns of color across the congregation.
Brass light fixtures hung from the high vaulted ceilings, and the flames from the gaslights danced in the breeze as the back doors opened to admit worshippers. As much as she loved her church here in Briar Ridge, she remembered the electric lights she’d enjoyed in Hartford, one of the first cities to have its own generating plant. How long before electricity would become as widespread in Briar Ridge as it was in the larger cities? Probably awhile since Briar Ridge wasn’t known for its progress.
When the family first came to town, Rachel had been three years old, so this was the only home and church she could remember before leaving for school. Familiar faces met her everywhere she gazed. A nod and smile greeted each one as she searched for her friend Abigail and the Monroe family.
Unexpectedly a new face came into view a few rows back. A young man with the most incredible brown eyes stared back at her. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat, and the heat rose in her cheeks.
She felt her mother’s hand on her arm. “Turn around, Rachel. It’s not polite to stare.”
With her heart threatening to jump right out of her chest, Rachel tore her gaze away from the stranger seated with the Monroe family. Papa entered from the side door and stepped up to the pulpit. The service began with singing, but Rachel could barely make a sound. Everything in her wanted to turn and gaze again at the mysterious person with the Monroe family, but that behavior would be unseemly for the daughter of the minister.
However, her thoughts refused to obey and skipped to their own rhythm. Rachel decided that whoever he was, he must be a friend of Daniel’s because Abigail had never mentioned any man of interest in her own life. In a town like Briar Ridge, everyone knew everyone’s business. She hadn’t heard any talk of a guest from Daniel or her other friends yesterday.
A prickling sensation crept along her neck as though someone watched her. She blinked her eyes and willed herself to look at Papa and concentrate on his message. However, her mind filled with images of the young man. Who was this stranger who had come to Briar Ridge?
Nathan Reed contemplated the dark curls peeking from beneath the blue bonnet. When she had turned and their eyes met, his heart leaped. He had never expected to see such a beauty in a town like Briar Ridge. His friend Daniel’s sister was attractive, but nothing like this raven-haired girl with blue eyes.
When she turned her head back toward the front, he stared at her back as if to will her to turn his way again. When she didn’t, he turned his sights to gaze around the church, so much like others he’d once attended. He wouldn’t be here this morning except out of politeness for the Monroe family. He’d arrived later than intended last evening and welcomed Mrs. Monroe’s offer to stay the night with them. The least he could do was attend the service today.
Nathan had no use for church or things of God. He believed God existed, but only for people who needed something or someone to lean on. God had forsaken the Reed family years ago, and Nathan had done quite well without any help these four years away from home.
He shook off thoughts of the past and concentrated once more on the blue bonnet several rows ahead. Perhaps Daniel would introduce him. She would be a nice diversion from the business he must attend to while in town. He blocked the words of the minister from his mind and concentrated on the girl’s back.
The little boy seated next to the young woman seemed restless, so she lifted him onto her lap. The child couldn’t be her son. She didn’t look old enough. Then the older woman next to them reached for the boy and settled him in her arms. In a few minutes the boy’s head nodded in sleep.
Nathan resisted the urge to pull his watch from his pocket and check the time. Surely the service would end soon. Potbellied stoves in the front and back of the church provided warmth, and the additional heat of so many bodies caused him to wish he had shed his coat. He fought the urge to nod off himself. Oh, to be like the young lad in his mother’s arms.
Finally the congregation rose, and the organ played the final hymn. It was none too soon for Nathan, for he had grown more uncomfortable by the minute. Long sermons only added to his distaste for affairs of the church. The singing ended and people began their exit, but he kept his eye on the girl in blue until the crowd blocked her from view.
He stayed behind the Monroe family, who stopped to greet the minister. Mrs. Monroe turned to Nathan. “Reverend Winston, this is Nathan Reed, our houseguest from Hartford this week and a friend of Daniel’s.”
The minister smiled in greeting and shook Nathan’s hand. “It’s very nice to have you in our services today, Mr. Reed. I hope you enjoy your stay in Briar Ridge and that we’ll see more of you.”
“Thank you, sir. I look forward to my visit here.” But the minister wouldn’t be seeing any more of him unless they possibly met in town.
When they reached the Monroe carriage, Nathan turned and spotted the girl coming down the steps. He watched as Daniel waved to the young woman and she waved back. Abigail ran to greet her, and the girls hurried over to where Nathan stood with Daniel. Abigail tucked her hand in the girl’s elbow.
“Nathan, this is my best friend, Rachel Winston. Rachel, this is Daniel’s former roommate in college, Nathan Reed.”
Rachel Winston? Nathan’s hopes dashed against the slushy ground on which he stood. Could she be the preacher’s daughter? He didn’t mind a young woman being Christian, but he drew the line at keeping company with one so close to the ministry.
When her blue eyes gazed into his, a spark of interest flamed, and it took him a few seconds before remembering his manners. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Winston.”
Her cheeks flushed red, and she glanced away slightly but still smiled. “Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you too, Mr. Reed. Perhaps we’ll see each other again if you’re in town long.”
Rachel’s smile sent a warmth into his heart that caused him to swallow hard. Although the length of his stay was uncertain, his desire to see the lovely Miss Winston again might just override his pledge to avoid anything or anyone with ties to the church.
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!
and the book:
Dafina; 1 Original edition (June 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to Michelle Stimpson for sending me a review copy.***
Michelle Stimpson is an author, a speaker, and an educator who received her Bachelor of Science degree from Jarvis Christian College in 1994. She earned a Master’s in Curriculum and Instruction from the University of Texas at Arlington in 2002. She has had the pleasure of teaching elementary, middle, and high school as well as training adults.
In addition to her work in the field of education, Michelle ministers through writing and public speaking. Her works include the highly acclaimed Boaz Brown, Divas of Damascus Road (National Bestseller), and Last Temptation. She has published several short stories for high school students through her educational publishing company, Right Track Academic Support Services, at www.wegottaread.com.
Michelle serves in the Discerning Hearts women’s ministry at her home church, Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship. She also ministers to women through her online newsletter: www.womengrowinginchrist.com.
Michelle tours annually with the Anointed Authors on Tour. She regularly speaks at special events and writing workshops sponsored churches, schools, book clubs and other great organizations.
Michelle lives near Dallas with her husband, their two teenage children, and one crazy dog.
Visit the author’s website.
