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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

and the book:

Lazarus Awakening

WaterBrook Press (February 8, 2011)

***Special thanks to Lynette Kittle, Senior Publicist, WaterBrook Multnomah, a Division of Random House for sending me a review copy.***

JOANNA WEAVER is the best-selling author of Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, Having a Mary Spirit, and the award-winning gift book With This Ring. Her articles have appeared in such publications as Focus on the Family, Guideposts, and HomeLife. Joanna and her pastor-husband, John, have three children and live in Montana.

Visit the author’s website.

Colorado Springs, Colo – In Lazarus Awakening (February 8, 2011) Joanna Weaver author of bestselling Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, helps prepare readers for the Easter celebration of Jesus death and resurrection, through her exploration of Lazarus death and resurrection.

Weaver explores the story of Jesus calling Lazarus forth to new life, and what that can mean to each one of us. How Jesus not only wanted to free Lazarus, but also free each person to live fully in the light of His love, unbound from the grave clothes of fear, regret, and self-condemnation.

She explores how it’s easier for us to believe that God so loved the world…but sometimes wonder if He truly loves us….

Combining unforgettable real-life illustrations with unexpected biblical insights, Weaver invites each of us to experience a spiritual resurrection this Easter that will forever change our understanding of what it means to be the one Jesus loves.

Includes 10-week Bible study (adaptable for 8 weeks) for both individual reflection and group discussion.

Product Details:

List Price: $19.99
Hardcover: 240 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press (February 8, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 9780307444967
ISBN-13: 978-0307444967
ASIN: 0307444961

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

It’s amazing that such a little space could make so much difference.
Just eighteen inches, give or take a few—that’s all it needs to move. And yet, for many of us, getting God’s love from our heads to our hearts may be the most difficult—yet the most important—thing we ever accomplish.
“I need to talk,” Lisa whispered in my ear one day after women’s Bible study. A committed Christian with a deep passion for the Lord, my friend had tears pooling in her dark eyes as we found a quiet corner where we could talk.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, shaking her head as she looked down at her feet. “I could go to the worst criminal or a drug addict living on the street, and I could look him in the eye and tell him, ‘Jesus loves you!’ and mean it from the bottom of my heart.
“But, Joanna,” she said, gripping my hand, “I can’t seem to look in the mirror and convince myself.”
Her words were familiar to me. I’d felt that same terrible disconnect early in my walk with the Lord. Hoping He loved me but never really knowing for sure. Sadly, I’ve heard the same lonely detachment echoed by hundreds of women I’ve talked to around the country. Beautiful women. Plain women. Talented and not-so-talented women. Strong Christian women, deep in the Word and active in their church, as well as women brand new to their faith. Personal attributes or IQs seem to matter little. Whether they were raised in a loving home or an abusive situation, it doesn’t seem to change what one friend calls an epidemic among Christian women (and many men as well): a barren heart condition I call love-doubt.
“Jesus loves me—this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”(1) Many of us have sung the song since we were children. But do we really believe it? Or has Christ’s love remained more of a fairy tale than a reality we’ve experienced for ourselves in the only place we can really know for sure?
Our hearts.

He Loves Me…He Loves Me Not

You would think after accepting Christ at a young age and being raised in a loving Christian home with a loving, gracious father, I would have been convinced from the beginning that my heavenly Father loved me.
Me. With all my faults and failures. My silly stubbornness and pride.
But those very things kept me from really knowing Christ’s love for the majority of my early adult life. There was just so much to dislike, so much to disapprove of. How could God possibly love me? Even I wasn’t that crazy about me.
For some reason, I’d come to see God as distant and somewhat removed. Rather than transposing upon God the model of my earthly father’s balanced love—both unconditional yet corrective—I saw my heavenly Father as a stern teacher with a yardstick in His hand, pacing up and down the classroom of my life as He looked for any and all infractions. Measuring me against what sometimes felt like impossible standards and occasionally slapping me when I failed to make the grade.
Yes, He loved me, I supposed. At least that’s what I’d been taught. But I didn’t always feel God’s love. Most of the time I lived in fear of the yardstick. Who knew when His judgment would snap down its disapproval, leaving a nasty mark on my heart as well as my soul?
As a result, I lived the first three decades of my life like an insecure adolescent, forever picking daisies and tearing them apart, never stopping to enjoy their beauty. He loves me, He loves me not, I would say subconsciously, plucking a petal as I weighed my behavior and attitudes against what the Bible said I should be.
Powerful church services and sweet altar times. Ah, I felt secure in His love. Real life and less-than-sweet responses? I felt lost and all alone. Unfortunately, all I got from constantly questioning God’s love was a fearful heart and a pile of torn, wilted petals. My overzealous self-analysis never brought the peace I longed for.
Because the peace you and I were created for doesn’t come from picking daisies. It only comes from a living relationship with a loving God.

The Tale of the Third Follower

I never planned on writing a trilogy about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, the siblings from Bethany that we meet in Luke’s and John’s gospels. In fact, when I wrote Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, I was fairly certain it was the one and only book to be found in those verses. But God surprised me six years later, and Having a Mary Spirit was born.
The thought that there might be a third book never crossed my mind until I shared an interesting premise with a few friends who are writers. It was a teaching point I’d hoped to fit into Having a Mary Spirit but never quite found room.
“We all know Jesus loved Mary,” I told my friends. “After all, look how she worshiped. And we can even understand how Jesus loved Martha. Look how she served. But what about those of us who don’t know where we fit in the heart of God?”
The question hung in the air before I continued.
“The only thing of significance that Lazarus did was die. And yet when Mary and Martha sent word to Jesus that Lazarus was ill, they said, ‘Lord, the one you love is sick.’ ”
Somehow my words seemed to have extra weight as they floated between us. Extra importance. Even I felt their impact.
After a few moments my friend Wendy broke the silence. “That part of the story didn’t make it into the book because it is a book.”
I can’t adequately explain what happened when she said those words, except to say it was as though a giant bell began to sound in my soul. Its reverberations sent shock waves through my body as I tried to change the subject.
The thing is, I didn’t want to write about Lazarus. I wanted to write a different book. I was ready to move on, to explore other subjects.
But God wouldn’t let me. And so you hold this book in your hands.

A Place to Call Home

We first meet the family from Bethany in Luke 10:38–42. Or rather we meet part of the family—two followers of Jesus named Martha and Mary.
You’re probably familiar with the story Luke tells. Jesus was on His way to Jerusalem for one of the great Jewish feasts when Martha came out to meet Him with an invitation to dinner. But while Martha opened her home, it was her sister, Mary, who opened her heart. To put the story in a nutshell: Mary worshiped. Martha complained. Jesus rebuked. And lives were changed.(2)
Strangely, Luke’s account never even mentions Mary and Martha’s brother, Lazarus. Perhaps he wasn’t home when Martha held her dinner party. Perhaps he was away on business. Or perhaps he was there all the time but no one really noticed.
Some people are like that. They have perfected the art of invisibility. Experts at fading into the background, they go out of their way not to attract attention, and when they get noticed, they feel great discomfort.
Of course, I have no way of knowing if this was true of Lazarus. Scripture doesn’t give any information as to who he was or what he was like—only that he lived in Bethany and had two sisters. When we finally meet him, in John 11, it is an odd introduction—for it starts with a 911 call that leads to a funeral:

Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”
When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.
Then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”.…
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days.…
…“Where have you laid him?” he asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
Jesus wept. (John 11:1–7, 17, 34–35)

What a tender story. A story filled with emotion and dramatic tension. The story of two sisters torn by grief and a Savior who loved them yet chose to tarry.
Of course, there is more to it—more truths we’ll discover as we walk through the forty-four verses John devotes to this tale. For the story of Lazarus is also the story of Jesus’s greatest miracle: that of awakening His friend from the dead. (To read the whole story all at once, see Appendix A: “The Story.”)
Have you noticed that when Jesus comes on the scene, what seems to be the end is rarely the end? In fact, it’s nearly always a new beginning.
But Mary and Martha didn’t know that at the time. And I’m prone to forget it as well.
Questions and disappointments, sorrow and fear tend to block out the bigger picture in situations like the one we see in Bethany. What do we do when God doesn’t come through the way we hoped He would? What should we feel when what is dearest to our hearts is suddenly snatched away? How do we reconcile the love of God with the disappointments we face in life?
Such questions don’t have easy answers. However, in this story of Jesus’s three friends, I believe we can find clues to help us navigate the unknown and the tragic when we encounter them in our own lives. Tips to help us live in the meantime—that cruel in-between time when we are waiting for God to act—as well as insights to help us trust Him when He doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all.
But most important, I believe the story of Lazarus reveals the scandalous availability of God’s love if we will only reach out and accept it. Even when we don’t deserve it. Even when life is hard and we don’t understand.
For God’s ways are higher than our ways, and His thoughts are higher than our thoughts, Isaiah 55:8–9 tells us. He knows what He’s doing.
Even when we can’t figure out His math.

Algebra and Me

Arithmetic was always one of my favorite subjects in grade school, one I excelled at. Of course, that was in the last century, before they started introducing algebra in the fourth grade. In my post–Leave It to Beaver, yet very serene, childhood, the only equations that wrinkled my nine-year-old forehead were fairly straightforward:

2 + 2 = 4
19 ? 7 = 12

Of course, fourth-grade math was more difficult than that. But the basic addition and subtraction skills I’d learned in first and second grade helped me tackle the multiplication and division problems of third and fourth grade with confidence. By the time I reached sixth grade, I was fairly proficient with complicated columns of sums and had pretty much conquered the mysterious world of fractions. I was amazing—a math whiz.
But then eighth grade dawned and, with it, a very brief introduction to algebra. It all seemed quite silly to me. Who cared what the y factor was? And why on earth would I ever need to know what x + y + z equaled?
When my teacher gave us a high-school placement math exam that spring, I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out the answers—mainly because I had no idea how, and when I tried, it made my head hurt. Instead, when I encountered a difficult problem during the test, I did what had always worked for me: I looked for a pattern in the answers.
Allowing my mind to back up a bit and my eyes to go a little fuzzy, I’d stare at all those little ovals I’d so neatly darkened in with my number-two pencil until I could see a pattern. I haven’t filled in a D for a while. Or, There were two Bs and then two Cs and one A, so obviously this must be another A.
I was amazing at this too.
No, really, I was. Several weeks later when we received the results of our testing, I had been placed not in bonehead math, not even in beginning algebra. No, it was accelerated algebra for me, though I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.
To this day I still don’t. My algebraic cluelessness has followed me through adulthood and on into parenting. My kids can ask an English question, quiz me on history or government, and I can usually give them an answer or at least help them find one. But when it comes to algebra or geometry or calculus or any of those other advanced math classes invented by some sick, twisted Einstein wannabe…well, they’d better go ask their dad.
Advanced mathematics remains a complete mystery to me. The unknown factors seem so haphazard. What if z/y squared doesn’t equal nine? What then?
The unknown factors frustrate us in life’s story problems as well—and there are plenty of those in John 11. How are we to compute the fact that Jesus stayed where He was rather than rushing to Lazarus’s side when He heard His friend was ill? How do we reconcile Jesus’s allowing Mary and Martha to walk through so much pain when He could have prevented it in the first place?
Difficult questions, without a doubt. But there is a foundational truth in this passage we must first acknowledge before we can tackle the tougher issues.
“Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus” (John 11:5, emphasis added).
Jesus loves you and me as well. He loves us just as we are—apart from our Martha works and Mary worship. He even loves those of us who come empty-handed, feeling dead inside and perhaps a little bound.
For while it may not add up in our human calculations, the truth of God’s love lies at the heart of the gospel. “While we were still sinners,” Romans 5:8 tells us, “Christ died for us.” We may not be able to do the math ourselves or reason out such amazing grace, but if we’ll simply ask, our heavenly Father longs to help us find the bottom line.

The Lazarus Factor

I’ve always told my husband, John, that he has to die before I do—mainly because I don’t want him remarrying some wonderful woman and finding out what he’s missed all these years. But then again, if he were to go first, I’m convinced I’d face financial ruin in two months. It’s not because John hasn’t taken very good care of us financially but because I absolutely hate balancing checkbooks.
My idea of reconciling my checking account is to call a very nice lady named Rhonda at our bank. She graciously lets me know the bottom line whenever I’m a little leery of where I stand.
Now, I know this isn’t a wise way to handle fiscal matters. In fact, you CPAs reading this are about to faint if you haven’t already thrown the book across the room. But, hey, it works for me.
Most of the time.
Okay, so there have been a few blips in my system. But I’m coming to believe that while this may not be such a great method in the natural realm, it may be the only way to go in the spiritual.
After spending the greater part of my life trying to make everything add up on my own—that is, trying to make sure my good outweighed my bad so I was never overdrawn but was continually making deposits in my righteousness bank—I finally realized that nothing I did could ever be enough. No matter how hard I tried, I constantly lived under the weight of my own disapproval. Which, of course, instantly mutated into a sense that God was coldly disappointed with me as well.
He loves me not…
Keeping my own spiritual books has never added up to anything but guilt and condemnation and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I’m so glad God’s math isn’t like mine. And oh how I rejoice that He doesn’t demand I come up with the correct answer before He makes me His child. Because when I couldn’t make it up to Him, Jesus came down to me. And through His precious blood sacrifice, He made a way for me to come not only into His presence but directly into the heart of God.
“All of this is a gift from God,” 2 Corinthians 5:18–19 tells us, “who brought us back to himself through Christ.… no longer counting people’s sins against them” (NLT).

