Book Quotes

“but for my own part, if a book is well written, I always find it too short.”― Jane Austen

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Book Review ~ Deep Trouble by Mary Connealy



Author

Mary Connealy writes romantic comedy with cowboys. She is a Christy Award finalist and a Carol Award winner. She is the author of the Lassoed in Texas Trilogy, the Montana Marriage Trilogy, and the Sophie's Daughters Series. Mary lives on a Nebraska ranch with her husband, Ivan, and has four grown daughters: Joslyn (married to Matt), Wendy, Shelly (married to Aaron), and Katy. And she is the grandmother of two beautiful grandchildren. You can find her online at these sites: http://www.maryconnealy.com/, http://www.mconnealy.blogspot.com/, http://www.seekerville.blogspot.com/, and http://www.petticoatsandpistols.com/. Mary loves to hear from her readers. Write to her at mary@maryconnealy.com.


 Synopsis

Gabe Lasley and Shannon Dysart are an unlikely pair. He’s an aimless wanderer who wants nothing other than to be left alone. She’s a fearless female determined to find a city of gold. When they are forced together the mayhem begins. As they set out to find the treasure, trouble is hot on their trail. Will the dream of gold color every decision Shannon makes? Will Gabe fail yet another helpless female in his life?


My Review

Once again, Mary Connealy brings a fast-paced western adventure with enough romance and humor to keep the most fastidious of readers engaged from beginning to end. Using lively dialogue with just enough sarcasm, which we have come to expect from Ms Connealy and truly appreciate, there are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. Bringing the grandeur and majesty of God's creation to us in highly descriptive form she allows those of us who have never been to the Grand Canyon, or any where near there, to glimpse in a small way some of the beauty of that area that is ever present. As always, her faith theme penetrates the subconscious and brings to our conscious thought that our treasure is not here on Earth but indeed is in Heaven!


4 out of 5 stars!

I was provided a digital copy of this book from Barbour Publishing through NetGalley in exchange for my honest opinion. No other compensation was received.   

Click here to read an excerpt.
Click here to purchase.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Book Review ~ The First Escape by G.P. Taylor


Author

G. P. Taylor
A motorcyclist and former rock band roadie turned Anglican minister, Graham Peter (G. P.) Taylor has been hailed as "hotter than Potter" and "the new C. S. Lewis" in the United Kingdom. His first novel, Shadowmancer, reached #1 on the New York Times Best Sellers List in 2004 and has been translated into 48 languages. His other novels include Wormwood (another New York Times best seller which was nominated for a Quill Book Award), The Shadowmancer Returns: The Curse of Salamander Street, Tersias the Oracle, and Mariah Mundi. Taylor currently resides in North Yorkshire with his wife and three children.

Synopsis

The First Escape is the first book in the Dopple Ganger Chronicles, a six-book series following three children—Sadie and Saskia Dopple and Erik Morrissey Ganger. Sadie and Saskia are mischievous identical twins living at an orphanage, where Erik is their only friend. They are separated when Saskia is adopted by Muzz Elliott, a wealthy woman searching for her long-lost family treasure. While Saskia stumbles into the center of a crime only she can stop, Sadie and Erik embark on a quest to find her. This book is in an exciting new format called an “illustra-novella,” in which the story is told alternately in graphic novel format and plain text with occasional illustrations.

My Review

While this book is marketed for grades 4-7, I would not be giving it to my elementary student to read. It's a very darkly illustrated book. That is fine for older readers, but the average young reader may not handle spooky/creepy graphics very well. Add to that the fact that the main characters, twins Sadie & Saskia are 14 yrs old, and Eric is at least 16 yrs. old or older, I just don't see where a 9-12 yr old can relate to that age group. Also, the twins display some very negative and mean behavior toward others, especially in the beginning of the book. Thankfully, there is the mysterious Madame Raphael. She is definitely the "redeeming" character in the book. She shares about a "Companion" who is never far away, who listens to us and knows our hearts.

This was my first half graphic novel and I must say that I have discovered this is not my type of book to read. As an older adult my brain had a hard time switching from print to graphic. I'm sure older children and young teens wouldn't have that problem :) I was excited to see that it was a hardback copy but that became a disappointment very quickly. The book binding came apart in the front and back as soon as I opened it. It also has a weird smell. Upon further inspection, it is printed in China. I don't know if that has anything to do with the quality of the binding and glue, but thought I would mention it anyway.

2 out of 5 stars

Click here to purchase from Amazon.

I received this book from Tyndale House in exchange for my honest opinion. No other compensation has been received.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

A Few of My Favorite Blogs/Websites...


Not necessarily in order, just some that I really like to visit on a regular basis, ie: daily or at least 3-5 times a week :) 

Baby Java  (my grandsons because they are so cute!)

Sharlene MacLaren  (she is encouraging and funny!)

Melissa Samuels  (the most awesomest crafter!!!)

Roseanna White  (she's just awesome :-))

Casey Herringshaw  (an inspiring young woman!)

Coan Payne  (ok, so I don't go here daily because I know when he has a new post, but I must put in a plug for my son; he's an awesome young man and a budding poet ♥ )

Robyn Campbell ( my new homeschool friend and the most awesome encourager for a young poet and his mother EVER!!!)

Diane Estrella (just cool stuff!)

Ree Drummond  (who doesn't love The Pioneer Woman :) )

Kraft Recipes (yummy recipes, and the photos are delectable)

Loren McGhee  ( I love her enthusiasm for reading and for life! she is always upbeat and happy :))

Suzy ( fun and colorful art projects!)

Vicki Hinze (one of the BEST suspense writers EVER!) and she has so many great resources on her site.

Courtney (if you want to know what's good to read, she's got some great suggestions and book reviews!)

Nancy Creative (because I love food and she has the most amazing recipes and photos!)

These are only a few of the blogs I visit but they are always inspiring.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Book Review ~ The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie klassen


About the Author:

Julie Klassen is a fiction editor with a background in advertising. She has worked in Christian publishing for more than twelve years, in both marketing and editorial capacities. Julie is a graduate of the University of Illinois. She enjoys travel, research, books, BBC period dramas, long hikes, short naps, and coffee with friends.