Tori Henderson is on the fast track in her marketing career in Houston, but her romantic life is slow as molasses and her relationship with Christ is nonexistent. When her beloved Aunt Dottie falls ill, Tori travels back to tiny Bayford to care for her. But when Tori arrives, she’s faced with more than she bargained for, including Dottie’s struggling local store, a host of bad memories, and a troubled little step-cousin, DeAndre. Worse, the nearest Starbucks is twenty miles away…
Just as Tori is feeling overwhelmed, she re-connects with her old crush, the pastor’s son, Jacob, who is every bit as handsome as to remembers. As the church rallies for Aunt Dottie’s recovery, Tori realizes that she came to Bayford to give, but she just might receive more than she dreamed was ever possible for her.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.00
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Dafina; 1 Original edition (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0758246889
ISBN-13: 978-0758246882
ISLAND BREEZES
Oh, man! You’re going to need that box of tissues by the time you finish reading this book.
You’re going to really care about these people. You’re also going to see God at work in many lives.
That’s all I’m saying. You’ve got to read it. If I say more, I’m just going to spoil it by giving away too much of the story.
I just can’t stop thinking about this story and the people in Bayford.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
But even as we stood around the conference room waiting for the announcement, I felt queasy. What if they didn’t name me? One look around the room sparked another dose of apprehension.
Lexa Fielder was recently hired, yet she’d already managed to land a pretty impressive list of new customers for the company, though it was rumored she did quite a bit of work on her back.
Brian Wallace was one of the older marketing representatives, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Every once in a while, he pulled off a last-minute record-breaking month for one of his clients and caught management’s eyes.
There were only four eyes I wanted to catch, and all of them belonged to Preston Haverty. Okay, he really only had two eyes, but he did wear a set of insistently thick glasses that took on life of their own at the center of his slight facial features. Every time I saw him, I felt like I was in a scene from The Emperor’s Clothes. Like, why won’t somebody tell Preston that those glasses are ridiculous and we do have technology to free us from such spectacles? Probably the same reason no one talks to Donald Trump about that comb-over.
Anyway, Preston was good people, glasses and all. I appreciated his “hands off” management style – he didn’t really care where or how we worked, so long as we got the job done. I only hoped that I’d done a good enough job to add to my collection of blue and green plaques given to outstanding employees. Lexa and Brian aside, I appreciated being appreciated. And God knows I’d put in enough woman-hours to earn this recognition.
“And February’s project manager of the month is…”—Preston announced as everyone in the room beat a drum roll on either the 16-foot table or some spot on the surrounding walls—“Tori Henderson!”
My cheekbones rose so high I could barely see in front of me. Is that what it’s like to be Miss America? Everybody applauding, confetti flying, the runners-up on the sideline clapping wildly to distract themselves from their jealousy and impending mental meltdowns after the show?
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that serious, but I sure felt like a pageant queen. My fellow co-workers, probably twenty-five people or so, cheered me on as I walked toward the front end of the table to receive my plaque. “Good job, Tori!” “You go, girl!” Their affirmations swelled inside me, feeding my self-esteem. If only my mother could see me now. Then maybe she’d forget about 1996.
I shook Mr. Haverty’s hand and posed for the obligatory picture. In that moment, I wished I’d worn a lighter-colored suit. Black always made me look like a beanpole. Gave no testament of all my hours at the gym and the donuts I’d passed on to keep the red line on my scale below one hundred and twenty-five.
I wasn’t going to pass on the sweets today, though. Jacquelyn, the lead secretary, retrieved a towering pink-and-white buttercream frosting cake and brought it forward now to celebrate my achievement.
Preston offered, “Tori, you get the first piece.”
“Get some meat on those bones, girl,” from Clara, the Webmaster.
But the mention of meat and the sight of the cake suddenly made me nauseous. To appease the group, I took the first piece. Then Jacquelyn got busy cutting and distributing pieces as everyone stood around milking the moment before having to return to work.
I sat in one of the comfy leather chairs and took and ate a bite of my celebratory sweetness. Almost instantly, my stomach disagreed with my actions. My hand flew to my abdomen, lightly stroking the panel of my suit. People were so busy devouring the cake they didn’t notice me catching my breath. Whew!
I pushed the plate away from me, as though the pink mass had the power to jump onto my fork and into my mouth. This was clearly not the cake for me. I thought for a moment about how long it had been since I ate something so densely packed with sugar. Maybe this was like red meat—once you stop consuming it, one backslidden bite tears you up inside.
No, that’s not it. I’d eaten a candy bar the previous week, before my monthly visitor arrived. Renegade cramps? I rubbed my palm against the aggravated area again. No. The pain was too high in my torso for female problems. This had to be some kind of bug. Whatever it was, it didn’t like strawberry cake so, I quietly tossed my piece in the trash on the way back to my desk.
An hour later, I felt like I could throw up so I sat perfectly still at my desk because…well…any movement of my torso sparked a pain in my side that might trigger this upchuck. I just didn’t feel like I wanted to go through the process of throwing up. I would never tell anyone this, but I find vomiting an altogether traumatic experience. Such a nasty feeling in one’s throat. And the aftertaste, and the gagging sounds. Not to mention getting a close-up look at the toilet seat. It’s just not humanlike and should be avoided at all costs, in my opinion.
Thank God I made it all the way to my apartment before I finally had to look at the inside of a porcelain throne, only this time I hadn’t even eaten anything. Bile spewed out of me, but the pain in my side was probably up to 7 on a scale of 1 to 10.
Now that I’d done the unthinkable and temporarily lost all self-respect, perhaps my body would relent. I could only hope the worst of whatever this was had passed (albeit out of the wrong end).
I managed to thoroughly brush my teeth and gargle a great number of times, assuring myself it was safe to swallow my own spit again. The image staring back at me in the mirror was normally me after a good workout—kinky twists dampened slightly at the base by my sweat, light brown face glowing in the accomplishment of burning hundreds of calories. Today, however, my sagging eyelids told the story of a woman who’d…vomited. I tried smiling, elevating my cheekbones even higher. No use. Maybe my mother was right when she’d told me, “You’re not that pretty, Tori, but you can keep yourself skinny and, when you turn fifteen, I’ll let you wear makeup. Fourteen if you’re really ugly by then.”
I closed my eyes and pressed fingers onto my temples, reminding myself that people told me I was cute all the time. One time, I went to this women’s empowerment event my client was hosting and I won a T-shirt that read I’M BEAUTIFUL with some Bible verse on it about being beautifully and wonderfully made. I wore that shirt to Wal-Mart and a total stranger walked up to me and said, “I agree.” So why did the only voice ringing now belong to my ever-beautiful, timeless Margie Carolyn James who bragged of still being carded at age 40?
My side still ached enough for me to call off the evening’s kickboxing class. Good thing Kevin was out of town working. He probably would have called me a wimp and dared me to run at least two miles. And I probably would have at least attempted to make him eat his words, despite the pain now radiating through my stomach.
After downing a dose of Advil, I trudged to my bedroom, changed into a night shirt and gently lay across the bed. I didn’t have the energy to answer my landline when it rang. I could only listen for the message.