Breaking the Yardstick

I don’t think we can begin to imagine how radical Christ’s New Testament message of grace sounded to a people who had been living under the Law for thousands of years. The thought that there might be a different way to approach God—a better way—was appealing to some Jews but threatening to many others.
For those who kept stumbling over the rules and regulations set up by the religious elite—never quite measuring up to the yardstick of the Law—the idea that God might love them apart from what they did must have been incredibly liberating.
But for the Jewish hierarchy who had mastered the Law and felt quite proud of it, Jesus’s words surely posed a threat. His message pierced their religious facades, revealing the darkness of their hearts and, quite frankly, making them mad. Rather than running to the grace and forgiveness He offered, they kept defaulting to the yardstick—using it to justify themselves one minute, wielding it as a weapon against Jesus the next.*
“You come from Nazareth?” they said, pointing the yardstick. “Nothing good comes from Nazareth.” That’s one whack for you. “You eat with tax collectors and sinners? That’s even worse.” Whack, whack. “You heal on the Sabbath?” they screamed, waving their rules and regulations. Off with Your head!
The Sadducees and Pharisees had no room in their religion for freedom. As a result, they had no room for Christ. They were people of the yardstick. Even though Jesus kept insisting He hadn’t come to “abolish the Law or the Prophets…but to fulfill them” (Matthew 5:17), they just wouldn’t listen. Like little children they plugged their ears and kept singing the same old tune, though a New Song had been sent from heaven.
Which is so very sad. Especially when you consider that the very Law they were so zealous for had been intended to prepare them for the Messiah rather than keep them from acknowledging Him.
After all, God established His original covenant with Abraham long before He gave Moses the Law—430 years before, to be exact (Galatians 3:17). The love the Father extended to Abraham and to all those who came after him had no strings attached. It was based on the recipient’s acceptance of grace from beginning to end.
But somehow Israel fell in love with the Law rather than in love with their God. And we are in danger of doing the same thing. Exalting rules as the pathway to heaven. Embracing formulas as our salvation. Worshiping our own willpower rather than allowing the power of God to work in us to transform our lives.(5)
Such self-induced holiness didn’t work for the Jews, and it doesn’t work for us. That’s why Jesus had to come.
The Law had originally been given “to show people their sins,” Galatians 3:19 tells us. But it was “designed to last only until the coming of the child who was promised” (NLT). Though the yardstick of the Law helped keep us in line, it was never intended to save us. Only Christ could do that. And oh may I tell you how that comforts my soul?
I’ll never forget the day I handed Jesus my yardstick. I had been saved since childhood, but I was almost thirty before the message of grace finally made the trip from my head to my heart, setting me “free from the law of sin and death” (Romans 8:2). As the light of the good news finally penetrated the darkness of my self-condemning mind, the “perfect love” 1 John 4:18 speaks of finally drove out my fear, which had always been rooted in fear of punishment.
When I finally laid down my Pharisee pride and admitted that in myself I would never be—could never be—enough, I experienced a breakthrough that has radically changed my life. For as I surrendered my yardstick—the tool of comparison that had caused so much mental torment and a sense of separation from God—Jesus took it from my hands. Then, with a look of great love, He broke it over His knee and turned it into a cross, reminding me that He died so I wouldn’t have to.
That the punishment I so fully deserve has already been paid for.
That the way has been made for everyone who will believe in Jesus not only to come to Him but to come back home to the heart of God.

A Place to Lay Our Hearts

From the moment God so kindly exploded the concept of this book in my soul, I’ve had just one prayer. It is the prayer Paul prayed for all believers in Ephesians 3:17–19:

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

I believe that everything we were made for and everything we’ve ever wanted is found in these three little verses. But in order to appropriate the all-encompassing love of God, we must give up our obsession with formulas and yardsticks. But how do we do that? Paul’s prayer reveals an important key: “that you…may have power…to know this love that surpasses knowledge” (emphasis added).
The marvelous incongruity of that statement hit me several years ago. “Wait, Lord! How can I know something that surpasses knowledge?” I asked.
His answer came sweet and low to my spirit. You have to stop trying to understand it and start accepting it, Joanna. Just let Me love you.
For the reality is, no matter how hard we try, we will never be able to explain or deserve such amazing grace and incredible love. Nor can we escape it.
It’s just too wide, Ephesians 3:18 tells us. We can’t get around it.
It’s just too high. We can’t get over it.
It’s so long we’ll never be able to outrun it.
And it’s so deep we’ll never be able to exhaust it.
Bottom line: You can’t get away from God’s love no matter how hard you try. Because He’s pursuing you, my friend. Maybe it’s time to stop running away from love and start running toward it.
Even if, at times, it seems too good to be true.

Are You Willing to Be Loved?

I don’t know why Jesus chose me to love. Really, I don’t. Perhaps you don’t understand why He chose you. But He did. Really, He did. Until we get around to accepting His amazing, undeserved favor, I fear we will miss everything a relationship with Christ really means.
When my husband proposed to me so many years ago, I didn’t say, “Wait a minute, John. Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?” I didn’t pull out a list of reasons why he couldn’t possibly love me or a rap sheet detailing my inadequacies to prove why he shouldn’t—although there were and are many.
No way! I just threw my arms open wide and accepted his love. I would have been a fool to turn down an offer like that.
I wonder what would happen in our lives if we stopped resisting God’s love and started receiving it. What if we stopped trying to do the math, stopped striving to earn His favor? What if we just accepted the altogether-too-good-to-be-true news that the yardstick has been broken and the Cross has opened a door to intimacy with our Maker?
For if we are ever to be His beloved, we must be willing to be loved.
Simple, huh? And yet oh so hard. Like my friend Lisa, many of us are plagued by love-doubt. We have hidden tombs yet to be opened. Dark secrets that keep us hanging back. Soul-sicknesses that have left us crippled and embittered by our inability to forgive or forget. Graveclothes that keep tripping us up and fears that hold us back from believing the good news could ever be true for people like us.
I wonder…
Maybe it’s time to look in the mirror and start witnessing to ourselves.
Maybe it’s time we stop living by what we feel and start proclaiming what our spirits already know: “I have been chosen by God. Whether I feel loved or believe I deserve it, from this moment on I choose to be loved.”
Say it out loud: “I choose to be loved.”
You may have to force yourself to say the words. Today your emotions may not correspond with what you’ve just declared. It is likely you may have to repeat the same words tomorrow. And do it again the next day. And the next.
But I promise that as you start appropriating what God has already declared as truth, something’s going to shift in the heavenly regions. More important, something’s going to shift in you.
So say those words as many times as you need to…until the message gets through your thick head to your newly tender heart. Until you finally come to believe what’s been true all along.
Shh…listen. Do you hear it?
It’s Love.
And He’s calling your name.

* Please let me tell you how much I love the nation of Israel. I fully believe they are the chosen people of God and a precious family into which I have been adopted. When I speak of the spiritual pride and blindness of the religious hierarchy of Jesus’s day, it is not to condemn the Jews. Instead, I see my own tendency—and the tendency of the body of Christ today—to fall into spiritual pride and blindness when we love our “form of godliness” but miss “the power thereof ” (2 Timothy 3:5, KJV).

Excerpted from Lazarus Awakening by Joanna Weaver Copyright © 2011 by Joanna Weaver. Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, 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:

Pressing into Thin Places

Brown Christian Press (May 2, 2011)

***Special thanks to Audra Jennings, Senior Media Specialist, The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

A writer and a poet, Dr. Wills is dedicated to the ministry of encouragement and helping people experience hope, wisdom, and faith in their spiritual journey.

She has written for a number of publications including The Journal of the Fort Smith Historical Society. She previously served on the board of the Arkansas Community Foundation. Dr. Wills makes her home in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

Visit the author’s website.

Dr. Wills knows from her own experiences that life is not simple and that we all need encouraging words and reasons to hang on to hope. She offers these in abundance in this deeply personal, beautiful, and thoughtful work that summons authenticity and contemplation while soothing the dark night of the soul with kindness and truth. With transparency and refreshing gentleness, Wills tackles universal fears, disappointments, wounded relationships, and even death and beckons readers to pull aside the veil and to see into that “thin space,” as the Celtics called it, where all that separates heaven and earth becomes almost transparent. She invites readers to wrestle and be comforted by assurances of God’s love and goodness even in the darkness.

Pressing into Thin Places is a collection of stories from the author’s personal experiences, punctuated by her poetry and infused with biblical verses and rich truths. Wills answers questions like, “How do we keep from falling into despair when pain and suffering weigh heavily upon us?” and answers honestly questions about doubt, mystery, and the experience of not knowing. Wills offers insight for bringing biblical truth to life, wisdom to cultivate a listening heart, encouragement for the downhearted, reassuring words for the faltering, and comfort and rest for those in any stage of their faith journey.

Product Details:

List Price: $16.95
ardcover: 232 pages
Publisher: Brown Christian Press (May 2, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1934812994
ISBN-13: 978-1934812990

ISLAND BREEZES

Thin places.  I really had no idea what Dr. Wills meant until I actually had the book in hand and began reading.  I’m telling you all right now that I had to have that ever present box of tissues handy from nearly the beginning of the book.

There is so much packed into this little book to help you prepare for adversity and the thin places.  This is truly a book of encouragement.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Aaron
Oswald Chambers in his book, Christian Disciplines, says that the “unexplained things in life are more than the explained.” I recall the time I flew to Phoenix to be present for the birth of my sister’s first child. Betsy is my baby sister, fourteen years younger than I am. I mothered her from the moment she was born. She was the flower girl in my wedding and she made me promise to step on every petal she threw on the floor. I was there as Betsy gave birth to her first child, a severely brain-damaged son, a son named Aaron. A baby was born. I grieved at the stillborn joy.

I recall standing in the hospital hall, peering into the nursery with my head and hands helplessly pressed against the glass. I remember back at her room standing at the head of her bed with my hand on her head while she kept repeating, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; I will run to it and be safe.” I grieved until I was sick. I wanted a miracle and not the trial. I beat down heaven’s door until Aaron died at age four and a half.

Aaron could never see, hear, or respond to anything except pain. At times he seemed to be a bundle of blank agony. Aaron had a bushy head of uncontrollable hair, and onto that head, his parents put earphones. Aaron heard music, and Aaron heard the Bible read through twice. When Aaron died, the Gift that pressure-tested our faith went to be with his Creator and his God, where he may have been all along. I went with Ed, Betsy’s husband, to select a cemetery plot. As we went out the door, Betsy said, “Find a tree.” The Lord gave us the last tree in that Arizona cemetery.
Aaron’s life and death raised questions. My faith had been challenged. Why didn’t God heal the firstborn of an “upright” man and a praying mother? Why didn’t God protect Aaron’s birth? Why does God heal some people and not others? I was not angry at God. I just wanted to understand. In seeking to understand, I realized that somehow I wanted God to prove Himself or be more predictable. God wanted me to know that I, a fallen child with a finite mind, will never comprehend His ways. He wanted me to know that He understands me and my wobbly faith.
When we ask why or say we don’t understand, we are reminded of the Last Supper when Jesus sat before His disciples with the bread and the wine and told them a mystery. He told them to eat the bread and drink the wine because it was His body poured out for them. He did not tell them to understand or to make sense of His strange request. He said, “Take and eat.” They did not understand. There is much we do not understand. The scriptures say God’s thoughts are higher than our thoughts and His ways are past understanding. But God says we can know Him. He longs to know us in a personal way. He invites us to contemplate His mysteries and to experience the power of His resurrection and the full measure of His grace.

Faith is a dynamic process. The endurance and strength that comes from pressure-tested faith does not come overnight. Betsy and Ed were not okay all of a sudden because they were Christians and loved the Lord. They grieved and questioned why and to what purpose this deep and lingering pain had been part of their lives. It was by faith they testified that the Most High God was their God. It was by faith they believed that He would lead them through the wilderness to His place of certain good and He would be a light for them in their “valley of the shadow of death” (Ps 23:4 NASB). In the process, from time to time, God gave Ed and Betsy small gifts of comfort, a small song of joy.

When Aaron died, Betsy and Ed were in Arkansas visiting me. My sister Shawn called saying she was at Betsy’s house because the caregiver had called to tell her Aaron was not doing well. Shawn, a nurse, went to check on Aaron. Then she called Aaron’s doctor and Betsy. About ten minutes later, Shawn called again. “Betsy, he’s gone.” I remember clearly the primordial sounds of parental grief.

We all immediately flew to Phoenix to prepare for a funeral. After the funeral, Betsy and Ed returned to Fort Smith to pick up their van and drive back to Arizona. Along the way, they stopped to eat. Isaac, their two-year-old son, was asleep. Not wanting to wake him, they parked the car in the front of the restaurant bay of windows so they could see him when he awoke. They had just sat down when Isaac popped up and Ed went to get him.

When he got settled in the high chair, he had a strange look on his face and Betsy asked him if he was all right. He said, “I just saw brudder.” Obviously, Isaac had a dream. “What was brother doing?” Betsy asked. “He was running and singing and playing,” Isaac replied. Isaac’s dream was a comfort, a reminder of what is truly real behind the veil. Every once in a while, God draws the curtain and lets us see. He gives us reminders that though we are tethered to this earth there is another realm of reality just as real. Every once in a while, He lifts the veil. He thins the space between heaven and earth. He lets us experience the “thin place.” He helps our faith.

Storm Exposed

I

A bruised reed He will not break

And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish.

—Isaiah 42:3 NASB (italics added)

II

Father,

I feel like a flickering wick in the wind

I am poor in spirit and prone to stray

But You, O Lord, bless the poor in spirit

You say that Goodness and Mercy

Follow Your sheep, even when they wander

And You call them by name, even when they are lost

And they know Your voice, even

When they know nothing else.

Your voice is like a gentle, rolling thunder

It reminds me that my heart is deceitful

And the heart is the heart of the matter.

Unlock my self-guarded, reed-bent, broken, secret places

Dismantle my walls of self-deception

Search the deep resources of my being

Control the center and the corners of my mind

Let Your light shine, shine in a humbled heart.

Shine in this one who is poor in spirit,

Who perseveres under trial and

Whose faith is pressure-tested.

Prevail when my candle is storm-exposed

Raise up the fragile reed

When I bend beneath the gale.

Remind me of what I know:

God will not break a bruised reed

Or extinguish a flickering wick

God will stand between the wick and the wind

And lift up the one who bows beneath the load

God will ignite my flame again

I will shine as a Light in the night

I will shine and bless the poor in spirit.

Thin Places

In the Celtic tradition, a “thin place” is the place where the veil that separates heaven and earth is nearly transparent. It is a place where we experience a deep sense of God’s presence in our everyday world. A thin place is where, for a moment, the spiritual world and natural world intersect. There are moments when we do feel the divine breaking through into our world. We feel unified and connected with God. It is not an intellectual knowing, it is felt in the spirit. It can be a sudden momentary awareness or profound unexplainable experience. I would like to share a few “thin place moments” with you and encourage you to have eyes to see the gifts of thin places.

The phenomenon of a place where the physical and natural everyday world merges into a thin line is well rooted in biblical history, but it was the Celts who first gave the descriptive phrase “thin place” to it. I first understood the idea of thin places when I heard a minister from Tulsa speak to a group of ear, nose, and throat surgeons in Washington, D.C. His point was that he as a minister and they as physicians were in a unique and privileged position to witness “thin places” because both the physician and the clergy dealt in the realm of life and death. He gave an indelible example of one of his experiences.
He said he had been called to the hospital to pray for a dying woman who was in a deep coma. He went in and although she would not be able to know or respond to his presence, he went over and stood at the foot of her bed and prayed for her aloud. He began, “Our Father, who art in heaven . . .” About midway through the prayer, the woman, without waking up, began to join in with him: “Give us this day our daily bread . . .” She finished the prayer and died shortly thereafter. He knew he stood on the line of a thin place.