Julie and her husband have two sons and live in a suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota. For more information, visit http://www.julieklassen.com/



Synopsis:


Mariah Aubrey lives in seclusion with her secrets.
Will an ambitious captain uncover her identity... and her hidden past?

Banished from the only home she's ever known, Mariah Aubrey hides herself away in an abandoned gatehouse on a distant relative's estate. There she supports herself and her loyal servant the only way she knows how—by writing novels in secret.

When Captain Matthew Bryant leases the estate, he is intrigued by the beautiful girl in the gatehouse. But there are many things he doesn't know about this beguiling outcast. Will he risk his plans—and his heart—for a woman shadowed by scandal?

Intriguing, mysterious, and romantic, The Girl in the Gatehouse takes readers inside the life of a secret authoress at a time when novel-writing was considered improper for ladies and the smallest hint of impropriety could change a woman's life forever.
 
 
My Review
Another well written novel for Regency Fiction lovers! Intrigue abounds while romance blossoms, entwining together to bring about realizations of what is important, Who is important. Therefore, secrets are revealed, forgiveness is learned and given, renewals of faith emerge, and love triumphs! There are so many delightful characters to get to know and become friends with in The Girl in the Gatehouse. Even though there are several plot lines to follow, Ms. Klassen brings it to a pretty satisfying conclusion. If you enjoy Gothic romance novels then you will want to read this one!

4 out of 5 stars

I received a copy of the book from Bethany House in exchange for my honest review. No other compensation has been received.

To read an excerpt or purchase ~ click here.

Monday, April 25, 2011

FIRST Wild Card Tour ~ The Reluctant Detective by Martha Ockley

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!


Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:


The Reluctant Detective

Monarch Books (March 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to Cat Hoort and Noelle Pedersen of Kregel Publications for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Martha Ockley lives in the North-East of England and has close links with the church, having grown up as the daughter of a minister. She is a full-time author, writing both fiction and non-fiction.


Visit the author's website.


SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Faith Morgan has lived her whole life in Birmingham. Her two careers, first as a policewoman, then as an inner-city parish minister have kept her close to her family, but also painfully close to her past. Now the picturesque country village of Little Worthy needs a new vicar. But Faith’s g trip to Little Worthy to consider if this is God’s will becomes a long-term commitment when the current vicar falls over dead during a communion service.

Faith suspects murder. And when the police are called in, Faith’s past follows her to Little Worthy in the shape of former partner and former boyfriend, Detective Inspector Ben Shorter.

Ben never understood her calling , but he will need her help if he is going to solve this. How will Faith balance her present calling with her past training, and her feelings for Ben? And is Faith in danger herself?



Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Monarch Books (March 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1854249851
ISBN-13: 978-1854249852

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


“You know I don’t like to complain.” Pat Montesque screwed up her soft cheeks into a fierce smile. “But I’ll tell you, Elsie, I was a tad put out. I’ve always done the altar arrangements – since before Vicar Alistair came. You need a good substantial block of colour and there she was putting up a great waxy lily and a couple of twigs. Striking simplicity! I ask you!”

Elsie Lively tut-tutted sympathetically. She was looking at her dear Arthur’s grave: probably thinking it needed a bit of a tidy, thought Pat. But then it was so difficult to get down on your knees at her age and well nigh impossible to get back up.

“Naturally I pointed out it wouldn’t do – not in that space. Who’s going to notice a single lily? The altar would be as good as bare. He said it was a misunderstanding. She’d only meant to help. Men!” She philosophized aloud. “What they don’t know about women! And as for men of the cloth…”

“Charitable.”

“What did you say, dear? Didn’t quite catch that.” Pat leaned down to the small, bent woman at her side with all the gracious condescension of a church officer to a valued lay member.

“Charitable – man of the cloth; a good thing.”

Dear Elsie. Always stating the obvious.

Pat was distracted. A stranger was getting out of a little blue car by the gate. It was one of those snub-nosed Japanese things they were forever advertising on the commercial channels.

“Now, who’s that?”

The newcomer was a young woman in her early thirties with glossy brown shoulder-length hair and a healthy outdoor tan. She was dressed in a crisp fifties-looking cotton shirt dress in dove grey. As she turned, the sun caught a discreet cross pinned to her lapel. The churchwarden’s nose twitched. It couldn’t be! The bishop wouldn’t do that to them – would he?

Faith Morgan looked down the path from the wicket gate. A couple of elderly ladies were standing by an evergreen bush, cataloguing her from head to foot. This was supposed to be a low-key visit – she was only investigating options, she told herself. It might lead to nothing but still, it wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot with the locals.

The parish church of St James’s in Little Worthy rose sturdy and enduring with its sunlit graveyard at its feet. According to the guidebooks, stones in the tower had been part of a church here since Saxon times. Faith felt a wash of pleasure and peace. This place of worship had served its community for nearly a thousand years. There could hardly be a greater contrast to the gritty, uncertain, challenging chaos of the urban parish she was thinking of leaving. A pang of guilt interrupted her moment of euphoria. The face of her mentor, Canon Jonathan, came to mind, fixing her with one of his wry looks. His tart comment echoed in her head: Little Worthy, Faith? A congregation of eight – if you’re lucky – with an average age of seventy; a fund-raising nightmare to crush the heart of a saint!

Her eyes searched the roof line. Bound to be Grade I listed. Maintaining Saxon masonry couldn’t be cheap. It all seemed in good shape. Besides, there were always the heritage funds…

The bells began another peal, and the whiff of vanilla from a nearby shrub struck her with a breath of nostalgia. She had been here more than once as a child with Ruth and Dad on his bell-ringing outings. Those convivial summer Sundays with the dads and their kids and the occasional mother. After church they would go to the pub across the green – still called The Hare and Hounds, she noted happily. The dads would take off their ties and swap stories while she and Ruth sat outside with their lime shandies on benches of sun-warmed wood. You can never go back, she mused, so what was she doing back here?

She rallied. There was nothing wrong with peaceful continuity. Decency deserved to be cherished too.