“Hey, I’m gonna layover tonight. My flight comes in at seven, I leave out again tomorrow morning at eight. See ya.”
I was hoping that by the time he got home, I would have awakened from a refreshing nap, totally healed and ready to finish up some of the work I’d had to bring home with me in light the unproductive afternoon I endured. Yet when Kevin returned, he found me hunched over the toilet seat again.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Uuuuck!” The wretching produced another plop of bile into the commode.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m pregnant,” I quipped, though the hint of mockery escaped my tone thanks to the reverberating bowl.
“Oh my God, Tori, you’re kidding, right? You know how I feel about kids,” he yelled. “How could you—”
“Stop freaking out. I’m joking.”
He balled up his fist and exhaled into the hole. “Don’t give me a heart attack.”
“I ate some cake today at work and got sick.”
He backed out into the hallway. “Let me know if you need me.”
I rested an elbow on the toilet seat and looked up at Kevin. Six foot one looks even taller from my bathroom floor perspective. His deep sandy skin contrasted perfectly with his ivory teeth and hazel eyes which, according to him, had won over many women back in the day. I wasn’t one of those eye-color crazy girls, but I was definitely a sucker for track star legs, and Kevin had those for miles and miles. Watching him unveil those limbs when he undressed was definitely the greatest benefit of moving into his condo eighteen months earlier. Well, the legs and the free rent. And the sex, when my mind cooperated.
Kevin was the modern, metrosexual type when it came to clothes, but he had some pretty old-fashioned ideas about finances. Who was I to argue with him? He paid the major bills. I handled groceries, the housekeeper, dry cleaning, and all things communication-related since I needed high-speed everything for my job. I often wondered if he was just being chivalrous or if he never obligated me to a substantial bill because he still thought of the condo as his place.
At first glance, our living quarters resembled a bachelor pad. Simple furniture, mix-and-match bath towels. Not one picture of us on display, though I had plenty on my computer and stored on my camera waiting to be downloaded someday.
Either way, I’m no fool. Thanks to our financial arrangement, I had a growing stash of rainy-day money I’d earmarked to start my own business after an early retirement.
My stash was chump change compared to Kevin’s anyway. I’d seen a few of his paystubs lying around the condo from his work in telecommunications sales. Made my college degree seem like a huge scam to keep the masses from getting rich, maybe.
Thoughts of my master plan to retire well and get rich later compelled me to hoist myself from the floor to a semi-standing position and shuffle back to bed. Sick or well, I needed to get some work done.
Kevin did check on me, but only be default as he changed into his running clothes.
There went those strong, milk chocolate legs again.
“I’m going for a jog at the track. Might head over to Cameron’s after to watch the game.”
I gave my best big-brown-doe-eyes routine. “But you’re leaving again first thing in the morning. Can’t we spend time together?”
He held up a cross with his fingers. “I don’t want to catch whatever this is you’ve got. You looked pretty distraught in that bathroom there a minute ago.”
“Thanks so much, Kevin.”
“Any time, any time,” he smirked. “I do feel bad for you, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You need me to get you anything while I’m out?”
“A new stomach.”
“No can do, babe. How about Pepto-Bismol or Sprite? That’s what my mom used to give me when I was sick,” he recommended.
I scrunched my face. “Didn’t your mom also make you swallow Vicks VapoRub?”
“Yeah,” he supported the madness, “makes you cough the cold up. Worked every time. If you’re getting a virus, you might want to give it a shot.”
My stomach lurched at the thought. “No. I don’t want anything else coming up out of me tonight. Just…call and check on me.”
He detoured to my side before walking out of the room. A gentle kiss to my forehead was his first affectionate gesture since he’d walked into the place, despite more than a week’s passing since we’d seen each other last. I suppose it would have been hard for him to kiss me since I was engulfed in the commode earlier. Still, I wanted him to rub my back or something. What I really wanted was for him to stay home and…I don’t know, watch me suffer. Hover like they do when women are giving birth in those old movies. Put a damp towel on my forehead and encourage me, “You can do it! You can do it, Tori!”
Who was I kidding? Kevin would hire a birthing coach before he’d subject himself to my labor. Not that I’d ever find myself in a position to give birth so long as Kevin stubbornly refused to father a child. I held hope, however, that things would change after a few of his friends settled down. Sometimes guys are the only ones who can convince other guys to grow up. It’s a sick reality.
I decided to put the suffering out of my head for a moment. The Advil had taken the edge off the pain, so I carefully reached onto the floor and pulled my laptop bag onto the bed. The sweet challenge of work carried me into a trance that dulled the pain for a while.
I tapped on the mouse to wake my computer and then resumed toggling between the open programs on my computer desktop, making sure my client’s newsletter matched the updated blog content precisely. Next to update their social media networks with useful information about the company’s new products.
With reviewing several press releases still on my agenda, I really didn’t want to stop working. But the pain in my midsection returned with new vigor, biting into my concentration. I powered down my computer for the night and made my way back to the restroom for another bout with bile and a double-dose of Advil.
If the pain wasn’t any better by tomorrow, I’d have to miss a little work so I could visit the doctor.
Kevin rolled in a little after eleven to assess me again. He slipped a hand beneath the comforter and rubbed my backside. “You all right now?”
“No,” I groaned.
He nibbled on my ear, a sure indication of his intentions. “Mind if I make you feel better?”
“That won’t help.”
“Marvin Gaye says sexual healing is the best thing for you.”
“Marvin Gaye never felt this bad. Besides, I might have germs.”
Kevin tried again, lapping my neck with his tongue. “I don’t care. I miss you.”
Now he doesn’t care about the germs.
His hand moved around to my stomach, warranting a stern reaction. “Kevin, I cannot do this tonight. Move your hand.”
He jumped up from the bed. “Fine. Fine. I understand. I’ll be on the couch.”
Bestselling Author Ann Gabhart Writes A Novel of Forbidden Love
In the Shaker Village of Harmony Hill
“Let the child go, Lacey. Right now! We’ve come into this community to leave things of the world behind and do as they say” said Preacher Palmer. “But she needs me.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “She needs discipline. And so do you…” he said.
There is an intrigue and enigma with the Shakers and their way of life. Award-winning author Ann Gabhart weaves a heartrending novel of the Shakers in her latest Shaker novel, The Blessed (ISBN: 978-08007-3454-1, $14.99, 416 pages, July 2011). It is a time of spiritual revival in the mid-1840’s when the Shakers worship services received many spiritual messages from Mother Ann and other Shaker leaders. Harmony Hill was a place offering a different way of life from the world. This village was a place where the people were dedicated to community, hard work, practicing their worship, and engaging in long hours of worship each week.
