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Thursday, October 29, 2009

Book Review: Sylvan learning Workbooks Pin It

Random House Publishing partnered with Sylvan Learning, the tutorial service, to create a new line of workbooks for Kindergartners through 5th graders.  The workbooks have won Honors from the National Parenting Publication Awards!  Dr. Rick Bavaria is the spokesperson. He has had more than 40 years experience as a teacher and was once the assistant superintendent of the Baltimore Country school district.

sylvank       sylvan2

sylvan4       sylvan5

Each of these workbooks are written for a specific grade level and a specific study in mind.

I received one of each of the above shown workbooks to use with my children.   We glanced through all the books to see if they were going to be something that would interest us and they enticed my children so they will diving into these in the second semester.

Each of the books include activities, exercises, and tips.  These activities, exercises, and tips are written to help a child catch up if they are behind, keep up if they are on track but need a little more guidance, and in some cases… even get ahead.

Being a homeschool parent, I am always on the lookout for workbooks and educational items that I can use with my children as a main workbook or as an additional workbook to reinforce something.   Being frugal means I either use a page protector and dry erase pen over the pages or have the child use pencil so we can erase late so another child coming up can use the same workbook. I love that the pages in these books are so that we can do that.

 

if you would like to see sample exercises from the various Sylvan Learning workbooks, please go to this link: Download sample exercises.

 

 

I received this product free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with product may vary.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

BOOK REVIEW: Wisdom Hunter Pin It

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Wisdom Hunter

Author:  Grant R. Jeffrey

Publisher:
Multnomah Books (September 15, 2009)

ISBN-10: 1590522591

ISBN-13: 978-1590522592

About the Book:

This rerelease of Randall Arthur's bestselling novel presents the hypocrisy of Christian legalism and a man's search for the only surviving member of his family. The story's hero, Pastor Jason Faircloth, embarks on a journey that lasts eighteen years and takes him through four countries in a quest to find the granddaughter who is being hidden from him. In a process that mirrors our own spiritual journey, he discovers a rich relationship with God and the peace that finally comes with true faith.

 

About the Author:

Randall Arthur is the author of Wisdom Hunter, a controversial novel about the effects of legalistic Christianity. Arthur and his family are part of a missions agency that assists Eastern European churches reach their areas with the gospel.

 

This book is available from www.RandomHouse.com.

 

 

 

I received this book free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with book may vary.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

BOOK REVIEW: Shadow Government: How the Secret Global Elite Is Using Surveillance Against You by Grant R. Jeffrey Pin It

51EiSTiSijL._SL160_ Shadow Government: How the Secret Global Elite Is Using Surveillance Against You

Author:  Grant R. Jeffrey

Publisher:
WaterBrook Press (October 6, 2009)

ISBN-10: 1400074428

ISBN-13: 978-1400074426

About the Book:

Security cameras, surveillance of your financial transactions, radio frequency spy chips hidden in consumer products, tracking of your Internet searches, and eavesdropping on your e-mail and phone calls. Without your knowledge or consent, every aspect of your life is observed and recorded. But who is watching the watchers?

An ultra-secret global elite, functioning as a very real shadow government, controls technology, finance, international law, world trade, political power, and vast military capabilities. Those who hold power are invisible to all but a few insiders. These unrivaled leaders answer to no earthly authority, and they won’t stop until they control the world.

In Shadow Government, Grant Jeffrey removes the screen that, up to now, has hidden the work of these diabolical agents. Jeffrey reveals the biblical description of Satan’s global conquest and identifies the tools of technology that the Antichrist will use to rule the world.

Your eyes will be opened to the real power that is working behind the scenes to destroy America and merge it into the coming global government. Armed with this knowledge, you will be equipped to face spiritual darkness with the light of prophetic truth.

 

About the Author:

Grant R. Jeffrey, an internationally known prophecy expert, is author of The Next World War, Countdown to the Apocalypse, The New Temple and the Second Coming, and twenty other best-selling books. He is also the editor of the Prophecy Study Bible. His popular television program, Bible Prophecy Revealed, airs weekly on TBN. Jeffrey earned his master’s and PhD degrees from Louisiana Baptist University. He and his wife, Kaye, live in Toronto and have served in full-time ministry for twenty years.

 

This book is available from www.RandomHouse.com.

 

 

 

I received this book free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with book may vary.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Review: Scientific Explorer Magnificent Manicure Kit Science Kit Pin It

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Science is everywhere, from the food we eat to the cosmetics we wear. Now you can open your children’s eyes to the endless possibility through hands-on learning.

Scientific Explorer partnered with UC Berkeley’s Great Exploration in math and Science (GEMS) program to create fun educational science kits like the Scientific Explorer Magnificent Manicure Kit Science Kit.

In fact, the Magnificent Manicure Kit Science Kit just picked up Creative Child Magazine’s 2009 Toy of the Year Award in Educational Toys category.

The Magnificent Manicure Kit Science Kit gives your daughter a chance to learn about cosmetic chemistry while enjoying a manicure. 

She can create her own custom-scented lotion, make crystal mud, buff and shine nails, and more.

I don’t know about you, but I loved the first manicure I had. I was in high school at the time and the cosmetology class offered a manicure for a $1. (Talk about a great deal!).   With that manicure though, I didn’t get the fun stuff with it like this kit has.  This is like pampering in a box for the younger crowd!

What a fun day it would be for a Momma and her daughter to make it a “Pamper Me Girlie Day”.  My two youngest girls are 5 and 7 but they know what a “girlie day” is.  I don’t put a lot of emphasis on looks as that’s not where true beauty comes from, but every female should enjoy a nice “spa day”. This kit helps to bring that together for a Momma and her girl by turning your home into a nail spa for the day.  My girls are a little younger than the suggested age for this kit, but with constant adult supervision, you would be able to use this kit with the younger crowd. I however would not suggest using this with those under the age of 5 as they are still sticking their fingers in their mouths too much.

 

The Magnificent Manicure Kit Science Kit is available from www.elmers.com, Amazon.com, and Toys “R” Us.

Suggested Retail Price: $19.99

Age Range 8+

 

 

 

 

I received this product free from Team Mom for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with product may vary.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Book Review: Family Feasts for $75 a Week by Mary Ostyn Pin It

familyfeasts Family Feasts for $75 a Week:
A Penny-wise Mom Shares Her Recipe for Cutting Hundreds from Your Monthly Food Bill


Author: Mary Ostyn

Paperback: 304 pages

Publisher: Oxmoor House (September 1, 2009)

ISBN-10:
0848732960

ISBN-13: 978-0848732967

Back in September, I joined the September $75 Grocery Challenge! that Mary Ostyn conducted on her blog at Owlhaven.net. 

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I would be reviewing her book “Family Feasts for $75 a Week: A Penny-wise Mom Shares Her Recipe for Cutting Hundreds from Your Monthly Food Bill” to really get a feel on how she manages to feed her large family of 10 children on such a minimal amount.

Ms. Ostyn really knows how to get her money worth!  This book is not only a source of a variety of recipes that can be made inexpensively, but also is a shopping guide.  She shares her shopping expertise on how to get the most bang for your buck with tips such as list making, shopping tricks such as using  a price book, and more.

Frugal doesn’t mean you have to skimp on flavor to have cheaply made meals and Ms. Ostyn proves that one can be frugal while still having a delicious meal to serve her family.

If you are someone who wants to learn how to cut your grocery bill down and save money but still feed your family yummy meals, then you need to get a copy of this book!  

 

 

I received this book free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with the book may vary.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Review: Scooby-Doo! Zoinks Points from Warner Bros. Pin It

DD_ScoobyZoinkPoints Warner Bros. has released a new rewards program featuring Scooby-Doo entitled Scooby-Doo Zoinks Points.

Earn points by purchasing various Scooby Doo items such as:

  • Scooby-Doo! Kraft Macaroni & Cheese,
  • Scooby-Doo Crocs,
  • Scooby-Doo DVDs,
  • Scooby-Doo clothing, and
  • Scooby-Doo Fruit Snacks.

scoobymac

      


        crocs
 

With the new Zoinks Points, your child can visit the Zoinks Points site and redeem the Zoinks Points to unlock fun activities  including exclusive online games, videos, wallpapers, podcasts and more.

Check out the Official Trailer:

I received this product free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with product may vary.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

BOOK REVIEW: The Sound of Sleigh Bells by Cindy Woodsmall Pin It

51CR1ghYVHL._SL160_ The Sound of Sleigh Bells

Author:  Cindy Woodsmall 

Publisher: WaterBrook Press (October 6, 2009)

ISBN-10: 0307446530

ISBN-13: 978-0307446534

Anyone who knows me in real life or has been reading my blog for some time, knows that I love Amish/Mennonite stories.  The simple way of life allures me.

I have read a few other books my Ms. Woodsmall. In those books, she pulled you into the story so much that you felt as if you were standing in the very room with the character or standing right beside them.