There was a little time yet before the service began. Faith avoided the main approach and followed a gravel path around the back of the church. A creamy cloud of ivory clematis cascaded over a grey stone wall. Beyond, a solitary pony raised its chestnut head to gaze mournfully at her from a field of weeds. Some way off squatted a group of ramshackle farm buildings.

There was a well-worn track leading from the vestry door. Through a clump of limes she glimpsed the corner of what she thought must be the vicarage.

A dark-haired young man in jeans and a rumpled striped shirt strode out of the church. He had an angular face and the coltish appearance of not having quite grown into his bones. Behind him, a distinguished-looking fifty-something clergyman in surplice and cassock filled the doorway. That must be the incumbent, Alistair Ingram, thought Faith, wondering if she should introduce herself. He called out to the retreating youth, who turned back briefly to make a dismissive pushing gesture with both hands. She was about to step forward when she registered the youth’s expression: disdain, fury, and something else. Triumph? Faith turned away, embarrassed. It felt like a private matter; she shouldn’t be spying. She retraced her steps and entered the church.

The transition from sunlight to cool interior blinded her briefly. In a pool of clarity, Faith saw a service sheet held out in a meaty hand. It belonged to a cheery-looking man in a red waistcoat and a moss-green tweed jacket. He was smiling at her as if they knew one another.

“Fred Partridge,” he pronounced in a carrying voice. “Churchwarden. Pleased to have you with us.” He winked conspiratorially as he turned to greet a couple coming in behind her.

Faith slid into an unoccupied pew. There were twenty or so worshippers scattered about. Not a bad turnout for a small country church on the fifth Sunday in Lent. Her eyes settled on the little bent woman who had been outside as she arrived. She was arranging her hymnal and prayer book on the shelf before her with delicate, twisted hands. Her fine silver hair was folded into a thin bun secured by a network of old-fashioned two-pronged pins.

A presence blocked the light from the door. The formidable-looking lady who had been sizing her up as she arrived was standing in the aisle looking at her with speculating grey eyes. She was solid, with a healthy complexion, probably in her late sixties or early seventies, dressed in what Faith’s mother would refer to as “good clothes”.

“You’ve met my fellow churchwarden, I see,” she said. She had a round face and a hint of Morningside gentility in her voice. “I’m Patricia Montesque, the other one,” she stated brusquely.

Faith gave her best smile and held out her hand to have it clasped briefly in paper-dry fingers.

“I’m pleased to meet you. Faith Morgan. I’m visiting for the weekend – my sister lives locally. I have fond memories of Little Worthy. We used to come here when I was a child.”

“So you like our little church?”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Faith responded warmly. “So well proportioned, and a lovely, comfortable feel about it.”

They contemplated the nave together.

“That’s a striking arrangement,” Faith remarked, indicating the display of lilacs and ivory viburnum by the altar. It was a deliberate ploy. Pat Montesque seemed the kind who was almost certain to do the flower arrangements. She was right. The churchwarden’s face relaxed into a narrow smile.

“Not one of my best, I’m afraid. I was rather rushed. But lilacs do give a lovely block of colour.” She inclined her perfectly coiffed head in a faintly regal manner. “So you’ve family in the area, then?”

“I was born in Winchester…”

“Winchester! Barely twenty minutes away. You’re almost a native.”

“Almost.”

“I’m just a newcomer, of course – hardly been here twenty years!” Pat Montesque gave a hard little laugh. “Not like dear Elsie Lively there.” She nodded in the direction of the silver-haired lady with the bun. “She’s Little Worthy born and bred. Ran the post office for half a century. A close-knit lot, the old families – but we have a very friendly parish here,” she ended firmly.

Faith remembered the post office. They had sold old-fashioned sweets: shell-shaped sherbets and Parma violets. She could almost smell the sugar. Ruth always chose liquorice; not because she particularly liked the taste, but for the way it stained her tongue black.

“So you haven’t met our vicar, Alistair?”

Faith was surprised by the challenge. Pat flicked a significant look at the cross pinned to her dress. So I’ve been rumbled, Faith thought.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” she said.

“He’s a good pastor. A bit of a liberal, some thought when he first came, but he’s sound enough in the essentials. And very good with the finances.” Pat paused. “He’s leaving us, you know.”

“I had heard something of the kind,” murmured Faith. To think she had meant to slip in and out with being noticed. She should have known better. Rural parishes always had a Pat Montesque.

“Mmm. A bit of a dicky heart. He looks wonderfully well, but…” Her tone implied something more.

A petite woman with smooth, long fair hair, wearing a simple cotton dress came out of the vestry.

“…decided to take early retirement,” continued Pat.

The blonde had striking long-lashed blue eyes and a neat-featured prettiness that retained an element of youthful innocence, although she might have turned forty – it was hard to tell. She saw the churchwarden looking at her, and gave a little girl lost smile before leaning over a pew to exchange greetings with a young mother trying to hold a squirming toddler in her lap.

Pat turned back to Faith apparently as an afterthought. “You’ll be staying for coffee after the service?” Without waiting for a response, she was gone.

Could this place feel like home? Could these people ever be her people?

Faith studied the faces around her – silver-haired Elsie; the doting mother shadowing her small determined son as he ventured out down the aisle; the ruddy-faced man with the jacket too short in the sleeve, who couldn’t be anything else but an English farmer; a single black family with mother and father and a boy and a girl dressed in smart Sunday clothes. Faith’s eyes drifted up into the barrelled roof. There was such comfortable familiarity about the space. Why should that make her feel guilty?

Guilt. Purpose. Being of use. From the very first, Faith had always known that she wanted to be part of some greater purpose. That desire had led her into the police force. And, for a while, she thought she had found her place: to serve and protect; to bring the guilty to account; to protect the weak. That was what had first brought her and Ben together.

Running away, Faith?

I am not.

Ben always seemed to engage life so directly; he was unflinching, so sure of himself.

She was daydreaming. She could see Ben staring her down. Taking refuge, Faith? Never thought you were a coward.

You know I’m not, she protested the thought.

The rhythm of the old argument circled in her mind; the argument they had recycled so many times. It had moved them further and further apart, until she had left him – Ben, her lover, her mentor, her inspiration, once.

I can’t hold on to your certainties any more.

