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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:

June Bug

Tyndale House Publishers (July 9, 2009)

Chris Fabry is a native of West Virginia who hosts the daily program Chris Fabry Live! on Moody Radio. He and his wife, Andrea, are the parents of nine children. Chris is the author of Dogwood, his first novel for adults, and co-author of Jim Tressel’s New York Times best-selling The Winners Manual. Chris has also published more than sixty other books, including many novels for children and young adults.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (July 9, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414319568
ISBN-13: 978-1414319568

ISLAND BREEZES

This is one really good book.  It starts out on a different foot when June Bug sees her picture in Wal-Mart.  Now this child has nothing but questions about her name and background, but no answers.  I’ve just started on chapter six and don’t really have time to be writing this review.  I’m sorry.  I have to get back to my book.  It’s too good to put down.  If you really want to know what this book is all about, go out and get your own and start reading.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

My dad says there’s a lot of things people don’t need and that their houses get cluttered with it and they store it in basements that flood and get ruined, so it’s better to live simple and do what you want rather than get tied down to a mortgage—whatever that is. I guess that’s why we live in an RV. Some people say “live out of,” but I don’t see how you can live out of something when you’re living inside it and that’s what we do. Daddy sleeps on the bed by the big window in the back, and I sleep in the one over the driver’s seat. You have to remember not to sit up real quick in the morning or you’ll have a headache all day, but it’s nice having your own room.

I believed everything my daddy told me until I walked into Walmart and saw my picture on a poster over by the place where the guy with the blue vest stands. He had clear tubes going into his nose, and a hiss of air came out every time he said, “Welcome to Walmart.”

My eyes were glued to that picture. I didn’t hear much of anything except the lady arguing with the woman at the first register over a return of some blanket the lady swore she bought there. The Walmart lady’s voice was getting all trembly. She said there was nothing she could do about it, which made the customer woman so mad she started cussing and calling the woman behind the counter names that probably made people blush.

The old saying is that the customer is always right, but I think it’s more like the customer is as mean as a snake sometimes. I’ve seen them come through the line and stuff a bunch of things under their carts where the cashier won’t see it and leave without paying. Big old juice boxes and those frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Those look good but Daddy says if you have to freeze your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then something has gone wrong with the world, and I think he’s right. He says it’s a sin to be mean to workers at Walmart because they let us use their parking lot. He also says that when they start putting vitamins and minerals in Diet Coke the Apocalypse is not far behind. I don’t know what the Apocalypse is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right about that too.

You can’t know the feeling of seeing your picture on a wall inside a store unless it has happened to you, and I have to believe I am in a small group of people on the planet. It was all I could do to just suck in a little air and keep my heart beating because I swear I could feel it slow down to almost nothing. Daddy says a hummingbird’s heart beats something like a million times a minute. I was the opposite of a hummingbird, standing there with my eyes glued to that picture. Some people going outside had to walk around me to the Exit doors, but I couldn’t move. I probably looked strange—just a girl staring at the Picture Them Home shots with an ache or emptiness down deep that I can’t tell anybody about. It’s like trying to tell people what it feels like to have your finger smashed in a grocery cart outside when it’s cold. It doesn’t do any good to tell things like that. Nobody would listen anyway because they’re in a hurry to get back to their houses with all the stuff in them and the mortgage to pay, I guess.

The photo wasn’t exactly me. It was “like” me, almost like I was looking in a mirror. On the left was a real picture of me from when I was little. I’d never seen a picture like that because my dad says he doesn’t have any of them. I’ve gone through his stuff, and unless he’s got a really good hiding place, he’s telling the truth. On the right side was the picture of what I would look like now, which was pretty close to the real me. The computer makes your face fuzzy around the nose and the eyes, but there was no mistake in my mind that I was looking at the same face I see every morning in the rearview.

The girl’s name was Natalie Anne Edwards, and I rolled it around in my head as the people wheeled their carts past me to get to the Raisin Bran that was two for four dollars in the first aisle by the pharmacy. I’d seen it for less, so I couldn’t see the big deal.

Natalie Anne Edwards

DOB: June 20, 2000 Age Now: 9

Missing Date: June 16, 2002 Sex: Female

Estimated Height: 4’3″ (130 cm) Estimated Weight: 80 lbs (36 kg)

Eyes: Blue Hair: Red

Race: White

Missing From: Dogwood, WV

United States

Natalie’s photo is shown age progressed to 9 years. She is missing from Dogwood, West Virginia. She has a dark birthmark on her left cheek. She was taken on June 16, 2002, by an unknown abductor.

I felt my left cheek and the birthmark there. Daddy says it looks a little like some guy named Nixon who was president before he was born, but I try not to look at it except when I’m in the bathroom or when I have my mirror out in bed and I’m using my flashlight. I’ve always wondered if the mark was the one thing my mother gave me or if there was anything she cared to give me at all. Daddy doesn’t talk much about her unless I get to nagging him, and then he’ll say something like, “She was a good woman,” and leave it at that. I’ll poke around a little more until he tells me to stop it. He says not to pick at things or they’ll never get better, but some scabs call out to you every day.

I kept staring at the picture and my name, the door opening and closing behind me and a train whistle sounding in the distance, which I think is one of the loneliest sounds in the world, especially at night with the crickets chirping. My dad says he loves to go to sleep to the sound of a train whistle because it reminds him of his childhood.

The guy with the tubes in his nose came up behind me. “You all right, little girl?”

It kind of scared me—not as much as having to go over a bridge but pretty close. I don’t know what it is about bridges. Maybe it’s that I’m afraid the thing is going to collapse. I’m not really scared of the water because my dad taught me to swim early on. There’s just something about bridges that makes me quiver inside, and that’s why Daddy told me to always crawl up in my bed and sing “I’ll Fly Away,” which is probably my favorite song. He tries to warn me in advance of big rivers like the Mississippi when we’re about to cross them or he’ll get an earful of screams.

I nodded to the man with the tubes and left, but I couldn’t help glancing back at myself. I walked into the bathroom and sat in the stall awhile and listened to the speakers and the tinny music. Then I thought, The paper says my birthday is June 20, but Daddy says it’s April 9. Maybe it’s not really me.

When I went back out and looked again, there was no doubt in my mind. That was me up there behind the glass. And I couldn’t figure out a good way to ask Daddy why he had lied to me or why he called me June Bug instead of Natalie Anne. In the books I read and the movies I’ve seen on DVD—back when we had a player that worked—there’s always somebody at the end who comes out and says, “I love you” and makes everything all right. I wonder if that’ll ever happen to me. I guess there’s a lot of people who want somebody to tell them, “I love you.”

I wandered to electronics and the last aisle where they have stereos and headsets and stuff. I wasn’t searching for anything in particular, just piddling around, trying to get that picture out of my head.

Three girls ran back to the same aisle and pawed through the flip-flops.

“This is going to be so much fun!” a girl with two gold rings on her fingers said. “I think Mom will let me sleep over at your house tonight.”

“Can’t,” the one with long brown hair said. “I’ve got swim practice early in the morning.”

“You can sleep over at my house,” the third one said almost in a whine, like she was pleading for something she knew she wouldn’t get. She wore glasses and weighed about as much as a postage stamp. “I don’t have to do anything tomorrow.”

Gold Rings ignored her and pulled out a pair of pink shoes with green and yellow circles. The price said $13.96. “These will be perfect—don’t you think?”

“Mom said to find ones that are cheap and plain so we can decorate them,” Brown Hair said.

“What about tomorrow night?” Gold Rings said. “We could rent a movie and sleep over at my house. You don’t have swim practice Thursday, do you?”

They talked and giggled and moved on down the aisle, and I wondered what it would be like to have a friend ask you to sleep over. Or just to have a friend. Living on the road in a rolling bedroom has its advantages, but it also has its drawbacks, like never knowing where you’re going to be from one day to the next. Except when your RV breaks down and you can’t find the right part for it, which is why we’ve been at this same Walmart a long time.

“You still here, girl?” someone said behind me.

I turned to see the lady with the blue vest and a badge that said Assistant Manager. The three girls must have picked up their flip-flops and ran because when I looked back around they were gone. The lady’s hair was blonde, a little too blonde, but she had a pretty face that made me think she might have won some beauty contest in high school. Her khaki pants were a little tight, and she wore white shoes that didn’t make any noise at all when she walked across the waxed floor, which was perfect when she wanted to sneak up on three girls messing with the flip-flops.

“Did your dad get that part he was looking for?” she said, bending down.

“No, ma’am, not yet.” There was almost something kind in her eyes, like I could trust her with some deep, dark secret if I had one. Then I remembered I did have one, but I wasn’t about to tell the first person I talked to about my picture.

“It must be hard being away from your family. Where’s your mama?”

“I don’t have one.”

She turned her head a little. “You mean she passed?”

I shrugged. “I just don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a mama. It’s a fact of life.” She sat on a stool used when you try on the shoes and I saw myself in the mirror at the bottom. I couldn’t help thinking about the picture at the front of the store and that the face belonged to someone named Natalie Anne.

“Are you two on a trip? Must be exciting traveling in that RV. I’ve always wanted to take off and leave my troubles behind.”

When I didn’t say anything, she looked at the floor and I could see the dark roots. She smelled pretty, like a field of flowers in spring. And her fingernails were long and the tips white.

She touched a finger to an eye and tried to get at something that seemed to be bothering her. “My manager is a good man, but he can get cranky about things. He mentioned your RV and said it would need to be moved soon.”

“But Daddy said you’d let us park as long as we needed.”

She nodded. “Now don’t worry. This is all going to work out. Just tell your dad to come in and talk with me, okay? The corporate policy is to let people . . .”

I didn’t know what a corporate policy was, and I was already torn up about finding out my new name, so I didn’t pay much attention to the rest of what she had to say. Then she looked at me with big brown eyes that I thought would be nice to say good night to, and I noticed she didn’t wear a wedding ring. I didn’t used to notice things like that, but life can change you.

“Maybe you could come out and talk to him,” I said.

She smiled and then looked away. “What did you have for supper tonight?”

“We didn’t really have anything. He gave me a few dollars to get Subway, but I’m tired of those.”

She touched my arm. “It’ll be all right. Don’t you worry. My name’s Sheila. What’s yours?”

“June Bug,” I said. For the first time in my life I knew I was lying about my name.

***

Johnson stared at the sun through the rear window. Pollen from the pine trees and dirt from a morning rain streaked it yellow and brown in a haphazard design. Three Mexicans climbed out of a Ford. Tools piled in the back of the truck and compost and some black tarp. One slapped another on the back and dust flew up. Another knocked the guy’s hat off and they laughed.

The sun was at the trees on the top of the nearby mountain, then in them, and going down fast. An orange glow settled in and Johnson’s stomach growled. He glanced across the parking lot at the neon liquor store sign next to the Checker Auto Parts, and his throat parched.

A newer RV, a Monaco Camelot, had parked at the end of the lot, and the owner pulled a shade at the front windshield for privacy. He wondered what driving one of those would be like. How much mileage it would get per gallon. The smooth ride on the road. Almost looked like a rolling hotel.

He sat up and looked out the front of the RV. The way they were parked gave him a good view of the store’s entrance. An old guy with an oxygen tank pushed two carts inside. The man smiled and greeted a mom and her children.

Johnson hit the down arrow on his laptop. One green light on the wireless network from the coffee shop. He wished he had parked closer to the end of the lot, but he hadn’t planned on getting stuck here.

A loud knock at the door, like he’d just run over someone’s dog and it was under the back tire yelping. Johnson moved slowly, but he was agile in his bare feet. He caught a glimpse of the guy in the right mirror. Blue vest. Portly. Maybe thirty but not much older. Probably got the job through someone he knew. Johnson opened the door and nodded at the man.