Another example was told to my husband and me by his senior partner when his wife died. She was in the hospital and the family had been called in because her death was imminent. As Charles and his two children sat by her side, she left her body in the early morning hours. Sherard, the daughter, said to her brother, “Chuck, did you see it?” He said, “What? I did not see anything.” She then asked, “Daddy, didn’t you see it?” He said, “No, baby, I didn’t see anything.” She said, “Just as mother died, I saw a mist rise from mother’s body, float to the ceiling, and disappear.” Sherard witnessed a thin place.
Thin places come in different ways and some can be subtle. I call them “Garden of Eden moments” because they remind me of the way things must have been in the Garden of Eden when the earth was perfect and at peace. I think we have all experienced them, kind of a time of unified joy. The bounty and beauty of nature can bring such joy: a sunrise or sunset, the coming of spring, or a deep winter snow.

Moments of a unified spirit can also come within relationships. One such Garden of Eden moment came when Paul and I went to Disneyworld with our children and grandchildren. After a long day of activity at the park, we headed back to our hotel room on the bus. Paul was sitting next to me with his arm around the back of the seat touching my shoulder. Across from us were our two sons and their wives, talking quietly and content with each other. Their children were curled up, lying in their laps and cradled in the crook of their arms. For one brief moment, I experienced the way it must have been in the Garden of Eden when peace and joy ruled, when all was perfect and everything was the way it should be.
We all have moments of thin places. They are holy places if we just pay attention and let our spirits see. Elizabeth Barrett Browning said:

Earth’s crammed with heaven

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

I believe I had a less than subtle thin place experience when I went back to graduate school. Most days, I drove seventy miles to northwest Arkansas to attend the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. Early on, almost every day, I would wonder what my brain was thinking when I began this task. My brain was rusty, and besides, I was driving a stretch of mountain road that was known for death-producing accidents. I remember questioning if this had anything to do with God’s will for my life. I reasoned that I could be using my time doing something more for Him or more beneficial to others.

Then one day I was coming out of a history class and heading across campus. I was somewhat protected under my umbrella but the rain was coming down in sheets and I was wading through puddles of standing water trying to navigate to my next class. When I was almost there, I saw a young man under a tree, sitting on a bench. His umbrella was propped up beside him, and despite the shelter of the tree, he was getting soaked. His clothes were wet and he sat with his wet head in his hands, sobbing, his shoulders shaking hard.

I slowed down and sloshed across the muddy grass and went over to him. I asked, “Can I help you?” He shook his head no. I thought about just walking away, leaving him to his private moment. But I stood there a second and said, “Can I pray for you?” He nodded yes. I placed my hand on his shoulder and said a very short prayer. He never moved, never looked up. He just said, “Thank you.”

I walked off and left the young man on the bench in the pouring rain. When I arrived at my building and headed up the steps, I turned around to look at him once again. He was gone. I did not see him walking away. He was just gone. I turned and walked to my class. But I was mystified. My thoughts were, Where did he go? Then I wondered if maybe he was an angel. Then I thought, Maybe I was his angel? I did not know. All I knew was that I had experienced a special moment that had a meaning, a thin place.
As I thought about the experience, the Lord began to speak. He reminded me that His work is everywhere, and everywhere we are, in every situation, He has plans for us if we have eyes to see. God reminded me He is not just in some planned “spiritual” activity but He is in the everyday sacred mundane of our appointed days.

It is in the flatlands of our everyday routine that we need to remember our thin places. We need to be aware that God has spoken and still speaks. Remembering is one of our greatest challenges. We forget too easily.
C.S. Lewis addresses this tendency to forget in The Chronicles of Narnia. In the book The Silver Chair, Aslan, the Christ figure, sends Jill and her friend Eustace on a mission. The last words Aslan speaks to Jill as he sends her on her journey is about remembering the signs or spiritual truths and heeding a warning not to forget what she learned on the mountain:

Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly. I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.

—C. S. Lewis

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair

We are graced with thin moments from time to time, some profound, some subtle. They sneak up on us. So let us keep our eyes open for the gifts of the thinning of the veil as we walk on the mountains. And then let us remember the truths in the flatlands and in the valleys.

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 Juice Lady’s Living Foods Revolution: Eat your way to health, detoxification, and weight loss with delicious juices and raw foods

Siloam (June 7, 2011)

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

Cherie Calbom, MS, is the author of The Juice Lady’s Turbo Diet and Juicing for Life, which has nearly two million books in print in the United States. Known as “The Juice Lady” for her work with juicing and health, her juice therapy and cleansing programs have been popular for more than a decade. Cherie has worked as a clinical nutritionist and has a master’s degree in nutrition from Bastyr University.

Visit the author’s website.

Welcome to the Living Foods Revolution!

Research shows that live foods contain biophotons, which carry light energy into our bodies and help our cells communicate with each other. Cooking food kills these and leaves the body craving the energy and nutrients it needs to function at a healthy, vibrant level.

In The Juice Lady’s Living Foods Revolution, nutrition expert Cherie Calbom shows you how to enjoy the benefit of these essential nutrients simply by adding more raw foods to your diet. With 130 four-color recipes, shopping lists, menu plans, and other practical advice, Calbom presents a living foods lifestyle plan that will help you:

· Detoxify and lose weight
· Slow the aging process
· Conquer adrenal fatigue
· Bust candida and yeast infections
· Boost your immune system· Balance your thyroid function
· Become healthier and happier for life!

Product Details:

List Price: $17.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Siloam (June 7, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616383631
ISBN-13: 978-1616383633

ISLAND BREEZES

The Juice Lady is about more than just juice, and this book is about more than just recipes.

Ms. Calbom goes into detail about living foods, juicing, weight loss, thyroid health and detoxification.  As a nurse, I found her book very interesting and informative. 

After explaining the diet plan, she includes a menu planner and recipes.  I’ve yet to try any of the recipes, but they certainly look yummy.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

What constitutes human nourishment that blesses us with abundant health? Is it the antibiotic-laden, growth-hormone-laced flesh of stressed-out factory-farm animals? How about pasteurized milk products with their denatured protein and damaged fats? Is it cooked or processed vegetables saturated with pesticides and preservatives? Maybe it’s designer foods with “good health promises.” Perhaps it’s the long line of prescription pills coming out of the thunderous jaws of manufacturing plants.

My dear friends, we’ve been duped—completely led astray—by marketing campaigns. Good health is the result of consuming whole, unprocessed, clean food with a large percentage of that being raw and alive. These foods are chock-full of nutrients, water, and fiber that flush away toxins, waste, and “sludge” from our cells and intercellular fluids.

They help us prevent disease. They alkalize our body and help us restore our pH balance. And they give our cells vital light rays of energy to help them communicate more effectively.

How did we lose our way—from pure, whole food to processed, packaged, chemically sprayed industrialized fare—in such a short period of time, considering that for millions of years we ate whole and mostly living foods?

A stroll down memory lane reveals that ramped-up marketing campaigns, clever slogans, and interesting commercials hooked a nation more than half a century ago on money-making products that changed America’s thinking about food—forever.
The vegetable oil industry went into full swing during World War II when tropical oils, which were among the healthiest oils on Earth for cooking because they didn’t oxidize easily, couldn’t make it across the oceans. Well-crafted advertising campaigns touted the benefits of vegetable oil. Wesson cooking oil was recommended “for your heart’s sake.” They also ran an ad in a prominent medical journal describing it as “cholesterol depressant.” Mazola ads said, “Science finds corn oil important to your health.” And Dr. Frederick Stare, head of Harvard University’s Nutrition Department, encouraged Americans to consume corn oil—up to one cup a day—in his syndicated column.1

When the war ended, tropical oils were vilified so that the vegetable oil companies could retain their market share. Was this refined oil our answer to curing the increase in heart disease that followed the war? Research since then has exposed quite the opposite: consumption of those oils is one of the culprits behind heart disease. We now know that oils made from polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs), such as corn, soy, safflower, and sunflower oil, actually contribute to heart disease because they oxidize easily and can cause plaque buildup in the arteries. It is insightful to note that the Wynn Institute for Metabolic Research in London studied people who died from heart disease and found that the fats responsible for clogging the arteries of these people were 26 percent saturated fat and 74 percent PUFAs. Rather than implicate saturated fats, they more accurately pointed to PUFAs—the fats found in polyunsaturated vegetable oils—as the primary suppliers to aortic plaque formation. This research group suggested that people avoid these oils completely.

A New Generation of Food and Beverage Products

Cooking oils weren’t the only thing to change during this time. Carbonated beverages were also first marketed to the American public shortly after World War II, and by the early 1960s dozens of companies like Coca-Cola were competing for shelf space for their diet and sugar-filled sodas. Marketers promoted their way into our homes with jingles such as, “Zing! Coca-Cola gives you that refreshing new feeling!” Their message? To be part of the hip new generation of young people, you must drink Coke. Chemical sugars such as calcium cyclamate, saccharin, and aspartame replaced white sugar in diet soda with the promise of weight loss. Diet sodas were promoted to diabetics as sugar-free options to popular sugar-packed sodas.
But wait. Do diet sodas really help us prevent weight gain or diabetes? Their promises fall short. The San Antonio Heart Study—a twenty-five-year community-based study carried out at the University of Texas Health Science Center at San Antonio—found the exact opposite to be true. Their research showed that the more diet sodas a person drinks, the greater their chance of becoming overweight or obese. Added weight is a strong risk factor for the development of type 2 diabetes. Sharon Fowler, a faculty associate for the San Antonio Heart Study, put it this way: “On average, for each diet soft drink participants drank per day, they were 65 percent more likely to become overweight during the next seven to eight years, and 41 percent more likely to become obese.”3 On top of creating the opposite effect for weight loss and diabetes, these drinks are full of unhealthy chemicals so potent that they can rust nails.
The 1950s also saw the emergence of another new phenomenon in American eating habits: fast food. In 1955 Ray Kroc opened his first McDonald’s franchise in suburban Chicago. His advertising slogan—“The All American Meal.” It was a fifteen-cent hamburger (four cents extra for cheese), ten-cent fries, and a twenty-cent milk shake. This cheap, kid-friendly combo was served to families as a speedy, twenty-five-second meal-to-go. But was it the “all American” answer for something quick to eat?

What Morgan Spurlock’s 2004 film Super Size Me revealed was that these fast meals are anything but a healthy all-American choice or a meal to make you happy. For the month of February 2003 Spurlock ate only McDonald’s food for three meals a day. He also got no exercise. In the film he documents the dire effects this diet had on his physical and psychological well-being. Within five days Spurlock gained 10 pounds and experienced depression, headaches, and lethargy. By the time the monthlong binge was over, the thirty-two-year-old Spurlock had gained 24 pounds. His doctors warned him that he had done irreversible damage to his heart. It took him almost fifteen months to lose the weight he gained.4

Since the release of Spurlock’s film, McDonald’s has stopped super-sizing meals and has added some healthier fare to their menus. But some of the old favorites remain. A close look at the ingredients in their popular Chicken McNuggets—the only “chicken” some kids ever eat— reveals that not everything has been given a nutritional makeover. Here’s a complete list of the ingredients in a Chicken McNugget, as posted on the McDonald’s website:
White boneless chicken, water, food starch-modified, salt, seasoning [yeast extract, salt, wheat starch, natural flavoring (botanical source), safflower oil, dextrose, citric acid], sodium phosphate, natural flavor (botanical source). Battered and breaded with: water, enriched flour (bleached wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamin mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), yellow corn flour, bleached wheat flour, food starch-modified, salt, leavening (baking soda, sodium acid pyrophosphate, sodium aluminum phosphate, monocalcium phosphate, calcium lactate), spices, wheat starch, dextrose, corn starch. Prepared in vegetable oil (Canola oil, corn oil, soybean oil, hydrogenated soybean oil with TBHQ and citric acid added to preserve freshness). Dimethylpolysiloxane added as an antifoaming agent.
There’s obviously a lot more in a McNugget than breaded fried chicken. As this list of ingredients reveals, it also includes a mix of corn-derived fillers (most corn is genetically modified, which is abbreviated as GMO), natural flavorings (often a code word for MSG), leavening agents, dextrose (sugar), and chemicals such as TBHQ and dimethylpolysiloxane. Dimethylpolysiloxane is an anti-foaming agent, which is a type of silicone that is used in cosmetics and other goods like Silly Putty. And tertiary butylhydroquinone (TBHQ) is a synthetic antioxidant preservative that is a common ingredient in processed foods and chewing gum (one of the highest). It is also found in varnishes, lacquers, pesticides, cosmetics, and perfumes to reduce the evaporation rate and improve stability.6
A third change in the way Americans eat also came about during the postwar era: prepackaged breakfast cereals. Tony the Tiger made his debut in the 1950s and became an instant hit as the face and voice of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. In 1957 a popular breakfast cereal ad read, “Wheaties may help you live longer.” And Cap’n Crunch and his crew generated mega-sales for Quaker Oats’ popular cereals.

Billions of boxes of dry cereal have been sold since such ads danced, sang, and talked their way into our lives. Children as well as adults— even many who are health conscious—eat boxed cereals thinking that they are healthy choices. But let’s consider some facts. These cereals are manufactured by means of a process called extrusion. First, a liquid mixture called a slurry is created with the grains. Then it’s put in an extruder—a machine that forces the slurry out of a little hole at high pressure and temperature. The shape of the hole turns the mixture into the various cereal shapes we’re all familiar with: little o’s, flakes, animals, shreds, or puffs.
Paul Stitt delves into the extrusion process in his book Fighting the Food Giants, explaining that this process destroys most of the nutrients in the grains, such as the fatty acids and even the synthetic vitamins added at the end. However, according to Stitt, the worst part is that extrusion turns the amino acids into toxic matter. The amino acid lysine is especially denatured during extrusion. Stitt also points out that this is how all boxed cereals are manufactured, even the ones sold in health food stores. One of the most alarming aspects of extrusion that Stitt warns about is that whole-grain extruded cereals are probably more dangerous than cereals that are not made from whole grains. Why? Because whole grains are higher in protein, and it is the proteins in these cereals that are the most compromised by this process.

