We have many heroes of the faith in the literary world. Some adore Beth Moore, others love Joyce Meyer. Me? I'm especially partial to this wonderful lady, and I can't get enough of her books!
Joan's newest release is a devotional that is packed with reminders that we don't have to be perfect women. "It's a Wonderful (Imperfect) Life" will set you free from impossibly high standards beginning at page one and refresh you as you read each day.
The book is divided into sections, each covering a specific aspect of life: work, family, emotions, churches, dreams, plans...each is extensively covered. Joan shares a bit about her personal struggles with perfectionism in nearly every devotional.
Each day's reading also includes a Scripture, a short prayer that is genuine and heart-felt, and a 'make it personal' way to incorporate that day's thought into practice.
Joan's books are like a breath of fresh air to me. I struggle with wanting to please everyone, do everything, and do it excellently right...which wears me out and keeps my head spinning long into the night.
But ending my day with a page from this book helps me realize two things: 1) I'm not alone and 2) I don't have to be perfect. I can just be ME:-)
So, I'm awarding Joan's book, "It's a Wonderful (Imperfect) Life" the Golden Bookmark for Truth in Writing and Excellence in Design, and voting it "Best Devotional Book of 2009".
Happy Reading!
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Thursday, July 9, 2009
It's A Wonderful (Imperfect) Life by Joan C. Webb
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sitting At the Feet of Rabbi Jesus by Ann Spangler and Lois Tverberg
Maybe it's just me, but I've been a believer since I was nine years old, grown up in church, and sometimes....well, sometimes my relationship with Jesus seems to grow stale.
I know it isn't Him. It's me. That's why I'm so grateful for authors like Ann and Lois, who step outside the box and write books like this one. Books that refresh my spiritual eyes and help me see things that I've missed out on, and that breathe fresh joy into my walk with Jesus.
"Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus" takes a look at the often forgotten life of Christ as a Jew. How did He live? How did He teach? How much was He like the Jews of His time?
While no one would dispute that Jesus was God, He was also a man, and He was a Jew. When He taught, He drew on customs, knowledge and traditions that we have no concept of. What do we lose by not understanding the culture in which He walked and taught?
Which layers of Biblical teaching will come to light if we know things like what it meant for the prodigal son to ask for his inheritance while his father still lived? How much richer would our communion be if we knew of customs surrounding meals served in Jesus day?
And how much of what Jews practice today was around when Jesus walked this earth? How much is added, and how much would have impacted His ministry then? These two ladies truly have added a depth to my understanding of Scripture that has refreshed and opened my eyes to things I'm SO glad I didn't miss!
There's a big push to say that we're all the same: Jew, Christian and Muslim. That is NOT what this book is about. But in order to get the full richness of Scripture, we do need to understand the times and culture that existed when it was written.
That's what "Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus" gives us. A fresh, new and inviting perspective that I believe will bring revival into your life as a believer. So that's why I'm urging you to get this book, and to share it with a friend or your small group...
...or your family. Put some of these things into practice, and see if your walk with the Lord doesn't develop an added dimension. I'm awarding "Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus" the Golden Bookmark for Cultural Awareness and Excellence in Writing, with a pair of worn, leather sandals as a charm.
Happy Reading!
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"60 in 6 Giveaway" BONUS Trivia Giveaway!
Okay, here's a bonus trivia question.
First person to email me at Deena.FirstImpressions@gmail.com with the correct answer wins the book.
What's the LAST CHRISTIAN FICTION TITLE I awarded The Golden Bookmark to? Give me the name of the book and the author to win.
Remember, I'm asking for FICTION...
Happy Reading!
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Monday, July 6, 2009
CFBA Presents "Fatal Illusions" by Adam Blumer!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Adam Blumer lives in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with his wife, Kim, and his daughters, Laura and Julia. He works full-time as a freelance writer and editor. A print journalism graduate of Bob Jones University (Greenville, SC), he served in editorial roles for fourteen years at Northland Baptist Bible College (Dunbar, WI) and Awana Clubs International Headquarters (Streamwood, IL).
He has published numerous short stories and articles. Fatal Illusions released by Kregel Publications (Grand Rapids, MI) is his first novel.
ABOUT THE BOOK
An amateur magician, an unassuming family . . . a fatal illusion Haydon Owens wants to be the next Houdini. He has been practicing his craft and has already made four women disappear. All it took was a bit of rope and his two bare hands. The Thayer family has come to the north woods of Newberry, Michigan, looking for refuge, a peaceful sanctuary from a shattered past. But they are not alone. Little do they know that they are about to become part of Haydon's next act. Time is running out and already the killer has spotted his next victim. Who will escape alive?
If you would like to read the first chapter of Fatal Illusions, go HERE
“Fatal Illusions is an engaging, fast-paced read with a captivating storyline that grabs you from page one and doesn't let go. Highly recommended!”--Mark Mynheir, homicide detective and author of The Night Watchman
“An awesome ride!”--Rosey Dow, Christy Award winning author of Reaping the Whirlwind
“Adam Blumer tells a fast-paced story that weaves together a serial killer, a physically wounded pastor and his spiritually wounded wife. The twists and turns will keep readers guessing.”--Rick Acker, author of Blood Brothers
"I LOVED this book! Adam's skillful twists and turns kept me flipping pages long into the late hours of the night. Lots of lost sleep, but well worth the time invested. I can't wait to see what he creates next! Be watching for my full review!"--Deena Peterson, independent reviewer
Happy Reading!
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FIRST Presents "Valley of the Shadow" by Tom Pawlik!
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:
Tyndale House Publishers (May 13, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tom Pawlik, winner of the 2006 Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild’s Operation First Novel contest has drawn praise from critics with his first novel, Vanish. Novel Journey has declared, “Tom Pawlik writes a scary, fascinating, suspenseful story; one you won’t want to miss” and Faithful Reader said Vanish “…delivers a Christian message and certainly succeeds in stirring the imagination and the spirit.”Tom Pawlik has a BA in communication and works in the marketing field. He has been active in Christian teaching, youth work, and music for over twenty years. In addition to writing fiction, Tom is an accomplished songwriter and musician who writes and records at his home studio. He and his wife, Colette, live in Ohio with their four children and a dog.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 432 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (May 13, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414326793
ISBN-13: 978-1414326795
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Freezing. Devon Marshall was freezing.
Darkness enveloped him. Thick and heavy, wrapping around him like a blanket. He could feel its weight pressing in on him. Squeezing him. Smothering him. And far off in the darkness, he heard sounds. A deep rumble mixed with a jumbled, muddied squawking. The noises were muffled and distant but growing steadily louder. Like a train approaching: the thunder of the engines and the clacking of its wheels on the tracks.
A pinprick of light blazed in the darkness. Tiny at first, but getting closer. Every second it grew larger and more intense. The sound roared now as the light rushed toward him and then . . .
Everything exploded into chaos.
Light and sound washed around him like a giant whirlpool. He could feel himself spinning inside it. Being buffeted and pulled along by a current.
And he was still freezing.
Lights flashed in his face. A dizzying array of reds and blues. Light and darkness. Shadows loomed over him and moved about. He tried to focus on the shadowy images as they swirled around him. Then he recognized them.
People?
He was surrounded by people. Actual human beings! They were speaking to one another. Devon could hear distinct voices but still couldn’t make out the words. And the voices sounded worried. Anxious.
Devon’s vision was becoming clearer. Several people with uniforms and badges hovered over him. An ambulance was parked nearby, and two police cars, their lights flashing.
Paramedics? And cops? Was there an accident somewhere?
His mind was a jumble of thoughts and he tried to recall what had just happened. Images flashed through his mind. Terrifying ones. Disjointed and vague memories of huge, empty buildings. Skyscrapers. An entire city, void of life. A dull, overcast sky. Gray, faceless creatures reaching out hands with long, bony fingers like enormous spider legs.
And a farm out in the middle of nowhere . . .
Terrell. Where was Terrell? They had been together just a few days ago. Or had it been only a few minutes?
Devon tried to turn his head but couldn’t. Something was holding him in place. He struggled to move but was too weak.
He had to get out of here. He had to find Terrell.
He could hear the voices better now. One of them called for help. Something about a stretcher. Legs and feet shuffled out of view, then back in again. More lights.
Not far off, a row of strangers huddled together, watching. Devon scanned their faces, and one of them caught his eye. One face seemed out of place in the group. One man was standing off a little ways by himself. Standing in the shadows, staring right at Devon. His face seemed to draw Devon’s gaze toward him, as if pulling him down into a pit.
It was long and narrow. Pale skin almost glowed against the shadows behind him. His cheeks were gaunt and sunken. And his eyes . . .
His eyes shone a pale yellow. But they seemed hollow. Then he smiled. His thin, puckered mouth expanded into a wide grin. Rows of brown, rotted teeth dripped with black saliva.
Devon couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Then someone passed between them and he was gone.
Suddenly Devon felt himself moving. Floating. He could see several people standing around him. Cops and paramedics. They slid him into an enclosed space where white light surrounded him. Two people climbed up beside him.
What was going on?
Devon heard doors slam shut with a thud and a click. A moment later, he could feel himself moving again.
His eyes widened and his breathing grew more rapid. The crowd. The paramedics. The cops . . .
They were there for him!
They had put him into the ambulance!
One of the paramedics leaned close. He had reddish brown hair, green eyes, and a broad, freckled face. “. . . what I’m saying? You’ve been shot. . . . going to be all right . . . Cook County Memorial . . . understand?”
He was pressing something against Devon’s chest. Devon glanced down. Now in the light he could see his shirt was cut open and drenched in blood. A large, white piece of gauze was taped to his chest.
Devon looked back up at the medic and his breath caught in his throat.
The man’s face had changed. His eyes glowed yellow. His lips parted in a twisted grin, showing dozens of teeth. Dark and rotted, all jammed together in his mouth. Black liquid, like tar, dripped onto his chin.
“The door is still open,” he croaked. His voice was gargled and deep.
“Leave me alone!” Devon squeezed his eyes shut. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”
He felt a hand on his forehead and opened his eyes again. The medic’s face had returned to normal. The guy was working on Devon as if nothing had happened.
Devon tried to slow his breathing. His chest burned and a sharp pain knifed through his ribs with every breath. He struggled for air as darkness began to close in around him. Sounds grew muffled. The medic’s voice sounded urgent but began to fade. Devon could feel them moving around, trying to save him.
And he could feel himself slipping away.
Excerpted from Valley of the Shadow by Tom Pawlik. Copyright© 2009 by Tom Pawlik. Printed with permission from Tyndale House Publishers. All Rights Reserved.
Darkness enveloped him. Thick and heavy, wrapping around him like a blanket. He could feel its weight pressing in on him. Squeezing him. Smothering him. And far off in the darkness, he heard sounds. A deep rumble mixed with a jumbled, muddied squawking. The noises were muffled and distant but growing steadily louder. Like a train approaching: the thunder of the engines and the clacking of its wheels on the tracks.
A pinprick of light blazed in the darkness. Tiny at first, but getting closer. Every second it grew larger and more intense. The sound roared now as the light rushed toward him and then . . .
Everything exploded into chaos.
Light and sound washed around him like a giant whirlpool. He could feel himself spinning inside it. Being buffeted and pulled along by a current.
And he was still freezing.
Lights flashed in his face. A dizzying array of reds and blues. Light and darkness. Shadows loomed over him and moved about. He tried to focus on the shadowy images as they swirled around him. Then he recognized them.
People?
He was surrounded by people. Actual human beings! They were speaking to one another. Devon could hear distinct voices but still couldn’t make out the words. And the voices sounded worried. Anxious.
Devon’s vision was becoming clearer. Several people with uniforms and badges hovered over him. An ambulance was parked nearby, and two police cars, their lights flashing.
Paramedics? And cops? Was there an accident somewhere?
His mind was a jumble of thoughts and he tried to recall what had just happened. Images flashed through his mind. Terrifying ones. Disjointed and vague memories of huge, empty buildings. Skyscrapers. An entire city, void of life. A dull, overcast sky. Gray, faceless creatures reaching out hands with long, bony fingers like enormous spider legs.
And a farm out in the middle of nowhere . . .
Terrell. Where was Terrell? They had been together just a few days ago. Or had it been only a few minutes?
Devon tried to turn his head but couldn’t. Something was holding him in place. He struggled to move but was too weak.
He had to get out of here. He had to find Terrell.
He could hear the voices better now. One of them called for help. Something about a stretcher. Legs and feet shuffled out of view, then back in again. More lights.
Not far off, a row of strangers huddled together, watching. Devon scanned their faces, and one of them caught his eye. One face seemed out of place in the group. One man was standing off a little ways by himself. Standing in the shadows, staring right at Devon. His face seemed to draw Devon’s gaze toward him, as if pulling him down into a pit.
It was long and narrow. Pale skin almost glowed against the shadows behind him. His cheeks were gaunt and sunken. And his eyes . . .
His eyes shone a pale yellow. But they seemed hollow. Then he smiled. His thin, puckered mouth expanded into a wide grin. Rows of brown, rotted teeth dripped with black saliva.
Devon couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Then someone passed between them and he was gone.
Suddenly Devon felt himself moving. Floating. He could see several people standing around him. Cops and paramedics. They slid him into an enclosed space where white light surrounded him. Two people climbed up beside him.
What was going on?
Devon heard doors slam shut with a thud and a click. A moment later, he could feel himself moving again.
His eyes widened and his breathing grew more rapid. The crowd. The paramedics. The cops . . .
They were there for him!
They had put him into the ambulance!
One of the paramedics leaned close. He had reddish brown hair, green eyes, and a broad, freckled face. “. . . what I’m saying? You’ve been shot. . . . going to be all right . . . Cook County Memorial . . . understand?”
He was pressing something against Devon’s chest. Devon glanced down. Now in the light he could see his shirt was cut open and drenched in blood. A large, white piece of gauze was taped to his chest.
Devon looked back up at the medic and his breath caught in his throat.
The man’s face had changed. His eyes glowed yellow. His lips parted in a twisted grin, showing dozens of teeth. Dark and rotted, all jammed together in his mouth. Black liquid, like tar, dripped onto his chin.
“The door is still open,” he croaked. His voice was gargled and deep.
“Leave me alone!” Devon squeezed his eyes shut. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”
He felt a hand on his forehead and opened his eyes again. The medic’s face had returned to normal. The guy was working on Devon as if nothing had happened.
Devon tried to slow his breathing. His chest burned and a sharp pain knifed through his ribs with every breath. He struggled for air as darkness began to close in around him. Sounds grew muffled. The medic’s voice sounded urgent but began to fade. Devon could feel them moving around, trying to save him.
And he could feel himself slipping away.
Excerpted from Valley of the Shadow by Tom Pawlik. Copyright© 2009 by Tom Pawlik. Printed with permission from Tyndale House Publishers. All Rights Reserved.
Happy Reading!
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Final Week of "60 In 6 Giveaway" (ends July 13th)
This is our final week of giveaways celebrating my 60,000 milestone. I'm extending it since we'll be at a wedding this weekend...great news for YOU:-)
This week, I'm offering ONE BIG GIVEAWAY to ONE PERSON WHO LEAVES A COMMENT WITH CONTACT INFORMATION:
To read my reviews (I haven't finished the series yet...but I've read the first two or three), do a search of my blog. In your comment, tell me the date of the FIRST review I wrote on "Mixed Bags"...then you'll be entered to win THE ENTIRE SERIES (to date...there's more coming)
How's that for a giveaway? Plus, I've got some bonus trivia coming this week. I'm determined to give away at least 60 books...and remember, something extravagantly special happens if we hit 70,000 before the week ends.....
So tell a friend!!
Happy Reading!
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Sunday, July 5, 2009
FIRST Presents "TARE" by Peggy Sue Yarber!
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:
Strategic Book Publishing (November 11, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Peggy Sue Yarber has been married for over 16 years and lives with her husband, two daughters, two dogs, and two turtles in Southern California. In January of 2009, her novel, TARE, was released. Another novel, The Judas Ride will be released in June of 2009 and a children’s book Rocketships to Heaven and the SOS Fuel Station will be released in July of 2009. She gained a personal best when she receive her PhD in psychology. Spending time with her family and working with her church are two activities she loves to embrace.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $25.50
Hardcover: 208 pages
Publisher: Strategic Book Publishing (November 11, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1606933957
ISBN-13: 978-1606933954
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Peacemakers who sow peace raise a harvest of righteousness. We people have been conquered many times before… a very long time ago. The strength of guns and men do not always agree. At times, men tend to believe that the show of strength and force is the illustration of love.
“We worry about the things we want to do but can’t and in the place of doing what we can we do—we do nothing…” August says to Gilly as Gilly fills up his coffee cup again with the thick dark liquid which passes for coffee at the Rocketship Café. Not to be out done by August, Gilly quips back, “Yep. Abraham Lincoln did not get his start in life by sitting in trees and day dreaming. He got his start by splitting the tree limbs into fence rails…”
August takes a drink and settles back as comfortably as he is able on the spinning chrome and red leather barstool nailed to the floor in front of the long shiny oak counter. “There is no doubt that the only a way man can improve himself is by thinking. Perhaps the reason for so many of our failures now is that many men look upon “thinking” as a waste of time because neither their mothers, wives, friends, or employers give the man the time, faith, or opportunity to express a thought.”
“You win this round. I need to go to the kitchen and get the sweet rolls out of the oven,” answers Gilly thumping the counter as he leaves.
The Rocketship Café stands alone on the edge of town waiting for the boundary of the next town to meet it. The fringe of other towns keeps growing toward the Rocketship Café as though pulled by an unknown force. The World War II rocket stands tall and symbolic with the American flag painted proudly all around the oblong cylinder. The original owner Gill, who was in the Korean War and World War II, managed to get one of his buddies to give him a missile from the nearby by air force base.
Gill planted his café at the furthest extremity of town because he really did not like customers. He wanted to make certain that if a customer came to his café that that person truly wanted to be at the café and not waste his time. The Rocketship Café is as clean as it needs to be. The music on the jukebox is swing—all other music is tolerated, but played at a minimum.
Gill’s grandson, known as Gilly, now runs the joint. He too has the same taste for customers and has made as few changes as possible to the original Rocketship Café. Gill’s grandson was also a soldier, served in Desert Storm, and has cultivated the same stoic and guarded personality as his grandfather. Gill’s grandson is the not only the spitting image of himself, but also has the honor of continuing the name Gill Owen Dean.
Gilly has a few regular loyal customers and he gets even fewer new clients. The lack of clients or customers does not matter to Gilly because he did not take over the Rocketship Café to make money.
“Gilly, hit me again with that Rocketship fuel that you call coffee and another piece of carrot cake,” demands August in a friendly tone.
“August, you’ve already had a piece of apple pie, a strawberry tartlet, and now you want carrot cake?” Gilly answers back with a friendly chuckle.
“Do I tell you how to run your business? If I have the money to pay for the carrot cake then give me a piece of carrot cake. Hell Gilly, I am not asking for another drink. I’m asking for a piece of damn cake!” August sometimes has a tone that is hard to recognize. He could be joking or he could be serious.
“Maybe the reason it’s so easy for us to see the mistakes of others is because they were ideas we once had but were afraid to carry out,” Gilly answers.
“Interesting… just as remembering the Golden Rule in all transactions will allow us to come nearer to where we want to be than all the dogmas and creeds,” answers August.
“You win again, but only because my mind is elsewhere. Today is my baking day,” Gilly replies to August as he wipes down the counter and refills Augusts’ coffee mug. Gilly knows that August never leaves his home without some type of weapon on his body. Gilly bows to August without fear, but with respect, and then swiftly slides a piece of carrot cake onto the counter top directly in front of him. August smiles a big cigarette and coffee stained tooth filled grin and begins to eat with a sense of abandon.
“Eating so much of that sweet pie could kill you,” says Gilly.
“Lot of things have tried but they haven’t won yet,” August says with his mouth full.
“August how long have you been coming here?” asks Gilly, leaning his elbows on the counter top.
“Too long…” mumbles August.
“You know, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, but I know we all get tired of listening to it…” Gilly says as his voice trials off and gets muffled by the sound of gurgling through his thick coffee.
“Hey that is a good one Gilly. How about this one? The advertising of cigarette and food companies telling me their products are so wonderful and the cure for all my ills and aliments has me so confused that I don’t know whether to ask the medical advice of a druggist, grocer, or restaurant owner,” August says with a gleam of laughter in his eyes.
“Well, as I said, eating all that sweet pie will kill you…” Gilly’s voice trails off as he goes back into the kitchen.
August is a reporter from the old school. He uses pencil and paper, not a computer and recorder. He was good in his day, but is now regulated to the local free weeklies and every now and then a guest Op-Ed piece in a large newspaper chain. He lives on his pension and social security. His house he owns outright. He did this during the time of the GI Bill—he was one of the smart ones with his money. If he didn’t have morals and standards he too would have plenty of work in the writing business. But he wants to tell both sides of the story, not just one. One side does nothing but stir up problems.
August figures his life is too far gone for him to stir up anymore problems, though he yearns for a purpose and reason to want to write again! August remembers something his first editor told him repeatedly, “… it is an indication of success when others look upon you as owning some importance. But it is true evidence of failure when you first assume such a feeling…”
Gilly is occupying the Rocketship Café out of loyalty and love for his grandfather. He is carrying on a tradition and performing a service to all the veterans who find their way to his door. Above the door, inside and out, he has installed a neon set of large red letters that spell “S.O.S.” Gilly allows his customers to interpret the letters in any way they wish but his intention for the letters is “Save Our Souls.” Gilly doesn’t preach any message, but he believes in creating a safe place, a place of refuge and a place of sanctuary. He believes he has the ability to see through to the souls of his customers.
The Rocketship Café storefront is an honest to goodness real missile. Gill added a large oblong building that protrudes from the missile. The wood of the Rocketship Café is warped and the paint peeling, but the structure is sound. The café supports six gas pumps (three of which work), five cottages ready to rent, but only to certain types of people, and a garage to fix everything from automobiles to flying saucers. Gilly’s customers mostly consist of loyal truck drivers, traveling salesmen, and misplaced veterans. Gilly does not tolerate men and women meeting to have affairs at his café. His grandfather did not tolerate such behavior and neither will he. There are morals and values he believes are his duty to keep. Written on a scrap of paper he keeps in the register underneath the money drawer is the saying, “… find no fault with fools, for if it were not for others being able to take advantage of the fool things they do—we would have few wise and successful men.” Gilly tries to be more accepting of adulterers, but the sin leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The bad taste lingers just as long on his taste buds as does his specially brewed coffee.
Gilly asks for proof of marriage in order to stay in the cottages, but in all honesty, no couples have ever stayed in his cottages. He uses the cottages for the soldiers who are in between homes. Gilly’s stand on adultery stems from the fact that his wife left him.
Walter Herman Wiley, Wally-eyed, his cousin, used to be the Rocketship Café handy man, but Gilly never expected him to be handy with his wife. When she left she was tall, lean, and had a thick mane of auburn hair. Her eyes tinkled with the glow of golden honey. She left Gilly for his cousin Wally-eyed.
Wally-eyed got his nickname because of a fishing incident with Gilly when they were kids. Somehow, a fishhook got caught in Wally’s eye lid and damaged his eye. After a few operations, he was able to see, but not clearly. The operations left one of his eyes looking bigger than the other because of the way the eyelid had been fixed. This was back before plastic surgery, and even if the small town would have had a plastic surgeon, Wally’s family wouldn’t have enough money to pay for the surgery.
The eye damage made it so Wally-eyed could not go into the military. He has held this against Gilly all his life. Doctor Frank, the town doctor who took care of Wally, said, “There’s no man so blind as he who closes his eyes to the truth.” Wally-eyed never paid attention to what Doctor Frank said. In fact, the last time the doctor said that to Wally-eyed, he spit on his shoes. Doctor Frank just sighed and walked on.
When Wally-eyed left the employment of the Rocketship Café, he was bald with a head tattoo. Wally-eyed always wanted to live in a big city. Gilly’s wife, Cindy, always wanted to live in the big city. Cindy had pleaded with Gilly to sell the Rocketship Café and move closer to the city, but he couldn’t and he did not know how to explain this to her.
Gilly knew the moment he left the military that he needed to live in the desert because of the heat and the starkness. Gilly never went to a doctor to get an official diagnosis, but he knows that he experiences bouts of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He needs to be able to see far into the distance because he does not want his enemy to sneak up upon him. Gilly is willing to try to decipher the mirages from the heat in hopes of getting the first glimpse of his unknown adversary. He knows in order to win he must see the tormentor before the tormentor is able to see him. Gilly has always hated big cities and big places filled with people because it is too difficult to ferret out the foe. Innocent people always have the tendency to hide the guilty—just as no good deed goes unpunished.
Though they wanted a large family, Gilly and his wife had not been able to have children. Gilly believes children are the saviors of the current generation. Sadly, he is in no position to contribute to the safeguarding of the planet. Infertility. Though, for him and his wife, the question of infertility was never clear as to who was at fault or if there was anyone to blame.
“Hey, Minnow! Want some coffee? It smells like rain. Outside, I mean… not my coffee,” Gilly says as he greets his traveling friend.
“Yeah, it does feel like rain. Strange huh? So early this year! My knees are bothering me. Does your coffee still taste as bad as my feet smell?” asks Minnow, panting from the heat and lugging around his giant frame.
Minnows’ name stuck because the name “Tiny” had already been taken by his older brother who, at age eleven, had already tipped the scales at 200 pounds. Not until Tiny reached his twenties did his body finally make an attempt to catch up to his weight and he finally grew to six feet in height. By that time, Tiny’s weight had risen over a ten-year span, and he hovered around 400 pounds on a continual basis. Minnow, without much effort, keeps his weight around 350 pounds, and he just barely touches the six-foot mark.
“I take that as a yes,” Gilly says as he pours coffee into an off white chipped mug.
