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But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

Some like to knit.  Some like to quilt.  Some like to do both.

Do any of you all remember when the Quilted Northern TV commercial first came out?  The ladies were sitting around quilting the bathroom tissue. 

What made this commercial so funny?  The ad men apparently didn’t know the difference between quilting and knitting.

The ladies were sitting around trying to quilt with knitting needles.

They finally got it right. 

I tried to find the one with the knitting needles, but had no luck.  Has anyone else seen it somewhere here on the Internet?

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:

The One Who Waits for Me

Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

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

Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books’ Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren.

Visit the author’s website.

This new series from bestselling author Lori Copeland, set in North Carolina three months after the Civil War ends, illuminates the gift of hope even in chaos, as the lives of six engaging characters intersect and unfold with the possibility of faith, love, and God’s promise of a future.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736930183

ISBN-13: 978-0736930185

ISLAND BREEZES

Three women, three men, and sweet tea.

How on earth did they get from there to here?

These three women seem to just get into one mess after another.  Fortunately, the three soldiers just keep on rescuing them, and it certainly put a dent in their plans.

The war was over and they just wanted to go home.  It seems God had different plans for their lives.

I think it would be right nice if Ms Copeland kept on giving us stories bout these people – maybe a series called Sanctuary.

Beth’s sister stirred, coughing.

Beth gently shook Joanie’s shoulder again, and the young woman opened her eyes, confusion shining in their depths.

“Pa?”

“He passed a few minutes ago. Trella will be waiting for us.”

Joanie lifted her wrist to her mouth and smothered sudden sobbing. “I’m scared, Beth.”

“So am I. Dress quickly.”

The young woman slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the dirt-packed floor. Outside, the familiar sound of pond frogs nearly drowned out soft movements, though there was no need to be silent any more. Ma had preceded Pa in death two days ago. Beth and Joanie had been waiting, praying for the hour of Pa’s death to come swiftly. Together, they lifted their father’s silent form and gently carried him out the front door. He was a slight man, easy to carry. Beth’s heart broke as they took him to the shallow grave they had dug the day before. Ma’s fever had taken her swiftly. Pa had held on for as long as he could. Beth could still hear his voice in her ear: “Take care of your sister, little Beth.” He didn’t have to remind her that there was no protection at all now to save either of them from Uncle Walt and his son, Bear. Beth had known all of her life that one day she and Joanie would have to escape this place—a place of misery.

It was her father’s stubborn act that started the situation Beth and Joanie were immersed in. Pa had hid the plantation deed from his brother and refused to tell him where it was. Their land had belonged to a Jornigan for two hundred years, but Walt claimed that because he was the older brother and allowed Pa to live on his land the deed belonged to him. Pa was a proud man and had no respect for his brother, though his family depended on Walt for a roof over their heads and food on their table. For meager wages they worked Walt’s fields, picked his cotton, and suffered his tyranny along with the other workers. Pa took the location of the hidden deed to his grave—almost. Walt probably figured Beth knew where it was because Pa always favored her. And she did, but she would die before she shared the location with her vile uncle.

By the light of the waning moon the women made short work of placing the corpse in the grave and then filling the hole with dirt. Finished, they stood back and Joanie bowed her head in prayer. “Dear Father, thank You for taking Ma and Pa away from this world. I know they’re with You now, and I promise we won’t cry.” Hot tears streaming down both women’s cheeks belied her words.

Returning to the shanty, Joanie removed her nightshirt and put on boy’s clothes. Dressed in similar denim trousers and a dark shirt, Beth turned and picked up the oil lamp and poured the liquid carefully around the one-room shanty. Yesterday she had packed Ma’s best dishes and quilts and dragged them to the root cellar. It was useless effort. She would never be back here, but she couldn’t bear the thought of fire consuming Ma’s few pretty things. She glanced over her shoulder when the stench of fuel heightened Joanie’s cough. The struggle to breathe had been a constant companion since her younger sister’s birth.

Many nights Beth lay tense and fearful, certain that come light Joanie would be gone. Now that Ma and Pa were dead, Joanie was the one thing left on this earth that held meaning for Beth. She put down the lamp on the table. Walking over to Joanie, she buttoned the last button on her sister’s shirt and tugged her hat brim lower.

“Do you have everything?”

“Yes.”

“Then go outside and wait.”

Nodding, Joanie paused briefly beside the bed where Pa’s tall frame had been earlier. She hesitantly reached out and touched the empty spot. “May you rest in peace, Pa.”

Moonlight shone through the one glass pane facing the south. Beth shook her head. “He was a good man. It’s hard to believe Uncle Walt had the same mother and father.”

Joanie’s breath caught. “Pa was so good and Walt is so…evil.”

“If it were up to me, he would be lying in that grave outside the window, not Pa.”

Beth tried to recall one single time in her life when Walt Jornigan had ever shown an ounce of mercy to anyone. Certainly not to his wife when she was alive. Certainly not to Beth or Joanie. If Joanie was right and there was a God, what would Walt say when he faced Him? She shook the thought aside. She had no compassion for the man or reverence for the God her sister believed in and worshipped.

“We have to go now, Joanie.”

“Yes.” She picked up her Bible from the little table beside the rocking chair and then followed Beth outside the shanty, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pausing, Joanie bent and succumbed to a coughing spasm. Beth helplessly waited, hoping her sister could make the anticipated trip through the cotton fields. The women had planned for days now to escape if Ma and Pa both passed.

Beth asked gently, “Can you do this?”

Joanie held up a restraining hand. “Just need…a minute.”

Beth wasn’t certain that they could wait long; time was short. Dawn would be breaking soon, and then Walt would discover that Pa had died and the sisters were missing. But they had to leave. Joanie’s asthma was getting worse. Each gasping breath left her drained and hopeless, and Walt refused to let her see a doctor.

When Joanie had mentioned the notice in a discarded Savannah newspaper advertising a piece of land, Beth knew she had to buy the property and provide a home for Joanie. Pa had allowed her and Joanie to keep the wage Uncle Walt paid monthly. Over the years they had saved enough to survive, and the owner was practically giving the small acreage away. They wouldn’t be able to build a permanent structure on their land until she found work, but she and Joanie would own their own place where no one could control them. Beth planned to eventually buy a cow and a few setting hens. At first they could live in a tent—Beth’s eyes roamed the small shanty. It would be better than how they lived now.

Joanie’s spasm passed and she glanced up. “Okay. You…can do it now.”

Beth struck a match.

She glanced at Joanie. The young woman nodded and clutched her Bible to her chest. Beth had found it in one of the cotton picker’s beds after he had moved on and given it to Joanie. Her sister had kept the Bible hidden from sight for fear that Walt would spot it on one of his weekly visits. Beth had known, as Joanie had, that if their uncle had found it he’d have had extra reason to hand out his daily lashing. Joanie kept the deed to their new land between its pages.

After pitching the lighted match into the cabin, Beth quickly closed the heavy door. Stepping to the window, she watched the puddles of kerosene ignite one by one. In just minutes flames were licking the walls and gobbling up the dry tinder. A peculiar sense of relief came over her when she saw tendrils of fire racing through the room, latching onto the front curtain and encompassing the bed.

“Don’t watch.” Joanie slipped her hand into Beth’s. “We have to hurry before Uncle Walt spots the flames.”

Hand in hand, the sisters stepped off the porch, and Beth turned to the mounds of fresh dirt heaped not far from the shanty. Pausing before the fresh graves, she whispered. “I love you both. Rest in peace.”

Joanie had her own goodbyes for their mother. “We don’t want to leave you and Pa here alone, but I know you understand—”

As the flames licked higher, Beth said, “We have to go, Joanie. Don’t look back.”

“I won’t.” Her small hand quivered inside Beth’s. “God has something better for us.”

Beth didn’t answer. She didn’t know whether Ma and Pa were in a good place or not. She didn’t know anything about such things. She just knew they had to run.

The two women dressed in men’s clothing struck off across the cotton fields carrying everything they owned in a small bag. It wasn’t much. A dress for each, clean underclothes, and their nightshirts. Beth had a hairbrush one of the pickers had left behind. She’d kept the treasure well hidden so Walt wouldn’t see it. He’d have taken it from her. He didn’t hold with primping—said combing tangles from one’s hair was a vain act. Finger-picking river-washed hair was all a woman needed.

Fire now raced inside the cabin. By the time Uncle Walt noticed the smoke from the plantation house across the fields, the two sisters would be long gone. No longer would they be under the tyrannical thumb of Walt or Bear Jornigan.

Freedom.

Beth sniffed the night air, thinking she could smell the precious state. Never again would she or Joanie answer to any man. She would run hard and far and find help for Joanie so that she could finally breathe free. In her pocket she fingered the remaining bills she’d taken from the fruit jar in the cabinet. It was all the ready cash Pa and Ma had. They wouldn’t be needing money where they were.

Suddenly there was a sound of a large explosion. Heavy black smoke blanketed the night air. Then another blast.

Kerosene! She’d forgotten the small barrel sitting just outside the back porch.

It was the last sound Beth heard.

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:

You Can Understand the Book of Revelation

Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

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

Skip Heitzig is a popular speaker, author, and the senior pastor of Calvary of Albuquerque, ministering to more than 13,000 adults and families weekly. He earned a B.A. and M.A. from Trinity Seminary and has a popular multimedia teaching ministry, including a nationwide radio program, television broadcast, and podcast called The Connection. He is a sought-after speaker at events including the Franklin Graham Festivals and Harvest Crusades with Greg Laurie.

Visit the author’s website.

Revelation is often considered the most difficult book of the Bible to understand. But dynamic pastor and speaker Skip Heitzig brings refreshing clarity to the mystery of Revelation as he reveals the good news that many Christians miss and shares why this book is important, exciting, and relevant for today.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736943315
ISBN-13: 978-0736943314

ISLAND BREEZES

How often do you all read the book of Revelation?  Have you ever read it all the way through?  It’s not easy.  I had given up on trying to understand it.

As I read this book, I made reading Revelation part of my devoted time.  And yes, it did make it much easier to understand.

Thank you, Skip Heitzig, for bringing greater understanding of this to me.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Revelation 1

Summary

While the book of Revelation is certainly a mysterious book full of curious symbols and imagery, the central theme of the book could not be clearer: Jesus Christ. From beginning to end, this book is all about Jesus and what He has done, is doing, and will do to bring about the eternal plan of His Father.

Related Scriptures for Study

Psalm 22:6; Isaiah 53:5; Daniel 7:13-14; 1 Peter 2:5-9; Revelation 21:6; 22:13

Through the centuries, the book of Revelation has sparked as much controversy and disagreement as it has fascination and awe. In the fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus and other bishops argued against including it in the Bible because it presented so many problems with interpretation. Although the Council of Carthage in 397 fully accepted Revelation into the canon of Scripture, the Eastern Orthodox church still doesn’t include it among the church’s Divine Liturgy. Although the reformer John Calvin accepted Revelation as canonical, it’s the only New Testament book for which he did not write a commentary. And Martin Luther included it among the books he classified as “antilegomena”—books he considered of questionable use or origin.

