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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:

The Stones

Whitaker House (January 5, 2009)

Eleanor K. Gustafson has been publishing both fiction and nonfiction since 1978 with short stories and articles published in a variety of national and regional publications. The Stones is her fourth novel. In many of her stories, Eleanor explores the cosmic struggle between good and evil in light of God’s overarching work of redemption. A graduate of Wheaton College in Illinois, she has been actively involved in church life as a minister’s wife, teacher, musician, writer, and encourager. She and her husband travel extensively and spend time with their three children and eight grandchildren. They live in Massachusetts, but spend a good deal of time camping at the family forest inVermont.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $10.99
Paperback: 601 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (January 5, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603740791
ISBN-13: 978-1603740791

I recently finished reading the Biblical account of the life of David, and was really looking forward to reading this novel.  I was not disappointed.  Eleanor Gustafson has definitely captured the essence of David, and brings him to life in technicolor for us.  Eleanor keeps the Scriptural accuracy as she fictionalizes the life of David through the eyes of Asaph, the chief musician at the Tent of the Ark.  This book leaves you with a greater appreciation of this man who is described as a “man after God’s own heart.”

How soon will the movie be out?

 
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

(Parentheses designate fictional names, not fictional characters)

Abiathar—High priest

Abigail—David’s half-sister, mother of Amasa

Abigail—David’s third wife

Abishai—son of David’s half-sister Zeruiah and brother of Joab and Asahel

Abital—David’s sixth wife

Absalom—David’s son by Maacah

Achish—Philistine king

Adonijah—David’s son by Haggith

Ahimaaz—son of Zadok

Ahinoam—Saul’s wife

Ahinoam—David’s second wife

Ahimelech—high priest at Nob

Ahithophel—David’s chief counselor

Amasa—son of David’s half-sister Abigail, brief career as commander in chief

Amasai—Mighty Man

Amnon—David’s firstborn by Ahinoam

Asaph—Levite, chief musician at the Tent of the ark, narrator

Barzillai—old friend from Rogelim

Bathsheba—David’s eighth wife, mother of Solomon

Benaiah—chief of David’s bodyguard

(Boaz)—first son of David and Bathsheba

(Caleb and Acsah)—couple who hid messengers

Cush—a Benjamite enemy of David

Daniel/Kileab—David’s son by Abigail

David—king of Judah and Israel

Dodai—Mighty Man, father of Eleazar

Eglah—David’s seventh wife

Eleazar—Mighty Man and one of the Three

Esh-Baal/Ish-Bosheth—son of Saul

Ethan—Levitical musician

Gad—prophet

Goliath—Philistine giant killed by David

Haggith—David’s fifth wife

Hanun—king of Ammon

Heman—Levitical musician

Hushai—David’s friend Ira—Mighty Man

Ithream—David’s son by Eglah

Ittai—Mighty Man

Jashobeam—Mighty Man and mightiest of the Three

Joab—commander in chief of David’s army

Jonadab—David’s nephew

Jonathan—son of Saul, David’s best friend

Jonathan—David’s uncle and counselor

Jonathan—son of Abiathar

(Joram)—David’s servant

Kimham—son of Barzillai and friend of David

Maacah—David’s fourth wife and mother of Absalom

Makir—friend of David

Mephibosheth—crippled son of Jonathan

Michal—David’s first wife and daughter of Saul

Nathan—prophet

Rizpah—Saul’s concubine

Saul—first king of Israel

Shammah—Mighty Man and one of the Three

Sheba—Benjamite insurrectionist

Shephatiah—David’s son by Abital

Shimei—Benjamite gadfly

Shobi—governor of Ammon after his brother’s defeat, David’s friend

Solomon—David’s son by Bathsheba

Tamar—daughter of Maacah and sister of Absalom

Tamar—daughter of Absalom

Uriah—first husband of Bathsheba

Uzzah—Levite whose family guarded the ark after the Philistines’ release

Zadok—priest in the Tent at Gibeon

Zeruiah—David’s half-sister, mother of Abishai, Joab, Asahel

Ziba—Saul’s steward and guardian of Mephibosheth

(Not all warriors and Levites are listed)

Preface

One day I’d like to sit down and chat with King David. “Did I get it right?” I will ask. “I may have done a fair job with the broad strokes, but how about the finer shading—personalities, strengths and weaknesses, capabilities?”

It is details that make or break a fictionalized biography. In this novel, I started with the bare bones of the scriptural account and then, by reading between the lines, layered on flesh and blood. A dangerous task, especially with biblical characters. Some, such as David, Joab, Abigail, and Absalom, have clear markers in Scripture, but with others my intuitive GPS had to show the way. Names alone—Benaiah, Asaph, Nathan the prophet, Obil the camelmaster—don’t tell much. An author must make people rise and walk. The Stones, drawn from a careful study of biblical clues, is my take on the living, breathing people they might have been.

As some characters have been fictionalized, so also incidents have been added to build the rationale for a given character’s actions. That some characters did reprehensible things is not in question; I need to show why they might have done them, or why David reacted as he did in response.

Another aspect of The Stones that may need explanation is its moments of brutality. I would rate this novel PG-13—the same as my rating for the Bible itself. David and his men were warriors—Gibborim—men of blood and violence. That David made it to age seventy amazes me. Furthermore, God gave David the task of fighting and defeating the idolatrous nations surrounding Israel. Indeed, David finished the job Moses and Joshua failed to complete. Before David came on the scene, metaphorical “puddings” made from proverbial “milk and honey” contained idol bits that were hard to digest. After David, though, puddings came out smooth and sweet, and the kingdom expanded its girth from the Negev in the south, up through Syria in the North, and took in Ammon, Moab, and Edom to the east. The Promised Land was now—finally—a feast worthy of the name.

But what about the process? Even more disturbing, what about cherem, the God-ordained practice of wiping out men, women, children, and livestock, while devoting the carnage to God? These are hard questions with no easy answers.

God is holy—my starting premise. Humans, however, are inherently evil, some more so than others. For God to separate a people for Himself, He had to carve away the grossly paganized nations that surrounded Israel. The worship of idols included everything from sorcery and temple prostitution to sacrificing children to the fire-god Molech. The Israelites themselves were only a step away from these practices. During these formative years, drastic sin called for drastic measures.

Did the “real” David and Abigail choke on these matters as we do today? I’ll ask when I see them.

I have used Scripture extensively. Some passages are verbatim quotes (niv translation); others are my own colloquial paraphrases. I have chosen not to include Scripture addresses that would pull the reader out of the story. Most passages, in the interest of space and plot flow, have been abridged. My use of the Aramaic Abba for father is by choice. In Hebrew, the correct correlation would have been Ab or Abi, but these names just didn’t seem to have the same heft to them. Thus, I took the liberty to use the more familiar scriptural nickname.

—Eleanor Gustafson

Scroll One

Chapter One

I dreamed of Goliath last night, strangely enough, considering it was Joab, David’s general, who died yesterday. Perhaps elation was the link—the Israelites’ joy half a century ago when David killed the giant, and mine today when I saw Joab dead on the altar steps.