“Just wondering how long you’re thinking of staying,” the man said. There was an edge to his voice, like he was nervous about something.

Johnson stepped down onto the asphalt that was still warm from the sun but not unbearable. “Like I said, I’m waiting on a part. If I could get out of here, believe me I’d be long gone.”

The man looked at the ground. “Well, you’ll have to move on. It’s been—”

“Three weeks.”

“—three weeks and it could be three more before whatever part you’re looking for comes, so I think it’s best you move on.”

“And how do you want me to move it? Push it to the interstate?”

“I can call a tow truck.”

Johnson looked away. Boy Scouts at the Entrance sign were selling lightbulbs. Pink and orange clouds had turned blue, like something was roiling on the other side of the mountain. A black-and-white police car pulled into the parking lot and passed them. The man in the vest waved and the officer returned it.

“I’ll give you one more night,” the manager said. “If you’re not out of here by morning, I’m calling the towing company.”

Johnson wanted to say something more, but he just pursed his lips and nodded and watched the man waddle, pigeon-toed, back to the store.

The girl came out and passed the manager, smiling and swinging a blue bag. She had a new spiral notebook inside. She’d filled more of those things than he could count, and it didn’t look like she was slowing down.

“Did you get your work done?” she said as she bounded in and tossed the bag on her bed.

Johnson opened the fridge and took out a warm can of Dr Pepper. “Enough.”

“What did the manager guy want?”

“He said we’d won a shopping spree.”

“He did not.”

Johnson took a long pull from the can and belched. “He was just wondering how long we’d be here.”

“I met a friend,” the girl said, her face shining. “She’s really nice. And pretty. And I don’t think she’s married. And she has the most beautiful eyes.”

“June Bug, the last thing we need is somebody with her eyes on this treasure.” He spread his arms out in the RV. “What woman could resist this castle?”

“She’s not after your treasure. She just cares about us. She said the manager guy was getting upset that we’ve been here so long. Is that what he told you?”

“Nah, this is a big parking lot. We’re gonna be fine. Did you get something to eat?”

June Bug shook her head and climbed up to her bed. “Almost finished with my last journal. I want to start a new one tonight.”

“What do you put in those things? What kind of stuff do you write down?”

“I don’t know. Just things that seem important. Places we’ve been. It’s sort of like talking to a friend who won’t tell your secrets.”

“What kind of secrets?”

She slipped off her plastic shoes and let them fall to the floor, then opened the bag and took out a dark green notebook. “When you tell me what you’re writing about on that computer, I’ll tell you what’s in my notebooks.”

Johnson smiled and took another drink from the can, then tossed it in the trash.

At the storefront, the police car had stopped and the manager leaned over the open window.

Excerpted from June Bug by Chris Fabry. Copyright © 2009 by Chris Fabry. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.

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

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

and the book:

A Perfect Mess

WaterBrook Press (June 2, 2009)

Lisa Harper is a master storyteller whose lively approach connects the dots between the Bible era and modern life. She is a sought-after Bible teacher and speaker whose upcoming appearances include the national Women of Faith Conferences. A veteran of numerous radio and television programs and the author of several books, she also is a regular columnist for Today’s Christian Woman magazine. Lisa recently completed a master’s of theological studies from Covenant Theological Seminary. She makes her home outside Nashville.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press (June 2, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1400074797
ISBN-13: 978-1400074792

ISLAND BREEZES

I’ve been spending a lot of time reading the Psalms lately, and this book has given more meaning to my studies.  Lisa Harper has a way with words that brings it right home to me.  The questions at the end of each chapter brings even more relevance to a woman’s every day life. 

Don’t you have those days when everything ends up being a perfect mess?  Grab your shovel.  We’re going in.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

What Psalm 1 reveals about avoiding potholes in the path of life

God’s words, creating

and saving words every one,

hit us where we live.

—Eugene H. Peterson

I’m a sucker for fashionable shoes. Unfortunately, cool “kicks” are often synonymous with wincing in agony. Which was the case a few months ago when I became madly infatuated with a pair of black, knee-high, leather boots while shopping in Chicago. When I tried them on and pranced around in a circle to impress my friends Kim and Sharon, they both looked dubious. Kim even asked, “Are you sure they’re comfortable? Because you look like you’re walking funny.”

I replied flippantly, “Yeah, they’re comfortable. And aren’t they the most gorgeous boots you’ve ever seen?” while intentionally taking slower steps so as not to teeter in front of them anymore.

Of course, they weren’t comfortable at all. I should’ve done the smart thing and put those boots back into the box they came from. I should’ve told the solicitous Nordstrom clerk, “No thank you,” and walked out of the store empty-handed. But I’m more of an impulse shopper than an intelligent consumer, especially when it comes to shoes. So I surrendered the Visa and assured myself, They’re just a little stiff because they’re made of such high-quality Italian leather. It won’t take long for them to get broken in, and then they’ll be as comfortable as a pair of slippers.

I foolishly decided to break them in that very night at a business event because they complemented the outfit I was wearing. I was convinced the cuteness factor far outweighed the possibility of discomfort. Besides, I reasoned, a little pinch is nothing compared to how hip these boots will make me look.

Less than an hour later I was hobbling around like a geisha. And by the time the emcee introduced me, I no longer had any sensation in my toes. I limped mincingly to the podium and tried to focus on speaking while fearing my feet were in the initial stages of gangrene. All the while, my friends sat on the front row wearing “I told you so” expressions. Afterward they teased that I should’ve explained the new-shoe shuffle to the audience. They mused that some people might have wondered if I’d been boozing it up beforehand since I couldn’t walk right all night!

Walking right is the theme of Psalm 1. This first song in the Psalter emphasizes how we must follow our heavenly Father’s path instead of being lured off course by what ungodly people proclaim to be fashionable. And this ode to obedience includes a warning as well: attempting to be hip in ways that aren’t cool with God will ultimately lead to hobbling around in pain, separated from the only One who loves you unconditionally.

“JOY” THIEVES

I can’t help but grin over the fact that the book of Psalms begins with the word happy. And I find it especially intriguing that the happiness in Psalm 1 isn’t associated with eating dark chocolate or finding a pair of designer shoes on the clearance rack. Instead this literary smiley face refers to the profound joy and satisfaction that accompany walking closely with God:1

Happy are those who don’t listen to the wicked,

who don’t go where sinners go,

who don’t do what evil people do. Psalm 1:1, NCV

?When was the last time you hobbled around in pain due to your own foolish choices?

One Sunday when I was in junior high school, I was sitting in church beside a cute lothario named Gary. You can imagine how I felt when this suave young man, who was five years older than I and the object of a huge crush on my part, put his arm around my shoulders. We were sitting a few pews in front of Dad, and although Gary’s attention was so titillating I couldn’t pay attention to the sermon, I could sense Dad’s disapproval wafting through the sanctuary. When the service was over, my normally soft spoken father pulled me aside and declared, “I’d better never catch you swapping slobber with that boy.” Then he tersely told me to get in the car.

We drove home in uncomfortable silence, my dad staring straight ahead and me staring out the window thinking, I hope none of my friends heard Dad. I can’t believe he actually said “slobber”! Ugh, I wish he wasn’t such a fuddy duddy. After we had pulled into the driveway and I had started walking toward the house,

Dad finally broke the silence by saying, “Lisa, come over here for a minute.” He motioned for me to join him by the picnic table. I approached with a cautious “Yes sir,” and he said, “I want you to get up on the table.” I thought, Oh man, Dad’s losing it! But he looked so serious that I obediently climbed on top of the picnic table.

Then he held up his arms and said, “Take hold of my hands. Now when I say go, I want you to try to pull me up while I try to pull you off.” Of course, the minute he said go and pulled, I had to jump down because I couldn’t keep my balance. Dad smiled—sort of sadly—and patted the bench beside him. When I sat down, he said, “Honey, you need to realize that it’s almost impossible to raise someone else up to your standards. If you choose to be with people who have lower morals, nine times out of ten they’ll pull you down to their level.”

PSALMS:

THE INSIDE STORY

The Hebrew word for

“happy” in Psalm 1:1 is

’ašr-ey, which can also be

translated “blessed.”2

It wasn’t until a year or two later, after Gary had thoroughly rebelled against his Christian upbringing and gotten a young girl pregnant, that Dad’s backyard object lesson really hit home. I realized he wasn’t being a fuddy-duddy when he warned me about sharing spit with the community Casanova; he was protecting me. Dad knew what my adolescent heart had yet to learn: bad company is as corrosive as battery acid. Lounging around with unrepentant rebels is a sure way to lose your joy.

Which is the bottom line of the beginning of Psalm 1: happiness can’t keep company with wickedness.

ABBA’S ARBORETUM

My first tour of Israel ranks way up there on the “a few of my favorite things” list. The Mount of Beatitudes left me speechless. The Wailing Wall left me in tears. And the Garden Tomb left me giddy with gratitude. But the parched terrain of the Promised Land initially left me puzzled. I guess I’d always imagined Israel as a lush green landscape dotted with fluffy white sheep and bearded guys playing harps under big shade trees (largely due to the influence of flannel-graph lessons in Vacation Bible School). It took a few days after landing at the Tel Aviv airport for me to get used to the wind-swept panorama of thorn bushes, rocks, and scruffy little acacia

THE JOY OF DOING GOOD

In a recent research project on the

source of happiness, psychologists

found that “the more virtue-building

activities people engaged in, the happier

they said they were both on the day in

question and on the following day.” But

they noted with some surprise, “there

was no relationship between pleasure seeking

and happiness.”3

trees. As if I were using an Etch A Sketch, I had to shake the image of a garden from my mind and twist the dials to redraw Israel as a desert.

The reality of Israel’s arid topography is what makes the lush imagery in the next two verses so striking.

They love the LORD’s teachings,

and they think about those teachings day and night.

They are strong, like a tree planted by a river.

The tree produces fruit in season,

and its leaves don’t die.

Everything they do will succeed. Psalm 1:2–3, NCV

It’s unlikely this psalmist had ever seen a big tree unless it had been transplanted, which is a more accurate translation of the word “planted” in verse 3.4 As a matter of fact, quality lumber was such a scarcity in Israel (except for olive trees, which are more valuable for their oil than their timber) that Solomon actually had to arrange for cedar beams to be floated in from Lebanon when they were building the temple in Jerusalem.5 That’s why this arbor metaphor is an unmistakable reference to God’s blessing; only He could make a tree grow strong and tall in the sweltering heat and sandy soil of Israel. Only He could cultivate vegetation so perfectly that its leaves wouldn’t wither in a drought.

What this means for us is that whoever has been transplanted into God’s garden will flourish. And I really dig (pun intended) the psalmist’s use of the term “transplanted” here, because it implies that salvation is by grace, that because we can’t plant ourselves, God plucks us from the dark, sunless place where we’d been decaying and lovingly replants us in a perfect spot where we’re guaranteed to flourish. We will get bigger and more beautiful, to the point of actually bearing fruit, as we absorb the living water our Creator provides. Plus, when our roots are anchored in Him, even figurative droughts like critical in-laws or financial crises or cancer diagnoses won’t destroy us. The “leaves” of those loved by God don’t die.

Our heavenly Father—who also happens to have a supernatural green thumb—promises to nourish and protect His saplings.

Before we go any further, you may be wondering about the assertion that “everything they do will succeed” at the end of verse 3, which at first glance seems about as truthful as the weight listed on my driver’s license until our government chose to omit that data (maybe because most people fudged on the amount). How can the psalmist label broken relationships or rebellious children or infertility or crippling depression a success? How can he sincerely sing, “Everything they do will succeed,” when all of God’s children experience failure of some kind or another? Has he been guzzling cough syrup, or is he just wearing overly optimistic blinders?