Without question, the book is difficult to interpret. It is deeply mysterious. And yet God has given it to us not only to set our minds at ease about the future, but also to spur us on to “love and good deeds” (Hebrews 10:24). So let’s briefly investigate why we have this book, why it is so different, who wrote it, and the identity of its main character.

A Quick Look at the Book

Back when we announced at our church that we were going to tackle the book of Revelation, you could hear a ripple skitter across the auditorium: “Wow, Revelation!” The congregation had mixed sentiments. I’m sure some thought, Hot diggety dog! I can’t wait to give Skip some tips. Others gasped, “Oh no! Not the book of Revelation! You’ve gotta stay out of that book—that’s one of those closed books. That’s a sealed-up book.”

Many folks no doubt got a surprise when they discovered that the word “revelation” comes from the Greek word apokalupsis, from which we get our word “apocalypse.” Most people who hear of an apocalypse think of a catastrophe or a cataclysm—but that’s not what the word means. In fact, it signifies an unveiling or a disclosure. It speaks of uncovering or revealing something that had been hidden. Imagine a new statue placed in front of city hall, covered with a sheet. At the dedication ceremony a band plays, the mayor gives a spiel, and finally the artist talks about his commissioning. At the precise appointed moment, the sheet comes off and the statue is apokalupsis—unveiled. What once was hidden now stands in the open.

In a similar way, the Holy Spirit draws back the curtains on the book of Revelation and reveals things to us. Remember that this book is a prophecy (v. 3). It’s not an allegory; it’s not mere symbols to be spiritualized however one may choose. It makes specific predictions about the future. Verse 1 speaks of things that Jesus “signified” by an angel “to His servant John.” The word “signify” means “to reveal through signs.”

The book of Revelation employs symbol after symbol, many of them deeply mysterious. The opening vision of Jesus, for example, portrays Him with white hair, fiery brass feet, and a sword flashing out of His mouth. Revelation also speaks of many “sevens”: seven lampstands, seven spirits before the throne of God, seven trumpets, seven seals, seven thunders. You might wonder, Why such an emphasis on the number seven? In the Bible, seven is the number of completeness. Even as seven days make a complete week, so the number seven denotes completeness—a complete revelation of God, a complete judgment, a complete church.

But why the symbols and weird language? Why didn’t God just say, “Point number one: This is the rapture of the church. Point number two: After the rapture, this will happen.” Why such an extensive use of symbols?

I can think of several reasons. First, the text of Revelation functioned like a spiritual code for the early church. The Roman government fiercely persecuted first-century Christians, carefully examining any documents they confiscated. A Roman official reading the book of Revelation would respond, “What’s up with this? This is weird.” But a New Testament Christian would grasp its meaning. It feels very Old Testament, and early Christians practically bathed in the Hebrew Scriptures. In fact, out of 404 passages in Revelation, at least 360 quote or allude to the Old Testament. First-century believers understood apocalyptic literature from the Old Testament books of Daniel and Ezekiel, so when they read this book, they got it.

Second, the passing of time does not weaken symbolism. Symbolism tends to transcend cultures, language groups, and people groups. It can bless all people of all times—and God inspired this book in order to bless all ages of the church.

Third, symbolism arouses strong emotions. Symbols create mental images that other forms of literature simply can’t duplicate. As my son was growing up, for example, we would read a Bible story, then act out the Bible story. We dressed up as certain characters and put on towels as headdresses and robes—he was always David and I always got the rock. And then afterward we would pray about the lesson. Our games gave my son a visual handle on the stories. He grasped as a child what it took me until my mid-twenties to understand. John uses a similar approach in Revelation by employing vivid images and potent symbolism.

Fourth, verse 1 speaks of the “things which must shortly take place.” My son once said to me, “Dad, this was written 2000 years ago—and John said it will ‘shortly take place.’ Wasn’t he wrong?” You might have the same question. Did John think the events he described in Revelation would happen during his lifetime? In fact, the word translated “shortly take place” comes from the Greek term en tachi, which means “swiftly.” From this term we get our word “tachometer,” a device that measures velocity. It means to unfold in a brief period of time. In other words, once these events start occurring, they will unfold swiftly until they reach their conclusion. A time will come when the machinery of world history will kick into high gear; and then, as suddenly as it began, it will all end.

A Look at the Biographer

The book of Revelation came from God the Father, to His Son Jesus Christ, to an angel, and then finally to the apostle John, who wrote it down. In his early years, John worked as a Galilean fisherman. His dad was Zebedee, his mom was Salome, his older brother was the martyr James (who had his head cut off; see Acts 12:2).

John became part of Jesus’ inner circle, along with James and Peter. This trio was privy to things from which the other disciples were excluded. When Jesus healed Jarius’s daughter in Capernaum, for example, the Lord took with Him Peter, James, and John. On the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus again took Peter, James, and John. In the Garden of Gethsemane, these three again accompanied Jesus further into the garden than the other disciples.

Beyond this, John apparently had a certain intimacy with Jesus Christ that the others lacked. In his Gospel, John repeatedly called himself “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” Jesus loved all His disciples, of course, but He felt a special bond with John. At the Last Supper, it was John who laid his head on the bosom of Jesus, hearing His heartbeat—as if to grasp every word from His master’s mouth. Among the disciples, only John stood at the foot of the cross as Jesus gave His life for the sins of the world. It was John to whom Jesus entrusted the care of His elderly mother. And it was John who ran to the tomb first and believed first.

John wrote this book on the island of Patmos, a Roman penal colony about twenty-five miles off the coast of Asia Minor. To this day, the island has no source of fresh water. In John’s day, Patmos was merely a barren rock jutting out of the Aegean Sea, a perfect place to isolate prisoners. John probably was in his nineties when he wrote this book—an old guy isolated and alone on a dreary, forsaken island. Tradition tells us he didn’t die there; rather, he returned to Ephesus, where he lived out his remaining days. A beautiful church tradition says that shortly before John died, fellow believers carried him in a chair to all the churches of Asia Minor. Wherever he would go, he’d raise his arms, smile, and say, “Little children, love one another!” His harsh experiences didn’t fill him with bitterness, but with the love of Jesus Christ. John wrote Revelation to suffering Christians in order to encourage them in their faith.

Could it be that you are one of those suffering Christians? Do you feel exiled on your own desolate Patmos? Do you feel imprisoned by life’s circumstances? Or perhaps you feel trapped by another person, or maybe your Patmos is a hospital bed. Regardless of your situation, the book of Revelation will encourage you. Remember that John received his greatest revelation from God in a place of extreme isolation.

If you feel exiled on your own personal Patmos, understand that God has brought you there in order to reveal Himself to you. While a little faith may bring your soul to heaven, a lot of faith—clinging to God despite your circumstances—will bring heaven to your soul.

A Look at the Benefits

Of all the books in the Bible, only Revelation offers a promise like the one in verse 3. Only this book opens by saying, in essence, “Read me and you’ll be blessed.”

To be blessed means “to get happy.” The more you read this book, the more you will understand Jesus Christ and His plan for your future—and the happier you will feel. The text says read it, hear it, and keep it. While you can read it for yourself and listen to others as they read it aloud to you, only you can keep it and apply these truths to your life.

As we move through this book, I encourage you to keep asking yourself, What did I learn that I can apply both today and tomorrow? The real joy, John said, comes when you do what the Bible says. Happiness comes when you apply God’s Word to your life.

A Look at the Blessed One

John began by introducing us to the central character and capstone of the book of Revelation: Jesus Christ (vv. 4-8). The book explains who He is, what He has done, and what He will do. Jesus is the main thing, and John keeps Him the main thing throughout this book.

Notice that the book is called the Revelation of Jesus Christ—singular, not plural. It’s not the book of revelations, but the book of Revelation. It’s not a bunch of analogies or a collection of predictions regarding the future. Rather, it offers a revelation of a Person, Jesus Christ. The Savior takes center stage.

For that reason alone it could be that you desperately need this book. You require a fresh revelation of Jesus Christ. Maybe you have heard about Jesus, but you don’t yet know Him personally. To you, perhaps, He’s still a little baby in a Christmas manger. Revelation pictures Jesus as the ruling Lord of the earth. In fact, when John saw Jesus, he “fell at His feet as dead.” John said Jesus responded by laying “His right hand on me, saying to me, ‘Do not be afraid; I am the First and the Last’?” (v. 17). John remembered Jesus in the flesh—the man with tattered robes and beat-up sandals, the carpenter from Nazareth—but now recognized Him as God in human flesh. He saw Jesus as a glorious, reigning King, ruling with an iron scepter over the whole world.

Jesus is the central character of the book of Revelation not merely because of His exalted status, but also because of what He has done for us: “Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler over the kings of the earth. To Him who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood…” (v. 5). Jesus has every right to rule your life because He’s done everything to redeem your life.

And of course, Jesus is coming to earth again (v. 7). This is the major theme of the book. Jesus Christ, the One who died and rose again, will return to this planet—and not as a common servant, but as an exalted King. He will rule! The theme of Revelation and of all history is simply this: Jesus wins.

A Startling Beginning

John tells us that he heard something, saw something, and did something. He heard a voice, he saw a vision, and he fell and worshiped. Then he wrote down what God directed him to record. In other words, this is not original material. John didn’t sit down and say, “Here I am on Patmos. I’ve got time to kill, so maybe I can write a best-seller.” No, he wrote down the heavenly message that Jesus Christ gave to him.

Because John’s account is utterly faithful to the vision he received from God, in verse 2 he calls what he sees “the word of God.” It’s the testimony of the Holy Spirit, supervised by Jesus Himself. As John finds himself catapulted into the future, he is given a preview of amazing events and records everything he sees and hears.

A Loud Voice Like a Trumpet

John heard a voice so loud that it sounded like a trumpet blast. This wasn’t some quiet whisper! Jesus spoke in a piercing, brassy voice that John compared to “the sound of many waters” (v. 15). John remembered the sound of Jesus’ mortal voice—but now it’s different, thunderous, and utterly unmistakable.

Did you realize that the voice of God changes depending on the circumstances? The prophet Elijah wanted it loud, and yet it came to him in a still, small voice. On Mount Sinai, by contrast, the great Lawgiver roared forth His Law, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Since John wasn’t used to such a roar coming from his Savior, the blaring voice of the mystery-revealing Jesus startled him. Today on the Isle of Patmos, guides direct you to the grotto of Saint John—a little cave with a church built up around it. Locals will point to a crack in the rock and tell you that’s where the trumpet voice came from; they claim the sound split the rock. While it may be a fanciful story, the voice certainly startled John.

Jesus loudly emphasized that He is God (vv. 8,11,17). Jesus Christ is deity in a body. Alpha is the first letter in the Greek alphabet; omega is the last. Any Jew would have replied, “Wait a minute! That’s a title reserved for God alone” (see Isaiah 41). So when Jesus reintroduces Himself as the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty, He plainly describes Himself as God.

And then Jesus speaks of His eternal nature: “I am…[the One] who is and who was and who is to come” (v. 8). When Moses first spoke with God at the burning bush, the Lord used this name to describe Himself: “I AM THAT I AM.” This special name in Hebrew means, “I was, I am, and I will be.” And here is Jesus, taking that eternal name upon Himself! The fact is, if you try to remove the deity of Christ from the person of Christ, Christianity collapses. It’s not optional. Jesus Christ is God. That’s the underlying fact of the New Testament.