It is 1844. In her twenty years, Lacey Bishop has endured hard times including the death of her mother and her father’s remarriage to a woman with no love for his children. When she was thirteen, Lacey went to live with the preacher and his wife. Upon the sudden death of the preacher’s wife, difficult times return for Lacey. The preacher convinces Lacey to marry him so she can continue to act as a mother to the little girl who was left on the preacher’s doorstop. But Lacey never expected he would decide to take all of them to a Shaker village. At the village her marriage is still legal to the outside world but living in a Shaker community, they believed marriage is a sin. Lacey finds herself drawn to Isaac Kingston, a man who came to the Shakers after his young bride died. Confused and her heart torn between right and wrong, Lacey must choose what to do. Discover how the Shakers lived in The Blessed and if truth, love and forgiveness become reality for Lacey.
ISLAND BREEZES
Instead of a pros and cons list of her life, Lacey Bishop could make a list of blessed/not blessed. It seems as if her life just sort of flip flopped between the two.
Then Lacey ended up in a Shaker village. Was it a blessing or not?
She has a roof over her head, but her husband and child are no longer hers. She isn’t really happy, but if she leaves she will no longer even be able to catch a glimpse of her Rachel.
Besides, she’s being drawn towards a Shaker man with no hope of ever being with the man she loves. With no hope of ever being part of a family again.
Will Lacey end up checking off the blessed or the not blessed column by the end of this book?
***Special thanks to Donna Hausler for a review copy of this book. ***
Ann Gabhart is the award-winning, bestselling author of several books about the Shakers, including The Believer, The Outsider and The Seeker. Living just thirty miles from a restored Shaker village and one mile from the place she was born in Lawrenceburg, Kentucky, she has walked the same paths that her characters might have walked in generations past. For more information about Ann visit her website at www.annhgabhart.com
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 July 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group
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!
and the book:
Rescuing Slaves of the Watchtower
Hannibal Books (May 20, 2011)
***Special thanks to Jennifer Nelson, PR Specialist, Hannibal Books for sending me a review copy.***
Formerly a third-generation Jehovah’s Witness, Joe B. Hewitt has dedicated himself to exposing the Watchtower’s false teachings and to helping Jehovah’s Witnesses ascend from mental bondage into Christian liberty. He has served as a pastor, evangelist, and missionary, and has received a bachelor of divinity and a master of arts in biblical studies. His first book, I Was Raised a Jehovah’s Witness, sold 45,000 copies in the English edition and was also translated and published in Chinese.
Visit the author’s website.
Learn how to rescue Jehovah’s Witnesses from their slavery! Though its members represent one of the fastest-growing religions in the world, the Jehovah’s Witnesses remain one of the most enigmatic and puzzling groups to many people today. Few people never have been visited by a “Witness”, but what exactly do these determined people actually believe? What makes them so different from other Christian denominations?
In this spellbinding look at the Watchtower Society, Joe B. Hewitt, formerly a third-generation Jehovah’s Witness who was indoctrinated by his mother and grandfather with Watchtower teachings, pulls back the curtain of mystery and exposes lies, the mind control, and the glaring contradictions of biblical truth behind the organization that has sent those smiling faces to your front door. His book contains heartbreaking stories of former adherents, including himself, who were betrayed by the JW’s. Joe says instead of evangelizing others, the Witnesses themselves need to be rescued from the cult-like organization. The book describes how people who know the real truth of Christ’s love can rescue the Watchtower’s slaves from intellectual and emotional bondage.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.95
Paperback: 260 pages
Publisher: Hannibal Books (May 20, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1613150067
ISBN-13: 978-1613150061
ISLAND BREEZES
I worked with a nurse and I have a friend who were both caught in the JW web. I know how tormented and grieved they were by the actions of their mothers, family and church members.
One is still being shunned and mistreated. The mother of the other, after nearly ten years of watching my friend walk with Christ, has now come far enough to even pray with her.
I know it is possible to escape, but the only way I knew to help was to share my love, and eventually, prayer and Scripture.
This book would have made it much easier. The JW web is even more tangled than I imagined.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Rescue Is Possible
JW’s Drop Out because of Physical and Mental Exhaustion
As one trained from childhood by the Jehovah’s Witnesses, I can show you how people fall under the complete control of the Watchtower and also how they can be rescued from the hold the Watchtower has on them.
As one of the early disciples of Charles Taze Russell, founder of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society before the turn of the 20th century, my maternal grandfather trained my mother in Watchtower doctrines. In turn my mother trained me.
In countries in which Jehovah’s Witnesses are active, almost every family suffers because one or more members are under control of the Watchtower Society. These individuals seem almost to be locked up in a prison—not a prison of stone but one of mind control even more oppressive than that of a dungeon.
According to Watchtower statistics almost seven million Jehovah’s Witnesses exist worldwide; each year the organization adds a quarter-of-a-million or more new members. Yet the net growth is nowhere near that much. So what happens to hundreds of thousands of active Jehovah’s Witnesses who each year slip through the statistical cracks?
People escape from the Watchtower by the thousands. During one decade alone—1975-1985—nearly one million JW’s dropped out or were tossed out.
JW’s Drop Out because of Physical and Mental Exhaustion
Becoming a Jehovah’s Witness takes about six months of study. The newly baptized JW eagerly attends five meetings a week and spends at least 10 hours a month knocking on doors and witnessing to people. But that soon grows old; exhaustion replaces enthusiasm. Most of the JW’s emotional and physical energy is devoted to the theocratic ministry. The person has little time or strength left for family or work. The individual just can’t keep up the pace, so he or she drops out.
Like being out on parole the exhausted ones escape physically from the Watchtower, but emotionally they are the walking wounded. Part of their training sensitizes them to guilt. JW elders try to manipulate them back into the fold by pushing the guilt-buttons of the exhausted ones. The exhausted one feels as though she is an utter failure. She believes she has failed Jehovah God. Instead she has failed the Watchtower, Jehovah’s Earthly Organization. The guilt is overwhelming.
Then to make matters worse, the exhausted person is bombarded with telephone calls from and visits by JW friends to get her to return. These drive her deeper and deeper into depression. Of any religious group Jehovah’s Witnesses have the highest incidence of mental illness and suicide among their membership.
Out of service for the Watchtower, the exhausted one’s mind still is captive; he or she still is convinced the Watchtower doctrines are true and that the Watchtower Society is Jehovah God’s earthly authority. She feels she herself is the evil one—the failure. While an active JW she never measured up. She always failed, according to the impossible standards set by the Watchtower. So she damns herself an admitted, utter failure who is doomed to die in the sudden destruction of Armageddon which she believes will occur any day.