He had been so hurt. She couldn’t make him understand that it wasn’t about him. It had been something so personal; each step on her path to the ministry had seemed undeniable.

Her eyes came to rest on a stained-glass window panel leaning against the wall in the shadows beyond the pews. She guessed it must have been taken down on its way for repair. A glass section was cracked through and the leading twisted. The echo of the panel’s shape above was boarded up. A haloed lamb stood on a stretch of gaudy emerald grass. The Victorian artist had given the lamb a smiling, enigmatic expression. The Lamb of God.

Running away from reality.

That’s what he’d called it. To Ben, it had been a betrayal. And was he right? Was she seeking refuge from the world?

She looked around the congregation. These were people, individual persons, with their complicated lives, their struggles, their fears, their sins, their souls.

An intelligent, capable woman past thirty – with a degree, no less – buying into this delusion… for what? Ben always challenged her. They’d been a good team, once.

What am I doing?

Finding out.

That voice was somehow neither her own nor Ben’s. God and she often spoke like that. He would enter the conversation in her brain – not exactly unexpectedly. She had a sense he’d always been there. But since she had taken this turn – embraced this risk and embarked on the ministry – the sense of a presence, of an enduring and constant friend, had grown.

Finding out. The sense of opening horizons warmed and excited her. But then, what about Ben? He had moved back to Winchester more than a year ago.

And why should that matter one way or the other? He had his world now and she had hers.

The organist finished up with a self-important chord. The vicar was standing before them. Faith pulled her thoughts back to concentrate on the service.

Alistair Ingram took a step towards the altar draped in its Lenten purple, and the choir embarked on the Agnus Dei. Faith suppressed a smile as Pat Montesque’s forceful soprano rose above the rest.

“Lamb of God,

You take away the sin of the world.”

The vicar’s voice was clear and impressive. Faith wondered briefly if her own lighter tones could ever carry the words so well. Then she was caught up in the familiar comfort of their meaning.

“Jesus is the Lamb of God,

Who takes away the sin of the world.

Blessed are those who are called to his supper.”

Alistair Ingram spread out his arms to encompass his congregation. Sunlight, tinted by the stained glass in the window behind him, painted pastel blue and red on the white linen runner laid on top of the purple cloth.

“Amen.”

He picked up the communion cup and drank.

The toddler escaped from his mother and made a break for freedom past the communion rail, his feet pattering in quick uneven steps. What perfect timing. There had to be a life metaphor in that. Faith was pondering how children brought life into a church when her ears registered the choking rasp from the direction of the altar.

Alistair Ingram was staring out at nothing, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. Faith saw in slow motion. The chalice dropped from his hands. It hit the edge of the table. Wine flowed out red over the white cloth and stained the purple black. The empty cup rolled off the altar and struck the stone flags.

Alistair Ingram was no longer standing before them. Clutching at his chest and tearing at his vestments, he sat heavily on the steps.

The mother caught her son up in her arms. She turned his head into her shoulder, covering his face. Alistair slumped sideways. Faith realized that she was standing in the aisle, then she began to run towards the chancel steps.

I haven't read this book yet but it looks like a good one!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

HAPPY RESURRECTION SUNDAY

He is not here, but has risen! Luke 24:6






“You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid Him.” Mark 16:6

He Lives

I serve a risen Saviour; He's in the world today.
I know that He is living, whatever men may say.
I see His hand of mercy, I hear His voice of cheer,
And just the time I need Him He's always near.

He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way.
He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.

In all the world around me I see His loving care,
And though my heart grows weary I never will despair.
I know that He is leading, thro' all the stormy blast;
The day of His appearing will come at last.

He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way.
He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.

Rejoice, rejoice, O Christian! Lift up your voice and sing
Eternal hallelujahs to Jesus Christ, the King!
The Hope of all who seek Him, the Help of all who find,
None other is so loving, so good and kind.

He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way.
He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.

(words & music, Alfred Ackley)

“The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, Who was crucified. He is not here; He has risen, just as He said.’” Matthew 28:5-6

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. Gal 2:20
image-microsoft clipart
   

Friday, April 22, 2011

Great Deals on Books!

We have a discount store, Ollie's Bargain Outlet, and they have amazing discounts on brand new and recent books. This week I picked up Intervention by Terri Blackstock for only $3.99. I know, the author probably doesn't make much off of the sale, but when you're strapped for cash and want a book, it's a good place to go. They have fiction, non-fiction, Bibles, children's books, and more!

(image from TerriBlackstock.com)

If you live in Delaware, Kentucky, Maryland, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Virginia, or West Virginia click here to see where your Ollie's is!



Happy Reading!

(all links are in red)

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Charlotte Brontë


  Born April 21, 1816 in Yorkshire, England. Said to be the most dominant and ambitious of the Brontes, Charlotte was raised in a strict Anglican home by her clergyman father and a religious aunt after her mother and two eldest siblings died. She and her sister Emily attended the Clergy Daughter's School at Cowan Bridge, but were largely educated at home. Though she tried to earn a living as both a governess and a teacher, Charlotte missed her sisters and eventually returned home.
A writer all her life, Charlotte published her first novel, Jane Eyre, in 1847 under the manly pseudonym Currer Bell. Though controversial in its criticism of society’s treatment of impoverished women, the book was an immediate hit. (click here to read more)



Her novel, Jane Eyre, has seen many adaptations through the years and a new one came out this year. I can't wait to see it. This has always been one of my favorite movies. 


The first adaptation I ever saw was with Joan Fontaine and Orson Wells.
Seeing it in black & white is so dramatic!



.
Without having seen the new one, my favorite out of them all is with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson. 
 (found images here. no copyright infringment intended. )

Now to talk my husband into buying the new one :)
Sounds like a good Mother's Day gift to me.

Have a great day in the Lord!

Friday, April 15, 2011

First Wild Card Tour ~ Diagnosis Death by Richard Mabry, MD

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!


Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:

Abingdon Press (April 2011)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Richard L. Mabry, MD, is a retired physician and medical school professor who achieved worldwide recognition as a writer, speaker, and teacher before turning his talents to non-medical writing after his retirement. His first novel, Code Blue, was published by Abingdon in the Spring of 2010, followed by Medical Error that fall. He is also the author of one non-fiction book, and his inspirational pieces have appeared in numerous periodicals. He and his wife, Kay, live in North Texas.