A Captivating Vision

As soon as John heard the unearthly voice, he turned to see the face that went with it. Instantly he saw Jesus in all His glory, standing in the midst of some golden lampstands. A Jewish person reading about seven lampstands would think of the menorah, the seven-branch candlestick that stood in the holy place of the tabernacle. Verse 20 tells us this image refers to the church. What a fitting description! A lampstand is meant to give light, to dispel darkness, to show people the way out. Jesus not only claimed to be the light of the world (John 8:12), He also told His disciples that they were the light of the world (Matthew 5:14). Jesus is like the sun, the source of our light. We are like the moon, reflecting His glory. And so Jesus stands in the midst of His church, the body He designed, to dispel darkness and show people the way out.

Verse 13 describes a garment that reaches to Jesus’ feet, speaking of His majesty and greatness. Verse 14 tells us, “His head and hair were white like wool.” How do you picture Jesus Christ? Maybe you see Him as a fair-skinned Anglo-Saxon, as in so many paintings. Since Jesus was Semitic, He probably had dark skin and dark hair; but when you see Him in His glory, He’s going to blow your mind. He’s not going to be what you pictured! This isn’t Jesus as John remembered Him. This Jesus had “eyes like a flame of fire.” Perhaps that refers to Jesus’ ability to see into everybody’s heart. I think the eyes of fire are related to His feet, “like fine brass, as if refined in a furnace” (v. 15). Whenever you read of brass in the Scriptures, think of judgment. John had never seen anything like this! But now he sees the holy Jesus of righteous judgment…a prelude to Revelation chapter 4, when a series of judgments begins.

In verse 16 we see Jesus holding seven stars in His right hand and a sharp, two-edged sword flashing out of His mouth. In the Bible, a person’s right hand represents power and authority. So in great power and authority, Jesus holds the stars, the messengers of the churches (v. 20). In response, John fell on his face not only because of Jesus’ majesty, but also because he recognized that God was speaking to him. When people in the Bible had a real encounter with God, they didn’t get puffed up about it. They didn’t say, “Hey, I’ve had a vision! I should write a book.” Instead, they became extremely self-conscious and meek. Far from exalting them, such an otherworldly experience humbled them.

I believe that the modern church desperately needs a new awareness of Jesus Christ. We need to see Him as high and lifted up and in total charge of His church. Too many Christians tend to think of Jesus as “my good old Buddy in the sky.” I believe we speak too much about standing on our own two feet when we ought to fall down at His feet. Have you prostrated yourself before Him in humility, worshiping Him? Charles Spurgeon wrote, “Why is it that some people are often in a place of worship and yet they are not holy? It is because they’ve neglected their prayer closets. They love wheat but they do not grind it. The water flows at their feet, but they do not stoop to drink of it.”1 Then he asked a penetrating, uncomfortable question:

Are we tired of God? If not, how is it that we do not walk with Him from day to day? Really, spiritual worship is not much cared for in these days, even by professing Christians. Many will go to a place of worship if they can be entertained with fine music or grand oratory; but if communion with God is the only attraction, they are not drawn thereby.2

By contrast, John immediately fell down on his face, recognizing that this Jesus he followed was God in the flesh. This awareness overwhelmed and humbled him, as it should us.

Obedient to a Vocation

Jesus instructed John to write what he saw to seven churches of Asia Minor (v. 19). This verse is the key to interpreting the book of Revelation, because in it Jesus gives John an outline of the whole book.

“John,” He said, “first write down the things that you have seen.” And what had John already seen? A vision of Jesus. “After that,” Jesus said, “write down the things that are.” Here Jesus points ahead to His words intended for the seven churches of Asia Minor (chapters 2–3). “Finally,” Jesus continued, “write down the things that will take place after this,” referring to the events detailed in chapters 4–22. And John faithfully obeyed what Jesus had commanded.

If you remember nothing else from the book of Revelation, remember this: When Jesus speaks, obey Him. John heard, John saw, and John obeyed. John understood that God had a call upon his life, and he pursued it faithfully.

God has a calling upon your life too. Because the Lord wants to minister to others through you, give fresh attention to His voice. Get a fresh perspective of Jesus Christ. Seek a fresh experience of worship. Surrender your life in total humility to God, and expect to hear His voice. When you do, obey what you hear. Follow whatever vocation He gives you, and do so with all of your heart.

Our Real Hope

One day a weary father returned home, exhausted after a long day at work. He couldn’t wait to hit his favorite chair, put up his feet, kick off his shoes, and read the newspaper. When he dragged himself through the door, he plopped down, opened the newspaper—and his five-year-old son launched himself into his lap.

“Daddy! Let’s play!” the little boy shouted. The father knew his son needed time with Daddy, but he thought, I have a greater need, for just a few minutes. I need time alone. He didn’t want to tell his excited son to bug off, so he mentally constructed a brilliant scheme. He noticed that one section of the newspaper featured a picture of the earth, taken from a moon probe. “Give me that section,” he instructed his son. Using some scissors, the father cut the picture into puzzle-shaped pieces, piled them up, then gave them to his son, along with some cellophane tape. “Put this puzzle together,” he said. “When you’re all done, bring it to me, and then we’ll play.”

The boy whizzed off and the father thought he had bought himself a chunk of time. But a few moments later, the boy returned with the picture of the earth, perfectly taped together.

“How did you do it so quickly?” the startled father asked.

“Dad,” the boy replied, “it was simple! On the back is a picture of a man, and when you put the man together, the world comes together.”

That little boy is on to something. The world will come together when Jesus Christ returns. Judgment will fall, Jesus will begin to reign, and God will create His perfect world order. But until that day, the Lord puts the world back together one person at a time. He rebuilds and reshapes and tapes each of us together until we start functioning in the way He designed us to operate.

Let God put you back together, and then start living as the Lord has always meant for you to live.

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:

Captain Jack’s Treasure

Port Yonder Press (August 15, 2011)

***Special thanks to Chila Woychik of Port Yonder Press for sending me a review copy.***

Max Elliot Anderson grew up as a reluctant reader. After surveying the market, he sensed the need for action-adventures and mysteries for readers 8 and up, especially boys.

Mr. Anderson was a producer of the nationally televised PBS special, Gospel at the Symphony that was nominated for an Emmy, and won a Grammy for the double album soundtrack. He won a best cinematographer award for the film, Pilgrim’s Progress, which was the first feature film in which Liam Neeson had a staring role.

He has produced, directed, or shot over 500 national television commercials for True Value Hardware Stores. Mr. Anderson owns The Market Place, a client-based video production company for medical and industrial clients. His productions have taken him all over the world including India, New Guinea, Europe, Canada, and across the United States.

Using his extensive experience in the production of motion pictures, videos, and television commercials, Mr. Anderson brings the same visual excitement and heart-pounding action to his stories.

Each book has completely different characters, setting, and plot. Young readers have reported that reading one of Mr. Anderson’s books is like being in an exciting or scary movie.

Visit the author’s website.

Sam Cooper lives right near the ocean, on the Treasure Coast of Florida. All he’s ever heard about since he moved here were the fabulous treasures that have been found, and those still waiting to be discovered.

For his birthday, he received the gift of his dreams. It’s the latest, top-of-the-line, metal detector. Along with his friends, Tony, and Tyler, all are convinced that they will be the ones to dig up the next great find.

They meet a crusty sea captain named Jack. He’s fixing up an impossible looking old tub. The boys believe it’s going to be used to search for treasure at sea. They get permission from their parents to help with the restoration job in the hopes that Captain Jack will share his wealth.

When Sam’s father nearly dies, from a heart attack, the true values of life take on new importance and meaning.

What is Captain Jack’s mysterious secret? And what is he really planning to do with that boat?

Readers will gain a new appreciation for family, they will learn about the dangers of greed, and oh the stories Captain Jack can tell.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.95
Reading level: Ages 9-12
Paperback: 178 pages
Publisher: Port Yonder Press (August 15, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1935600141
ISBN-13: 978-1935600145

ISLAND BREEZES

Sam and his friends enjoy fishing and looking for treasure.  Sam especially loves his coin collection and metal detector.

They run into an old guy named Captain Jack, and then get permission to help him work on his old boat.  Bonus time.  They get paid, but also get to hear Captain Jack’s storied.

Eventually, Sam understands what his father meant when he told him not to get attached to treasures here on earth.  Sam learns what is more important.

This is a fun book and I can’t wait to see how much my grandson likes it.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

After going scuba diving, getting caught up in a terrible storm, and being stranded on Lost Island, it might seem that Sam Cooper and his friends, Tony and Tyler, would have had all the adventure any three boys could want for a summer, a year, or an entire lifetime. Only that’s not how it worked out. But then, that’s the way it is with boys. Boys are made for danger, adventure, excitement, and conquering things. And that’s exactly what these guys looked for all the time.

Chapter 1
Captain Jack’s Hopeless Boat

The storm Sam and his friends had survived wasn’t something any one of them could soon forget. Maybe they never would. So you might want to excuse Sam for what he thought one night, a couple of weeks later.

Lightning knifed across the night sky and thunder roared so loudly that Sam was sure his windows would shatter into a million pieces any second. It didn’t help much that his bedroom faced directly toward the ocean. And those silly stories about lightning coming from angels taking flash pictures, or thunder from them moving their furniture around up in heaven didn’t do him any good either. When he pulled the covers over his head his dark comforter still couldn’t keep out the bright flashes of light.

Sure glad I’m not out there on the ocean again tonight, Sam thought. Man, that’d be terrible.

Suddenly, as if he’d pushed the start button on a DVD player in his head, violent images of the storm he, Tony, and Tyler had survived, came crashing in. With each flash of light, he remembered how the mast had broken like a twig and the boat split in half while he and his friends held on to what was left.

Sam grabbed the extra pillow on his bed and held onto it for a few minutes with his eyes shut tight.

A little later, when he couldn’t sleep, Sam slipped out from the safety of his covers to get a better look at the angry storm. A huge surf crashed against the beach. He watched white caps on the pounding waves with each giant lightning bolt. The weather forecast this summer called for heavy storms in and around where he lived. The big one he and his friends had been caught out in was the first of the season.

Great, he thought. Another storm. Now we’ll have to forget our plans to go fishing in the morning.

Sam lived in Harper’s Inlet, Florida, not far from an area people call the “Treasure Coast.” “Treasure” should have been Sam’s middle name.

He and his friends had often seen people line the pier with their fishing poles dangling over the water below. Most of their time had been spent in the scuba course. Then, after the accident, their parents made them stay home. Part of the reason was to keep them away from each other, and because they’d done something so dangerous.

Sam and his friends had talked many times about how much fun it would be to go down to the pier, sit around, and do nothing all day. During all the time that Sam had to stay at home, just the idea of going outside again seemed like getting out of prison. Well, today was supposed to be their day. They had permission, Tony’s father bought the fishing licenses, and everything was set. Except now, the storm would probably change their plans. Sam climbed into bed again and somehow, even with all that racket, fell back to sleep.