You may remember this line: “Wonder bread helps build strong bodies eight ways.” (Later it became twelve ways.) In my opinion, the ad should have read, “Wonder Bread helps tear down bodies eight ways.” Wonder Bread and other smooth white breads get their soft texture from refined wheat flour. Refined wheat flour has had the natural fiber removed from it because whole grains go rancid rather quickly due to the high oil content in the bran. Refining makes bread that has an extended shelf life, but it no longer gives us much nutrition. And the breads have gotten fluffier and fluffier through the years with hybrid grains that have more and more gluten, created specifically for this purpose. (This is one reason so many people are gluten intolerant today.) These high-starch grains that are made into fluffy breads along with other refined flour products like pasta and pizza crust are targeted as one of the primary contributors, along with sugar, to obesity, diabetes, and heart disease.
Unfortunately, there’s more from the 1950s to add to our list of unhealthy eating habits. It was 1954 when Swanson introduced the first TV dinner in an aluminum tray—turkey, cornbread stuffing, gravy, sweet potatoes, and peas. The American family moved from the dinner table to trays in front of the television and started watching TV families interact rather than talking with their own family members while they ate.

It permanently changed the way Americans ate. American families lost the treasure of eating, laughing, sharing the day’s events, and praying with the family. We also lost real, whole food made with human hands.

The TV dinner marketing slogans were all about convenience and ease. American women were encouraged to buy the dinners so they could: “Have dinner ready. Prepare yourself. Touch up your makeup. Put a ribbon in your hair.”9 More than 10 million TV dinners were sold in the first year.

Is the ease and convenience of frozen and packaged meals worth it? Many people now consider such meals very unhealthy—too much sodium, monosodium glutamate (MSG), additives, unhealthy fats, not enough vegetables, and no live food, along with aluminum that contributed to heavy metal toxicity (today it’s plastic toxicity). If it hadn’t been for Julia Child, we may have ended up in worse shape than we are today. Julia persuaded American women to go back to the kitchen and prepare real food.
The Green Revolution and Designer Foods

In 1960 we saw the introduction of “miracle seeds”—improved varieties of wheat, corn, and rice, which dramatically increased the crop yields of American farmers. Through the use of pesticides, irrigation, and genetic engineering, these miracle seeds doubled or tripled harvests on the same size plots as previous harvests. The seeds and growing practices quickly spread to farmers in other countries with the hope that they would help end world hunger.
This dramatic increase in crop production was called the “Green Revolution.” It was a revolution without a doubt, but far from green— which has come to mean buying organic, purchasing foods locally, and promoting sustainable farming and animal husbandry (compassionate care for domestic animals). The hybrid seeds and genetically engineered crops gave us wheat with more gluten so manufacturers could make fluffier bread as I just mentioned, which caused allergies and gastrointestinal problems like Crohn’s disease, colitis, and irritable bowl syndrome. Pesticides killed bugs, but it also killed songbirds; it’s wiping out our bee population, and it’s contributing to cancer and other diseases in humans. In the end, it has killed many of us. (Studies show there is an increased incidence of cancer among farmers, indicating the impact that pesticides have on the human body.11) And we must ask ourselves why birds and fish are mysteriously dying by the thousands. Are they the “canaries in the coal mine”? Are we next?

Then along came “designer foods” concocted by food scientists, promising specific health benefits, belched out by big factories, but most often devoid of life-promoting ingredients. They led us astray with their “good health promises” that didn’t deliver what they said. As a whole, people are sicker than ever before in history.

Well, this ends our stroll down memory lane. As you can see, we can’t trust the jingles, commercials, and marketing ads. They gave us slogans like “Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet!” And, “More doctors smoke Camels.” Here’s the truth: we’ve been the human guinea pigs for decades. We continue to learn, often too late, that many popular products have made us sick, caused deaths, and took our money to boot!

Do you want these people guiding your food choices?

There’s a little voice inside calling you home—away from the clamor and spin of the big companies with clever marketing slogans and foods designed to hook you to crave more unhealthy stuff—to the simple goodness of the earth, free of chemicals, genetic tampering, and the fluff that’s killing you. The voice is calling you to compassionate eating, sustainability, and supporting local organic farmers. It’s time to rethink your perception of food and to discover that you are not too busy to make the time to prepare whole, living foods. You’re too busy not to. It’s time for a revolution in the way you eat and the way you think about food. If you return to nature’s living bounty, you can heal your body and mind along with the earth.

Donna Experienced Positive Results in Four Days!

I experienced immediate results physically and mentally in just four days with Cherie’s diet. The first day I replaced my morning cup of coffee with white tea and a glass of The Morning Energizer juice. The flavors are amazing. I noticed my normal raging hunger and nausea from coffee on an empty stomach disappeared. I felt a little hungry later, but it was a much different and a very mild feeling. After the first day, I no longer had to take antacids daily and my stomach stopped bloating. I slept more peacefully than I have in a long time. I’m feeling more energy and am calmer than I can remember. When I went grocery shopping, I viewed rows of processed foods, coffees, creamers, cheeses, cookies, cakes, ice creams, and chips. The normal diet choices looked empty and terrible to me. I am simply thrilled with the new me, and I will never return to the diet that was quietly creating illness in me. Thank you with all my heart.
—Donna
I Had a Dream
Dreams have often been my teacher. A few months ago I had an insightful sequence of images while sleeping. In the dream, I was in a room with a number of birds that had the freedom to fly and perch where they wished. I noticed they were all getting sick. So the first thing I checked was their food and water bowls. There was the culprit. The water was not clean, and their food bowls were full of only hulls—the life-giving nourishment had been removed from the seeds. I then saw a large bird make its way to a food bowl. It was weak and sick, and most of its feathers were gone. As soon as it started eating, a big bird flew in and began pecking on its back, drilling a hole in its flesh. I was horrified and tried to beat off the bird of prey with some papers in my hand. It was to no avail. I woke up— deeply disturbed. I knew this dream was significant; it portrayed the state of affairs for many people in our nation.

Americans eat food with little or no nourishment—burgers, fries, hot dogs, sodas, doughnuts, milk shakes, pizza, pasta, packaged foods, fluffy bread sandwiches, low-fat products, and frozen dinners. This food is less nourishing than the birds’ hulls in my dream. Then we get sick. We go to the doctor and complain about our ailments. Rarely does anyone ask us what we are eating and drinking. And would it matter? Many of the doctors and nurses seeing us are eating the same things. We go for early-detection tests for various diseases and call that prevention. (What about learning about the lifestyle that helps us to not get sick in the first place? That is true prevention.) When we complain about an ailment, rather than getting to the root cause, we’re given prescription drugs that often cause different symptoms, for which we’re given additional prescription drugs.
Eventually we get so weak and sick that we, like the sick bird in my dream, have holes drilled in our flesh through surgeries and procedures. To top if off, some of our prescription drugs are found to cause serious problems and even death. Lawyers file lawsuits against the drug companies that manufactured those drugs and win big settlements; most of the money goes to the attorneys. Those drugs are taken off the market and new ones replace them.
I looked with interest at the dream scene where I was trying to beat off the bird of prey with papers. I believe the papers represent my books. I keep writing to expose lies and herald truth. For those who never read my books, my message is to no avail, and the “birds of prey” in our society continue to victimize the weak and sick people and make them weaker, sicker, and more dependent on prescription drugs.

But you’re different. You bought this book and are learning truth. For those who have listened and acted in the past, their lives have been changed. I get e-mails and calls continually telling me wonderful stories of healing and hope regarding weight loss and health improvements—this represents thousands of people.

Weight Loss With Health Rewards
I want to share with you the great news! I have lost 11 pounds since starting the coconut-juicing plan three weeks ago. I am off the coffee and sugar addiction cycle and making new discoveries. I feel so good and healthy. My body and skin agree with the recipes. My mental focus is improving, and the dark circles under my eyes are disappearing! I have a good balance of natural energy and cannot believe the blessings in life that I am experiencing each day. I am beyond happy with my new habits and look forward to many more articles, books, classes, and your next adventures. Thank you so much for sharing.

—Chaley
What the Living Foods Revolution Can Do for You

The Juice Lady’s Living Foods Revolution is a book based on a lifestyle program I created that involves juicing every day and eating a large percentage of your food while it is still “living,” which means uncooked and unprocessed plant foods. These living foods “love you back” by giving you a plethora of life-giving nutrients. That equates to higher energy levels, weight loss, detoxification, mental clarity, increased vitality, and inner peace. But unlike most raw food programs, the Juice Lady’s living foods lifestyle program doesn’t toss out all cooked food. You can even include a few organic, pastured animal products if you wish. This lifestyle is about choosing pure, whole foods with an abundance of that fare being live—raw, juiced, blended, gently warmed, and dehydrated.

Raw green vegetables are emphasized because they have served as the basis of nearly all life on this planet. They’re key to our life. I’ve known this for a long time, but I couldn’t get enough of them into my diet to really make a big difference—until I started juicing about a quart a day that included lots of greens. I rotated a wide variety of greens such as Swiss chard, collards, curly kale, black dino kale, kohlrabi leaves, dandelion greens, romaine lettuce, parsley, and spinach, combined with cucumber, celery, lemon, and a carrot or two.

Juicing this wide variety of produce gives us a powerhouse of vitamins, minerals, enzymes, phytonutrients, and biophotons. These foods help to lower estrogen in a woman’s body and decrease the chance of contracting breast cancer—something I’ve always been concerned about since my mother died of breast cancer when I was six years old. Raw foods, which are rich in antioxidants, also help the body remove toxins, thus helping to keep us from getting ill.
Since the beginning of human life, mankind has eaten mostly raw, living foods in season. It is only in recent decades that we have begun eating highly cooked and processed stuff. When we look at other cultures whose people have continued eating their traditional diets, we do not see any significant incidence of diseases such as cancer, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and morbid obesity that have become pervasive in Western society.
Transformation of Avi
While riding my bicycle to work on July 2, 2001, I was hit by a car. And even though I was wearing a helmet, I sustained a traumatic brain injury. I went through extensive therapies of various kinds, and while they all worked together to make me into the person I am now, [I believe] it is the organic, raw vegan cuisine and transformational super foods that have created and maintained the most healing I have experienced thus far. I have been raw a bit over four years now. Recently, alone at the beach by a fire pit with a box full of papers and memorabilia, I had the funeral for the old me. I left the beach with an empty container and a clean slate to create the life that is calling me.

—Raw Chef avi Dalene
In our super-sized society where cooked and processed food is served in abundance, living food is a wise choice because it’s hard to overeat raw foods. Fresh vegetable juice is amazing in that it offers us many nutrients that are so satisfying that most people lose their cravings.

There are some great benefits of a living foods lifestyle if you’re trying to drop a few pounds. Many people say they don’t get hungry for quite a while after they drink freshly made vegetable juices. A living foods diet may help you lose weight more quickly, and it can help stabilize your weight once you arrive at your desired goal so that you don’t end up gaining it all back. So, even if you consume the average three thousand plus calories per day, chances are you’ll just naturally consume fewer calories when you juice because you won’t be as hungry. And you can lose weight more quickly and keep those unwanted pounds off with the living foods lifestyle. But the best part is that many people report that weight loss is just secondary to all the other incredible health benefits they experience.

Living foods provide your body with high-energy fuel, so you don’t become fatigued throughout the day. Even if you eat a hearty-sized meal of living foods, you won’t feel like you need a nap afterward. Further, many people have found that having a glass of fresh veggie juice midmorning or midafternoon is an excellent pick-me-up to keep them mentally alert and energized for hours.

A diet that is made up of 60 to 80 percent raw foods is a live foods diet, because the majority of the foods are eaten in their natural state. Living foods are high in enzymes, which are important to the body because they help in converting vitamins and minerals to energy. Indeed, enzymes are needed for every chemical reaction that takes place in the body. No mineral, vitamin, or hormone can do its work without enzymes. Plant food enzymes work in the digestive system where they predigest foods and thus spare the pancreas and other digestive organs from having to work so hard to produce excess enzymes. Eating living foods, especially vegetables, sprouts, wild greens, fruits, nuts, and seeds, is the healthiest for the human body. Truly they can transform you from the inside out.
A Wonderful Journey of Restoring Health!

Your book is helping me start a wonderful journey of restoring health and stability. I am becoming more familiar with what is beneficial for my body and important foods that are high in alkalinity.

—Linda (not Real name)
What if certain diet modifications could increase your chance of living a healthy, youthful life—free from drugs and surgery—well into your eighties, nineties, and possibly beyond? Would it be worth trying?

By switching to a living foods diet, many people have helped their bodies heal from life-threatening diseases such as cancer, heart disease, and diabetes. And many people have reversed the aging process and become trim and fit. Consuming plenty of raw foods re-creates your body inside out. It transforms even your face. Do you want a natural facelift? Eat lots of living foods (and take vitamin C). These are the keys to rejuvenated skin, supporting collagen, and your passport to vibrant health and high-level wellness! They assist your body right down to the DNA with the raw materials that fuel your cells. Lively cells construct a lively body. Healthy cells create vibrant health. They’ll help you live your life to your full potential.

The Abundant Lifestyle
Most Americans live a suboptimal existence—mediocre health, low energy, depression, lack of joy, poor memory, poor sleep, and a variety of aches, pains, and ailments. Good health and joyous living are your birthright. You can move toward this quality of life every day if you choose the right lifestyle.
Starting today, you can transition to the living foods lifestyle so you can live the abundant life. As I mentioned before, aim for 60 to 80 percent of your food raw, but even if you just make half of your diet raw, you’ve made a great improvement. Most live food programs are all or nothing. I’ve talked with many people who say, “I can’t go ‘all raw’ with my lifestyle.” So they forget the whole thing. But when you know that you can have some leeway, it’s encouraging to take steps, even baby steps, toward a healthy living foods lifestyle.

Here’s how a “living foods day” might look: Drink two 12- to 16-ounce glasses of raw vegetable juice, or make one glass of juice and have a green smoothie, preferably one in the morning to get you energized and one in the afternoon to keep you going. Eat one or two large salads or servings of raw veggies or a raw energy soup. You could choose a piece of low-sugar raw fruit or some raw veggies for a snack. To that you can add about a quarter of your food cooked. If you have an illness or disease, then it is recommended that a larger percentage of your food should be raw (juiced or blended if you have significant digestive issues) and that you occasionally spend a day or two just drinking fresh vegetable juice (juice fasting) to help detoxify your system.

Have you noticed that when you have a day where you eat mostly cooked foods, with very little live food, you want to eat more and more? I experienced that recently. I was served mostly cooked foods at two different events in one day—all whole foods, but about 90 percent of it cooked. At the end of the day I was still hungry. It was 9:00 p.m., and I wanted something else to eat. My body was craving live foods. A little glass of juice did the trick—the urge inside was gone. This is where fresh vegetable juice is so amazing. It’s very satisfying. When you feast on raw juices, you can experience the single most effective short-term antidote to cravings, fatigue, and stress available.

Many people call or e-mail to say they feel so much better since they have started on the Juice Lady’s living foods lifestyle. I recently received a call from a woman who said those exact words. She has noticed a tremendous amount of energy since starting the living foods and juice program a week before. Prior to that, there were times when she didn’t even want to leave the house for days because she was so fatigued. Now she feels like getting out and doing things all the time.