Minnow, Gilly, and August are the only ones in the café. Minnow has his tape recorder in front of him in the booth. Minnow’s name is more than appropriate in an odd sort of way. His girth is so large that it is impossible for him to sit on the stool that faces the counter. He is able to manipulate the table in the large corner booth in order to sit as comfortable as a sardine in a squashed and damaged tin can.
“What are you doing with a tape recorder?” Gilly asks, not offering a menu. There are no menus. You get whatever food Gilly decides to cook.
“I’m trying to remember childhood. Or maybe I am supposed to just tell some of the best stories I’ve ever heard or known. I’m not really sure. My grandson has an oral history project and the teacher wants grandparents and parents to tell their family history. I think it is a fancy term for storytelling. So, my grandson wants me to say something in this recorder and then give it to him when I return home. I find it hard sometimes to play the dang thing, but I promised him I would try.” Minnow smiles as he talks about his family. People have been known to say that Minnow’s heart is even bigger than his body, and that is what explains the enormity of his love and loyalty.
“Well, if there ever was a storyteller it would be you,” Gilly says in a good-natured voice as he pours coffee into the cup and slides a glass of milk next to the mug. The two men laugh. Gilly walks back behind the counter. There is a deafening screech and then a tornado of dust and tires in the parking lot. In a puff of dust, two little red-headed girls tumble out of a truck. A strikingly handsome woman climbs out of the front of the truck and a huge man rolls out of the driver’s side. He is holding his head and seems to be in great pain. The family comes into the café. Gilly recognizes the woman as the reporter who used to come to the café. Gilly watches the event but says nothing. Washington enters the café with a sense of urgency and purpose. He sees Minnow sitting in the half moon circle booth and notices the recorder. With an aurora of forsakenness he guides his family to where Minnow is sitting. The twins and his wife settle themselves into the booth without a word.
Gilly walks over with two more mugs of coffee and two little glasses of milk for the little girls. Gilly sets the drinks down on the table gently. He pulls two huge cookies out of his apron and hands one to each girl. The girls take the cookies greedily with smiles and giggles smeared with “thank yous” as they take large bites. Gilly nods, but only gives a slight smile. He dips back to the counter and reaches underneath to pull something out and slide it underneath his apron.
“Daddy, we want milkshakes and French fries. Please Daddy, can we have milkshakes and French fries?” the twins Ruth and Esther petition in a voice of hope.
“Sure, sweeties. That’s fine,” answers their mom Samantha. But no one ever calls her Samantha, she is either mom or Sammy.
“Just coffee for us please,” Sammy gently yells to Gilly behind the counter. Minnow smiles at the girls and makes a few funny faces. Both girls laugh and bury their faces into their mothers’ side. The booth is in the shape of a waning moon with Minnow and Washington on the outside and the girls nested securely inside.
The two girls’ dad, Washington, looks at the recorder and immediately starts talking. “We don’t have much time. The experiment didn’t work. Well, it did work. Things are out of control. I don’t know how to begin… how do I explain about the field? Is that thing on?” he asks, pointing at the tape recorder. Minnow turns on the recorder and sets it in the middle of the table.
“Ok, good. The virus is under control, in a sense. Ah, the magnetic shield is down around the town…” Washington’s voice begins to trail off and he rubs his head with both hands. Washington’s pain shows severely. Sammy, Washington’s wife, tries to rub his neck, but her fingers can’t seem to penetrate his tight muscles. The girls look up and concern shows in their eyes.
“Maybe, sweetheart, we should try to start at the beginning,” Sammy offers.
“Sure,” answers Minnow. “That would be good for me.” Minnow glances over to Gilly with a look of confusion. Gilly nods in approval as if to say, “let them sit and talk.” August says nothing, but turns ever so slightly so that he can see the entire family. It is not uncommon for people to drop into the Rocketship Café and believe that they are part of a giant conspiracy. Most people who frequent the Rocketship Café have a healthy sense of paranoia. The conversation usually involves conspiracy theories of old and new. Sometimes reality is difficult to find inside the Rocketship Café.
“The terrorists… or maybe even we did it to ourselves… or maybe it is God’s way of waking us up. I don’t know. All I know is that somehow we let a virus loose, and my mission, my team’s mission, was to isolate the virus. Find a way to kill the virus or at least stop it. We did find a way to stop it, but we didn’t know about the fields…”
Washington stops again, drinks his coffee, and rests his head in his hands.
Sammy picks up where Washington left off. “The virus is in the plants. The grain. Our bodies now are able to digest it and live. There are no bad effects anymore, but now the fields that grew the grain have… the fields have…” Sammy looks at her children and her eyes swell with tears.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about August. He walks around behind the counter and refills his coffee cup all the while listening to the story. He does not intrude. He does not take notes. He just sits close enough to listen. His clothes are a drab shade of blue. He wears the same suit that he has worn since he got out of the army. His weight has remained the same, but his muscles have changed. His face has layers of wrinkles that are from laughter, fear and sadness. His eyes contain the woe of a million stories that have yet to be told. His laughter is a roar that is seldom heard.
There comes a time in everyone’s life where they reach a certain age and become invisible. August believes he has reached this zenith and that he has not only become invisible, but completely and utterly invisible.
Gilly brings the milkshakes, one vanilla and one chocolate, to the table. The girls squeal with delight. Gilly leaves the tin cup and extra spoons for the girls. It is obvious they love both chocolate and vanilla.
“Fries will be ready in a minute, girls,” Gilly says.
“Okay. Thank you. May we have some ketchup too, please?” the girls ask at the same time.
“Yes, little ladies, you may have as much ketchup as you want,” Gilly whips out the ketchup from his apron and leaves two completely full bottles. The girls shriek with laughter.
“You need anything else?” Gilly nods to Minnow.
“No, I’m fine.” Minnow says as he smiles abnormally. Minnow hasn’t touched his coffee, which is unusual.
“Your food will be up in a minute,” Gilly says. He always says that, even if it will be thirty minutes.
“I know you don’t have much time and neither do we,” Washington says, trying to regroup his thoughts.
“Well, I do have some time,” says Minnow, smiling at the girls and picking up a sugar cube tossing it into the air catching it in his mouth. The girls laugh uncontrollably.
“We are so thankful that you will listen to us,” Sammy says as she tries to shush the girls and move items on the table to keep them from being knocked off. Washington brings out the manual and lays it out on the table. He places both hands on the book and takes a deep breath before beginning again.
“The virus could no longer be contained and there was fear that it would take over completely. We had to begin using innocent people to experiment on in order to find the cure. I know that this sounds horrific and unbelievable. I know I sound like I am crazy and that I am a conspiracy nutcase, but I am not. You got to believe me…” pleads Washington.
“Why, sure fella… we believe you,” says Minnow with his gentle voice.
Washington smiles and begins again. “I know that not all the country’s food sources are damaged. That is another one of the complexities. The scientists cannot figure out why some grains are affected and some are not. But what is true is that once the grain is affected, it transfers to people. Then the fields are affected and then…”
Gilly walks back to the table with two heaping plates of curly French fries. He also has a big silver cup filled with more vanilla milkshake. Without asking, he fills both the girls’ empty glasses. They mumble “thank you” with milk mustaches as they drink and eat. Sammy sips her coffee with one eye on the door and the other on the sky as the thunder clouds approach.
“The sky is a true blue now,” says Sammy. Gilly returns in a moment carrying a huge plate covered with biscuits and gravy, the sides dripping. He sets it in front of Minnow along with a bottle of barbeque sauce made from his own recipe.
“Ok, what is important is that the people are no longer dying after eating the grain. I mean, their bodies are holding together now, but the fields now seem to be the problem—not the infertility thing (he looks over at Sammy) right? The fear of infertility from the virus has been conquered. We no longer are worried about people becoming sterile if they eat the grain. Then there was the magnetic shield. My mission was called tare. Do you know the significance of that word?” Washington says to Minnow. Washington turns to his daughters and smiles.
Washington knows that Sammy is pregnant. But what is not clear is exactly under what circumstances Sammy became pregnant. Washington wonders if Sammy will terminate the pregnancy or not. The ordeal with the Pastor was beyond comprehension—it was not the killing that bothered Washington it was the lack of moral judgement. He hopes and prays Sammy does not ask him how he feels about the baby growing inside her. Washington knows how important it is for Sammy to give birth to this child, but the child is not his.
“As a matter of fact, I do…” Minnow says as he sips his coffee.
“Shouldn’t you be taking notes?” Sammy asks with a strain in her voice.
“Sammy, he is taping everything. See the recorder? Let the man do his job—his way,” Washington says curtly, sensing her anxiety. It is obvious that Washington is saying this in response to her investigative work as a reporter before their marriage. It is also obvious that he hurt his wife’s feelings. His daughters come to the rescue.
“Daddy, do you want to try some of our curly French fries?” ask his daughters. The two girls have perfected the talent of talking at the exact same time.
Washington smiles. It is obvious that his entire body relaxes when talking with his girls, though he quickly composes himself and becomes rigid again. “No thank you, girls. I need to finish the story… then we must go.”
“According to my understanding of the Bible, Tare is a medicine, drug, plant, or something that makes people sleep. I know that because I remember the sermon the Pastor gave,” Minnow says, very proud of himself.
“Tare is a parable from the Bible. It deals with Christians knowing that they are Christians and tares knowing that they are tares. The tares know that at the end, they are to be gathered together and burned,” August mumbles under his breath, and only Gilly hears him. Gilly gives August a look as if to say, “stay out of the conversation.”
“Wow, you really do understand what I mean by this virus and about tare,” Washington says to Minnow with a sense of hope in his voice.
“Well, ah… sometimes. But you left off with the town surrounded by a magnetic field,” Minnow says.
“Yes, tare is from the Bible and you are right. Thank you for listening. We must get this information out to everyone. It really isn’t as complicated as it sounds,” Washington replies.
“What about the shield?” asks Minnow.
“We have found a cure. Well, we haven’t really found it—it was always there. We needed our eyes opened to see it. Laminin is vital to making sure overall body structures hold together. Bad production of Laminin can cause muscles to form something like muscular dystrophy. That is one of the many things the virus was doing, but we seemed to have found a way to manage it,” explains Washington in an almost insane maniacal voice.
“That is mighty interesting. So Laminin is the answer to the virus… okay, so then you found the cure?” asks Gilly.
“No, there are the problems with the fields,” Washington hangs his head as though it is his fault.
“But didn’t you just say that Laminin was the cure?” asks Minnow.
“Well, the nutrient problem is gone, the insanity problem is gone, and the infertility problem might not be a problem anymore, right Sammy?” Washington replies.
Sammy looks at Washington, says nothing, and reaches for her belly out of habit.
“What about the shield? How did you get a shield to go around a town without anyone seeing it?” Minnow questions, a look of confusion on his face.
“You know how the bullet trains work? They run on the magnetic rails? Well, it is the same premise except that it is a giant transparent bubble. The bubble surrounds the town and the people can’t escape. They can’t send any form of communication outside the bubble either. It works very well, but the people complain that it changes the color of the sky somewhat,” Washington is making a great effort to sound logical and believable.
“So the news that there was a quarantine around the town because of the nasty fruit fly that was destroying all the citrus trees—was just a rouse?” Gilly asks.
“Yes, and it seemed to work pretty well, but then we had the problem of the fields…” Washington says as he smiles. Gilly breaks into the conversation.
“Why, of course it did. No one wants the entire crop of oranges to go bust! Just think what that would do to the economy!” hoots Gilly.
“We need to hurry, honey,” Sammy says, giving Washington a loving squeeze on his firm muscled arm.
“Our orders were to take over the town because it fit the requirements and needs for the experiment. We’ve had failures in recent months trying to find a cure for the virus. The difference in this experiment was that we had the people plant, harvest, and eat the planted grains. We had scientists from all over the world living right in the town with the people. They worked day and night in the most spectacular lab…” Washington paused for a moment to drink his coffee.
Washington begins again as he gazes at the jukebox. “The scientists and the people of the town did absolutely everything involved with the virus. The people planted the grain, harvested the grain, and then ate the grain. Everything went according to plan. We thought we had the cure. There were pregnancies, and some women even carried their baby to full term. The soldiers did not have a high rate of suicide or some type of mental break down. Then there were the fields, but the soldiers had something else… maybe it was the many years of wearing the suit and not having any real physical contact… but that too is not a problem that can’t be solved,” Washington releases a long, deep sigh. He seems extremely weary. Everyone sits riveted to the story because Washington is physically huge and convincing even though the tale is so crazy.
“The fields are alive and have become the problem,” Washington says.
“The suit?” Minnow asks in full bewilderment. “What suit? Why would a suit cause a soldier to commit suicide?”
“The suit. The suit is the uniform. It is our second skin. It does everything for us. Ah… ah…” Washington’s voice and concentration trail off again.
Sammy immediately sees that Minnow is not understanding about the suit. She attempts to explain, “My husband hasn’t been wearing his suit for over a year. His body is having a hard time adjusting to not being protected. I don’t know how to explain it in medical terms. I just know that his immune system has to work extra hard right now. I know that the scientists were giving him injections to help build back up his immune system. The suit kept him at a constant body temperature, and it stopped any virus or a bacterium that was harmful. I mean, he wasn’t sick and never even had a headache the entire time he wore the suit. But now, as you can see, he is having a rough time.” Sammy tries to make Minnow understand while attempting to soothe Washington at the same time.
“Yeah, he looks to be in pretty bad shape. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? Gilly may not look like it, but he can cook up a storm,” Minnow is genuine in his concern.
“You know, some soup might be a good idea. Does Gilly make soup? Honey, do you have the medicine for the injections?” Sammy asks.
Without missing a beat Gilly brings a bowl of soup. “Don’t want you to think I was eavesdropping, but I heard Minnow tell you that I have soup. Chicken soup is my specialty. My grandpa taught me how to make it. Everyone thinks that it is the chicken meat that is the secret, but that’s not it—not it at all,” Gilly sets the steaming bowl of soup in front of Washington then digs a huge spoon out of his apron and hands it to him.
Washington grabs the spoon weakly. Gilly smiles a warm friendly smile. “You know, it is the special ingredients of spices, tears, and love that make it work,” Gilly says this last line to the little girls.
“Really? You know how to put love in the soup?” asks Ruth.
“No Ruthy-ooey, he can’t put love in soup, but he can put tears in soup,” says Esther with authority.
“I really don’t like being called Ruthy-ooey and you know it! I know he can put tears in soup. All he needs to do is cry and let the tears drop in the soup, but explain how he puts love in the soup. Messy-essie,” Ruth replies, not to be one-upped by her twin sister.
“Girls! This is not the time or place to argue,” Sammy grabs a hold of their small frail arms. “Thank you, Gilly and sorry about the outburst.”
“Kids are kids and their thoughts are not to be harnessed—yet,” he says.
“Don’t thank him until your husband eats the soup. Then, if he doesn’t die, thank him,” it is evident that Minnow has a deep affection for Gilly.
“I don’t see how you’ve been any worse for the wear after eating my food,” Gilly says to Minnow.
“Well, thank you anyway,” says Sammy with a smile. She rummages in her bag and brings out a small spiral notebook as if she is about to start taking notes. This behavior shows a routine. It is a characteristic of a habit held over from her previous career. She begins flipping through the pages, then becomes distracted by her children again and lays down the small spiral notebook on the table. The page that is flipped open begins with the sentence Am I good enough?
“Daddy, can we have some coins to play the music?” Ruth asks in a soft voice.
Minnow shoves over the change lying on the table. “Here, girls. Play as many songs as you can. I love all kinds of music.”
“Thank you very much. Is there a special song you like?” Esther asks as she grabbing the coins.
“No, like I said, I like all music. But Gilly, he likes the swing music. Play something by Glen Miller or Duke Ellington,” Minnow explains to both of the girls.
“We can do that! We like swing music too! Mommy has shown us how to dance to it—it’s fun to dance too!” Ruth twirls toward the jukebox.
“Thank you. They have been so cooped up for so long I am afraid they have forgotten manners and shyness,” Sammy offers as an apology.
“I love kids. I have kids of my own. I even have some grandkids,” Minnow says with pride. “I have some pictures. Want to see them? In fact, I should show you my grandson. He is the reason I have this…”
Washington stops eating his soup and interrupts Minnow, but seems to be unaware that he did so. “Do you have any questions? I know the story sounds far fetched. I don’t remember if I explained about the infertility and soldier’s suicides though. I can tell you for sure that we conquered the virus, but at what cost is the conquering? We tried to go by the manual as much as possible but we still didn’t win completely,” Washington places his hand on the manual almost as if in the middle of a prayer.
“You’re right. Your story does sound a little crazy, but this is a time of crazy things. I’m not exactly certain what you want me to do with this story,” answers Minnow.
“Just do what you do—tell the story. Be sure you tell everyone about the fields. We all have our jobs to do in life,” Washington says in a pleading tone. The music has filled the Rocketship Café. “In the Mood” by Glen Miller helps Gilly wash the dishes in the kitchen. The girls dance together in front of the jukebox and laugh.
“Mommy and Daddy come dance with us!” Ruth and Esther stretch their hands out to entice their parents to come to them. Sammy stands up and pulls Washington to his feet. They sway to the music, then Washington takes Sammy away with a small flourish.
“I will always love you. I will love all of our children.” Washington murmurs in her ear as he strokes her belly. Sammy does not answer, but stifles a small sob and smiles with relief. Her relief is short lived.
“I know you will. I know…” Sammy replies, her voice deeply confident of this knowledge.
When the music stops they all walk back to the table. Washington leans heavily on Sammy as he places money on the table. The girls run to the back kitchen and say goodbye to Gilly and give him a hug and a kiss. Then, as if caught up in a tornado, the girls run to Minnow and repeat their routine—a goodbye, hug, and a kiss. The girls don’t seem to notice August sitting slightly ajar at the counter.
Washington shakes Minnow’s hand but does not say goodbye, “The suit is just as bad as the virus. At least with the virus, we knew it was made to kill people. The suit was made to help the modern day soldier and all it did was eat away at my body and almost destroyed my mind. The suit protects us but it is like our body gets lazy and stops working and becomes dependent on the suit. Then when I took off the suit I felt like there were times I was losing my mind. I can’t explain why this happened I just know it did and it scares me. I don’t like not having control of my own thoughts.”
“Then there are the fields…” Sammy cuts Washington off.
“Come on honey, we need to get far away before they know we have left,” Sammy tugs at Washington’s arm.
“I know, honey, but we need to make sure that the story gets out and that people learn the truth. Remember the fields,” Washington says as though he is giving a sermon. He salutes Gilly who nods in return and then gives a salute as well. Though Gilly never told Washington he had been in the military, both men knew. Sammy smiles at them both. As Sammy walks behind the girls, she twists to close the door. As an after thought, she spies a man sitting at the counter drinking coffee. He looks familiar. Sammy stops for just a second to look, and at the same moment the man at the counter turns ever so slightly and winks at her. She nods, but only enough so that he could see. August sighs a breath of relief—she saw him. The family walks out the door to the truck and leaves just as they came—in a puff of dust.
Gilly comes back out to Minnow’s booth. “Crazy, but a cute family.”
“Yeah, the kids are really cute. They make me miss my own grandkids,” Minnow says sadly.
“Do you think he thought you were someone else? Maybe a big important newspaper reporter? What is that book he left on the table? Look! Here’s a notebook. What’s in it?” Gilly asks, wiping his hands on his apron.
“That’s a hoot! Me a writer? You are right, he must have thought I was someone else. Maybe he thought I was August. Wasn’t August a writer? Then he kept calling the Bible a manual. That little book? Humm… oh yes, the wife was digging in her purse and pulled it out. I don’t remember if she wrote anything in it or not,” Minnow says, pushing the Bible toward Gilly.
“Yes, it is a hoot and a holler,” says August while drinking his coffee, his back facing the booth where Minnow and Gilly are seated.
“She did. Look, here’s the first line. “Am I good enough?” Did you have the recorder on the whole time?” Gilly sits down and takes hold of the Bible.
“Should we read it? The little book?” There is a long pause while Minnow thinks about what Gilly asked him. “The recorder? Are you kidding? I can barely get that silly thing to work, but I do have a story to tell my grandson. I wonder if it is okay for his project if I use someone else’s oral history?” asks Minnow.
“You got none of it? None of what he was saying? How are you going to remember everything?” Gilly asked in an astonished voice. Flipping through the notebook, he says, “I think we should read it.” August smiles and nods his head.
Minnow is thinking more about the recorder. “True, I would need to either write it down now or tell it to the recorder. Or I could tell it to you… to see if I get all the details?” Minnow says with a playful glean in his eyes. “But, reading his wife’s writing? I don’t know… it seems almost like it would be reading her diary.”
“She left it didn’t she? She even left it open to a certain page. You don’t think it was on purpose?” Gilly asks. “Well, you were given an assignment by your grandson, so he must have faith in your ability in telling a story,” Gilly says as he settles back in the booth.
“Yes, I am pretty good at telling stories. That guy even said that it was my duty to tell the story,” Minnow says in a fearful voice as he too settles into the booth.
“I think we should read the wife’s writing. I know she used to be a reporter. She used to come in once in a while to meet with her clients,” Gilly replies.
“You know her and you didn’t say anything?” Minnow inquires, a little upset.
“I don’t really know her, I just know that she used to be a reporter for the local newspaper. We talked but never got personal,” Gilly answers indignantly.
“So these two aren’t the normal crazy people that stop by here? They could be for real?” asks Minnow. “That is spooky!”
“I don’t know about spooky. I do know that she never seemed like a nutcase. I met her husband once, but that was a long time ago. It seemed that when he left today, he remembered me, but I’m not sure.” Gilly says looking out the window to watch the last glimpse of the truck disappear into the desert.
“She is not a nutcase. She is someone to be believed because hard nuts usually end up cracked,” August mumbles to himself.
“You mean that story about an experiment, a virus, grain, and people killing themselves or something just might be true? No way…” Minnow says as he eats more of his dinner.
After a few seconds Gilly says, “I think they might be telling some sort of truth, but I don’t know what truth. I don’t believe they were lying. I think that they believe what they were saying, and I also think that your grandsons’ teacher would like any story. Before we start in on this story, let me get us some coffee,” Gilly walks a few feet to grab the pot of coffee.
“What is better, memory or forgetfulness? Memory brings back old friends and happy days. Forgetfulness empties mistakes and regrettable actions out of the mind and then allows life to be more enjoyable. I wonder which one we’ll choose?” August asks himself.
“What are you going to do with that Bible?” Gilly asks as he pours the steaming coffee into the mugs.
“I got a Bible of my own in my car. Why don’t I leave this Bible in the café for you and your customers?” Minnow asks, adding sugar cubes to his coffee.
“That would be nice. I have one in my cottage, but I don’t have one in here. You never know when you might need to look something up,” Gilly says, adding sugar cubes to his own coffee mug. “Why did you listen to him tell you the story anyway?”
“For starters, he is a mighty big guy and his family looked scared. The little girls were extremely cute and had such a sweet laugh,” Minnow says as he sips his coffee.
“Laughter was given to us to use to scare away our troubles,” August mumbles loud enough for Minnow and Gilly to hear.
Ignoring August, Gilly says, “You know, the Ebola virus could quarantine an entire town.” Gilly turns serious, but then lightens up. “I thought the twin girls were as cute as little red buttons. His wife was good looking, but what I liked most about her was that she believed in him.” Gilly begins to thumb through the Bible.
“Yeah, a family can’t be all that bad if they all believe so much in each other,” Minnow says.
“True. If they all love and believe in each other, what more can we ask from a family?” Gilly replies.
“You okay, Gilly?” Minnow asks.
“Sure, I am. You know, the town they came from is in a valley and the air stays in it until some big wind comes by. It is really smoggy there! It is a few miles up the road, and there are only two roads in to the town—one is highway and the other is the interstate,” Gilly tries to make sense of the story.
“You okay, Gill? Are you really trying to figure this out? I think he is a soldier on leave or just retired and doesn’t know how to end his tour. I think you know what I mean,” Minnow says trying to brighten up the conversation.
“Yeah, I guess I do. But think about it… people touch hands and then die… the Ebola virus… I’ve heard of that type of thing, but the airborne virus is the most dangerous. Have you heard of any food shortages in your traveling?” Gilly asks in a cool grim tone.
“No, not really. Why would I hear about food shortages or airborne virus? I’m a salesmen—I sell fertilizer and seeds. All I ever do is make certain that all the fields are covered with super duper manure and that I have the right seeds. That is my world—fertility and manure. Gilly, this guy seems to have you spooked. Okay, maybe food prices did jump, but they always do. You know how that goes. It seems when the big corporate types want a raise they say there is a shortage and they hike up the prices,” Minnow says in an attempt to get Gilly to smile.
“Wait, Minnow… didn’t he say something about fertility or infertility? I don’t remember… what was it?” Gilly asks, rubbing his head.
“I don’t remember. I was eating and making faces at his kids,” Minnow replies.
“It is true about the food prices, so very true. You know, Minnow, we seem now to be living in a world where all the roads don’t always meet in the center. Even on the biological level—the gene pool level—we are not one, but more like an octopus. When we move away from unity…” Gilly says, still tying to make sense of the conversation.
“Gilly I’m not that smart. I don’t understand your idea of gene pools and octopuses,” Minnow states as he drinks his coffee in one large gulp.
“Minnow, it is complicated and simple at the same time,” Gilly says, opening the Bible.
“You know, come to think of it… Gilly, I do have something that I find puzzling. I have a new fertilizer called tare. I just got it. I guess that is why I remembered the Bible story. It has not been officially tested. I just have samples. I have it to show a few choice customers and to maybe let them use it as a trial run. Gilly, it is to stop the spread of weeds in certain grains,” Minnow says, very much afraid.
“Tare… tare… didn’t he say something about tare?” Gilly asks, searching through the Bible.
“I don’t know, Gilly. Now you got me so scared I can’t think straight!” Minnow says with a big sigh.
“I think he did. In fact, you said you knew it from the Bible,” Gilly says in reply.
“I did? Maybe I did. I don’t remember that, but I do remember the names of his little girls. Ruthy-ooey and Messy-essie,” Minnow laughs.