“Sam, Sam, your friends are here!” his mother called from down the hall.

He sort of heard it, but the sound seemed to be coming from another world. And from the wild dreams he often had, he couldn’t be too sure. The next thing Sam knew, he became the jelly in a jam-pile sandwich on his bed. From out of nowhere Tony and Tyler jumped on top of him. Everybody knew, if Tony pounced on you, a guy wouldn’t forget it. They rolled Sam up in his covers and pushed him onto the floor.

Tyler was small for his age, but he still did his best to keep up with Sam and Tony. Tony could stand to skip a meal or two and he was never at a loss for something to say.

“Hey, you guys, cut it out!” Sam said.

“You cut it out!” Tony shouted. “We had to wake up early, get our stuff, and come over here, only to find you, king of the sleeping slugs, still in bed. Now get up.”

“But the storm.”

“What storm? Haven’t you looked outside? The sun is shining, there’s a nice breeze, and we already saw people fishing off the pier on our way over here.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said, “and they’re catching our fish.”

“So get moving before we drag you down there in your P J’s,” Tony threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh wouldn’t we?”

With that, Sam broke away, ran to the bathroom, and locked the door so he could get ready. “Go on to the kitchen. My Mom will give you something to eat. I’ll be out in a minute,” he yelled from inside the room. Tony and Tyler did as he said—and before long he joined them.

Sam’s mother had packed a delicious lunch for each of them the night before. It included peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fruit punch, potato chips, chocolate cake, and a few surprises. Soon Sam and his friends were on their way, walking toward the pier, for a long lazy day.

Sam took a deep breath. “Sure is great to get out again.”

“I know,” Tony said. “I thought my dad would never get over us losing that catamaran.”

“Us?” Sam asked.

Tony just looked back at him.

“What are we going to use for bait?” Tyler asked.

“Nothin’, ” Sam said.

“What do you mean, nothin’?” Tony asked. “You just gonna whistle, and call ‘Here fishy, fishy, fishy’?”

“We’ll use lures that my dad gave me. They’ll look just like little fish to the big fish we’re after. I have a bunch in my tackle box. You guys can use any of them you want.”

Sam’s tackle box clanked and rattled as he walked toward the pier. Its green paint had plenty of scratches and rust from years of use. His grandfather had used the old thing first. Then he’d given it to Sam’s father. But his job as a research biologist didn’t leave much time for fishing. So he’d given the tackle box, and three rods and reels, to Sam.

The box had a black, metal handle on top, and a nearly scratched off sticker with a largemouth bass jumping out of the water on the end of a fishing line. Sam’s tackle box held extra reels, fishing line, several different lures, red and white plastic bobbers, lead weights—everything he’d need for fishing.

“Whatcha got in that box?” Tony asked.

Sam winked and said, “All I can tell you is, when it comes to fishing, if I don’t have it, we don’t need it.”

“Did I ever tell you about the last time I went fishing with my dad,” Tyler asked, “before we got divorced?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to,” Tony said.

“It was the funniest thing you ever saw. Well, I thought it was funny.” He blinked and jerked his head. “Anyway, we went out in this big boat with a bunch of other people. I hadn’t ever been fishing before.”

“So how’d you do?” Sam asked.

“That’s the funny part. I caught my dad…three times.”

“Ha! You must have thrown him back then ’cause I just saw him when we got rescued from Lost Island,” Tony said.

“It gets worse. I didn’t just catch him three times, but, call it beginners luck if you want to, I caught the most fish on the whole boat too!”

“How in the world did you do that?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. All I did was drop my line in the water and bam, a fish hit my hook. I finally had to quit because I was getting so tired from pulling in all those fish.”

“You’re lyin’,” Tony said.

“Am not.”

Sam put his pole up on one shoulder. “I’ll bet that made the rest of the people feel better, you leaving a few more fish for them.”

He shook his head. “Not really. They still didn’t catch very many.”

“I can’t think of anything worse than catching your dad and the most fish,” Sam said.

“Well, it gets worse.”

“Not possible.”

“Yeah, because I got sick and threw up all over the deck.”

“Boy, I hate it when that happens,” Tony said.

“My dad hated it too. He kept on apologizing to all the people and the captain.”

“So what happened?” Sam asked.

“What happened is my dad has never invited me to go fishing again. I used to think that was one of the reasons he left us. Today is my first time fishing since that all happened.”

Sam smiled. “Promise me you aren’t going to catch any of us today, Tyler.”

“And no throwing up on the pier either,” Tony warned.

“I’ll try not to.”

By this time they were walking along the beach. They noticed several people searching in the sand with metal detectors.

“There’s a bunch of them out today. Wonder why?” Tyler asked.

“I read that it’s best to search for stuff right after a big storm like we had last night,” Sam said.

“How come?”

“Because all that wind and the waves tear up the sand and move it around so it’s easier to find things.”

“That must be right because I don’t remember seeing this many people most days.”

Sam let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I really wish I had a metal detector.”

Tony added, “Think of all the money we could make with one of those babies.”

“We?” Sam asked.

“Well, you’d let us in on it, right?”

“I might.”

“You’d better.”

“Your dad could buy each of us one if he wanted to,” Tyler told Tony.

“Not after we lost his boat and all that scuba gear.”

Sam looked at him again. “We?”

Tony reached the pier and stepped onto its worn boards. Sam thought their footsteps sounded like the hollow booms of big base drums.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people fishing before either,” Sam said. “Wonder if the storm stirs up the fish, too?”

“Hey, Tyler,” Tony said. “Watch out for all these people. You wouldn’t want any of them to catch you.”

Sam and his friends had to walk way out near the end of the pier until they found an open spot where all three could set up. They began the long, lazy day of fishing they’d dreamed about for so long. space The hours crept by, the shadows grew longer, and each boy caught at least one fish.

“We didn’t do so well today,” Tyler complained. “Nothing like my last time.”

“It’s okay. That’s why they call it fishin’ and not catchin’,” Sam said.

It had been a fun day, but now it was time to pack up and head for home. Living by the ocean, Sam loved the water. He knew that Tony and Tyler loved it, too. The smells from the sea, the pelicans swooping down to gobble up a fish in their big scoop-of-a-mouth, the gentle breezes, all helped Sam and his friends to relax. They saw dolphins jumping far out in the water.

They came to the end of the pier, walked along the beach for a stretch, and turned toward Dodds’ Marina. Tony pointed to an old boat near the marina that they hadn’t really thought much about before.

“Hey, you guys,” Tony said. “Have you seen that sorry excuse for a boat? Man, he’s got to be kidding. You put that thing out in the water and it’d sink for sure.”

“I saw it when we came back from Lost Island,” Sam said.

They walked over to the dock for a closer look. The boat was in bad shape and needed more than a simple coat of paint. Some of the windows were broken, and the railings were either rusted or missing. Just then, a short, heavy-set man climbed up from below. He looked almost as worn out as the deck he stood on. His tired eyes searched around as he stretched, rubbed his back, and then saw something on the dock near where the Sam and his friends stood.

In a loud voice the man called out, “Ahoy, you boys. Could one of you toss me that rope by your feet?”

Sam looked down to see a large coil of rope. “You want the whole thing or just one end?”

“The end will do.”

Sam grabbed it and walked toward the side of the boat. He handed the rope up to the man and as he did, Sam stared at his dry, cracked hands. Some of the cracks were bleeding a little.

He didn’t know what to say, so he asked, “This your boat?”

“Naw, I found it bobbing around out there in the ocean, pulled her in, and claimed her for my own.”

“Really, you did that? Whose was it?”

“Probably belonged to pirates or smugglers, I expect.”

“How could that be? I mean, it’s in pretty bad shape,” Sam said.

“I’m just kidding you, matey. I bought her off a guy that was about to sell her for scrap. I’m fixin’ her up. She’s all mine.”

“Mister,” Tyler asked, “why isn’t your boat in the water?”

“They got me in this thing called a dry dock. That’s because she needs a lot of work on the topside, and the bottom.”

“I’ll say,” Tony whispered.

“Looks like you’re all by yourself. Isn’t anyone helping you?” Sam asked.

The old man shook his head. “Nope, just me, that’s all. You wouldn’t be looking for a job, now would ya?”

“A job? What kind of a job?”

“Helping me fix up this old tub. I could use the lot of ya.”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “I’d have to ask my dad.”

“That’s a good idea. Why don’t you do that? If your parents say it’s okay, come on back and I’ll put you to work. I’ll pay you for your trouble too.”

“We’ll tell you tomorrow if we get permission.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right here. This pile of boards isn’t going any place unless a hurricane comes along. Right now that’s about the only thing that could move her from this spot,” he said, letting out a loud, long laugh. The boys could still hear it as they walked away.

“I think it’d be a great idea to work on that old boat. We could make some money, too,” Tyler said. “I wonder what he’s fixing it up for?”

“Probably to search for treasure. One look at him and anybody knows he could use the money,” Tony said.

“Is there any treasure around here?” Sam asked. “I read about the Treasure Coast before we moved.”

Tony laughed. “I can tell you aren’t from around here. The Treasure Coast is farther north.”

Sam stopped walking. “Oh, and I suppose boats can’t go up and down the coast?”

“Sure they do,” Tyler said.

“A treasure hunting boat. Yeah, I’ll bet that’s it,” Sam whispered.

“I think we should help him,” Tyler said. “Then he’ll feel like he has to invite us to go out and search for treasure with him. I mean, he’d have to share it with us like partners.”

Sam thought for a moment, “A treasure hunting ship. Wouldn’t that be something? Just think of all the gold and stuff we could find with a boat like that.”

  But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him;

for the Lord does not see as mortals see;

they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord Looks on the heart.

1 Samuel 16:7

Or maybe the music of sound.  I’ve just been reading one of the sewing blogs that I enjoy.  Pop over to A Fashionable Stitch and listen to what is music to my ears.

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:

The Stoning of Sally Kern

Frontline (July 5, 2011)

***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Charisma House | Charisma Media for sending me a review copy.***

Sally Kern was first elected to the Oklahoma State House of Representatives on November 2, 2004. She has been voted “Outstanding Lawmaker of the Year” by the Oklahoma Conservative Political Action Committee (OCPAC) and honored as the first ever recipient of the Family Research Council’s “Champion of Faith, Family, and Freedom Award.” A former educator, she has a BA in sociology and a teacher certification in social studies with an emphasis in government. Sally and her husband, Dr. Stephen D. Kern, a Southern Baptist minister, have two grown sons, one daughter-in-law, and two grandsons.

Visit the author’s website.

As I sat reading the e-mails, each one hit me like a sharp stone, breaking my heart and filling my eyes with tears. I had never experienced such hate or seen such vulgarity in my life. The hurt seemed to cut right into my soul. It was not just that I was being hurt, but that the truth of God’s Word was being stoned and desecrated. This fact pierced all the way through into my spirit and produced an element of fear in me. I was fearful of the reality of living in a world where God’s Word is no longer honored or held in reverence. —excerpt from The Stoning of Sally Kern

Oklahoma State Representative Sally Kern was vilified in the national media for taking a bold stand for conservative values. Now she challenges social conservatives to recognize the principles that made America great and be ready to defend them against attacks from the radical Left—or risk being silenced.