The exhausted one lives a miserable existence. She may try to get back into good standing at the Kingdom Hall, the meeting place of JW’s. She can stand before the congregation and repent, confess her failures, and beg for reinstatement. She then may be put on probation and be allowed to sit on the back row. Nobody talks to her. After about a year she asks for reinstatement and goes before the board of elders. If she’s accepted back, she usually finds that she is marked and treated with suspicion. She lives with guilt and futility. Or she learns to lie to herself and convinces herself she really does measure up and joins the ranks of the self-righteous.
However, once a person has dropped out, most fail a second time and then a third. Finally the person gives up and adopts the attitude: If I’m doomed to die in Armageddon anyway, I might as well do as I please and leave God out of my life altogether. Emotionally and spiritually he still is locked up in the stone-cold Watchtower.
If on the other hand the JW is male and has not dropped out, he has the opportunity to progress through the ranks of publisher (a baptized JW in good standing), a servant, (equivalent to deacon), and perhaps even elder (member of the congregation’s governing board).
JW’s Are Kicked Out
The Watchtower Society would have you believe that all those kicked out are disfellowshiped for immorality. Not so. Many have been kicked out for smoking. Back when hippies distinguished themselves with wire-rimmed glasses and beards, JW’s were disfellowshiped for wearing those glasses, which the Watchtower considered worldly attire. Charles Taze Russell, founder of the Watchtower, wore a long beard, but that apparently made no difference. JW’s still have been disfellowshiped for wearing beards.
JW’s also are kicked out for participating in independent Bible study, for questioning Watchtower dogma, for associating with a former JW whom they are supposed to shun, and for many other reasons ordinary people would find trivial or grossly unfair.
JW’s Leave in Disgust over Immoral JW Leaders
Some Jehovah’s Witnesses leave the organization when they see hypocrisy and double standards among members of the leadership. The most serious example is sexual molestation of children followed by organized cover-up. This blatant hypocrisy has pierced the hard shell of many JW’s and has caused them to leave the organization in disgust.
As with other religious organizations, child molesters flock to the JW’s, in which they can work themselves into positions of trust and have access to children. A familiar pattern has emerged. For years a priest sexually abuses children Somebody blows the whistle; more victims present themselves. The offending priest finally goes to jail. If he doesn’t go to jail, at least he is hauled off to a monastery in which he no longer has contact with children.
A pedophile becomes trained as a children’s worker or youth director in a church. He sexually abuses children. A child tells on him. The parent reports to the police; the pedophile goes to jail. After he gets out of prison, he is labeled and tracked as a sexual predator.
The JW’s, however, deal with sexual-abuse problems differently. They will disfellowship a person who disagrees with Watchtower dogma, who smokes, who wears skirts too short, or who engages in the catch-all transgression—worldly activity. But the Jehovah’s Witnesses protect child molesters in a cocoon of impossible rules and in an attitude that often punishes the victim.
If a child reports to an elder that she has been sexually molested, the elder will confront the accused. If he denies it, the elder tells the family that two witnesses must exist; otherwise, nothing can be done. The family members then insist that something be done about the child molester. They are told to wait on Jehovah. If they refuse to keep the matter quiet, the elders accuse the family of causing dissension in the congregation. If the family members persist, they are kicked out of the congregation, branded as troublemakers, and shunned. The child molester continues his dirty deeds but is careful to do nothing in front of two witnesses.
Another typical scenario is one in which a person of influence in the congregation is guilty of sexually abusing a child. Typically the child’s parents report the crime to the elders. The elders call the accused in to a judicial hearing. If no witnesses to the offense are produced, the elders refuse to believe such a charge against him and hush it up. Because of their power, influence, and role, the elders can do what they want. They may believe the influential offender is being persecuted; they may turn on the complaining parent. Usually the parents will continue to ask justice from the elders. As far as the elders are concerned, the case is closed, because no witnesses exist. If the parents persist, the elders have the authority to order the parents onto the carpet for a judicial hearing and accuse them of causing dissension among the brethren. This punishment of the victim often causes the parents to quietly leave the congregation. If they go and later unite with another congregation of JW’s, their file containing a record of judicial hearings and accusations goes there also.
An Australian JW congregation disfellowshiped Jan Groenveld because she blew the whistle on pedophiles and wouldn’t hush it up. She insisted that the elders do something about an abuser in the congregation. They refused. She went to the press. The JW elders declared her dead; she was shunned. The child abuser remained under the elders’ protection.
Because of so many cases of sexual molestation of children, including those by Jehovah’s Witnesses, Internet websites are devoted to telling the heartbreaking stories of victims and their families. Two of these websites are www.silentlambs.org and www.lambsroar.org.
The Love and Norris law firm of Fort Worth, TX, specializes in cases involving Jehovah’s Witnesses and sexual molestation of children. The firm says, “If you are a victim of sexual abuse at the hands of a perpetrator in a Jehovah’s Witnesses congregation, we may be able to help you. Consistently, the Watchtower Society and Jehovah’s Witnesses congregations have responded to an abuse outcry with concern for the organization’s loss of reputation or prestige, rather than concern for victimized children.
“Statistically, a known pedophile WILL abuse again. By failing to acknowledge the problem, investigate vigorously, and cooperate with criminal law enforcement authorities, the Watchtower Society has failed to protect its own children from sexual predators. By harboring pedophiles, the Society potentially becomes responsible for the damage suffered by abused children.” Google on the Internet lists 65,200 sources under “Sex Abuse by Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
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A July 12, 2002, BBC report included a story about Bill Bowen, a JW elder in Kentucky for nearly 20 years. He said the Watchtower keeps a secret list of 23,720 sex offenders in the organization. The organization is well-aware of the problem but doesn’t want the public to know about it, according to Bowen. The Society reasons that by covering it up, only one person is hurt; by letting out the information, the image of the entire organization is hurt. The JW’s will take action against the sex offender only if two witnesses are produced or if the offender confesses. Even if a member of the congregation is convicted of child abuse, they keep it secret, Bowen told the BBC interviewer.
Bowen said when a sexual-abuse report is turned in, elders are instructed to call the Watchtower Society’s legal department. He said on one occasion he phoned the legal desk and asked how he should deal with a suspected case of abuse in his congregation. The Society’s representative told Bowen to ask the suspect again if the accusation was true. If the accused said, “No,” then
Bowen was to “walk away from it. Leave it for Jehovah. He’ll bring it out.”
The BBC report also contained the story of Alison Cousins, a young JW from Scotland. She reported to the elders that her father had sexually abused her. She later learned that he had abused her sister as well. The elders listened but did nothing. They sent her back home. For three years her father continued the abuse. Finally in desperation Alison went to the police. Her father was tried and convicted. The police had been the last to know about the abuse. It had been well-known in the Kingdom Hall but kept secret.