This book is no different.  She has a way of drawing her readers in and wanting them to keep turning the page to find out more.  I felt as if Beth was a dear friend who needed guidance and comfort.

 

About the Book:

Beth Hertzler works alongside her beloved Aunt Lizzy in their dry goods store, and serving as contact of sorts between Amish craftsmen and Englischers who want to sell the Plain people’s wares. But remorse and loneliness still echo in her heart everyday as she still wears the dark garb, indicating mourning of her fiancé. When she discovers a large, intricately carved scene of Amish children playing in the snow, something deep inside Beth’s soul responds and she wants to help the unknown artist find homes for his work–including Lizzy’s dry goods store. But she doesn’t know if her bishop will approve of the gorgeous carving or deem it idolatry.

Lizzy sees the changes in her niece when Beth shows her the woodworking, and after Lizzy hunts down Jonah, the artist, she is all the more determined that Beth meets this man with the hands that create healing art. But it’s not that simple–will Lizzy’s elaborate plan to reintroduce her niece to love work? Will Jonah be able to offer Beth the sleigh ride she’s always dreamed of and a second chance at real love–or just more heartbreak?

 

About the Author:

Cindy Woodsmall is the author of When the Heart Cries, When the Morning Comes, and The New York Times best-seller When the Soul Mends. Her ability to authentically capture the heart of her characters comes from her real-life connections with Amish Mennonite and Old Order Amish families. A mother of three sons and one daughter-in-law, Cindy lives in Georgia with her husband of thirty-one years.

 

This book is available from www.RandomHouse.com.

 

 

 

I received this book free for the purpose of reviewing same.  No other compensation was received for this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my personal and honest opinion.  Your experience with book may vary.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

FIRST WILD CARD BLOG TOUR: Surviving One Bad Year by Nancie Carmichael Pin It

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:


Surviving One Bad Year

Howard Books (October 27, 2009)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Nancie Carmichael and her husband were the founding publishers of Christian Parenting Today, Virtue, and Parents of Teenagers magazines, and she is the author or coauthor of more than a dozen books. For thirty-five years, Nancie and her husband have conducted conferences across the U.S. and Canada on marriage, family, parenting, and leadership. They have five children and nine grandchildren.


Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Howard Books (October 27, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1439103240
ISBN-13: 978-1439103241

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Introduction


To You, My Friend


This book is dedicated to you, my friend, in the midst of your impossible year—a year marked forever by an event that threatens to consume you. I have written out of my own experience and that of others to offer hope that you will survive and, indeed, thrive.

Our common thread is that we are walking through something we cannot control; and as much as we try, we don’t see a pain-free or easy solution. We only know we have to get through it. You may have lost a family member to death; you may be facing a serious illness, a divorce, or financial reversal. Or perhaps your loss is difficult to define. Your life has simply hit a stall, and you are filled with a quiet desperation as you go through the motions. You feel stuck and wonder, “Is God there? Does He care about me? Surely there’s more…”

As a friend suffering from brain cancer wrote me, “Everyone carries a bag of rocks. Some are bigger, some smaller.” Some losses are certainly more traumatic and life-altering than others, but loss is loss. Trouble is trouble. Pain is pain.

Life can wear us down, and sometimes we're tempted to give up. Our dreams recede, and we feel we’re living on the edges of life, numbed by onslaughts great and small. But as I am realizing from my own experience, we don't have to be "beaten down." God’s mercies are new every day, and they are freely available.

I don’t know what your bad year holds for you. One friend who’d had a series of bad years told me, “Forget the one bad year! How about my whole life?” We all go through tough times. The point is to see them for what they are, and to respond in a way that allows good to come out of the bad.

I’ve come to believe that our heavenly Father can bring good out of every bad thing that happens here on earth. Though we live in a broken world where pain and loss and sickness abound, our loving God redeems all the suffering that Satan has unleashed on the world. Believing this, we walk by faith, not by sight, knowing that nothing comes to us except the Father allow it.

Years ago, there was a much-admired elderly woman in our community named Mrs. Cooksey. A friend asked her the secret of her exemplary life. She looked up, a little twinkle in her eyes, and gave this one-word answer: “Trouble!”

I’ve written this book in two parts: part 1 is written for you in the first days and weeks of crisis. When a huge wave of pain knocks us down, we can’t think about how we’re going to reach the shore; all we can do is try to keep our heads above water. Part 1 will give you some emergency tactics to help you stay afloat. Then, in part 2 I’ve shared some strategies that will help you through the long haul—that will show you how to navigate the stormy waters of pain and make your way to the peaceful shore.

Yes, your life right now is difficult. It seems impossible. But it is your life, in all its complexity and beauty. Stop and see it for what it is: acknowledge your losses, and disappointments, but be mindful of your blessings as well. As we go through this year together, remember that God has promised to be with you and that He will never leave you or forsake you, no matter what.


There is no permanent calamity for any child of God;

Way stations all, at which we briefly stop

Upon our homeward road.


Our pain and grief are only travel stains which shall be wiped away,

Within the blessed warmth and light of home,

By God’s own hand some day.












PART ONE


Emergency Help for When the Crisis Hits


[quote or scripture TK]




[Faceplate]


If knowing answers to life’s questions

is absolutely necessary to you, then forget the journey.

You will never make it, for this is a journey of unknowables—

of unanswered questions, enigmas, incomprehensibles,

and most of all, things unfair.

Madame Jeanne Guyon





Chapter One

“I Can’t Do This”


So, things happen. One minute you’re sailing through life on peaceful waters, when all of a sudden from out of nowhere, a giant wave capsizes your safe existence—and life is never the same again. An unexpected loss can knock all the breath out of you and send you plunging into dark waters, where you are instantly paralyzed. Fear, shock, and confusion flood in, and you are thrust into shut down mode. We know we have to keep going, but how?

Or perhaps you’re experiencing a sense of loss that has developed over time. Gathering clouds hover overhead, and you have a growing awareness that some unnamed dread is approaching—you can feel your joy and purpose hopelessly slipping away. How will you find your way through these murky waters? Or maybe there’s a problem or issue in your life that you’ve tried to ignore and now it’s finally erupted. You’re forced to stop your life and refocus your attention.

My own bad year grew out of a series of less eventful ones that we managed to cruise through—until one October day four years ago when I realized there was no getting through this one. Not without a lot of tears and pain, at least.

Being a mom was all I wanted. In a span of ten years, my husband, Bill, and I had four wonderful, energetic, fun-loving little boys. My life was perfect. Almost. It just seemed that someone was missing. Though each of our four sons is priceless, I knew how it worked: “A son’s a son ’til he takes a wife; a daughter’s a daughter all of her life.” How would I get my daughter to round out my perfect life? The logical solution was adoption. Simple.

After two or three years of paperwork and a roller coaster search, my husband, Bill, and our four sons—Jon, Eric, Chris and Andy (ages fourteen down to eight)—and I were at the Seattle airport waiting to pick up our daughter, Kim Yung Ja. She was three-and-a-half years old; thirty-six inches tall; had short, dark, straight hair; and had spent most of her life in an orphanage north of Seoul. A volunteer carried her off the plane and placed her in our arms. We were enchanted by our tiny little daughter and renamed her Amy Kim Carmichael. We then proceeded to make her a Carmichael. Or tried to.

You can imagine her transition. She came from a place where everyone looked like her to a place where the people had round eyes, blond hair, and a strange language. And with no say in the matter, she found herself plopped into a family and expected to be like them.

If you had asked me twenty-one years ago to tell you about adoption, I would have spoken of it in glowing terms—the perfect solution for infertile couples or for parents like me with a yearning that just won't go away.

But that was before the most traumatic year of our family’s life. What would I tell you now about adoption? Imagine accepting an amputated arm from another person and attaching it to your own body—hoping the graft will take.

When Amy was in her early twenties, she decided she wanted to live on her own. She began to have a lot of fun—far too much fun. We heard rumors of her being involved in out-of-control-partying. I wondered, Who is this person? How can she just “wig out” like that?
My sons and daughters-in-law warned, “If she doesn’t change her ways, there’s a train wreck ahead.” We spent sleepless nights, praying and worrying. We tried to talk sense to her. We tried tough love. We consulted professionals. I knew something strange was going on in her life, but she was twenty-one, so there was only so much we could do.

One October Friday, as I prepared to go to out of town for a speaking engagement, I sensed an urgency to connect with Amy, so I asked if she could meet me at Red Robin for lunch. She agreed and showed up looking very depressed. I ordered my usual chicken salad, and she ordered her usual rice bowl. “How are you, Amy?” I asked,

“Not so good. One of my friends at work is pregnant and her boyfriend doesn’t want to marry her.”

“Oh. . . What is she going to do?”

“Everybody’s telling her to get an abortion.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think that would be right.”

“Well, what about her family?”

She gave a little sigh of disgust. “Oh, if her family found out, they’d disown her.” By this time, my heart was beginning to pound. “Amy, will you tell your friend we’ll be glad to help her if she wants help?”