Product Details:

List Price: $22.99
Hardcover: 240 pages
Publisher: Frontline (July 5, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616383615
ISBN-13: 978-1616383619

ISLAND BREEZES

It may have been verbal rather than physical, but it was just as brutal – the stoning, that is.

I just don’t understand how so many people can be so cruel to others.  I don’t expect everyone to have the same value system as a Christian, but such vile, obscene hatred is frightening.

Does this type person really think behaviour will change a person’s values?

How very sad to see America’s moral fiber being ripped apart and spit upon.  Our country is in danger by the very groups who have even gone so far as to label Mrs. Kern as an “extreme danger to Western civilization.”  Give me a break!

Those viciously attacking Mrs. Kern must be very miserable and unhappy human beings.  They need our prayers as much as Sally Kern, her family and supporters.

The enemy is not from without.  It’s from within.  Be afraid, America.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

An icy knot formed in my stomach as I snapped my mobile phone closed and laid it on the car seat beside me. It was March 7, 2008, and as long as I live I’ll remember the petrifying feeling of fear and confusion that penetrated my whole body.

It was a Friday, my day off since the Oklahoma state legislature doesn’t meet on Fridays and my weekends tend to be full of the responsibilities that come with being a pastor’s wife. So I was out running errands.

Since 2004, I have served as a state representative for House District 84 covering parts of northwest Oklahoma City. It was a little after 1:00 p.m. on this day when TJ, my legislative assistant at the Oklahoma State Capitol, called me with a clear note of alarm, bordering on panic, in her voice. “Sally, we’re getting thousands, and I mean thousands of e-mails. And they’re not just e-mails but–but hate e-mails.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. There had to be some sort of mistake. “From whom?” I asked her.

“From angry homosexuals mostly,” she said. She went on to explain that apparently someone had secretly recorded one of my talks to a group of grassroots Republican activists and that segments of it had been edited together and put on YouTube for all the world to hear. My mind raced as I tried to recall the various speaking engagements I’d had recently and what I’d said in each of them.

My next thought following the initial wave of fear was, “Good Lord, what have I done?”
Infamous
In the span of a few short days in March 2008, I became more than famous. I found myself instantly infamous.

From sea to shining sea, I was suddenly being reviled, denounced, and despised. One week I was Little Mrs. Nobody out in flyover country. The next week I was being demonized in a YouTube video that, as of this writing, has been viewed more than 1.2 million times. At broadband speed, the World Wide Web lit up with contempt for “that hateful Sally Kern.” Google my name, and you’ll be presented with links to tens of thousands of blog posts and articles with headlines such as “Sally Kern: Bashing Gays for Jesus” and “Terrorists Among Us: Rep. Sally Kern.”

Gossip blogger Perez Hilton took a break from virtually stalking Hollywood celebrities in order to opine that the people of Oklahoma should be ashamed of me. Ellen DeGeneres devoted a segment of her television program to mocking me and trying to call me on the phone. These high-profile attacks triggered a tsunami of e-mail filled with the vilest and most defiling obscenities imaginable.

Of course, all of this attention was unplanned, unanticipated, and unprepared for. It was also extraordinarily hurtful, not just to me but to the people I love most in this world. It’s painful to be accused of hate when you know there is no hate in your heart. It’s discouraging to have your words twisted and exploited in the ears of the entire nation. And it is maddening to have a grotesque caricature of yourself paraded around as genuine by thousands of people who don’t know the first thing about you.

As my story unfolds, you will see that my stand is not against individuals but against the forces that would seek to undermine the truth of God’s Word. This nation was founded on biblical principles, and that is what has made America strong. Our Founding Fathers recognized that there are social, economic, and cultural benefits of Christian values that bring blessings to the nation that embraces them. This was the foundation of the now infamous speech that thrust me into the limelight, but of course, that part wasn’t plastered all over YouTube.

Amid the hailstorm of name-calling and derision that came my way, one of the least obscene and most commonly used labels was that of “homophobe.” In fact, I was named the runner-up for “Homophobe of the Year” by a certain national homosexual organization’s website.

It has become common in recent years to slap the label of “homophobe” on anyone who objects to open homosexuality on moral or religious grounds or to the homosexual activists’ political agenda on ideological grounds. It’s a clever tactic—repeatedly assigning the label of a neurosis or mental illness to those who disagree with you. You don’t have to engage “crazy people” in debate on the merits of the issues. You just marginalize them and dismiss them.

Of course, a phobia is, by definition, an irrational fear. But the concerns I have about the radical homosexual lobby’s political agenda and the effect it will have on future generations are hardly irrational. They are grounded in facts and are quite rational.

Based on the hysterical reactions I’ve experienced to a few poorly worded comments I made, however, it’s fair to wonder if some people don’t indeed have an irrational fear of morality-based arguments. Perhaps some people are “holyphobes.” In a different sense, you might call me a holyphobe, in that I have reverential fear of God. I care more about what God thinks of my life and actions than how any living person on this earth views them.

In any event, I’ve certainly grown weary of being called a homophobe. The truth is, I don’t hate or fear homosexuals, or anyone else for that matter. Disagreeing with someone does not mean you hate him. I was not brought up to hate people. My parents taught each of their children that everyone is worthy of love and respect just because they are created by God and are of great value to Him. My husband and I sought to rear our children with the same understanding. If I’m not willing to love others regardless of who they are or what they might do, then how can I expect God to love me?

What concerns me is the damage that will be done to America’s moral fiber and to religious freedom if we succumb to attacks on our conservative Christian foundations. In the chapters that follow I will reveal how a highly organized, well-funded network of radical activists is working to undermine our God-given liberties in the name of equality and freedom. Speaking out about these facts is what put me in the crosshairs of the liberal blogosphere and even caused some to label me an extreme danger to Western civilization.
In reality, I’m about as ordinary as you can get. I have no fantastic talents, I look like a typical sixty-something grandmother, and though I was smart enough to get a college degree and teach government to a couple generations of high school kids, I’ve never been offered membership in the Mensa IQ society or been accused of being an intellectual. Just ordinary. Average. Typical. That’s me.

This whole experience has taken me completely by surprise. As a result, the last few years have had a surreal quality to them. I’m just now beginning to realize that this is probably the way it’s going to be for the rest of my life, even when I’m no longer a state representative. I think I can relate just a little bit to what Sarah Palin experienced.
There was a day that took the United States by surprise. It was December 7, 1941, when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. Prior to that fateful day Americans knew a war was taking place, but most didn’t think it involved them. As long as the fighting was going on someplace overseas far away, they didn’t really care about it, and so they were just living their lives and going about their everyday activities. But that changed in a heartbeat when, unexpectedly, the planes roared down, and our mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters were under attack without any warning and little chance to fight back.

There is a war going on today, and, just like on December 7, 1941, most Americans are going to be totally surprised at the devastation and change that is going to take place in our nation. The difference between this current attack and the one on Pearl Harbor is that the enemy is living and fighting right here among us, but we don’t recognize them. The hard reality is that the enemy could be connected to your mother or father, sons or daughters, brothers or sisters, or coworkers. That’s what makes this war so hard to fight. It can feel as if we’re fighting those we love.

The real enemy, however, is not these loved ones but a world-view that is being strategically implemented in our homes, schools, churches, and governments. This is a war for the soul of our nation, and it is a whole new experience for Americans.

This is why the experience I’m going through is not just about me. It’s about something much bigger and more important than me or even you. This is about our future and what we will leave to generations that follow. The statements I made in my speech and the actions I’ve taken since then have forever altered my life. My future has been changed. It’s been changed for the better, although that’s not what my opponents intended. They did not take into account the divine promise of Romans 8:28—that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him.

Sometimes we do things that, in the moment, seem inconsequential to us, but God takes them and turns them into defining moments in our lives. Little did I know that the secretly recorded remarks I had made represented such a moment.

Before I share with you the comments that generated such a fire-storm of abuse, allow me to give you some of the background behind them. Back in October 2007 I attended a ProFamily Legislators Conference. There I learned of a group of very wealthy homosexual activists who had stealthily targeted seventy conservative political officials across the nation to defeat them in state and local elections. Their goal was, and is, to completely change the American political landscape from the bottom up over the next ten years in order to create a friendlier legislative environment for their agenda.

There were six other Oklahoma legislators who attended that conference and received the same information I heard. But I was the only one who came back home with the motivation to do more research on the subject. “Why me, Lord?” I wondered. That’s a question I’ve asked myself many times since March 7, 2008.
That day in the car, I couldn’t wait to get off the phone with TJ and call Steve, my husband. As my best friend and biggest supporter when I was running for the House of Representatives, I desperately needed his wisdom and counsel. Still feeling very much afraid, I shared with him the conversation TJ and I had just had. I recall that Steve asked me, “Do you know which meeting they recorded?” You see, I had given this same basic speech on four different occasions. Evidently it wasn’t just grassroots Republican activists who found it interesting.

As Steve and I prayed together over the phone, the peace of God that passes all understanding began to displace the paralyzing fear I was experiencing. As a minister’s wife I had talked hundreds of times about the peace of God. But in that moment I learned the sweet reality of the indescribable contrast between heavenly peace and worldly fear.

As we continued talking, TJ called again. “Sally,” she said as I dropped Steve’s call and took hers, “you just got a call from . . . ” Then she said the name of a highly aggressive local homosexual activist. “He said to tell you that you were going to be more famous than you ever dreamed you’d be because he was going to send that YouTube clip to all three thousand people on his e-mail list.”

“Famous,” I thought to myself. “This is not exactly the way I had ever imagined I’d be famous.” As I mentioned in the introduction, I’d never coveted or pursued fame. Now it looked as though I was going to be famous for “ticking off” the world’s homosexual population, and all I did was share with a small group of people what some liberal homosexual millionaires were doing.

TJ then told me that reporters were beginning to call the office wanting to know if it was indeed my voice on the YouTube video. Of course, I didn’t know whether it was my voice or not. And as a sixty-one-year-old grandmother who was pretty close to being computer illiterate, I didn’t even know how to get on to YouTube to check. So there on my cell phone, sitting in the parking lot at Walmart, I waited anxiously while TJ got online and pulled up the YouTube clip. As she put the phone next to the computer’s speakers, I listened intently, straining to hear every word. I also was quietly hoping and praying that there had been some mistake and the voice wouldn’t be mine.

No such luck.

After confirming that the voice on the other end of the phone was mine, I had TJ transfer me to our legal staff at the capitol. I figured that it might be a good idea to see if they had any advice for me.

While I waited to be connected, I lifted my voice up to the Lord in prayer. “Father, I’ve said over and over that Your grace is sufficient. If there was ever a time I needed Your grace, it’s now.”

As I related to the staff lawyer the events of the last few moments, I was told that, in her opinion, there was nothing that could be done. No laws appeared to have been broken by anyone. I was inwardly hoping that she would have some simple and magical solution that would make all this go away as quickly as it had appeared.

Again, no such luck.

At this point you might be thinking that this was not my lucky day. Thankfully I don’t believe luck is what guides my life. The next phone call I made was going to confirm that belief.