JW’s Escape Only to Plunge into Spiritual Limbo
I was one of those who left the Jehovah’s Witnesses and went into spiritual limbo. Starting at age 10 I began my long journey. I stood on street corners in Wichita, KS, with the canvas strap of a book bag over my shoulder. I held up a copy of The Watchtower magazine and called out to passersby, “The Watchtower, Announcing Jehovah’s Kingdom.”
Most people just ignored me. Others would look askance at the little kid and his canvas bag of magazines. A few were hateful and rude. “If you don’t like this country, why don’t you leave?” Others pointed a finger and shouted, “Nazi” or “Jap”. In my mind I would repeat what I had been taught. They persecute us just like they persecuted Jesus. It shows that we are doing Jehovah’s will, I told myself over and over, but the unkind words still hurt.
I trained in the Theocratic Ministry in the Kingdom Hall on the second floor of an old Wichita downtown business building. At age 11 I made my first public talk to an audience of 200. I faithfully went from door to door and distributed the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society’s magazines and books.
The Society helped enable kids like me to go door-to-door. Usually I went with an adult, but often, to get my 10 hours in, I would go alone. My equipment was a book bag with Watchtower and Awake magazines, a few booklets, and the newest hardbound book, a windup phonograph, and a yellow laminated testimony card. The testimony card introduced me as an ordained minister of the gospel and asked whether the person would listen to a three-minute phonograph message from Judge Joseph
Rutherford.
Before I went out in the field service, I visited the Territory Servant’s window at the Kingdom Hall and checked out a territory card. One side showed a map of the area, usually two or three square blocks; the other side had addresses and blanks on which to record attitudes of the residents. If one was interested enough to listen and perhaps to accept a piece of literature, that person received the highest rating—“Good Will”. If a person reacted rudely or tried to rebut the Watchtower teachings, we were instructed to write “Goat”. That person, we believed, would be separated on Judgment Day from the righteous “Sheep” and would be consigned to destruction.
Some doors slammed in my face. A few rude people shouted at me, “Get off my property.”
Some cursed me. One man turned water sprinklers on me. But all that made me feel justified. I was persecuted as Jesus had been. To be kind many people accepted the literature. People typically said, “I’m a Catholic. I’m not interested.” Or, “I’m a Baptist” or “Methodist” or “Presbyterian” or just plain “I’m not interested.” I had been taught that all those church folks worshiped Satan because they didn’t pray to Jehovah. If they prayed to “God”, Jehovah would not accept their prayers, because Satan, too, was a god, so Jehovah would send their prayers to Satan. I did what I was told. I did not realize I was on my way to a spiritual limbo.
Obvious Double Standard Encourages JW’s to Defect
I went to the five meetings a week required of publishers. I prayed daily to Jehovah. I tried to think moral thoughts and to behave as expected. Of course I failed and felt continuous guilt. Yet I saw other JW kids my age who didn’t measure up as well as I did who apparently weren’t bothered by guilt. Some, especially children of the elders and other leaders in the congregation, were downright mean and could get away with anything. The double standard existed among the children, too.
My Uncle Al Gordon rose to be one of the most prominent leaders in the Kingdom Hall. He claimed membership in The Elect, the 144,000 who held exclusive tickets to heaven. Ordinary
JW’s looked up to him with awe. To me Uncle Al was as mean as a snake. He expressed kindness to my mother, his youngest sister, but I never saw him show kindness to anyone else. He was rude to his wife and daughter and heaped verbal abuse on his step-granddaughter. He kept the 16-year-old step-granddaughter so cowed, she moved in nervous jerks. She was afraid to speak or move.
I saw the double standard among influential JW’s and in Uncle Al’s hypocrisy. Those contradictions bothered me but not enough to make me doubt the Watchtower Society, Jehovah’s earthly organization.
I have talked to many ex-JW’s who told me the same story. They saw double standards and hypocrisy that started weakening the cold stone of the Watchtower. Without consciously realizing it, this realization enabled them to begin their escape. Some escape the Watchtower and go immediately into Christian liberty. Others, as I did, go out into spiritual nothingness.
After Reading the Bible in Context JW’s Begin Their Escape
A violent beating led to my reading the Bible in context without Watchtower aids.
Kids in my school knew that I refused to salute the flag. When people asked why, I had a canned response. “We respect the flag and what it stands for, but the Bible tells us we should not bow down to any graven image.” That meant the flag was an image; to salute it would be the same as to bow down to an idol and worship it, according to the Watchtower Society, our official interpreter of what things meant.
One sunny afternoon when I was 15, a group of six boys surrounded me in the gravel driveway of the neighborhood convenience store, at which we hung out and drank sodas. On a stick one boy held a dirty little U.S. flag. “You’re going to salute this flag,” he said as he held the flag in my face.
They all shouted at me, “Salute this flag.” My little canned speech made no difference. They continued to shout and started shoving. I was surrounded by flailing fists and kicks. I would have let them kill me before I would salute the flag; for a while I thought they might. They beat me down to the ground. I’ll never forget the taste of blood and gravel in my mouth as they kicked me. I never knew what caused them to quit kicking and leave. Too groggy to get up I lay there awhile. Beaten and bloody I slowly rose. I hurt all over.
As I limped the half-mile home, my heart hurt more than my beaten body did. Again I questioned God. I knew the boys had done wrong. No justification existed for their rage. But still I had a dilemma. I loved my country; I loved God. Why couldn’t I be loyal to both? My faith needed to be strengthened.
At home I went to my Bible. At that time JW’s used the King James translation. I looked up the Scripture I had quoted, “My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight” (John 18:36).
Then I read the whole verse in context. It didn’t say at all what the Watchtower claimed. Jesus explained why His disciples didn’t fight His arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, “. . . if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews . . ..”
Suddenly, the possibility that I had been lied to hit me harder than did the boys’ kicks in the head.
The realization that the Society had lied to me began my escape from the Watchtower.
In an attempt to strengthen my faith as a Jehovah’s Witness I had gone to the Bible. I didn’t consult anyone. I did it on my own. If I had asked my mother or stepfather or one of the congregation leaders, they would have given me Watchtower literature and books and would have assured me that this literature contained answers to my dilemma.
Physically and emotionally I was hurting. For a change I didn’t use the Watchtower sieve as a filter for what the Bible said. I just believed what the Bible plainly said.
For sure I had been lied to. The Watchtower had misquoted Jesus, taken His words out of context, and applied them to something entirely different. The Watchtower told its young men to refuse military service. If they already were in military service, the Society instructed them to refuse to salute officers and obey orders.
I looked in the Bible to see what Jesus said about soldiers. Jesus had contact with soldiers but never told them to desert. He never told them to refuse to salute their officers. Jesus never told anyone to refuse military service.
I decided to see what some of the disciples said about military service. In the concordance in the back of the Bible I looked up John the Baptist.