Neither. Because this promise of prosperity is preceded by the context “everything they do”—which in this passage is defined by spiritual obedience—“ succeed” in verse 3 is in reference to walking closely with God.6 It’s essentially an Old Testament version of Romans 8:28: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

It doesn’t mean we’ll get everything we want exactly how and when we want it. And it sure doesn’t mean everything we do will be judged successful by human standards. What it means is that ultimately our sovereign Redeemer will work everything out for our good and His glory because we are His people and He loves us. It means being in a real,

PSALMS:

THE INSIDE STORY

Psalm 1 doesn’t have a formal

title or author’s name, which

puts it among the orphan psalms.

redemptive relationship with the Creator of the universe is the true measure of success.

THE FLEETING EXISTENCE OF EVIL

God-haters, by contrast, aren’t deep rooted or taken care of by a divine gardener; they’re more like tumbleweeds that roll across the ground, only to inevitably disintegrate in barbed wire:

But wicked people are not like that.

They are like chaff that the wind blows away.

Psalm 1:4, NCV

I recently had oral surgery because the root of an upper molar had fractured in half, leaving me with no option but to have the tooth yanked out of my head. My dentist advised me to get an implant as opposed to an old-fashioned partial or bridge. This means that after the gaping wound from the extraction heals, the surgeon will drill a titanium screw into my jawbone, then when it grafts sufficiently, she’ll affix a porcelain crown to the screw and—presto!—I’ll have a shiny new molar that, according to the brochure, will last over two hundred years. (I’m not sure why the longevity of the implant is considered a selling point since the rest of me will presumably be long gone by then.)

Of course none of this six-thousand-dollar procedure is covered by insurance, and the whole process takes about a year, but I was too loopy from laughing gas to stop and think about the consequences. The worst one being that in place of my trusty old tooth, I now have a “flipper” (common dental vernacular for the fake tooth patients wear prior to getting the actual implant). Furthermore, because this flipper clips on instead of being secured with adhesive, I have a gap between it and my gum that causes me to talk with a noticeable lisp. Believe me, this is a real bummer when you gab for a living!

My dentist told me the tooth trauma actually started with a substandard root canal I had in college, which left me with a compromised chomper that probably cracked when I fell headfirst off a ladder onto a concrete floor a few years ago. He also broke the news that I’ll likely need another implant in the near future.

Like the hair color I was born with and the steel-trap memory I had in young adulthood, even my permanent teeth have proved to be temporary.

Verse 4 explains that the wicked won’t last either. Oh, they may have their season in the sun when it seems as if they’re sitting on top of the world. But their days are numbered. It won’t be long before God yanks those who defy Him out of their abscessed existence. Their chance of survival matches that of a snowball in the Sahara!

THEIR TRAGIC TRAIL’S END

All three of my aunts have worked in public education. One has been a middle-school teacher for decades, and the other two have taught in the classroom and also worked in administration. One of them recently told me about having to expel a high-school senior for attempting to sell prescription drugs two weeks before the end of the school year. This kid was all set to start college in the fall when he chose to become a Vicodin vendor.

PSALMS:

THE INSIDE STORY

In Hebrew, the book of

Psalms is titled tehillim, which

(when translated) means

“songs of praise.” And since

each psalm was originally

crafted as a song, that makes

Psalms essentially the first

hymnal of God’s people!7

But my aunt didn’t have the luxury of lenience, despite his status as a soon-to-be graduate. She had no choice but to call the police, because her high school has a zero-tolerance policy with regard to drugs.

When this student should have been laughing with his buddies in the locker room, he was instead being handcuffed and hauled off to jail. When he should have been striding across the stage to receive his diploma and then smiling into the camera lens of his proud papa, he was instead ostracized and alone. When he should’ve been listening to the lectures of university professors as a baby-faced freshman, he was instead repeating lessons from his last semester in high school. Because of very bad choices, this young man was severely punished. He was effectively barred from the life he could have enjoyed.

And so it is with the wicked. Instead of being happy and content in communion with our Creator, unrepentant sinners will ultimately be cut off from the land of the living. They will not pass Go, they will not collect two hundred dollars, and they will not get to graduate to glory with their classmates:

So the wicked will not escape God’s punishment.

Sinners will not worship with God’s people.

Psalm 1:5, NCV

OUR CONSTANT OBSERVER

I recently had a motion-activated camera installed on my back porch by the Williamson County Sheriff ’s Department (chapter 7 tells the Paul Harvey part of this story). Unfortunately I didn’t realize that along with the ability to capture burglars in a digital format, it also recorded me every time I opened or closed the back door. A week later one of the detectives came by to change the battery and started teasing about arresting me on animal-cruelty charges. He explained how he and several other deputies had gotten a big kick out of watching the footage of my leg stepping through a crack in the door, followed by my cat Lazarus sailing through the air like a Frisbee.

I was so embarrassed, because I love animals. But my recently adopted, houseplant-shredding tabby is a feisty little critter. Whenever I gently place Lazarus outside, he races back in before I can close the door and then attempts to shred something else before I nab him again. So I’ve gotten into the habit of tossing him a short distance so I can close the door without squashing any part of his anatomy in the process. (Don’t worry. He always lands unharmed on his feet.) Little did I know that my nightly cat toss was being viewed in living color by local law-enforcement officials.

PSALMS: THE INSIDE STORY

The 150 individual psalms that make up the book of Psalms (also referred to as the Psalter) were written over a time span of almost one thousand years, from Moses’s era (1400 BC) until the southern Jews returned from captivity in Babylon (around 500 BC). That means these poems were penned while God’s people were wandering around in the desert, when they made their bittersweet return to Jerusalem only to find the land of milk and honey had become a mess, and every season in between. It’s an understatement to say the historical landscape of these lyrics is diverse; Psalms is like a comprehensive musical anthology that covers everything from Rachmaninoff to rap!

They were privy to everything; in fact, their vantage point was so intimate, they could even tell the color of my pajamas! The next section of Psalm 1 is all about God’s observation of us. In fact, the English Standard Version of the Bible puts it like this:

For the LORD knows the way of the righteous. Psalm 1:6

God knows His people. He has intimate awareness of all our ways…pet hurling and otherwise. Which makes me wonder: if we could actually see the red light of God’s “camera” being activated by every thought that runs through our heads, every word that crosses our lips, and everything we do in public and private, how would we behave? Wouldn’t you rather have holy inscribed on your divine DVD than heinous?

Finally, just as the sheriff-cam was bad news for the convicted criminal who used to lurk around my house, so is God’s complete knowledge of human character bad news for the wicked at the end of this opening psalm:

But the wicked will be destroyed. Psalm 1:6, NCV

Which means that unbelievers aren’t simply sitting ducks who might get wiped out; their annihilation is assured. God’s people will be the ones hiking along the path of hope and happiness, but the wicked dudes are blithely prancing straight toward obliteration. They’re going to be burned up faster than petty cash at Target!

SECURITY COMES WITH THE SHEPHERD

The guaranteed security of God’s people, in contrast with the definitive destruction of those who don’t follow Him, in Psalm 1 reminds me of this sermon Jesus preached in the New Testament:

When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, “Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why:

I was hungry and you fed me,

I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

I was homeless and you gave me a room,

I was shivering and you gave me clothes,

I was sick and you stopped to visit,

I was in prison and you came to me.”

Then those “sheep” are going to say, “Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?” Then the King will say, “I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.”

Then he will turn to the “goats,” the ones on his left, and say, “Get out, worthless goats! You’re good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,

I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,

I was homeless and you gave me no bed,

I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,

Sick and in prison, and you never visited.”

Then those “goats” are going to say, “Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn’t help?”

He will answer them, “I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.”

Then those “goats” will be herded to their eternal doom, but the “sheep” to their eternal reward. Matthew 25:31–46, MSG

While this story portrays the “good” group as being more giving—they volunteer with Prison Fellowship and cook dinner for down-on-their-luck neighbors and share their soda with cotton-mouthed strangers—they’re only emulating their Master. Because they’ve walked closely with Jesus, they’ve begun to mirror some of His mannerisms. It’s not that they’re inherently better than the wicked guys; sheep and goats are both stinky, hairy manure machines. (Believe it or not, I actually have a bit of firsthand experience on this issue.) Furthermore, my veterinarian friends tell me that goats are actually smarter than sheep. That means sheep don’t have more intrinsic value than goats. The real reason they’re elevated in this gospel imagery is their relationship with the Shepherd. He’s the reason sheep get to be on the right side. He’s the reason they’re spared.

Just like the smelly farm animals in Matthew 25, Psalm 1 reminds us that our salvation is tied to our Shepherd. Without Him, we would surely follow a delinquent gang of goats down the path of destruction. But God’s perfect grace blazes a trail of hope and happiness for messy people like us. When we follow our Father’s directions, we’ll be able to “walk right,” even when teetering on a pair of ill-fitting, too-cool-for-school boots!

The right-now relevance of Psalm 1

God’s love frees us to steer clear of the path of destruction and keep step

with Him in joyful obedience.

ENOUGH ABOUT ME. WHAT ABOUT YOU?

1. It’s been said that the primary purpose of biblical poetry (like that of Psalms) is not so much to teach us as to reach us. What kind of poetry or song lyrics do you emotionally resonate with the most?

2. Reread Psalm 1:1. List the top five people you’re most likely to listen to when you need advice. Do you typically walk away happy after listening to their counsel? Why or why not?

3. Describe a situation in which you were metaphorically “pulled off the picnic table” as a result of hanging around with ungodly rebels.

4. Read Jeremiah 17:7–8 and Matthew 5:3–12. How are the common themes in these passages connected to the overall theme of Psalm 1?

5. Compare Psalm 1:4 with Luke 3:15–17. Why do you think God “winnows” wicked people from His followers? Have you ever felt the need to separate yourself from some people because of their cruddy attitude about our Creator-Redeemer? How did you make the break?

6. What movie or book can you think of that reflects the theme of Psalm 1? Explain the parallels you see.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name.

For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime.  Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Psalm 30:4-5

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:

Principles and Benefits of Change Fulfilling Your Purpose in Unsettled Times

Whitaker House (May 2009)

Dr. Myles Munroe is the founder and president of Bahamas Faith Ministries International, an international motivational speaker, best-selling author, lecturer, educator, and business consultant. Dr. Munroe and his wife, Ruth, travel together as seminar speakers; they are the proud parents of two children, Charisa and Chairo (Myles Jr.), recent college graduates.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $19.99
Hardcover: 208 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (May 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 160374097X
ISBN-13: 978-1603740975

ISLAND BREEZES

Change is not easy, but it’s inescapable.  Dr. Munroe shows us the five principles of change, as well as five approaches to change.  This book will guide you into responding to change rather than becoming a victim of it.  There are two statements in this book which really reached out and grabbed me. 

“It is comfort that creates tradition.  It is discomfort that creates transformation.”  Many times I’ve run up against someone saying, “That’s not the way we always do (did) it.”  Now that’s a person afraid of change.  It seems as if my life has been filled with changes – big changes.  Looking back I see the growth that resulted from those sometimes painful changes.  God really does know what he’s doing! 

With Dr. Monroe’s help, we can embrace the changes, both large and small.  And there’s the verse that has held me through my life changes.  We do know that God works all things for the good of those who love him and are fitting into his purpose.  Romans 8:28. 

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

An Inevitability Shared by Everyone on Earth

The future has a way of arriving unannounced.

–George Will, Pulitzer prize-winning journalist and author

While we live and breathe on this earth, 6.7 billion of us human beings share the same inevitability: we all have to face change. The same was true for everyone who existed in the past. The same will be true for everyone who will be born in the future.