Visit the author's website and blog blog.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Removing life support can be a killer!

When her comatose husband died in the ICU while on life support, the whispers about Dr. Elena Gardner began. They were stronger after another patient died in ICU. After she took up practice in a small town, the whispers turned to a shout: “mercy killer.”

Then there were the midnight phone calls that started after her husband’s death. Who was the woman who sobbed out, “I know what you did?” And how could Elena stop the calls that tortured her?

Two physicians, widowers themselves, tell Elena they know what she is going through. But do they? And is it safe to trust either of them?

What was the dark secret that kept Elena’s lips sealed when she should be defending herself? Would what she did in her husband’s ICU room turn out to be a prescription for trouble?


Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Abingdon Press (April 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1426710216
ISBN-13: 978-1426710216

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Prologue


She stood by his bedside and waited for him to die.

Outside the room, the machines and monitors of the ICU hummed and beeped, doctors and nurses went about their business, and the hospital smell—equal parts antiseptic and despair—hung heavy in the air.

With one decisive move she flipped the switch of the respirator and stilled the machine’s rhythmic chuffing. In the silence that followed, she imagined she could hear his heartbeat fade away.

She kissed him and exhaled what passed for a prayer, her lips barely moving as she asked for peace and forgiveness—for him and for her.

She stood for a moment with her head bowed, contemplating the enormity of her action. Then she pocketed the empty syringe from the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room.





1

Dr. Elena Gardner approached her apartment as she had every night for six months—filled with emptiness and dread. The feeling grew with each step, and by the time she put the key in the door, fear enveloped her like a shroud. Some nights it was all she could do to put her foot over the threshold. This was one of those nights.

She turned the key and pushed open the door. The dark shadows reached out at her like a boogeyman from her childhood. The utter stillness magnified every sound in the old apartment, turning creaking boards into the footsteps of an unknown enemy.

She flipped on the light and watched the shadows turn into familiar surroundings. Even though the thermostat was set at a comfortable temperature, she shivered a bit.

Elena dropped her backpack by the door and collapsed into the one comfortable chair in the living room. The TV remote was in its usual place on the table beside her. She punched the set into life, paying no attention to what was on. Didn’t matter. Just something to drown out the silence, something to remind her that there was life outside these four walls. That somewhere there were people who could laugh and joke and have fun. Somewhere.

She sighed and picked up the phone. She should call David.

He’d been firm about it. “Call me anytime, but especially when you get home at night. That’s the toughest time. It’s when the memories butt heads with the ‘what-ifs.’”

She dialed the number. Maybe she should put him on her speed dial. But that implied there wouldn’t be an end to this soon. And she wasn’t ready to think about that.

“Hey, Elena.” Although Dr. David Merritt—a resident physician in one of the busiest obstetrics programs in the Southwest—was surely as tired as she was, his voice sounded fresh, almost cheery. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know. Just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Glad to oblige. How was your day?”

That was one of the things Elena missed most. Now that Mark was gone, there was no one to share her day. “Not too bad until I was about to check out. The EMT’s brought in a thirty-two-year-old woman, comatose from a massive intracranial hemorrhage. The neurosurgeons rushed her to surgery, but––”

She knew David could guess the rest. He cleared his throat. “Did that…was it tough to take?”

Elena started to make some remark about it not bothering her. But that wasn’t true. And she knew David wanted the truth. “Yeah. Not while it was happening. Then I was pretty much on automatic pilot. But afterward, I almost had a meltdown.”

“It’ll get better.”

“I hope so.”

“Any more phone calls?”

Elena felt goose bumps pop up on her arms. “Not yet. But it’s Tuesday, so I expect one later tonight.”

“Why don’t you call the police?”

“What, and tell them that for four weeks I’ve answered the phone every Tuesday at midnight and heard a woman sobbing, then a hang-up? That’s not a police matter.”

“And you—”

“I know what they’ll ask. Caller ID? ‘Anonymous.’ Star 69? ‘Subscriber has blocked this service.’ Then they’ll tell me to change my number. Well, this one’s unlisted, but that doesn’t seem to matter. How much trouble would it be for whoever’s calling to get the new one?”

David’s exhalation was like a gentle wind. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You’ve done plenty already. You know, after Mark died, I had a lot of people fuss over me for about three days, but you’re the only one who’s stayed with it. Why?”

His silence made her think she’d asked an embarrassing question. People didn’t go out of their way to be nice the way David had with no thought of something in return. Did they?

“Elena, I’ve been where you are,” David said. “Oh, I know. A spouse divorcing you isn’t the same as one dying, but a lot of the feelings are the same. I mean, when I saw my wife and little girl pull away from the house for the last time, I wanted to lie down and die.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “That’s me. I wanted to crawl into the coffin with Mark. At that point, my life was over.”

“But I got past it,” David said. “Oh, I didn’t ‘heal.’ You don’t get back to where you were, but you learn to move on. And when Carol sent me the invitation to her wedding, it broke my heart, but it helped me realize that part of my life was over. Anyway, I made up my mind to use what I’d learned to help other people. And that’s what I’m doing.”

Elena sniffled. “Sorry.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “That’s another thing. I feel like tears are always right there, ready to come anytime.”

“That’s normal. Let them out.”

They talked for a few minutes more before Elena ended the conversation. She wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and looked in without seeing the contents. She wasn’t hungry. Since Mark’s death she’d lost twelve pounds off a frame that had little to spare. Maybe she should patent the process. “Sure-fire weight loss guaranteed. Withdraw life support and let your husband die. If you don’t lose weight, double your money back.”

Her lips drew back in what started as a hesitant smile but turned into a grimace of pain. She dissolved into tears.

Elena wasn’t sure how long she sat at the kitchen table with her head cradled in her arms before the ring of the phone roused her. She looked at her watch. A little after nine—too early for her midnight caller. Had the routine changed?

She shuffled back to the living room. When she checked the caller ID, she felt some of her tension subside. Dr. Helen Bennett represented the only ray of sunshine in Elena’s dark landscape right now.