Feeling much calmer now but still trying to wrap my mind around all that was happening, I really felt impressed to make one more call. I don’t know why, but I did, and it proved to be the call that gave me a sense of purpose for what was occurring.

Not really grasping that I was now squarely embroiled in a major controversy, this next call was to an individual who is controversial in Oklahoma politics. If you’re an elected official in Oklahoma, you either hate or love Charlie Meadows. There’s no in-between. As the longtime chairman of the Oklahoma Conservative Political Action Committee (OCPAC), Charlie gives no slack to any elected official.

I dialed Charlie’s number, and he answered right away. I told him about the YouTube video and all the hate e-mail I was getting. Charlie had heard my speech on the homosexual agenda three times. The first sentence out of his mouth was, “Praise the Lord, He’s given you a platform to poke your finger in their eye—figuratively speaking, of course.” This blunt statement startled me and pierced my heart. And I suddenly recognized that the Lord had set the stage for a confrontation between the truth of His Word and the lies of this present age.

Of course, this is not a new battle. Ephesians 6:10–18 clearly asserts that this war has been going on for all time. What was new was that God had just called me up as one of His frontline soldiers in the battle for truth. Seems the Lord was taking me at my word. You see, when I first campaigned for office, I had my spiel down pat when I knocked on thousands of voters’ doors. It went like this: “I’m running as a decidedly Christian candidate because I believe we’re in a cultural war for the very existence of our Judeo-Christian values.” I made that statement in 2003 because I believed it. Now I was being asked to live it.
It is a biblical principle that the spoken word has power. Sometimes God takes what we say and creates opportunities to exhibit His power. Before the day was out, I’d had three TV stations call asking for interviews. I hate doing TV interviews. I don’t like the way my voice sounds. My hair never looks right. And the cameraman always gets right up in my face. They do that when they’re trying to make a person look bad. I felt certain that the media would attempt to make me look as bad as possible. I was not disappointed.

There was a common thread in all the media interviews I did in those first hours and days. Invariably I would get questions along the lines of, “Is that really what you meant to say?” Or, “Would you like to clarify your statements?”
As I’ve already stated, the comments that were secretly recorded were rushed, and I could have done a better job of making a few of my points, and I said so. But reporters never seemed satisfied with that explanation. It quickly became clear to me that what these media folks were looking for was a retraction. The fact was, I was being invited, encouraged, prodded, and subtly coached to recant! And that I could not in good conscience do.
I kept thinking about something I read that nineteenth-century abolitionist preacher James Freeman Clarke once said: “The politician thinks of the next election; the statesman, of the next century.”1 I wasn’t really interested in preserving my position; I was passionately committed to preserving my country. So I hardheadedly refused to say that I had “misspoken” or to use any of the other weasel words we’re accustomed to hearing politicians hide behind.

The more I stuck to my guns, however, the more hostile and slanted the media coverage became.

When I got home and put my groceries away, I went straight to the computer to check my Oklahoma House of Representatives e-mail account. I was not prepared for what I saw. It was one thing to hear TJ say I was getting thousands of e-mails. It was another thing to actually see them pouring into my in-box. But the quantity was not the problem. It was the content. I was being accused of “hate speech” for merely citing what was already written in various articles in mainstream publications, such as the Atlantic Monthly and Time magazine online, and for what the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had on its website for anyone to see with a few clicks of a mouse.

These facts were “inconvenient truths,” to borrow a phrase, that some groups don’t want advertised. Of course, the writers of the e-mails were especially enraged that I had compared homosexuality to terrorism and to a cancer, two things that destroy. That’s what really set them off.
Without a doubt, I had hit a nerve. I found it sort of ironic that those who were consistently most vocal in calling for hate crimes laws and in preaching tolerance were the very people sending me thousands of e-mails filled with some of the most obscene words and vicious sentiments I’d ever seen. There was absolutely no tolerance for my choices or beliefs. As a high school teacher, I thought I knew all of the profane and vile words out there. But while sitting at my computer for thirty minutes, reading some of those e-mails, I saw more vulgar words in that time than I’d seen in all my life.

As I continued to wade through the avalanche of profane contempt, my stomach had a large and growing knot in the middle of it. I can’t adequately describe the way I felt—a queasy mixture of fear, confusion, and defilement. I just knew I needed the Lord to calm my spirit, give me His strength, and fill me with love for these people.

I had no clue about what the future would hold as a result of becoming a visible target of the activist homosexual community. One thing I did know: God honors His Word. I knew that I could not back down from the truth of His Word. No matter what it may cost me, I would rather be biblically correct than politically correct. I also knew that God loves the homosexual just as He loves me. God loves all people. But He doesn’t love sinful actions. I knew that I had to keep this uppermost in my mind if God was to be glorified through all this.

As I quickly discovered, not only was hate e-mail being sent to my state legislative e-mail account, but also the activist networks somehow had obtained my home e-mail address too. It immediately became almost impossible to sift through all the garbage and find the legitimate e-mail from friends and family. Those who had been offended by my remarks also began calling our home phone at all hours of the day and night, leaving the filthiest messages I’d ever heard. I was surely thankful we didn’t have little children at home to hear that vile language.

The next day, as the gravity of this situation began to dawn on us, Steve and I sat down together and counted the cost. It was a process we understood well. Many years ago after we were first married, we were in a ministry where we gave up all we possessed (which wasn’t much at the time) and worked with street kids. This was a step into what some call “full-faith” ministry because we were totally dependent upon God to meet our needs. The young people we were ministering among were the Jesus people of the 1970s. But following that path meant giving up pretty much everything. Thus we had engaged in a serious count-the cost exercise before that leap of faith.

Those years of street ministry turned out to be a wonderful experience, and God has since allowed us to possess a home, autos, and all the stuff that we think we must have today. In the midst of this new crisis, Steve asked me if I was willing to lose it all again. I told him I was. Then I told him that if standing for righteousness cost me my seat as a state representative, I couldn’t think of a better reason to lose it. The next question was a much more sobering one, but answering it gave us an overwhelming sense of peace and boldness. The question was, “And what if it costs us our lives?”
The levels of irrational hate and rage that were being poured upon us certainly made it conceivable that we might be the targets of violence. Indeed we had already seen some thinly veiled threats. Assured of an eternal home in heaven and mindful of those throughout church history who laid down their lives for the faith, we both agreed to stand—whatever the cost.
We just sat there in silence for a while. Then Steve prayed, asking God to give us His strength and love to face this in a way that would please Him.
I can’t really explain how liberating it was to count the cost that Saturday night. We were both humbled that, for whatever reason, God had allowed this situation to take place in our lives.

Although events were happening in rapid-fire succession that first week, the days went by with painful slowness. I did so many TV interviews that I quickly lost count as the days became a blur of TV lights and microphones. I just know I finally quit giving them because they never let me explain my side of the story or seemed to give me a fair shake. Sad to say, they didn’t really want the truth. They either just wanted a story—something that would get them viewers—or they were philosophically sympathetic to the homosexual rights cause.

I do vividly recall the reporter who blindsided me with her last question. It went something like this, “I hear you have a son who’s gay. Is that true?” I was stunned and, frankly, angered by the question. I flatly told her that what she had heard was not true. I quickly added that if it were true, I would love him all the more because he would need more loving. If I remember correctly, I also told her that she was doing a poor job of journalism because it sounded more like she was working for the National Inquirer rather than a legitimate news station. Just as a mother bear will roar to protect her cubs, my motherly instinct had been called up. Pick on me all you want, but leave my family out of this.

Apparently, the moment I got in the crosshairs of the homosexual rights activists, enterprising researchers started digging through my life for dirt. It must have been a frustrating and disappointing search. As I’ve already mentioned, I’ve been a pastor’s wife in an inner-city church and a public schoolteacher. My husband and I have spent a major part of our lives in inner-city ministry—clothing and feeding the poor, helping the homeless, ministering to the drug addicts, and reaching out with help and hope to AIDS sufferers.

There simply was not “dirt” in my life for the press to play with. Yet when they learned that one of my sons is thirty-something and single, they jumped to the most convenient and appealing (for their purposes) conclusion. “Aha!” they seem to have told themselves. “We knew this Sally Kern was a hypocrite!” (In the worldview they have constructed for themselves, all outspoken Christians are.) Soon, key blogs popular with the homosexual activist community were posting reports, usually citing each other as confirmation, that “Sally Kern has a gay son” and that “she has disowned him.”

Of course, neither part of that smear is true. How shamefully vicious to drag my children into a campaign to defame and/or silence me. How ironic that many of the individuals repeating these slurs frequently offer high-minded rhetoric about respecting the privacy rights of individuals.

Nevertheless, this has become a familiar mode of operation by those on the far-left fringes of the culture wars. Digging for dirt and making stuff up if it can’t be found is only one familiar tactic of this movement. High-profile mockery is another.

One morning during that first week Ellen DeGeneres called my office from the set of her television program. However, as I was getting calls from all over the nation telling me what a horrible person I was, my voice-mail box was full, and she was not able to get through. You may have seen the episode of her show as she made the call. She’s shown it more than once. To begin the segment, she played the YouTube recording while showing my picture. Injecting her signature humor at various points, she had her entire audience laughing at me. Making anyone who disagrees with the homosexual lifestyle look like a fool is a major tactic of homosexual activists. Ellen was employing that tactic superbly.

Next I got a call from the Dr. Phil Show. I seriously considered returning his call because he seems to give people a fair shake on his program. Instead, I had one of the media staff make the call to see just what he had in mind. We were told that there would probably be a panel of people from both sides of the issue to discuss the topic. I’ve seen a few of those types of shows, and they seem to end up in shouting matches—shedding much more heat than light on the subject under discussion. I have no problem with an honest discourse on the topic, but I was afraid that this situation might be more for show than a rational dialogue. So I declined the opportunity to appear on the Dr. Phil Show.

Besides, as I’ve said, this is not about me. Having my picture flashed all over international TV on CNN, the Ellen DeGeneres Show, and hundreds of homosexual blogs is more than enough bad publicity to last a lifetime. What I’m interested in is being obedient to God and His Word. I had no idea what being obedient would cost me. Scripture says that Jesus humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death. To be honest, I sincerely hoped that my obedience wouldn’t cost me that. Yet that’s what happens to soldiers in war. Jesus laid down His life for me, and I had to be willing to lay down mine if He allowed that. Steve and I had faced this question on that Saturday night and had God’s peace. We would take one day at a time, trusting God to protect us with each step.

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:

Restless in Carolina

Multnomah Books (July 19, 2011)

***Special thanks to Ashley Boyer, Publicist, WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***

Tamara Leigh began her writing career in 1994 and is the best-selling author of fourteen novels, including Splitting Harriet (ACFW Book of the Year winner and RITA Award finalist), Faking Grace (RITA Award Finalist), and Leaving Carolina. A former speech and language pathologist, Tamara enjoys time with her family, faux painting, and reading. She lives with her husband and sons in Tennessee.

Visit the author’s website.