“Really? That is very interesting, Minnow. How do you explain that?” Gill asks, drinking his coffee, flipping open the Bible and stopping at the book of Matthew.
“I remember a sermon about wheat and something about gathering and burning. I only listened because it was about soil and seeds and that’s what I sell… I can’t remember anything! I don’t want to remember anything. Let it alone, Gilly!” Minnow says in a dejected voice.
“I can’t. I know the story. Wheat represents the Christian population of God’s kingdom. The tares look very much like wheat, but it is a different plant that is harmful,” Gilly claims, beginning what could be a long story.
“You read the Bible and know the Bible stories?” Minnow seems pleasantly amazed.
“I read enough and know my share,” Gilly replies.
“Everything of real worth is bought with self sacrifice,” August sighs as he pours himself another cup of coffee and grabs a sweet roll from the glass box on the counter.
“I mean, that’s okay with me, Gilly, if you’re a Bible thumper. I just never really thought of you as… as…” stammers Minnow.
“As what? Someone who believes in something bigger than myself?” Gilly shoots back with indignation.
“Well… well… yeah…” Minnow answers rubbing his head.
“Look Minnow, the one thing I know is my limits. The other thing I know is the parable of tare. My fat grandma taught me it was a very apocalyptic parable,” Gilly says, reading the Bible. Minnow’s look on his face shows he has no idea of what Gilly just said.
“Apo-o-what?” asks Minnow, completely confused.
“According to the story, tare is not wheat, but it looks like wheat. Tares were something that was sown, not by God, but by his enemy. The kingdom on earth is populated with wheat and tares. You might say, the wheat stands for God’s people and the tares look like God’s people, but they aren’t,” Gilly speaks slowly to get Minnow’s attention.
“So, the tares are the aliens that are really reptiles with human skins on them? Like the President of the United States right?” responds Minnow with a newfound excitement.
“Minnow, be serious! Aliens and reptiles are not the President of the United States! But if you must, I guess you could put it that way. Most importantly, there are a few who can tell the difference between wheat and tares,” counters Gilly.
“Gilly, I would like nothing more to be serious and sit here and tell the stories again and again, but I got to start driving back home,” Minnow drinks the last of his coffee and takes a biscuit off the plate Gilly had brought to the table earlier. With deftness, Minnow soaks up the last of the gravy without losing a crumb.
“Well, my friend, don’t forget the recorder. Even though it wasn’t on,” Gilly says.
“Right, my grandson would be very upset if I didn’t bring it back. See you on my next time around. Take care. You know, Gilly, this tare business will give me something big to think about on my drive,” Minnow exhales his words as he struggles to get up from the table.
“I can loan the Bible to you if you want it,” Gilly offers the Bible to Minnow.
“No thanks, pal. I’m the one who gave it to you! I have an extra! I’m good with my thoughts and you know what? I don’t think all those people who choose the wrong road end up at a dead end,” Minnow says as he struggles again to get up out of the booth.
“At times, I think that evil can be stopped, but it can’t be made into something good. Minnow, do me a favor would you?” Gilly asks, standing and facing him. Gilly is just as tall as Minnow, but has a cowboy leanness that only comes from living alone.
“Sure, Gilly. What is it?” Minnow asks.
“Before you go, would you just check and see if you did record that story?” Gilly inquires delicately.
“Why does this story mean so much to you?” Minnow seems puzzled again.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it is because he was—is—a soldier and I was a soldier…” Gilly stammers.
“You mean, something like the buddy forever thing? You know, Gilly, I was never in the military,” Minnow says with anguish.
“I know, but you possess the loyalty of a soldier,” Gilly says in an honorable manner.
“Thanks, Gilly,” Minnow says in a beholden tone. “Do you think I will be able to tell the difference between wheat and tare? I mean, I have the fertilizer and seeds, but jeez, I never thought I might have to really know something about the plants that the fertilizer kills!” Minnow is upset over the dilemma.
“Minnow, you will be able to tell the difference, I’m sure of it… you can count on me to always be your friend. Just as the evening comes each day, I will be here for the sunrise. Minnow, I never believed in safety in numbers before, but I do now…” replies Gilly.
“Gilly, I am at a loss… safety from what?” Minnow asks.
“From real things, imagined things, and other things that hide so that we cannot tell the difference from good and bad,” Gilly says, lost in thought.
“Oh, you mean like nightmare fantasies… fantasies of such a long time ago that only our ancestors would understand,” Minnow replies.
Gilly was visibly taken aback with the level of depth coming from Minnow. “Well, I am not certain about my ancestors and their nightmares. I do believe that materialism and insanity are fast coming out here to greet us. It seems that we will need to sharpen our levels of discernment. I always considered this café to be my spiritual get away, but now it seems that I have been found. I thought I could hide away from many of the problems of the world. But there seems to be no escape from trouble no matter how hard I try to close my eyes to it. Somehow, someway the nightmares of the world seem to find me,” Gilly testifies.
“Well, I hope that I am included in this Earth-bound hideaway, my man! Gilly, don’t worry. Not that many people know about this place, and once they do, your food will keep them away!” Minnow says with a loving laugh.
“Absolutely, Minnow. Thank you for that peace of mind. You are sublime to me,” Gilly says with vigor.
“Slime?” Minnow asks, “Well, its time for me to head home to my family.”
“No, sublime. A beautiful thought and memory,” Gilly laughs and slaps Minnow on the back. “Have a safe trip.” The two men embrace as proud warriors. There is electricity in the touch as if they are both leaving for their final battle.
After Minnow leaves the café, Gilly sits back down in the booth and begins to read the opened “manual” at the book of Matthew. A small piece of paper that seems to be functioning as a bookmark softly slips out onto the table. “I came forth from the father, and I come into the world again. I leave the world, and go to the father,” Gilly reads aloud. “From God into the world, from the world back to God. Eternal son ship with the Father—oneness with the Father. He is the God-man, uniting two natures in one, distinct yet mysteriously connecting one personality,” Gilly softly closes the manual. “Enough of this; I got to get back to work,” Gilly says loud enough for August to hear.
He leaves the manual open on the table and clears off the plates and glasses. He pulls the notebook off the table and notices a diagram etched over and over again on the front of it. He flips it open to read the words written by the handsome loyal woman.
Am I good enough? Am I worthy enough? These are constant questions for me. I can’t remember a time when I was not asking these questions. Though, when I was younger the questions were phrased a little differently.
I always wondered why my mom didn’t love me. Why was she always so mad at me? Why was I always on the outside looking in? Why didn’t I have a best friend like everyone else? Why did it feel like I needed to make deals and concessions to God to make him like me too?
Through a series of events in my life and the wisdom of God, I think I can finally answer this question, but only for myself. This question to me seems to be wholly individualized. What is worthy for me is not worthy for anyone else because the entire idea of being worthy is simply knowledge from your soul and God’s soul.
There are just a few childhood stories that really stand out in my life. There is one in particular that has shaped who I am, my style of parenting, and even how I believe. I remember the day, time, weather, smells, and most of all my emotions.
I was still going to elementary school. My oldest sister was living with us again. Her husband was in his third tour of the Vietnam Conflict (as she called it). She had already given birth to two sons and was on her third child.
After each birth, she moved back from Missouri to live with us because her husband was always off fighting in the conflict. She gave birth in the local Catholic hospital and came to our very small two-bedroom house in Iowa.
She said she only lived in Missouri because her husband was stationed at Fort Jackson. She had my mother convinced that the grocery markets did not sell mayonnaise, my sister’s favorite cookies or coffee, so my mom always gave her these items or money to buy them when she came back to Missouri.
I always wondered why my mother gave her money if the items were not available in Missouri. I came to visualize Missouri as some extremely small town that had one grocery market with about five or six shelves of food. Not until I got older did I understand what my sister was really doing, but by then it was too late because my mother had sold her house and moved in with her. They both shop at the one and only market that does not have any of their favorite foods.
The day that changed my life.
I felt that each and every time my sister moved in with us, I did more babysitting than she did parenting. It’s hard even now to know what the truthful perspectives of those months really were. I learned that I did not want to have children until I was old. Her children were too messy, too loud, and too much work.
The day was a simple day. I wanted so badly to go sledding with the neighborhood kids. They were all going to Longfellow Elementary School, the neighborhood school. In the back of the school there was a huge hill that leads to the football field, which was covered in ice.
We could all go sledding or ice skating at the same place. The kids came to my house all suited up with sleds and ice skates in hand. I said, “Wait a second and I’ll be there!”
My sister slammed the door shut and said, “No!” The neighborhood kids all scattered. We all knew each other’s families well enough to know when a whooping was going to happen. No one wanted to be around in case the adult decided to come outside and land a few slaps on young bystanders.
She grabbed my arm and tossed me back into the kitchen. She created chore after chore for me to do. The faster I got done with the chore, the faster she would find another one even more trivial than the one before.
I did not know that there were so many chores to do in the house. I felt as though she was punishing me, but I had no idea as to why. Finally, the last chore came. I had to rewash all the pots and pans stored underneath the oven. Even though my mother had bought a portable dishwasher, I was never allowed to use it.
The brown box with a wooden butcher-block top (the portable dishwasher) was rolled away into a corner and collected dust. My mom stored all her plastic bowls in the dishwasher, along with pennies. Any item bought at the store that was plastic and had a lid my mother kept inside the dishwasher. The pennies were loaded into the plastic containers and placed as orderly as possible in the trays that have never known the touch of water.
I was angry and told my sister we could put all the pots and pans in the dishwasher and turn it on to dry. She got angry and screamed, “No!” The word “no” pretty much summed up my conversations with my older sister.
Finally, I gathered up the courage or I was at the end of my rope and asked if I could go. She said I had to dry everything and put everything away. I started to dry everything, but then I thought I’d put the pots on the stove and turn on the gas flame. By the time I was done drying the other things, the pots would be dry too.
Well, I finished and told my sister. She was planted in front of the small black and white TV watching “Let’s Make a Deal” and smoking her pack of cigarettes. The pot of coffee was within reach of her right arm.
The coffeepot was sitting directly to her side so that she would not have to get up to refill her cup. Her sons were asleep taking their nap or at least pretending. Even the babies knew when to be quiet for her.
I quietly got ready for sledding and slid out as softly as I possibly could. I justified my not saying goodbye because I did not want to disturb her concentration on Monty Hall and whether she should choose door number one or the beautifully wrapped box. Even though I thought I could hear a chicken clucking from the box. I left and softly closed the screen and storm doors.
I caught up with my neighborhood kids and had a wonderful afternoon sledding with abandon and ice skating as though I was a swan princess.
When I got back to the house it was just beginning to become dark. Once I opened the door, her anger made the outside of the house feel bright. She was furious. She started screaming at me, “You stupid kid! You could have killed four people. You are a murderer. You could have killed three innocent babies and me. Then you would also have the murder of my husband on your head too!”
I had no idea what she was screaming about. My non-reaction angered her even more.
She grabbed me again by my arm and tossed me hard against the stove. The pots were on the stove. I thought she was angry that I didn’t put the pots away.
“Because you are so selfish! Because you want everything just for you! Because of your need to have fun—you left the pots on the stove. You murderer! If I had not gotten up to check and see where you were, I would not have noticed the flame under the pots. My three babies and myself—we could have gone up in flames. You would have murdered us and even burnt down the house. What do you have to say for yourself? And don’t try to blame this on anyone else!”
She grabbed my hand and was shaking my whole body. With her other hand she turned on the gas flame. Her entire body weight was shaking. She was not much taller than I was, but she weighed close to two hundred pounds and the thin housecoat she always wore displayed the ripples of her fat. She was very intimidating.
I was startled and taken off guard. I could understand burning down the house. I did not understand how I was a murderer. I was even more at a loss at how I was killing her husband who was in a war on another continent.
I had the image of a murderer in my mind and I definitely did not fit that image. I knew from experience to not say anything to her or she would slap me in my face. I just stood and hoped that her yelping would make the babies cry so she would send me to tend to her children.
She never did explain how I was a murderer, but I did get the message that a ten-year-old girl who wanted to go sledding with her friends was nothing more than an insect, a worthless and selfish kid who did not deserve to live.
Finally, the newborn baby began to cry and she sent me off to give him a bottle and to change his diaper. At that point, my feelings for taking care of children began change because I felt that the crying baby saved me from having my hand placed on the burner. I did not want my hands full of fire.
It took a few years and a lot of soul searching before I realized what she meant by me being a murderer. The death of her and her children would have ended her husband’s emotional life. He would have become just a shell of a man. She took great pains to explain how his mind would be shattered and he would be nothing more than a walking skeleton. I remember being so amazed when he did come home from his tour that he looked like a regular guy. I was really expecting to see a skeleton or a ghost of a man.
At the age of ten I could not understand how her death and the death of the children could creep all the way across oceans and mountains to kill her husband already in a war.
I need to give full credit to my older sister for planting the seed for my great preoccupation with the question of whether I am good enough or worthy enough. I decided at this point in my life that I was not worthy.
I had done something so evil that I would need to spend the rest of my life making up for almost murdering my sister’s entire family. I knew that I must on a constant basis repent and do enormous amounts of selfless good things for others. This is when I began making my deals with God. I was always trying to second-guess God. I figured if I was one step ahead of him that I would not do anything evil and that I might be able to put some heaven points in my column.
This is how I began my need to try to always be better. I would do one more extra mile, I would write twenty more extra pages for the research paper, I would always be the one recognized as trying the hardest and the most dedicated to others. I just wanted God to think I was good enough. But now, I don’t even know if that matters anymore. Does it matter anymore if I am good enough if there will be no one left to see or hear me?
But then, for some reason Gilly abruptly stops reading and looks out the window. The solitude outside the café is a lurking phantom with a bellyache. The wind outside blows as if it could be a threat. The earth shakes at the power of the wind. It sounds like a thousand naked warrior’s feet treading on the grass deprived ground. The soil teems with an unknown life force as the sky turns to a deep blue majestic hue. In the near distance thunder moans in the clouds.
The note drops from his fingers and his eyes water. He understands the guilt the young woman feels; he feels it too, but from the war, not from his immediate family.
August walks over to the booth, “May I see that?”
“What?… I forgot you were still here,” Gilly says in surprise.
“Yeah, I seem to have that affect on a lot of people. May I read it?” August extends his hand.
“Read what?” Gilly asks, not following the conversation.
“The paper you are holding,” August states in a non-threatening tone.
“I don’t know… it came from a personal journal,” Gilly says, feeling uncomfortable at being caught.
“So, why are you reading it?” August demands.
“Because it was left on my table,” Gilly answers confidently.
“Well, it is my job to read and report… so that means I should read it,” August says as he slides next to Gilly in the booth.
“I forgot that you used to be a reporter!” Gilly says slapping August on his back.
“Yeah, that happens to me a lot too,” August takes the rub with dignity. They both chuckle at August’s loss of respect. “Now, how about letting me read the things that they left,” pleads August.
“Why?” Gilly asks sincerely.
“Well, as you just pointed out, what else do I have to do?” August is growing weary of this banter.
“Good point. Why not?” Gilly gets up. “Want a refill on that coffee?”
“Why sure,” smiles August as he settles back to read the story.
“Good, I’ll put on another fresh pot. Considering you drank the entire pot I just made…” Gilly walks behind the counter and gets busy with the preparations.
“Good. You do that. I’ll be right here reading,” August begins to read. As he looks at the front cover of the notebook and the manual he traces with his fingers the outline of a crucifix on both. Without even looking at the words underneath the diagram, he says the word Laminin. “I always did believe in Intelligent Design (ID). I just never thought I would ever see it in plain view.”
As Gilly is making the fresh coffee he thinks “could a virus that mimics wheat kill people? Could it really be happening just a few miles up the road?
“No,” Gilly says out loud to no one and he shakes his head.
“You say something to me, Gilly?” August asks.
Gilly mumbles to himself as he makes the pot of coffee. “No. It is just a citrus virus and there could not possibly be a magnetic shield.” Would I be able to tell the difference and to identity the tares of the world? Gilly looks out the large front window. The day has become a dark blue purple as he gazes on vacant streets and barren abandoned houses. At that very moment, Minnow finally has his truck up and running and is gone in a puff of dust.
“We worry about the things we want to do but can’t and in the place of doing what we can we do—we do nothing…” August says to Gilly as Gilly fills up his coffee cup again with the thick dark liquid which passes for coffee at the Rocketship Café. Not to be out done by August, Gilly quips back, “Yep. Abraham Lincoln did not get his start in life by sitting in trees and day dreaming. He got his start by splitting the tree limbs into fence rails…”
August takes a drink and settles back as comfortably as he is able on the spinning chrome and red leather barstool nailed to the floor in front of the long shiny oak counter. “There is no doubt that the only a way man can improve himself is by thinking. Perhaps the reason for so many of our failures now is that many men look upon “thinking” as a waste of time because neither their mothers, wives, friends, or employers give the man the time, faith, or opportunity to express a thought.”
“You win this round. I need to go to the kitchen and get the sweet rolls out of the oven,” answers Gilly thumping the counter as he leaves.
The Rocketship Café stands alone on the edge of town waiting for the boundary of the next town to meet it. The fringe of other towns keeps growing toward the Rocketship Café as though pulled by an unknown force. The World War II rocket stands tall and symbolic with the American flag painted proudly all around the oblong cylinder. The original owner Gill, who was in the Korean War and World War II, managed to get one of his buddies to give him a missile from the nearby by air force base.
Gill planted his café at the furthest extremity of town because he really did not like customers. He wanted to make certain that if a customer came to his café that that person truly wanted to be at the café and not waste his time. The Rocketship Café is as clean as it needs to be. The music on the jukebox is swing—all other music is tolerated, but played at a minimum.
Gill’s grandson, known as Gilly, now runs the joint. He too has the same taste for customers and has made as few changes as possible to the original Rocketship Café. Gill’s grandson was also a soldier, served in Desert Storm, and has cultivated the same stoic and guarded personality as his grandfather. Gill’s grandson is the not only the spitting image of himself, but also has the honor of continuing the name Gill Owen Dean.
Gilly has a few regular loyal customers and he gets even fewer new clients. The lack of clients or customers does not matter to Gilly because he did not take over the Rocketship Café to make money.
“Gilly, hit me again with that Rocketship fuel that you call coffee and another piece of carrot cake,” demands August in a friendly tone.
“August, you’ve already had a piece of apple pie, a strawberry tartlet, and now you want carrot cake?” Gilly answers back with a friendly chuckle.
“Do I tell you how to run your business? If I have the money to pay for the carrot cake then give me a piece of carrot cake. Hell Gilly, I am not asking for another drink. I’m asking for a piece of damn cake!” August sometimes has a tone that is hard to recognize. He could be joking or he could be serious.
“Maybe the reason it’s so easy for us to see the mistakes of others is because they were ideas we once had but were afraid to carry out,” Gilly answers.
“Interesting… just as remembering the Golden Rule in all transactions will allow us to come nearer to where we want to be than all the dogmas and creeds,” answers August.
“You win again, but only because my mind is elsewhere. Today is my baking day,” Gilly replies to August as he wipes down the counter and refills Augusts’ coffee mug. Gilly knows that August never leaves his home without some type of weapon on his body. Gilly bows to August without fear, but with respect, and then swiftly slides a piece of carrot cake onto the counter top directly in front of him. August smiles a big cigarette and coffee stained tooth filled grin and begins to eat with a sense of abandon.
“Eating so much of that sweet pie could kill you,” says Gilly.
“Lot of things have tried but they haven’t won yet,” August says with his mouth full.
“August how long have you been coming here?” asks Gilly, leaning his elbows on the counter top.
“Too long…” mumbles August.
“You know, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, but I know we all get tired of listening to it…” Gilly says as his voice trials off and gets muffled by the sound of gurgling through his thick coffee.
“Hey that is a good one Gilly. How about this one? The advertising of cigarette and food companies telling me their products are so wonderful and the cure for all my ills and aliments has me so confused that I don’t know whether to ask the medical advice of a druggist, grocer, or restaurant owner,” August says with a gleam of laughter in his eyes.
“Well, as I said, eating all that sweet pie will kill you…” Gilly’s voice trails off as he goes back into the kitchen.
August is a reporter from the old school. He uses pencil and paper, not a computer and recorder. He was good in his day, but is now regulated to the local free weeklies and every now and then a guest Op-Ed piece in a large newspaper chain. He lives on his pension and social security. His house he owns outright. He did this during the time of the GI Bill—he was one of the smart ones with his money. If he didn’t have morals and standards he too would have plenty of work in the writing business. But he wants to tell both sides of the story, not just one. One side does nothing but stir up problems.
August figures his life is too far gone for him to stir up anymore problems, though he yearns for a purpose and reason to want to write again! August remembers something his first editor told him repeatedly, “… it is an indication of success when others look upon you as owning some importance. But it is true evidence of failure when you first assume such a feeling…”
Gilly is occupying the Rocketship Café out of loyalty and love for his grandfather. He is carrying on a tradition and performing a service to all the veterans who find their way to his door. Above the door, inside and out, he has installed a neon set of large red letters that spell “S.O.S.” Gilly allows his customers to interpret the letters in any way they wish but his intention for the letters is “Save Our Souls.” Gilly doesn’t preach any message, but he believes in creating a safe place, a place of refuge and a place of sanctuary. He believes he has the ability to see through to the souls of his customers.
The Rocketship Café storefront is an honest to goodness real missile. Gill added a large oblong building that protrudes from the missile. The wood of the Rocketship Café is warped and the paint peeling, but the structure is sound. The café supports six gas pumps (three of which work), five cottages ready to rent, but only to certain types of people, and a garage to fix everything from automobiles to flying saucers. Gilly’s customers mostly consist of loyal truck drivers, traveling salesmen, and misplaced veterans. Gilly does not tolerate men and women meeting to have affairs at his café. His grandfather did not tolerate such behavior and neither will he. There are morals and values he believes are his duty to keep. Written on a scrap of paper he keeps in the register underneath the money drawer is the saying, “… find no fault with fools, for if it were not for others being able to take advantage of the fool things they do—we would have few wise and successful men.” Gilly tries to be more accepting of adulterers, but the sin leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The bad taste lingers just as long on his taste buds as does his specially brewed coffee.
Gilly asks for proof of marriage in order to stay in the cottages, but in all honesty, no couples have ever stayed in his cottages. He uses the cottages for the soldiers who are in between homes. Gilly’s stand on adultery stems from the fact that his wife left him.
Walter Herman Wiley, Wally-eyed, his cousin, used to be the Rocketship Café handy man, but Gilly never expected him to be handy with his wife. When she left she was tall, lean, and had a thick mane of auburn hair. Her eyes tinkled with the glow of golden honey. She left Gilly for his cousin Wally-eyed.
Wally-eyed got his nickname because of a fishing incident with Gilly when they were kids. Somehow, a fishhook got caught in Wally’s eye lid and damaged his eye. After a few operations, he was able to see, but not clearly. The operations left one of his eyes looking bigger than the other because of the way the eyelid had been fixed. This was back before plastic surgery, and even if the small town would have had a plastic surgeon, Wally’s family wouldn’t have enough money to pay for the surgery.
The eye damage made it so Wally-eyed could not go into the military. He has held this against Gilly all his life. Doctor Frank, the town doctor who took care of Wally, said, “There’s no man so blind as he who closes his eyes to the truth.” Wally-eyed never paid attention to what Doctor Frank said. In fact, the last time the doctor said that to Wally-eyed, he spit on his shoes. Doctor Frank just sighed and walked on.
When Wally-eyed left the employment of the Rocketship Café, he was bald with a head tattoo. Wally-eyed always wanted to live in a big city. Gilly’s wife, Cindy, always wanted to live in the big city. Cindy had pleaded with Gilly to sell the Rocketship Café and move closer to the city, but he couldn’t and he did not know how to explain this to her.
Gilly knew the moment he left the military that he needed to live in the desert because of the heat and the starkness. Gilly never went to a doctor to get an official diagnosis, but he knows that he experiences bouts of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He needs to be able to see far into the distance because he does not want his enemy to sneak up upon him. Gilly is willing to try to decipher the mirages from the heat in hopes of getting the first glimpse of his unknown adversary. He knows in order to win he must see the tormentor before the tormentor is able to see him. Gilly has always hated big cities and big places filled with people because it is too difficult to ferret out the foe. Innocent people always have the tendency to hide the guilty—just as no good deed goes unpunished.
Though they wanted a large family, Gilly and his wife had not been able to have children. Gilly believes children are the saviors of the current generation. Sadly, he is in no position to contribute to the safeguarding of the planet. Infertility. Though, for him and his wife, the question of infertility was never clear as to who was at fault or if there was anyone to blame.
“Hey, Minnow! Want some coffee? It smells like rain. Outside, I mean… not my coffee,” Gilly says as he greets his traveling friend.
“Yeah, it does feel like rain. Strange huh? So early this year! My knees are bothering me. Does your coffee still taste as bad as my feet smell?” asks Minnow, panting from the heat and lugging around his giant frame.
Minnows’ name stuck because the name “Tiny” had already been taken by his older brother who, at age eleven, had already tipped the scales at 200 pounds. Not until Tiny reached his twenties did his body finally make an attempt to catch up to his weight and he finally grew to six feet in height. By that time, Tiny’s weight had risen over a ten-year span, and he hovered around 400 pounds on a continual basis. Minnow, without much effort, keeps his weight around 350 pounds, and he just barely touches the six-foot mark.
“I take that as a yes,” Gilly says as he pours coffee into an off white chipped mug.
Minnow, Gilly, and August are the only ones in the café. Minnow has his tape recorder in front of him in the booth. Minnow’s name is more than appropriate in an odd sort of way. His girth is so large that it is impossible for him to sit on the stool that faces the counter. He is able to manipulate the table in the large corner booth in order to sit as comfortable as a sardine in a squashed and damaged tin can.
“What are you doing with a tape recorder?” Gilly asks, not offering a menu. There are no menus. You get whatever food Gilly decides to cook.