John the Baptist likewise never encouraged soldiers to rebel against their superior officers, shed their uniforms, and refuse to serve. Rather John told the soldiers to be honest in the discharge of their duties and to be content with their wages.
The apostle Paul likened Christians to soldiers. He spoke favorably of their dedication to duty. Paul never told Christians to refuse military service. He did not tell soldiers to quit obeying orders and to go to prison; rather Paul told Christians to obey civil authority.
If I had announced to the Witnesses my discovery and told them that I believed a Christian was permitted to serve in the Armed Forces, even if I accepted all the other Watchtower doctrines, I would have been disfellowshiped and consigned to death in Armageddon. On no point of doctrine can a Witness disagree with the Society.
I studied further the apostle Peter’s attitude toward military service. He went to Caesarea to see Cornelius, a centurion and officer in charge of 100 men in the Roman Imperial Regiment. The Bible calls Cornelius devout and said he was a man who feared God, gave generously to those in need, and prayed. Peter preached to Cornelius, some of his soldiers, and his household. They became Christians and were baptized.
If Peter had been a JW elder, he would have told them all to quit the army and go to prison or worse. Peter did no such thing. Rather, according to history, Christianity spread rapidly throughout the Roman Empire largely because so many soldiers believed in Christ and shared their faith as they were transferred to other posts.
Then I decided to examine the rule against saluting the flag. I looked more closely at Exodus 20:3-5, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them.”
I could not see how it could apply to the flag. If it applied to a flag, it also would apply to a photograph, a painting, or a map.
The Witnesses thought photographs, paintings, and maps were OK. But they taught that to salute the flag was to bow down to an image. I could love my mother without worshiping her. I could have a picture of my mother without worshiping it. I could love my country without worshiping it. I could salute the flag, which stood for America, without worshiping the flag.
But I didn’t salute the flag. I kept these new convictions a secret. I still went to the Kingdom Hall. I gradually quit the Witness Work. That was obvious because my weekly reports turned in at the Kingdom Hall showed no time spent in field service.
I continued to read the Bible with an open mind. I read in the New Testament that people who heard the gospel and became converted were joyful. This wasn’t the same picture I saw in the Witnesses. New Believers in the New Testament time seemed as though they were people who were released from bondage. New Jehovah’s Witnesses seemed as though they were those who went into bondage.
After the Watchtower Society lied to me and other JW’s, we repeated those lies.
Many different things cause JW’s to begin to read the Bible in context. For me a beating spurred me on. For Helen Ortega suspicion and mistreatment by fellow JW’s influenced her to start with Bible-reading.
I met Helen Ortega at one of the Ex-Jehovah’s Witnesses for Jesus conventions in New Ringgold, PA. A lifelong Jehovah’s Witness, Helen had a good reputation as an active publisher in the Kingdom Hall and was highly regarded as theocratic (an active, moral, and obedient JW). In private, however, Helen started something forbidden. She read the Bible on her own without the Watchtower’s guidance. She became increasingly interested in what the Bible had to say. The idea of heaven fascinated her.
Even the Watchtower’s Bible, the New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures (NWT), for the believer contains promises of eternal life in heaven. The JW guide, however, will explain that heaven is only for The Elect, the Little Flock, the 144,000. Still, Helen couldn’t get heaven out of her mind. After months of private Bible study and prayer Helen found only one answer for her deep feeling about heaven. She must be one of The Elect.
At Passover time when Kingdom Halls around the world celebrate The Lord’s Evening Meal, Helen attended but not as usual. At this most important meeting of the year JW’s try to get all their members there; they even invite visitors—those they consider to be people of good will studying with JW’s. As usual the elders passed the bread and wine. As usual no one partook. The bread and wine were only for The Elect. In the vast majority of Kingdom Halls none of The Elect show up. But that evening Helen took the bread and wine. Gasps arose from the congregation. What is Helen doing? If she is of The Elect, someone must have fallen. Afterward members and elders surrounded Helen and fired questions at her. She explained her convictions about heaven and that she now believed she would go there. After that event her lifelong friends began to regard her with suspicion. Some avoided her. The elders confronted her. They demanded to know: Is she really of The Elect? She explained how she had understood the Scriptures about heaven, which revealed to them that she had been reading the Bible on her own. They ordered her to quit reading the Bible on her own. Rather than obey them she read the Bible more and more. Eventually she decided the doctrine that only 144,000 could go to heaven was not scriptural. When she told the elders about her conclusion, they disfellowshiped her, branded her as an apostate, and shunned her. Even her family turned against her.
She continued to read the Bible. She realized that salvation is by grace alone; she trusted in Jesus Christ and claimed His promise of a home in heaven. After months of emotional conflict with her family members who remained loyal JW’s, they eventually saw her Christian joy and sense of liberation from the Watchtower; they, too, trusted in Christ.
Helen Ortega was willing to accept, believe, and live by all the Watchtower dictates except one. The elders chose to reject her.
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In 1983 Paul Blizard, a third-generation JW, phoned me from Brady, TX, He had read my book, I Was Raised a Jehovah’s Witness, and recently left the Watchtower. Paul had become a Christian. He told me the heartbreaking story of his betrayal by the Witnesses.
At insistence of the elders, who believed Armageddon would arrive in 1975, Paul dropped out of high school to devote full time to the witness work. A bright young man, he rose quickly in the local congregation. Then he was promoted to the prestigious position of a Bethelite—honored to work without pay in the printing plant at Watchtower Headquarters in Brooklyn.
After several years in Bethel he left and married a JW and former missionary. Paul and Pat had two boys and longed for a girl. Finally in 1980 Pat gave birth to their daughter, Jenny. The baby had a blood disorder and became so anemic, doctors said she had to have a blood transfusion.
The Blizards refused to allow the transfusion. They sadly surrendered their beloved child to die. However, the medical team notified authorities, who took legal guardianship of Jenny. Because JW’s, to prevent a blood transfusion, routinely took children away from hospitals, a judge issued a restraining order that would not allow the Blizards to take the child away.
Paul and Pat secretly felt great relief that their baby would be saved. Their consciences were clear. They had done everything they could to obey the Watchtower dictates, but now the situation was out of their hands. JW elders didn’t agree.
In the hospital the elders approached the Blizards and presented a plan to slip into the hospital and kidnap Jenny. Paul and Pat refused to disobey the court order; they knew to do so would doom their daughter to death. Paul explained that if he pulled the plugs on devices that kept his daughter alive and if he removed her from treatment, he might be charged with homicide. The elders told him he would have to take the chance. At any cost he had to prevent the child from taking blood.
Fed up with their callous disregard for his daughter’s life, Paul ordered the elders to leave. As they left, one elder called back, “I hope she gets hepatitis from the blood.”