Later in the car, she burst into tears: “Mom, it’s me! I’m pregnant.” Then she said, “Now I know how my birth mother felt. There’s no way I can be a mom now. I’m going to place the baby for adoption.”

Stunned into momentary silence, I thought, Maybe she’s wrong; maybe she isn’t pregnant after all. And then I said what countless other mothers have said to their daughters: “Honey, we’ll get through this.” That’s what we parents do—we go into automatic overdrive and do what we must to help our family. Rescue the survivors. I suddenly realized I had just joined a vast club of mothers—a club I’d never wanted to join. This was not my dream for my daughter.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: I suddenly realized I had just joined a vast club of mothers—a club I’d never wanted to join.]]

I took her back to her apartment, and we sat on her bed and cried and prayed together. I told her to hang on, we’d get through this and to wait until Monday when we could go to the doctor. I knew I had to go home and tell Bill, and then somehow go on to my speaking engagement. Where had I gone wrong, where had I failed her? How could we have avoided this?

As I drove, waves of anger, shock, and grief poured over me.

How can Amy handle another life-defining loss? How can I walk through this with her? I can’t do this!

Although things looked impossible for all of us at the time, later on we would be amazed at how God directed our steps in the confusing and painful months ahead.


You, Lord, are my shepherd. I will never be in need….

You are true to your name, and you lead me along the right paths.

I may walk through valleys as dark as death, but I won’t be afraid.


Stories of Loss

In the following pages, we’ll take an up-close look into the lives of several people who were unexpectedly thrashed by overwhelming waves of loss. In these true stories, you just might see reflections of your own experiences or of those you love and care for. The camaraderie we feel in knowing that others have walked this way before us brings much-needed comfort and the hope that you, too, will survive your own bad year.


No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond

the course of what others have had to face.

All you need to remember is that God will never let you down;

he'll never let you be pushed past your limit;

he'll always be there to help you come through it.


“I’m Bankrupt. I’ve Lost Everything!”

Brad and his wife, Susan, were small retail owners in their late fifties and had worked hard to get where they were. Retirement was just around the corner, and they looked forward to having weekends free. Their dream was to ride their motorcycles across country.

When Brad’s parents passed away, they were surprised to realize they had a sizable chunk of money to invest. After investigating several possibilities to get the best possible return on their investment, they decided to invest in a real estate venture in California. The real estate market was booming, and they were assured that this was a “slam-dunk.” They sold their small business and added that to the investment as well, and then looked forward to a comfortable life.

Who could have foreseen the rapid economic down-turn with foreclosures and bankruptcies? A lot of people didn’t—and certainly not Brad and Susan. One morning when Brad didn’t receive his monthly payment from the real estate company, he called the CEO’s office and got a recording that the phone had been disconnected. Worried, he made several other phone calls, only to be told that the company he had invested everything in had just filed for bankruptcy.

Brad felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He said, “You read about it every day, but when it happens to you, it’s an earthquake.” He finally reached an attorney who represented the company and was told, “It may be a good idea for you to get a job.”

Numb with shock, he and Susan realized that almost overnight, they had no income. What could he do, at his age, to provide for his family, to simply pay the bills?

It was humiliating, embarrassing. Fear descended upon him, wrapping him in its clutches, smothering him until he could hardly breathe.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Fear descended upon him, wrapping him in its clutches, smothering him until he could hardly breathe.]]

Sure, they had their faith, but how would they get through this one? Forget a comfortable retirement; how would they survive? At the time, stress was their constant companion; but Brad and Susan were to discover a God who would lead them through an impossible journey to know His provision in ways they could never have imagined.



Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life.

Thus says the Lord who makes a way in the sea

and a path through the mighty waters.…

Do not remember the former things, nor consider the things of old.

Behold, I will do a new thing.


“I Don’t Want to Be Married to You Anymore”

Jim McClelland is a big guy, a gentle guy. He was in his ninth year of being a youth pastor, and he loved every minute of his work. He’d been married to Lindsay for eight years, and they had two young sons, a preschooler, and a first-grader. Sure, there were challenges and tensions, but Jim was unaware of the crisis building inside Lindsay.

One August day, Lindsay asked Jim to sit down in the living room so they could talk. What she said rocked his world: “Jim, I don’t want to be married anymore.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

To Jim, there were three cornerstones in his life—Jesus, the Bible, and Lindsay. A three legged stool. What she was telling him did not compute. What he was hearing knocked the props out from under him.

But she was resolute. Matter-of-fact.

Jim told me, “I was absolutely deconstructed. Do you remember the pile of rubble left by the bombing of the World Trade Center? Or the explosion of the Challenger? That was me. Destroyed. I couldn’t even talk about it.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “I was absolutely deconstructed. Destroyed.”]]

Jim and Lindsay went for counseling, but her mind was made up. It was later that he discovered that she had been seeing someone else.

In those dark days, Jim was certain all was lost. He felt utterly alone. Lindsay wanted to stay together through Christmas, so the boys wouldn’t have negative emotions connected to the holiday. Somehow they made it through. After Christmas, they went through their belongings, sorting them into piles: “That’s mine; that’s yours.”

Jim said, “It was so weird, standing in the garage with all my stuff, my dreams in cardboard boxes. But then—I don’t know how he knew—my friend, my best man, showed up in my driveway, got out, and just started in, helping me pack.

We didn’t say three words. There was no conversation. But he was there. For seven months after that, the boys and I lived with my friend and his family. The boys and I didn’t have beds—just sleeping bags on the floor. The boys didn’t care so much—they thought they were camping—but one night I stood and looked at them sleeping on the floor in this tiny one bedroom apartment, and I cried. It was the lowest of the low times. I went from a guy who never cried to one who cried all the time.”

How would he get through, rebuild? Would he ever be the same, ever be happy again? And what about his ministry? What would his church think? Although life would never be the same for Jim, he was to discover a God who never let him go.


I, the Lord have called you in righteousness,

and will hold your hand; I will keep you.”


“They Can’t Find Your Mother”

Julie Wilson’s mom, Deede, was a vibrant, fifty-four-year-old real estate agent living in southern California. She had recently gotten out of a destructive marriage, and life finally seemed good again. Julie was blonde and vivacious like her mother Deede and was on her way to a much-anticipated girlfriend’s trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Julie and Deede had planned to meet at Los Angeles International airport during Julie’s layover, so they could catch up over coffee. But Julie’s mother never showed. When her mother didn’t call, Julie assumed her cell phone battery had died and that she’d been delayed in traffic. Julie continued on her journey.

Julie said, “My two friends and I got to our beautiful resort in Cabo, but somehow the whole day was strange. Something wasn’t right. On the surface, everything seemed perfect—we started the day with hot stone massages and spent time at the pool. Then we went into the town of Cabo San Lucas. But shortly after we left the resort, I felt the urgent need to get back. I tried to shake it off and enjoy the day, assuring myself that everything was okay. Our first stop was at an internet café so we could check e-mail. I was surprised not to have heard from my mother, so I e-mailed her, telling her how much fun I was having with my girlfriends. I knew she would be so happy for me.”

Julie and her friends finished their e-mail, then briefly walked down some side streets, shopping. But Julie couldn’t shake a strong sense of concern that something was wrong and suggested they go back to the resort. At the resort, they had a delicious dinner on the beach but still, she felt uneasy.

Julie said, “We left and went up to our room, and I found a message from my husband, Pete, on the phone. I panicked, as my first thought was that something had happened to Gracie—my one-year-old daughter, whom I’d left for the first time. My best friend, Vivian, was with me as I called him back.

Pete’s first words were, “Is Vivian there with you?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I just got off the phone with your brother, Michael. Julie, they can’t find your mother.”

Julie ran to the bathroom and threw up. She said, “I knew immediately that Mom was not alive. And I knew that Erwin, my stepfather, had killed her.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “I knew immediately that Mom was not alive.”]]

They soon heard that Deede’s body had been discovered, murdered. Her stepfather was ultimately charged. Julie would eventually be called to testify at the trial.

How does a daughter get through a living nightmare such as this? And where was God in all of this? For Julie, this traumatic event colored every waking moment of the days to come. But later, when she attended her mother’s trial, she felt the grace of God surrounding her and keeping her.


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.


“Depression…Something I Know”

Jason Clark was a brilliant pastor of a leading church in the UK, the father of three, and a university professor. He has done a lot in his life, and he’s just this side of forty.

When Jason was nearly seventeen, he became a Christian at a wonderful church. He says, “I remember the first experience of being prayed for—having people lay hands on me, gently, lovingly; and it was the beginning of healing in my life. Church was wonderful: a place full of brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, adopted mums and dads; a place where I was loved and cared for.”