In my dream, I was trying to question Goliath as I have so many others in compiling this story of David. The picture was silly enough: I, Asaph—all one hundred and forty spineless, Levitical, musician pounds of me, standing eye to navel against this wool-bellied monster who had challenged not only the army of Israel, but the God of Israel, as well. When I talk with people, I try to engage their eyes, but Goliath’s head towered high and remote within its crested helmet. The bloated, belch-rumbling bulge of his middle forced me to bend backwards in an attempt to see around it

Goliath was striding about, his eye on a flurry of activity across the brook. King Saul, tall against his own countrymen but a twig next to the Philistine, was talking with a young lad who had come upon the scene of the face-off. What were they saying? Why was the boy trying on Saul’s armor, walking as though to test its feel, then shaking his head and removing it? Watching this, Goliath worked his shoulders under his own scale armor and stamped his legs to settle bronze greaves in place.

“Goliath, my lord,” I called. “A few questions, if I may.” I trotted beside him, taking five steps to his one. “What are you thinking of in these minutes before your death? I know that’s pretty personal, but—”

“Whose death?” A reasonable question, but he said the words absently, his attention fixed on the knot surrounding the king and the red-haired boy.

“I see you’re watching David over there. He’s the one who will kill you, you know. I know the end of the story.”

The giant’s shaved jowls hung thick and lumpy, his teeth poked brown and rotten between inch-thick lips. His cropped mane added to the illusion of a naked, weak-eyed pimple atop a furry lump of brutishness. I began to understand that my insolent questions got no answers because Goliath’s mind was big enough only to size up an enemy. His left eye circled dangerously. Like another eye I knew.

Joab’s eye.

David headed downstream where he knelt by the brook to sort through stones, measuring their heft and smoothness. My dream’s eye saw him in simple shepherd’s garb, no armor, carrying only his staff and sling. He splashed across the thin stream and faced the giant, intentions clear.

Goliath stiffened, and when his mind caught up with the implications of what his eyes saw, he expanded another foot and turned black with rage. With a mighty whirl that sent his armor bearers sprawling, he spit his injured pride in the direction of the Israelite King Saul, who was watching from his vantage point upstream. “Look a’ me,” the giant roared, thumping a four-foot chest. “Some sorta dog you see? No, you see I, Goliath. I gnaw warrior bones for supper, but here you serve sticks. By the mighty power of Dagon and Asherah, I will strip feathers and flesh from this stork and feed him to rats!”

“Goliath!” David shouted from below. “Never mind the king.” He stood with legs apart and arms akimbo, head cocked rakishly. The first fuzz of manhood sketched red along a face that was fresh, strong, handsome, alive. His voice warbled unpredictably between man and boy.

“That tree trunk of a spear,” the lad called. “I wouldn’t mind having it or the sword your armor bearer is playing with.” His words were light, but his eyes never left the giant.

“Goliath,” the boy went on, “you’ve been a lion against sheep till now. But today I come against you in the name of Yahweh, the Lord of hosts, whom your people say is stuck in a box. The God of Israel will act, and you’ll be the one who’ll fatten rats. The world will know from this day on that Yahweh saves, not by sword and spear, not by size and fear, but by his power alone. I’ve killed lions and bears, you know. Their teeth and claws are sharper than yours.”

David’s voice cracked, provoking laughter. Under its cover David laid aside his staff and drew a stone from his pouch. The Philistine armor bearers danced in anticipation of action at last. Goliath’s left eye began circling again. His face darkened, his arms took on the fur and claws of a bear. A snout, round, fur-flanked and vaguely familiar, poked through his facial armor. Now closer to nineteen feet tall than nine, he reared and roared and was no longer Goliath but a bear-like Joab, David’s loathsome commander in chief. With weapons carriers and shield bearer tight to him, he thundered down the slope toward the shepherd boy. But the lad, to my alarm, appeared to shrivel even as the giant grew. The Joab bear raised his arms, and the updraft sucked my robe until I felt myself being drawn toward the great beast’s maw. David and I both cowered before him. As those claws descended, the armor bearer (whom I also recognized but couldn’t name) sprang from under the shield with the giant’s own sword. With a mighty, two-handed stroke he cut off the great beast’s head. Then he stuck the sword into the ground and leaned on the haft, gasping for breath.

Goliath’s armor bearer was Benaiah.

I woke and lay trembling as the desperate intensity of the dream melted into reality. Joab—ruthless commander in chief of David’s army—was indeed dead, and Benaiah, David’s chief bodyguard, had killed him. The previous evening, I myself had watched Benaiah mount the altar; I saw Joab’s blood ooze down those steps, saw his body carried out for burial.

Why should my dream start with Goliath and end with Joab? My questioning Goliath was one of those whimsical twists dreams take. I’ve talked with nearly everyone else connected with David: why not this giant who played such a pivotal role?

The dream made me see Goliath’s brutishness as a thinly veiled version of Joab’s. Throw in the giant’s awareness of his own power, not just in physical size and strength, but, more significantly, in his strategic importance to the Philistine army. Without Goliath, those enemies of Israel would have had little advantage over Saul and his sons. The parallel was clear: as Goliath was to the Philistines, so Joab was to David. Without Joab—loathsome, loutish Joab—David might well have neither gained nor held his kingdom.

Loathsome, loutish Joab. When Benaiah, David’s chief bodyguard, carried out Solomon’s order of execution, I for one breathed freely for the first time in thirty years.

It happened yesterday at the Tent of the Ark, where Joab had gone for refuge. Adonijah, another of David’s ambitious sons, had made a last, sly attempt to wiggle the throne from Solomon’s grasp, but the new king read him correctly and had him put down.

Adonijah’s death spelled Joab’s doom, for they had schemed together. When Joab got word that the prince had been killed, he came to the Tent, but not in fear. Joab afraid? He would not run from death, but neither would he give his life away. He strolled around the enclosure, measuring each of us in turn. In his eyes, we Levites were fit only for singing and praying and skinning sacrificial animals. He had made my own life miserable on countless occasions, but I took heart that his left eye, subject to circling dangerously, was steady today.

He didn’t go to the place of safety until the rattle of arms outside sent him deliberately, without haste, up the steps of the altar, into the swirling smoke, where he touched blood-blackened fingers to the nearest horn of the altar. It didn’t seem to occur to him that two vile murders would deny him legal sanctuary. Or perhaps he counted on Solomon not wanting to execute a man at the altar. A precarious perch for Joab, but he had survived all those years on equally slender footholds.

Benaiah, backed by his guard, stopped just inside the entrance. He stared at Joab. When he spoke, his voice was tight. Was he—the most powerful soldier under Joab—was Benaiah ben Jehoiada nervous?

“Joab, come out!”

Joab grunted derisively, a small smile twisting his face. “Maybe I should take orders from you?”

“Come down from there, Joab: the king has ordered it.”

“Tell the king to come order it in person. Or better still, tell him to kill me himself. It might give a melon like him backbone!”

After consultation about the propriety of killing even such a man as Joab at the altar, Benaiah and his guard withdrew. Joab straightened, once more surveying the priests and musicians. The breeze wrapped a new cloak of smoke around his tunic. Apart from my nervous fingering of a prayer tassel on my garment, none of us moved or spoke for what seemed hours.

As the last rays of sun faded from the city wall above us, the high priest ordered the lamps lit. With a glance toward the altar, a Levite and a priest turned to the task but scuttled back as Benaiah reentered—with sword in hand. Again Joab smiled, a monster’s ugly grimace. Blood-crusted hands rested on the blood-crusted altar, while the blood of innocents cried out for vindication.