So what’s going on?
Raw juices and living foods are packed with a cornucopia of nutrients, including biophotons—those light rays of energy the plants get from the sun. When we cook food, those beautiful rays of energy are destroyed or shrink way down. Professor Fritz-Albert Popp and Dr. H. Niggli are two researchers who have found that the light energy in biophotons is an important aspect of food. The more light a food is able to store, the more beneficial the food. Naturally grown fruits and vegetables that are ripened in the sun are strong sources of light energy. Numerous minute particles of light—biophotons, the smallest units of light—make their way into our cells when we eat these foods. They provide our bodies with important information and control complex processes such as ordering and regulating our cells.12
When you drink a tall glass of fresh veggie juice and your day is focused on more live foods than cooked or processed fare, your whole internal environment changes. As you consume more living foods, you require fewer calories because biophotons help rev up the mitochondria of your cells—the little energy furnaces that pump out ATP (adenosine triphosphate, the energy that is used by cells). They also feed your DNA, which stores about 90 percent of the biophotons found in your cells. Because biophotons carry biological information of the plant into your body, it’s kind of like getting a software download or having a computer technician take over your computer remotely to fix things you can’t begin to correct. Just as the computer tech fixes errors on your computer, the biophotons help to fix errors that have taken place within the body.13

Voilà! You start feeling better, lighter, and more energized as time goes on. Your sleep improves, and you may need less of it. Your mind becomes more alert and creative. No longer will you find yourself in a disorganized fog because biophotons help your mind and body to come alive. You will experience more mental energy, and your creativity improves as well because of the electrical stimulation of the biophotons. (Could this be the boot for dementia or early Alzheimer’s disease?) Your metabolism also ramps up, and you burn more calories helping you get fit with greater ease. And in the process, your overall health improves. Symptoms of poor health, ailments, and chronic diseases begin to heal. Your whole life changes!
Juicing Helped When Nothing Else Worked

My husband is a medical doctor. I was an artist. We are very active in our faith and for years participated in foreign missions. We have been everywhere—from the slums of Mexico to the war-torn Congo. Being physically fit and active was and is necessary for such trips. I would carry about 30 pounds on my back and walk five hours into Ecuador’s Amazon rain forest to deliver school supplies to remote villages. I had to be able to handle the weight, heat, and terrain.

While in the Congo, even after taking all the precautions and shots, I was bitten by a bug, and my health was never the same. At first my husband thought I had malaria. Then I lost the use of my hands. Being a sculptor, that was devastating. I saw many doctors and spent thousands of dollars on tests. My symptoms escalated. I was tested for multiple sclerosis, Lyme disease, and many, many other things. During this time I lived either on the sofa or in my bed. Actually, I was not living. I was simply existing. Just the simple act of walking was extremely painful. My internist deducted that I had toxic levels of mercury (from old tooth fillings) and lead (from sculpting clay), chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, food allergies, and a liver that wasn’t functioning efficiently. I took twenty-five pills per day.

I endured IV chelation, colonics, and all sorts of painful and debilitating treatments without lasting improvement. I started seeking specialists in other states. One specialist said I had Candida albicans and multiple allergies. He recommended shots twice a week. Monthly I drove eight hours to see him. After that year, I could see no improvement but was suffering from adverse reactions to the medications. In talking with him about it, he told me I had to endure the reactions to gain the benefits. But I didn’t see any benefits, so I stopped the shots.

That drove me from the medical field to homeopathic medicine. I was told that I had parasites, so I did the parasitic cleanses that were recommended. That helped a little, but

I still wanted my life back. I started driving twelve hours one way to see a specialist who reported that my body still was not absorbing nutrients. I did the Master Cleanse and all sorts of other cleanses. I started eating organically. I was able to function and my pain subsided somewhat, but I remained hungry all the time.

Recently, a friend heard Cherie speak, and she recommended her juice book [The Juice Lady’s Turbo Diet]. Since getting her book, I’ve been juicing about two weeks, and it has already made a tremendous difference in my health. My pain has decreased. My brain is not as foggy. I don’t need as much sleep. And my skin has improved. Juicing has helped me more than anything I’ve tried. Thank you for helping me to live again!

—Natalie
What Living Foods Offer You
• Alkalinity. Most Americans are slightly acidic because most of the American diet (animal products, grains, sugar and sweets of all kinds, coffee, black tea, sodas, sports drinks, and junk food) is acidic or turns acidic when it’s digested. This causes a host of problems from weight gain to joint pain. The body tends to store acid in fat cells to protect delicate organs and tissues. It will hold on to fat cells, even make more fat cells, to protect you. But a living foods diet, which is dominated with fresh vegetables, vegetable juices, sprouts, seeds, and nuts, provides an abundance of alkalinity. This neutralizes the acids, and the body can let go of fat cells. Many people report that their body also got rid of pain—all sorts of pain throughout the body—when they began eating a living foods diet.
• Hydration. One of the things lost when you cook food is the water content. Our bodies are about 70 percent water. Live foods contain lots of water. Approximately 85 percent of many fruits and vegetables is water, so eating raw fresh produce is a wonderful way to obtain water. Plenty of water in our system equates to enzymes being able carry out their metabolic work, and the easier it is for vitamins and minerals to be assimilated into our cells. The more live energy the water holds in the form of biophotons, the better the individual cells function and the higher the quality of your health.

• Superior protein. Though not a complete protein, raw plants offer quality amino acids. Cooking denatures the proteins in our food—they coagulate, making them difficult to assimilate. The heat disorganizes their structure, leading to deficiencies of some of the essential amino acids, whereas eating live foods offers amino acids in their best state.

• Abundant vitamins. Many vitamins are destroyed when food is cooked or processed.
• Biophotons. Plants release biophotons, which can only be measured by special equipment developed by German researchers.14 These light rays of energy that plants take in from the sun energize our bodies and help our cells communicate more efficiently. Heat and processing destroy them.

• Greater strength, energy, and stamina. Dr. Karl Elmer experimented with a raw food diet for top athletes in Germany. He saw improvement in their performance when they changed to an entirely raw food diet.15 After eating raw food, rather than feeling fatigued or sleepy, most people feel energized. Also, most people eating a high raw food diet experience a more restful sleep and require less of it.

• Better mental performance. Your memory and concentration should be clearer. You should be more alert, more creative, and think more logically.

• More enzymes—improved digestion. Enzymes are important because they are the catalysts of nearly every chemical reaction in our bodies. Vitamins and hormones need enzymes to do optimal work. Live foods contain a good mix of enzymes, called food enzymes. But when food is heated above 105 degrees, enzymes are destroyed, which forces our digestive system to work harder than it should. This can result in partially digested fats, proteins, and starches.
• Reduced risk of disease. A diet rich in raw vegetables and fruit has been shown to lower your risk of cancer and other diseases. Also, according to a study published in the British Medical Journal, eating fresh produce on a daily basis has been shown to reduce your chance of death from heart attacks and related problems by as much as 24 percent.

Increase the Micro-Electric Potential of Your Cells

When we eat live foods, our entire bio-terrain operates in peak performance. Biological terrain is the system of a cell plus the surrounding environment. It’s comprised of fluids, vitamins, minerals, trace elements, enzymes, waste, and microorganisms. When our internal environment becomes overloaded with toxins, waste, and pathogens like fungi, molds, viruses, or bacteria, when it is deficient in essential nutrients or is too acidic or too alkaline, our cells’ vitality is diminished and our immune system is overworked. Then we become susceptible to fatigue, ailments, and diseases.
Raw foods and juices cleanse the body of stored wastes and toxins, which interfere with the proper functioning of the cells and organs. They provide an abundance of vitamins, minerals, enzymes, phytonutrients, biophotons, and antioxidants that increase the micro-electric potential of each cell. This improves the body’s use of oxygen so the muscles and brain are energized. A healthy, vibrant bio-terrain is fundamental to optimal health. This allows our cells, organs, and systems the best chance to do the jobs they were designed to do. A living foods lifestyle can help you achieve this vibrant interior. With a healthy biochemistry, our bodies can deal with stress and challenges far more effectively. It is only when we put congesting, nutrient-depleted, toxic food into our bodies that we tear them down and promote disease. A living foods diet leads to healing and vibrant health.

Live to Your Full Potential
Secretariat, also known as Big Red, was one of America’s heroes and a racing legend—winner of the Triple Crown. He set new race records in two of the three events in the series—the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes. They still stand today. He ran for the shear pleasure of running. But he lost the Wood Memorial. No one had noticed the abscess in Big Red’s mouth, which may have kept him from running to his full potential and from his stunning future.

What about you? Is there a physical condition that’s keeping you from being your best or living your full potential? There was for me. Chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia had me sidelined—as you know if you read the introduction. Had I not found the juicing program that changed my life, I would not be writing my eighteenth book, presenting numerous classes and workshops, appearing on scores of television and radio shows, and accepting speaking engagements around the country for numerous groups and organizations.
Do you ever feel like you’re just going through the motions of life, existing rather than living out your dreams and purpose? That can change. You can be so supercharged with health that you live a life of joy and have clarity of mind, and peace of soul. When you care for your body well with the kind of diet recommended in my The Juice Lady’s Living Foods Revolution, you will have emotional stability and a stronger immune system. You’ll be able to deal with stress better than ever before because your nerves won’t be on edge with caffeine and sugar. And your willpower will strengthen—a weak body often equates to a weak will.

It may seem too simplistic—that what you eat could have such a profound impact on your health. Owners of thoroughbred racehorses know the importance of a superior diet—good hay and quality grains including oats, mineral salts, and vitamins. You wouldn’t catch a racehorse owner giving a horse even one little “treat” of bad food, if they’re smart. We’re not that different from racehorses. If we want to win the races of our lives, we need a great diet—one that provides quality and energy, one that will take us to the end of our course.

My friend Steve Cesari, former CEO of the $100 million company Trillium that created the Juiceman juicer, and the company where I became the Juice Lady, just released his book Clarity. He’s passionate about health and juicing. He juices every day. In Clarity he shares the story of a friend

that offers a great illustration for us about eating right. His friend was in a hurry to get to a soccer game. He needed gas on the way and had to stop quickly to fill the tank. But on his way home, the car broke down. As it turned out, he was in such a hurry that he didn’t even realize he’d put diesel fuel in his new Audi. This caused $6,000 worth of damage, and he had to replace the catalytic converter and a number of other parts.18
Unknowingly, many Americans put the “wrong fuel” in their bodies over and over again. It’s amazing that they can keep going as long as they do. It would be a blessing if it only cost people who “break down” $6,000 to repair the damages.
Remember, every journey begins with the first step. It takes more than a couple of weeks to see a profound difference, although many people report significant improvements in just a few days. Give the living foods lifestyle six months at least and then evaluate. If you haven’t noticed profound changes, then you’re the first one I’ve encountered to say that. You should be feeling so much better that you’ll never want to go back to your old lifestyle. And you can be on your way to living your potential to the fullest.

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made in this tent with hands, eternal in the heavens.

For in this tent we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling – if indeed, when we have taken it off we will not be found naked.

For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.

He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.

2 Corinthians 5:1-5

Don’t you dare put this city on a list of America’s Dying Cities.  This is what happens when you do.

What an effort of coordination!  A bit of history of this iconic song – a tribute by Don McLean.  There was a plane crash back in 1959 in which three popular singers died.  Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper, we won’t forget you as long as this song is around.

You can read more about this video here.

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:

Maximal Reserve

Deep River (February 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to Arielle Roper of Bring it On! Communications for sending me a review copy.***

Sam Batterman is a self-avowed ‘geek,’ he pursued a Computer Science degree and works as a software engineer in Southeastern Pennsylvania. In 2007 he started writing his first novel, Wayback and had it published in 2009 where it went on to be the best-selling fiction novel for his publisher.

Visit the author’s website.

Petroleum exploration engineer Phil Channinguncovers the single largest oil reserve in history–and he’s only been employed for a week! The find is so large that it dwarfs all Middle East reserves combined, and lies so deep within the bowels of the earth that it can’t be reached by any conventional method. He discovers how to tap into this Maximal Reserve through research left behind by a college friend who was brutally murdered just before Phil took the job. The secret lies in the cryptic revelation of a complex of lava tubes on the southeast side of the Dead Sea known as Etsba Elohim–the Finger of God.

This knowledge provides the ability to reach this incredibly strategic resource and threatens to change the world’s balance of power and wealth in favor of the small nation of Israel.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 300 pages
Publisher: Deep River (February 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1935265520
ISBN-13: 978-1935265528

ISLAND BREEZES

In this book we have murder, mystery, intrigue and romance.  What a great combination!  It’s filled with petroleum drenched adrenalin.

I kept wanting to tell the characters, “Don’t go there,” “Don’t trust him,” and the like.  I don’t usually interact with  the mental talk thing, but these people had me on the edge of my seat.

There’s only one thing that keeps bugging me now.  Just how much of this book is fiction?  There’s so much going on.  Is some of this based in reality?

This is a book that I just can’t get off my mind.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

TORONTO

Heavy metal music blasted across the small apartment as rain droplets gyrated on the smudged window glass. The small spheres of water multiplied a hundredfold the bright hues of neon light coming from across the street.

Jackson Sanders popped the tabbed lid of a high-energy drink and gulped down a third of the can without taking his eyes off the thirty-inch computer monitor dwarfing his desk. A strange image was spread across the display, a branching, root-like shape with tapered cylinders that sprouted from a single point. The shape’s surface was wire-framed and broken into thousands of triangles. Depths measured in kilometers ran along a vertical axis.

Jack moved the mouse while holding down the right button, and the entire scene shifted slowly in three dimensions as if his head were at the center of the display. The lights on the front of his computer flickered at high speed, trying to keep up with the eyes and actions of its user.

The powerful computer was losing the battle.

Clicking on a few of the colorful triangles, Jack measured the distance between two points on the display. He knew this strange digital domain better than his messy apartment.

“There it is,” he mumbled, pulling out a notepad with a University of Waterloo at Toronto crest on the cover. He wrote quickly, the scrawl indecipherable to all but himself. Years of e-mail exchanges and multiple instant-messenger sessions open at any given time had long ago ruined any appreciation he’d had for good penmanship.

A new track began to play, but its volume and vigor were the same. Jack’s head bobbed with the syncopated rhythm. He continued writing in the tattered notepad at a mad pace when a small icon began flashing on his virtual desktop.

Jack frowned and clicked on the icon. A window sprang up, showing a grid of video feeds covering the hallway outside his apartment, the stairwell leading to the second floor, and the back alley below his rain-covered window.