Our lives are in a constant state of transition. Life is always moving forward; nothing ever remains the same. Even those who live essentially quiet lives are affected by change. To a greater or lesser degree, we are continually being transported–whether suddenly or gradually–into the new, the different, the unexpected, or the untried.

Change is one of the most important factors in life, whether that change is imposed on us or we’ve created the change ourselves and are eagerly anticipating its possibilities. Yet most people don’t manage change effectively and positively. Some believe that change just Òhappens,Ó and they don’t think seriously about the effects change is having on them. Many also neglect to initiate positive changes that would make a significant difference in their lives and the lives of others. And the majority of us end up, in some way, the victims of unwanted change.

Four Types of Change

We experience four distinct types of change in life:

Change that happens to us–unexpected or anticipated change that affects our personal lives, families, careers, and so forth.

Change that happens around us–unexpected or anticipated change that affects our society, nation, or world and that also has some impact on us personally or on our ways of life.

Change that happens within us–unexpected or anticipated change that directly affects who we are–either physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually.

Change that we initiate–something created or altered by plans we have implemented in order to move us from the present to a preferred future.

We can identify each of the above as a distinct type of change, even though, sometimes, there may be overlap between them.

What Are the Results of Change?

Change transports the present into a future that demands a response. Often, that response requires further change from us. The fact of the needed change may bring positive activity–excitement, anticipation, and energetic planning. Or, it may bring a negative reaction–uncertainty, stress, and emotional shutdown. How we react to change has greater consequences to us than we may realize.

Imagine that you were transported a hundred years into the future. The changes that would have taken place in your nation and the world would be such that you would hardly recognize your own community. Abruptly coming into a transformed world would be a drastic encounter with change. Almost everything you are familiar with on a day-to-day basis would be gone: family, friends, culture, ways of interacting with the world (such as technology, communication), ways of perceiving the world (socially, politically, economically), and so forth. The language would even have evolved. Your words and even speech patterns would seem quaint to those in the twenty-second century. You would be as disoriented as someone from the first decade of the twentieth century trying to figure out what an iPod is.

In the movie The Shawshank Redemption, one of the characters, Brooks, is paroled from the penitentiary. Brooks hasn’t lived out in society for five decades. He went to prison during the first decade of the twentieth century and is released in the 1950s. He considers harming or even killing a fellow inmate because then he will be charged with assault or murder and be able to stay in prison. His friends talk him out of it, however, and he is released from the penitentiary as scheduled. Brooks boards the bus that will take him into town, where he will live at a halfway house and work at a grocery store, bagging groceries. The bus speeds up to probably thirty-five or forty miles per hour, but Brooks clutches tightly to the seat railing because the speed is overwhelming to him. His expression of fear contrasts with the rest of the passengers on the bus, who just look bored. Brooks has no frame of reference for what the others take completely for granted. ÒI can’t believe how fast things move on the outside,Ó he writes to his friends. Everything about his life is unfamiliar, foreign. Brooks has nightmares in which he is falling. ÒI’m tired of being afraid all the time,Ó he says.

Change and Loss

Gradual change, experienced on a daily basis, is relatively easy for people to handle. Often, they don’t even notice it. But sudden change can affect people in a way similar to Brooks’ experience. Depending on the intensity of the change–and the resulting loss–the effects of change can vary from merely stretching someone to grow a little to causing someone to experience such mental conflict between past and present that he or she succumbs to a breakdown or even commits suicide. That’s what happens to Brooks in Shawshank Redemption. He can’t handle living on Òthe outside,Ó and, tragically, he takes his own life. Commenting on Brooks’ situation, another character, Red, gestures to the prison walls surrounding the outside courtyard and says, ÒI’m telling you, these walls are funny. At first, you hate ’em. Then, you get used to ’em. Enough time passes, you get so you depend on ’em.Ó

Similarly, the effects of failing to implement positive change to improve one’s life can range from someone missing out on a single rewarding experience to not fulfilling his or her entire purpose for living.

In most of the above scenarios, the person reacting negatively to change experiences loss. Mostly, it is the loss of potential. It’s the loss of what that person could have been or done by responding constructively to change. This is why it is essential for us to learn to oversee change rather than become its victims, and why we must initiate change rather than be left behind by it.

The ongoing dynamic of change, therefore, is one of the most important factors of human life. How we relate to change has a significant impact on our quality of life and whether or not we accomplish what we are meant to during our time on earth. Understanding how to view, respond to, and benefit from change is vital to a well-balanced and fulfilled life.

Five Principles of Change

Let’s consider five foundational principles of change and their implications:

?Nothing on earth is as permanent as change. What a paradox! One thing that’s always present on this earth is change. Nothing else can really be expected or guaranteed.

?Change is continual. Our lives keep moving forward, and the environment around us undergoes alterations all the time. Change doesn’t stop when we sleep, when we take a vacation, or when we’re on a lunch break. Change is ceaseless.

?Everything changes. The details of our lives are always in transition. Here are just some of the ways in which your life will (or can) change:

Your knowledge will change. We are always taking in more knowledge and information from a variety of sources. Often, the more information we receive, the more we view life and other people differently. New knowledge will change your perspectives or broaden or deepen your original ideas.

Your interests will change. Some of the things you are interested in today may change tomorrow as you expand the range of your experiences. Or, you may decide to focus on just one or two areas of interest in order to achieve a particular goal, putting other interests on the back burner or dropping them altogether.

Your values and priorities will change. The things that you value now may not be the things that you will value in the next ten years, five years, or one year. I don’t necessarily mean core life values, although these may change. Rather, I’m referring more to the priority or value we place on certain people or things. This may change due to increased personal maturity or to the particular stage of life we are in. For example, when many couples get married and start families, they begin to think about pursuing spiritual values because they think it will be good for their children. Or, the change may have to do with temporary life circumstances. Perhaps you had been focusing on building a vacation house, but you lost your job and are now focused just on keeping your primary home. Your plans have had to be cancelled or postponed. You don’t value that vacation house as a priority anymore because something more important has taken its place. When your values change, it can change your whole lifestyle.

Your body will change. If you are a young person, you are still growing and maturing into an adult. If you are already an adult, you will notice various physical changes as you grow older: your hairline recedes; your eyes don’t focus as they used to, and you have to buy reading glasses; your strength and flexibility are not what they had been; and so forth. These types of changes can significantly impact the quality of our lives if we are unprepared for them.

Your family relationships network will change. We don’t really know how our relationships may change in any given year. You may gain a new family member through a marriage or a birth. Sometimes, life hits you broadside; you didn’t even know it was coming, but suddenly, you’ve lost a family member through divorce or death. Perhaps a parent or grandparent develops Alzheimer’s or has to move into a nursing home. These are among the most difficult changes we can experience.

Your marriage will change. The dynamics of your marriage relationship will change over time. This doesn’t mean that your marriage is wrong or bad, but only that people and situations undergo transformation. Over the years, you will change and grow, and so will your spouse. We have to expect, prepare for, and get used to those changes. Changes in marital relationships can happen anytime. Yet much has been written about what happens to couples when their children go to college or move into their own homes. How do a husband and a wife learn to relate to each another again as two people–without the constant presence of children in the home? Or perhaps the husband has been the breadwinner of the family for twenty years and is suddenly laid off. How will this change in income and standard of living, even if temporary, affect the marriage? Can the couple keep a strong relationship if there needs to be a work adjustment for months or even years? Some people also experience unwanted divorce. These and many other factors affect the marriage relationship.

Your children will change. The image of their children as infants is indelible in most parents’ minds. When you bring your children home from the hospital after they are born, you must care for their every need. Yet they will move toward independence as they grow older. When your daughter turns eleven, for example, she may not want to wear that shirt you bought her but would rather make her own clothing choices. At sixteen, your son may want to stay out with his friends as long as he likes. Teenagers still need structure and loving guidance, but you have to learn how to adjust to their equally important need to grow up. Sometimes, we still want to treat them as if they are three years old. When your children mature and desire independence, you have to learn to handle this change with skill.

Your friends will change. While certain friendships can last a lifetime, the people with whom we spend a lot of time at one point in our lives may not be close to us later on, either geographically or emotionally. This may be due to a move, a divorce, or a shift in priorities. This adjustment may be difficult for you, especially if the friend is one with whom you grew up or one to whom you had been extremely close. Then, you may ÒoutgrowÓ certain people because you are going in a new direction in life, with goals or interests that these friends don’t share or value. At times, you have to relinquish some mere acquaintances so that you can gain new friends. Finally, some friendships may undergo change because the friends are just not healthy for you–your ÒfriendsÓ are encouraging you to do something self-destructive or illegal. We must expect that our friendships will change once in a while.

Your job may change. You can’t always control where you work, or whether you will be at your job for any specific length of time. Do you have the mental, emotional, and financial resources to handle a change in job status?

?Change is inevitable. No one on earth can avoid change. This conclusion is not easy for some people to accept. Nevertheless, we must come to acknowledge that change is inevitable. When I settled this fact in my own heart and mind, my life became much easier to live. It is not healthy for us to believe that life will always remain the same. Everything may be going on an even plane right now, but there will be a transition or a point of stress in the future. Life is full of the unexpected, and changes will come upon us, at some time or another.

?Change is a principle of life and creation. This last statement is really a summation of all the above: change is a principle of life. It is the way the world functions. It affects everybody. In one sense, change is proof that you are alive! Everything that you go through is a manifestation of some type of change, and it’s just a part of life.

The Human Equalizer

These principles of change highlight the fact that change is a human Òequalizer.Ó Nobody has a monopoly on change. Change affects everybody on the planet, no matter who they are. I know a man who is worth hundreds of millions of dollars but found out he had a serious illness that none of his doctors could cure. When he told me this, I thought, Change really affects us all. Sometimes, people think that if they had riches, it would keep them immune from change, but that isn’t true.

I imagine there’s another man in a hospital right now who is facing the same illness but doesn’t have money to pay his household bills, let alone his hospital fees. Yet the same change in health in both these men’s lives–one a millionaire, the other broke–puts them on an equal plane. Change does that.

So, change is every human being’s experience. If you think things aren’t changing in your life right now, just wait a week or a month or a year. Wealth, youth, talent, intelligence, popularity, success, ambition, or good intentions don’t make you immune: no matter who you are, you will experience it. So, whenever you encounter change–especially change you consider disruptive or distressing–don’t feel you’re all alone in this. We are all subject to change!

We’re Double-Minded toward Change

Since change is inevitable and all pervasive in our lives, why is it that so many people react to it as if it is a threat? When we see change all around us, why do we expect things to remain the same (except, perhaps, when we’re the ones attempting the change)? There are significant reasons for this, which we will explore in coming chapters. But let’s consider one facet of the question now: our double-mindedness toward change.

In many ways, people live contentedly with change and welcome it: they want to wear the latest styles, use the newest technological innovations, employ easier methods for accomplishing everyday tasks, and so on. During presidential elections in the United States, people are often asked by political candidates, ÒAre you better off than you were four years ago?Ó If they don’t feel they are, they will likely vote for the candidate they believe can bring positive change to the country.

Some people like nostalgia. They may wear ÒretroÓ clothing, watch vintage television programs, or buy furniture reminiscent of an earlier time period. Yet most of them would not really want to live in those times. They enjoy the latest technology. They like convenience. They welcome innovation–even if these new things make older things obsolete or if the innovations were developed under the pressures of economic necessity. Yet when change comes into their lives in a way they didn’t expect or want, they take it personally–even though, sometimes, some of the same societal forces may be at work creating the inconvenience as much as the convenience. We like change as long as it doesn’t cause us any discomfort.

We are therefore double-minded about change. ÒGoodÓ change can come, but we should never have to deal with what we perceive as unpleasant or negative change.