“Once more,” Benaiah spoke, “will you come down?”

Joab straightened proudly. “I will die here—if you’re man enough to kill me.”

His eye gleamed, his tone softened. “We’ve been through a lot, Benaiah, you and I. We go back, don’t we? The battles, the exploits. That day of the snow when you landed in the pit and killed the lion….Do you remember, Benaiah?”

We stood rigid under his spell. Light was fading, and the lamps remained unlit. We shivered, mistaking the growing darkness for cold.

“You’re no youngster, Benaiah,” Joab said. “How long before Solomon puts you out to pasture? You have influence, though. A word from you, and we could put a real man on the—”

“Enough.” Benaiah spoke softly, almost with a touch of regret. The two grizzled warriors locked eyes, celebrating one last moment of shared history, then Benaiah leaped to the steps.

I turned away. Tomorrow the altar must be cleansed of pig’s blood. But for this day, this night,

We give thanks to you, O God,
We give thanks, for your Name is near;
To the arrogant I say, “Boast no more,”
And to the wicked, “Do not lift up your horns.”
But it is God who judges:
He brings one down, He exalts another.

I did it!  I found a book list that has books on it that I’ve actually read.  This list is from Project Gutenberg. I will share this list of of over 500 of the world’s greatest books in five installments.  The entire list can be very intimidating, so I’m going to share about 100 books at a time here. I want to try to read more of these books.  I managed to come up with nine books that I’ve read in this list of 100.  Just click the link following the book to read it online.

Listing by Title

Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Wikipedia A Christmas Carol (1843) PG
Mark Twain (1835-1910) Wikipedia A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889) PG
Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) Wikipedia A Doll’s House (1879) PG
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Wikipedia A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1595) PG
Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) Wikipedia A Modest Proposal (1729) PG
James Joyce (1882-1941) Wikipedia A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916) Freeread
Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935) Wikipedia A Scot’s Quair (Sunset Song) (1932) PGA
Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) Wikipedia A Sentimental Education (1869)
Laurence Sterne (1713-1768) Wikipedia A Sentimental Journey (1768) PG
Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) Wikipedia A Simple Heart (a.k.a. A Simple Soul) (1877) PG
Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) Wikipedia A Tale of a Tub (1704) PG
Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Wikipedia A Tale of Two Cities (1859) PG
John Donne (1572-1631) Wikipedia A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning (1633) PGA
Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) Wikipedia A Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792) PG
Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) Wikipedia A Woman’s Life (1883)
D H Lawrence (1885-1930) Wikipedia Aaron’s Rod (1922) Freeread
John Dryden (1631-1700) Wikipedia Absalom and Achitophel (1681) PG
George Eliot (1819-1880) Wikipedia Adam Bede (1859) PG
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Wikipedia Adonais (1821) PG
Aesop (c620bc-560bc) Wikipedia Aesop’s Fables (1475) PG
Heliodorus (c3rdcentury-) Wikipedia Aethiopika (1534)
Joris-Karl Huysmans (1848-1907) Wikipedia Against the Grain (1884) PG
Anne Brontë (1820-1849) Wikipedia Agnes Grey (1847) PG
Lewis Carroll (1832-1898) Wikipedia Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) PG
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Wikipedia All’s Well That Ends Well (1602) PG
Henry Fielding (1707-1754) Wikipedia Amelia (1751) PG
Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Wikipedia Amerika (1927)
Stefan Zweig (1881-1942) Wikipedia Amok (1922)
Theodore Dreiser (1871-1945) Wikipedia An American Tragedy (1903) PGA
Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) Wikipedia An Enemy of the People (1883) PG
Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914?) Wikipedia An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge (1891) Freeread
Euripides (480bc-406bc) Wikipedia Andromache (-426)
Jean Racine (1639-1699) Wikipedia Andromache (1667)
George Orwell (1903-1950) Wikipedia Animal Farm (1945) PGA
Eugene O’Neill (1888-1953) Wikipedia Anna Christie (1921) Freeread
Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) Wikipedia Anna Karenina (1875) PG
Sophocles (497bc-406bc) Wikipedia Antigone (-441) PG
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Wikipedia Antony and Cleopatra (1606) PG
John Milton (1608-1674) Wikipedia Areopagitica (1644) PG
Jules Verne (1828-1905) Wikipedia Around the World in Eighty Days (1873) PG
Sinclair Lewis (1885-1951) Wikipedia Arrowsmith (1925) PGA
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Wikipedia As You Like It (1600) PG
H P Lovecraft (1890-1937) Wikipedia At the Mountains of Madness (1936) PGA
Sinclair Lewis (1885-1951) Wikipedia Babbitt (1922) Freeread
Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) Wikipedia Barchester Towers (1857) PG
Ellen Glasgow (1873-1945) Wikipedia Barren Ground (1925) PGA
Ben Jonson (1572-1637) Wikipedia Bartholomew Fair (1614)
Herman Melville (1819-1891) Wikipedia Bartleby the Scrivener (1853) PG
Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) Wikipedia Bel-Ami (1885) PG
Lew Wallace (1827-1905) Wikipedia Ben-Hur (1880) PG
Unknown (-) Wikipedia Beowulf (700) PG
Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) Wikipedia Between the Acts (1941) PGA
Herman Melville (1819-1891) Wikipedia Billy Budd, Foretopman (1924) PGA
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) Wikipedia Biographia Literaria (1817) PG
Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Wikipedia Bleak House (1852) PG
George Gissing (1857-1903) Wikipedia Born in Exile (1892) Freeread
James Boswell (1740-1795) Wikipedia Boswell’s London Journal: 1762-1763 (1762)
Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) Wikipedia Bouvard and Pécuchet (1881)
Edith Wharton (1862-1937) Wikipedia Bunner Sisters (1916) Freeread
George Orwell (1903-1950) Wikipedia Burmese Days (1934) PGA
August Strindberg (1849-1912) Wikipedia By the Open Sea (1890)
Fanny Burney (1752-1840) Wikipedia Camilla (1796) PGA
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) Wikipedia Candida (1897) Freeread
Voltaire (1694-1778) Wikipedia Candide (1759)
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) Wikipedia Captains Courageous (1897) Freeread
Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849) Wikipedia Castle Rackrent (1800) PG
Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) Wikipedia Castle Richmond (1860) PG
Fanny Burney (1752-1840) Wikipedia Cecilia (1782) PG
Chariton (c50-) Wikipedia Chaireas and Kallirhoe (1750)
Lord Byron (1788-1824) Wikipedia Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812) PG
Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) Wikipedia Civil Disobedience (1849) PG
Samuel Richardson (1689-1761) Wikipedia Clarissa (1749) PG
George Orwell (1903-1950) Wikipedia Coming Up for Air (1939) PGA
Saint Augustine (354-430) Wikipedia Confessions (400) PG
Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) Wikipedia Confessions (1782) PG
Elizabeth Gaskell (1810-1865) Wikipedia Cranford (1853) PG
Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881) Wikipedia Crime and Punishment (1866) PG
Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) Wikipedia Critique of Pure Reason (1781) PG
Edmond Rostand (1868-1918) Wikipedia Cyrano de Bergerac (1897) Freeread
Henry James (1843-1916) Wikipedia Daisy Miller (1878) PG
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos (1741-1803) Wikipedia Dangerous Liaisons (1782)
George Eliot (1819-1880) Wikipedia Daniel Deronda (1876) PG
Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Wikipedia David Copperfield (1850) PG
Nikolay Gogol (1809-1852) Wikipedia Dead Souls (1842) PG
Willa Cather (1873-1947) Wikipedia Death Comes for the Archbishop (1927) PGA
Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859) Wikipedia Democracy in America (1835) PG
Eugene O’Neill (1888-1953) Wikipedia Desire Under the Elms (1924) PGA
George and Weedon Grossmith (1847/1852-1912/1919) Wikipedia Diary of a Nobody (1892) Freeread
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) Wikipedia Doctor Faustus (1588) PG
Lord Byron (1788-1824) Wikipedia Don Juan (1819) PGA
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616) Wikipedia Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605) PG
Bram Stoker (1847-1912) Wikipedia Dracula (1897) Freeread
Émile Zola (1840-1902) Wikipedia Drunkard (1877)
James Joyce (1882-1941) Wikipedia Dubliners (1914) Freeread
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) Wikipedia Easter 1916 (1916) PGA
Theodor Fontane (1819-1898) Wikipedia Effi Briest (1895)
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) Wikipedia Elective Affinities (1809)
Euripides (480bc-406bc) Wikipedia Electra (-413) PG
Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) Wikipedia Emile; or, On Education (1762) PG
Jane Austen (1775-1817) Wikipedia Emma (1816) Freeread