For the first time in his life, people built him up and spoke words of life into who he was and what he could be. His home life had been very different. As a child, he had to be the adult. He remembers running out in the snow in his pajamas, barefoot, chasing his mother down the street, begging her not to take the overdose she’d threatened to take. He remembers hiding in the closet for hours as he heard his parents destroy each other and their house. Then there was the pain of missing college to care for his one-year-old brother, pretending to be his father whenever they went out in public.

These things were a regular occurrence in his life, and in the midst of destruction, he determined not to be like his parents.

After he became a Christian, things went well for awhile. He grew and moved on. He went to seminary and college and married. Yet he found himself coping less and less as anxiety and depression began to hit him harder and harder. Only in hindsight did he understand that he’d suffered from depression as a child. He’d had a brief respite when he initially became a Christian for two or three years, but old pains began to resurface as life moved on.

In spite of growing anxiety, Jason pressed on. He worked a hundred hours a week to support his family, commuted three hours a day, and raised a young family, all while planting the church he hoped to someday pastor full-time. His mounting depression and anxiety were kept at bay only by working harder and harder. His first day of being a full-time pastor finally arrived. He celebrated this momentous day by having a nervous breakdown. Throughout the day, he rotated between being catatonic and suffering panic attacks. He thought he was dying, or going insane. His body, brain, soul, and mind finally gave in to an inevitable collapse.

He says, “It was tough on my wife. All I could do was get up, see the kids off to school, go back to bed, get up when the kids came home, and preach on Sunday. How I did that, I have no idea. Our church was wonderful. They told me that I had always said it was okay to be ill, and now it was my turn. During this time the church grew.”

Jason got medication and went into therapy and began to face up to his past and the abuse he’d never dealt with before. The coping mechanism he’d developed—caring for others to make up for his own lack of care—had found an unhealthy place in the church. It was easy to excel in church by caring. As a nineteen-year-old, he had led small groups and ministries with adults. He’d seen his leadership role as having an “old head on young shoulders.”

He was determined not to be his parents, to not do what they did or be who they were. This determination had helped him survive, but it finally came undone one day in therapy when his therapist asked, “Why do you define your life by who you don’t want to be, rather than who you do?” Jason realized in that moment that he had spent so many years as a workaholic, pushing, striving, and fearful that he would become his parents.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: “Why do you define your life by who you don’t want to be, rather who you do?”]]

At the lowest point of his breakdown, Jason felt as if he were losing his faith. The questions and doubts he’d kept at bay came crashing in, demanding to be faced. One night, Jason took his Bible to bed and held it to his chest; he told God he didn’t know how to read it anymore, and this was a close as he could get to it. He hoped it was okay with God.

Jason says, “Now I know it was, and is. During that devestating time, I realized that Jesus was still the same Jesus I had given my life to. It was the systems I’d built up that had fallen apart. So I went back to seminary to do part-time research in theology and to think through the things I was realizing. Theology saved my faith. And theology created something new in my life, and in our church. As it helped me grow, it helped our church grow.

“I know I have a long way to go and may suffer many dark days until I die. Genetics and a family disposition to depression mean I will often wrestle with life. But in the wrestling, I find dependence on Christ, and I find recreation and new life.

“The pattern of destruction and fear I knew as a child has abated. It has not been passed on to my wife, my children. In them and in my church community, I see hope. With them, I do life in the deepest and most painful and joyful and happy ways. My anxiety and depression, like Winston Churchill’s ‘Black Dog,’ is something I know and take for a walk through life.”


Yes, though I walk through the (deep, sunless) valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear or dread no evil; for You are with me;

Your rod (to protect) and Your staff (to guide), they comfort me.…

You anoint my head with oil; my (brimming) cup runs over.

Surely or only goodness, mercy and unfailing love

shall follow me all the days of my life;

and through the length of days the house of the Lord

(and His presence) shall be my dwelling place.


“A Dreaded Diagnosis”

Jo Franz—an outgoing young wife, mother, and talented singer involved with helping her husband in ministry—had a lot going for her.

One morning she stood in the kitchen, cooking pancakes on the cast iron griddle for the youth choir when she suddenly felt as if she was falling over with dizziness. Jo landed in a chair as her husband and the rest of the choir entered the room. Alarmed, she knew she had to deal with a growing set of troubling issues. That year she’d had some strange symptoms, not noticeable to anyone but her. Now she knew there was something seriously wrong with her.

After many tests, the doctor gave her the dreaded diagnosis: multiple sclerosis, a crippling disease. She had suspected the diagnosis, because the symptoms were the same as her friend’s, who had MS. Ironically, she had even done fund raisers for the cause of MS.

It was only later when she was alone, that she broke down and cried with fear about the unpredictable life MS would bring. But MS was only the beginning of her difficult time. Soon after her diagnosis, she went through an unwanted divorce.

How could Jo live a full, vibrant life with the threat of a disabling disease hanging over her head? In those early, dark days, Jo could never have imagined how God would use her weakness to demonstrate His strength and joy.


Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength;

They shall mount up with wings like eagles;

They shall run and not be weary,

They shall walk and not faint.


“My World Changed with a Phone Call”

It was a late May afternoon. It had been cleaning day, so there was a sense of fresh order in the house. Karen’s husband would be attending a monthly board dinner meeting; her youngest daughter, Sommer, was away for the evening, and Karen looked forward to throwing a simple salad together for her solo supper.

Karen took a deep breath and savored the quiet in her home. She smiled, thinking of Sommer’s upcoming high school graduation and acceptance into college. Soon Karen and Bob would be empty-nesters—it was here already. Their oldest daughter, Hillary, had recently married a wonderful young man, and the newlyweds had moved to the Midwest to finish their education.

It was a new era for her and Bob. They had treasured every minute of parenting, but now it was time to let go.

The phone rang, interrupting Karen’s solitude. It was Hillary. But something was not right. Karen listened with growing alarm, as Hillary’s speech seemed strange. There was something very wrong. Numb with shock and suppressed fear, she responded with supernatural calm, as she said what had to be “words from God.”

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Numb with shock and suppressed fear, she responded with supernatural calm.]]

Karen said, “I finally got my son-in-law, Kevin, on the phone, and he confirmed that Hillary had been manifesting some strange behaviors. She’d been pacing the floors in constant motion, all the while plugged into a music headset. She had quit attending class—highly unusual for her—and was becoming reclusive. She also seemed to be having hallucinations and delusions.

What could be happening? Karen had no idea what they were facing, and immediately tried to reach her husband who was in a board meeting, but his phone was on silent. Later he told Karen she’d left him five messages, but she barely had any memory of that. She only knew she had to get to her daughter.

Kevin agreed that Karen should come immediately, and Karen got online to check flights and availability, briefly aghast at the last-minute prices; however, nothing mattered but getting there.

Over the next few months, Karen and her family began to discover that Hillary had had a psychotic break, and it appeared that she had schizoaffective disorder. One psychiatrist told them there was a “less than 10 percent chance she’ll get better in her lifetime.”

Karen wondered, How do I parent her in this new place and support my new son-in-law? How is it possible that my dreams and hopes for my child had been so drastically altered? How will we get through this? Yet Karen and her family were to learn what it meant to trust God in a strange new world.


He gives power to the weak.

And to those who have no might, He increases strength.


“Why Hasn’t God Healed Our Little Boy?”

Doug and Angela Tucker were in their second year of planting a church in Athens, Georgia. They loved their people, the challenges of starting a new work, and especially enjoyed their two children—seven-year-old Aleisha and fifteen-month-old-David. In the late spring of 1998, Angela was back at her pre-pregnancy weight, feeling good.

Angela says, “Life seemed to be clicking right along with everything under control. One morning I was outside with some ladies of our church beside the pool. I felt nauseated and thought perhaps I had the flu. One of the women suggested I may be pregnant, but that seemed completely absurd. However, she offered me a pregnancy test that she had left over as she was currently six weeks pregnant. Much to my surprise, the test was positive. I went home and announced the news to my husband, who was as surprised as I was. But, after adjusting to the news, we were very much looking forward to the birth of this little addition to the Tucker family.”

Four months into the pregnancy, Angela went alone to have a sonogram, a routine procedure. The sonographer began her work, and the longer she looked, the more questions she began to ask. Angela had been through this type of questioning before, when she’d had a miscarriage before David. With growing alarm, Angela asked, “What’s wrong?”

The sonographer confirmed that the baby was a boy, and then went on to tell Angela that although she wasn’t supposed to discuss these things with her, she saw cysts on the baby’s brain and a two-vessel umbilical cord instead of three vessels. She told her to come to a neonatalologist the next day and have an amniocentesis performed.

Angela was devastated. What did this mean? As she shared the news with Doug, it suddenly seemed very important that the baby had a name. Doug anointed Angela with oil, and they prayed for healing, asking God to give them a name for His child.

Angela says, “Immediately the name Samuel came to my mind, but I didn’t voice this to Doug. Later, Doug asked me to research the name Samuel on the computer to see what it meant. We found that Samuel meant ‘heard of God.’ We believed that God would hear our prayer and heal our child.”