“Hello?”

“Elena, did I wake you?”

“No, not really. Just starting to unwind. What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

That didn’t sound promising. “Wow, that sounds like what I used to tell boys in college before breaking up with them. What’s going on?”

“I’d rather do this face to face. Why don’t we have breakfast tomorrow morning? I usually make rounds at six-thirty. Can you meet me in the St. Paul Hospital staff cafeteria at six? We can talk then.”

Elena hung up with a growing sense of unease. Mark’s death had plunged her into a dark abyss. The only glimmer of hope for a future had been Dr. Helen Bennett’s offer to join her practice. The opportunity to work alongside a woman who was one of the most respected family practitioners in the community, a doctor Elena had admired since her days in medical school, seemed like a gift from above. Was that about to be taken from her?

The evening dragged on as Elena worried about the problem like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Finally, she ate some peanut butter and crackers, forced down a glass of milk. She’d shower in the morning. Right now, she just wanted to crawl into bed.

Sleep was elusive as a glob of mercury. She picked up the book from her bedside table and tried to read, but the words blurred on the page. Finally, she closed the book, turned out the light, and tried to sleep. Instead, she watched the red numerals on her bedside clock change: 10:00, 10:40, 11:15.

She was tossing in a restless slumber when she heard the ring of the phone. The clock showed 12:05 as Elena reached for the receiver. Her left hand clutched the covers tighter around her as her right lifted the phone and brought it to her ear.

At first there was silence. Maybe this was simply a wrong number. Maybe the calls had stopped.

No, there it was. Sobbing. Starting softly, then rising to a crescendo. A woman’s voice—a husky alto, like a lounge singer in a smoky, second-rate club.

“Who is this?” Elena said.

No answer. Only sobbing.

“What do you want?” Elena’s voice rose to a shriek.

A click. Then silence.

Elena stabbed blindly at the phone’s “end” button, finally hitting it as an electronic voice began, “If you’d like to make a call—”

She turned on the bedside lamp and stared at the cheap lithograph on the opposite wall. In it, a young man and woman were walking through a field of flowers. They looked so happy. Like she and Mark had been.

But he was gone, and she’d never be happy again. Ever.

She reached for the light, but withdrew her hand. No, leave it burning. Elena burrowed deeply under the covers, the way she used to do as a child after hearing a ghost story. She closed her eyes and watched the images march across her brain: endless days spent at the bedside of a living corpse, Mark’s casket disappearing into the ground, a faceless woman at some shadowy location sobbing into a phone.

As the sound of those sobs echoed through Elena’s mind, that image of a face from her past came into focus. Was that who was calling? If so, there was nothing Elena could do. She’d simply suffer . . . because she deserved it.

* * *

Elena slapped at the snooze button on her alarm clock. Why was it buzzing already? Then she remembered—her breakfast with Dr. Bennett. What had Helen meant by, “We need to talk?”

Her stomach did a flip-flop, and she tasted a bitter mix of peanut butter and bile. Maybe some coffee would help.

Elena padded to the kitchen and reached into the cabinet, wishing she’d had the foresight to make coffee before going to bed last night. The weight of the canister told her before she removed the lid—empty. She filled a glass at the sink and drank the contents, hoping to at least wash the bad taste from her mouth.

A quick shower brought her a bit more awake. Now for hair and makeup. Elena had always taken pride in her resemblance to her mother, a beautiful woman with dark, Latina looks. But long days at the hospital followed by sleepless nights took their toll.

There were dark circles under her eyes, the brown irises surrounded by a network of red. A few drops of Visine, and she looked less like the survivor of an all-night drinking spree. She’d cover the circles with a little make-up and hope Dr. Bennett didn’t notice.

Elena ran her hands through her long, black hair. She needed a haircut, needed it in the worst way. But there was neither time nor money for that right now. She’d pull it into the always-utilitarian ponytail she’d favored more and more lately.

Dressed, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her purse over the other, she stepped through the door into the early morning darkness, in no way ready to face the day. It was bad already. She hoped it wouldn’t get worse.

* * *

The ride in the elevator was three floors up, but Elena’s stomach felt as though she was in a free fall. She didn’t have to do this today. When Helen Bennett called, she should have put this visit on “hold.” But something told her she needed to get it out of the way.

The elevator doors slid open, and the scene before her made memories scroll across her mind like a filmstrip unwinding. The waiting area of the ICU at Zale University Hospital was quiet at 5:30 a.m. The television set high on the far wall flickered with silent images as closed captions of the local news crawled across the bottom of the screen. An older man huddled in a chair near the “Staff Only” door, glancing every few seconds toward that portal as though Gabriel himself were about to come through it with news of his loved one.

Elena knew the feeling. For two weeks, she’d spent much of every day in this same waiting room. The rest of the time, the minutes not spent snatching a quick bite in the cafeteria or hurrying home for a shower and change of clothes, were spent at her husband’s bedside, holding his hand and listening to the even rhythm of the respirator that kept him alive. Her heart bled for the old man and for every other person who’d ever sat in this room.

Elena was pleased when her final training assignment took her away from Zale, the place where her life fell apart. St. Paul Hospital was less than half a mile away, but she welcomed every foot of that buffer. When she walked out of Zale for the last time, she silently vowed never to return.

Now she was back, and she still wasn’t sure of her reason. Was it to add the books from the box balanced on her hip to the dog-eared paperbacks next to the volunteer’s desk? Or was it to show she had the courage to revisit the scene of the most terrible two weeks of her life? No matter, she was here. She clenched her jaw and forced her feet to move.

“Dr. Gardner. What are you doing here?”

Elena looked up at the nurse emerging from the elevator. The woman’s name tickled at the periphery of Elena’s memory like a loose hair. What was it?

“Oh. You startled me.”

“Sorry. What brings you back here?”

Elena held up a handful of books and shoved them into the bookcase. “These are some of Mark’s––” Her throat closed up and words left her. With an effort, she began again. “I was going through some of Mark’s things and thought these might help the people in the waiting room pass the time.”

The nurse moved closer and Elena sneaked a look at her nametag. Karri Lawson. Of course. How could she forget Karri? The pretty brunette had been the nurse responsible for Mark’s care almost the entire time he was in the ICU. In fact Karri had been Mark’s nurse the day––. Elena shook her head. Don’t go there. Don’t go back.