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:

It’s a Green Thing: Diary of a Teenage Girl

Multnomah Books (February 17, 2009)

Melody Carlson is an award-winning, best-selling author of nearly 200 books for teens, women, and children. Before publishing, Melody traveled around the world, volunteered in teen ministry, taught preschool, raised two sons, and worked briefly in interior design and later in international adoption. “I think real-life experiences inspire the best friction,” she says. Her wide variety of books seems to prove this theory. She and her husband enjoy an active lifestyle of hiking, camping, and biking in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where she says, “A new story seems to spring from around every corner.”

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books (February 17, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601421184
ISBN-13: 978-1601421180

Melody Carlson is working her way up to the top of my favorite authors list.  She’s amazingly prolific.  Book after book.  Series after series.  Don’t stop, Melody.  I keep discovering more and more characters that I want to get to know even better.  Melody hooked me with the Carter House Girls and now I’m getting sucked into all these wonderful teenage diaries.  This one is the second diary of Maya.  Maya is a fairly new Christian, and this novel is about her spiritual growth.  Maya is also “green,” and starts writing a column for her newspaper. This is a bonus for us. We can all benefit from her ‘green” tips.  Read along as Maya learns how to handle the problems confronting a Christian teenager.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

My cousin Kim gave me a new diary yesterday. She received it for graduation, but she prefers to journal on her computer. “With a security lock, of course,” she confessed. Anyway, this nicely bound book (a green product made of recycled materials) seems to be enticing me to write. Especially since I already filled up my old diary, which is safely hidden away in one of my suitcases tucked into the back of the guest room closet. Okay, as both Kim and my uncle keep telling me, “It’s not the guest room, Maya. It’s your room.” I’m trying to see it that way. But it’s not easy. So much about my life is not easy…but I must admit that it’s getting better. And I do have hope.

Anyway, since today was rather interesting and the beginning of summer vacation, I will start here. Although to get “here,” I need to go back to before the school year ended. I’d been attending Harrison High for several weeks when Mr. Fenton challenged our art class to volunteer for a community project. We’d been invited by the park district to create a mural on a downtown youth center. A lot of kids signed up, and everyone seemed supportive and interested. But today, the first day of the project, Marissa Phillips and I were the only ones to actually show. “It figures,” she said as the two of us stood gazing up at the big, boring wall. The paint was splotchy looking, with random beige smears that resembled a bad case of psoriasis. Probably someone’s attempt to hide the graffiti and tagging, although a few offensive words still showed through.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “That no one else would come.” “Why’s that?” I adjusted the twisted strap of my Osh Kosh overalls. I’d gotten dressed pretty quickly this morning, barely managing to catch the downtown bus. “Because people are basically selfish.” I turned and looked at her. With hands planted on her hips, Marissa stared at the ugly wall and frowned. For some reason, when I first began attending Harrison High, I felt drawn to this girl. Like we shared some commonality. And I suppose we do have some physical similarities. We’re both tall and have long hair, although hers is straight and mine is curly. And because she dyes it black, her hair’s a lot darker than mine. I think that’s why her complexion looks so pale. Whereas mine (thanks to my dad) is the color of café au lait.

But our looks aside, we are similar in other ways too. Or maybe we both just have an attitude. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and has opinions that not everyone shares. She’s two years older than I am. In fact, she just graduated with my cousin Kim. Not that she seems older exactly. Or maybe I just feel older than sixteen. Sometimes I feel like I’m in my thirties. But a hard life can do that to a person.

“So if that’s true,” I asked Marissa, “if people are basically selfish, why are you here?”

She laughed. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew?”

“I’m doing community service.”

“For what?”

“Oh…something that happened a couple of months ago. I guess you hadn’t moved here yet.”

“What did you do?”

“I got caught with alcohol in my car.”

“Driving under the influence?” I knew Marissa was kind of a wild child, but I thought she had more sense than that.

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I wasn’t under the influence. I was underage.”

“Well, obviously.”

“It didn’t really help much that my dad’s a cop.” She made a face as she reached into her bag and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, quickly lit it, then blew out an exasperated

puff.

“Your dad’s a cop?” Now this caught me off guard. Of all people who might have law enforcement officials in their family, Marissa just doesn’t seem to fit the profile. I can only imagine how frustrated her father must feel.

“Oh yeah…” She peered back at the wall. “In fact it was his recommendation that I spend my summer vacation performing community service. If dear old Dad hadn’t been in court that day, I probably would’ve gotten off a lot easier.”

“You’re doing community service for the whole summer?”

“Yep.” She blew another puff of smoke over her shoulder.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It was either that or give up my car and move out of the house. And I wasn’t financially ready for that…not just yet.” She took in a slow drag, then looked curiously at me. “So what’s your excuse?”

“Excuse?”

“For being here.”

“You mean because I must be basically selfish too?” She shrugged.

“I just wanted to do it,” I admitted. “I mean, when Mr. Fenton described the project, it sounded kind of fun to help someone else, and he made it seem like it would only take a week.” Marissa laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, right. Think again.” I frowned back up at the wall. “With just the two of us, this mural could end up being your entire summer of community service.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much, except that it’s going to be scorching out here before long, and this wall is in the sun most of the day.” She reached in her bag again, and this time pulled out her cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Friends…Hey, Spencer,” she said warmly. “What’s up, dude?” Then she winked at me. “Well, Maya and I are downtown right now. We volunteered to do this mural project, and we sure could use some big, strong guys to help out.” She smiled knowingly. “Oh yeah, for sure. Maybe you could get Jake to come and help too…No, it’s no big hurry. I mean, we need to kind of figure out

where we’re going with this mural and get the paint and stuff. Maybe not today. But how about tomorrow? First thing in the morning?” She got a catty smile now. “Oh yeah, totally.” Then she hung up.