Nothing was discovered from the amniocentesis except what Samuel didn’t have. He didn’t have Down’s Syndrome, and he didn’t have a myriad of other chromosome problems. With each visit to the neonatalologist, new problems were discovered: a hole in Samuel’s heart, possibly webbed fingers and toes. They were told that if Samuel made it through the trauma of birth, he would very likely die within a few hours. Two doctors told Angela that she needed to abort Samuel.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: They were told that if Samuel made it through the trauma of birth, he would very likely die within a few hours.]]

Angela said, “My heart sank beneath the depths of despair. This was the worst news I had ever had to endure in my entire life. My husband and I gathered our faith and the support of our church members and family and went through week after week of this very unstable pregnancy with Samuel. We prayed, believing that God would heal this child and that when he came from the womb, he would be as normal as any child ever born. This was not to be God’s answer.”

After a difficult delivery, Samuel finally arrived around five o’clock on January 23, 1999. He did not have a hole in his heart nor did he have webbed fingers and toes. He did, however, have very short arms and legs in proportion to the rest of his body, and he could not get enough oxygen in.

Within hours, Samuel was transferred to a children’s hospital by ambulance. Angela said, “Everything happened so fast. We were asked to sign papers saying that if Samuel died on the way, we would not hold the hospital responsible. We were told that we could not follow the ambulance for safety reasons, so they allowed us to leave before the ambulance. On the three-hour trip to Augusta, the ambulance passed us with flashing lights. The most horrifying feeling came over us, as we knew that our precious little boy was inside, fighting for his life.”

Anxious days passed, filled with tests and consultations before it was discovered that Samuel had Rhizomelic Chondrodysplasia Punctata, or RCP, a genetic bone disorder. Samuel’s cells were missing an enzyme that allowed the body to grow. Doug and Angela discovered they were both carriers of the gene and that both parents had to drop the gene down at the same time for a child to be affected. They learned that Aleisha and David were very likely carriers, but because they didn’t receive the gene from both of their parents, they did not have the syndrome.

The prognosis wasn’t good. One day in a consultation, Doug and Angela were told that Samuel would more than likely not live to be twelve weeks old; a year at the most. They were also told that Samuel was severely retarded. Angela waited until the doctor left the room, and then fell on the floor, begging God to heal her child.

An exhausting saga ensued—tubes, treatments, procedures, and learning how to care for Samuel at home. The early months of Samuel’s life was a confusing time for Angela, a time of questioning. She agonized, Why hasn’t God healed our little boy? After all, we’ve believed His Word, we’ve lived a holy standard of life, and we’re serving God with all we have in us. How can I trust Him to save me if I can’t trust him to heal Samuel?

Angela and Doug had no idea then how Samuel would change their lives. how much they would learn, or how their ministry would change in deep and meaningful ways.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd.

He will gather the lambs with his arm,

and carry them in His bosom,

and gently lead those who are with young.


To You, In the Midst of Crisis

The stories and pains we’ve shared thus far in this chapter are not unusual. All of us—if we live long enough—travel unwanted paths where we face seemingly insurmountable enemies. But even though pain and loss are common to us all, when it enters our own life, it can shake us to the core; and we are desperate for help. God has provided just the help we need.


Know That the Battle Is Not Yours

There’s a story in the Bible about a time when the Israelites faced overwhelming odds as enormous armies were coming from all around to attack them, to wipe them out. They were completely outnumbered.

Their leader, Jehosaphat, didn’t know what to do. But he called the people to fast and pray. They desperately needed to hear from God to know what to do in this overwhelming situation. After fasting and praying, the people received a word from God: "This is what the Lord says to you: 'Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's.. . .You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you."


Remember That Your Crisis Is Just for a Season

In our family’s crisis, there were principles from God’s Word that spoke to us deeply. For weeks I prayed Psalm 23 on my daily walks: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow...” Through! In all my years of reading the twenty-third Psalm, I’d never seen the word “through” before with such vivid understanding. The word “through” gave me hope; it said that our family wouldn’t stay in the valley. Yes, we were in a valley, but it was only for a season.

The crisis you are in at the moment isn’t forever. You won’t make a permanent home in the valley, and even while you are there, you are not alone.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT Yes, we were in a valley, but it was only for a season.]]


Trust God, Even When No Answers Are in Sight

The question is not so much what to do; but who do you turn to? As Angela said, “We learned to run to Him and not from Him.”

In our family’s situation, we did not see a good end game. How could we help our daughter place the only flesh and blood she knew in the arms of another family? How could we do such a thing? We love our babies. How do you love and let go? Imposssible.

There appeared to be no pain-free solution. Neither Amy nor the birth father felt ready for marriage or parenthood. We were concerned the child could be bounced back and forth if she stayed in our family. How would we solve this? We studied all the angles, over and over.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: How could we help our daughter place the only flesh and blood she knew in the arms of another family?]]

This is where you’re hoping I tell you that if you do A and B, you will get C. How I wish I could, but sometimes life is not like that. In John chapter 9, the Pharisees brought the blind man to Jesus and asked Him, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” They wanted answers. Reasons. Whose fault is this?

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: This is where you’re hoping I tell you that if you do A and B, you will get C.]]

We often romanticize how things should be, maybe from our propensity to want a story with a happy ending. But some things defy easy answers and formulas. Sometimes we live with a mess for awhile.

Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life”; and then Jesus went on to heal the man. There can be a higher purpose, a deeper meaning in life’s twists and turns. We don’t have to know all the answers when we stand in the truth that the battle is not ours, but God’s. Letting go in the midst of a crisis is completely opposite to what we want to do, but doing so is our only true hope for victory.


Know That You Are Not Alone

Sure, you feel alone. Feeling alone seems to be a common thread when you hit that “lowest of the low” place. You are left with a sense of helplessness and impotence, and fear can choke you. Songwriter Bobby Bare said in the song, “Lonesome Valley,” “You gotta walk that lonesome valley all by yourself.” But, the reality is that even though no other person walks with us, we are not alone. The psalmist said, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow…I will not fear, for You are with me.”

Jacob, running away from home, slept on a rock under the stars. Alone! But he was awestruck by the presence of God: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it…How awesome is this place!” The abiding presence of the Lord dissipated his fear, his loneliness.

Years later, Jacob returned to face his brother, Esau, whom he’d cheated out of an inheritance. The night before he encountered Esau, Jacob wrestled alone with the angel on the distant side of the river: “Then Jacob was left alone; and the Man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.”

There is something purifying about being alone. It’s where you’re confronted with what you’re really all about—where your strength lies, what your rock-bottom motivations are. Gail Sheehy, in writing about the passages of life writes: "The older we grow, the more we become aware of the commonality of our lives, as well as our essential aloneness as navigators through the human journey.”

But you are not truly alone, even if you feel like it. Again, the psalmist said, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. The darkness and the light are both alike to You.”


Hold On

It’s important to remember that in the initial stage of crisis, we’re not always thinking clearly. We don’t have all the facts yet, and fear and grief can smother hope. Try not to panic. It may not be as bad as you think. It may be worse than you think. The main thing is to wait on God and hold on tight.

When we’re in pain, we’re tempted to run away, escape, distract ourselves with mind-numbing activities. It is only human. Even Jesus Himself looked to the cross with dread. He prayed in the garden: “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me!” Then he added, “Yet I want your will, not mine.” And so we too are held by love, caught by commitment, ensnared by our relationships.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: We too are held by love, caught by commitment, ensnared by our relationships.]]

One night I wrote in my prayer journal: “Lord, I feel so exposed. …. I want to stay home, to avoid places and people that should feel safe, but don’t.” And yet, we go on, even though we don’t know how. We keep living, even if we don’t feel like it. We muddle through an impossible place, even though there’s no fine print on how to do it.


Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed,

for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you;

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”


[dingbat divider]

God holds for you new dreams and fresh possibilities. He is indeed near to your breaking heart, and it is indeed true that through His mercies we are not consumed. In the midst of despair, there is hope. Things can get better. The sun will come up in the morning.

Hold on, my friend. Don’t look at what is going around you; hold on to what you know—God is. And no matter how it looks, know that God can make a way when there seems to be no way.

[[DESIGNER: PLEASE INSERT CALL OUT: Hold on, my friend. Don’t look at what is going around you; hold onto what you know.]]


When I am walking in darkness, on shifting ground,

remind me that you are still leading me by the hand. . .

no matter that I cannot feel your touch.

Remind me when I am passing through even the driest place

that you are ahead of me,

opening secret springs of water for my soul. Amen.






Personal Reflection

Read Psalm 23 meditatively, slowly. If possible, read it in different versions over several days, choosing a different version of Psalm 23 for each day. Take time to reflect on each verse; praying as you read.

In your prayer journal, re-write Psalm 23, personalizing it: (e.g., “You, Lord, are my shepherd. I can relax into Your care, knowing You care for my every need,” etc.)
Ask yourself, At this place in my life, how is He comforting me? Restoring me?
What does it mean for me to “lie down beside still waters?
Do any words or phrases in Psalm 23 speak to you more than others? Write them down, and expand on them.