Tree-huggin’, animal-lovin’ Bridget Pickwick-Buchanan is on a mission. Well, two. First she has to come to terms with being a widow at thirty-three. After all, it’s been four years and even her five-year-old niece and nephew think it’s time she shed her widow’s weeds. Second, she needs to find a buyer for her family’s estate—a Biltmore-inspired mansion surrounded by hundreds of acres of unspoiled forestland. With family obligations forcing the sale, Bridget is determined to find an eco-friendly developer to buy the land, someone who won’t turn it into single-family homes or a cheesy theme park.

Enter J. C. Dirk, a high-energy developer from Atlanta whose green property developments have earned him national acclaim. When he doesn’t return her calls, Bridget decides a personal visit is in order. Unfortunately, J. C. Dirk is neither amused nor interested when she interrupts his meeting—until she mentions her family name. In short order, he finds himself in North Carolina, and Bridget has her white knight—in more ways than one. But there are things Bridget doesn’t know about J. C., and it could mean the end of everything she’s worked for…and break her heart.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books (July 19, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601421680
ISBN-13: 978-1601421685

ISLAND BREEZES

After a four year stint of widowhood, Bridget is being forced out of mourning.  In the process, a couple men seem to be interested in her – or is it just the estate she’s trying to sell?

These “widow sniffers,” as Bridget calls them, keep her guessing throughout the book.  As far as I’m concerned one is just a bit too slick.

Then there are the secrets that both men are hiding.  When they are exposed, one of them just might break Bridget’s heart.

Yes, I did need that box of tissues.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

I can do this. It’s not as if I didn’t sense it coming. After all, I can smell an H.E.A. (Happily Ever After) a mile away—or, in this case, twenty-four pages glued between cardboard covers that feature the requisite princess surrounded by cute woodland creatures. And there are the words, right where I knew the cliché of an author would slap them, on the last page in the same font as those preceding them. Deceptively nondescript. Recklessly hopeful. Heartbreakingly false.

“Aunt Bridge,” Birdie chirps, “finish it.”

I look up from the once-upon-a-time crisp page that has been softened, creased, and stained by the obsessive readings in which hermother indulges her.

Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, my niece nods. “Say the magic words.” Magic?

More nodding, and is she quivering? Oh no, I refuse to be a party to this. I smile big, say, “The end,” and close the book. “So, how about another piece of weddin’ cake?”

“No!” She jumps off the footstool she earlier dubbed her “princess throne,” snatches the book from my hand, and opens it to the back. “Wight here!”

I almost correct her initial r-turned-w but according tomy sister, it’s developmental and the sound is coming in fine on its own, just as her other r’s did.

Birdie jabs the H, E, and A. “It’s not the end until you say the magic words.”

And I thought this the lesser of two evils—entertaining my niece and nephew as opposed to standing around at the reception as the bride and groom are toasted by all the happy couples, among them, cousin Piper, soon to be wed to my friend Axel, and cousin Maggie, maybe soon to be engaged to her sculptor man, what’s-his-name.

“Yeah,” Birdie’s twin,Miles, calls from where he’s once more hanging upside down on the rolling ladder I’ve pulled him off twice. “You gotta say the magic words.”

Outrageous! Even my dirt-between-the-toes, scab-ridden, snot-on-the-sleeve nephew is buying into the fantasy.

I spring from the armchair, cross the library, and unhook his ankles from the rung. “You keep doin’ that and you’ll bust your head wide open.” I set him on his feet. “And your mama will—

”No, Bonnie won’t.

“Well, she’ll be tempted to give you a whoopin’.”

Face bright with upside-down color, he glowers.

I’d glower back if I weren’t so grateful for the distraction he provided. “All right, then.” I slap at the ridiculously stiff skirt of the dress Maggie loaned me for my brother’s wedding. “Let’s rejoin the party—”

“You don’t wanna say it.”Miles sets his little legs wide apart. “Do ya?” So much for my distraction.

“You don’t like Birdie’s stories ’cause they have happy endings. And you don’t.”

I clench my toes in the painfully snug high heels on loan from Piper.

“Yep.”Miles punches his fists to his hips. “Even Mama says so.”

My own sister? I shake my head, causing the blond dreads Maggie pulled away from my face with a headband to sweep my back. “That’s not true.”

“Then say it wight now!” Birdie demands.

I peer over my shoulder at where she stands like an angry tin soldier, an arm outthrust, the book extended.

“Admit it,”Miles singsongs.

I snap around and catch my breath at the superior, knowing look on his five-year-old face. He’s his father’s son, all right, a miniature Professor Claude de Feuilles, child development expert.

“You’re not happy.” The professor in training, who looks anything but with his spiked hair, nods.

I know better than to bristle with two cranky, nap-deprived children, but that’s what I’m doing. Feeling as if I’m watching myself from the other side of the room, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll admit no such thing.”

“That’s ’cause you’re afraid. Mama said so.” Miles peers past me.

“Didn’t she, Birdie?”

Why is Bonnie discussing my personal life with her barely-out-of-diapers kids?

“Uh-huh. She said so.”

Miles’s smile is smug. “On the drive here, Mama told Daddy this day would be hard on you. That you wouldn’t be happy for Uncle Bart ’cause you’re not happy.”

Not true! Not that I’m thrilled with our brother’s choice of bride, but…come on! Trinity Templeton? Nice enough, but she isn’t operating on a full charge, which wouldn’t be so bad if Bart made up for the difference. Far from it, his past history with illegal stimulants having stripped him of a few billion brain cells.

“She said your heart is”—Miles scrunches his nose, as if assailed by a terrible odor—“constipated.”

What?!

“That you need an M&M, and I don’t think she meant the chocolate kind you eat. Probably one of those—”

“I am not constipated.” Pull back. Nice and easy. I try to heed my inner voice but find myself leaning down and saying, “I’m realistic.”

Birdie stomps the hardwood floor. “Say the magic words!”

“Nope.”Miles shakes his head. “Constipated.”

I shift my cramped jaw. “Re-al-is-tic.”

“Con-sti-pa-ted.”

Pull back, I tell you! He’s five years old. “Just because I don’t believe in fooling a naive little girl into thinkin’ a prince is waiting for her at the other end of childhood and will save her from a fate worse than death and take her to his castle and they’ll live…” I flap a hand. “…you know, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

Isn’t there? “It means I know better. There may be a prince, and he may have a castle, and they may be happy, but don’t count on it lasting. Oh no. He’ll get bored or caught up in work or start cheatin’—you know, decide to put that glass slipper on some other damsel’s foot or kiss another sleeping beauty—or he’ll just up and die like Easton—” No,
nothing at all wrong with you, Bridget Pickwick Buchanan, whose ugly widow’s weeds are showing.

“See!”Miles wags a finger.

Unfortunately, I do. And as I straighten, I hear sniffles.

“Now you done it!” Miles hustles past me. “Got Birdie upset.”

Sure enough, she’s staring at me with flooded eyes. “The prince dies? He dies and leaves the princess all alone?”The book falls from her hand, its meeting with the floor echoing around the library. Then she squeaks out a sob.

“No!” I spring forward, grimacing at the raspy sound the skirt makes as I attempt to reach Birdie before Miles.

He gets there first and puts an arm around her. A meltable moment, my mother would call it. After she gave me a dressing down. And I deserve one. My niece may be on the spoiled side and she may work my nerves, but I love her—even like her when that sweet streak of hers comes through. “It’s okay, Birdie,” Miles soothes. “The prince doesn’t die.”

Yes, he does, but what possessed me to say so? And what if I’ve scarred her for life?

Miles pats her head onto his shoulder. “Aunt Bridge is just”—he gives me the evil eye—“constipated.”

“Yes, Birdie.” I drop to my knees. “I am. My heart, that is. Constipated. I’m so sorry.”

She turns her head and, upper lip shiny with the stuff running out of her nose, says in a hiccupy voice, “The prince doesn’t die?” I grab the book from the floor and turn to the back. “Look. There they are, riding off into the sunset—er, to his castle. Happy. See, it says so.” I tap the H, E, and A.

She sniffs hard, causing that stuff to whoosh up her nose and my gag reflex to go on alert. “Weally happy, Aunt Bridge?”

“Yes.”

“Nope.” Barely-there eyebrows bunching, she lifts her head from Miles’s shoulder. “Not unless you say it.”

Oh dear Go—No, He and I are not talking. Well, He may be talking, but I’m not listening.

“I think you’d better.” Miles punctuates his advice with a sharp nod.

“Okay.” I look down at the page. “…and they lived…” It’s just a fairy tale—highly inflated, overstated fiction for tykes. “…they lived happily…ever…after.”

Birdie blinks in slow motion. “Happily…ever…after. That’s a nice way to say it, like you wanna hold on to it for always.”

Or unstick it from the roof of your mouth. “The end.” I close the book, and it’s all I can do not to toss it over my shoulder. “Here you go.”

She clasps it to her chest. “Happily…ever…after.”

Peachy. But I’ll take her dreamy murmuring over tears any day. Goodness, I can’t believe I made her cry. I stand and pat the skirt back down into its stand-alone shape. “More cake?”

“Yay!” Miles charges past me.

Next time— No, there won’t be a next time. I’m done with Little Golden Books.

Excerpted from Restless in Carolina by Tamara Leigh Copyright © 2011 by Tamara Leigh. Excerpted by permission of Multnomah Books, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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:

A Harvest of Hearts (Book 2 of The Amish of Seymour)

Whitaker House (September 6, 2011)

***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling, Whitaker House, for sending me a review copy.***

Laura V. Hilton is a pastor’s wife, mother of five, author, breast cancer survivor, homeschooler, and book reviewer. Although for her formal education she studied business, books have long been Laura’s passion. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Laura reviews Amish fiction for the ACFW ezine Afictionado and is as a staff reviewer for the Christian Suspense Zone. At last count she’d published over 1,000 reviews on her blog: http://lighthouse-academy.blogspot.com. A stay-at-home mom, Laura and her family live in Arkansas.

Visit the author’s website.

Ready to make a fresh start and leave Lancaster County, Matthew Yoder moves to Seymour, Missouri, as part of a swap of Amish men; he’s placed with the Stoltzfus family. Shanna Stoltzfus has run away from home to follow her dream of becoming a nurse, despite her father’s threats to shun her. When her classmates embark on a medical mission trip that she can’t afford, Shanna turns to home and the Amish community she abandoned for help. She meets Mathew meet and a fast friendship blossoms, even though Shanna flirts with the people and practices of her Englisch life. When tensions escalate between Shanna and her father to the point his health is in jeopardy, Shanna is forced to face some tough issues as to where she truly belongs.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (September 6, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603742565
ISBN-13: 978-1603742566

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The hand pulled back. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” a deep voice asked.

She looked up into incredible gray eyes belonging to a drop-dead-gorgeous Amish man. He grasped his straw hat in the long fingers of his right hand. His light brown hair shone with natural blond highlights. She’d paid big bucks for streaks like those. He also had a strong, clean-shaven jaw. Nice. Too bad he hadn’t been around when she’d been Amish. She definitely would have noticed a hunk like this. Might even have considered staying.

“Lost, maybe? I can direct you back to the main road. Where did you want to go?”