“Help on the way?”

“Sounds like it.” She slipped her phone back into her bag.

“Spencer is such a pushover when it comes to good-looking women.”

“I hope he didn’t get the wrong impression.”

“We’re talking about Spencer, right?” She laughed. “Of course he has the wrong impression. It’s just the way that boy’s brain is wired.” And I was fully aware of this. Spencer had begun hitting on me as soon as I started going to HHS a couple of months ago. I’d been flattered at first, but as I got to know him better, I realized that I needed to draw some boundaries. Even so, I wasn’t going to admit that Spencer wouldn’t have been my first choice for help. “So…do you think I should call anyone else?” I offered. “Sure. Do you know anyone else?” I kind of shrugged.

The truth is, I still don’t know that many people in this town. Kim and her best friend, Natalie, already have summer jobs. But I was thinking about the kids in Kim’s church youth group—particularly Dominic. Any excuse to spend time with Dominic seemed like a good excuse to me. But I didn’t know his number, so I called Caitlin. She and her husband, Josh, are the youth leaders, and she’s been sort of mentoring me since I committed my life to God a couple of weeks ago. She answered, and I quickly explained the mural project and our lack of volunteers. “It was supposed to take only a week,” I said finally. “But with just Marissa and me and this great big wall, well, it’s a little overwhelming. She’s already called a guy to help, but—” “What a cool project,” Caitlin said. “That building is a real eyesore. It’s great that someone wants to make it nice, and I’m sure that’ll be a blessing to the kids who use the center. Why don’t I call around and see who might be willing to help out?”

“That’d be awesome, Caitlin.”

“When do you want your helpers to show up?”

“We have to figure some things out first. We probably won’t need anyone until tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I hung up and smiled hopefully. But Marissa was frowning at me now. “Why are you calling in the church people?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to make you a list of reasons?”

“Are you willing to turn away free help?” She dropped her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it out with her heel as she shrugged. “I guess not. So what’s the deal, Maya? Are you one of them?”

“One of what?”

“Are you a Christian too?”

I took in a deep breath, then slowly nodded. “Actually, I am.” She shook her head in a dismal way. Like this was really unfortunate.

“I’ll admit it’s still kind of new for me,” I said.

“Why?” Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied me closely. I started to feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.

“Why?” I repeated, confused. “You mean why is it new for me?”

“No. Why did you do it?” The way she said this made a woman walking through the parking lot glance nervously at me, like she assumed I’d committed some horrendous crime.

“Become a Christian?”

“Yeah.” Marissa made a sour face. “I mean, I can understand girls like Kim and Natalie… They’re such goody two-shoes. But you, Maya? I thought you were different.”

“I am different.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was unhappy and lonely and hopeless and depressed and just really, really lost.”

“And now you’re found?” I could hear the teasing note in her voice.

“Actually, I do feel kind of found.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, Marissa, if anyone had told me just a few months ago that I was going to make a life-changing commitment like this…well, I would’ve reacted just like you. I would’ve said they were

crazy. Seriously, I never would’ve believed it myself.” Her countenance softened ever so slightly, and she didn’t question this statement.

“And like I said, it’s still new to me. Basically, all I can say is that I was totally mixed-up and messed up and just plain lost…and now I have this real sense of peace. Honestly, it’s something I never had before.”

“Peace?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes. It’s hard to describe it, but it’s like my life is in good hands now, like I feel hopeful.”

“You sound like Chloe Miller now.”

I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The fact is, of all the Christians I know, which aren’t that many, I can relate to Chloe best. I mean, Kim is cool and takes her faith seriously. And Caitlin is sweet and sincere and helpful. And Nat… Well, don’t get me going there. But right from the start, I seemed to get Chloe. And she seemed to get me. Maybe it has to do with the whole music thing—a kind of artistic, outside-the-box sort of thing.

“So what do you think we should paint on this wall?” Marissa seemed eager to change the subject, and I felt relieved.

“I’m thinking we should get some sketches going.” I unzipped my pack and retrieved a sketch pad. “We’re not supposed to do anything out here without Mrs. Albert’s approval.”

“Who’s that?”

“The superintendent. But if we can get her okay, we could probably start putting the drawing on the wall before our other volunteers show up. That way we can put them to work.”

“Yes sir.” She gave me a cheesy grin. “You the boss.” Before long we were sitting there on the curb, discussing ideas and playing with images. Unfortunately, Marissa’s ideas leaned toward the dark side, and when I challenged a particularly frightening image, she seemed slightly offended.

“So what do you want to paint?” she shot back. “Sunshine, flowers, and sweet turtledoves?”

“No, not exactly. But something more cheerful than a dragon burning a gnarled tree stump.”

“I was just trying to come up with something that graffiti artists would respect,” she said defensively. “Something they wouldn’t make fun of and want to deface.”

“That’s a good point. We don’t want it to be too childish.”

“But I suppose a dragon might be scary to some of the little kids who come here.”

“What exactly is the purpose of this building?” I ventured. She shrugged. “It’s a youth center. Duh.”

“So it’s a place for kids to come…for what purpose?”

“To hang. To play. For kids who need something like that.”

I kind of frowned at her. “Why?”

“You know, it’s for kids who might be kind of underprivileged, or maybe they’re unsupervised. The center has a day-care program and all kinds of classes and activities for after-school programs. Stuff like that.” Now she laughed. “Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have had anything like that back in Beverly Hills, little Miss Rich Girl.”

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told Marissa so much about myself. But at the time, when I needed a friend a couple of months ago, it seemed right. And I thought I could trust her. Not that I

can’t.

“I’m not a rich girl.”

“Says you.” I just rolled my eyes. The truth was, I would’ve appreciated a center like this when I was a kid. Not that I plan to admit that to Marissa. But despite her misconceptions, my childhood wasn’t exactly ideal or nurturing, and I certainly never felt rich. Of course, Beverly Hills isn’t the sort of town where people are terribly concerned over the welfare of the younger generation. Like Marissa, people just assume that if you live there, your parents have lots

of money, and you’ll be just fine.

“So it sounds like it’s a place that’s meant to encourage kids, to help themgrow into better people, to give them hope,” I finally said. Marissa laughed loudly. “Hey, maybe you should go into politics or public relations or advertising or something.”

“Come on. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can get some serious sketches going. And the sooner we can get started, the sooner we can get done, and we won’t be out here

baking in the sun all summer.”

“You seem to have it all figured out, boss. Go for it.” Marissa pulled out another cigarette. Now I was tempted to point out the risks of emphysema and lung cancer, as well as how smoke makes your hair stink and yellows your fingernails, but I figured she was probably already aware

of these facts.

“Fine. I think we should create something that feels hopeful.” I squinted up at the blotchy-looking wall again. “Something colorful and cheerful and happy.”

“Maybe we could paint a pwetty wainbow?”

Just before I made a smart retort, I stopped myself. “Hey, maybe you’re right.” I grabbed my sketch pad and began to draw.

“But we’ll design it in a more modern style. Sort of cubist.” She looked over my shoulder as I drew a series of sharply angled shapes, working them together to make an arch.

“Interesting…,” she finally admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I can kind of see it. And it would actually be fairly easy to put a team to work on it since it’s mostly shapes.”