Surviving One Bad Year:

7 Spiritual Strategies to Lead You to a New Beginning




Nancie Carmichael





Our purpose at Howard Books is to:

Increase faith in the hearts of growing Christians
Inspire holiness in the lives of believers
Instill hope in the hearts of struggling people everywhere
Because He’s coming again!


[Howard Logo] Published by Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.howardpublishing.com


Surviving One Bad Year © 2009 Nancie Carmichael


All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Howard Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.



Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TK


ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-0324-1

ISBN-10: 1-4391-0324-0

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


HOWARD and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.


Manufactured in the United States of America


A special thanks to the many friends who shared their personal stories for the creation of this book. All stories are used by permission.


For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact: Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or business@simonandschuster.com.


Cover design by TK

Interior design by TK


Unless otherwise indicated all Scriptures are taken from the New King James Version (NKJV). Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible®. © Copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org). Scripture quotations marked TLB are taken from The Living Bible, copyright © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked CEV are taken from the Contemporary English Version, copyright © 1995 by the American Bible Society. Scripture quotations marked The Message are taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked AMP are from the Amplified Bible®, copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission (www.Lockman.org).



Contents


Introduction: To You, My Friend


PART 1: EMERGENY HELP FOR WHEN THE CRISIS HITS


Chapter One: “I Can’t Do This”


Chapter Two: It Hurts to Lose


Chapter Three: After the Cards Stop Coming



PART 2: SPIRITUAL STRATEGIES TO LEAD YOU TO A NEW BEGINNING


Chapter Four: Strategy #1: Release the Healing Power of Words


Chapter Five: Strategy #2: Take Care of Yourself


Chapter Six: Strategy #3: Reach Out to Other People


Chapter Seven: Strategy #4: Put One Foot in Front of the Other


Chapter Eight: Strategy #5: Sing a New Song


Chapter Nine: Strategy #6: Let Go, So God Can Hold You Close


Chapter Ten: Strategy #7: Trust God for All Seasons


Friday, October 9, 2009

Free Autumn Treasures Unit Study Lapbook by Amanda Bennett Pin It

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FIRST WILD CARD BLOG TOUR: The Transformation by Terri Kraus Pin It

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 Transformation

David C. Cook (2009)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




An award-winning interior designer, Terri Kraus comes to the Project Restoration series naturally, having survived the remodel, renovation, and restoration of three separate personal residences, along with those of her clients. The author/coauthor (with husband, Jim) of eleven other novels, including The Renovation and The Renewal, Terri lives in Wheaton, Illinois, with her husband and son, Elliot.

Visit the author's website.




Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Format: Paperback
Number of Pages: 304
Vendor: David C. Cook (2009)
ISBN: 0781448670
ISBN-13: 9780781448673

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


The Transformation

CHAPTER ONE


Shadyside

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Early Spring, Present Day


Oliver checked his watch. He squinted and positioned his wrist nearer to the glow of the truck’s speedometer.


5:45 a.m. Too early.


Oliver knew it was much too early to be wandering around in a strange neighborhood, but heavy Pittsburgh traffic—even the threat of heavy traffic—gave him the willies. Leaving his home later in the morning meant heavy traffic, probably normal for everyone, but not normal for Oliver. Navigating his pickup through dense packs of automobiles was far removed from Oliver’s comfort zone.


Too early.


He might risk the drive into Pittsburgh from Jeannette for a funeral or a wedding, or maybe a Steelers’ football game (if someone gave him free tickets), but not much else. Why risk life, limb, and sanity?


So today, Oliver had attempted to beat the traffic and the stress. He had gotten up at 4:30, not that much earlier than his normal get-up time, had picked up a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee at the store a mile from his house, and had driven in the shimmery dark down Route 30. Traffic was light as he entered the flickering fluorescent-lit Squirrel Hill tunnel. Then, following his GPS, which he’d begun to rely on but did not always trust, he’d crept along a baffling series of residential streets until he arrived at his destination. The voice from the GPS unit seemed more chipper than he remembered in announcing his successful journey.


“Destination ahead. You have reached your destination.”


He pulled to the curb, scanning for street signs.


Cities have all sorts of laws about where you can and can’t park and when, he remembered. And I’m not about to get a ticket just giving someone a free estimate.


He looked about again, turning sideways in the seat.


I can’t just sit in the truck. That might look like I’m—what do they call it?—casing the place. I am, sort of—but not in that way.


He got out of the truck, jogged down the block, back to the front of his truck, then halfway up the block.


“No signs,” he said softly. “That’s odd. Should be some sort of parking sign.”


Oliver really disliked getting traffic tickets. He had received one speeding ticket in the last decade, but his parking violations occurred more frequently. Contractors sometimes had to double-park or park on sidewalks. He hated seeing a fluttering yellow slip, lying in wait with a bad day written all over it, snuggled under his windshield wiper.


“It must be okay to park here then,” he said out loud.


He walked slowly back towards his truck, tapped at the passenger side window, and nearly pressed his face to the glass.


“Come on, Robert. Let’s get started on the estimate.”


Robert lifted his head and shook himself awake, blinking. He had slept the entire trip. Not that the trip was that long, but he most often napped during any ride longer than ten minutes. He scrambled to his feet and stretched slowly and carefully.


Robert was Oliver’s dog. Most often Oliver and a fair number of his friends and coworkers would say “Robert the Dog” when speaking about Robert the Dog, as opposed to just “Robert,” because there were several other Roberts inhabiting Oliver’s circle of friends. No one wanted to confuse man and dog—least of all, Oliver. Oliver actually liked the sound of that three-word name and began to use “Robert the Dog” almost exclusively, except when they were alone, like this morning.


Robert the Dog clambered down from the seat to the floor of the truck and jumped out to the curb, sniffing the air, the grass, the truck, and finally, Oliver’s shoe. He might have been a pure-bred schnauzer but was the size of at least one and a half miniature schnauzers combined, though not as large as the giant variety, and his hair was mostly black. His head was almost the right schnauzer shape—not perfect to the breed, but close—so Oliver assumed a very small amount of some sort of nonschnauzer lineage had found its way into the good dog Robert.


Ever since Oliver had rescued Robert from the pound as a puppy, the two had gone everywhere and done everything together, including evaluating a new project . . . a possible new project. In construction, Oliver found, nothing was certain until the contract was signed—and even then, things could happen.


Oliver did not have to worry about Robert the Dog taking off, running into traffic, or barking at the wrong time. Robert had never done any of those things and, more than likely, would not start demonstrating inappropriate behaviors this early on a still sunless Monday in Shadyside, just on the outskirts of Pittsburgh.


Oliver looked at the address again. He had listened to the phone message carefully three times to get the return phone number, the exact name of the potential client, and the address of the potential job correct. Now he stood on South Aiken Street and looked east.


“But this is a church,” he said to Robert the Dog.


Robert simply stared at the building, sniffing the cool morning air, as if he were not really interested


“I mean . . . it’s a real church. I knew it was going to be a church, but not this kind of church.”


When Samantha Cohen had left her message five days ago, she had said her new acquisition, her latest renovation project, was a church building. She planned on transforming it, doing “wonderful things” with it. Oliver had imagined a small frame building, a church-like building that might be easily changed into a gallery or antique shop—but not a heavy, old historic church-to-the-very-rafters sort of building.


This is a real church—and will always look like a real church.


“Can you meet me Monday morning?” Miss Cohen had said, her voice deep and raspy, in a memorable, alluring, black-and-white Lauren-Bacall-movie sort of way. “I really need to talk this project through. Alice and Frank Adams, my friends in Butler, just raved about your work. Said you were brilliant with their displays and cabinets and all types of furnishings. I need brilliant. I’m willing to pay for brilliant. So Monday. Early. If you can make it. Leave me a return message. I’ll get it, even if I don’t call you back. I’m a little OC when it comes to checking messages.”


Oliver had left a return message: “Early Monday. Sevenish? I might be there before seven just to look around the outside, if that’s okay with you. I get up early.”


What he was now staring at in the early light, and what Robert was sniffing, was an historically significant church. No one could lay eyes on this building, even in the dark on a foggy night, and see anything other than a rock-solid church. This was a church with a capital C. It had massive stone arches; huge stained-glass windows that traversed the sides of the church; a rotunda that certainly must hold the altar. There was a covered entranceway (the port cochere, Oliver knew it was called) done in huge stone blocks and a high tower with a cross and carillon.


Just standing there, thinking about remodeling the old structure into something other than a place of worship, gave Oliver a case of spiritual heebie-jeebies. “This is a church,” he repeated again.


He stood, wrapped in that early morning silence that occurs even in big cities, like the soft, fragile, and short-in-duration crease in the day between the dark and its dark noises and the early morning let’s-get-the-commute-going sort of noises. Oliver wondered if he should just get back in his truck, pretend that he had never made the mistake of answering the phone message from Samantha Cohen, and move on to the next job.