“Anyplace but here. Mexico sounds good.” She swallowed her trepidation and aimed what she hoped was a wry smile at him. When she reached for the door handle, he stepped out of the way. “You must be the houseguest Mamm mentioned in her letters. Matthew Yoder from Pennsylvania?” She swung her legs out of the car and extended a hand. “I’m Shanna.”

“Shanna.” He seemed to freeze. A little smile played on his lips. “Shanna,” he repeated.

She didn’t know quite what to think. He said her name as if it meant something special. Then, he blinked. “I’m Matthew, jah.”

He held out his hand, but before his hand could touch hers, she fixed her gaze on his brown fingers. He hesitated and then rubbed his hands together, as if to check to see if the stain was still damp. Then, he pulled back. “Shanna.”

His tongue seemed to trip over her name this time. Or maybe he’d heard some negative things about her. Her stomach churned. She shouldn’t be here. But where else could she go?

“I guess they are expecting you?”

“No. Not really.” Shanna stood and looked up at him. The top of her head barely reached his jaw.

His gaze skimmed over her. She wondered what he thought as he studied her faded jeans, T-shirt, and flip-flops. She looked down at her toenails. Good, they were painted with pink polish. Except the paint on one of her big toes had a huge chip. She wished she could reach for the bottle and repair the damage. As his gaze traveled back up, she repressed the urge to smooth her hair. It wouldn’t have done much good, anyway. She’d driven the whole way with the windows down, so it would be hopelessly tangled.

His forehead wrinkled, and there was no hint of recognition in his eyes when they returned to her face.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Matthew raised his eyebrows and his gaze met hers. “No. Should I?”

Unexpected pain shot through her. Daed had made good on his threat to reject her. “Figures. He probably forbade everybody to say my name. I’m surprised he allowed Mamm to write. Or maybe he doesn’t know.”

Confusion flashed across Matthew’s face. “So, you think your mamm lives here, and she isn’t expecting you?” He shook his head, his lips curling into a sympathetic half smile. “This is the home of Levi and Deborah—”

“Stoltzfus. Yes, I know. I’m their oldest daughter.”

Matthew’s smile slipped, and he blinked, cutting off her view of those gray eyes for a brief moment.

“You know, you have beautiful eyes.” She stepped closer, then turned to shut the car door. “My things are in the back. But I guess maybe we should leave them there until we find out if I’m allowed to stay. Mamm said I would be welcome, but Daed has the final say, you know.” She bit her lip and tried to force her fear of the imminent confrontation out of her mind. It didn’t work. And since her little brothers and sisters hadn’t gathered around to welcome her, she wondered if her family was even home. She looked around for the buggy, or some sign of life other than the handsome Matthew. She didn’t notice any.

“Jah. Probably should wait.” He blinked again when she turned to face him.

“Well, shall we?” She walked past him, around the front of the car, and toward the porch. At the top step, she hesitated and glanced back. Matthew stood where she’d left him, watching her. He didn’t even try to hide it by looking away. A shiver worked through her, but she ignored it. He’d probably never met anyone like her before. Daed always said she was too outspoken. She sighed. “I guess I should ask. Where is Daed?”

He motioned behind him. “In the shop.”

“Good.” Postponing her reunion with him would at least give her time to see Mamm and her little sisters before she was kicked off the property.

If that happened, Shanna hoped this gorgeous Amish man wouldn’t witness her humiliation. She felt ashamed enough of her modern clothes, now subject to his intense gaze. She was so under-dressed, she might as well have shown up at a formal event wearing boxer shorts and a paint-spattered T-shirt.

Did Mamm still keep her Amish clothes hanging in her bedroom closet?

She scowled and turned toward the house. It would take more than a good-looking man to get her to change into Amish clothes. She hadn’t been able to wait to leave the Amish life behind, and she wasn’t about to return to it.

Well, she would stay for the summer, if permitted. But no longer than that.

And if Daed wouldn’t let her? She’d deal with that when the time came.

***

Matthew stared at the front door, through which the green-eyed beauty had disappeared after only the briefest look back, as if checking to see if he followed her. And he probably would have, if his feet hadn’t felt rooted to the ground.

He mused over their brief conversation and allowed a smile to play on his lips as he grappled with the sense that he’d glimpsed into his future.

“Shanna,” he whispered her name again.

He hadn’t meant to touch her hair. He’d noticed the open window, and he’d simply reached in to touch her shoulder. But she’d moved, and instead of the soft tap he’d intended, his knuckles had buried themselves in her soft, golden tresses.

Inappropriate.

Even worse, he hadn’t wanted to pull back.

Matthew swallowed, lifted his legs to see if they would still move, and turned toward the shop. He couldn’t remember what he’d needed to go to the house for, anyway. No point in looking like a bigger fool in front of her.

When he pushed the shop door open, Levi looked up from where he stood, hunched over and sanding a wooden chair. “Did you get the key?”

Matthew shook his head. “I forgot what you sent me for.” Ach, this was worse, having to admit to his mindlessness. Heat rose up his neck. “Um, there’s a girl…your daughter. She was in her car. Said something about staying.”

A look of hope flashed across Levi’s face. His shoulders straightened, and a bright smile lit his face and eyes. He put down the sandpaper and moved toward the door, then stopped, his shoulders slumping. “Probably not for long.”

Matthew couldn’t quite read any of the other emotions that flashed across the older man’s face.

“Is she shunned?” Matthew asked hesitantly.

Levi shook his head. “Nein, not formally. But I’d hoped denying her a place in the family would bring her back home.” His expression hardened. “And maybe it would have. But my frau….”

He didn’t need to say more. Matthew nodded in agreement. Shanna had mentioned letters in which her mamm had said she’d be welcome. Deborah must have gone behind Levi’s back and kept in contact with her daughter.

It was none of his business, but he decided to ask, anyway. “Will you allow her to stay?”

He hoped Levi would say “Jah,” the fascinating creature could stay. But another part of him wanted a decidedly firm “Nein.” He hadn’t been around her more than five minutes, and already she’d messed with his insides.

“I don’t know.” Levi scratched his head. “I’ll have to think on it.”

Matthew chuckled. “Maybe in the barn loft.”

Levi’s mouth curved up in a grin. “Might be best.”

“I’m teasing.” Matthew moved toward the door. “I’ll go get the key you wanted. Sorry I forgot it earlier.”

“Jah.” Levi picked up the sandpaper and went back to work. “And I’ll think on it. Gives her a few more minutes with her mamm, anyway, in case I decide not to let her stay.”

***

After hugging Shanna, Mamm resumed peeling apples at the counter, where a recipe for apple turnovers was propped against the flour canister. Shanna picked up a knife to help with paring, as she had countless times before. Mamm chatted nonstop, talking about Shanna’s sisters, who were at friends’ houses today, and about the garden. Not one mention had been made about whether she was permitted to stay. A piece of apple skin dangled from the peeler, ever lengthening as Mamm worked the apple around and around. It had always been a challenge for Shanna to try to pare the entire apple without breaking the strip, like Mamm did.

She’d never succeeded.

Yet another sign of failure. Another reason why she’d never be an Amish frau.

That, combined with the old-fashioned clothes and her intense dislike of the wringer washer. She’d hated that thing ever since getting her hair stuck in it as a young girl. She had always been afraid that the contraption would pull her whole head through the rollers, try to press it flat, as it did the garments, and leave it abnormally shaped.

That was almost reality. Spiritually, she was abnormally shaped. God had never intended her to be Amish. It must have been a fluke for her to have been born into an Amish family.

Shanna pushed the thought away. Why was she even thinking about this stuff? She’d settled it long ago, for pity’s sake, so that she could enroll in college to earn her nursing degree. So that she could live and work in the real world. And wear real clothes. And…well, there were many other benefits of being Englisch.

Yet those scrubs she had to wear to her clinical rotations could hardly be considered real clothes.

Her stomach felt as if a whole flock of Canada geese had landed in it, honking, with wings flapping, as they did when they passed through during migration. It had to be the fault of that young man—the one who’d come out to her car and caused her heart to flip-flop like the bottoms of her sandals.

Matthew Yoder.

A good Amish name, for someone who appeared to be a good Amish man.

As if she’d summoned him by thinking his name, the door opened, and Matthew strode into the room, heading straight for the key rack that hung on the wall. Not that there were many keys hanging there. Why would they need them, when they had absolutely nothing worth stealing? Well, Daed’s tools were valuable. But he was out there with them now, so Matthew would have no need to unlock the shop.

She watched as Matthew lifted down a long skeleton key. The barn key. One of the doors there led up to a loft she’d never been allowed to enter. She didn’t know what Daed kept in there, just that he’d built stairs to replace the ladder leading up to it.

Matthew palmed the key, then turned toward the door, moving with an even stride. Not once did he look in her direction.

Had Daed said something to dispel the friendliness he’d shown her earlier?

Mamm turned around. “Ach, Matthew. I didn’t realize that was you. Kum meet Shanna. She’s our oldest. Attends college up in Springfield.”

Matthew hesitated by the door, then turned, his gaze skimming over her. “Welkum, Shanna.” His tongue didn’t trip over her name so much this time. And he didn’t indicate they had met in the driveway.

“This is Matthew Yoder from Pennsylvania,” Mamm continued. “He came down in the swap I mentioned in my letter, where we traded buwe with a community in Lancaster. Matthew is looking for farmland hereabouts.”

“I hope you can find some,” Shanna said. Farmland wasn’t readily available in this part of Missouri, as far as she knew. But then, she didn’t keep track of such things. She wasn’t in the market for land.

Matthew grinned. “I have my eye on a piece not too far from here. Belongs to an Englischer, so the haus would need some work to be made suitable.”

She knew that would mean taking out the electrical lines, removing the screens from the windows, and installing a woodstove, among other things. All silly rules. Why no screens? Okay, she knew the answer: to keep God’s view unobstructed. But, really. He could see through screens! And keeping the bugs out would hardly prevent people from going to heaven. Shanna shifted her feet to hide her shrug.

“The barn isn’t adequate, so we’d need to have a barn raising to replace that, too,” Matthew went on, as if he hadn’t noticed her reaction. “But that’s if I get the property. I’m praying on it.”

“Might not want to pray too long. Someone might buy it right out from under you,” Shanna quipped.

“Then, that would be God’s will, ain’t so?” Matthew looked into her eyes and held up the key. “I’d best get this out to Levi.”

Mamm put the apple she’d just peeled in the bowl beside her. “Tell him that Sha—his daughter is home.”

So, Daed had forbidden them to mention her name. Nausea roiled within her, and bile rose in her throat. Why was she subjecting herself to this? She shouldn’t have come. Maybe one of those pay-by-the-week establishments in Springfield would have room. If she could afford it.

Matthew’s gaze stayed locked on her. “Ach, he knows. I’m sure he’ll be up in a bit.”

His expression told her nothing. The Canada geese resumed their wild flapping in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was more due to the compassion in those beautiful gray eyes or the news that she’d be facing Daed long before she was ready.

Mamm picked up another apple. “Don’t worry yourself. He’ll let you stay.”

Shanna wasn’t too sure.

A thump sounded on the front porch. Then another.

Shanna clutched her stomach, afraid she’d be ill.

The next second, Daed stood in the doorway.