Paul Blizard was willing to accept, believe, and live by all the Watchtower rules with only one exception—the prohibition of a blood transfusion. He objected to that only in special circumstances. Too bad. The elders still regarded him as an outcast.
Years earlier Paul and Pat had obtained a New American Standard Bible, which they studied in secret lest a JW report them to the elders. Paul knew well about the network of informers in the Kingdom Hall. He had been one himself; he thought part of his theocratic duty was to root out weak and straying members.
Paul’s own father had turned him in. The elders convened a judicial hearing and found Paul guilty. With the threat of excommunication looming over his head Paul repented of his unauthorized
Bible study and confessed.
The JW’s make a big deal out of confessing and use it not only to purge an individual’s conscience but also as a subtle weapon to implicate other people by mentioning their complicity in the repentant person’s wrongdoing.
After Paul’s trial and confession, he promised to obey all the Watchtower rules. The elders stripped him of all duties at the Kingdom Hall. Now Paul had a record. His file, with all that damning information, would follow him to any Kingdom Hall wherever he went.
After the hospital showdown, Paul and Pat remembered their secret Bible studies and the humiliation that followed. They had disobeyed the Watchtower and were personas non grata anyway, so they went back to studying the forbidden Bible. Paul also remembered another forbidden book, Thirty Years a Watchtower Slave by William J. Schnell. Possession of that book or my book, I Was Raised a Jehovah’s Witness, means immediate expulsion from Jehovah’s Witnesses. Years earlier Paul secretly had read Schnell’s book and discarded it as apostate propaganda. (Jehovah’s Witnesses consider as an apostate any ex-JW who speaks against the Watchtower.) After the traumatic experience with
Jenny and the elders in the hospital, Paul’s mind searched back for pieces of the puzzle. He remembered what Schnell in his book had said. Paul, too, had been a Watchtower slave. The pieces fit. The truths he had read in the New American Standard Version (NASV) of the Bible returned to him. They fit as well.
In the Bible Paul and Pat learned that Jesus is The Truth and trusted in His grace. When the elders learned about Paul and Pat’s decision to trust in Jesus Christ, they disfellowshiped them; Paul and Pat then were shunned by old friends and family. But they rejoiced in their newfound Christian liberty.
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When I flew in for the first Ex-Jehovah’s Witnesses for Jesus convention in New Ringgold, PA, Alex DeMayo of Runnemede, NJ, picked me up at the Philadelphia airport. On the ride we got acquainted and traded accounts of how we got out of the Watchtower.
For 18 years Alex was a faithful Witness. Several people reported to the elders that his daughter’s skirts were too short. Elders forced him to stand “on the carpet” before them and be reprimanded. The humiliation hurt his pride, but he continued on as an obedient JW. Later, after he had forgotten that incident, for no particular reason he bought his wife a dozen roses. He just wanted to express his love for her. He didn’t realize Mother’s Day was just a few days away. Someone informed the elders that Alex celebrated Mother’s Day. Elders summoned him to another judicial hearing. The elders accused him of worldliness because they said he had celebrated a pagan holiday. The callous cruelty of the elders made Alex, for the first time, realize that just maybe the Watchtower could be wrong in some instances. He began to think for himself and with an open mind began to read the Bible in context.
Now believing that the Watchtower possibly could be wrong, he accepted an invitation to attend a Christian church and hear Bill Cetnar speak on the errors of the Watchtower. Just to set foot in a church was a major move, because the Society taught that to do so would mean he immediately would be demon-possessed.
Bill Cetnar had been a high official in the Watchtower organization and had escaped. He knew the innerworkings of the Society and the duplicity, hypocrisy, and manipulation of volunteer labor that went on at Bethel (the Watchtower headquarters in Brooklyn). Bill Cetnar talked about Jesus, Who claimed to be ego aime—the I AM. That prompted Alex to delve more deeply into independent Bible study. Soon he escaped from the Watchtower’s domination and accepted Jesus Christ as LORD and Savior.
“For 18 years I knocked on doors and witnessed to people. During that time I failed to bring one person into the Jehovah’s Witnesses, no matter how hard I tried,” Alex told the people gathered for the convention. In the two years since his conversion to real Christianity, he had helped several people, including his wife and daughter, trust Christ as savior.
People do escape from the Watchtower. The way of escape is like a big funnel. The big end is a crisis of belief brought on by unjust actions or lies by the Watchtower or congregational leaders. These accumulate in the big end of the funnel and are concentrated toward the little end. There the Word of God corrects the theological errors and provides a way of escape.
You were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient.
For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing;
it is the gift of God – not the result of works, so that no one may boast.
For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.
Ephesians 2:1-2, 8-10
I just read about the America’s Mighty Warriors while reading the Lloyd Marcus blog. Love that man’s voice and his patriotism.
Conservative musicians across America donated their recorded songs (40 selected) to Tea Are The World with 100% of the proceeds going to AmericasMightyWarriors.org.
Yes, the republic, not the democracy. I live in a constitutional republic – the United States of America. Yes, there is a difference. The United States is struggling right now to remain a republic. Many people in our government right now are working diligently to change our status. Maybe more of us need to review our documents.
The United States Constitution
We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.
It is a long document. Please go here to read it in full.
The Bill of Rights: A Transcription
The Preamble to The Bill of Rights
Congress of the United States
begun and held at the City of New-York, on
Wednesday the fourth of March, one thousand seven hundred and eighty nine.
THE
Conventions of a number of the States, having at the time of their adopting the Constitution, expressed a desire, in order to prevent misconstruction or abuse of its powers, that further declaratory and restrictive clauses should be added: And as extending the ground of public confidence in the Government, will best ensure the beneficent ends of its institution.RESOLVED
by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America, in Congress assembled, two thirds of both Houses concurring, that the following Articles be proposed to the Legislatures of the several States, as amendments to the Constitution of the United States, all, or any of which Articles, when ratified by three fourths of the said Legislatures, to be valid to all intents and purposes, as part of the said Constitution; viz.ARTICLES
in addition to, and Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America, proposed by Congress, and ratified by the Legislatures of the several States, pursuant to the fifth Article of the original Constitution.Note
: The following text is a transcription of the first ten amendments to the Constitution in their original form. These amendments were ratified December 15, 1791, and form what is known as the “Bill of Rights.”
Amendment I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Amendment II
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
Amendment III
No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
Amendment IV
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
Amendment V
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
Amendment VI
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.
Amendment VII
In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.
Amendment VIII
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
Amendment IX
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.
Amendment X
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.
Also, some of forgotten the words of our Pledge of Allegiance, so I’m reprinting that as well.
I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America;
and to the republic, for which it stands;
one nation, under God,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
I will leave you with an excellent explanation of this by Red Skelton.
America – Written & Performed by Glen Shulfer