I’ll be tearing apart a church. God’s house, where people have worshipped for what must be over a century.


He wanted to sigh, but did not.


My mother will die if she finds out.


Oliver wondered, for just one split of a split second, if he could keep this job secret. Not that he liked keeping secrets from his mother, but sometimes parents could not be trusted to handle sensitive news.


Or I could walk away and wait for the next job. That actually might be easier . . . safer . . . less stressful.


Except he did not have a next job. He could wait, wait for the next big nonchurch job, but there was no guarantee another one would come quickly, and in these sorts of wobbly economic times, Oliver knew he could not be picky.


And he was here; he’d already endured the traffic. He would stay. He’d do the estimate.


There’s something about this place. . . .


Now his words were softer, perhaps because of the silence. “A church . . . but, well, she did say it used to be a church.”


The holes in the stone façade were still visible where a sign had once hung.


“It’s just a building now.” He looked down at Robert the Dog. “Right, Robert? It’s not a church anymore. Right?”


Robert looked up, as if considering Oliver’s options, sniffed again, and then sneezed in a very uncanine-like manner.


©2009 Cook Communications Ministries. The Transformation by Terri Kraus. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.

FIRST WILD CARD BLOG TOUR: Stretch Marks by Kimberly Stuart Pin It

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:


Stretch Marks

David C. Cook; New edition (September 1, 2009)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Kimberly Stuart holds degrees from St. Olaf College and the University of Iowa. After teaching Spanish and English as a second language in Chicago, Minneapolis, Costa Rica, and eastern Iowa, she took a huge increase in pay to be a full-time mom. She makes her home in Des Moines, Iowa, with her husband and three young children. She is also the author of Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch.


Visit the author's website.

Stretch Marks, by Kimberly Stuart from David C. Cook on Vimeo.



Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition (September 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0781448921
ISBN-13: 978-0781448925

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Under the Weather


Mia's nose was stuck in her own armpit. Not a lot of glamour there, but she was working toward a higher purpose.


“Think of how your organs are thanking you for thinking of them, for being considerate enough to stretch them.” Delia's voice floated from the front of the room where, Mia knew without looking, she joined the class in a binding pose that could make most grown men cry like little girls.


Mia breathed an audible breath, collecting a healthy whiff of deodorant-infused sweat. In the nose, out the nose, throat relaxed. She closed her eyes, feeling the ends of her fingers beginning to slip out of the bind. Liver, pancreas, you're welcome, she thought and felt her stomach make an uncharacteristic lurch. The radiator kicked in beside where she stood, infusing heat and a bass hum to the room. Mia focused on an unmoving spot on the floor and not on the spandexed and heaving tush of the woman on the mat in front of her.


“And now using the muscles in your core, slooowly release and come back to mountain pose.” Delia manipulated her voice and cadence to stretch like honey. On any other day, her instructor's voice sounded like a lullaby to Mia, a quiet but persistent reminder to breathe deeply and recycle paper and plastic. Today, though, Mia felt an urge to ask Delia to speak up. She wanted concrete sounds, solid sounds; the feathery intonations landing lightly around the room made her insides itch. She pulled out of the bind and stood at the top of her mat, feet planted, palms outturned.


“Feel better yet?” Frankie whispered to Mia from the mat next to her.


Mia sighed. “Not yet.”


“Let's move into our warrior sequence.” Delia modeled the correct form on her lime-green mat and the class obediently followed suit.


Four poses later Mia hadn't shaken the bug she'd hoped was just an out-of-sorts feeling to be shed with a good workout. She felt elderly, cranky. Not even downward-facing dog had brought any relief. She lay on her back during the last minutes of class, trying to melt into the floor, be the floor. The spandexed woman was snoring. This final pose, savasana, was intended to provide participants final moments to recover, to be still and let their minds quiet before reentering the chaos of the outside world. Most yoga aficionados soaked up the pose. In Mia's class she'd spotted a plump, permed woman wearing a sweatshirt that declared in stark black print “I'm just here for the savasana.”


Today, though, Mia couldn't keep her eyes shut. She curled and flexed her toes, wishing Delia would crank up some Stones or Black Crowes instead of the Tibetan chimes lilting out of the stereo. Her impatience with a woman who freely quoted Mr. Rogers was beginning to worry her. Even in the hush of the room, her thoughts continued in an unruly spin, and when Delia brought everyone back to lotus, Mia glimpsed a scowl on her reflection in the mirror.


“Let's just enjoy the long, strong feeling of our bodies,” Delia said. Her eggplant yoga gear revealed taut muscles. “Our organs are thanking us for a good massage.”


Right. Organs. Mission accomplished, Mia thought, trying to concentrate on the gratitude her body owed her. But her mind crowded with images of bloody, squishy masses, pulsating or writhing in the way organs must do, and she found herself springing from her mat and bolting to the back of the studio. She threw open the door to the ladies' room and gripped the toilet bowl in a new pose, aptly christened “riotous and unexplained retching.” “Mia?” Frankie's voice was subdued, even though a postclass din was making its way through the restroom door.


Mia emerged from the stall. “I guess sun salutations weren't such a good idea.” She washed her face and hands at the sink, trying not to inhale too deeply the scent of eucalyptus rising from the soap. She watched her face in the mirror, noting the pale purple circles under eyes that persisted even with the extra sleep she'd indulged in that week. Mia smoothed her eyebrows with clammy fingers, taking care not to tug the small silver piercing, and glimpsed Frankie's concerned expression in the mirror. “Don't worry,” Mia said. “I feel much better now. Must just be a virus.”


Frankie handed over Mia's coat and a hemp bag proclaiming Save the Seals. “I'll walk you home. Let's stop at Gerry's store for soup and crackers.”


Mia made a face. “Crackers, yes. Soup, definitely not.”


Outside the studio weak February sunshine played hide-andseek with wispy cloud cover. Frankie planted her arm around Mia's waist.


Mia glanced at her friend. “I like the blue.”


Frankie turned her head to showcase the full effect. “Do you? I meant for it to be more baby blue, less sapphire, but I got distracted with this crazy woman on the Home Shopping Network and left the dye on too long.”


In the two years Mia had known her, Frankie had demonstrated a keen affection for adventurous hair coloring. Magenta (advent of spring), emerald green (popular in March), black and white stripes (reflecting doldrums after a breakup), now blue. The rainbow tendency endeared Frankie to Mia, who'd braved an extended though unsuccessful flirtation with dreadlocks during college, but otherwise had settled for a comparatively conformist 'do of patchouli-scented chestnut curls.


“How did this change go over with Frau Leiderhosen?”


Frankie whistled. “She loved it. In fact she wondered if we could have a girls' night out this weekend and take turns trading beauty secrets.”


Mia snorted, which was an unfortunate and unavoidable byproduct of her laughter. The snorts only encouraged Frankie.


“'But, Esteemed Employer,' I said, 'I can't possibly instruct the master! A mere mortal such as I? It'd be like a Chihuahua taking over the dressing room of J-Lo! Or Sophia Loren! Or Gisele Bundchen, a woman who shares with you, dear boss, an impressive German name and an uncanny sense of style!'”


“Stop it.” Mia clutched her stomach and groaned. “Yoga and laughter are off limits until further notification from my digestive tract.”


Frankie sighed. “I do feel sorry for her. I never should have shown up with a mousy blonde bob cut for the initial interview. I was so average librarian.” She shook her head as they slowed near Gerry's Grocery. “Only to turn on her the first week on the job.”


It had occurred to Mia more than once how much she could have benefited from a green-haired librarian in the small Nebraska town where she'd grown up. Not until she was well into adulthood did she realize that not all librarians were employed to scare children, like the dreaded circulation director at Cedar Ridge Municipal Branch with the spidery braid and hairy mole. Mia had cowered behind the legs of her father when he would stop in to check out an eight-track or the latest release by Louis L'Amour. The moled woman had snapped at Mia once when she'd fingered a book on a stand, announcing down her nose that the book of Mia's interest was for display only and could not be checked out. Never mind that Bird Calls of the Northeast had not exactly beckoned to eight-year-old Mia anyway, but the chastisement was enough to keep books at an arm's length for years. How different Mia's interest in reading could have been had a spitfire like Frankie been the one behind the desk! Frankie's supervisor, Ms. Nachtmusik, with her impossible surname that changed with each conversation, didn't know the gift Frankie was to her patrons.


“Hello, ladies.” Gerry looked over his glasses. He stopped pecking madly at a calculator on the front counter. “How are things with you?”


“Mia's sick, Gerry.” Frankie patted Mia on the head. “We need sick stuff.”


Gerry pushed back on his stool and stood. He clucked like an unusually tall occupant of a henhouse. “Sick, Miss Mia? Headache? Stomach? Fever?”


Mia shook her head. “Stomach, I guess. I think crackers will be enough.”