“I’m trying to remember childhood. Or maybe I am supposed to just tell some of the best stories I’ve ever heard or known. I’m not really sure. My grandson has an oral history project and the teacher wants grandparents and parents to tell their family history. I think it is a fancy term for storytelling. So, my grandson wants me to say something in this recorder and then give it to him when I return home. I find it hard sometimes to play the dang thing, but I promised him I would try.” Minnow smiles as he talks about his family. People have been known to say that Minnow’s heart is even bigger than his body, and that is what explains the enormity of his love and loyalty.
“Well, if there ever was a storyteller it would be you,” Gilly says in a good-natured voice as he pours coffee into the cup and slides a glass of milk next to the mug. The two men laugh. Gilly walks back behind the counter. There is a deafening screech and then a tornado of dust and tires in the parking lot. In a puff of dust, two little red-headed girls tumble out of a truck. A strikingly handsome woman climbs out of the front of the truck and a huge man rolls out of the driver’s side. He is holding his head and seems to be in great pain. The family comes into the café. Gilly recognizes the woman as the reporter who used to come to the café. Gilly watches the event but says nothing. Washington enters the café with a sense of urgency and purpose. He sees Minnow sitting in the half moon circle booth and notices the recorder. With an aurora of forsakenness he guides his family to where Minnow is sitting. The twins and his wife settle themselves into the booth without a word.
Gilly walks over with two more mugs of coffee and two little glasses of milk for the little girls. Gilly sets the drinks down on the table gently. He pulls two huge cookies out of his apron and hands one to each girl. The girls take the cookies greedily with smiles and giggles smeared with “thank yous” as they take large bites. Gilly nods, but only gives a slight smile. He dips back to the counter and reaches underneath to pull something out and slide it underneath his apron.
“Daddy, we want milkshakes and French fries. Please Daddy, can we have milkshakes and French fries?” the twins Ruth and Esther petition in a voice of hope.
“Sure, sweeties. That’s fine,” answers their mom Samantha. But no one ever calls her Samantha, she is either mom or Sammy.
“Just coffee for us please,” Sammy gently yells to Gilly behind the counter. Minnow smiles at the girls and makes a few funny faces. Both girls laugh and bury their faces into their mothers’ side. The booth is in the shape of a waning moon with Minnow and Washington on the outside and the girls nested securely inside.
The two girls’ dad, Washington, looks at the recorder and immediately starts talking. “We don’t have much time. The experiment didn’t work. Well, it did work. Things are out of control. I don’t know how to begin… how do I explain about the field? Is that thing on?” he asks, pointing at the tape recorder. Minnow turns on the recorder and sets it in the middle of the table.
“Ok, good. The virus is under control, in a sense. Ah, the magnetic shield is down around the town…” Washington’s voice begins to trail off and he rubs his head with both hands. Washington’s pain shows severely. Sammy, Washington’s wife, tries to rub his neck, but her fingers can’t seem to penetrate his tight muscles. The girls look up and concern shows in their eyes.
“Maybe, sweetheart, we should try to start at the beginning,” Sammy offers.
“Sure,” answers Minnow. “That would be good for me.” Minnow glances over to Gilly with a look of confusion. Gilly nods in approval as if to say, “let them sit and talk.” August says nothing, but turns ever so slightly so that he can see the entire family. It is not uncommon for people to drop into the Rocketship Café and believe that they are part of a giant conspiracy. Most people who frequent the Rocketship Café have a healthy sense of paranoia. The conversation usually involves conspiracy theories of old and new. Sometimes reality is difficult to find inside the Rocketship Café.
“The terrorists… or maybe even we did it to ourselves… or maybe it is God’s way of waking us up. I don’t know. All I know is that somehow we let a virus loose, and my mission, my team’s mission, was to isolate the virus. Find a way to kill the virus or at least stop it. We did find a way to stop it, but we didn’t know about the fields…”
Washington stops again, drinks his coffee, and rests his head in his hands.
Sammy picks up where Washington left off. “The virus is in the plants. The grain. Our bodies now are able to digest it and live. There are no bad effects anymore, but now the fields that grew the grain have… the fields have…” Sammy looks at her children and her eyes swell with tears.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about August. He walks around behind the counter and refills his coffee cup all the while listening to the story. He does not intrude. He does not take notes. He just sits close enough to listen. His clothes are a drab shade of blue. He wears the same suit that he has worn since he got out of the army. His weight has remained the same, but his muscles have changed. His face has layers of wrinkles that are from laughter, fear and sadness. His eyes contain the woe of a million stories that have yet to be told. His laughter is a roar that is seldom heard.
There comes a time in everyone’s life where they reach a certain age and become invisible. August believes he has reached this zenith and that he has not only become invisible, but completely and utterly invisible.
Gilly brings the milkshakes, one vanilla and one chocolate, to the table. The girls squeal with delight. Gilly leaves the tin cup and extra spoons for the girls. It is obvious they love both chocolate and vanilla.
“Fries will be ready in a minute, girls,” Gilly says.
“Okay. Thank you. May we have some ketchup too, please?” the girls ask at the same time.
“Yes, little ladies, you may have as much ketchup as you want,” Gilly whips out the ketchup from his apron and leaves two completely full bottles. The girls shriek with laughter.
“You need anything else?” Gilly nods to Minnow.
“No, I’m fine.” Minnow says as he smiles abnormally. Minnow hasn’t touched his coffee, which is unusual.
“Your food will be up in a minute,” Gilly says. He always says that, even if it will be thirty minutes.
“I know you don’t have much time and neither do we,” Washington says, trying to regroup his thoughts.
“Well, I do have some time,” says Minnow, smiling at the girls and picking up a sugar cube tossing it into the air catching it in his mouth. The girls laugh uncontrollably.
“We are so thankful that you will listen to us,” Sammy says as she tries to shush the girls and move items on the table to keep them from being knocked off. Washington brings out the manual and lays it out on the table. He places both hands on the book and takes a deep breath before beginning again.
“The virus could no longer be contained and there was fear that it would take over completely. We had to begin using innocent people to experiment on in order to find the cure. I know that this sounds horrific and unbelievable. I know I sound like I am crazy and that I am a conspiracy nutcase, but I am not. You got to believe me…” pleads Washington.
“Why, sure fella… we believe you,” says Minnow with his gentle voice.
Washington smiles and begins again. “I know that not all the country’s food sources are damaged. That is another one of the complexities. The scientists cannot figure out why some grains are affected and some are not. But what is true is that once the grain is affected, it transfers to people. Then the fields are affected and then…”
Gilly walks back to the table with two heaping plates of curly French fries. He also has a big silver cup filled with more vanilla milkshake. Without asking, he fills both the girls’ empty glasses. They mumble “thank you” with milk mustaches as they drink and eat. Sammy sips her coffee with one eye on the door and the other on the sky as the thunder clouds approach.
“The sky is a true blue now,” says Sammy. Gilly returns in a moment carrying a huge plate covered with biscuits and gravy, the sides dripping. He sets it in front of Minnow along with a bottle of barbeque sauce made from his own recipe.
“Ok, what is important is that the people are no longer dying after eating the grain. I mean, their bodies are holding together now, but the fields now seem to be the problem—not the infertility thing (he looks over at Sammy) right? The fear of infertility from the virus has been conquered. We no longer are worried about people becoming sterile if they eat the grain. Then there was the magnetic shield. My mission was called tare. Do you know the significance of that word?” Washington says to Minnow. Washington turns to his daughters and smiles.
Washington knows that Sammy is pregnant. But what is not clear is exactly under what circumstances Sammy became pregnant. Washington wonders if Sammy will terminate the pregnancy or not. The ordeal with the Pastor was beyond comprehension—it was not the killing that bothered Washington it was the lack of moral judgement. He hopes and prays Sammy does not ask him how he feels about the baby growing inside her. Washington knows how important it is for Sammy to give birth to this child, but the child is not his.
“As a matter of fact, I do…” Minnow says as he sips his coffee.
“Shouldn’t you be taking notes?” Sammy asks with a strain in her voice.
“Sammy, he is taping everything. See the recorder? Let the man do his job—his way,” Washington says curtly, sensing her anxiety. It is obvious that Washington is saying this in response to her investigative work as a reporter before their marriage. It is also obvious that he hurt his wife’s feelings. His daughters come to the rescue.
“Daddy, do you want to try some of our curly French fries?” ask his daughters. The two girls have perfected the talent of talking at the exact same time.
Washington smiles. It is obvious that his entire body relaxes when talking with his girls, though he quickly composes himself and becomes rigid again. “No thank you, girls. I need to finish the story… then we must go.”
“According to my understanding of the Bible, Tare is a medicine, drug, plant, or something that makes people sleep. I know that because I remember the sermon the Pastor gave,” Minnow says, very proud of himself.
“Tare is a parable from the Bible. It deals with Christians knowing that they are Christians and tares knowing that they are tares. The tares know that at the end, they are to be gathered together and burned,” August mumbles under his breath, and only Gilly hears him. Gilly gives August a look as if to say, “stay out of the conversation.”
“Wow, you really do understand what I mean by this virus and about tare,” Washington says to Minnow with a sense of hope in his voice.
“Well, ah… sometimes. But you left off with the town surrounded by a magnetic field,” Minnow says.
“Yes, tare is from the Bible and you are right. Thank you for listening. We must get this information out to everyone. It really isn’t as complicated as it sounds,” Washington replies.
“What about the shield?” asks Minnow.
“We have found a cure. Well, we haven’t really found it—it was always there. We needed our eyes opened to see it. Laminin is vital to making sure overall body structures hold together. Bad production of Laminin can cause muscles to form something like muscular dystrophy. That is one of the many things the virus was doing, but we seemed to have found a way to manage it,” explains Washington in an almost insane maniacal voice.
“That is mighty interesting. So Laminin is the answer to the virus… okay, so then you found the cure?” asks Gilly.
“No, there are the problems with the fields,” Washington hangs his head as though it is his fault.
“But didn’t you just say that Laminin was the cure?” asks Minnow.
“Well, the nutrient problem is gone, the insanity problem is gone, and the infertility problem might not be a problem anymore, right Sammy?” Washington replies.
Sammy looks at Washington, says nothing, and reaches for her belly out of habit.
“What about the shield? How did you get a shield to go around a town without anyone seeing it?” Minnow questions, a look of confusion on his face.
“You know how the bullet trains work? They run on the magnetic rails? Well, it is the same premise except that it is a giant transparent bubble. The bubble surrounds the town and the people can’t escape. They can’t send any form of communication outside the bubble either. It works very well, but the people complain that it changes the color of the sky somewhat,” Washington is making a great effort to sound logical and believable.
“So the news that there was a quarantine around the town because of the nasty fruit fly that was destroying all the citrus trees—was just a rouse?” Gilly asks.
“Yes, and it seemed to work pretty well, but then we had the problem of the fields…” Washington says as he smiles. Gilly breaks into the conversation.
“Why, of course it did. No one wants the entire crop of oranges to go bust! Just think what that would do to the economy!” hoots Gilly.
“We need to hurry, honey,” Sammy says, giving Washington a loving squeeze on his firm muscled arm.
“Our orders were to take over the town because it fit the requirements and needs for the experiment. We’ve had failures in recent months trying to find a cure for the virus. The difference in this experiment was that we had the people plant, harvest, and eat the planted grains. We had scientists from all over the world living right in the town with the people. They worked day and night in the most spectacular lab…” Washington paused for a moment to drink his coffee.
Washington begins again as he gazes at the jukebox. “The scientists and the people of the town did absolutely everything involved with the virus. The people planted the grain, harvested the grain, and then ate the grain. Everything went according to plan. We thought we had the cure. There were pregnancies, and some women even carried their baby to full term. The soldiers did not have a high rate of suicide or some type of mental break down. Then there were the fields, but the soldiers had something else… maybe it was the many years of wearing the suit and not having any real physical contact… but that too is not a problem that can’t be solved,” Washington releases a long, deep sigh. He seems extremely weary. Everyone sits riveted to the story because Washington is physically huge and convincing even though the tale is so crazy.
“The fields are alive and have become the problem,” Washington says.
“The suit?” Minnow asks in full bewilderment. “What suit? Why would a suit cause a soldier to commit suicide?”
“The suit. The suit is the uniform. It is our second skin. It does everything for us. Ah… ah…” Washington’s voice and concentration trail off again.
Sammy immediately sees that Minnow is not understanding about the suit. She attempts to explain, “My husband hasn’t been wearing his suit for over a year. His body is having a hard time adjusting to not being protected. I don’t know how to explain it in medical terms. I just know that his immune system has to work extra hard right now. I know that the scientists were giving him injections to help build back up his immune system. The suit kept him at a constant body temperature, and it stopped any virus or a bacterium that was harmful. I mean, he wasn’t sick and never even had a headache the entire time he wore the suit. But now, as you can see, he is having a rough time.” Sammy tries to make Minnow understand while attempting to soothe Washington at the same time.
“Yeah, he looks to be in pretty bad shape. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? Gilly may not look like it, but he can cook up a storm,” Minnow is genuine in his concern.
“You know, some soup might be a good idea. Does Gilly make soup? Honey, do you have the medicine for the injections?” Sammy asks.
Without missing a beat Gilly brings a bowl of soup. “Don’t want you to think I was eavesdropping, but I heard Minnow tell you that I have soup. Chicken soup is my specialty. My grandpa taught me how to make it. Everyone thinks that it is the chicken meat that is the secret, but that’s not it—not it at all,” Gilly sets the steaming bowl of soup in front of Washington then digs a huge spoon out of his apron and hands it to him.
Washington grabs the spoon weakly. Gilly smiles a warm friendly smile. “You know, it is the special ingredients of spices, tears, and love that make it work,” Gilly says this last line to the little girls.
“Really? You know how to put love in the soup?” asks Ruth.
“No Ruthy-ooey, he can’t put love in soup, but he can put tears in soup,” says Esther with authority.
“I really don’t like being called Ruthy-ooey and you know it! I know he can put tears in soup. All he needs to do is cry and let the tears drop in the soup, but explain how he puts love in the soup. Messy-essie,” Ruth replies, not to be one-upped by her twin sister.
“Girls! This is not the time or place to argue,” Sammy grabs a hold of their small frail arms. “Thank you, Gilly and sorry about the outburst.”
“Kids are kids and their thoughts are not to be harnessed—yet,” he says.
“Don’t thank him until your husband eats the soup. Then, if he doesn’t die, thank him,” it is evident that Minnow has a deep affection for Gilly.
“I don’t see how you’ve been any worse for the wear after eating my food,” Gilly says to Minnow.
“Well, thank you anyway,” says Sammy with a smile. She rummages in her bag and brings out a small spiral notebook as if she is about to start taking notes. This behavior shows a routine. It is a characteristic of a habit held over from her previous career. She begins flipping through the pages, then becomes distracted by her children again and lays down the small spiral notebook on the table. The page that is flipped open begins with the sentence Am I good enough?
“Daddy, can we have some coins to play the music?” Ruth asks in a soft voice.
Minnow shoves over the change lying on the table. “Here, girls. Play as many songs as you can. I love all kinds of music.”
“Thank you very much. Is there a special song you like?” Esther asks as she grabbing the coins.
“No, like I said, I like all music. But Gilly, he likes the swing music. Play something by Glen Miller or Duke Ellington,” Minnow explains to both of the girls.
“We can do that! We like swing music too! Mommy has shown us how to dance to it—it’s fun to dance too!” Ruth twirls toward the jukebox.
“Thank you. They have been so cooped up for so long I am afraid they have forgotten manners and shyness,” Sammy offers as an apology.
“I love kids. I have kids of my own. I even have some grandkids,” Minnow says with pride. “I have some pictures. Want to see them? In fact, I should show you my grandson. He is the reason I have this…”
Washington stops eating his soup and interrupts Minnow, but seems to be unaware that he did so. “Do you have any questions? I know the story sounds far fetched. I don’t remember if I explained about the infertility and soldier’s suicides though. I can tell you for sure that we conquered the virus, but at what cost is the conquering? We tried to go by the manual as much as possible but we still didn’t win completely,” Washington places his hand on the manual almost as if in the middle of a prayer.
“You’re right. Your story does sound a little crazy, but this is a time of crazy things. I’m not exactly certain what you want me to do with this story,” answers Minnow.
“Just do what you do—tell the story. Be sure you tell everyone about the fields. We all have our jobs to do in life,” Washington says in a pleading tone. The music has filled the Rocketship Café. “In the Mood” by Glen Miller helps Gilly wash the dishes in the kitchen. The girls dance together in front of the jukebox and laugh.
“Mommy and Daddy come dance with us!” Ruth and Esther stretch their hands out to entice their parents to come to them. Sammy stands up and pulls Washington to his feet. They sway to the music, then Washington takes Sammy away with a small flourish.
“I will always love you. I will love all of our children.” Washington murmurs in her ear as he strokes her belly. Sammy does not answer, but stifles a small sob and smiles with relief. Her relief is short lived.
“I know you will. I know…” Sammy replies, her voice deeply confident of this knowledge.
When the music stops they all walk back to the table. Washington leans heavily on Sammy as he places money on the table. The girls run to the back kitchen and say goodbye to Gilly and give him a hug and a kiss. Then, as if caught up in a tornado, the girls run to Minnow and repeat their routine—a goodbye, hug, and a kiss. The girls don’t seem to notice August sitting slightly ajar at the counter.
Washington shakes Minnow’s hand but does not say goodbye, “The suit is just as bad as the virus. At least with the virus, we knew it was made to kill people. The suit was made to help the modern day soldier and all it did was eat away at my body and almost destroyed my mind. The suit protects us but it is like our body gets lazy and stops working and becomes dependent on the suit. Then when I took off the suit I felt like there were times I was losing my mind. I can’t explain why this happened I just know it did and it scares me. I don’t like not having control of my own thoughts.”
“Then there are the fields…” Sammy cuts Washington off.
“Come on honey, we need to get far away before they know we have left,” Sammy tugs at Washington’s arm.
“I know, honey, but we need to make sure that the story gets out and that people learn the truth. Remember the fields,” Washington says as though he is giving a sermon. He salutes Gilly who nods in return and then gives a salute as well. Though Gilly never told Washington he had been in the military, both men knew. Sammy smiles at them both. As Sammy walks behind the girls, she twists to close the door. As an after thought, she spies a man sitting at the counter drinking coffee. He looks familiar. Sammy stops for just a second to look, and at the same moment the man at the counter turns ever so slightly and winks at her. She nods, but only enough so that he could see. August sighs a breath of relief—she saw him. The family walks out the door to the truck and leaves just as they came—in a puff of dust.
Gilly comes back out to Minnow’s booth. “Crazy, but a cute family.”
“Yeah, the kids are really cute. They make me miss my own grandkids,” Minnow says sadly.
“Do you think he thought you were someone else? Maybe a big important newspaper reporter? What is that book he left on the table? Look! Here’s a notebook. What’s in it?” Gilly asks, wiping his hands on his apron.
“That’s a hoot! Me a writer? You are right, he must have thought I was someone else. Maybe he thought I was August. Wasn’t August a writer? Then he kept calling the Bible a manual. That little book? Humm… oh yes, the wife was digging in her purse and pulled it out. I don’t remember if she wrote anything in it or not,” Minnow says, pushing the Bible toward Gilly.
“Yes, it is a hoot and a holler,” says August while drinking his coffee, his back facing the booth where Minnow and Gilly are seated.
“She did. Look, here’s the first line. “Am I good enough?” Did you have the recorder on the whole time?” Gilly sits down and takes hold of the Bible.
“Should we read it? The little book?” There is a long pause while Minnow thinks about what Gilly asked him. “The recorder? Are you kidding? I can barely get that silly thing to work, but I do have a story to tell my grandson. I wonder if it is okay for his project if I use someone else’s oral history?” asks Minnow.
“You got none of it? None of what he was saying? How are you going to remember everything?” Gilly asked in an astonished voice. Flipping through the notebook, he says, “I think we should read it.” August smiles and nods his head.
Minnow is thinking more about the recorder. “True, I would need to either write it down now or tell it to the recorder. Or I could tell it to you… to see if I get all the details?” Minnow says with a playful glean in his eyes. “But, reading his wife’s writing? I don’t know… it seems almost like it would be reading her diary.”
“She left it didn’t she? She even left it open to a certain page. You don’t think it was on purpose?” Gilly asks. “Well, you were given an assignment by your grandson, so he must have faith in your ability in telling a story,” Gilly says as he settles back in the booth.
“Yes, I am pretty good at telling stories. That guy even said that it was my duty to tell the story,” Minnow says in a fearful voice as he too settles into the booth.
“I think we should read the wife’s writing. I know she used to be a reporter. She used to come in once in a while to meet with her clients,” Gilly replies.
“You know her and you didn’t say anything?” Minnow inquires, a little upset.
“I don’t really know her, I just know that she used to be a reporter for the local newspaper. We talked but never got personal,” Gilly answers indignantly.
“So these two aren’t the normal crazy people that stop by here? They could be for real?” asks Minnow. “That is spooky!”
“I don’t know about spooky. I do know that she never seemed like a nutcase. I met her husband once, but that was a long time ago. It seemed that when he left today, he remembered me, but I’m not sure.” Gilly says looking out the window to watch the last glimpse of the truck disappear into the desert.
“She is not a nutcase. She is someone to be believed because hard nuts usually end up cracked,” August mumbles to himself.
“You mean that story about an experiment, a virus, grain, and people killing themselves or something just might be true? No way…” Minnow says as he eats more of his dinner.
After a few seconds Gilly says, “I think they might be telling some sort of truth, but I don’t know what truth. I don’t believe they were lying. I think that they believe what they were saying, and I also think that your grandsons’ teacher would like any story. Before we start in on this story, let me get us some coffee,” Gilly walks a few feet to grab the pot of coffee.
“What is better, memory or forgetfulness? Memory brings back old friends and happy days. Forgetfulness empties mistakes and regrettable actions out of the mind and then allows life to be more enjoyable. I wonder which one we’ll choose?” August asks himself.
“What are you going to do with that Bible?” Gilly asks as he pours the steaming coffee into the mugs.
“I got a Bible of my own in my car. Why don’t I leave this Bible in the café for you and your customers?” Minnow asks, adding sugar cubes to his coffee.
“That would be nice. I have one in my cottage, but I don’t have one in here. You never know when you might need to look something up,” Gilly says, adding sugar cubes to his own coffee mug. “Why did you listen to him tell you the story anyway?”
“For starters, he is a mighty big guy and his family looked scared. The little girls were extremely cute and had such a sweet laugh,” Minnow says as he sips his coffee.
“Laughter was given to us to use to scare away our troubles,” August mumbles loud enough for Minnow and Gilly to hear.
Ignoring August, Gilly says, “You know, the Ebola virus could quarantine an entire town.” Gilly turns serious, but then lightens up. “I thought the twin girls were as cute as little red buttons. His wife was good looking, but what I liked most about her was that she believed in him.” Gilly begins to thumb through the Bible.
“Yeah, a family can’t be all that bad if they all believe so much in each other,” Minnow says.
“True. If they all love and believe in each other, what more can we ask from a family?” Gilly replies.
“You okay, Gilly?” Minnow asks.
“Sure, I am. You know, the town they came from is in a valley and the air stays in it until some big wind comes by. It is really smoggy there! It is a few miles up the road, and there are only two roads in to the town—one is highway and the other is the interstate,” Gilly tries to make sense of the story.
“You okay, Gill? Are you really trying to figure this out? I think he is a soldier on leave or just retired and doesn’t know how to end his tour. I think you know what I mean,” Minnow says trying to brighten up the conversation.
“Yeah, I guess I do. But think about it… people touch hands and then die… the Ebola virus… I’ve heard of that type of thing, but the airborne virus is the most dangerous. Have you heard of any food shortages in your traveling?” Gilly asks in a cool grim tone.
“No, not really. Why would I hear about food shortages or airborne virus? I’m a salesmen—I sell fertilizer and seeds. All I ever do is make certain that all the fields are covered with super duper manure and that I have the right seeds. That is my world—fertility and manure. Gilly, this guy seems to have you spooked. Okay, maybe food prices did jump, but they always do. You know how that goes. It seems when the big corporate types want a raise they say there is a shortage and they hike up the prices,” Minnow says in an attempt to get Gilly to smile.
“Wait, Minnow… didn’t he say something about fertility or infertility? I don’t remember… what was it?” Gilly asks, rubbing his head.
“I don’t remember. I was eating and making faces at his kids,” Minnow replies.
“It is true about the food prices, so very true. You know, Minnow, we seem now to be living in a world where all the roads don’t always meet in the center. Even on the biological level—the gene pool level—we are not one, but more like an octopus. When we move away from unity…” Gilly says, still tying to make sense of the conversation.
“Gilly I’m not that smart. I don’t understand your idea of gene pools and octopuses,” Minnow states as he drinks his coffee in one large gulp.
“Minnow, it is complicated and simple at the same time,” Gilly says, opening the Bible.
“You know, come to think of it… Gilly, I do have something that I find puzzling. I have a new fertilizer called tare. I just got it. I guess that is why I remembered the Bible story. It has not been officially tested. I just have samples. I have it to show a few choice customers and to maybe let them use it as a trial run. Gilly, it is to stop the spread of weeds in certain grains,” Minnow says, very much afraid.
“Tare… tare… didn’t he say something about tare?” Gilly asks, searching through the Bible.
“I don’t know, Gilly. Now you got me so scared I can’t think straight!” Minnow says with a big sigh.
“I think he did. In fact, you said you knew it from the Bible,” Gilly says in reply.
“I did? Maybe I did. I don’t remember that, but I do remember the names of his little girls. Ruthy-ooey and Messy-essie,” Minnow laughs.
“Really? That is very interesting, Minnow. How do you explain that?” Gill asks, drinking his coffee, flipping open the Bible and stopping at the book of Matthew.
“I remember a sermon about wheat and something about gathering and burning. I only listened because it was about soil and seeds and that’s what I sell… I can’t remember anything! I don’t want to remember anything. Let it alone, Gilly!” Minnow says in a dejected voice.