“Exactly. We’ll draw them out, and they can paint them in.”

“We’ll need a lot of different colors.”

“So you can see the rainbow?” I asked. “I mean, since there’s no color in my sketch?”

“Yeah. I get where you’re going.” She snuffed out her cigarette, then reached in her bag for a tin of colored pencils. “Here, add some color.”

By midmorning we had a final colored sketch as well as Mrs. Albert’s approval. “Very nice, girls,” she told us as we were ushered out of her office. “And anything will be an improvement over what’s out there now.”

“Well, that was flattering,” Marissa said as we headed down to the storage room to meet the janitor and check out the ladders and painting supplies. “At least her expectations aren’t too high.”

Marissa laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at meeting people’s low expectations.” I wanted to ask her why that was, but we needed to get busy if we were going to put more volunteers to work tomorrow. And to my relief, Marissa actually knew how to work hard. By the end of the day, Marissa had gotten the paints, and I had managed to get a fair amount of the sketch onto the lower part of the wall.

“Nice work, boss,” Marissa said after we’d put the supplies away and stood looking at the beginning of our mural. “Same back at you.” And I have to admit that I was kind of excited to see how this whole thing would turn out. And hopefully more people will show up to help tomorrow.

Maya’s Green Tip for the Day

Don’t pour harmful wastes down public waterways.

Storm drains on public streets are for rainwater to run off

so the streets don’t flood. They’re not a convenient way

for people to get rid of chemicals or solvents or even the

bucket of soapy water after you wash your car. Unless

you use bio-friendly car-wash detergent, which I highly

recommend. You need to respect that the water that runs

off our streets eventually winds up in streams and waterways

and can harm innocent fish or other marine wildlife.

So don’t use your street drain as a dumping spot.

I’ve discovered a web site that I would like to share with you.  It’s called Girls ‘n Grace.  It’s a site where girls and their mothers can connect and explore God’s grace.  There are fun games and quizs, dolls and books and even matching dresses for the girls and their dolls.  It makes me wish I still had a little girl, but my little girl did what little girls are supposed to do.  She grew up.

After working so hard to get into the White house, Obama seems to be doing anything and everything he can to get out. Very interesting.  The following is an excerpt from The Washington Post.

Friends and advisers said Obama has chafed at some aspects of his presidential existence. He campaigned tirelessly for 18 months to reach the White House, but, finally there, he seems eager to escape its smothering confines. Obama has asked his advisers to schedule at least one campaign-style trip out of Washington each week, and he has fled the White House to eat meals out, visit Camp David in Maryland and spend a weekend with old friends in Chicago. On Friday night, he sat courtside at Verizon Center and watched the Wizards trounce his hometown Bulls. One afternoon last month, Obama and his wife, Michelle, visited wiggly second-graders at a local public school because, Obama explained, “we were just tired of being in the White House.” The first lady chimed in: “We got out! They let us out!”

I think it’s a good thing for him to focus on getting out and doing things with his family, but I continue to cringe when I think of all the taxpayers money that is being spent on his flying around the country weekly just so he doesn’t have to spend all that time in the White House.  Did he not have a clue about the restrictions a president is under before he decided he wanted the job? 

In this depression recession, we need all our elected officials to consider the jobless and those just barely making do.  Show us that you care enough to reign in your lifestyle a little.  You may be living “high on the hog,” but you don’t have to flaunt it.

There was a little blurb in the local paper Saturday morning that read, “Set clocks forward; gain one hour daylight.”  Excuse me.  I set my clocks forward for Daylight Saving Time, but I didn’t gain an hour of daylight.  Did you?  Both yesterday and today had exactly the same number hours of daylight as Saturday.  My day still has only 24 hours.  Did you gain that hour of daylight or do you only have 24 hours in your day?

We give thanks to you, O God; we give thanks; your name is near.  People tell of your wondrous deeds.

At the set time that I appoint I will judge with equity.  When the earth totters, with all its inhabitants, it is I who keep its pillars steady.  I say to the boastful, “Do not boast,” and to the wicked, “Do not lift up your horn; do not lift up your horn on high or speak with insolent neck.”

For not from the east or from the west and not from the wilderness comes lifting up; but it is God who executes judgment, putting down one and lifting up another.  For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed; he will pour a draught from it and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs.  But I will rejoice forever; I will sing praises to the God of Jacob.

All the horns of the wicked I will cut off, but the horns of righteous shall be exalted.

Psalm 75

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 Fight of Your Life: Why Your Teen Is at Risk and What Only You Can Do About It

Multnomah Books (February 17, 2009)

Jeffrey Dean is the author of Watch This, This Is Me, and the One-Liner Wisdombooks for Multnomah. The founder of Jeffrey Dean Ministries, he speaks to more than 150,000 teens each year about teen issues and culture. He lives in Nashville with his wife and family.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books (February 17, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601421109
ISBN-13: 978-1601421104

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Grappling with the Enemy

Every teen is in a battle. Parent, did you know that? I’ll say it again: every teen is in a battle. Including your teen.

If this “battle” talk sounds like a bit of a stretch to you, let me tell you about Rhys. A few summers ago I spoke at a camp. After an evening session, one of the guy counselors, Rhys, asked if we could talk. A clean-cut nineteen-year-old, Rhys was heading into his sophomore year at a well known Christian college. His eyes reflected sadness that I couldn’t fathom.

He told me he had a lot of nightmares and a lot of guilt.

During his senior year of high school, Rhys and his girlfriend, Emily, were fairly typical Christian kids. They were both active in youth group, had pledged to abstain from sex until marriage, and were known in their circles of friends as “good kids.”

But on the night of their senior prom, everything went crazy. Rhys admitted, “One thing led to another, and we pretty much did it all that night. Fooling around, drinking, drugs…you name it.” Tragically, Emily overdosed on the drugs, went into a coma, and never came out of it. A week later, she died.

This is an extreme story, yes, but it happened. As I speak to highschool-age students around the country, I hear stories you wouldn’t believe. Welcome to the world of today’s teens. It’s a fight, and every teen today is engaged in it.

This fight is about a tsunami of information, communication, anything-goes ethics, and the inevitable moral experimentation that results. It’s a world of light-speed Internet, texting, unlimited access to online porn, oral-sex parties, MySpace, cutting, Wicca, drinking, drugs, and more.

The world of today’s teens moves at a pace you and I would never have dreamed of when we were teens. It’s a world where hooking up has nothing to do with a fishing lure, spam isn’t something you eat, and pharming doesn’t require a tractor. Almost weekly, teens write to me about addictions to types of drugs that weren’t around twenty years ago. At seminars across the country, I meet students who have contracted sexually transmitted diseases.

By the time they graduate from high school, most seniors tell me, they have consumed alcohol and been offered drugs. Most teens I meet say that marijuana is easily accessible. It doesn’t matter whether they attend public schools or Christian schools; students know where drugs are used, kept, and sold. Many tell me they know a friend or classmate who has abused prescription drugs.

Here’s the fact that keeps me awake at night: Rhys and Emily could have been anyone’s teens. They are from a generation of teens bombarded by lies, hungry for help, and desperate for truth. Not every teen will face exactly what Rhys and Emily faced, but war is the daily reality for every teen.

That is why I say that as a parent, you are facing the fight of your life.