Jack had written the program for surveillance purposes. The small fortune tied up in his workstations, servers, and networking could fetch quite a reward at a local pawn shop or fund a junkie’s habit for the next few months, so this gave him a way to keep an eye on the area. The program was simple: it allowed him to view the grainy black-and-white images coming from the cameras and look for big changes between frames—arriving or departing parties in the apartment complex.

Jack squinted at the low-quality images. Three men in black coats and jeans, with crew cuts and the physique of soldiers, were coming up the stairwell.

Jack didn’t recognize them. He glanced at his watch: 10:30 p.m.

The bars don’t close for another three hours; they’re not students, Jack thought.

One of the video feeds went to static. The stairwell feed was out. Jack’s already caffeinated body amped up with adrenaline.

He’d known this day was coming.

Jack watched the men approach the surveillance cameras. It seemed they knew where the cameras were. The remaining feeds blurred rapidly and then succumbed to static.

Jack pulled the hard driveconnected to his nine-thousand-dollar workstation, and the monitor went blank. He ran to the kitchenette and opened the microwavedoor, shoving the hard drive into the small oven and cramming in a dozen CDsand DVDs from a shoebox on a bookshelf. He slammed the microwave door shut and pushed the “Popcorn” button. The appliance hummed as it destroyed the magnetic characteristics of the storage media.

Jack bounded from the kitchenette across his rumpled bed, the mattress groaning from a dozen broken springs. He grabbed his backpack and shoved the university notepads containing his indecipherable scrawl into it.

A polite knock came at the door as Jack opened the raindrop-covered window as quietly as possible. He took one last look around his apartment and glanced at the lightning forking behind the tinted glass of the microwave door as the hard drive was destroyed.

Jack stepped out onto the small balcony and fire escape. Inside the apartment, polite knocking had turned into pounding. The balcony was crowded: a mountain bike, a hibachi for warmer weather, and a dead plant left little room for anything or anyone else.

Jack picked up the light, titanium-framed mountain bike and threw it over the ledge of the balcony. It bounced off a pile of trash bags and landed on the street ten feet below. There was no time to carry it down to the street carefully like he normally did.

As he stepped to the rusting ladder of the fire escape, he heard the apartment door splinter and crack as the men broke through. Jack flicked the latch for the ladder, and the rusty steel rungs flew down to the street.

Jack bailed over the side of the balcony and made his way down the slippery ladder to the alley below. As his sneakers hit the asphalt, he heard the men rummaging through all the things in his apartment.

Jack smiled. They wouldn’t find what they were looking for.

He mounted his bike and pedaled with all his might down the alley, avoiding a homeless man and a dumpster on the way to Front Street. As he left the alley he heard a gruff voice yell, “There he is!” The squelch of a two-way radio followed before the sounds of the city at night extinguished the shouting from the apartment raid.

Jack pedaled quickly, weaving between parking meters and parked cars as he headed toward Roger’s Center and the downtown area. The rain stung his eyes, and he felt numb with the wind sweeping the street. As he reached the corner, he saw the CN Tower looming above him with spotlights shining on its three soaring concrete sides. Behind him the squealing tires of a speeding car announced a vehicle entering the street a hundred yards back.

A black Escalade SUV roared toward him. Jack could see neon lights reflecting in its polished grill. He stood up on the bike and pumped the pedals while careening down the smooth concrete, ducking the grid-like arrangement of trees growing out of sidewalk-level planters. He passed over the boulevard and into Roundhouse Park. A bus horn sounded, startling him, and a late-shift city bus roared past, nearly turning him into a splattered bug on its windshield.

Exhausted, his lungs burning, Jack looked behind him. No one was following. There were no main roads into the park.

He was safe, and he flashed a smile of relief.

Jack’s smile disappeared as the high beams of the SUV glinted through the dark. The vehicle smashed over the median and into the courtyard of the park. Orange sparks flew from the car’s transmission and undercarriage as automotive steel and concrete paving met.

Jack increased his speed, pedaling like a man possessed—too fast, much too fast.

Another car screeched into the far end of the park, cutting off the Lake Shore Drive ramp. Instinctively, Jack hit the brakes, and the mountain bike lost its traction on the park’s wet cobblestones and crashed onto its side. The bike and its passenger slid for a dozen feet before running into a park bench. Spokes bent under the impact, and the chain broke and slithered across the sidewalk into the grass like a wounded snake.

Dazed, Jack pulled his bleeding leg from under the wrecked bike, grabbed his backpack from the pavement, and hobbled toward a crescent-shaped grove of pine trees.

A bleep sounded in the night air, and a tuft of grass flew up just to his left. Jack ambled to the right, and another pistol flashed, the bullet clipping his foot. He fell to the wet grass. Three long shadows stretched across the park lawn, blotting out the city lights behind them. They clustered together, and two of them looked over their shoulders in opposite directions, checking for unwanted observers.

“No!” said Jack, trembling and raising his right hand toward the man in the center of the group. “Please,” he pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“You’re right about that, Jack,” said the man in the middle, twisting a silencer on the front of his pistol and pointing it at Jack’s forehead.

The orange glow from the muzzle blast lit up Jack’s terrified eyes for the last time.

“Get the backpack!” said the assassin.

“Got it!” said one of his accomplices, rummaging through the contents of the blood-spattered backpack. He held out a notebook with the university logo. The embossed crest gleamed in the town car’s headlights. The other man knelt down and collected the empty shells from the wet lawn.

“Make sure you grab his wallet and phone, and let’s get out of here,” said the leader, flipping open his cell phone and snapping a photo of Jack’s shattered body. He stored the picture and dialed a number. The three men walked back toward the still-idling Escalade, leaving Jack’s lifeless form behind on the wet lawn.

“Yes, we took care of it; nothing’s left. The secret’s still safe. We’ll be there in the morning. We’re heading to the airport now.”

Chapter One

The Interview

Philip Channing sat in the ripped-vinyl driver’s seat of his car and examined his face and hair in the rearview mirror, adjusting his necktie one more time and giving an awkward smile. He closed his eyes and rehearsed his answers to the questions that would come at him in the next two hours. He gulped and cheered himself on as if he were in some sort of otherworldly race with himself as both player and spectator. Okay, this is it. This is for all the marbles. Come on, Phil!

He lifted the door latch and stepped out into the bright Texas sunlight and humid air. As he closed the car door, something beneath the rusty hulk creaked. The college beater had served him well for six years, but now, parked next to Lexuses, BMWs, and SUVs, it seemed out of its element. Kinda like me. He scanned the parking lot, pictured the drivers of the cars, and grinned.

I’m not worthy!

Phil opened his leather-bound notepad and double-checked his arsenal of résumés and recommendation letters. He glanced at his watch and began the long walk to the security building over two hundred yards away. He had searched for a visitor parking spot upon arrival, but all the slots were filled. Instead of risking a parking ticket he couldn’t afford—or worse, the towing of his decrepit but critically needed conveyance—he’d decided to join the rank and file in parking in the distant employee parking lot.

If all went well, his car would soon belong there.

As Phil walked behind the shiny cars, he wondered how he had ended up here at the Axcess Energy Company. Axcess was the enemy when he was in school. It was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla of the energy market that was poisoning the earth by belching its fossil fuels into the planet’s precious and fragile atmosphere, practically stomping on the polar ice caps with its enormous carbon footprint.

He thought through a hundred lectures from guest speakers and liberal professors who had lambasted and accused Axcess of raping the natural resources of the planet for the purposes of greed and short-term stock value. As a freshman he had even participated in an on-campus protest against the corporate leviathan.

But that was a long time ago.

Phil looked up into the cloudless sky as he did a quick calculation of how much his education had cost him and his parents. Eighty thousand dollars in tuition funds, lab fees, and overall living debt was enough to bring sobriety to any environmental zealot drunk with dogma. Things were different now: more pragmatic, less idealistic. In short, he needed a job.

His parents, a proud blue-collar worker and a schoolteacher, had done what they could to help him—sacrificing their early retirements and driving used cars instead of new ones to help fund his education, first in an expensive prep school and then during his undergraduate years. Phil sometimes felt guilty about his parents’ sacrifices, but now, alone in the world after their deaths—his mom in a tragic auto accident and his dad from a fast-moving cancer in Phil’s sophomore year of college—he knew this interview was the door to making their investments in his life pay off.

Only a few weeks before, he had packed all his earthly belongings into his deathtrap and driven to Austin. It was a far warmer climate than Toronto’s, where the typically Canadian winter was made even colder by freezing wind from Lake Ontario, plunging the temperature to zero and below in the winter months. The routine of graduate school was wearing off. He was responsible for himself now, and maybe soon—he hoped—for Lisa. His parents were gone, Lisa’s parents still looked at him like he was a bum off the streets, he was in a boatload of debt, and he needed something to do. Something worthwhile and challenging, something that wasn’t just school.

Yes, he needed this job—badly.

Three weeks earlier he had endured a technical interview with three of Axcess’s most brilliant petroleum engineers: Scott Ward, Gorin Vladofsky, and Caleb Mosha. Phil had met Caleb in Toronto; his niece was dating Phil’s best friend, Jack Sanders. It was Caleb who had made the interview with the energy company possible.

All three men worked for Dr. John Chambers—the legend, the iconoclast, the maverick. Chambers was the man to work for in the energy sector, more dynamic even than Glenn Martin, Axcess’sCEO. Chambers was so important to the future of the energy company that the board gave him absolute flexibility in his research programs. Chambers’s attitude was well-known: first, break all the rules; second, slay sacred cows. Chambers was highly regarded in academic communities and feared in the halls of business and government. His ideas and theories were always radical and challenged the status quo at every turn. Just like Phil.

The guardhouse was still a hundred yards away when Phil’s cell phone rang. He fumbled with his notepad and dug through every pocket of his suit searching for the phone. He looked at the display: Lisa Baton. Phil smiled at the name and the photo that accompanied the call. He pressed “Take Call” with his nail-bitten thumb and heard the most beautiful voice in the world.

“Hi, Phil, I know you’re getting ready to get all nervous and everything, but remember: regardless of what happens, I still love you and I still think you are the best geophysicist/computer science guy on the planet.”

“Lisa, I think I’m the only geophysicist/computer science guy on the plan-et—at least the only one out of work,” Phil replied.

Her response came quickly, as if Lisa had known he would say that. “True, but even if there were hordes of your kind, you’d still be the most handsome.”

Even though the two had been dating for four years, she could still make him blush. “Thanks . . . I think,” said Phil, stepping through the guardhouse door and getting in line with a dozen other people jockeying for position to register their visits.

Lisa’s tone changed as she sensed Phil’s attention being pulled away from the conversation. “Seriously, just do your best and let things happen. I’ll be praying for you. I love you!”

“I love you too,” said Phil a little too loudly as a lady in front of him turned around, smiled, and winked at him. Red-faced, Phil shoved his phone back into his suit pocket and wished there was another line he could get into.

A few uncomfortable minutes later, the security officer waved and said, “Next please,” breaking the unspoken tension with the woman whose body language still showed she thought Phil was flirting with her.

After the woman went through the security turnstile, Phil stepped to the counter and smiled. The bored security guard stared at him with the biggest bags under his eyes that Phil had ever seen.

“I’m here for an interview with Dr. John Chambers,” said Phil cheerfully.

“Good for you,” said the security officer. “Do you have ID?”

Phil worked his way through all the pockets in his suit, producing his cell phone, car keys, a pen, and finally his wallet. The droopy-eyed security guard watched the stack of personal items grow on the counter in front of him.

“Here you go,” Phil said, handing his driver’s license over the counter. “Sorry, I rarely wear a suit.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” said the security guard. A few moments later a black-and-white label rolled out of a printer. The guard peeled the wax-paper backing off the label and stuck it onto a temporary badge that said ESCORT REQUIRED in big red letters.

“Walk up the sidewalk to the main lobby and wait for your escort.”

“Thanks,” said Phil, smiling at the guard as he stepped through the turnstile. The security guard was already processing the next visitor.

The walk was quick. A small cement sidewalk skirted a perfectly manicured lawn and freshly mulched flowerbeds. The glass-and-steel office complex soared a dozen stories above the lawn and gleamed in the morning sun. Phil could see people in their offices, gathering in conference rooms, and walking across glass-enclosed sky bridges between the buildings, all preparing for a busy and productive day.

The beauty of the place seemed lost on the employees who were scurrying past, drinking coffee, checking voice mail, and typing on their BlackBerrys while juggling briefcases and messenger bags. Phil decided to pop open his cell phone and join the fun.

The welcome screen appeared on his phone and displayed his communication status:

New Text Messages: 0

New E-mail Messages: 0

Well, so much for that.

Phil flipped the phone closed as he reached the glass doors of the visitor center lobby. The lobby was a huge atrium, and sunlight radiated through the skylights, illuminating the beautiful marble floor of the visitor center. Phil looked along the wood-paneled walls where supposedly artistic and valuable sculptures were positioned in regular intervals. The rare oil paintings on the walls and benches made of beautiful wood were carefully interspersed, reminding Phil of an art gallery, not of the lair of a corporate beast that wanted to melt the Arctic.

A pleasant voice pulled Phil from his admiration of the lobby and back into reality. “Mr. Channing?”

Phil spun around and found an attractive, thirty-something woman dressed in a conservative navy business suit. She extended her hand.

“Mr. Channing, I’m Sarah Rogers, Dr. Chambers’s administrative assistant. I’ll be taking you to the conference room where the interview will be occurring today.”

“Hello,” said Phil, trying not to look like a goon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Phil walked alongside Sarah toward an elevator at the end of the hall, passing through a gauntlet of security guards who were eyeballing badges and checking for escorts. As they walked, Phil tried to break the awkward silence.

“It sure is pretty outside. What a wonderful facility you have here.” He cleared his throat. Exactly how stupid and obvious could he sound, anyway?

They both stepped into the elevator, and Sarah pressed the button for the fourth floor. “Axcess is a wonderful place to work, Philip; they have a heart for the environment and a mind for American prosperity.” Her tone was even with no inflection, giving no indication that she knew her response was weird and sounded way too recorded.

Phil pretended to glance at the back of the elevator, but he was really looking at the back of Sarah Rogers for a pull string showing that she was, in fact, a robot.

The elevator dinged, and the door slid open, revealing a wide-open reception area surrounded by spacious conference rooms. The sprawling campus of the corporation could be seen beyond windows that wrapped around the entire floor.

“How many people work at this facility?” asked Phil, admiring the rectangles of perfectly mowed lawns and glass-and-concrete structures outside the window.