We’re Not Taught to Deal with Change

One of the reasons for our double-mindedness is that no one ever sat us down and said, ÒYou know, things never stay the same. Change is going to happen, and you have to learn to respond to it and use it for your benefit.Ó Parents don’t teach this idea to their children. Schools don’t include it in their curriculum. People aren’t naturally skilled in it. It’s not an instinct within us. We learn about change the hard way–by experience. Yet most of us never learn to respond to it effectively.

In a similar way, many people have never been taught that they need to develop certain skills to be able to initiate changes that will improve their lives. Even if people desire positive change, they are hindered from obtaining it by fear and uncertainty, or because they act rashly instead of purposefully and wisely.

Is Change Working for You?

What is your experience with change in your life? Do you generally feel that change is working for you–or do you feel that its influences are working against you? Do you know how to turn negative change to your benefit? To what extent have you been initiating positive change in your life?

The following are five ways in which people typically approach change.

Five Approaches to Change

?People watch things happen. This is a passive, indifferent approach in which people don’t react to change because they have no real interest in it or its impact.

?People let things happen. This is a resigned, defeated, or even fatalistic approach. A person may lash out against the change, but ultimately, his or her mind-set is, ÒThere’s nothing I can do about this.Ó

?People ask, ÒWhat happened?Ó This is an inquisitive response, but it doesn’t go much further than mere curiosity or an interest in the latest gossip. It can also mean that a person never saw the change coming, and therefore he or she wasn’t prepared to respond to it.

?People defy what happens. This is when someone tries to resist inevitable change in his or her life, wasting valuable time and energy in the process.

?People make things happen. This is a proactive response by people that either alters the quality or degree of change that happens to the person or that initiates new change. Proactive people are the ones who usually succeed in life–against all odds. I refer to these men and women as Òworld changers.Ó

You will never really know who you are–and who you can be–if you don’t understand the nature of change and understand how to shape its consequences. With each change that happens to us, around us, or within us, we can…

Learn to define and interpret the change.

Discover principles for responding to the change so that it benefits ourselves or others.

With each change we wish to initiate in our lives, we canÉ

Learn how creating change enables us to fulfill our purposes in life.

Discover practical methods for implementing specific plans to fulfill those purposes.

Change–Enemy or Friend?

Think of change as your friend rather than your enemy. Change is not the kind of ÒfriendÓ who will sit and commiserate with you at a pity party but a friend who will encourage you to be the best you can be. It is my desire that, through this book, you will begin to see change as the arrival of opportunity rather than an invasion of destruction.

Responding to change in a positive way doesn’t come automatically or easily for most people. Yet there are specific principles of change that enable us to deal with and benefit from it. The only way for you to move forward to where you want to go in life, regardless of your circumstances, is to initiate desired change and to address unwanted change constructively. You must understand the nature of change and the principles for responding to it. Otherwise, you will be sidetracked or defeated by times of transition and perhaps never make the personal and professional advances needed to improve your life.

Yes, everything changes. Now, let’s explore how to make change work for you.

You cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters are continually flowing in.

–Heraclitus, Greek philosopher

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 Sacred Cipher

Kregel Publications (July 1, 2009)

Terry Brennan has had an extensive career in journalism, winning several awards, including the Freedoms Foundation Award for editorial writing. Terry served eleven years as the vice president of operations for The Bowery Mission in New York City and is currently a management consultant.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Kregel Publications (July 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0825424267
ISBN-13: 978-0825424267

ISLAND BREEZES

Review to follow.  I like what I’m reading, but need to finish to give a proper review.  Thank you for your patience.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

1889 • Alexandria, Egypt

Only three types of buyers entered the Attarine—the foolish, the fraudulent, and the forewarned. The foolish, who acted on whim instead of wisdom and expected to fleece an ignorant Egyptian native; the fraudulent, expert in identifying wellcrafted forgeries, anxious to pass them on for great profit; and the forewarned, who searched for treasure but were wise enough to employ someone who knew the ways, and the merchants, of the seductive but evil-ridden Attarine.

Spurgeon knew the risk. But treasures awaited in the twisting, narrow stone streets snaking away from the Attarine Mosque.

He had Mohammad, he had a gun, he had money—and he had God.

Peering down the darkened alley, Spurgeon worried that, maybe, he didn’t

have enough.

Mohammad entered the alley and disappeared from view. The alley was gray-on-gray, denied sunlight by overhanging, second-floor balconies adorning almost every building, their shuttered windows barely an arm’s length from each other. Joining with the dark was a riot of refuse; crazed, cadaver-like dogs; and powerfully pungent, unknown odors.

The Attarine District was home to the greatest concentration of antiquities dealers in Alexandria, both the illicit and the honorable. A person could buy almost any historical artifact along the ancient streets of the Attarine. Some were even genuine. And Charles Haddon Spurgeon was on a treasure hunt.

He held his breath; he held his heart; and he stepped into the dark.

At the first fork, Mohammed Isfahan was waiting. Spurgeon’s heart slowed its pounding pace. Mohammed confidently led the way, weaving in and out of the shoppers and the strollers who clogged the tight byways. It was early morning, before the sun began to scorch the stones, and Spurgeon was grateful for the moderate breeze off the Mediterranean. At his size, the heat sapped his strength and soaked his shirt within minutes. Though the morning was warm, Spurgeon hoped to get back into his hotel, under a fan in a shaded corner of the dining room, long before the withering heat began blowing from the Sahara. On one of his regular trips to the Middle East, Spurgeon was trolling for ancient biblical texts and Mohammed, recommended by the hotel’s concierge, promised he knew where to look.

Now fifty-six, he was England’s best-known preacher, and he grudgingly accepted the considerable influence and power he had earned as pastor of London’s famed New Park Street Church for the last thirty years. Spurgeon was the first to admit preaching was his passion.

But Spurgeon was also the first to admit that books were his weakness. He typically devoured six books per week and had written many of his own. Now, scuttling through the twilight of the dusty alley, Spurgeon sought to slake that hunger in the shops of the Attarine.

Rounding a curve in the street, Mohammed paused alongside a curtain covered doorway, pulled aside the curtain, and motioned for Spurgeon to enter. Inside the shop, not only was the atmosphere cooler, but it also carried the rich scent of old leather, soft and smooth like musty butter. Mohammed bowed reverentially as the proprietor emerged from the rear of the shop. He was a small man of an indeterminate age. What defined him were hawk-like, ebony eyes overflowing with wisdom, discerning of character, and surrounded by a brilliant white kaffiyeh. Mohammed spoke rapidly in Arabic, bowed again, and then stepped back as the proprietor approached Spurgeon.

“Salaam aleikum,” he said, bowing his head toward Spurgeon, who was startled when the man continued in perfectly cadenced English, “and peace be with you, my friend. It is an honor for my humble shop to welcome such a famous man under its roof. May I be permitted to share with you some tea and some of our little treasures?”

Wondering about the origin of the shopkeeper’s English, Spurgeon responded with a bow of his own. “Salaam aleikum, my brother. You honor me by using my language in your shop. But I must ask, how have you any knowledge of me?”

“Ah, the name of Spurgeon has found its way down many streets. I am Ibrahim El-Safti, and I am at your service. My friend, Mohammed, tells me you are interested in texts that refer to the stories of your Nazarene prophet, is that correct?”

“I would be honored to review any such texts as may be in your possession,” said Spurgeon. He took the chair and the tea that were offered by El-Safti and waited quietly as the shopkeeper sought and retrieved three books. While Spurgeon studied the books, one in Aramaic, one in Greek, and the last in an unknown language, Mohammed and the shopkeeper retired through the doorway, stepping

outside the curtain.

Spurgeon slipped into a scholar’s zone, focusing intently on the words before him. But the breeze turned, pushing aside the curtain in the door and carrying the words of Mohammed and El-Safti into the shop and up to Spurgeon’s ear—one well-trained in Arabic, among many other languages.

“What of the scroll?” Spurgeon heard Mohammed ask.

“Do not speak of that scroll in front of this infidel,” El-Safti countered, his voice stronger and more virile than it had been earlier. “You know what our tradition holds; this scroll would be of great benefit to the infidels, both the Jews and the Christians. We are to hold it in trust and keep it out of their hands at all costs.”

“You speak like an imam,” Mohammed said. “No one knows what is on that scroll; no one has been able to translate its meaning. How do we know what it contains?”

Spurgeon forgot the books in his lap. He heard a more interesting story floating on the breeze.

“If it can’t be read, is there any difference in whose hands it rests? I believe the English preacher would pay handsomely for the privilege of owning something he doesn’t understand. Ibrahim,” said Mohammed, “look at me. It could pay for your daughter’s wedding.”

“Do not tempt me, Mohammed,” El-Safti said. “That scroll has remained here for two generations, and no one has ever requested to see it. Quiet, now, and let us see what may interest the Englishman.”

Spurgeon attempted to return his attention to the books, but his eyes were pulled back to the men as they entered through the curtain. El Safti reverted to his perfectly subservient composure as he stepped before Spurgeon. The only thing out of place was an amulet — a Coptic cross with a lightning bolt flashing through on the diagonal—that slipped from the neck of his robe as he came

through the doorway.

“Do these books meet with your interest?” El-Safti asked.

Spurgeon rose from the chair and handed the books back to El-Safti. “I am disappointed to tell you, my friend, that you may have been swindled. The book in Aramaic is a fraud, and a poor one at that. The Greek, I have two copies in my library. And the third is in a language I have not seen before, but does not appear to be Semitic. Tell me, do you not possess anything more authentic?”

A moment’s silence passed through the shop. El-Safti’s pitch black eyes flickered with offense.

“My humble apologies,” El-Safti said. “Your reputation as a scholar is well earned, Dr. Spurgeon. But perhaps I do have something that you would find interesting. It is very old, but of indeterminate age.” El-Safti walked to the back of the shop. “It is an infidel’s mezuzah, nicely etched, wrapped in a very colorful piece of Moroccan silk.”

Disappointed in the books, Spurgeon’s interest increased at the mention of silk. His niece’s birthday would be upon him when he returned to England. Perhaps there was a prize here, after all.

El-Safti slipped into a small closet at the rear corner of the shop and could be heard snapping the hasp on a lock and moving a chain. Silence, then a stream of Arabic epithets, as El-Safti recoiled from the closet.

“Forgive me,” he said, his wild eyes looking first at Spurgeon and then at Mohammed. “It is gone. The scroll, it is gone.”

First fear, then unbelief, fought for dominance in El-Safti’s weathered face. His hands trembled as he wrung them together.

“Allah has punished me for my greed,” El-Safti said, slipping back into Arabic. “Mohammad, remove this infidel. And hurry back. We must think. We must find the scroll. We must find it before it is lost forever.”

I’ve been peeking in on Ariel’s Antics.  She’s made a gorgeous tote bag using the Professional Women’s Tote pattern from The Creative Thimble.  It’s for her friend, Donna, and is pretty in purple.  This is the second one she made.  The first one has a lot of pink in the pattern, but has a lining that is more purple.  In case you haven’t figured it out, I really like purple. 

Maybe if I changed my name to Donna, Ariel will make me one of those gorgeous purple totes.