“I can’t. I know the story. Wheat represents the Christian population of God’s kingdom. The tares look very much like wheat, but it is a different plant that is harmful,” Gilly claims, beginning what could be a long story.
“You read the Bible and know the Bible stories?” Minnow seems pleasantly amazed.
“I read enough and know my share,” Gilly replies.
“Everything of real worth is bought with self sacrifice,” August sighs as he pours himself another cup of coffee and grabs a sweet roll from the glass box on the counter.
“I mean, that’s okay with me, Gilly, if you’re a Bible thumper. I just never really thought of you as… as…” stammers Minnow.
“As what? Someone who believes in something bigger than myself?” Gilly shoots back with indignation.
“Well… well… yeah…” Minnow answers rubbing his head.
“Look Minnow, the one thing I know is my limits. The other thing I know is the parable of tare. My fat grandma taught me it was a very apocalyptic parable,” Gilly says, reading the Bible. Minnow’s look on his face shows he has no idea of what Gilly just said.
“Apo-o-what?” asks Minnow, completely confused.
“According to the story, tare is not wheat, but it looks like wheat. Tares were something that was sown, not by God, but by his enemy. The kingdom on earth is populated with wheat and tares. You might say, the wheat stands for God’s people and the tares look like God’s people, but they aren’t,” Gilly speaks slowly to get Minnow’s attention.
“So, the tares are the aliens that are really reptiles with human skins on them? Like the President of the United States right?” responds Minnow with a newfound excitement.
“Minnow, be serious! Aliens and reptiles are not the President of the United States! But if you must, I guess you could put it that way. Most importantly, there are a few who can tell the difference between wheat and tares,” counters Gilly.
“Gilly, I would like nothing more to be serious and sit here and tell the stories again and again, but I got to start driving back home,” Minnow drinks the last of his coffee and takes a biscuit off the plate Gilly had brought to the table earlier. With deftness, Minnow soaks up the last of the gravy without losing a crumb.
“Well, my friend, don’t forget the recorder. Even though it wasn’t on,” Gilly says.
“Right, my grandson would be very upset if I didn’t bring it back. See you on my next time around. Take care. You know, Gilly, this tare business will give me something big to think about on my drive,” Minnow exhales his words as he struggles to get up from the table.
“I can loan the Bible to you if you want it,” Gilly offers the Bible to Minnow.
“No thanks, pal. I’m the one who gave it to you! I have an extra! I’m good with my thoughts and you know what? I don’t think all those people who choose the wrong road end up at a dead end,” Minnow says as he struggles again to get up out of the booth.
“At times, I think that evil can be stopped, but it can’t be made into something good. Minnow, do me a favor would you?” Gilly asks, standing and facing him. Gilly is just as tall as Minnow, but has a cowboy leanness that only comes from living alone.
“Sure, Gilly. What is it?” Minnow asks.
“Before you go, would you just check and see if you did record that story?” Gilly inquires delicately.
“Why does this story mean so much to you?” Minnow seems puzzled again.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it is because he was—is—a soldier and I was a soldier…” Gilly stammers.
“You mean, something like the buddy forever thing? You know, Gilly, I was never in the military,” Minnow says with anguish.
“I know, but you possess the loyalty of a soldier,” Gilly says in an honorable manner.
“Thanks, Gilly,” Minnow says in a beholden tone. “Do you think I will be able to tell the difference between wheat and tare? I mean, I have the fertilizer and seeds, but jeez, I never thought I might have to really know something about the plants that the fertilizer kills!” Minnow is upset over the dilemma.
“Minnow, you will be able to tell the difference, I’m sure of it… you can count on me to always be your friend. Just as the evening comes each day, I will be here for the sunrise. Minnow, I never believed in safety in numbers before, but I do now…” replies Gilly.
“Gilly, I am at a loss… safety from what?” Minnow asks.
“From real things, imagined things, and other things that hide so that we cannot tell the difference from good and bad,” Gilly says, lost in thought.
“Oh, you mean like nightmare fantasies… fantasies of such a long time ago that only our ancestors would understand,” Minnow replies.
Gilly was visibly taken aback with the level of depth coming from Minnow. “Well, I am not certain about my ancestors and their nightmares. I do believe that materialism and insanity are fast coming out here to greet us. It seems that we will need to sharpen our levels of discernment. I always considered this café to be my spiritual get away, but now it seems that I have been found. I thought I could hide away from many of the problems of the world. But there seems to be no escape from trouble no matter how hard I try to close my eyes to it. Somehow, someway the nightmares of the world seem to find me,” Gilly testifies.
“Well, I hope that I am included in this Earth-bound hideaway, my man! Gilly, don’t worry. Not that many people know about this place, and once they do, your food will keep them away!” Minnow says with a loving laugh.
“Absolutely, Minnow. Thank you for that peace of mind. You are sublime to me,” Gilly says with vigor.
“Slime?” Minnow asks, “Well, its time for me to head home to my family.”
“No, sublime. A beautiful thought and memory,” Gilly laughs and slaps Minnow on the back. “Have a safe trip.” The two men embrace as proud warriors. There is electricity in the touch as if they are both leaving for their final battle.
After Minnow leaves the café, Gilly sits back down in the booth and begins to read the opened “manual” at the book of Matthew. A small piece of paper that seems to be functioning as a bookmark softly slips out onto the table. “I came forth from the father, and I come into the world again. I leave the world, and go to the father,” Gilly reads aloud. “From God into the world, from the world back to God. Eternal son ship with the Father—oneness with the Father. He is the God-man, uniting two natures in one, distinct yet mysteriously connecting one personality,” Gilly softly closes the manual. “Enough of this; I got to get back to work,” Gilly says loud enough for August to hear.
He leaves the manual open on the table and clears off the plates and glasses. He pulls the notebook off the table and notices a diagram etched over and over again on the front of it. He flips it open to read the words written by the handsome loyal woman.
Am I good enough? Am I worthy enough? These are constant questions for me. I can’t remember a time when I was not asking these questions. Though, when I was younger the questions were phrased a little differently.
I always wondered why my mom didn’t love me. Why was she always so mad at me? Why was I always on the outside looking in? Why didn’t I have a best friend like everyone else? Why did it feel like I needed to make deals and concessions to God to make him like me too?
Through a series of events in my life and the wisdom of God, I think I can finally answer this question, but only for myself. This question to me seems to be wholly individualized. What is worthy for me is not worthy for anyone else because the entire idea of being worthy is simply knowledge from your soul and God’s soul.
There are just a few childhood stories that really stand out in my life. There is one in particular that has shaped who I am, my style of parenting, and even how I believe. I remember the day, time, weather, smells, and most of all my emotions.
I was still going to elementary school. My oldest sister was living with us again. Her husband was in his third tour of the Vietnam Conflict (as she called it). She had already given birth to two sons and was on her third child.
After each birth, she moved back from Missouri to live with us because her husband was always off fighting in the conflict. She gave birth in the local Catholic hospital and came to our very small two-bedroom house in Iowa.
She said she only lived in Missouri because her husband was stationed at Fort Jackson. She had my mother convinced that the grocery markets did not sell mayonnaise, my sister’s favorite cookies or coffee, so my mom always gave her these items or money to buy them when she came back to Missouri.
I always wondered why my mother gave her money if the items were not available in Missouri. I came to visualize Missouri as some extremely small town that had one grocery market with about five or six shelves of food. Not until I got older did I understand what my sister was really doing, but by then it was too late because my mother had sold her house and moved in with her. They both shop at the one and only market that does not have any of their favorite foods.
The day that changed my life.
I felt that each and every time my sister moved in with us, I did more babysitting than she did parenting. It’s hard even now to know what the truthful perspectives of those months really were. I learned that I did not want to have children until I was old. Her children were too messy, too loud, and too much work.
The day was a simple day. I wanted so badly to go sledding with the neighborhood kids. They were all going to Longfellow Elementary School, the neighborhood school. In the back of the school there was a huge hill that leads to the football field, which was covered in ice.
We could all go sledding or ice skating at the same place. The kids came to my house all suited up with sleds and ice skates in hand. I said, “Wait a second and I’ll be there!”
My sister slammed the door shut and said, “No!” The neighborhood kids all scattered. We all knew each other’s families well enough to know when a whooping was going to happen. No one wanted to be around in case the adult decided to come outside and land a few slaps on young bystanders.
She grabbed my arm and tossed me back into the kitchen. She created chore after chore for me to do. The faster I got done with the chore, the faster she would find another one even more trivial than the one before.
I did not know that there were so many chores to do in the house. I felt as though she was punishing me, but I had no idea as to why. Finally, the last chore came. I had to rewash all the pots and pans stored underneath the oven. Even though my mother had bought a portable dishwasher, I was never allowed to use it.
The brown box with a wooden butcher-block top (the portable dishwasher) was rolled away into a corner and collected dust. My mom stored all her plastic bowls in the dishwasher, along with pennies. Any item bought at the store that was plastic and had a lid my mother kept inside the dishwasher. The pennies were loaded into the plastic containers and placed as orderly as possible in the trays that have never known the touch of water.
I was angry and told my sister we could put all the pots and pans in the dishwasher and turn it on to dry. She got angry and screamed, “No!” The word “no” pretty much summed up my conversations with my older sister.
Finally, I gathered up the courage or I was at the end of my rope and asked if I could go. She said I had to dry everything and put everything away. I started to dry everything, but then I thought I’d put the pots on the stove and turn on the gas flame. By the time I was done drying the other things, the pots would be dry too.
Well, I finished and told my sister. She was planted in front of the small black and white TV watching “Let’s Make a Deal” and smoking her pack of cigarettes. The pot of coffee was within reach of her right arm.
The coffeepot was sitting directly to her side so that she would not have to get up to refill her cup. Her sons were asleep taking their nap or at least pretending. Even the babies knew when to be quiet for her.
I quietly got ready for sledding and slid out as softly as I possibly could. I justified my not saying goodbye because I did not want to disturb her concentration on Monty Hall and whether she should choose door number one or the beautifully wrapped box. Even though I thought I could hear a chicken clucking from the box. I left and softly closed the screen and storm doors.
I caught up with my neighborhood kids and had a wonderful afternoon sledding with abandon and ice skating as though I was a swan princess.
When I got back to the house it was just beginning to become dark. Once I opened the door, her anger made the outside of the house feel bright. She was furious. She started screaming at me, “You stupid kid! You could have killed four people. You are a murderer. You could have killed three innocent babies and me. Then you would also have the murder of my husband on your head too!”
I had no idea what she was screaming about. My non-reaction angered her even more.
She grabbed me again by my arm and tossed me hard against the stove. The pots were on the stove. I thought she was angry that I didn’t put the pots away.
“Because you are so selfish! Because you want everything just for you! Because of your need to have fun—you left the pots on the stove. You murderer! If I had not gotten up to check and see where you were, I would not have noticed the flame under the pots. My three babies and myself—we could have gone up in flames. You would have murdered us and even burnt down the house. What do you have to say for yourself? And don’t try to blame this on anyone else!”
She grabbed my hand and was shaking my whole body. With her other hand she turned on the gas flame. Her entire body weight was shaking. She was not much taller than I was, but she weighed close to two hundred pounds and the thin housecoat she always wore displayed the ripples of her fat. She was very intimidating.
I was startled and taken off guard. I could understand burning down the house. I did not understand how I was a murderer. I was even more at a loss at how I was killing her husband who was in a war on another continent.
I had the image of a murderer in my mind and I definitely did not fit that image. I knew from experience to not say anything to her or she would slap me in my face. I just stood and hoped that her yelping would make the babies cry so she would send me to tend to her children.
She never did explain how I was a murderer, but I did get the message that a ten-year-old girl who wanted to go sledding with her friends was nothing more than an insect, a worthless and selfish kid who did not deserve to live.
Finally, the newborn baby began to cry and she sent me off to give him a bottle and to change his diaper. At that point, my feelings for taking care of children began change because I felt that the crying baby saved me from having my hand placed on the burner. I did not want my hands full of fire.
It took a few years and a lot of soul searching before I realized what she meant by me being a murderer. The death of her and her children would have ended her husband’s emotional life. He would have become just a shell of a man. She took great pains to explain how his mind would be shattered and he would be nothing more than a walking skeleton. I remember being so amazed when he did come home from his tour that he looked like a regular guy. I was really expecting to see a skeleton or a ghost of a man.
At the age of ten I could not understand how her death and the death of the children could creep all the way across oceans and mountains to kill her husband already in a war.
I need to give full credit to my older sister for planting the seed for my great preoccupation with the question of whether I am good enough or worthy enough. I decided at this point in my life that I was not worthy.
I had done something so evil that I would need to spend the rest of my life making up for almost murdering my sister’s entire family. I knew that I must on a constant basis repent and do enormous amounts of selfless good things for others. This is when I began making my deals with God. I was always trying to second-guess God. I figured if I was one step ahead of him that I would not do anything evil and that I might be able to put some heaven points in my column.
This is how I began my need to try to always be better. I would do one more extra mile, I would write twenty more extra pages for the research paper, I would always be the one recognized as trying the hardest and the most dedicated to others. I just wanted God to think I was good enough. But now, I don’t even know if that matters anymore. Does it matter anymore if I am good enough if there will be no one left to see or hear me?
But then, for some reason Gilly abruptly stops reading and looks out the window. The solitude outside the café is a lurking phantom with a bellyache. The wind outside blows as if it could be a threat. The earth shakes at the power of the wind. It sounds like a thousand naked warrior’s feet treading on the grass deprived ground. The soil teems with an unknown life force as the sky turns to a deep blue majestic hue. In the near distance thunder moans in the clouds.
The note drops from his fingers and his eyes water. He understands the guilt the young woman feels; he feels it too, but from the war, not from his immediate family.
August walks over to the booth, “May I see that?”
“What?… I forgot you were still here,” Gilly says in surprise.
“Yeah, I seem to have that affect on a lot of people. May I read it?” August extends his hand.
“Read what?” Gilly asks, not following the conversation.
“The paper you are holding,” August states in a non-threatening tone.
“I don’t know… it came from a personal journal,” Gilly says, feeling uncomfortable at being caught.
“So, why are you reading it?” August demands.
“Because it was left on my table,” Gilly answers confidently.
“Well, it is my job to read and report… so that means I should read it,” August says as he slides next to Gilly in the booth.
“I forgot that you used to be a reporter!” Gilly says slapping August on his back.
“Yeah, that happens to me a lot too,” August takes the rub with dignity. They both chuckle at August’s loss of respect. “Now, how about letting me read the things that they left,” pleads August.
“Why?” Gilly asks sincerely.
“Well, as you just pointed out, what else do I have to do?” August is growing weary of this banter.
“Good point. Why not?” Gilly gets up. “Want a refill on that coffee?”
“Why sure,” smiles August as he settles back to read the story.
“Good, I’ll put on another fresh pot. Considering you drank the entire pot I just made…” Gilly walks behind the counter and gets busy with the preparations.
“Good. You do that. I’ll be right here reading,” August begins to read. As he looks at the front cover of the notebook and the manual he traces with his fingers the outline of a crucifix on both. Without even looking at the words underneath the diagram, he says the word Laminin. “I always did believe in Intelligent Design (ID). I just never thought I would ever see it in plain view.”
As Gilly is making the fresh coffee he thinks “could a virus that mimics wheat kill people? Could it really be happening just a few miles up the road?
“No,” Gilly says out loud to no one and he shakes his head.
“You say something to me, Gilly?” August asks.
Gilly mumbles to himself as he makes the pot of coffee. “No. It is just a citrus virus and there could not possibly be a magnetic shield.” Would I be able to tell the difference and to identity the tares of the world? Gilly looks out the large front window. The day has become a dark blue purple as he gazes on vacant streets and barren abandoned houses. At that very moment, Minnow finally has his truck up and running and is gone in a puff of dust.
Happy Reading!
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Saturday, July 4, 2009
Simple Tips for the Kitchen by Barbour
You just can't beat Barbour Publishing for their value and their fun books! This little gem is perfect for a new wife or for someone just starting out on their own.
"Simple Tips for the Kitchen" covers everything from how to fix a soup that's too salty, to preventing a boil over on your stove.
Quotes from famous authors about cooking and kitchen work are also included...Mark Twain had a lot to say about a lot of things!
You'll also find tips on building family unity around the meals and the kitchen, as well as helpful tips on how to keep frosting from sticking to the covering...something I plan on trying out soon!
Want to mail cookies to loved ones? There's advice on that in this little book. Just about any question you can think of may have a solution or tip in "Simple Tips for the Kitchen".
Pick up a copy for a new bride or a college student moving away from home. Get one for yourself as well...I've already learned a lot from mine! I'm giving this book four out of five bookmarks, with a spatula as a charm!
Happy Reading!
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Unsigned Hype by Booker T. Mattison
I have to be completely honest with you. This is just not MY kind of book. I had a difficult time getting through the first few chapters, and didn't even finish the story.
However, the book is well-written and captures the flavor of the target audience exquisitely. If you're into rap, hip-hop or urban culture, you'll most likely devour this one.
Booker T. Mattison is a gifted author...I just don't fit his target audience. But I know great writing when I see it, even if I don't enjoy it. My daughter is heavily into Christian rap and hip-hop, and she's excited she gets a new book to explore.
So, be watching for an interview between the two of us on Booker's novel...hopefully by the end of summer.
In the meantime, check out some other reviews by doing a Google search on the title to see what others are saying.
I'm giving "Unsigned Hype" three out of five bookmarks with a turn table as a charm...you may have to Google that as well if you're under 40 years old!
Again, I didn't care for the book, but it is very well crafted.
Happy Reading!
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Starfire by Stuart Vaughn Stockton
If living in this world is getting you down, try escaping to another world through the stellar writing of new author Stuart Vaughn Stockton! You may have already met him...remember S-Man from the Kanner Lake novels (authored by Brandilyn Collins)?
Yup, our S-Man really DID write a novel, and it's one of the BEST in speculative fiction I've read in a long, long time. Stuart has created a world so complex, if you pause in your reading for a second, it takes you even longer to realize where you are.
On a planet far from Earth, Rathe of Yanguch longs to work his way up the ranks of warriors to become one of the greatest of the Karn Empire. Along the way he encounters war, treachery and ends up as the fulfillment of a long ago prophecy that will change him forever.
Or maybe not...you'll just have to read it to see for yourself. What thrills me even more is this is just the first book...there is more to come from this new shining star in the world of Christian Spec Fiction.
In the works for more than twenty years, "Starfire" is in the league of "Lord of the Rings" for it's depth of development and intricacy. It isn't the easiest of reads...you truly have to lose yourself in the world Stuart has created...
...but OH, what a world it is! Escape to Stuart's universe and see if you don't find yourself lost in the Karn Empire for awhile...far away from economic woes and threats of war and recession.
I think I'll get back into Karn to see if life is more manageable there! In the meantime, I'm giving "Starfire" five out of five bookmarks. Thank you, Stuart, for the extra helps--the glossary and the character index! Truly, it is THAT intricate!
What a mind Stuart has! "Starfire" is published by Marcher Lord Press...keep your eye on this publisher...some great stuff coming out of this publishing house!
Happy Reading!
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The Comic Book Bible by Barbour Press
I know some readers are offended by books such as this one, believing it makes light of the importance of Scripture. But we have an autistic member at our church, and books such as this one help him grasp the Scriptures and desire to read them...he gets SO excited!
"The Comic Book Bible" is a gorgeous and value priced book that has high appeal for any age, but especially from reading age through 13. Each page is full color, and captures the essence of the most well known passages of Scripture.
Selections from nearly every book are featured (it's hard to make a story out of Leviticus or Chronicles:-), and are cleverly drawn and written. Scripture is quoted with every story, making it easy for parents and teachers to show kids where the actual story is found in the Bible.
Each story takes up a bout two pages, and has dialogue that is easy to read and not only carries the Biblical truth, but is sometimes clever and funny! I loved reading through this book...it refreshed my love for Scripture.
My son is 15, but he LOVES comics, and he says this is THE BEST book for reluctant readers or those who have a hard time reading the Bible. I'm giving this book four out of five bookmarks, with a set of colored pencils as a charm. My only wish is that it was a bit longer, with more stories!
Happy Reading!
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Winners of Week #5 of "60 In 6 Giveaway"!
With the 4th of July weekend here, I'm going to be sending out winning emails beginning Monday...don't think many are online this weekend!
But, just in case you were wondering, the winners of the gift book duo giveaways are...
Carmen7351...
LoveMyCoffee...
Sharon 54220...
RebornButterfly...
Adge...
and
Forst_Rose!!!
Be watching for your email notifications...you get to select your duo in the order of names listed...
One more week of giveaways is coming on Monday...be watching...I've got some GOODIES, and a couple of bonus giveaways to throw out.
And lots of BOOKS went out in last week's mail....so be checking your mailboxes...
Happy Reading!
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Porn @ Work by Michael Leahy
Secret sin eats away at our integrity, at our witness, and at our souls. Bringing such sin out into the light of God's love and healing is the only way to win. Books such as Michael Leahy's help expose the secrets that many battle in an honest and sometimes difficult way...but are necessary.
In his latest book, "Porn @ Work", Michael discusses the growing problem of online pornography and accessing images in the workplace. He is honest about his own 30 year addiction, hiding no details, but also being tasteful in his honesty. Michael also shares some startling statistics concerning this rampant problem.
The book is divided into three parts: Employees Behaving Badly, Why They Won't Stop, and Finding a Better Way to Work. Each section is filled with quotes from other articles and books, facts and figures that reveal just how much pornography has infiltrated every aspect of life.
This isn't an easy book to read, but I think it is a necessary book to read. Whether you have an online addiction or work for a company that may be battling this issue, "Porn @ Work" is a valuable resource.
Pastors need to realize that they may have many in their congregations hiding this sin and needing help desperately. Reading this book may answer some of the questions we all wonder about...from how it begins to how to end it.
Michael is also the author of "Porn Nation" and "Porn University", and operates a non-profit group called "BraveHearts", helping set people free from their addictions to pornography and sexual issues.
I'll rate this one four out of five bookmarks with a heart as a charm, praying God delivers those caught in this snare from their desires and replaces their hearts with clean, fresh ones.
Happy Reading!
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Thursday, July 2, 2009
FIRST Presents "Be Hopeful (1 Peter): How to Make the Best of Times Out of Your Worst of Times (The BE Series Commentary) by Warren Wiersbe "
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:
David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Dr. Warren W. Wiersbe is an internationally known Bible teacher and the former pastor of The Moody Church in Chicago. For ten years he was associated with the Back to the Bible radio broadcast, first as Bible teacher and then as general director. Dr. Wiersbe has written more than 150 books, including the popular “BE” series of Bible commentaries, which has sold more than four million copies. He and his wife, Betty, live in Lincoln, Nebraska.Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 176 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1434767434
ISBN-13: 978-1434767431
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Copyright 2009 David C Cook. Be Hopeful by Warren Wiersbe. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.
WHERE THERE’S CHRIST, THERE’S HOPE
(1 Peter 1:1; 5:12–14)
While there’s life, there’s hope!” That ancient Roman saying is still quoted today and, like most adages, it has an element of truth but no guarantee of certainty. It is not the fact of life that determines hope, but the faith of life. A Christian believer has a “living hope” (1 Peter 1:3 NASB) because his faith and hope are in God (1 Peter 1:21). This “living hope” is the major theme of Peter’s first letter. He is saying to all believers, “Be hopeful!”
Before we study the details of this fascinating letter, let’s get acquainted with the man who wrote it, the people to whom he sent it, and the particular situation that prompted him to write.
THE WRITER (1:1)
He identified himself as “Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:1). Some liberals have questioned whether a common fisherman could have penned this letter, especially since Peter and John were both called “unlearned and ignorant men” (Acts 4:13). However, this phrase only means “laymen without formal schooling”; that is, they were not professional religious leaders. We must never underestimate the training Peter had for three years with the Lord Jesus, nor should we minimize the work of the Holy Spirit in his life. Peter is a perfect illustration of the truth expressed in 1 Corinthians 1:26–31.
His given name was Simon, but Jesus changed it to Peter, which means “a stone” (John 1:35–42). The Aramaic equivalent of “Peter” is “Cephas,” so Peter was a man with three names. Nearly fifty times in the New Testament, he is called “Simon,” and often he is called “Simon Peter.” Perhaps the two names suggest a Christian’s two natures: an old nature (Simon) that is prone to fail, and a new nature (Peter) that can give victory. As Simon, he was only another human piece of clay, but Jesus Christ made a rock out of him!
Peter and Paul were the two leading apostles in the early church. Paul was assigned especially to minister to the Gentiles, and Peter to the Jews (Gal. 2:1–10). The Lord had commanded Peter to strengthen his brethren (Luke 22:32) and to tend the flock (John 21:15–17; also see 1 Peter 5:1–4), and the writing of this letter was a part of that ministry. Peter told his readers that this was a letter of encouragement and personal witness (1 Peter 5:12). Some writings are manufactured out of books, the way freshmen students write term papers, but this letter grew out of a life lived to the glory of God. A number of events in Peter’s life are woven into the fabric of this epistle.
This letter is also associated with Silas (Silvanus, 1 Peter 5:12). He was one of the “chief men” in the early church (Acts 15:22) and a prophet (Acts 15:32). This means that he communicated God’s messages to the congregations as he was directed by the Holy Spirit (see 1 Cor. 14). The apostles and prophets worked together to lay the foundation of the church (Eph. 2:20), and, once that foundation was laid, they passed off the scene. There are no apostles and prophets in the New Testament sense in the church today.
It is interesting that Silas was associated with Peter’s ministry, because originally he went with Paul as a replacement for Barnabas (Acts 15:36–41). Peter also mentioned John Mark (1 Peter 5:13) whose failure on the mission field helped to cause the rupture between Paul and Barnabas. Peter had led Mark to faith in Christ (“Mark, my son”) and certainly would maintain a concern for him. No doubt one of the early assemblies met in John Mark’s home in Jerusalem (Acts 12:12). In the end, Paul forgave and accepted Mark as a valued helper in the work (2 Tim. 4:11).