“Around five thousand. Austin is the headquarters and the largest of all Axcess’s sites. Now then, Dr. Chambers will be here in a minute. May I get you some water or anything?” Sarah said.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Sarah smiled and left the conference room. Phil put his leather notepad on the enormous oval table and walked around it to gaze out over the campus. He smiled as he looked through the glass and indulged in a quick fantasy that he had worked here for ten years and this was his corner office.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” came a booming voice. Phil jumped, bumping into the windowpane. He was thankful for the safety glass; otherwise, he would have been plummeting some four stories to his doom.

“Dr. Chambers!” Phil responded as he tried to cross the space between them with some class and dignity to shake the famous scientist’s hand. The older man smiled kindly at the young, eager recruit. Chambers was tall and thin in an athletic way and slightly balding with a close-shorn salt-and-pepper beard. He was dressed all in black, with the enigmatic noir look popularized by Steve Jobs. The Apple CEO had given his most successful product launches dressed in all black, and now technologists the world over emulated his “Geek Chic” look.

“I’ve been following your academic career for a very long time, Phil. Your professors give you the highest praise,” said Chambers, inviting Phil to sit in the plush chair and taking a seat across from him. “They say you are one of the brightest minds to come through the university in quite a while. In fact, they call you the hottest data visualization specialist on the planet.”

Phil paused. He wasn’t sure how to respond to this praise. Should he look confident, or would that come across as arrogant? He managed to flash a subtle smile. Chambers’s magnetism was legendary, and here in the presence of the icon, Phil felt the man’s charisma envelop him like an energy field. Chambers instantly made you want to work for him.

The man leaned forward and focused all his attention on Phil. “So why are you bailing out now?”

Phil wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. “Excuse me?”

Chambers clarified his question without so much as a blink of an eyelash. “Why aren’t you staying to get your doctorate? With the kind of work you did in graduate school, you could be done pretty quickly.”

Time seemed to stop. Phil felt a bead of sweat roll down his face. The energy emanating from the man tangled around him. He knew the right answers, of course. Everything he should say to make him sound like a good candidate for the job. But under such pressure, he felt the strange urge to speak his mind—as if that’s what Chambers wanted.

Phil took a deep breath. “I’ve been in college and grad school for six years. I have double majors in geology and computer science and a master’s in petroleum exploration. And you’re right, I could keep going, but I want to use my education now. I want to work on great projects with people who will challenge me and make me better. I already have a master’s degree—some would say that means I’ve mastered the subject, but how can that be? I’ve never made a commercial contribution to a company, and I’ve only seen the data and situations that an academic institution can provide. Frankly, Dr. Chambers, I want more.”

Chambers beamed. It was the right answer.

“I do plan on going back to get my doctorate, but only after I have the experience that would make it valuable.” There. He had hedged his bet properly.

“One of the researchers on my team, Caleb Mosha, brought you to my attention four years ago. You went to school with his niece, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Aliya is dating one of my best friends. We double-dated a lot in school,” answered Phil. “Actually, we all did everything together.”

“All?” asked Chambers, raising his eyebrow.

“Aliya and her boyfriend and Lisa—she’s my girlfriend. She lives here in town and works for the state.”

Chambers looked at his cell phone and set it to vibrate before staring directly at Phil, taking in his every facial expression. “If it’s not completely obvious by this point, Phil, I want you to work for me, on a project that I’m certain will define both of our careers. Since you went through the technical wringer a few weeks ago with the staff, I just want to answer any questions you might have and try to help you with your decision.”

Chambers paused for a full minute, his eyes drilling into Phil’s, who responded in kind, like a corporate version of a first-one-who-blinks-is-a-rottenegg contest. Silence boomed in Phil’s ears. Suddenly his mouth was dry, and he wished he had taken the robot up on her water offer.

Here goes. Phil licked his lips. He only had one question. “Well, to be honest, Dr. Chambers, I want to know more about the project. I need to know more about the actual work I’d be doing here at Axcess.”

Chambers seemed a bit surprised. “You mean they didn’t tell you anything about our project during the technical interview?”

“No, sir, most of their questions revolved around the project I worked on a few years ago. That project involved using commodity-based computer grids to solve uncertainty around seismic data, but nothing about the actual job at Axcess was discussed.”

“Leave it to the nerds and the lawyers to goof up a good thing,” Chambers muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Chambers glanced beyond Phil for a moment, his attention lost in the sprawling campus of Axcess Energy. A smile crept across his face, and he snapped his fingers. “Do you have a passport?”

“Um, yes,” said Phil. Where is he going with this?

“I want to show you what you’ll be working on. Are you available for, say, thirty hours?” asked Chambers as he stood up and dialed his assistant. He looked back at the young recruit. “Or are you doing something more important?”

How can I argue with that? Phil asked himself.

“Sarah, please have a limousine come around front for me.” Chambers snapped the phone shut.

“Thirty hours? You mean right now?” asked Phil, glancing at his business suit and wing-tip shoes. “What do I need to bring?”

“No time like the present,” said Chambers. “We’ll stop by your apartment before the airport so you can get your stuff. We’re heading for a research rig, so dress like you’re going camping. Oh, and one more thing. It’s going to be windy.”

Stop by my apartment? How does he know—wait a minute—did he just say airport?

Chambers strode quickly from the conference room with Phil running close behind to keep up. When the elevator reached the lobby, a black limousine pulled around to the front of the complex, and Phil and Chambers jumped in.

? ? ? ?

Phil opened the door of his apartment and ducked inside. The place was a mess, and he was glad Chambers hadn’t asked to come in. That would’ve been a job killer for sure.

He pulled back a curtain and looked at the limo idling in the parking lot. Chambers was on his cell phone, and he spotted Phil looking out the window. He smiled and tapped his watch.

Phil ran to the bedroom and grabbed a duffel bag from the closet. He grabbed a shaving bag from the bathroom, a toothbrush, and all the typical things for an overnight hotel stay. He threw a pair of jeans, a few T-shirts, and a sweatshirt into the duffel, cramming them down with his hands and forcing the zipper shut. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. It was dead.

There was no time to charge the battery.

He grabbed the power cord for charging his laptop and stuffed it and the computer into his backpack. Running to the kitchen, he picked up the landline and dialed Lisa’s number. Phil glanced at the refrigerator and wondered how many science experiments were growing in there. Cleaning had not been his top priority over the past few weeks. Phil’s OCD took over, and he moved the trash can in front of the refrigerator with his legs. While the phone connection was being made, he started throwing things away—eggs, milk, and a head of lettuce that was already turning brown. The trash can was filling up fast.

“Hello?”

Phil cocked his neck to hold the phone against his shoulder and continued purging the refrigerator of its perishables.

“Lisa! You won’t believe the day I’m having.”

“You’re already back at home? Why didn’t you call me after you got out? How’d the interview go? Tell me everything!” The questions whizzed across Phil’s mind like arrows.

“Listen, hon, I’m not done with the interview. I’m at the apartment packing for an, um, a business trip.”

“A business trip? Phil, what are you talking about?” Phil could tell from Lisa’s tone that she was confused and quickly heading toward annoyed.

“Well, let’s just say they want to show me something to help me make up my mind. I think they really want me on board. It’s weird and mysterious, but I can’t say no.”

There was silence on the other end of the line before Lisa spoke up. “Okay, well, where are you going? Will you be back for dinner? We were going to celebrate your interview tonight.”

He slammed the fridge door shut. Dinner? Blast! I forgot!

“I think we’re going to have to postpone dinner, sweetheart. They told me thirty hours, and to pack jeans like I was going camping. No suits or ties.”

There was a pause on the other end.

Lisa’s disappointment was obvious, but she came through as she always did. “Okay, Phil, we’ll celebrate when you get back. I don’t like this mysterious trip—it’s not very corporate—but I trust you . . .”

“Thanks, honey. I love you!”

“I love you too. Be safe and call me when you can. Bye.”

Phil hung up the phone, grateful for an understanding girlfriend. They had dated all through college, and she really was his best friend. She trusted him and he trusted her.

Phil tied a knot at the top of the heavy trash bag and swung it over his shoulder like a homeless man’s version of Santa Claus. He grabbed the duffel and his backpack with his other hand and scanned the room quickly for anything that needed to be unplugged, turned off, or worried about while he was away. Nothing.

He ran out the front door and lobbed the overstuffed trash bag into the dumpster as he ran to the waiting limousine and a business trip that he was sure would be unusual.

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:

Pompeii: City on Fire

B&H Books; Original edition (June 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to T.L. Higley for sending me a review copy.***

Tracy started her first novel at the age of eight and has been hooked on writing ever since. After earning a B.A. in English Literature at Rowan University, she spent ten years writing drama presentations for church ministry before beginning to write fiction. A lifelong interest in history and mythology has led Tracy to extensive research into ancient Greece, Egypt, Rome and Persia, and shaped her desire to shine the light of the gospel into the cultures of the past.

She has traveled through Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Israel, Jordan and Italy, researching her novels and falling into adventures.

Visit the author’s website.

A city shadowed by a roiling volcano
A young politician running from his destiny
A Jewish slave girl with a desperate plan
Are any of them safe from harm?

Pleasure-seeking Romans find the seaside town of Pompeii the perfect getaway. But when the rich patrician Cato escapes Rome, intent on a life of leisure, he is unprepared for the hostility he encounters. In the same place, but at the opposite end of society, Ariella has disguised herself as a young boy to be sold into a gladiator troupe. Survival is her only ambition.
But evil creeps through the streets of Pompeii, and neither Ariella’s secret nor Cato’s evasion is immune to it. Political corruption, religious persecution, and family peril threaten to destroy them, even before an ominous mountain in the distance spews its fire.

As Vesuvius churns with deadly intent, Cato and Ariella must bridge their differences to save the lives of those they love—before fiery ash buries Pompeii, turning the city into a lost world.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 368 pages
Publisher: B&H Books; Original edition (June 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1433668572
ISBN-13: 978-1433668579

ISLAND BREEZES

Such an interesting book.  I like the way Vesuvius and her thoughts are introduced to us.

This was a riveting book.  Just when I thought all was going to be well, there was a disastrous turn that endangered Cato and those he loved.

Just when I thought Ariella would soon taste freedom, evil came back to reclaim her.

And out of death and destruction comes life.  You are so going to need that box of tissues.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

August 9, 70 AD

Ariella shoved through the clogged street, defying the mob of frantic citizens. Men, women, and children crowded the alleys, senseless in their panic to flee the city. They carried all they could, packed into pouches slung across their chests and clutched in sweaty hands. Soldiers ran with them, as though they had all joined a macabre stadium footrace, with participants who clubbed and slashed at each other to get ahead. Beside her, one of the district’s tax collectors tripped and fumbled a latched wooden box. It cracked against the cobbled street and spilled its meager hoard of gold. The tax collector was dead before he hit the ground, and the Roman soldier pulled his sword from the man’s gut only to scrabble for the coins.

Ariella turned her head from the gore, but felt little pity for the tax man, cheated of life by the Romans for whom he had betrayed his people. Still, concern flickered in her chest at the sudden violence in the street.

Something has happened.

The city had been under siege for months. Three days ago her mother announced that the sacrifices in the Temple had ceased. But today, today was something new. Perhaps three days of sins not atoned for had brought the wrath of the Holy One down on them all.

Unlike those who ran the streets with her, Ariella’s destination was neither Temple nor countryside. She returned to her home—if the dim tenement could be called such—from another useless excursion to secure food.

At sixteen and as eldest child, it fell on her to search the famished city for a scrap of dried beef to feed her brother, perhaps a thimbleful of milk for the baby, crumbs for her father whose eyes had gone glassy and whose skin was now the color of the clay pots he once turned on the wheel.

But there was no food to be found. Titus, the emperor’s son, had arrived in the spring with his army of eighty thousand and his siege wall served well its double function—the people were trapped and they were starving.

Not even such a wall could prevent news from seeping through its cracks, however. From Caesarea, word escaped of twenty thousand Jews slaughtered in a day. Fifty thousand killed in Alexandria. Ten thousand met the sword in Gamla. Such numbers were incomprehensible.

Here in Jerusalem, the bodies thrown outside the city were too numerous to count, piled high in rotting mounds, as though the city itself were defiled and would forever be unclean.

Yet we are not all dead. Ariella’s hands curled into tense fists as she rounded the last corner. She would cling to life as long as she had strength, and like her untiring mother, she would hold tight to that elusive thread for each member of her family.

She pushed against the rough wood of the door and slipped out of the rush of the street. The home’s tomb-like interior had the peculiar smell of starvation. In the corner, her baby sister whimpered as if in response to Ariella’s entrance. Micah met her at the door, his sunken eyes fixed on her and his lips slightly open, as though anticipating the food she might have brought. Or perhaps he simply lacked the strength to close his jaw. She shook her head and Micah turned away, hiding his disappointment as all boys of eleven do when they are threatened by tears.

Her father did not speak from his mat on the floor. Ariella scooped the listless baby Hannah into her arms and gave her a finger to suck. Small consolation.

“Where is Mother?” She scanned the room, then looked to Micah. A low groan from her father set her heart pounding. “Where is she, Micah? Where has Mother gone?”

Micah sniffed and glanced at the door. “To the Temple. She has gone to the Temple.”

Ariella growled and pushed Hannah into her brother’s arms. “She is going to get herself killed, and then where will we be?”

She bent to her father’s side. The man had been strong once. Ariella could barely remember. She touched the cool skin of his arm. “I will bring her back, Father. I promise.” Her father’s eyes sought her own, searching for reassurance. The hunger seemed to have stolen his voice. How long until it took his mind?

She turned on Micah, grabbed his shoulder. “Do not let anyone inside. The streets–” She looked to the door. “The streets are full of madness.”

He nodded, still cradling Hannah.

She kissed the baby. “Take care of them, Micah.” And then she left to retrieve her mother, whose political fervor often outpaced her common sense.

The mid-summer sun had dropped in the sky, an orange disc hazy and indistinct behind rising smoke. The city burns. She smelled it, sensed it, felt it somehow on her skin as she joined the flow toward the temple – a heat of destruction that threatened to consume them all.

Her family enjoyed the privilege of living in the shadow of the Temple Mount. A privilege that today only put them closer to folly. She twisted through the crazed mob, darted around wagons and pushcarts laden with family treasures, swatted at those who shoved against her. Already, only halfway there, her heart struck against her chest and her breathing shallowed, the weakness of slow starvation.

She reached the steps to the south of the Temple platform and was swept upward with the masses. Why were so many running to the Temple? Why had her mother?

And then she heard it. A sound that was part shrieking anger, part mournful lament, a screaming funeral dirge for the city and its people. She reached the top of the steps, pushed through the Huldah Gate, dashed under the colonnade into the Court of the Gentiles, and drew up short. The crowd pressed against her back, flowed around her and surged onward, but Ariella could not move.