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 Torah Blessing – Revealing the Mystery, Releasing the Miracle

Whitaker House (June 4, 2009)

Larry Huch is a nationally prominent ministry leader, conference speaker, and successful author. Together with his wife Tiz he serves as pastor of the multi-cultural, fast-growing New Beginnings Church in Dallas, Texas. He can be seen worldwide on the television program, New Beginnings. Pastor Huch’s previous books include Free at Last, and 10 Curses That Block the Blessing, published by Whitaker House.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 207 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (June 4, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603741186
ISBN-13: 978-1603741187

ISLAND BREEZES

My Messiah is Jewish.  I try to keep that in mind, but Mr. Huch showed me what that really means.  I have been grafted into the family of Israel through the blood of Jesus, and I am looking forward to the family feasts.  Getting together with the extended family has been a part of my upbringing.  Now it’s going to be even more meaningful.  We do all worship the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

I’m here to tell you, “No, it will not.” Why? It won’t because that’s not what the Bible says. Let’s look at this passage together:

Then Jesus said to those Jews who believed Him, “If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:31–32)

Once again, some of you are now thinking, Don’t you see, Pastor Larry? It’s right there in front of you: “The truth shall make you free.” But is that really what Jesus was saying? Look again at verse 32. Do you see it? Jesus first said, “And you shall know the truth.” This means that you will understand the truth; then, and only then—when you know God’s Word and you understand God’s Word—will that truth “make you free.” Once we understand God’s concepts, they have the power to set us free. If we remain ignorant of what the Bible says, it remains the truth, but that truth won’t do us much good until we understand it. Let me give you some examples.

Before I met Jesus, I was a drug dealer and an addict. The truth was that Jesus came two thousand years ago to forgive me, change me, and love me, but the miracle-working power of that truth did me no good until somebody told me about it so I could fully understand it. The truths that Jesus died on the cross, that He rose again on the third day, that He was the Lamb of God who took away my sins, and that He came to set the captives free were real, but they did not set me free until I knew them. Once I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior and began to understand those truths, the Word of God jumped off the pages of the Bible and changed from logos (the Greek word for written words on a page) to rhema (the Greek word for God’s Word, alive and working in my spirit). Just as Jesus was the Word of God become flesh, rhema is the truth of God’s Word made alive for you and me. So many promises of God never come alive for us, His children, because we don’t fully know and understand them.

Water Closets and Hogs

Unfortunately, one of the main reasons people fail to understand truth has to do with the many differences and complexities of language. Years ago, Tiz and I moved to Australia to pastor our second church. Soon after moving there, we were visiting a pastor’s home, and before we sat down to eat, I asked him, “May I use your bathroom?” He pointed down the hall and said, “Second door on the right.” I followed his directions, and, sure enough, there was a sink, a tub, and a shower, but, unfortunately for me, not the item I really needed to use. After a few minutes of frustration, I came out with embarrassment and admitted, “I’m sorry, but I can’t find it.”

He asked, “What are you looking for?”

I shared my biological need with him, and he said, “Oh, you’re not looking for the bathroom; you’re looking for the water closet!”

On that day, I learned an important lesson: in Australia, the “water closet” is the toilet and the “bathroom” is literally the room in which you take a bath. Once I understood that truth, it became very useful to me.

Here’s another example. Let’s say I hand you my wallet and ask, “Would you mind putting this wallet in my boot?” How would you interpret that? If you were from Texas, you’d probably put my wallet into my Tony Llama cowboy footwear. On the other hand, if you were from South Africa, you would most likely toss it into the trunk of my car. The same word is used—even the same spelling—but two totally different meanings are inferred.

You don’t have to be from the other side of the globe to find this kind of confusion. If somebody told you, “Pastor Larry was seen riding a thousand-pound hog,” what would that mean to you? If you were from Arkansas—the Razorback State—you might picture me saddled on the back of a very large animal with a snout. If, however, you were from south St. Louis, like I am, you would probably picture me riding around on a thousand-pound Harley Davidson motorcycle—which would be the truth. Again, the same word is used, but the interpretation is different depending on your upbringing, experience, and culture—and this is for people who live in the same time period! Imagine the difficulties that occur when you introduce different languages, cultures, and a two-thousand-year or more separation of time.

To glean all of God’s truth from Scripture, we need to learn to read the Bible not merely from a twenty-first century American or European perspective but also from the perspective of the times and cultures in which it was written—particularly, the Jewish world of first-century Jerusalem and surrounding Israel. Those who wrote the Bible may have spoken Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and Aramaic, but, for the most part, they thought and reasoned with Jewish mind-sets.

No Longer Gentiles, No Longer Strangers

Let us begin by focusing on an important passage of Scripture. Even though it was written more than two thousand years ago, I believe it remains a prophetic word for us today.

Therefore remember that you, once Gentiles in the flesh; who are called Uncircumcision by what is called the Circumcision made in the flesh by hands; that at that time you were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who has made both one, and has broken down the middle wall of separation, having abolished in His flesh the enmity, that is, the law of commandments contained in ordinances, so as to create in Himself one new man from the two, thus making peace, and that He might reconcile them both to God in one body through the cross, thereby putting to death the enmity. And He came and preached peace to you who were afar off and to those who were near. For through Him we both have access by one Spirit to the Father. Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, having been built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner stone, in whom the whole building, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you also are being built together for a dwelling place of God in the Spirit.
(Ephesians 2:11–22)

I know that this is a long passage of Scripture, but let’s take a moment to break down these powerful words.

Paul said we were “once Gentiles.” This is very important. If you are not of Jewish blood but have asked Jesus Christ to come into your heart and forgive you of your sins, you were once a Gentile, but not anymore! Gentile in Greek is the word ethnos, defined by Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance as “foreign nations not worshipping the true God, pagans.” In addition to the word Gentile, the Bible also uses words such as foreigners, strangers, and nations—all referring to those who do not worship the one true God, the God of Israel, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the God who sent His Son, Jesus, to pay the price for our sins in full so that we could go boldly before Him.

Look at what it says later in this passage: “Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (verse 19). Paul was referring to us. We were once strangers, but now we are fellow citizens with the saints—the church—and members of the household of God with Israel.

Redeemed and Reconnected

As a Christian, you have probably heard time and time again that you have been “redeemed by the blood of Jesus.” When we become believers, we are restored as children of the covenant promises of God through the shed blood of Jesus. Here are just a couple of examples from Scripture:

Knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things, like silver or gold, from your aimless conduct received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious blood of Christ. (1 Peter 1:18–19)

You are worthy to take the scroll, and to open its seals; for You were slain, and have redeemed us to God by Your blood out of every tribe and tongue and people and nation. (Revelation 5:9)

Ephesians 2 makes it clear that without Jesus, we were aliens, strangers, and foreigners—disconnected from God. Now, thanks to our redemption, God has reconnected us to two very important things.

1. We Have Been Adopted into a New Family

First, we are now part of the family of Israel. The apostle Paul had a unique way of explaining this for a first-century audience who was familiar with growing things from the earth:

If some of the branches were broken off, and you, being a wild olive tree, were grafted in among them, and with them became a partaker of the root and fatness of the olive tree, do not boast against the branches. But if you do boast, remember that you do not support the root, but the root supports you. (Romans 11:17–18, emphasis added)

This is such an important passage for our study that we will be returning to it several more times. For now, however, I want you to see that you and I—non-Jewish Christians—have been “grafted in” to the tree. The branches of that tree are Israel. According to Scripture, we have been adopted—grafted—into the family of Israel by the life and blood of Jesus Christ. Our faith, therefore, is not isolated; it does not exist independently, and it is not to be treated as a “spin-off” religion. We are not spiritual orphans. We belong to a living, spiritual “family tree” that is supported by a common root—Jesus Christ, the Messiah. “Remember that you do not support the root, but the root supports you.” The Bible makes this clear in both the Old and New Testaments:

In that day there shall be a Root of Jesse, who shall stand as a banner to the people; for the Gentiles shall seek Him, and His resting place shall be glorious. (Isaiah 11:10)

I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you these things in the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, the Bright and Morning Star. (Revelation 22:16)

2. We Are Legal Heirs of Abraham’s Covenant

Second, now that we have been adopted into the family, we are also connected to the promise God made to His children—His covenant promise.

Therefore know that only those who are of faith are sons of Abraham. And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel to Abraham beforehand, saying, “In you all the nations shall be blessed.” So then those who are of faith are blessed with believing Abraham. (Galatians 3:7–9)

Like any child who is adopted into a family, we now have equal rights as legal heirs within that family. In this case, our adoption is all thanks to the shed blood of Jesus. We are now children of the covenant. What covenant? God’s covenant with Abraham, who at the time was known as Abram:

Now the Lord had said to Abram: “Get out of your country, from your family and from your father’s house, to a land that I will show you. I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name great; and you shall be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1–3)

With that, Abram became the first Hebrew. Notice I didn’t say Israelite, because at this time, obviously, there was no land of Israel. You might say he became the first Jewish person on the face of the earth. How did this come about?

According to Jewish tradition, Abram grew up working in his father’s shop, which sold idols, although he always questioned his father’s beliefs. One day, according to the teaching, young Abram smashed all the idols with a hammer while his father was away and then placed the hammer by one spared idol. When his father returned, Abram blamed the crime on that idol. His father grew upset and claimed that the story was impossible since these idols had no life or power. Abram agreed and asked, “Then why do you worship them?” The teaching suggests that Abram believed the universe to be the work of a single creator and began to share this with others. Of course, this account is from the Jewish Midrash—oral Torah teachings—and not our Scriptures, but the Old Testament does agree that Abram’s family worshipped idols. (See Joshua 24:2.)

However it happened, young Abram’s faith in one true God was the seed that would become Israel—the children of God. Later, God would say to the nation of Israel,

Listen to Me, you who follow after righteousness, you who seek the Lord: look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the hole of the pit from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father, and to Sarah who bore you; for I called him alone, and blessed him and increased him. (Isaiah 51:1–2)

Now, some of you may be thinking, But Pastor Larry, when God said, “Look to Abraham your father,” wasn’t He talking to Israel and not to us?

It’s true that He was addressing Israel, but it is also true that you and I have been “grafted in.” Let me ask you a question: Are you Christ’s? If your answer is yes, then God says that you are Abraham’s seed. It doesn’t matter if you were born in Africa, Europe, Asia, Australia, North America, South America, or Antarctica—if you are a non-Jewish Christian, you were once a Gentile, but now that you’ve been born again, you are no longer a stranger but the seed of Abraham and an heir, according to the promise.

The Olive Tree

In Romans 11, the apostle Paul compares Israel to an olive tree. Now that we understand that the tree we’ve been grafted into is Israel, let’s look at some biblical and historical features of the olive tree. Throughout this book, I will be referring to the fact that everything God teaches us has both a physical side and a spiritual side, an earthly side and a heavenly side. When we look at the features of a physical olive tree, we can see the same blessings on the spiritual olive tree, Israel.

Olive trees outlive most other fruit trees. Likewise, Israel and the Jewish people have outlived all the empires that have enslaved them or tried to destroy them, including the Persian empire, the Babylonian empire, the Ottoman empire, and the Roman empire. They even outlived the Nazi government, the “Thousand Year Reich,” that attempted to annihilate them.

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper, and every tongue which rises against you in judgment you shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is from Me,” says the Lord. (Isaiah 54:17)

The roots of an olive tree are strong and are able to live in all soils. Likewise, throughout history, even though the Jewish people have been scattered about the world among different races and cultures, Judaism has survived and remained intact.

Thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob, and He who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you.” (Isaiah 43:1–2)

Even in very old olive trees, shoots are able to spring up and reproduce. Despite persecution and dispersement, Judaism has grown and the population of Israel has increased.

Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine in the very heart of your house, your children like olive plants all around your table. (Psalm 128:3)

Even today, olive oil remains a major source of wealth. Likewise, God has continually blessed Israel with provision whenever its people have needed it.

Therefore you shall keep the commandments of the Lord your God, to walk in His ways and to fear Him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, that flow out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive oil and honey; a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, in which you will lack nothing; a land whose stones are iron and out of whose hills you can dig copper.…And you shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you power to get wealth, that He may establish His covenant which He swore to your fathers, as it is this day.
(Deuteronomy 8:6–9, 18)

Olive oil is used as both fuel and food. Likewise, throughout history, Judaism has both sustained and provided for its people.