Why This Book Is for Every Parent

Maybe you’re thinking this book isn’t for you. Your teen appears to be doing well. And it’s true: there are many Bible-believing, church-attending teens who desire to live lives surrendered to Christ. Your teen may be one of them.

Or maybe you’re at the other end of the spectrum. The choices your teen has made so far have pushed your family to the breaking point. You’re feeling hopeless, ready to throw in the towel.

Wherever your teen is at in his or her journey, this book is for you. No matter what the situation looks like on the surface, every teen faces struggles, temptations, issues, fears, and challenges. Every teen has to navigate the confusing waters of today’s culture. Every teen is only one choice away from hurt, addiction, heartbreak, and more.

The scary thing with teenagers is that often we don’t know exactly what they’re thinking or feeling, even when they live under our own roofs! For the past fifteen years, I’ve been touring the country, speaking—and more important, listening—to teens. Some three hundred fifty thousand teens a year check out my Web site, and more than fifty thousand read and respond to my blog. Teens tell me things they often don’t share with their parents. That’s why I wanted to write this book—not to break their confidences, but to give you the inside scoop on what I’m hearing so you can help your teen in the battle.

In the struggles teens face, they have a common enemy: the devil. And he hates these kids. More specifically, he’s your teen’s number one enemy. His task is to steal, kill, and destroy (see John 10:10), and he wants to lure your teen away from the truth and lead your teen toward destruction. Sure, movement toward destruction is more evident in some teens than in others. But no teen is immune to spiritual warfare. So, as a parent, your call is to grab your weapons, jump into the battlefield on your teen’s side, and be ready to give it all you’ve got.

Playing Offense

The idea of fighting for your teen might almost scare you off. Hey, you’re just trying to pay the electric bill, pick up the kids from soccer practice on time, and serve something for dinner that didn’t come from a drive-through.

But I won’t sugarcoat what’s happening in your teen’s world. As a parent, you are engaged in one of the greatest fights of your life. It’s already on, whether you want it or not. Every day a war is being waged for the soul of your teen. The question isn’t, are you at war? The question is, are you equipped to do battle?

Here’s what the Bible says about it: “Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith” (1 Timothy 6:11–12, emphasis added).

“Fight the good fight”—that’s the battle you are in. You are called to faithfully fight for what’s right. Just as Satan is fighting to steal, kill, and destroy your teen, so you must be a fighter, helping your teen to win! Recently a mother talked to me about her teenage son. “Jeffrey,” she said, “my son has never smoked pot, checked out porn, or been sexually active. His grades are good, and his friends are well behaved. He loves going to youth group at church and believes God is calling him into pastoral ministry. I am so glad that God has given us our son.”

I congratulated her on the successes of her son and on her parenting skills, then asked, “What are you doing each day to ensure that your son continues down this good road?”

“What do you mean?” she said, looking perplexed.

“What steps have you put into place to safeguard your son from the Enemy?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Everything’s going so well—I haven’t

thought about it much.”

Together we discussed a plan for her to pray daily for her son, to keep speaking truths into his life, and to keep the lines of communication open with him about his personal life. Most important, we talked about ways she could continue to help him grow in a daily and intimate

walk with God.

That’s what the fight looks like in action. It’s easy to believe that good parenting means checking off a list of positive accomplishments for a son or daughter:

? My teen is a Christian.

? My teen regularly attends youth group.

? My teen dates a Christian (or doesn’t date at all).

? My teen doesn’t watch MTV.

? My teen ___________________ (has this form of observable good behavior).

You may be able to place a check beside any one or all of these statements. But helping your teen through these intense years isn’t simply about completing a checklist. You need to be looking ahead, adapting and strategizing as the flow of the battle changes, and working to both guide and guard your teen through obstacles to victory. It means approaching parenting on the offense as you work toward a goal, rather than sitting back and waiting for the other side to come at you.

Undoubtedly you’ve heard messages about how to deal with personal struggles, how to climb back up after failing, how to overcome addictions, and the like. But what if, rather than living life on cruise control, you lived life on enemy patrol—watching, being prepared, planning, developing a game plan for life, and putting into practice the principles that shape character and truth?

This is the idea behind the warning God gives in 1 Peter 5:8: “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”

God has not created you to simply survive. He has created you to thrive, to experience the abundant life. When it comes to your teen, 1 Peter 5:8 warns that parents must be found with weapon in hand, ready to fight on behalf of their teens.

A mom recently said to me, “I realized years ago that I can’t sit around assuming that my kids are going to naturally come talk to me about all the stuff in their lives. I have to go to them. I have to initiate conversations. I have to look for moments of opportunity to get them talking. Because if I don’t, I’ll probably never know what they’re up against out there.”

That’s it! This mother is in the war room every day, plotting against the Enemy of her teen. She’s studying the Enemy’s tactics so she can guide and guard her teen as he moves toward a deeper and more intimate walk with God.

The Confidence to Go for It

The idea of fighting can seem daunting. But my goal in this book isn’t to scare you. It’s to help you see that the fight is real, that you’re in it whether you like it or not, and that you can win the war.

This is your moment. When God created you, He created you to be the parent your teen needs you to be. God would never have given you the privilege of being a parent if He didn’t have an awesome plan for you in the process. God has called you to be a fighter—and He has given you everything you need to fight and to win for your teen.

This book will help you go the distance. In the pages ahead, we’ll discuss strategies for going on the offense. We’ll talk about what it means to study your teen’s culture so you can live with your eyes wide open—ready, armed, and alert. We’ll talk about how one of your greatest strategies, prayer, is actually one of the simplest and how the prayer of a righteous parent is an incredibly powerful and effective tool in this fight (see James 5:16). We’ll talk about specific issues your teen is facing (issues that definitely were not around when you were a teen), and we’ll look at how these issues don’t need to surprise you or catch you off guard. We’ll look at specific, detailed battle plans that include the tools and resources you need. We’ll talk about how your role isn’t to prop up your teen or ultimately save him or her, but to teach discernment and provide a solid foundation from which your teen can do battle. We’ll show you how to provide your teen with armor for fighting and wings for flying. And we’ll talk about the incredible privilege you have been given to encourage your teen to live wholeheartedly for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the fighter who is greater than anything this world can throw your teen’s way.

Your Fighting Positions

Right from the get-go, let’s take a look at five main fighting positions necessary for being armed and active in this fight. Keep these fighting positions in mind as you move forward to the following chapters.

The Sweeping Aside Motion

This means, the past is in the past. Helping your teen win the war isn’t about questioning what you could have done yesterday. It is about establishing a battle plan for what you are going to do today, tomorrow, and beyond. It’s never too late to reach out to your teen, to learn to communicate again, to listen, to speak words of wisdom into your teen’s life. Start today.

The Gritting Your Teeth Gesture

This means, whatever it takes is whatever it takes. There will be times when you will be challenged to move out of your comfort zone. Your goal must be to arm yourself for battle and be ready to do whatever is necessary to guide and guard your teen through these entangling years. Be fearless.

The Ultimate Power Stance

This means, pray for your teen every day. The Ultimate Power Stance is kneeling. If you are not praying for your teen every day, start now. If you are, keep it up. Prayer is the key to it all. I can’t reiterate this enough. Praying for your teen is the single most powerful tool you have in this fight.