Peter indicated that he wrote this letter “at Babylon” (1 Peter 5:13) where there was an assembly of believers. There is no evidence either from church history or tradition that Peter ministered in ancient Babylon which, at that time, did have a large community of Jews. There was another town called “Babylon” in Egypt, but we have no proof that Peter ever visited it. “Babylon” is probably another name for the city of Rome, and we do have reason to believe that Peter ministered in Rome and was probably martyred there. Rome is called “Babylon” in Revelation 17:5 and 18:10. It was not unusual for persecuted believers during those days to write or speak in “code.”
In saying this, however, we must not assign more to Peter than is due him. He did not found the church in Rome nor serve as its first bishop. It was Paul’s policy not to minister where any other apostle had gone (Rom. 15:20); so Paul would not have ministered in Rome had Peter arrived there first. Peter probably arrived in Rome after Paul was released from his first imprisonment, about the year AD 62. First Peter was written about the year 63. Paul was martyred about 64, and perhaps that same year, or shortly after, Peter laid down his life for Christ.
THE RECIPIENTS (1:1)
Peter called them “strangers” (1 Peter 1:1), which means “resident aliens, sojourners.” They are called “strangers and pilgrims” in 1 Peter 2:11. These people were citizens of heaven through faith in Christ (Phil. 3:20), and therefore were not permanent residents on earth. Like Abraham, they had their eyes of faith centered on the future city of God (Heb. 11:8–16). They were in the world, but not of the world (John 17:16).
Because Christians are “strangers” in the world, they are considered to be “strange” in the eyes of the world (1 Peter 4:4). Christians have standards and values different from those of the world, and this gives opportunity both for witness and for warfare. We will discover in this epistle that some of the readers were experiencing suffering because of their different lifestyle.
These believers were a “scattered” people as well as a “strange” people. The word translated “scattered” (diaspora) was a technical term for the Jews who lived outside of Palestine. It is used this way in John 7:35 and James 1:1. However, Peter’s use of this word does not imply that he was writing only to Jewish Christians, because some statements in his letter suggest that some of his readers were converted out of Gentile paganism (1 Peter 1:14, 18; 2:9–10; 4:1–4). There was undoubtedly a mixture of both Jews and Gentiles in the churches that received this letter. We will notice a number of Old Testament references and allusions in these chapters.
These Christians were scattered in five different parts of the Roman Empire, all of them in northern Asia Minor (modern Turkey). The Holy Spirit did not permit Paul to minister in Bithynia (Acts 16:7), so he did not begin this work. There were Jews at Pentecost from Pontus and Cappadocia (Acts 2:9), and perhaps they carried the gospel to their neighboring province. Possibly Jewish believers who had been under Peter’s ministry in other places had migrated to towns in these provinces. People were “on the move” in those days, and dedicated believers shared the Word wherever they went (Acts 8:4).
The important thing for us to know about these “scattered strangers” is that they were going through a time of suffering and persecution. At least fifteen times in this letter Peter referred to suffering, and he used eight different Greek words to do so. Some of these Christians were suffering because they were living godly lives and doing what was good and right (1 Peter 2:19–23; 3:14–18; 4:1–4, 15–19). Others were suffering reproach for the name of Christ (1 Peter 4:14) and being railed at by unsaved people (1 Peter 3:9–10). Peter wrote to encourage them to be good witnesses to their persecutors, and to remember that their suffering would lead to glory
(1 Peter 1:6–7; 4:13–14; 5:10).
But Peter had another purpose in mind. He knew that a “fiery trial” was about to begin—official persecution from the Roman Empire (1 Peter 4:12). When the church began in Jerusalem, it was looked on as a “sect” of the traditional Jewish faith. The first Christians were Jews, and they met in the temple precincts. The Roman government took no official action against the Christians since the Jewish religion was accepted and approved. But when it became clear that Christianity was not a “sect” of Judaism, Rome had to take official steps.
Several events occurred that helped to precipitate this “fiery trial.” To begin with, Paul had defended the Christian faith before the official court in Rome (Phil. 1:12–24). He had been released but then was arrested again. This second defense failed, and he was martyred (2 Tim. 4:16–18). Second, the deranged emperor, Nero, blamed the fire of Rome (July AD 64) on the Christians, using them as a scapegoat. Peter was probably in Rome about that time and was slain by Nero, who had also killed Paul. Nero’s persecution of Christians was local at first, but it probably spread. At any rate, Peter wanted to prepare the churches.
We must not get the idea that all Christians in every part of the empire were going through the same trials to the same degree at the same time. It varied from place to place, though suffering and opposition were pretty general (1 Peter 5:9). Nero introduced official persecution of the church, and other emperors followed his example in later years. Peter’s letter must have been a tremendous help to Christians who suffered during the reigns of Trajan (98–117), Hadrian (117–138), and Diocletian (284–305). Christians in the world today may yet learn the value of Peter’s letter when their own “fiery trials” of persecution begin. While I personally believe that the church will not go through the tribulation, I do believe that these latter days will bring much suffering and persecution to the people of God.
It is possible that Silas was the bearer of this letter to the believers in the provinces, and also the secretary who wrote the epistle.
THE MESSAGE (5:12)
First Peter is a letter of encouragement (1 Peter 5:12). We have noted that the theme of suffering runs throughout the letter, but so also does the theme of glory (see 1 Peter 1:7–8, 11, 21; 2:12; 4:11–16; 5:1, 4, 10–11). One of the encouragements that Peter gives suffering saints is the assurance that their suffering will one day be transformed into glory (1 Peter 1:6–7; 4:13–14; 5:10). This is possible only because the Savior suffered for us and then entered into His glory (1 Peter 1:11; 5:1). The sufferings of Christ are mentioned often in this letter (1 Peter 1:11; 3:18; 4:1, 13; 5:1).
Peter is preeminently the apostle of hope, as Paul is the apostle of faith and John of love. As believers, we have a “living hope” because we trust a living Christ (1 Peter 1:3). This hope enables us to keep our minds under control and “hope to the end” (1 Peter 1:13 NIV) when Jesus shall return. We must not be ashamed of our hope but be ready to explain and defend
it (1 Peter 3:15). Like Sarah, Christian wives can hope in God (1 Peter 3:5, where “trusted” should be translated “hoped”). Since suffering brings glory, and because Jesus is coming again, we can indeed be hopeful!
But suffering does not automatically bring glory to God and blessing to God’s people. Some believers have fainted and fallen in times of trial and have brought shame to the name of Christ. It is only when we depend on the grace of God that we can glorify God in times of suffering. Peter also emphasized God’s grace in this letter. “I have written to you briefly, encouraging you and testifying that this is the true grace of God. Stand fast in it” (1 Peter 5:12 NIV).
The word grace is used in every chapter of 1 Peter: 1:2, 10, 13; 2:19 (“thankworthy”), 20 (“acceptable”); 3:7; 4:10; 5:5, 10, 12. Grace is God’s generous favor to undeserving sinners and needy saints. When we depend on God’s grace, we can endure suffering and turn trials into triumphs. It is grace alone that saves us (Eph. 2:8–10). God’s grace can give us strength in times of trial (2 Cor. 12:1–10). Grace enables us to serve God in spite of difficulties (1 Cor. 15:9–10). Whatever begins with God’s grace will always lead to glory (Ps. 84:11; 1 Peter 5:10).
As we study 1 Peter, we will see how the three themes of suffering, grace, and glory unite to form an encouraging message for believers experiencing times of trial and persecution. These themes are summarized in 1 Peter 5:10, a verse we would do well to memorize.
The cynical editor and writer H. L. Mencken once defined hope as “a pathological belief in the occurrence of the impossible.” But that definition does not agree with the New Testament meaning of the word. True Christian hope is more than “hope so.” It is confident assurance of future glory and blessing.
An Old Testament believer called God “the hope of Israel” (Jer. 14:8). A New Testament believer affirms that Jesus Christ is his hope (1 Tim. 1:1; see Col. 1:27). The unsaved sinner is “without hope” (Eph. 2:12 NIV), and if he dies without Christ, he will be hopeless forever. The Italian poet Dante, in his Divine Comedy, put this inscription over the world of the dead: “Abandon all hope, you who enter here!”
This confident hope gives us the encouragement and enablement we need for daily living. It does not put us in a rocking chair where we complacently await the return of Jesus Christ. Instead, it puts us in the marketplace, on the battlefield, where we keep on going when the burdens are heavy and the battles are hard. Hope is not a sedative; it is a shot of adrenaline, a blood transfusion. Like an anchor, our hope in Christ stabilizes us in the storms of life (Heb. 6:18–19), but unlike an anchor, our hope moves us forward, it does not hold us back.
It is not difficult to follow Peter’s train of thought. Everything begins with salvation, our personal relationship to God through Jesus Christ. If we know Christ as Savior, then we have hope! If we have hope, then we can walk in holiness and in harmony. There should be no problem submitting to those around us in society, the home, and the church family. Salvation and submission are preparation for suffering; but if we focus on Christ, we can overcome, and God will transform suffering into glory.
WHERE THERE’S CHRIST, THERE’S HOPE
(1 Peter 1:1; 5:12–14)
While there’s life, there’s hope!” That ancient Roman saying is still quoted today and, like most adages, it has an element of truth but no guarantee of certainty. It is not the fact of life that determines hope, but the faith of life. A Christian believer has a “living hope” (1 Peter 1:3 NASB) because his faith and hope are in God (1 Peter 1:21). This “living hope” is the major theme of Peter’s first letter. He is saying to all believers, “Be hopeful!”
Before we study the details of this fascinating letter, let’s get acquainted with the man who wrote it, the people to whom he sent it, and the particular situation that prompted him to write.
THE WRITER (1:1)
He identified himself as “Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:1). Some liberals have questioned whether a common fisherman could have penned this letter, especially since Peter and John were both called “unlearned and ignorant men” (Acts 4:13). However, this phrase only means “laymen without formal schooling”; that is, they were not professional religious leaders. We must never underestimate the training Peter had for three years with the Lord Jesus, nor should we minimize the work of the Holy Spirit in his life. Peter is a perfect illustration of the truth expressed in 1 Corinthians 1:26–31.
His given name was Simon, but Jesus changed it to Peter, which means “a stone” (John 1:35–42). The Aramaic equivalent of “Peter” is “Cephas,” so Peter was a man with three names. Nearly fifty times in the New Testament, he is called “Simon,” and often he is called “Simon Peter.” Perhaps the two names suggest a Christian’s two natures: an old nature (Simon) that is prone to fail, and a new nature (Peter) that can give victory. As Simon, he was only another human piece of clay, but Jesus Christ made a rock out of him!
Peter and Paul were the two leading apostles in the early church. Paul was assigned especially to minister to the Gentiles, and Peter to the Jews (Gal. 2:1–10). The Lord had commanded Peter to strengthen his brethren (Luke 22:32) and to tend the flock (John 21:15–17; also see 1 Peter 5:1–4), and the writing of this letter was a part of that ministry. Peter told his readers that this was a letter of encouragement and personal witness (1 Peter 5:12). Some writings are manufactured out of books, the way freshmen students write term papers, but this letter grew out of a life lived to the glory of God. A number of events in Peter’s life are woven into the fabric of this epistle.
This letter is also associated with Silas (Silvanus, 1 Peter 5:12). He was one of the “chief men” in the early church (Acts 15:22) and a prophet (Acts 15:32). This means that he communicated God’s messages to the congregations as he was directed by the Holy Spirit (see 1 Cor. 14). The apostles and prophets worked together to lay the foundation of the church (Eph. 2:20), and, once that foundation was laid, they passed off the scene. There are no apostles and prophets in the New Testament sense in the church today.
It is interesting that Silas was associated with Peter’s ministry, because originally he went with Paul as a replacement for Barnabas (Acts 15:36–41). Peter also mentioned John Mark (1 Peter 5:13) whose failure on the mission field helped to cause the rupture between Paul and Barnabas. Peter had led Mark to faith in Christ (“Mark, my son”) and certainly would maintain a concern for him. No doubt one of the early assemblies met in John Mark’s home in Jerusalem (Acts 12:12). In the end, Paul forgave and accepted Mark as a valued helper in the work (2 Tim. 4:11).
Peter indicated that he wrote this letter “at Babylon” (1 Peter 5:13) where there was an assembly of believers. There is no evidence either from church history or tradition that Peter ministered in ancient Babylon which, at that time, did have a large community of Jews. There was another town called “Babylon” in Egypt, but we have no proof that Peter ever visited it. “Babylon” is probably another name for the city of Rome, and we do have reason to believe that Peter ministered in Rome and was probably martyred there. Rome is called “Babylon” in Revelation 17:5 and 18:10. It was not unusual for persecuted believers during those days to write or speak in “code.”
In saying this, however, we must not assign more to Peter than is due him. He did not found the church in Rome nor serve as its first bishop. It was Paul’s policy not to minister where any other apostle had gone (Rom. 15:20); so Paul would not have ministered in Rome had Peter arrived there first. Peter probably arrived in Rome after Paul was released from his first imprisonment, about the year AD 62. First Peter was written about the year 63. Paul was martyred about 64, and perhaps that same year, or shortly after, Peter laid down his life for Christ.
THE RECIPIENTS (1:1)
Peter called them “strangers” (1 Peter 1:1), which means “resident aliens, sojourners.” They are called “strangers and pilgrims” in 1 Peter 2:11. These people were citizens of heaven through faith in Christ (Phil. 3:20), and therefore were not permanent residents on earth. Like Abraham, they had their eyes of faith centered on the future city of God (Heb. 11:8–16). They were in the world, but not of the world (John 17:16).
Because Christians are “strangers” in the world, they are considered to be “strange” in the eyes of the world (1 Peter 4:4). Christians have standards and values different from those of the world, and this gives opportunity both for witness and for warfare. We will discover in this epistle that some of the readers were experiencing suffering because of their different lifestyle.
These believers were a “scattered” people as well as a “strange” people. The word translated “scattered” (diaspora) was a technical term for the Jews who lived outside of Palestine. It is used this way in John 7:35 and James 1:1. However, Peter’s use of this word does not imply that he was writing only to Jewish Christians, because some statements in his letter suggest that some of his readers were converted out of Gentile paganism (1 Peter 1:14, 18; 2:9–10; 4:1–4). There was undoubtedly a mixture of both Jews and Gentiles in the churches that received this letter. We will notice a number of Old Testament references and allusions in these chapters.
These Christians were scattered in five different parts of the Roman Empire, all of them in northern Asia Minor (modern Turkey). The Holy Spirit did not permit Paul to minister in Bithynia (Acts 16:7), so he did not begin this work. There were Jews at Pentecost from Pontus and Cappadocia (Acts 2:9), and perhaps they carried the gospel to their neighboring province. Possibly Jewish believers who had been under Peter’s ministry in other places had migrated to towns in these provinces. People were “on the move” in those days, and dedicated believers shared the Word wherever they went (Acts 8:4).
The important thing for us to know about these “scattered strangers” is that they were going through a time of suffering and persecution. At least fifteen times in this letter Peter referred to suffering, and he used eight different Greek words to do so. Some of these Christians were suffering because they were living godly lives and doing what was good and right (1 Peter 2:19–23; 3:14–18; 4:1–4, 15–19). Others were suffering reproach for the name of Christ (1 Peter 4:14) and being railed at by unsaved people (1 Peter 3:9–10). Peter wrote to encourage them to be good witnesses to their persecutors, and to remember that their suffering would lead to glory
(1 Peter 1:6–7; 4:13–14; 5:10).
But Peter had another purpose in mind. He knew that a “fiery trial” was about to begin—official persecution from the Roman Empire (1 Peter 4:12). When the church began in Jerusalem, it was looked on as a “sect” of the traditional Jewish faith. The first Christians were Jews, and they met in the temple precincts. The Roman government took no official action against the Christians since the Jewish religion was accepted and approved. But when it became clear that Christianity was not a “sect” of Judaism, Rome had to take official steps.
Several events occurred that helped to precipitate this “fiery trial.” To begin with, Paul had defended the Christian faith before the official court in Rome (Phil. 1:12–24). He had been released but then was arrested again. This second defense failed, and he was martyred (2 Tim. 4:16–18). Second, the deranged emperor, Nero, blamed the fire of Rome (July AD 64) on the Christians, using them as a scapegoat. Peter was probably in Rome about that time and was slain by Nero, who had also killed Paul. Nero’s persecution of Christians was local at first, but it probably spread. At any rate, Peter wanted to prepare the churches.
We must not get the idea that all Christians in every part of the empire were going through the same trials to the same degree at the same time. It varied from place to place, though suffering and opposition were pretty general (1 Peter 5:9). Nero introduced official persecution of the church, and other emperors followed his example in later years. Peter’s letter must have been a tremendous help to Christians who suffered during the reigns of Trajan (98–117), Hadrian (117–138), and Diocletian (284–305). Christians in the world today may yet learn the value of Peter’s letter when their own “fiery trials” of persecution begin. While I personally believe that the church will not go through the tribulation, I do believe that these latter days will bring much suffering and persecution to the people of God.
It is possible that Silas was the bearer of this letter to the believers in the provinces, and also the secretary who wrote the epistle.
THE MESSAGE (5:12)
First Peter is a letter of encouragement (1 Peter 5:12). We have noted that the theme of suffering runs throughout the letter, but so also does the theme of glory (see 1 Peter 1:7–8, 11, 21; 2:12; 4:11–16; 5:1, 4, 10–11). One of the encouragements that Peter gives suffering saints is the assurance that their suffering will one day be transformed into glory (1 Peter 1:6–7; 4:13–14; 5:10). This is possible only because the Savior suffered for us and then entered into His glory (1 Peter 1:11; 5:1). The sufferings of Christ are mentioned often in this letter (1 Peter 1:11; 3:18; 4:1, 13; 5:1).
Peter is preeminently the apostle of hope, as Paul is the apostle of faith and John of love. As believers, we have a “living hope” because we trust a living Christ (1 Peter 1:3). This hope enables us to keep our minds under control and “hope to the end” (1 Peter 1:13 NIV) when Jesus shall return. We must not be ashamed of our hope but be ready to explain and defend
it (1 Peter 3:15). Like Sarah, Christian wives can hope in God (1 Peter 3:5, where “trusted” should be translated “hoped”). Since suffering brings glory, and because Jesus is coming again, we can indeed be hopeful!
But suffering does not automatically bring glory to God and blessing to God’s people. Some believers have fainted and fallen in times of trial and have brought shame to the name of Christ. It is only when we depend on the grace of God that we can glorify God in times of suffering. Peter also emphasized God’s grace in this letter. “I have written to you briefly, encouraging you and testifying that this is the true grace of God. Stand fast in it” (1 Peter 5:12 NIV).
The word grace is used in every chapter of 1 Peter: 1:2, 10, 13; 2:19 (“thankworthy”), 20 (“acceptable”); 3:7; 4:10; 5:5, 10, 12. Grace is God’s generous favor to undeserving sinners and needy saints. When we depend on God’s grace, we can endure suffering and turn trials into triumphs. It is grace alone that saves us (Eph. 2:8–10). God’s grace can give us strength in times of trial (2 Cor. 12:1–10). Grace enables us to serve God in spite of difficulties (1 Cor. 15:9–10). Whatever begins with God’s grace will always lead to glory (Ps. 84:11; 1 Peter 5:10).
As we study 1 Peter, we will see how the three themes of suffering, grace, and glory unite to form an encouraging message for believers experiencing times of trial and persecution. These themes are summarized in 1 Peter 5:10, a verse we would do well to memorize.
The cynical editor and writer H. L. Mencken once defined hope as “a pathological belief in the occurrence of the impossible.” But that definition does not agree with the New Testament meaning of the word. True Christian hope is more than “hope so.” It is confident assurance of future glory and blessing.
An Old Testament believer called God “the hope of Israel” (Jer. 14:8). A New Testament believer affirms that Jesus Christ is his hope (1 Tim. 1:1; see Col. 1:27). The unsaved sinner is “without hope” (Eph. 2:12 NIV), and if he dies without Christ, he will be hopeless forever. The Italian poet Dante, in his Divine Comedy, put this inscription over the world of the dead: “Abandon all hope, you who enter here!”
This confident hope gives us the encouragement and enablement we need for daily living. It does not put us in a rocking chair where we complacently await the return of Jesus Christ. Instead, it puts us in the marketplace, on the battlefield, where we keep on going when the burdens are heavy and the battles are hard. Hope is not a sedative; it is a shot of adrenaline, a blood transfusion. Like an anchor, our hope in Christ stabilizes us in the storms of life (Heb. 6:18–19), but unlike an anchor, our hope moves us forward, it does not hold us back.
It is not difficult to follow Peter’s train of thought. Everything begins with salvation, our personal relationship to God through Jesus Christ. If we know Christ as Savior, then we have hope! If we have hope, then we can walk in holiness and in harmony. There should be no problem submitting to those around us in society, the home, and the church family. Salvation and submission are preparation for suffering; but if we focus on Christ, we can overcome, and God will transform suffering into glory.
Happy Reading!
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Wednesday, July 1, 2009
FIRST Presents "Critical Care (Mercy Hospital Series #1) by Candace Calvert"
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:
Critical Care (Mercy Hospital Series #1)
Tyndale House Publishers (May 6, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
CANDACE CALVERT is a writer and ER nurse who believes that love, laughter, and faith are the very best medicines of all. After an equestrian accident broke her neck, she shared the inspirational account of her accident and recovery in Chicken Soup for the Nurse’s Soul, and her writing career was launched. Born in Northern California and the mother of two, Candace lives in the hill country of Texas.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (May 6, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414325436
ISBN-13: 978-1414325439
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Don’t die, little girl.
Dr. Logan Caldwell pressed the heel of his hand against Amy Hester’s chest, taking over heart compressions in a last attempt to save the child’s life. Her small sternum hollowed and recoiled under his palm at a rate of one hundred times per minute, the best he could do to mimic her natural heartbeat. A respiratory therapist forced air into her lungs.
Don’t die. Logan glanced up at the ER resuscitation clock, ticking on without mercy. Twenty-seven minutes since they’d begun the code. No heartbeat. Not once. Time to quit but . . .
He turned to his charge nurse, Erin Quinn, very aware of the insistent wail of sirens in the distance. “Last dose of epi?”
“Three minutes ago.”
“Give another.” Logan halted compressions, his motionless hand easily spanning the width of the two-year-old’s chest. He watched until satisfied with the proficiency of the therapist’s ventilations, then turned back to the cardiac monitor and frowned. Asystole—flatline. Flogging this young heart with atropine and repeated doses of epinephrine wasn’t going to do it. A pacemaker, pointless. She’d been deprived of oxygen far too long before rescue.
Logan pushed his palm into Amy’s sternum again and gritted his teeth against images of a terrified little girl hiding in a toy cupboard as her day care burned in a suffocating cloud of smoke, amid the chaos of two dozen other burned and panicking children.
“Epi’s on board,” Erin reported, sweeping an errant strand of coppery hair away from her face. She pressed two fingers against the child’s arm to locate the brachial pulse and raised her gaze to the doctor’s. “You’re generating a good pulse with compressions, but . . .”
But she’s dead. With reluctance, Logan lifted his hand from the child’s chest. He studied the monitor display and then nodded at the blonde nurse standing beside the crash cart. “Run me rhythm strips in three leads, Sarah.” After he drew in a slow breath of air still acrid with the residue of smoke, he glanced down at Amy Hester, her cheeks unnaturally rosy from the effects of carbon monoxide, glossy brown curls splayed against the starched hospital linen. Dainty purple flower earrings. Blue eyes, glazed and half-lidded. Tiny chin. And lips—pink as a Valentine cupid—pursed around the rigid breathing tube, as if it were a straw in a snack-time juice box. Picture-perfect . . . and gone.
He signaled for the ventilations to stop and checked the code clock again. “Time of death—9:47.”
There was a long stretch of silence, and Logan used it to make his exit, turning his back to avoid another glance at the child on the gurney . . . and the expressions on the faces of his team. No good came from dwelling on tragedy. He knew that too well. Best to move on with what he had to do. He’d almost reached the doorway when Erin caught his arm.
“We’ve put Amy’s parents and grandmother in the quiet room the way you asked,” she confirmed, her green eyes conveying empathy for him as well. “I can send Sarah with you, if—”
“No. I’ll handle it myself,” Logan said, cutting her off. His tone was brusquer than he’d intended, but he just wanted this over with. “We need Sarah here.” He tensed at a child’s shrill cry in the trauma room beyond, followed by the squawk of the base station radio announcing an ambulance. “There are at least five more kids coming in from the propane explosion. We’ll need extra staff to do more than pass out boxes of Kleenex. I want nurses who know what they’re doing. Get them for me.”
***
Why am I here?
Claire Avery winced as a child’s painful cry echoed up the Sierra Mercy emergency department corridor and blended with the wail of sirens. Almost an hour after the Little Nugget Day Care explosion, ambulances still raced in. Fire. Burns. Like my brother. No, please, I can’t be part of this again.
She leaned against the cool corridor wall, her mouth dry and thoughts stuttering. Being called to the ER was a mistake. Had to be. The message to meet the director of nursing didn’t make sense. Claire hadn’t done critical care nursing since Kevin’s death. Couldn’t. She wiped a clammy palm on her freshly pressed lab coat and stepped away from the wall to peer down the corridor into the ER. Then jumped, heart pounding, at the thud of heavy footfalls directly behind her.
She whirled to catch a glimpse of a man barreling toward her with his gaze on the ambulance entrance some dozen yards away. He looked a few years older than she was, maybe thirty-five, tall and wide shouldered, with curly dark hair and faded blue scrubs. He leveled a forbidding scowl at Claire like a weapon and slowed to a jog before stopping a few paces from her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing his stethoscope before it could slide from his neck.
“I’m . . . waiting,” Claire explained, awkwardly defensive. “I was paged to the ER.”
“Good. Then don’t just stand there holding up the wall. Let’s go. The charge nurse will show you where to start.”