As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who feeds on Me will live because of Me. (John 6:57)

Olive oil is used for anointing and healing. The calling of God to His people is the same: be set apart as a blessing to others.

You shall make from these a holy anointing oil, an ointment compounded according to the art of the perfumer. It shall be a holy anointing oil….And you shall speak to the children of Israel, saying: “This shall be a holy anointing oil to Me throughout your generations.”
(Exodus 30:25, 31)

So [the apostles] went out and preached that people should repent. And they cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick, and healed them. (Mark 6:12–13)

It quickly becomes obvious—and exciting—why it is such a blessing to be grafted into the promises and covenant of Israel—God’s olive tree. Remember what God says, throughout the Bible, about Israel and the Jewish people:

1.) They are the apple of God’s eye—always have been, always will be.

Thus says the Lord of hosts: “He sent Me after glory, to the nations which plunder you; for he who touches you, touches the apple of His eye.” (Zechariah 2:8)

2.) They are a people chosen to be a blessing to the rest of the world.

The Jewish people, and their Promised Land of Israel, were chosen to connect the rest of the world to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God said,

I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name great; and you shall be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed. (Genesis 12:2–3)

The nation of Israel was to be the connection to Jesus, both in His first coming and in His second coming. Let us read what Jesus said in the book of Matthew:

You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men. You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. (Matthew 5:13–14)

If you’ve been in an average church for any period of time, you have probably heard these verses read and used in sermons. In most cases, they are used as an encouragement for Christians to be a light in their world. In its historical context, however, when Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13) and when He said, “You are the light of the world” (verse 14), He was not speaking to Christians. Whom, then, was Jesus reminding to be salt, preserving this earth from rotting away? Whom was He reminding to be a light that would lead people out of darkness?

It’s simple: He was speaking to a Jewish audience—the apple of God’s eye. There were no Christians at that time. Jesus had not yet died on the cross; He had not yet risen from the grave; He had not yet built His church. At that point in history, there simply was no us. Through Jesus Christ, of course, we now have been grafted into the olive tree and connected to the root—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Thus, we are now included in this family mission to be the light of the world and the salt of the earth.

Now that we know our heritage—our spiritual family tree—we can begin to focus on what this means for our lives and our faith, and we can learn how our blended, sometimes dysfunctional family is supposed to live together.

It’s simple. We need to build the right kind of house.

  What a feeling!  I’m finally free of credit card debt.  I’m not debt free yet, but no more credit card debt.  I no longer use that ugly, little piece of plastic unless I need to purchase via the Internet.  And then, I only use it if I already have the money in the bank to pay for it right away.  I don’t plan to ever be bound with those chains again.

I’m still working on two personal loans, but God willing one of those will be gone soon.  One way I’m getting rid of debt faster is by using snowflakes.  I love using snowflakes.  Those little bits here and there really do make a difference.  You can learn more about snowflaking from Trent Hamm and The Simple Dollar.  Together those snowflakes turn into a snowball and then an avalanche.  Normally, I’m not too crazy about a bunch of snow, but this kind I can take with a smile.

  It’s good.  Very good.  I’m enjoying going over to the mainland on my nightly travels.  Working the night shift is so much better than my Baylor days.  I have a really good team.  My techs are the best in the building.  Not only did I change shifts, I also changed units.  I’m still on a crisis stabilization unit, but this one is not nearly as wild.  It could be because they’re asleep, but then again, they’re more organized over here.  Facility policies are respected here, as well.  Our clients need this structure.  They’re dealing with enough stuff without trying to figure out what they are supposed to do or not do.

Thanks, Blue.  You’re the tops!

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:

Montana Rose

Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2009)

An award-winning author, Mary Connealy lives on a Nebraska farm with her husband and is the mother of four grown daughters. She writes plays and shorts stories, and is the author of two other novels, Petticoat Ranch and Calico Canyon. Also an avid blogger, Mary is a GED instructor by day and an author by night.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602601429
ISBN-13: 978-1602601420

ISLAND BREEZES

Be ye not unequally yoked.  Red knows this verse, but enters into marriage with an unbeliever.  How can he just jump into this hasty marriage?  How can he not?  Imagine a bunch of men acting like piranhas in the midst of a feeding frenzy.  Imagine that you are a woman alone and have no choice but to marry one of the brutes that are manhandling you. 

This is where Cassie finds herself.  Does a forced marriage to Red stop the disgusting man who has been stalking her? 

Does this marriage have any hopes of happiness for either of the participants?  I’m not going to tell.  You’ll have to read it yourself.  What I will tell is this book is the first in a series of Montana Marriages.  I’m ready to keep reading, Mary.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Cassie wanted to scream, “Put down that shovel!”

As if yelling at the red-headed gravedigger would bring Griff back to life. A gust of wind blew Cassie Griffin’s dark hair across her face, blinding her.

For one sightless moment it was as if the wind showed her perfectly what the future held for her.

Darkness.

Hovering in a wooded area, concealed behind a clump of quaking aspens that had gone yellow in the fall weather, she watched the hole grow as the man dug his way down into the rocky Montana earth.

Muriel, the kind storekeeper who had taken Cassie in, stood beside the ever-deepening grave. If Cassie started yelling, Muriel would start her motherly clucking again and force Cassie to return to town and go back to bed. She’d been so kind since Cassie had ridden in shouting for help.

In a detached sort of way, Cassie knew Muriel had been caring for her, coddling Cassie to get her through the day. But Cassie had gone numb since Muriel’s husband, Seth, had come back in with the news that Griff was dead. Cassie listened and answered and obeyed, but she hadn’t been able to feel anything. Until now. Now she could feel rage aimed straight at that man preparing the hole for her beloved Griff.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Cassie ran her hand over her rounded stomach. “You’ll never know your daddy now.” Her belly moved as if the baby heard Cassie and understood.

The fact that her husband was dead was Cassie’s fault. She should have gone for the doctor sooner. Griff ordered her not to, but first Griff had been worried about the cost. He’d shocked Cassie by telling her they couldn’t afford to send for the doctor. Griff had scolded Cassie if she ever asked questions about money. So she’d learned it wasn’t a wife’s place. But she’d known her parents were wealthy. Cassie had brought all their wealth into the marriage. How could they not afford a few bits for a doctor? Even as he lay sick, she’d known better than to question him about it.

Later, Griff had been out of his head with fever. She stayed with him as he’d ordered, but she should have doctored Griff better. She should have saved him somehow. Instead she’d stood by and watched her husband die inch by inch while she did nothing.

Cassie stepped closer. Another few steps and she’d be in the open. She could stop them. She could make them stop digging. Refuse to allow such a travesty when it couldn’t be true that Griff was dead.

Don’t put him in the ground! Inside her head she was screaming, denying, terrified. She had to stop this.

Before she could move she heard Muriel.

“In the West, nothing’ll get you killed faster’n stupid.” Whipcord lean, with a weathered face from long years in the harsh Montana weather, Muriel plunked her fists on her nonexistent hips.

Seth, clean-shaven once a week and overdue, stood alongside his wife, watching the proceedings, his arms crossed over his paunchy stomach. “How ’bout lazy? In the West, lazy’ll do you in faster’n stupid every time.”

“Well, I reckon Lester Griffin was both, right enough.” Muriel nodded her head.

Cassie understood the words, “lazy” and “stupid.” They were talking about Griff? She was too shocked to take in their meaning.

“Now, Muriel.” Red, the gravedigger, shoveled as he talked. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

On a day when Cassie didn’t feel like she knew anything, she remembered the gravedigger’s name because of his bright red hair.

One of the last coherent orders Griff had given her was, “Pay Red two bits to dig my grave, and not a penny more.”

Griff had known he was dying. Mostly delirious with fever, his mind would clear occasionally and he’d give orders: about the funeral, what he was to be buried in, what Cassie was to wear, strict orders not to be her usual foolish self and overpay for the grave digging. And not to shame him with her public behavior.

“Well honestly, it’s a wonder he wasn’t dead long before this.” Muriel crossed her arms and dared either man to disagree.

“It’s not Christian to see the bad in others.” Red dug relentlessly, the gritty slice of the shovel making a hole to swallow up Cassie’s husband. “And especially not at a time like this.”

It was just after noon on Sunday, and the funeral would be held as soon as the grave was dug.

Cassie looked down at her dress, her dark blue silk. It was a mess. She’d worn it all week, not giving herself a second to change while she cared for Griff. Then she’d left it on as she rode for town. She’d even slept in it last night. . .or rather she’d lain in bed with it on. She hadn’t slept, more than snatches, in a week. Ever since Griff’s fever started.

She needed to change to her black silk for the funeral.

Cassie wanted to hate Muriel for her words, but Muriel had mothered her, filling such a desperate void in Cassie that she couldn’t bear to blame Muriel for this rage whipping inside of Cassie’s head, pushing her to scream.

“Well, he was a poor excuse for a man and no amount of Christian charity’ll change that.” Muriel clucked and shook her head. “He lived on the labor of others ’n spent money he didn’t have.”

“It’s that snooty, fancy-dressed wife of his who drove him to an early grave,” Seth humphed. Cassie saw Seth’s shoulders quiver as he chuckled. “Of course, many’s the man who’d gladly die trying to keep that pretty little China Doll happy.”

Cassie heard Griff’s nickname for her. She ran her hands down her blue silk that lay modestly loose over her round belly. Fancy-dressed was right. Cassie admitted that. But she hadn’t needed all new dresses just because of the baby. Griff had insisted it was proper that the dresses be ordered. But however she’d come to dress so beautifully in silks and satins, there was no denying she dressed more expensively than anyone she’d met in Montana Territory. Not that she’d met many people.

But snooty? How could Seth say that? They were slandering her and, far worse, insulting Griff. She needed to defend her husband, but Griff hated emotional displays. How could she fight them without showing all the rage that boiled inside her? As the hole grew, something started to grow in Cassie that overcame her grief and fear.

Rage. Hate.

That shovel rose and fell. Dirt flew in a tidy pile and she hated Red for keeping to the task. She wanted to run at Red, screaming and clawing, and force Red to give Griff back to her. But she feared unleashing the anger roiling inside her. Griff had taught her to control all those childish impulses. Right now though, her control slipped.

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“A time or two I’ve seen someone who looks to be snooty who was really just shy. . .or scared,” Muriel said.

Red kept digging, determined not to join in with this gossip. But not joining in wasn’t enough. He needed to make them stop. Instead, he kept digging as he thought about poor Cassie. She’d already been tucked into Muriel’s back room when he’d come to town yesterday, but he’d seen Seth bring Lester Griffin’s body in. He couldn’t imagine what that little woman had been through.

“When’s the last time she came into our store?” Seth asked. “Most times she didn’t even come to town. She was too good to soil her feet in Divide. And you can’t argue about fancy-dressed. Griff ordered all her dresses ready-made, sent out from the East.”

Everything about Cassie Griffin made Red think of the more civilized East. She never had a hair out of place or a speck of dirt under her fingernails. Red had seen their home, too. The fanciest building in Montana, some said. Board siding instead of logs. Three floors and so many frills and flourishes the building alone had made Lester Griffin a laughingstock. The Griffins came into the area with a fortune, but they’d gone through it fast.

“That’s right,” Muriel snipped. “Griff ordered them. A spoiled woman would pick out her own dresses and shoes and finery, not leave it to her man.”

Seth shook his head. “I declare, Muriel, you could find the good in a rattlesnake.”