If Karri noticed Elena’s discomfort, she made no mention of it. Instead, she gave Elena a brief hug. “I haven’t seen you since…since that day. I’m sorry for your loss.” She made a gesture toward the closed doors leading to the ICU. “We all are.”

Elena had heard “sorry for your loss” so many times, it was almost meaningless. Her response was automatic. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come in and see the other staff?” Karri looked at her watch. “The day shift isn’t here yet, but there may be some nurses you remember from when…from your time here.”

“I don’t think so.” Elena reached out and touched Karri on the shoulder. “I have a meeting. But tell everyone hello for me. Tell them I said, ‘thanks.’”

* * *

“The coffee here is surprisingly good,” Elena said. “Everyone always says that hospital food, especially hospital coffee, is terrible.”

“I agree,” Helen Bennett said. “I wish my receptionist could make coffee like this. She’s a jewel, but in fifteen years with me she’s never learned to make coffee that doesn’t taste like it’s brewed from homogenized tire treads.”

“Don’t be too hard on her, Helen. I’m looking forward to working with her. And with you, of course.”

Helen placed her mug on the table as carefully as an astronaut docking the space shuttle. “Well, that’s what we need to talk about.” She looked around to make sure there was no one within earshot. Around them, the cafeteria was filled with bleary-eyed residents, medical students, and nurses, but no one seemed interested in the conversation at their table. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be working with my receptionist, or my nurse, or me.”

“What—”

Helen stemmed Elena’s words with an upraised hand. “Let me give you the whole story. Then I can answer questions if you have any—assuming you’re still speaking to me by then.”

The hollow feeling in Elena’s stomach intensified.

“I’ve been in private practice for fifteen years, going it alone. There aren’t many of us left in solo situations, but I’ve held out. I’ve managed to get other doctors in various groups to share call with me, but lately that’s been somewhere between difficult and impossible.”

“I know. That’s why you wanted to bring me into the practice,” Elena said.

“True, but that’s changed. The Lincoln Clinic has approached me to join their family practice section. Actually, they want me to head it. They’ve made me a great offer. Not just the money, although that’s good. The whole package seems tailor-made for me. I’ll be supervising six other doctors, and I’ll be exempt from night call. A great retirement plan and benefits.” Helen looked down at the tabletop. “I couldn’t turn it down.”

Elena’s mind scrambled for a solution. The ship was sinking, and she grabbed for something to keep her afloat. “So, why don’t I take over your practice? I can buy you out. I mean, I won’t have the money right way, but I can pay you over several years. It’ll be sort of like an annuity for you.”

Helen was already shaking her head. “No, one part of the deal was that I bring my patients with me. The clinic will hire both my receptionist and nurse, and give them a good package as well. They’ll even buy my equipment from me. I’ve already terminated the office lease. I’m moving out in ninety days.”

Elena forced back the tears she felt forming. “Helen, do you realize what this does to me?”

“I know. I just—”

“No.” Elena worked to keep her voice level. “You don’t know. You don’t know how I’ve struggled to get through my residency after Mark’s death. You have no idea what it meant to me to have a practice waiting for me. No need to lease space, to remodel and buy equipment. No waiting to build up a practice. There’d be a guaranteed income and a chance to pay off a mountain of debt.”

“Elena—”

Elena shook her head. “I finish my residency in less than a month. Thirty days! Now you’ve pulled the rug out from under me. I have four weeks to find a way to do the only thing I know how to do—practice medicine.” She turned her back to Helen, thinking that Helen had done the same thing to her. “No, I realize this is good for you, but I don’t think you really know the effect it has on me.”

“Elena, I had to do this. Once you get over the shock, you’ll think about it and agree. But listen, I’m not going to leave you hanging.”

Elena turned back to face the woman who’d been her mentor, the friend who was now betraying her. “What do you mean?”

“The clinic gave me a very short deadline to accept or reject their offer. I only made my final decision this weekend. But the second call I made, after the one to the clinic administrator, was to your chair, Dr. Amy Gross. She and I are both putting out feelers for a place you can practice.” Helen reached across the table and patted Elena’s shoulder. “We know how hard this past three months have been on you. We worry about you. And believe me, we won’t abandon you now. God has something out there for you. Trust Him.”

Elena drained the last of the coffee from her cup. When she set it down, she knocked her fork off the table. The dull clank of silverware on vinyl floor was barely audible over the low hum of voices that filled the cafeteria. “Trust God? I don’t think so. I trusted Him when Mark lay there fighting for his life, but it didn’t seem to do any good.”

“I know. But He’s still in control.”

Elena shook her head, while one more hobgoblin joined those already dancing in her brain.


I haven't read this latest book from Dr. Mabry, but I have read the first two in this series and they are excellent! I look forward to reading this one.

Friday Funny #4

I'm participating in “Tag You’re It! Just for Fun! on Lynn Dove’s Journey Thoughts.”



In honor of "IRS" day I thought I'd seek out Maxine and see what she has to say...





Maxine cartoons are from Hallmark.




courtesy microsoft clipart
 

Have a great day in the Lord!






Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Book Review ~ A Cowboy's Touch


Denise Hunter lives in Indiana with her husband Kevin and their three sons. In 1996, Denise began her first book, a Christian romance novel, writing while her children napped. Two years later it was published, and she's been writing ever since. Her books often contain a strong romantic element, and her husband Kevin says he provides all her romantic material, but Denise insists a good imagination helps too!








A Big Sky Romance: A Cowboy's Touch



Trade Paper

Abigail is just in Moose Creek, Montana for the summer to temporarily care for her great aunt. But a tender-hearted cowboy beckons her to stay.

Abigail Jones intends to spend just one summer in middle-of-nowhere Montana with her Aunt Lucy. Time away from her job is just what Abigail needs to reassess her life. The slow pace has her breathing deeply for the first time in years. And the majestic scenery encourages her to get reacquainted with herself . . . and God.