Gerry looked disgusted. “This is not your duty to decide. Miss Frankie and I will take care of the illness. Sit.” He pointed to his stool and waved at her impatiently when she didn't jump at his command. Gerry shuffled off, muttering about the tragedy of young people living in cities without their parents.


Mia slipped Frankie a rolled-up reusable shopping bag and whispered, “Make sure to steer him away from pesticides.” Frankie winked at Mia and skipped behind the man on his mission.


Mia greeted the next few patrons entering the store. She tried watching the game show on Gerry's small black-and-white, but she couldn't seem to follow the rules. I'll just lay my head here for a moment, she thought, pushing Gerry's calculator aside. “Oh, good heavenly gracious, we need to call an ambulance!” Gerry's words seeped like molasses through Mia's subconscious. She wondered who was injured and if it had anything to do with the impossible rules on that game show.


“Mia, honey, are you okay?” Frankie was tugging on her shoulder.


“Hmm?” Mia pulled her eyelids open into the glare of fluorescent lights. Her head was, indeed, on the front counter, but so was the rest of her body. She turned her head slowly to face Frankie, who had crouched down beside her and was inches from her face. “I'm lying on the conveyer belt.”


“Yes, yes, you are,” Frankie said while guiding Mia to a sitting position. She gauged her tone of voice to fit a three-year-old on Sudafed. “Gerry and I left to get some groceries and when we returned,” she enunciated, “you were lying on the counter.” She nodded up and down, up and down.


Mia shook her head. “I was really tired. I needed to sleep.” Her voice trailed off. She kept her hands on her face for a moment, fingers brushing past a stud in her right nostril and the ring in her eyebrow. Eyes open, she peeked through the cracks in her fingers. Behind Gerry, who was patting his pockets frantically for cigarettes that hadn't been there since he'd quit a decade before, stood his son, Adam. Mia tried running her fingers through her yoga-tangle of hair.


Adam cleared his throat and smiled.


Mia realized she'd dropped her hands and had commenced a creepy stare session. “Hi, Adam,” she said too loudly. “How are you?”


Adam bit his cheek in an attempt to take seriously a question coming from a woman sprawled next to a cash register. “I'm great, Mia. You?”


“Fantastic,” she said and swung her legs to the side of her perch. Gerry rushed forward to offer her his arm, Adam close behind. Mia held up her hands in protest. “I'm fine, really,” she said. “Just a little tired, apparently.” She walked slowly to the front door and turned to wave. “Thanks, Gerry. You're a great host. Adam, good to see you. Frankie, are you ready?” She opened the door without waiting for a response and stepped out onto the sidewalk.


Gerry pushed away Frankie's twenty-dollar bill and handed her the sack of sick stuff as she fell in behind her friend. They walked five minutes in silence. Dusk was long gone, the sun having set early in the February evening. Mia was from the Midwest and didn't much mind Chicago winters; Frankie, however, hailed from Southern California and moaned every few steps as wind from the lake found its way through coats and mittens and headed straight for skin.


“I will never know why we have chosen this misery.” Frankie held Mia at the crook of her arm like a geriatric patient. Mia felt too exhausted to protest. At the foot of the stairs leading to her apartment building, she stopped. She watched a dapper older gentleman with mocha skin descend the steps and allow his eyes to fall on her.


“Hey, Silas,” she said.


“Evening, girls,” Silas said. He dropped his keys in the side pocket of his suit and tipped his hat, a soft brown fedora trimmed in striped black ribbon. He cocked his head slightly and narrowed his gaze at Mia. “Girl, you don't look so hot.” Silas furrowed his brow and looked at Frankie. “What's the story, Francesca?”


“We're not sure,” Frankie said. “But don't worry. I'm taking her straight upstairs before she can toss her cookies again.”


Silas took a nimble step back, sidestepping puddles in his retreat. “Honey, I'm sorry. Ain't no fun getting sick.”


“Thanks,” Mia said. She handed him a box of Lorna Doones from her stash of groceries. “Brought your favorites. Goodness knows I won't be needing a visit with Miss Lorna this evening,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the thought.


Silas clucked and shook his head. “Your mama raised you right, girl. I thank God for you, Mia, and I know my dear Bonnie is happy to look down from glory and see me so well taken care of.” He patted her gloved hand. “I couldn't ask for a better neighbor. You get better now, you hear?”


The girls took the steps slowly. When they reached the front door and waited for Mia to fish keys out of her bag, Frankie cleared her throat.


“So, um, what was that business at Gerry's all about?”


Mia shook her head. She dug deeper in her purse. “This is one bizarre virus. I don't even remember making the decision to go to sleep.”


“Yes, right. I didn't mean the counter episode. I meant the eye-lock with Gerry's son.”


“Found them,” Mia said and pushed her key into the lock. “Sorry, what were you saying?”


“Hair-fixing, googly-eye thing with Fig Leaf.” Mia tried to look disapproving. “You and your nicknames. I like the name Adam. I cringe to think of what you call me behind my back.” “Hmm,” Frankie said. “Today would be a toss-up between Vomitronica and Queen of Feigned Emotional Distancing.”


“I'm not feigning anything, for those of us who've read too much Jane Austen,” Mia said. She led the way into the lobby elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. The door closed with a shudder and Mia shrugged. “It's really nothing.”


Frankie crossed her arms and positioned her finger above the emergency stop button.


“All right.” Mia sighed. “When I first moved to my apartment, I was momentarily single and also in need of a neighborhood grocery. I found Gerry's, and Adam was always there with his perfect smile and impeccable Persian manners.” She sighed and watched the numbers light up on their ascent.


“Oh, my gosh. This is so Rear Window.”


“Isn't that the one where the woman is paralyzed?”


“No,” Frankie said with labored patience. “That's An Affair to Remember. I'm hinting less at paralysis, more at love at first sight.”


Mia rolled her eyes as the elevator door opened. “I noticed him, he noticed me, we flirted, and then I was no longer single.” Mia stepped into the hallway. “It was nothing. Seriously. As you might remember, I'm happily in love with another man. End of story.” She led the way to her apartment door. “Sorry to disappoint. I was recovering from an episode, remember.”


“Exactly!” Frankie was triumphant. “Your defenses were down, you were caught off guard and didn't have time to censor what was and wasn't socially appropriate--”


“Shh. He might be home.” Mia paused at her apartment door and ignored Frankie's dramatic jab of her finger down her throat.


“That would be so unusual,” Frankie said, sotto voce. “You can't mean he would be eating your food and smashing organic potato chips under his rear as he watches Baywatch reruns on your couch?”


Mia called into the room, “Anybody here?”


Frankie muttered, “Because we wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else.”


Mia pinched Frankie's arm when she heard rustling in the living room. “Lars?”


He stepped into the entryway, blond hair tousled, mouth opened in a wide yawn. “Hey, babe,” he said around his yawn. “Hey, Frankie.”


“Hi, Lars,” Frankie said sweetly. Mia avoided eye contact with her friend and instead pulled her arms around Lars and gave him her cheek to kiss.


“Don't exchange any of my germs,” she said. “I think I'm sick.”


Lars stepped back, nudging Mia out of the embrace. “Really?” He wrinkled his nose. “Like puking sick?”


Mia unbuttoned her coat. Frankie tugged her friend's arms out of the sleeves and unwrapped her from a bulky crocheted scarf. “Like, totally puking sick,” she said, watching Lars for any recognition of her mocking tone. None detected, she rambled on. “She, like, ralphed after yoga and then at Gerry's she totally fell asleep under the scanner.”


Lars had turned and was heading for the fridge. Mia shot a pleading look at Frankie, who sighed and nodded a momentary truce.


“You should have called and told me you were going to the store. We're almost out of soy milk,” he said, nose in the fridge. “And I ate the last Carob Joy after lunch.”


Mia filled a glass with water. Lars had piled his dishes in the sink, and it occurred to her to thank him, as this was a marked improvement from finding them all over the apartment, crusty, molding, and sometimes neglected until they smelled of rot. Determined not to conjure up any more detail of those images and too tired to explain to Frankie later why dirty dishes piled in the sink was a step upward, she sipped her water and shuffled toward the bedroom.


“Thanks, Frankie, for taking care of me,” she said. “I owe you. But I can't think about it right now, okay?”


Frankie followed her into the bedroom. She turned the covers down as Mia undressed and placed a saucer of crackers on the bedside table. “You take care of yourself, do you hear me?” For a woman with blue hair, Frankie could command the maternal authority of Olivia Walton when summoned. “Call me tomorrow morning. Or before if you need me. Not that Lars isn't the nurturing, restorative type …”


Mia moaned. She lowered herself into bed and curled up into a fetal position.


“All right, all right.” Frankie spoke softly. She turned out the light. “Sleep well, Mimi.” She waited a moment for an answer from under the down comforter but Mia was already drifting toward sleep.



©2009 Cook Communications Ministries. Stretch Marks by Kimberly Stuart. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.

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