Red’s shovel slammed deep in the rocky soil. “Cassie isn’t a rattlesnake.” He stood up straight and glared at Seth.

His reaction surprised him. Red didn’t let much upset him. But calling Cassie a snake made Red mad to the bone. He glanced over and saw Muriel focusing on him as she brushed back wisps of gray hair that the wind had scattered from her usual tidy bun. She stared at him, taking a good long look.

Seth, a tough old mule-skinner with a marshmallow heart, didn’t seem to notice. “This funeral’ll draw trouble. You just see if it don’t. Every man in the territory’ll come a’running to marry with such a pretty widow woman. Any woman would bring men down on her as hard and fast as a Montana blizzard, but one as pretty as Cassie Griffin?” Seth blew a tuneless whistle through his teeth. “There’ll be a stampede for sure, and none of ’em are gonna wait no decent length of time to ask for her hand.”

Red looked away from Muriel because he didn’t like what was in her eyes. He was through the tough layer of sod and the hole was getting deep fast. He tried to sound casual even though he felt a sharp pang of regret—and not just a little bit of jealousy—when he said, “Doubt she’ll still be single by the time the sun sets.”

Muriel had a strange lilt to her voice when she said, “A woman is rare out here, but a young, beautiful woman like Cassie is a prize indeed.”

Red looked up at her, trying to figure out why saying that made her so all-fired cheerful.

Seth slung his beefy arm around Muriel with rough affection. “I’ve seen the loneliness that drives these men to want a wife. It’s a rugged life, Muriel. Having you with me makes all the difference.”

Red understood the loneliness. He lived with it every day.

“She’s a fragile little thing. Tiny even with Griff’s child in her belly. She needs a man to take care of her.” Muriel’s concern sounded just the littlest bit false. Not that Muriel wasn’t genuinely concerned. Just that there was a sly tone to it, aimed straight at Red.

Red thought of Cassie’s flawless white skin and shining black hair. She had huge, remote brown eyes, with lashes long enough to wave in the breeze, and the sweetest pink lips that never curved in a smile nor opened to wish a man good day.

Red thought on what he’d say to draw a smile and a kind word from her. Such thoughts could keep a man lying awake at night. Red knew that for a fact. Oh yes, Cassie was a living, breathing test from the devil himself.

“China Doll’s the perfect name for her,” Muriel added.

Red had heard that Griff called his wife China Doll. Griff never said that in front of anyone. He always called her Mrs. Griffin, real proper and formal-like. But he’d been overheard speaking to her in private, and he’d called her China Doll. The whole town had taken to calling her that.

Red had seen such a doll in a store window when he was a youngster in Indiana. That doll, even to a roughhousing little boy, was so beautiful it always earned a long, careful look. But the white glass face was cold. and her expression serious, rather than giving the poor toy a painted on smile. It was frighteningly fragile. Rather than being fun, Red thought a China doll would be a sad thing to own and, in the end, a burden to keep unbroken and clean. All of those things described Cassandra Griffin right down to the ground. Knowing all of that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

Cassie got to him. She had ever since the first time he’d seen her nearly two years ago. And now she was available. Someone would have to marry her to keep her alive. Women didn’t live without men in the unsettled West. Life was too hard. The only unattached women around worked above the Golden Butte Saloon and, although they survived, Red didn’t consider their sad existence living.

“You’re established on the ranch these days, Red. Your bank account’s healthy.” Muriel crouched down so she was eye level with Red, who was digging himself down fast. “Maybe it’s time you took a wife.”

Red froze and looked up at his friend. Muriel was a motherly woman, though she had no children. And like a mother, she seemed comfortable meddling in his life.

Red realized he was staring and went back to the grave, tempted to toss a shovel full of dirt on Muriel’s wily face. He wouldn’t throw it hard. He just wanted to distract her.

When he was sure his voice would work, he said, “Cassie isn’t for me, Muriel. And it isn’t because of what it would cost to keep her. If she was my wife, she’d live within my means and that would be that.”

Red had already imagined—in his unruly mind—how stern he’d be when she asked for finery. “You’ll have to sew it yourself or go without.” He even pictured himself shaking a scolding finger right under her turned-up nose. She’d mind him.

He’d imagined it many times, many, many times. And long before Griff died, which was so improper Red felt shame. He’d tried to control his willful thoughts. But a man couldn’t stop himself from thinking a thought until he’d started, now could he? So he’d started a thousand times and then he stopped himself. . .mostly. He’d be kind and patient but he wouldn’t bend. He’d say, “Cass honey, you—”

Red jerked his thoughts away from the old, sinful daydream about another man’s wife. Calmly, he answered Muriel, “She isn’t for me because I would never marry a non-believer.”

With a wry smile, Seth caught on and threw in on Muriel’s side—the traitor. “A woman is a mighty scarce critter out here, Red. It don’t make sense to put too many conditions on the ones there are.”

“I know.” Red talked to himself as much as to them. He hung on to right and wrong. He clung to God’s will. “But one point I’ll never compromise on is marrying a woman who doesn’t share my faith.”

“Now, Red,” Muriel chided, “you shouldn’t judge that little girl like that. How do you know she’s not a believer?”

“I’m not judging her, Muriel.” Which Red realized was absolutely not true. “Okay, I don’t know what faith she holds. But I do know that the Griffins have never darkened the doorstep of my church.”

Neither Seth nor Muriel could argue with that, although Muriel had a mulish look that told him she wanted to.

“We’d best get back.” Seth laid a beefy hand on Muriel’s strong shoulder. “I think Mrs. Griffin is going to need some help getting ready for the funeral.”

“She’s in shock, I reckon,” Muriel said. “She hasn’t spoken more’n a dozen words since she rode in yesterday.”

“She was clear enough on what dress I needed to fetch.” Seth shook his head in disgust. “And she knew the reticule she wanted and the shoes and hairpins. I felt like a lady’s maid.”

“I’ve never seen a woman so shaken.” Muriel’s eyes softened. “The bridle was on wrong. She was riding bareback. It’s a wonder she was able to stick on that horse.”

Red didn’t want to hear anymore about how desperately in need of help Cassie was.

Muriel had been teasing him up until now, but suddenly she was dead serious. “You know what the men around here are like, Red. You know the kind of life she’s got ahead of her. There are just some things a decent man can’t let happen to a woman. Libby’s boys are off hauling freight or I’d talk to them. They’d make good husbands.”

Muriel was right, they would be good. Something burned hot and angry inside of Red when he thought of those decent, Christian men claiming Cassie.

It was even worse when Red thought of her marrying one of the rough and ready men who lived in the rugged mountains and valleys around the little town of Divide, which rested up against the great peaks of the Montana Rockies. It was almost more than he could stand to imagine her with one of them.

But, he also knew a sin when he saw it tempting him, and he refused to let Muriel change his mind. She badgered him a while longer but finally gave up.

He was glad when Seth and Muriel left him alone to finish his digging. Until he looked up and saw Cassie as if he’d conjured her with his daydreams.

But this was no sweet, fragile China Doll. She charged straight toward him, her hands fisted, her eyes on fire.

“Uh. . .hi, Miz Griffin.” He vaulted out of the shoulder-deep hole and faced her. The look on her face was enough to make him want to turn tail and run.

She swept toward him, a low sound coming from her throat that a wildcat might make just before it pounced.

She’d heard it. All of it.

God forgive me for being part of that gossip, hurting her when she’s already so badly hurt.

Whatever she wanted to say, whatever pain she wanted to inflict, he vowed to God that he’d stand here and take it as his due. Her eyes were so alive with fury and focused right on him. How many times had his unruly mind conjured up the image of Cassie focusing on him? But this wasn’t the look he’d imagined in his daydreams. In fact, a tremor of fear ran up his backbone.

His grip tightened on his shovel, not to use as a weapon to defend himself but to keep her from grabbing it and taking a swing.

“Stop it.” Her fists were clenched as if to beat on him. “Stop saying those awful things.” Red saw more life in her eyes than he ever had before. She was always quiet and reserved and distant. “Give him back. I want him back!” She moved so fast toward him that, just as she reached his side, she tripped over her skirt and fell. A terrified shriek cut off her irate words.

“Cassie!” Red dropped the shovel and caught her just as she’d have tumbled into the open grave.

She swung and landed a fist right on his chin.

His head snapped back. She had pretty good power behind her fists for a little thing. Figuring he deserved it, he held on, stepping well away from the hole in the ground. He pulled her against him as she pummeled and emitted short, sharp, frenzied screams of rage. Punching his shoulders, chest, face. He took his beating like a man. He’d earned this by causing her more pain when she’d already been dealt more than she could bear. Of course he’d tried to stop it. But he’d failed now, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry.” He spoke low, hoping to penetrate her anger. He could barely hear himself over her shouting. “I’m so sorry about Griff, Cassie. And I’m sorry you heard us speaking ill. We were wrong. So wrong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice kept crooning as he held her, letting her wale away on him until her squeaks and her harmless blows slowed and then ceased, most likely from exhaustion, not because she’d quit hating him.

Her hands dropped suddenly. Her head fell against his chest. Her knees buckled and Red swung her up into his arms.

He looked down at her, wondering if she’d fainted dead away.

In his arms, he held perfection.

She fit against him as if his body and his heart had been created just for her. A soul-deep ache nearly buckled his own knees as he looked at her now-closed eyes. Those lashes so long they’d tangle in a breeze rested on her ashen face, tinged with one bright spot of fury raised red on her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me.” His words were both a prayer to God and a request to poor, sweet Cassie. He held her close, murmuring, apologizing.

At last her eyes fluttered open. The anger was there but not the violence. “Let me go!”

He slowly lowered her feet to the ground, keeping an arm around her waist until he was sure her legs would hold her. She stepped out of his arms as quickly as possible and gave him a look of such hatred it was more painful than the blows she’d landed. Far more painful.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Cassie honey.” Red wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have called her such. It was improper.

She didn’t seem to notice he was even alive. Instead, her gaze slid to that grave, that open rectangle waiting to receive Cassie’s husband. . .or what was left of him. And the hatred faded to misery, agony, and worst of all, fear.

A suppressed cry of pain told Red, as if Cassie had spoken aloud, that she wished she could join her husband in that awful hole.

Her head hanging low, her shoulders slumped, both arms wrapped around her rounded belly, she turned and walked back the way she came. Each step seemed to take all her effort as if her feet weighed a hundred pounds each.

Wondering if he should accompany her back to Muriel’s, instead he did nothing but watch. There was nothing really he could do. That worthless husband of hers was dead and he’d left his wife with one nasty mess to clean up. And Red couldn’t be the one to step in and fix it. Not if he wanted to live the life God had planned for him.

She walked into the swaying stand of aspens. They were thin enough that if he moved a bit to the side, he could keep his eye on her. Stepping farther and farther sideways to look around the trees—because he was physically unable to take his eyes off her—he saw her get safely to the store.

Just then his foot slipped off the edge of the grave. He caught himself before he fell headlong into the six feet of missing earth.

Red heard the door of Bates General Store close with a sharp bang, and Cassie went inside and left him alone in the sun and wind with a deep hole to dig and too much time to think. He grabbed his shovel and jumped down, getting back at it.

He knew he was doing the right thing by refusing to marry Cassie Griffin.

A sudden gust caught a shovelful of dirt and blew it in Red’s face. Along with the dirt that now coated him, he caught a strong whiff of the stable he’d cleaned last night. Cassie would think Red and the Western men he wanted to protect her from were one and the same. And she’d be right, up to a point. The dirt and the smell, the humble clothes, and the sod house—this was who he was, and he didn’t apologize for that to any man. . .or any woman.

Red knew there was only one way for him to serve God in this matter. He had to keep clear of Cassie Griffin.

The China Doll wasn’t for him.