What she didn't count on was the handsome widowed cowboy who owns the ranch where her aunt lives. When the rancher loses his daughter's nanny, Abigail decides to lend a hand for the summer.
Wade Ryan can't help being attracted to Abigail. But he's given up everything to protect his daughter, and he's not about to risk it all on a pretty face.


Under Abigail's care, Wade's home and daughter thrive. And with Wade's touch, Abigail's heart feels at home at last. But Abigail knows this elusive rancher is hiding something. Will her own secrets separate her from the cowboy who finally captured her heart?

My Review:

For a first time foray into western romance Denise Hunter has done an outstanding job. There's humor and heartache, with just enough romance to warm the heart. But coming from such a gifted author this is not surprising!

In A Cowboy's Touch we meet Abigail, the quintessential independent young woman, who is an investigative reporter. She needs a "big" breaking news story to save her families newspaper.

Wade, a retired rodeo star who disappeared after a devastating and heartbreaking
experience, lives with misplaced guilt that is so heavy a burden he is afraid to open his heart to anyone but his daughter, Maddy.

There's a host of other minor characters, but my favorite of them all is Aunt Lucy. She's quirky, and has such a peaceful countenance. She reminds me of Aunt Clara from Bewitched. Just precious!

Through each of these characters Denise shows us how the decisions we make can have a positive or negative impact in our lives. We can either draw closer to God or push Him aside. How we deal with these decisions/experiences effects not only our own personal well being, but that of others. We are reminded of John 15:5 ~ I am the vine, you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.

By the end of the book, Denise has taken us on a most satisfying journey of spiritual rediscovery.

If you're a Denise Hunter fan, you won't be disappointed! If this is your first time reading one of her books, you will want to read them all!

I received this book galley from Thomas Nelson, via NetGalley, in exchange for my honest opinion.

To read an excerpt or to purchase ~ click here or on the widget below (hopefully) :)

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Southern Comfort

Gotcha on the title, huh?

I'm a southern girl and I like my comfort, so my husband and I went in search of new bed linens. Since most of our almost 30 yrs of marriage we could never afford REALLY nice linens (what we think is really nice, anyway, which means they don't pill after washing, and if you don't know what pilling after washing is then you have never been short on cash) we decided to splurge (now that half our brood has flown the nest) and purchase some quality linens.

Off we went to the mall...the mall!!! You have to understand that going to the mall is a big deal for us. We live in the boonies and it takes us 35 to 45 minutes to get to a mall, in a really small town, not known for its diversity in shopping. JC Penney was a fail; not the color I wanted. Sears...fail again...same problem. Dillards...well...ok we don't make that much money!

So, there we stood pondering the dilemma. Then we thought about Sam's Club! Yes, we would go there. Low and behold they had JUST what I was looking for, and little did I know that my husband was planning on getting new pillows, too! So here's what we bought :)
These are my new Wamsutta 525 thread count Pima Sateen sheets. I'm in love :)




This is my new pillow (he got one, too). They're Serta Gel-Memory Foam Pillows...Suh-WEET!

Southern comfort every night ;)

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Book Review ~ The Art of Romance


Some of you may be familiar with Kaye Dacus, but for those who aren't, here's a little information about this talented author.

Humor, Hope, and Happily Ever Afters! Kaye Dacus is the author of humorous, hope-filled contemporary and historical romances with Barbour Publishing and Harvest House Publishers. She holds a Master of Arts in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, is a former Vice President of American Christian Fiction Writers, and currently serves as President of Middle Tennessee Christian Writers. She loves action movies and British costume dramas; and when she’s not writing, she enjoys knitting scarves and “lap blankets” (she’s a master of the straight-line knit and purl stitches!). Kaye lives in Nashville, Tennessee, and even though she writes romance novels, she is not afraid to admit that she’s never been kissed. For more information you can visit Kaye at http://www.http//kayedacus.com/ .



My Review

Kaye Dacus' The Art of Romance is....well...romantic!

She has written such a sweet novel with well developed characters.
You have to love the grandmother's. They are meddling and competitve but so adorable!

Caylor is a strong and strikingly generous female lead. I love how she interacts with her grandmother and has such a great sense of family. Her faith seems such a natural extension of who she is, it is never in-your-face, but prominent all the same. Dylan is rich in depth and sincerity. He's made a serious error in judgment and his brothers have such an unconditional love for him. He could easily have dismissed his brothers advice and suggestions but he showed great strength by being willing to admit his errors and seek counseling.The imagery used in this book is phenomenal. Kaye paints such realistic pictures with her words that I had no trouble visualizing anything in this book.

As for the ending...well my heart melted!

This is Book Two in The Matchmaker Series. I highly recommend this book to all readers of contemporary fiction. The Art of Romance releases on May 2, 2011 so I don't want to give away the plot but suffice it to say...Get this book!
You can pre-order at Amazon, Christian Book Distributors (CBD), and for a sneak peek inside go to Barbour Publishing

5 stars for absolutely wonderful!

I received this advanced reader copy book galley from Barbour Publishing via NetGalley for free in exchange for my honest review.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Hissing & Growling

At 3:30 am this morning we were awakened by hissing & growling. Since our window was open it was sounding REAL close. My husband gets up to look out the window, whispers "Get the flashlight quick but quietly!" So, I jump up and grab it off the dresser, tiptoe to the window and hand it to him. He shines it toward the hissing & growling, and what do we see?!?

THIS!!!!
(or one like it since I got this image off Google Images)

 
It was HUGE!!! And it stopped moving as soon as the light hit it, and so did we! All 3 of us FROZE!
Then the bugger started moving toward the house so we cut off the light and waited for the inevitable stink to come....Nope, he just sauntered right on by while we stood frozen to the spot.

Whew!!! that was a close one.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Friday Funny #3


Since I live out in the country and raise a few chickens, I thought I'd post some chicken cartoons today.

 




 


It's allergy season and...


(no infringement intended: all images were found in google images and copyrights are intact)





Kids Chicken Jokes






Q:What do chickens serve at birthday parties?
 A: Coop-cakes!


Q:What do you get when a chicken lays an egg on top of a barn?

A: An egg roll!


Q:What happened to the chicken whose feathers were all pointing the wrong way?
A: She was tickled to death!





 
Have a great day in the Lord!