“But I—,” she choked, her confusion complete.
“But what?” He glanced toward sounds at the ambulance bay and then back at her.
Claire cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He shook his head, his low groan sounding far too much like a smothered curse. “If that question’s existential, I don’t have time for it. But if you’re here to work, follow me. Erin Quinn will tell you everything you need to know.” He pointed toward a crew of paramedics racing through the ambulance doors with a stretcher. A toddler, his tiny, terrified face raw and blistered behind an oxygen mask, sat bolt upright partially covered by a layer of sterile sheets. “See that boy? That’s why I’m here. So either help me or get out of the way.” He turned and began jogging.
Speechless, Claire stared at the man’s retreating back and the nightmarish scene beyond: burned child, hustling medics, a flurry of scrubs, and a hysterically screaming parent. Help or get out of the way? What was she supposed to do with that ultimatum? And what gave this rude man the right to issue it?
Then, with a rush of relief, Claire spotted the Jamaican nursing director striding toward her. This awful mistake was about to be cleared up.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” Merlene Hibbert said, her molasses-rich voice breathless. “As you can imagine, there have been many things to attend to.” She slid her tortoiseshell glasses low on her nose, squinting down the corridor. “I see you already met our Dr. Caldwell.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Logan Caldwell? Sierra Mercy Hospital’s ER director?
Merlene sighed. “I’d planned to introduce you myself. I hope he wasn’t . . . difficult.”
“No, not exactly,” she hedged, refusing to imagine a reason she’d need an introduction. “But I think there’s been a mistake. He thought I’d been sent down here to work in the ER.” Tell me he’s mistaken.
“Of course. A natural mistake. He’s expecting two more agency nurses.”
Claire’s knees nearly buckled with relief. “Thank goodness. They need help. I can see that from here.” She glanced at the ER, where patients on gurneys overflowed into the hallway. A nurse’s aide held a sobbing woman in her arms, her face etched with fatigue. Styrofoam coffee cups, discarded cardboard splints, and scraps of cut-away clothing littered the floor. All the while, the distant cries of that poor child continued relentlessly.
“Yes, they do,” Merlene agreed. “And that’s exactly why I called you.”
“But I’ve been at Sierra Mercy only a few months, and my hours are promised to the education department—to train the students, write policies, and demonstrate new equipment.” Claire floundered ahead as if grasping for a life preserver. “I’ve interviewed to replace Renee Baxter as clinical educator. And I haven’t done any critical care nursing in two years, so working in the ER would be out of the—”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Merlene said. Her dark eyes pinned Claire like a butterfly specimen on corkboard. “I need you to assess my staff to see how they’re coping emotionally. I don’t have to tell you this has been one miserable morning.” She studied Claire’s face and then raised her brows. “You listed that in your résumé. That you’ve been recently trained in Critical Incident Stress Management?”
CISM? Oh no. She’d forgotten. Why on earth had she included that? “Yes, I’m certified, but . . .” How could she explain? Merlene had no clue that Claire’s entire future—maybe even her sanity—depended on never setting foot in an ER again. It was the only answer to the single prayer she’d clung to since her firefighter brother’s death in a Sacramento trauma room two years ago. Being helpless to save him left her with crippling doubts, sleep-stealing nightmares, and . . . She’d mapped her future out meticulously. The move to Placerville, a new hospital, a new career path, no going back. Everything depended on her plan.
Claire brushed away a long strand of her dark hair and forced herself to stand tall, squaring her shoulders. “I understand what you’re asking. But you should know that I haven’t done any disaster counseling beyond classroom practice. I’m familiar with the principles, but . . .” What could she possibly offer these people? “Wouldn’t the chaplain be a better choice?”
“He’s going to be delayed for several hours. Erin Quinn’s my strongest charge nurse, so if she tells me her ER team is at risk, I believe it. They received six children from that explosion at the day care. Four are in serious condition, and a two-year-old died.” Merlene touched the amber and silver cross resting at the neckline of her uniform. She continued, frowning. “Dr. Caldwell’s working them ragged. An agency nurse threatened to walk out. Security’s got their hands full with the media. . . . You’re all I can offer them right now.”
Claire’s heart pounded in her throat. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to sprint into the northern California sunshine; fill her lungs with mountain air; cleanse away the suffocating scents of fear, pain, and death; keep on running and not look back. It would be so easy. Except that these were fellow nurses in that ER; she’d walked in their shoes. More than most people, Claire understood the awful toll this work could take. The staff needed help. How could she refuse? She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Relief flooded into Merlene’s eyes. She handed Claire a dog-eared sheaf of papers. “Here’s our hospital policy for staff support interventions. Probably nothing new there.” She gestured toward her office a few yards away. “Why don’t you sit down and review it for a few minutes before you go in? You can report to me later after I make my rounds.”
Before Claire could respond, the ambulance bay doors slammed open at the far end of the corridor. There was an answering thunder of footsteps, rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the faded vinyl flooring.
Logan Caldwell reappeared, shoving past a clutch of reporters to direct incoming paramedics. He raked his fingers through his hair and bellowed orders. “Faster! Get that stretcher moving. Give me something to work with, guys. And you—yeah, you, buddy—get the camera out of my face! Who let you in here?” The ER director whirled, stethoscope swinging across his broad chest, to shout at a tall nurse who’d appeared at the entrance to the ER. “Where are those extra nurses, Erin? Call the evening crew in early; a double shift won’t kill anyone. We’re working a disaster case here. Get me some decent staff!”
Claire gritted her teeth. Though she still hadn’t officially met him, there was no doubt in her mind that Logan Caldwell deserved his notorious reputation. Dr. McSnarly. The nickname fit like a surgical glove. Thank heaven she didn’t have to actually work with him—the man looked like he ate chaos for breakfast.
Claire turned to Merlene. “I’ll do the best I can,” she said, then drew a self-protective line. “But only for today. Just until the chaplain comes.”
“Of course. Very short-term.” Merlene began walking away, then stopped to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, a word of caution: Dr. Caldwell hates the idea of counseling. I’d watch my back if I were you.”
Claire hesitated outside the doors to the emergency department. She’d reviewed the summary of steps for an initial critical stress intervention and was as ready as she’d ever be. Considering she’d never done any peer counseling before. I’m a fraud. Why am I here?
She shut her eyes for a moment, hearing the din of the department beyond. It had been stupid to put the CISM training on her résumé. She’d taken the course last fall and participated reluctantly in the mock crisis situations, mostly because it would look impressive on her application for the clinical educator position. But afterward Claire knew that she could never volunteer as a peer counselor. Never. It felt too personal, too painful.
Healing the healers, they called it, the basis for the work of volunteer teams that waded into horror zones after events like 9/11, the killer tsunami in Indonesia, and the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And a Sacramento, California, trauma room after a warehouse fire that killed seven firefighters.
Claire fought the memories. Yes, the counseling teams made sure that caregivers took care of themselves too, assessing them for burnout and signs of post-traumatic stress. Like difficulty making decisions, sleeplessness, nightmares, and relationship failures. Claire knew the symptoms only too well. She’d struggled with most of them herself these past two years, exactly the reason she’d run away from that Sacramento hospital—after refusing its offer of stress counseling—and never looked back.
But here she was at another ER door, peeking inside through a narrow panel of bulletproof glass. And now she was responsible for helping these people deal with everything she was trying so hard to forget and expected to offer the kind of counseling she’d never accepted herself. Beyond ironic—impossible and completely at odds with her plan.
Claire raised her palm and pushed the door inward.
Heal my heart and move me forward. She’d prayed it every single day.
So why was her life slamming into reverse?
The essence of Sierra Mercy ER hit Claire’s senses like an assault. Sounds: anxious chatter, a burst from the overhead PA speakers, beeping of electronic monitors, inconsolable crying, and painful screams. Smells: nervous perspiration, stale coffee, surgical soap, bandaging adhesive, the scorched scent of sterile surgical packs . . . and of burned hair and flesh.
No, no. Claire’s stomach lurched as she clutched her briefcase like a shield and scanned the crowded room for the charge nurse. Find Erin Quinn. Concentrate on that.
She took a slow breath and walked farther into the room, searching among the eddy of staff in multicolored scrubs—technicians, nurses, and registration clerks. She forced herself to note the glassed-in code room, a small central nurses’ station and its large dry-erase assignment board, the semicircular arrangement of curtained exam cubicles with wall-mounted equipment at the head of each gurney, and the huge surgical exam lights overhead.
Claire tried to avoid the anxious faces of the family members huddled close to the tiny victims. Because she knew intimately how much they were suffering. No, much worse than that. I feel it. I still feel it.
When she’d agreed to do this for Merlene, she’d hoped this smaller ER—miles from the Sacramento trauma center and two years later—would be somehow different, but nothing had changed. Especially how it made Claire feel, the same way it had in those weeks after Kevin’s death. Unsure of herself for the first time in her nursing career, she’d been antsy, queasy, and clammy with doubt. Dreading the wail of approaching sirens and jumping at each squawk of the emergency radio. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the irrational certainty that the very next ambulance stretcher would be carrying someone she loved, someone she’d be unable to save, and . . .
A cry in the distance made Claire turn. Her breath caught as the young charge nurse opened a curtain shielding a gurney.
A child, maybe three years old, rested upright in a nest of blue sterile sheets, tufts of his wispy blond hair blackened at the tips—some missing in spots—reddened scalp glistening with blisters. One eye had swollen closed, and his nose was skewed a little to one side by the clear plastic tape securing a bandage to his cheek. The other blue eye blinked slowly as if mesmerized by the drip chamber of the IV setup taped to his arm. An oxygen cannula stretched across his puffy, tear-streaked face.
Beside him, a stainless steel basin, bottles of sterile saline, and stacks of gauze squares sat assembled on a draped table. Burn care: control pain, cool the burn to stop it from going deeper, monitor for dehydration, and prevent tetanus and infection. All the bases covered. Unless the burns are horrific and complicated, like Kevin’s. Unless there is profound shock, heart failure, and . . . No, don’t think of it.
Claire exhaled, watching as Erin Quinn pressed the button on a blood pressure monitor and efficiently readjusted the finger probe measuring the child’s lung status. She made a note on a chart and moved back to the bedside as the child stirred and cried out.
“Mommy?”
“Mom’s getting a bandage on her leg, Jamie, remember?” she explained gently, then caught sight of Claire and acknowledged her with a wave. She called to another nurse across the room. “Sarah, can you finish the ointment on Jamie’s scalp? watch him for few minutes?” After giving a brief report to the petite blonde nurse, she crossed to where Claire stood.
“Good, you found me,” Erin said, noting Claire’s name badge and offering a firm handshake. Strands of coppery hair had escaped from her ponytail, and her blue scrubs were splotched with snowy white burn ointment. She nodded as Claire glanced once more at the injured boy. “Second-degree burns. No explosion trauma, otherwise he’d be on a chopper ride to Sacramento. But Jamie’s got asthma, and the smoke stirred things up. So . . .”
“He needs close observation,” Claire finished. “I understand.”
Erin smiled. “Hey, I really appreciate your coming here. We’ve had a horrible shift, and my staff are workhorses, but the Hester child was a real heartbreaker. We worked a long time to save her, but it didn’t happen. And only last weekend we had the first drowning of the season. Junior high boy fishing on the river. Overall my crew seems to be coping fairly well, but today might be that last straw, you know? So I have a couple of issues I’d like to discuss with you. I can spare about ten minutes to fill you in. Will that be enough to get you started?”
“Yes . . . okay.” Claire tried to recall the details of her review. How much could she offer here? One person couldn’t do more than a brief assessment and let the staff know more assistance was available. At least she’d found the self-help pamphlets. “But first I should tell you that I left a message for the hospital social worker because if an actual debriefing is needed, then a mental health professional is required. That’s policy.” She swallowed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “The debriefing should be done tomorrow or the next day.”
“What?” Erin shot her a look that clearly implied Claire was the one who needed mental help. “Tomorrow? I called you here because we need help now. Didn’t Merlene tell you that?” She pressed her fist to her lips. “Look, I’ve had a lab tech faint, the media’s harassing family members in the waiting room, and an agency nurse threatened to walk out. Walk out, when I’m short-staffed already! I’m sorry if I seem testy, but I’m responsible for the quality of nursing care here. My team needs help, and I’ll do everything it takes to make that happen. Merlene told me you were a trained peer counselor. Aren’t you?”
She hated herself. Erin Quinn was right. Claire needed to do whatever she could for these people. Somehow. She reached into her briefcase and grabbed a sheaf of glossy pamphlets. “Yes, I’ve been trained. And I can start an initial assessment, get things going in the process. I promise I’ll do as much as I can to help, and . . .” Her voice faltered as heavy footsteps came to a stop behind her. She fought an unnerving sense of déjà vu and impending doom.
“Help?” A man’s voice, thick with sarcasm, prodded her back like the devil’s pitchfork.
Claire turned, several pamphlets slipping from her fingers.
It was time to officially meet the newest threat to her plan, Dr. Logan Caldwell.
Dr. Logan Caldwell pressed the heel of his hand against Amy Hester’s chest, taking over heart compressions in a last attempt to save the child’s life. Her small sternum hollowed and recoiled under his palm at a rate of one hundred times per minute, the best he could do to mimic her natural heartbeat. A respiratory therapist forced air into her lungs.
Don’t die. Logan glanced up at the ER resuscitation clock, ticking on without mercy. Twenty-seven minutes since they’d begun the code. No heartbeat. Not once. Time to quit but . . .
He turned to his charge nurse, Erin Quinn, very aware of the insistent wail of sirens in the distance. “Last dose of epi?”
“Three minutes ago.”
“Give another.” Logan halted compressions, his motionless hand easily spanning the width of the two-year-old’s chest. He watched until satisfied with the proficiency of the therapist’s ventilations, then turned back to the cardiac monitor and frowned. Asystole—flatline. Flogging this young heart with atropine and repeated doses of epinephrine wasn’t going to do it. A pacemaker, pointless. She’d been deprived of oxygen far too long before rescue.
Logan pushed his palm into Amy’s sternum again and gritted his teeth against images of a terrified little girl hiding in a toy cupboard as her day care burned in a suffocating cloud of smoke, amid the chaos of two dozen other burned and panicking children.
“Epi’s on board,” Erin reported, sweeping an errant strand of coppery hair away from her face. She pressed two fingers against the child’s arm to locate the brachial pulse and raised her gaze to the doctor’s. “You’re generating a good pulse with compressions, but . . .”
But she’s dead. With reluctance, Logan lifted his hand from the child’s chest. He studied the monitor display and then nodded at the blonde nurse standing beside the crash cart. “Run me rhythm strips in three leads, Sarah.” After he drew in a slow breath of air still acrid with the residue of smoke, he glanced down at Amy Hester, her cheeks unnaturally rosy from the effects of carbon monoxide, glossy brown curls splayed against the starched hospital linen. Dainty purple flower earrings. Blue eyes, glazed and half-lidded. Tiny chin. And lips—pink as a Valentine cupid—pursed around the rigid breathing tube, as if it were a straw in a snack-time juice box. Picture-perfect . . . and gone.
He signaled for the ventilations to stop and checked the code clock again. “Time of death—9:47.”
There was a long stretch of silence, and Logan used it to make his exit, turning his back to avoid another glance at the child on the gurney . . . and the expressions on the faces of his team. No good came from dwelling on tragedy. He knew that too well. Best to move on with what he had to do. He’d almost reached the doorway when Erin caught his arm.
“We’ve put Amy’s parents and grandmother in the quiet room the way you asked,” she confirmed, her green eyes conveying empathy for him as well. “I can send Sarah with you, if—”
“No. I’ll handle it myself,” Logan said, cutting her off. His tone was brusquer than he’d intended, but he just wanted this over with. “We need Sarah here.” He tensed at a child’s shrill cry in the trauma room beyond, followed by the squawk of the base station radio announcing an ambulance. “There are at least five more kids coming in from the propane explosion. We’ll need extra staff to do more than pass out boxes of Kleenex. I want nurses who know what they’re doing. Get them for me.”
***
Why am I here?
Claire Avery winced as a child’s painful cry echoed up the Sierra Mercy emergency department corridor and blended with the wail of sirens. Almost an hour after the Little Nugget Day Care explosion, ambulances still raced in. Fire. Burns. Like my brother. No, please, I can’t be part of this again.
She leaned against the cool corridor wall, her mouth dry and thoughts stuttering. Being called to the ER was a mistake. Had to be. The message to meet the director of nursing didn’t make sense. Claire hadn’t done critical care nursing since Kevin’s death. Couldn’t. She wiped a clammy palm on her freshly pressed lab coat and stepped away from the wall to peer down the corridor into the ER. Then jumped, heart pounding, at the thud of heavy footfalls directly behind her.
She whirled to catch a glimpse of a man barreling toward her with his gaze on the ambulance entrance some dozen yards away. He looked a few years older than she was, maybe thirty-five, tall and wide shouldered, with curly dark hair and faded blue scrubs. He leveled a forbidding scowl at Claire like a weapon and slowed to a jog before stopping a few paces from her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing his stethoscope before it could slide from his neck.
“I’m . . . waiting,” Claire explained, awkwardly defensive. “I was paged to the ER.”
“Good. Then don’t just stand there holding up the wall. Let’s go. The charge nurse will show you where to start.”
“But I—,” she choked, her confusion complete.
“But what?” He glanced toward sounds at the ambulance bay and then back at her.
Claire cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He shook his head, his low groan sounding far too much like a smothered curse. “If that question’s existential, I don’t have time for it. But if you’re here to work, follow me. Erin Quinn will tell you everything you need to know.” He pointed toward a crew of paramedics racing through the ambulance doors with a stretcher. A toddler, his tiny, terrified face raw and blistered behind an oxygen mask, sat bolt upright partially covered by a layer of sterile sheets. “See that boy? That’s why I’m here. So either help me or get out of the way.” He turned and began jogging.
Speechless, Claire stared at the man’s retreating back and the nightmarish scene beyond: burned child, hustling medics, a flurry of scrubs, and a hysterically screaming parent. Help or get out of the way? What was she supposed to do with that ultimatum? And what gave this rude man the right to issue it?
Then, with a rush of relief, Claire spotted the Jamaican nursing director striding toward her. This awful mistake was about to be cleared up.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” Merlene Hibbert said, her molasses-rich voice breathless. “As you can imagine, there have been many things to attend to.” She slid her tortoiseshell glasses low on her nose, squinting down the corridor. “I see you already met our Dr. Caldwell.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Logan Caldwell? Sierra Mercy Hospital’s ER director?
Merlene sighed. “I’d planned to introduce you myself. I hope he wasn’t . . . difficult.”
“No, not exactly,” she hedged, refusing to imagine a reason she’d need an introduction. “But I think there’s been a mistake. He thought I’d been sent down here to work in the ER.” Tell me he’s mistaken.
“Of course. A natural mistake. He’s expecting two more agency nurses.”
Claire’s knees nearly buckled with relief. “Thank goodness. They need help. I can see that from here.” She glanced at the ER, where patients on gurneys overflowed into the hallway. A nurse’s aide held a sobbing woman in her arms, her face etched with fatigue. Styrofoam coffee cups, discarded cardboard splints, and scraps of cut-away clothing littered the floor. All the while, the distant cries of that poor child continued relentlessly.
“Yes, they do,” Merlene agreed. “And that’s exactly why I called you.”
“But I’ve been at Sierra Mercy only a few months, and my hours are promised to the education department—to train the students, write policies, and demonstrate new equipment.” Claire floundered ahead as if grasping for a life preserver. “I’ve interviewed to replace Renee Baxter as clinical educator. And I haven’t done any critical care nursing in two years, so working in the ER would be out of the—”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Merlene said. Her dark eyes pinned Claire like a butterfly specimen on corkboard. “I need you to assess my staff to see how they’re coping emotionally. I don’t have to tell you this has been one miserable morning.” She studied Claire’s face and then raised her brows. “You listed that in your résumé. That you’ve been recently trained in Critical Incident Stress Management?”
CISM? Oh no. She’d forgotten. Why on earth had she included that? “Yes, I’m certified, but . . .” How could she explain? Merlene had no clue that Claire’s entire future—maybe even her sanity—depended on never setting foot in an ER again. It was the only answer to the single prayer she’d clung to since her firefighter brother’s death in a Sacramento trauma room two years ago. Being helpless to save him left her with crippling doubts, sleep-stealing nightmares, and . . . She’d mapped her future out meticulously. The move to Placerville, a new hospital, a new career path, no going back. Everything depended on her plan.
Claire brushed away a long strand of her dark hair and forced herself to stand tall, squaring her shoulders. “I understand what you’re asking. But you should know that I haven’t done any disaster counseling beyond classroom practice. I’m familiar with the principles, but . . .” What could she possibly offer these people? “Wouldn’t the chaplain be a better choice?”
“He’s going to be delayed for several hours. Erin Quinn’s my strongest charge nurse, so if she tells me her ER team is at risk, I believe it. They received six children from that explosion at the day care. Four are in serious condition, and a two-year-old died.” Merlene touched the amber and silver cross resting at the neckline of her uniform. She continued, frowning. “Dr. Caldwell’s working them ragged. An agency nurse threatened to walk out. Security’s got their hands full with the media. . . . You’re all I can offer them right now.”
Claire’s heart pounded in her throat. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to sprint into the northern California sunshine; fill her lungs with mountain air; cleanse away the suffocating scents of fear, pain, and death; keep on running and not look back. It would be so easy. Except that these were fellow nurses in that ER; she’d walked in their shoes. More than most people, Claire understood the awful toll this work could take. The staff needed help. How could she refuse? She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Relief flooded into Merlene’s eyes. She handed Claire a dog-eared sheaf of papers. “Here’s our hospital policy for staff support interventions. Probably nothing new there.” She gestured toward her office a few yards away. “Why don’t you sit down and review it for a few minutes before you go in? You can report to me later after I make my rounds.”
Before Claire could respond, the ambulance bay doors slammed open at the far end of the corridor. There was an answering thunder of footsteps, rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the faded vinyl flooring.
Logan Caldwell reappeared, shoving past a clutch of reporters to direct incoming paramedics. He raked his fingers through his hair and bellowed orders. “Faster! Get that stretcher moving. Give me something to work with, guys. And you—yeah, you, buddy—get the camera out of my face! Who let you in here?” The ER director whirled, stethoscope swinging across his broad chest, to shout at a tall nurse who’d appeared at the entrance to the ER. “Where are those extra nurses, Erin? Call the evening crew in early; a double shift won’t kill anyone. We’re working a disaster case here. Get me some decent staff!”
Claire gritted her teeth. Though she still hadn’t officially met him, there was no doubt in her mind that Logan Caldwell deserved his notorious reputation. Dr. McSnarly. The nickname fit like a surgical glove. Thank heaven she didn’t have to actually work with him—the man looked like he ate chaos for breakfast.
Claire turned to Merlene. “I’ll do the best I can,” she said, then drew a self-protective line. “But only for today. Just until the chaplain comes.”
“Of course. Very short-term.” Merlene began walking away, then stopped to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, a word of caution: Dr. Caldwell hates the idea of counseling. I’d watch my back if I were you.”
Claire hesitated outside the doors to the emergency department. She’d reviewed the summary of steps for an initial critical stress intervention and was as ready as she’d ever be. Considering she’d never done any peer counseling before. I’m a fraud. Why am I here?
She shut her eyes for a moment, hearing the din of the department beyond. It had been stupid to put the CISM training on her résumé. She’d taken the course last fall and participated reluctantly in the mock crisis situations, mostly because it would look impressive on her application for the clinical educator position. But afterward Claire knew that she could never volunteer as a peer counselor. Never. It felt too personal, too painful.
Healing the healers, they called it, the basis for the work of volunteer teams that waded into horror zones after events like 9/11, the killer tsunami in Indonesia, and the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And a Sacramento, California, trauma room after a warehouse fire that killed seven firefighters.
Claire fought the memories. Yes, the counseling teams made sure that caregivers took care of themselves too, assessing them for burnout and signs of post-traumatic stress. Like difficulty making decisions, sleeplessness, nightmares, and relationship failures. Claire knew the symptoms only too well. She’d struggled with most of them herself these past two years, exactly the reason she’d run away from that Sacramento hospital—after refusing its offer of stress counseling—and never looked back.
But here she was at another ER door, peeking inside through a narrow panel of bulletproof glass. And now she was responsible for helping these people deal with everything she was trying so hard to forget and expected to offer the kind of counseling she’d never accepted herself. Beyond ironic—impossible and completely at odds with her plan.
Claire raised her palm and pushed the door inward.
Heal my heart and move me forward. She’d prayed it every single day.
So why was her life slamming into reverse?
The essence of Sierra Mercy ER hit Claire’s senses like an assault. Sounds: anxious chatter, a burst from the overhead PA speakers, beeping of electronic monitors, inconsolable crying, and painful screams. Smells: nervous perspiration, stale coffee, surgical soap, bandaging adhesive, the scorched scent of sterile surgical packs . . . and of burned hair and flesh.
No, no. Claire’s stomach lurched as she clutched her briefcase like a shield and scanned the crowded room for the charge nurse. Find Erin Quinn. Concentrate on that.
She took a slow breath and walked farther into the room, searching among the eddy of staff in multicolored scrubs—technicians, nurses, and registration clerks. She forced herself to note the glassed-in code room, a small central nurses’ station and its large dry-erase assignment board, the semicircular arrangement of curtained exam cubicles with wall-mounted equipment at the head of each gurney, and the huge surgical exam lights overhead.
Claire tried to avoid the anxious faces of the family members huddled close to the tiny victims. Because she knew intimately how much they were suffering. No, much worse than that. I feel it. I still feel it.
When she’d agreed to do this for Merlene, she’d hoped this smaller ER—miles from the Sacramento trauma center and two years later—would be somehow different, but nothing had changed. Especially how it made Claire feel, the same way it had in those weeks after Kevin’s death. Unsure of herself for the first time in her nursing career, she’d been antsy, queasy, and clammy with doubt. Dreading the wail of approaching sirens and jumping at each squawk of the emergency radio. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the irrational certainty that the very next ambulance stretcher would be carrying someone she loved, someone she’d be unable to save, and . . .