The Open Book Motion

This means, you are now a student of teen culture. The world moves at an incredibly fast pace today. To keep up with what’s up in your teen’s world takes time, energy, effort, and motivation. What’s current today might not have been current yesterday. From here on out, make it one of your primary ambitions to study and learn about the world your teen lives in.

The Deep Breath Posture

This means, the battle is a fight of endurance. You develop a realistic strategy for success by taking it one step at a time. Remember, winning the fight is not about doing everything today. It’s about being faithful over the long haul.

Power for Your Toughest Job

Parenting is likely the toughest job you will ever have. Don’t assume that your teen is exempt from any issue discussed in the coming pages. At some point, on some level, every teen will encounter every issue described in this book. As a parent, you need to be equipped. It is my hope that this book will be a powerful resource you use to arm yourself and your teen to win the battle being waged for his or her soul. Remember the Ultimate Power Stance? Let’s take a moment to pray right now for your teen, for what we’ll talk about ahead in this book, and for how life may change.

Praying Scripture for Your Teen

Lord, You say in Your Word that if we seek You we’ll be able to

find You. Troubles may come and awful things may happen,

but You listen and You care. You’re a compassionate God. You

will not abandon my family. Please guide me in this fight for

my teen. You are God. You are good. Give me Your strength,

Your wisdom, and Your perspective. I put my trust in You.

Amen.

BASED ON DEUTERONOMY 4:29

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:

Last Mango in Texas

FaithWords (March 13, 2009)

Ray Blackston of Greenville, South Carolina, worked as a buyer and a broker for eleven years before cashing in his modest 401k and leaving his corporate cubicle to write full time. He serves on the missions committee of his church, has traveled to rural Ecuador on a summer missions program, and coaches his seven-year-old nephew, Action Jackson, in T-Ball.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (March 13, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446579610
ISBN-13: 978-0446579612

I love mangoes, but I wasn’t expecting a book about Texas mangoes.  Well, this Mango is not the ordinary, run of the mill Mango.  Shortly before graduating from college, Kyle Mango inherited four oil wells.  He thought that he would be able to use that to impress the lady of his dreams.  Before he could tell her about his good luck, she ended up in Alaska as a volunteer cleaning birds which had the misfortune to be caught in an oil slick.  How can a Texas oilman persuade a bird loving free spirit that they are destined to be a couple?  You’ll have to read the book to find out.  I can’t tell.  I haven’t finished the book yet and I don’t have any more time to mess around here.  I’ve got to find out how or if they get together.  Hope you enjoy the book as much as I am.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Please press the Open Book Widget to read the first chapter.

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:

Milk Money (Maryland Wedding Series #2)

Barbour Publishing, Inc (2008)

Cecelia Dowdy is a world traveler who has been an avid reader for as long as she can remember. When she first read Christian fiction, she felt called to write for the genre.She loves to read, write, and bake desserts in her spare time. Currently she resides with her husband and young son in Maryland.

Visit the author’s website and blog.

Product Details:

Mass Market Paperback: 170 pages
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602602557
ISBN-13: 978-1602602557

I’ve really been enjoying Cecelia Dowdy’s books.  They aren’t the typical boy meets girl, boy jumps hurdle and they live happily ever after variety.  In Milk Money  Emily seems to be doing a pretty good job of running the farm and her life until an unwanted CPA comes along and complicates matters by telling her things she doesn’t want to hear.  There’s an ocean of differences between the two and not ones that are easily overcome.  Do they manage?  Read it and see.  If you read John’s Quest, I already know you will enjoy this book just as much.  And you’ll be waiting with me for Cecelia to bring out another book.  Since this is only the second in the series, I’m hoping we can look forward to many more.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

She opened her eyes.

“Casey, hold on,” she cooed. When he watched the birth, his sour stomach worsened, and the bagel and cream cheese he’d managed to eat for breakfast felt like a dead weight in his belly. Her tears mingled with the sweat rolling down her face. She continued to pull and glanced in his direction. “Oh, thank God you came. Come and help me.”

A plethora of unfamiliar scents tingled his nose. He swallowed, losing his voice. What was he supposed to do? She continued to look at him, pulling on the rope periodically.

“I already left a message on your answering service that it was coming out backward.” Pushing the door open, he entered the room adjoining the barn, still hoping he wouldn’t throw up. She nodded toward the rope, still tugging. “With both of us pulling, maybe we’ll be able to get the calf out.”

“Okay.” He swallowed his nausea and pulled, mimicking the way he used to grunt when bench-pressing heavy weights. He followed her example, keeping tension on the rope and pulling each time the cow had a contraction. She grunted also, and their noises continued until the calf exited the birth canal minutes later. She dropped the rope, and he rushed behind her to look at the young animal. He touched the newborn,

awed by the birth. She glanced at him as she cleaned gunk off the calf ’s nose and mouth.

Her sigh filled the space when she noticed the animal was breathing. “Aren’t you going to examine the cow and calf?”

Before he could respond, a young man holding a large black plastic tote entered the pen. “This the Cooper farm?”

Confusion marred her face when she glanced at Frank. Then she focused on the new arrival. The newcomer rushed to the baby cow and began examining it. “I’m Dr. Lindsey’s son. I’m taking over my daddy’s practice this week since he’s on vacation. He told you that, didn’t he?”

She nodded, still looking confused. “I left a message on your answering service earlier.”

The vet grunted. “I was down the street at the horse farm helping out with another birth, so I couldn’t leave.”

“Are the cow and calf okay?”

“They both look fine.” He stopped his examination and looked at them. “I’m glad you had somebody helping you. You might not have gotten him out in time if you’d been pulling him on your own.” He pulled a tool out of his bag. “You have antibiotic on hand for the calf, right? If not, I’ve got some.”

The attractive woman nodded, her dark hair clinging to her sweaty neck as she promised the vet she would give the new calf the medicine. Frank watched, mesmerized by the whole process. A short time later, the newborn nursed from the mother. “Thank you, doctor,” said the woman, patting the man on the shoulder.

The doctor shook his head, placing his tools back into his bag. “Don’t thank me. You two got him out in time.” He told Emily he would send her the bill, and then he left the farm.

Emily glanced at Frank, as if taking in his khaki slacks and oxford shirt. Noticing his bloody hands, she beckoned him over to a room containing a sink and a large steel tank. After ripping off the long plastic gloves covering her hands and forearms

and dropping them into the trash can, she turned the water on, pumped out several squirts of soap, and washed. “I thought you were the vet,” she said, continuing to scrub her hands and forearms. “I’ve never met Dr. Lindsey’s son, so that’s why I

assumed you were him.” After rinsing, she pulled paper towels from a dispenser and gestured for Frank to use the sink.

Frank shrugged and walked to the sink, placing his hands under the running water. “Sorry. I helped you out, but I didn’t have any idea if I was doing it right. It’s probably good I showed up when I did. It looked like you’d been trying to help

that cow for a long time.”

She shook her head. “Cows are tough. They can be in labor for hours before giving birth. When you came, I’d just started pulling the calf out with the rope.” She continued to stare, frowning. “Well, if you’re not Dr. Lindsey’s son, then who are

you?”

He offered his recently washed hand, glad the nauseous feeling had evaporated from his stomach. “I’m Franklin Reese, Certified Public Accountant.”