The Temple is on fire.

The next moments blurred. She felt herself running, running toward the Temple as if she alone could avert this monstrous evil. Joining others who must have shared her delusion. She saw Roman legionaries club women and children, voices raised in a war cry. The yells of zealot rebels and the shrieks of those impaled by swords returned like an echo. The dead began to accumulate. Soldiers climbed heaps of bodies to chase those who fled. She tasted ashes and blood in the air, breathed the stench of burning flesh, and still some pushed forward.

She fought the smoke and blood, climbed the steps and entered the Court of Women. All around her, peaceful citizens were butchered where they stood. Ahead, a current of blood ran down the curved steps before the brass Nicanor Gate. The bodies of those who had been murdered at the top slipped to the bottom.

Ariella swayed on her feet at the carnage. That her mother was one of these dead she had no doubt. Elana’s outspoken defiance of Rome had earned her a reputation among her people, one that matched the meaning of her given name, torch.

She could go no farther. The entire Temple structure flamed now, from the Court of Israel to the Holy of Holies, its beauty and riches and sanctity defiled, raped by the Romans who even now risked their own flesh to steal its treasures.

A groan at her feet drew her attention, and she saw as if from a great distance that indeed her mother lay there, a bloody slash against her chest and a vicious purpling around her eyes. She lifted a hand, claw-like, to Ariella, who bent to kneel beside her and clasp her fingers.

Ariella had no words. What use to say good-bye, when they would all be in the same place soon?

Strange, she was very cold. With the flames so near and so fierce, still her fingers felt numb as she wrapped them around her mother’s hand.

Elana whispered only “Never forget…” before she was gone, and Ariella nodded because it was the expected thing to do. She studied her mother’s face, the eyes open and unseeing, and felt nothing. Was that right? Should she feel something?

After awhile she thought perhaps she should go home. She tried to stand, slipped in some blood that had pooled on the marble beneath her, and tried again.

The noise seemed far off now, though she could see the faces of citizens, mouths gaping as though they screamed in agony, and soldiers, feral lips drawn back over their teeth. But the sounds had somehow receded.

She weaved through the upright who still lived, stepped over the prone who had already passed, and drifted back to her house. Behind her, the Temple Mount was enveloped in flames, boiling over from its base, though there seemed to be even more blood than flames.

The stupor that had fallen over her at the Temple seemed to slough away as she traveled the streets. From open doorways she heard an occasional wail, but largely it was quiet. Too quiet. As thouh a river of violence had washed down the street while she’d been gone and swept away all that lived.

Her own street was not so peaceful. From end to end it burned.

She searched the crowd for her father, Micah, the baby. Grabbed hollow-eyed friends and wailing neighbors. One old woman shook her head and pointed a withered hand to the end of the burning street. “Only Micah.” She coughed. “Only he escaped.”

Micah. She called his name, but the word choked in her throat. Where would he have fled?

They had whispered together, one unseasonably warm night a few months ago on their roof, of running away from Jerusalem. Child’s talk, but now… Would he have tried to leave the city, to make it two hours south to family in Bethlehem?

Minutes later, she stumbled toward the Lower City. The Dung Gate would lead her south, to the valley of Hinnom and onward to Bethlehem. If she could escape.

Too many joined her. They would never be allowed to pass. She climbed crumbling steps to the rim of the city wall. Would she see a thread of refugees weaving out of Jerusalem, beyond the gates?

There was a procession of Jews, yes. But not on foot, fleeing to safety. On crosses, writhing in death throes. An endless line of them, crucified in absurd positions for the Romans’ entertainment, until they had run out of crosses, no doubt. Ariella gripped the wall. She would have retched had there been anything in her stomach.

She considered throwing herself from the wall. Was it high enough to guarantee her death? She would not want to die slowly on the ground, listening to the crucified.

The decision was made for her. From behind, a Roman soldier grabbed both her arms, laughing. She waited for the air in her face, for the spin of a freefall in her belly, that feeling she loved when her father rode the donkey cart too fast over the crest of a hill.

Instead, the soldier spun her to face him, shoved her to the stone floor, and fumbled at her tunic.

No, she was not going to die like that.

She exploded into a flailing of arms and legs, kicks and screams. She used her fingernails, used her teeth, used her knees.

From behind her head another soldier called. “That one’s a fighter, eh, Marcus?”

The soldier on top of her grunted.

“Better save her for the general. He wants the strong ones to sell off, you know.”

Ariella realized in that moment that since the siege began months ago, she had believed she would meet her death in the City of God. But as Jerusalem died without her, something far worse loomed in her future.

Life in the slave market of Rome.

Chapter 1

Rome

Nine years later

Night fell too soon, bringing its dark celebrations to the house of Valerius.

Ariella lingered at the fishpond in the center of the dusky atrium, slipping stale crusts to the hungry scorpion fish one tiny piece at a time. The brown and white striped creature snapped at its prey with precision, the venomous spines along its back bristling.

The fish food ran out. There was no delaying the inevitable.

Let the debauchery begin.

Nine years a slave in this household, nine annual tributes to Dionysius. The Greek god, embraced by the Romans and renamed Bacchus, apparently demanded every sort of drunken vice performed in his honor. And Valerius would not disappoint the god.

Indeed, Valerius flaunted his association with the mystery sect, though its practice was frowned upon by the government and disdained by most citizens.

Ariella inhaled, trying to draw strength from the deadly fish her master kept as a pet. For we are both kept as such, aren’t we? The scorpion fish’s body swayed like a piece of debris, its disguise needless in its solitary enclosure.

Within an hour Valerius’s guests poured into the town house, sloshed up most of the wine she’d placed on low tables in the triclinium, and progressed to partaking of the extract of opium poppies, tended in red-tinged fields beyond the city. The sweet, pungent smoke hung like a smothering wool toga above their heads.

A traveling guild of actors somersaulted into the room, their lewd songs and costumes an affront to decency and a delight to the guests. Ariella lowered her eyes, embarrassment still finding her even after all she had endured, and cleared the toppled cups and soiled plates. She passed Valerius, sprawled on a gold-cushioned couch, and he rubbed a hand over her calf. Her muscles twitched like the flank of a horse irritated by a fly.

Her master’s high-pitched laugh floated above the general noise of the intoxicated. Ariella winced. Valerius performed tonight for his honored guest, another politician from the south somewhere.

“Perhaps we shall make a man of you yet, Maius.” Valerius waved his slender fingers at the larger man. “I shall take you out into the city and declare to all that you are one of us.”

The politician, Maius, reddened. Ariella leaned over him to refill his cup. Clearly, he was here to humor Valerius but not align himself with the vile man.

When the actors had twirled their final dance and claimed applause, the herd of guests took their revelry to the streets. Valerius dragged Ariella through the door, always his special companion this night. Her breath caught in her throat. It was not the streets she feared. It was what would come after.

Mother, why could I not be strong like you?

The insanity built to a crescendo as they wound their torch-lit way toward the Via Appia, where the procession would climax. The Bacchanalians howled and pushed and tripped, their vacant eyes and laughing mouths like the painted frescoes of her nightmares. Hair disheveled, carrying blazing torches, they danced along the stones, uttered crazed predictions and contorted their bodies impossibly. Back in Jerusalem, her father would have said they had the demons in them. Here in Rome, Ariella rarely thought of such things.

It was enough to survive.

They passed a cluster of slaves, big men, most of them, herded into a circle amidst a few flaming torches. Strange time of day for a slave auction. Ariella met the eyes of a few, but their shared circumstance did not give them connection.

Snatches of speech reached her. A gladiator troupe. A lanista, the trainer for the troupe, called out numbers, making new purchases. A memory of home flashed, the day she had been sold to Valerius’s household manager. She had thought herself fortunate then, when so many others were sold off to entertain in the arena. Foolish child.

The unruly procession passed the men bound for death and Ariella’s gaze flitted through them. Did they feel the violent shortness of their lives press down on them? Before her stretched nothing but endless misery. Was their lot not preferable?

A muscled slave with the yellow hair of the west shifted and she glimpsed a face beyond him. Her blood turned to ice, then fire.

Micah?

She yanked away from Valerius’s sweaty grip. Stood on her toes to peer into the men.

Valerius pulled away from the raucous group, wrapped a thin arm around her waist, and brought his too-red lips to her ear. “Not growing shy after all these years, are we?” His baby-sweet voice sickened her.

She leaned away. Caught another look at the boy.

Turn your head. Look this way!

Valerius tugged her toward the road, but her feet had grown roots. I must be sure.

But then he turned, the boy about to be a gladiator, and she saw that it could not be Micah. He was too young, older than she remembered her brother but not old enough to be him. Though the resemblance was so strong perhaps he was a distant cousin, she knew he was not her brother. In fact, the boy looked more like her than Micah. If she were to cut her hair, she could pass for his twin.

She let Valerius pull her back to the procession, but the moment had shaken her. Memories she had thought dead turned out to be only buried, and their resurrection was a knife-blade of pain.

She sleepwalked through the rest of the procession, until their drunken steps took them to the caves on the Via Appia, dark spots on the grassy mounds along the road where greater abuses could be carried out without reprisals.

Valerius and his guest, Maius, were arguing.

Ariella forced her attention to the men, leaving off thoughts of Micah and home. It did not pay to be ignorant of Valerius’s moods.

“And you would sully the position you’ve been given by your dissolution!” Maius’s upper lip beaded with sweat and he poked a finger into Valerius’s chest.

Valerius swiped at the meaty finger. “At least I am not a coward! Running home to pretend to be something I am not.”

“You think me a coward? Then you are a fool. I know how to hold on to power. Yours will wash away like so much spilled wine.”

Valerius cackled. “Power? Ah yes, you are a mighty man down there in your holiday town by the sea. I daresay you couldn’t put a sword to a thief if he threatened your family!”

Ariella took a step backward. Valerius misjudged Maius, she could see. The man’s eyes held a coldness that only came of cruelty.

Before Valerius could react, Maius had unsheathed a small dagger from his belt. He grabbed for a nearby slave, one of Valerius’s special boys, wrapped a meaty arm around his forehead, and in one quick move, sliced the slave’s neck. He let the boy fall. Valerius screeched.

“There.” Maius tossed the dagger at the smaller senator’s feet and glared. “I owe you for one slave. But perhaps now you will keep your pretty mouth shut!”

“What have you done?” Valerius bent to the boy and clutched at his bloody tunic. “Not Julius! Not this one!”

The moon had risen while they marched, and now it shone down on them all, most of the guests taken with their own lustful pursuits and senseless to the drama between the two men. Ariella traced the path of moonlight down to her feet, to the glint of iron in the dirt. Maius’s dagger.

She had not held a weapon for many years. Without thought she bent and retrieved it. Held it to her side, against the loose fabric of her robe.

She could not say when the idea first planted itself in her mind. Perhaps it had been back in the city when she had seen the boy who was not Micah. Perhaps it only sprang to life at this moment. Regardless, she knew what she would do.

She would not return to Valerius’s house. Not participate once more, behind closed doors, in the mystery rites that had stolen her soul. Her nine years of torture had come to an end.

No one called out, no one pursued. She simply slipped away, into the weedy fields along the Via Appia, back to the city, the dagger hidden under her robe. She unwrapped the fabric sash at her waist and wound it around her hair. A few quiet questions and she found the yard where the newly-purchased gladiators awaited their assignment. A little flirtation with the loutish guard at the gate, enough to convince him that she was one of the many Roman women obsessed with the fighters, and he let her in with a wicked grin.

She found the boy within moments. His eyes widened as though she were his first opponent. She pulled him to the shadows, to the catcalls of his fellow fighters.

The dagger was steady in her hand and sharp enough to slice through large hanks of hair. The boy watched, wide-eyed, as she disrobed in front of him, modesty ignored.

He was young enough to easily convince.

Within minutes she had donned his leathers and taken his place on the ground with the other fighters. The boy stumbled across the yard, awkward in his new robes and headscarf.

It was done.

Elana would be proud.

Thank you all for entering the giveaway. 

The random drawing winner is Alice. 

 Congratulations.

Lake Manawa:

The Bloomer Girls Play The Owls and Suffragists Speeches Heard at Pavilion

“So sad. Almost a spinster.” Aunt Millie shook her head. “If we don’t do something soon, no man is going to want a woman that advanced in years.”

Author Lorna Seilstad delivers another wonderful novel for summer with A Great Catch(ISBN: 978-0-8007-3446-6, $14.00, May 2011). It’s 1901 in Lake Manawa, Iowa, a beautiful little lakeside resort in America’s heartland. Summer has arrived, along with all the seasonal activities at Lake Manawa: baseball, swimming, roller-skating, picnicking, strolling along the boardwalk, and listening to speeches by the suffragists.

Educating the women of Lake Manawa to their equal status as men and their voting rights, Emily Graham, a 22-year old suffragist tries to live her life independently and free from her meddling aunts who think she is bound for spinsterhood. They want to find a suitable husband among the resort guests for her. Emily prefers to decline their choices; she has neither the time nor the need for a man in her busy suffragist life.

Carter Stockton, a recent college graduate and pitcher for the Manawa Owls baseball team, intends to enjoy every minute of the summer at the resort before he is forced into the business world by his older brother.

When Emily crashes into Carter at a roller skating rink, life begins to change for both of them. Carter must choose what he enjoys most; Emily will have to decide what is most important to her.

ISLAND BREEZES

I loved this book, and was happy to see some friends from Making Waves in it.

And, yes, by the time I got to the end and through the author’s note, I did need that box of tissues.

We’re talking about one headstrong young lady who’s out to change the world, and one young man set on enjoying the summer playing baseball.

This book is not only entertaining, but heart warming as well. It’ll make you smile.

*** Thank you to Donna Hausler of Revell Books who provided a review copy. ***

A Great Catch takes you back to the turn of the century with endearing characters and incredible settings, all found in America’s heartland.

Lorna Seilstad is the author of Making Waves and is a fresh voice in historical fiction with spirited and entertaining writing. She is a history buff, antique collector, and freelance graphic designer. Seilstad draws her setting from her home state of Iowa. A former high school English and journalism teacher, she has won several online writing awards and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers.

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

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For more information, visit

www.RevellBooks.com

Available May 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

  Donna Hausler at Revell Books has provided a copy of this book for some lucky person to win.  This would definitely be a Father’s Day gift that will keep on giving to both Dad and the children.

There are very few rules for this giveaway.  I don’t like having to jump through hoops to get a chance to win something, and I won’t make you do that either.  All you have to do is go here, and leave a comment telling me something about your father that makes you smile.

Contest ends May 30, 2011 at midnight EST. Limited to a winner from the U.S. or Canada due to postage.  The winner will be posted May 31, 2011.