A cry in the distance made Claire turn. Her breath caught as the young charge nurse opened a curtain shielding a gurney.
A child, maybe three years old, rested upright in a nest of blue sterile sheets, tufts of his wispy blond hair blackened at the tips—some missing in spots—reddened scalp glistening with blisters. One eye had swollen closed, and his nose was skewed a little to one side by the clear plastic tape securing a bandage to his cheek. The other blue eye blinked slowly as if mesmerized by the drip chamber of the IV setup taped to his arm. An oxygen cannula stretched across his puffy, tear-streaked face.
Beside him, a stainless steel basin, bottles of sterile saline, and stacks of gauze squares sat assembled on a draped table. Burn care: control pain, cool the burn to stop it from going deeper, monitor for dehydration, and prevent tetanus and infection. All the bases covered. Unless the burns are horrific and complicated, like Kevin’s. Unless there is profound shock, heart failure, and . . . No, don’t think of it.
Claire exhaled, watching as Erin Quinn pressed the button on a blood pressure monitor and efficiently readjusted the finger probe measuring the child’s lung status. She made a note on a chart and moved back to the bedside as the child stirred and cried out.
“Mommy?”
“Mom’s getting a bandage on her leg, Jamie, remember?” she explained gently, then caught sight of Claire and acknowledged her with a wave. She called to another nurse across the room. “Sarah, can you finish the ointment on Jamie’s scalp? watch him for few minutes?” After giving a brief report to the petite blonde nurse, she crossed to where Claire stood.
“Good, you found me,” Erin said, noting Claire’s name badge and offering a firm handshake. Strands of coppery hair had escaped from her ponytail, and her blue scrubs were splotched with snowy white burn ointment. She nodded as Claire glanced once more at the injured boy. “Second-degree burns. No explosion trauma, otherwise he’d be on a chopper ride to Sacramento. But Jamie’s got asthma, and the smoke stirred things up. So . . .”
“He needs close observation,” Claire finished. “I understand.”
Erin smiled. “Hey, I really appreciate your coming here. We’ve had a horrible shift, and my staff are workhorses, but the Hester child was a real heartbreaker. We worked a long time to save her, but it didn’t happen. And only last weekend we had the first drowning of the season. Junior high boy fishing on the river. Overall my crew seems to be coping fairly well, but today might be that last straw, you know? So I have a couple of issues I’d like to discuss with you. I can spare about ten minutes to fill you in. Will that be enough to get you started?”
“Yes . . . okay.” Claire tried to recall the details of her review. How much could she offer here? One person couldn’t do more than a brief assessment and let the staff know more assistance was available. At least she’d found the self-help pamphlets. “But first I should tell you that I left a message for the hospital social worker because if an actual debriefing is needed, then a mental health professional is required. That’s policy.” She swallowed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “The debriefing should be done tomorrow or the next day.”
“What?” Erin shot her a look that clearly implied Claire was the one who needed mental help. “Tomorrow? I called you here because we need help now. Didn’t Merlene tell you that?” She pressed her fist to her lips. “Look, I’ve had a lab tech faint, the media’s harassing family members in the waiting room, and an agency nurse threatened to walk out. Walk out, when I’m short-staffed already! I’m sorry if I seem testy, but I’m responsible for the quality of nursing care here. My team needs help, and I’ll do everything it takes to make that happen. Merlene told me you were a trained peer counselor. Aren’t you?”
She hated herself. Erin Quinn was right. Claire needed to do whatever she could for these people. Somehow. She reached into her briefcase and grabbed a sheaf of glossy pamphlets. “Yes, I’ve been trained. And I can start an initial assessment, get things going in the process. I promise I’ll do as much as I can to help, and . . .” Her voice faltered as heavy footsteps came to a stop behind her. She fought an unnerving sense of déjà vu and impending doom.
“Help?” A man’s voice, thick with sarcasm, prodded her back like the devil’s pitchfork.
Claire turned, several pamphlets slipping from her fingers.
It was time to officially meet the newest threat to her plan, Dr. Logan Caldwell.
Happy Reading!
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Tuesday, June 30, 2009
FIRST Presents "When the Good News Gets Even Better: Rediscovering the Gospels through First-Century Jewish Eyes by Neb Hayden"
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:
When the Good News Gets Even Better: Rediscovering the Gospels through First-Century Jewish Eyes
David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Neb Hayden is director of International Student Development at The King’s College in New York City. A former quarterback for “Bear Bryant” at Alabama, Neb has been involved his adult life with the fellowship in Washington, D.C., which works behind the scenes to nurture and encourage the leadership in over 180 nations. The group also works behind the scenes of the National Prayer Breakfast. Neb speaks and teaches extensively at seminars, conferences, and retreats. He and his wife, Susan, live in New York City and are the parents of three grown sons and two daughters-in-law.Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $16.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1434767000
ISBN-13: 978-1434767004
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Preface
How is it possible to make the good news of the gospel better? How can truth be enhanced? How can Jesus Christ be improved upon? Impossible! Then, why the title, When the Good News, Gets Even Better? The gospel gets even better only when it’s more clearly understood.
When I was a kid growing up in North Carolina I fantasized about being a “fly on the wall or some kind of invisible presence that could magically be transported back in time and be there the great moments in history. I wanted to be at the Alamo with Jim, Davy, Sam and the boys. I wondered what it would be like to have been on the Mayflower or to be with the first settlers at Jamestown. I wanted to experience the thoughts and emotions of these people. I wanted to know how it felt to walk in their shoes.
In the mid 1980’s my wife, Susan and I were invited to go on a two-week study seminar to Israel. Dr. Jim Martin taught us as we move from site to site from Israel’s wanderings in the wilderness through the resurrection of Jesus. When we gathered together our first day, Jim said, “I am going to teach you to think like an ancient Jew. You will never truly understand the scriptures as long as you think like a Gentile.” That thought haunted me for several years and two more trips to Israel with Jim.
Meanwhile, my close friend, Bob Warren, a former professional basketball player and outstanding Bible teacher in Kentucky had a similar experience in Israel with a Messianic Jew named Arnold Fruchtenbaum. Bob had been studying the gospels from a Hebrew perspective and he said that the impact it was having on his understanding was astounding. This challenged me to began reading everything I could find concerning Jewish history and culture. I was hooked, and began to live out my childhood fantasy. Through First Century Hebrew eyes and ears, I began to gain a perspective that I had never seen before. I began to see what a Jew would have seen and hear what a Jew would have heard as he witnessed the works of and heard the words of Jesus. I had studies and taught the Gospels my whole life and yet, a new perspective began to wash over me in a fresh, unvarnished way. Gradually I developed a study course that I called The Hidden Gospels. I was eventually encouraged to write this study book that could be approached by an individual or small group.
I wrote When the Good News Get Even Better from the following perspectives:
~ By Studying Through First Century Jewish Eyes: The Bible is a Jewish book, written to Jews about a Jewish Messsiah who came to redeem the Jews first, then the Gentiles (Rom 1:16). If you were a Jew living in the Middle East in first century, how would you have heard what Jesus said? How would you have seen the things He did? What kind of culture would you have lived in? How would your childhood training have affected what you saw and heard? The Good news gets even better when we read the gospels as they were communicated and in the way they were meant to be seen.
~ By Studying the Gospel Accounts Autobiographically: By stepping in the sandals of the people in these biographical accounts. They are relational documents; encounters with people who are basically just like you and me. Become the Samaritan woman who had lost hope as Jesus speaks with her. Be the rich, lonely, alienated little tax collector named Zachaeus when Jesus asks to go home to dinner with him. Feel the apprehension of the woman with the hemorrhage as she pushed through the crowd to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. We can feel what these people felt and understand them if we understand the circumstances of their Hebrew lives. Then what Jesus says and does comes alive to us.
~ By Seeing Jesus’ Life and Teaching Through the Window of Grace: Most of us were taught a law-based perspective and therefore read the scriptures like a rulebook of impossible demands that we cannot meet. Should, ought to, and must have been a constant companion of most believers. Try harder, do more, and re-dedicate have kept us spiritually fatigued and guilt-ridden. Jesus offers intimacy that transforms duty into desire and obligation into opportunity. Seeing the gospels through the eyes of grace changes everything.
~ Studying Each Gospel Event as it Actually Happened (Chronologically): I used A.T. Robertson’s A Harmony of the Gospels as a guideline. To see the events as they occurred brings a new flavor and excitement to the greatest story ever told.
Studying the gospels in this manner is the most life-changing thing I have ever done. Whether you do this study in a small group or individually, I guarantee that you will never again read the gospels the same as before. They are the foundation of our faith because our faith is built on a Person. He was a Jew, living in a Jewish world, and communicating with Jewish people. This study offers you the opportunity to walk the dusty roads with Him, to be there as a participant rather than simply an observer. These biographies of Jesus are your stories too. Every move Jesus made and every word He spoke has direct implications for your life in the twenty-first century.
My hope is that this study will not simply be new information to ponder, but that as re-discover the gospels through Hebrew eyes, you will come to more deeply know, and enjoy the One who wrote The
Gospels. This is when The Good News Gets Even Better.
Getting the Most Out of This Study
Aerial view: We will obviously not be able to deal with every event in the Gospels, but the connection between the events as the happens is critical to understand. We will take an aerial view or brief summary of the passage before moving on.
Through Hebrew Eyes: Understanding Jewish culture and history is critical for a fuller appreciation of the emotions, issues at stake, and reactions of people in the gospels. When you see the Star of David we will try to help you think as a Jew would have thought in the at day based on his background, teaching, history, and culture.
Insight into the Passage: The light bulb indicates my brief commentary on the passage. These are insights I have gleaned over in over 34 years of ministry. They have made a deep impact in my own life and have been the result of my own studies as well as the contribution of many wonderful people along the way.
Snapshot: Context is very important in studying the scriptures. When you see the camera icon, I will give a brief picture of the current atmosphere, the circumstances and issues leading to the passage or event we are about to study. This will help you gain a feel for the atmosphere in which everything is taking place.
Crossroads: This may be a statement or question concerning direction: So what? Where do we go from here? What difference can this make for me right now?
Part I. Beginnings
God’s unique and abiding love for the Hebrew people is unparalleled in human history. Throughout the Old Testament, Israel is called the “bride of God.” These nomadic wanderers suffered greatly at the hands of their enemies, and for most of their existence have live under the continual dominance of other nations. Freedom and autonomy is the brass ring they have longed to grasp. They, like each of us have loved God, and yet have disobeyed Him, often trusting in their own abilities rather than in His faithfulness and sovereignty. God’s beloved bide sought other lovers, yet He continues, even to this day, to pursue them with His unfailing love.
But, God had been strangely silent during the four hundred years from the end of the writing of the Old Testament until the beginning of the New Testament. The flow of communication to His people through the Prophets during this period came to a halt, but the Hebrew people continued to anxiously await the coming of “the Prophet” spoken of by Moses (Deuteronomy 18:18-19) and more specifically by Isaiah, the Psalmist, Daniel and others.
As we begin this fascinating adventure in the gospels, Rome has been in control of Israel since 63 B.C. Bitter hatred exists between the Jews and her captors. In the minds of many, God appears to have abandoned His people. Many Jews quietly echo the sentiment of Job, who, amidst great agony of body and soul, cries out to God in his pain. Symbolically shaking his fist to the heavens, he in essence thunders, “God you know nothing of suffering; you have never experienced the lost of sons as I have. You have never experience shame and rejection, being abandoned by friends. You sit in your heaven surrounded by your holy hosts, but you have no notion of what it is like on this earth. Is there anyone in this vast universe who can identify with my pain? Is there anyone who knows what it’s like to be a man?”
And so, in the fullness of time, God responds to the cries of Job and all of His people. At the right time, He wraps himself in human skin and pitches His tent in the midst of humanity and lives among those He created, identifying with every emotion and every hurt that a human being can know. Never again would a man or woman be able to say, “God, you don’t understand what it’s like to be me.”
-Day 1
Luke Explains His Method of Research
READ: Luke. 1:1-4
During the early 60’s A.D., some thirty years after the crucifixion, a passionate follower of Jesus Christ and traveling companion of the apostle Paul, took pen in hand and wrote a biography about the Savior. Though others already had written accounts by that time (1:2), Luke apparently wanted to make certain that an orderly and historically accurate account was rendered. He was a medical doctor, easily identifiable because he always wore a golf hat. (Just kidding) As a physician, he places great emphasis on the healing ministry of Jesus. Luke was also a meticulous historian who took great pains to record events as they happened. He was the only gospel writer who was not a Jew. He writes to fellow Gentiles, specifically Greeks, who were consumed with the concept of the ideal man. Rather than attack this humanistic flow of thinking, Luke gives great attention to the person of Jesus, as if to say, “you want to hear about a real man… well listen up!” He wants his Gentile readers to see that Jesus’ great message of truth and liberation is now wide open to Gentiles and Jews alike. Luke was not part of the original twelve, but he had interviewed many eyewitnesses who walked with Jesus. Like the no-nonsense Sergeant Friday in the Dragnet Series of the 60’s, Luke wants, “Just the facts, ma’am… just the facts!” He sees the need to record the events of Jesus life in chronological order. (The other accounts record events in keeping with a particular theme that they wanted to underline to specific groups of people.) Luke’s theme is simply, Jesus, the Son of Man.
Luke comes right out of the shoot in verses 1-2 by assuring his readers that he wants to set the record straight through the eyes of those who had actually been there and seen it all happen. He writes specifically to a man named Theophilus, also a Gentile, who was probably a Roman official and a new believer. Based on his meticulous research, Luke wants to reassure Theophilus, and us, that the exact truth is available to all honest seekers who have ears to hear.
THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW: Matthew was a converted customs agent (Mt.. 9:9) and one of the original twelve apostles. He writes a detailed account of Jesus life. Lies were being spread by Jesus’ enemies and many sought personal gain from this new “movement.” Matthew shows that the events of Jesus’ life were powerfully foretold by the Prophets hundreds of years prior to His coming. Writing to Greek speaking Jews, Matthew shows them that Jesus is the fulfillment of their dreams and their history. Sixty-two times he quotes the Old Testament arguing that Jesus is the completion to their greatest longings. Matthew’s theme is Jesus, The King of the Jews.
THE GOSPEL OF MARK: Mark was also called John Mark in Acts 12:12. Peter refers to him as his “son in the faith” (1 Pet. 5:13). Mark would later accompany Paul and Barnabas on Paul’s first missionary journey. He deserted the team and retuned home (Acts 13:13), but became helpful to Paul in later years. Though he was not among the original apostles, Mark gained much personal insight and information from Peter, with whom he shared a special closeness. Mark writes to Romans with an unflinching sense of immediacy. He wants his readers to get off the beach and dive head first into the waters of life. Mark is an action guy with a great sense of aliveness and enthusiasm. He uses the word “immediately” (Mk.. 1:12) at least forty times in his account, stressing the urgency Jesus felt, knowing that this would appeal to Roman thinking. Probably written in the late 50’s or early 60’s AD, Mark’s Theme is Jesus the Messiah, The Servant of Jehovah.
THE GOSPEL OF JOHN: John is thought to have written his gospel while in exile on the Isle of Patmos sometime around 90 A.D. He writes much concerning the deity of Jesus. Unlike the synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), John writes more concerning the things Jesus said (His discourses) rather than what he did (His miracles). As the eldest of the four writers, John probably read the other accounts many times and his maturity and the wisdom of his years may have made him more intent on communicating the heart of Jesus to his readers than His works. Ninety percent of the content in John’s gospel is not found in the parallel accounts. John’s gospel is the only book in the Bible written primarily for the non-believer. John’s theme is Jesus, The Son of God.
John Pictures Jesus as the “Word”
READ: John 1:1-18
John wants his readers to know that Jesus (Yeshua) is unlike anyone who ever set foot on the planet. The Word existed from the beginning of time. In fact, the Word was another way of referring to God. The Word is, therefore, a Person. The Word is not simply information about Jesus, the Word is Jesus. Every created thing finds it’s origin in the Person, Jesus. Within this living, breathing personal Word is the sum total of everything concerning life. This Word even has the ability to scatter darkness and illuminate everything and everyone He touches.
In order to prepare the world for His coming, God sent a Jew named John (Yohnanan) to ready the hearts of people for this new Light that was to follow. This Living Word became flesh and lived among those to whom He came to give life. He came to His own people, the Jews. Most of them rejected Him, but many Gentiles accepted His free gift of life and became Sons of God.
Notice that “Word” is capitalized, indicating a proper name. The Greek rendering is “logos,” a person possessing intellect, emotion, and will. To a Jew, it was a way of referring to God. Therefore, John is saying that God came to earth as the Living Word. Everything the ancient rabbis taught about the Word was fulfilled in this Person, Jesus Christ.
Write a brief definition of the “Gospel” as it is typically used today. (“We left our former church because the minister didn’t preach the gospel.”)
If the Word is a Person, and not simply doctrinal information, can we not properly conclude that the “gospel” is also a Person? Most believers speak of the “gospel” as if it is certain theological principles and doctrinal facts that must be included if we are to be true to the scriptures. Consider the definition you just wrote. Have you left anything out? Have you added something that need not be there? Are you positive? Is it compatible with biblical truth? What about sincere, godly men and women who would render a somewhat different definition than yours? You can see the problem. If the gospel were basically doctrinal information about Jesus (His birth, His life, His teachings, His miracles, His death, His resurrection, His ascension, and His return, etc.), all of this and more would have to be specifically stated every time someone spoke or taught. If anything is left out, the gospel will not have been preached according to someone’s or some denomination’s definition. What would your former Pastor have had to actually say each Sunday for you to feel he had “preached the gospel?” We will never all agree on every point, but we can agree that the gospel is this unique, God/man, Jesus Christ, fully and completely, and believe if He is lifted up as the centerpiece, the whole world will feel welcome to gather around Him, explore His free gift of life, and become His companion.
Genealogies Listed by Matthew (1:1-17) and Luke (3:12-38)
READ: Matthew1:1-17 and Luke 3:12-38 (What would possess Luke and Matthew to list all of these unpronounceable names?)
READ: Luke 1:5-25
Matthew lists Joseph’s family line to make a strategic point that Joseph was not Jesus’ father. Joseph did not beget Jesus, but was simply the husband of the woman who was his mother. Luke shows in his gospel that Jesus is a descendent of the House of David and could therefore be King.)
The Jews have always stressed the importance of understanding their uniqueness, of knowing where and from whom they have come. Roots have critical importance, for Israel’s faith was deeply imbedded in their history and culture. Knowledge of their Hebrew beginnings is central to Biblical thought. To a Jewish person in the time of Jesus, reading the Holy Scriptures was like reading a family album. The destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D. was so traumatic, because in addition to the loss of 1.1 million lives, all of the genealogical records stored there were destroyed by fire, and that precious information was lost forever.
Important to know here, is that Matthew and Luke are showing, in different ways, that Jesus was the stepson of Joseph, not a biological son. They both seem to be saying to their readers: Whatever else you may be thinking, let’s agree on this as a beginning thesis: Jesus is fully qualified to be the Messiah. He fits every standard proclaimed by God through the voice of the Prophets. He is the legitimate candidate.
How is it possible to make the good news of the gospel better? How can truth be enhanced? How can Jesus Christ be improved upon? Impossible! Then, why the title, When the Good News, Gets Even Better? The gospel gets even better only when it’s more clearly understood.
When I was a kid growing up in North Carolina I fantasized about being a “fly on the wall or some kind of invisible presence that could magically be transported back in time and be there the great moments in history. I wanted to be at the Alamo with Jim, Davy, Sam and the boys. I wondered what it would be like to have been on the Mayflower or to be with the first settlers at Jamestown. I wanted to experience the thoughts and emotions of these people. I wanted to know how it felt to walk in their shoes.
In the mid 1980’s my wife, Susan and I were invited to go on a two-week study seminar to Israel. Dr. Jim Martin taught us as we move from site to site from Israel’s wanderings in the wilderness through the resurrection of Jesus. When we gathered together our first day, Jim said, “I am going to teach you to think like an ancient Jew. You will never truly understand the scriptures as long as you think like a Gentile.” That thought haunted me for several years and two more trips to Israel with Jim.
Meanwhile, my close friend, Bob Warren, a former professional basketball player and outstanding Bible teacher in Kentucky had a similar experience in Israel with a Messianic Jew named Arnold Fruchtenbaum. Bob had been studying the gospels from a Hebrew perspective and he said that the impact it was having on his understanding was astounding. This challenged me to began reading everything I could find concerning Jewish history and culture. I was hooked, and began to live out my childhood fantasy. Through First Century Hebrew eyes and ears, I began to gain a perspective that I had never seen before. I began to see what a Jew would have seen and hear what a Jew would have heard as he witnessed the works of and heard the words of Jesus. I had studies and taught the Gospels my whole life and yet, a new perspective began to wash over me in a fresh, unvarnished way. Gradually I developed a study course that I called The Hidden Gospels. I was eventually encouraged to write this study book that could be approached by an individual or small group.
I wrote When the Good News Get Even Better from the following perspectives:
~ By Studying Through First Century Jewish Eyes: The Bible is a Jewish book, written to Jews about a Jewish Messsiah who came to redeem the Jews first, then the Gentiles (Rom 1:16). If you were a Jew living in the Middle East in first century, how would you have heard what Jesus said? How would you have seen the things He did? What kind of culture would you have lived in? How would your childhood training have affected what you saw and heard? The Good news gets even better when we read the gospels as they were communicated and in the way they were meant to be seen.
~ By Studying the Gospel Accounts Autobiographically: By stepping in the sandals of the people in these biographical accounts. They are relational documents; encounters with people who are basically just like you and me. Become the Samaritan woman who had lost hope as Jesus speaks with her. Be the rich, lonely, alienated little tax collector named Zachaeus when Jesus asks to go home to dinner with him. Feel the apprehension of the woman with the hemorrhage as she pushed through the crowd to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. We can feel what these people felt and understand them if we understand the circumstances of their Hebrew lives. Then what Jesus says and does comes alive to us.
~ By Seeing Jesus’ Life and Teaching Through the Window of Grace: Most of us were taught a law-based perspective and therefore read the scriptures like a rulebook of impossible demands that we cannot meet. Should, ought to, and must have been a constant companion of most believers. Try harder, do more, and re-dedicate have kept us spiritually fatigued and guilt-ridden. Jesus offers intimacy that transforms duty into desire and obligation into opportunity. Seeing the gospels through the eyes of grace changes everything.
~ Studying Each Gospel Event as it Actually Happened (Chronologically): I used A.T. Robertson’s A Harmony of the Gospels as a guideline. To see the events as they occurred brings a new flavor and excitement to the greatest story ever told.
Studying the gospels in this manner is the most life-changing thing I have ever done. Whether you do this study in a small group or individually, I guarantee that you will never again read the gospels the same as before. They are the foundation of our faith because our faith is built on a Person. He was a Jew, living in a Jewish world, and communicating with Jewish people. This study offers you the opportunity to walk the dusty roads with Him, to be there as a participant rather than simply an observer. These biographies of Jesus are your stories too. Every move Jesus made and every word He spoke has direct implications for your life in the twenty-first century.
My hope is that this study will not simply be new information to ponder, but that as re-discover the gospels through Hebrew eyes, you will come to more deeply know, and enjoy the One who wrote The
Gospels. This is when The Good News Gets Even Better.
Getting the Most Out of This Study
Aerial view: We will obviously not be able to deal with every event in the Gospels, but the connection between the events as the happens is critical to understand. We will take an aerial view or brief summary of the passage before moving on.
Through Hebrew Eyes: Understanding Jewish culture and history is critical for a fuller appreciation of the emotions, issues at stake, and reactions of people in the gospels. When you see the Star of David we will try to help you think as a Jew would have thought in the at day based on his background, teaching, history, and culture.
Insight into the Passage: The light bulb indicates my brief commentary on the passage. These are insights I have gleaned over in over 34 years of ministry. They have made a deep impact in my own life and have been the result of my own studies as well as the contribution of many wonderful people along the way.
Snapshot: Context is very important in studying the scriptures. When you see the camera icon, I will give a brief picture of the current atmosphere, the circumstances and issues leading to the passage or event we are about to study. This will help you gain a feel for the atmosphere in which everything is taking place.
Crossroads: This may be a statement or question concerning direction: So what? Where do we go from here? What difference can this make for me right now?
Part I. Beginnings
God’s unique and abiding love for the Hebrew people is unparalleled in human history. Throughout the Old Testament, Israel is called the “bride of God.” These nomadic wanderers suffered greatly at the hands of their enemies, and for most of their existence have live under the continual dominance of other nations. Freedom and autonomy is the brass ring they have longed to grasp. They, like each of us have loved God, and yet have disobeyed Him, often trusting in their own abilities rather than in His faithfulness and sovereignty. God’s beloved bide sought other lovers, yet He continues, even to this day, to pursue them with His unfailing love.
But, God had been strangely silent during the four hundred years from the end of the writing of the Old Testament until the beginning of the New Testament. The flow of communication to His people through the Prophets during this period came to a halt, but the Hebrew people continued to anxiously await the coming of “the Prophet” spoken of by Moses (Deuteronomy 18:18-19) and more specifically by Isaiah, the Psalmist, Daniel and others.
As we begin this fascinating adventure in the gospels, Rome has been in control of Israel since 63 B.C. Bitter hatred exists between the Jews and her captors. In the minds of many, God appears to have abandoned His people. Many Jews quietly echo the sentiment of Job, who, amidst great agony of body and soul, cries out to God in his pain. Symbolically shaking his fist to the heavens, he in essence thunders, “God you know nothing of suffering; you have never experienced the lost of sons as I have. You have never experience shame and rejection, being abandoned by friends. You sit in your heaven surrounded by your holy hosts, but you have no notion of what it is like on this earth. Is there anyone in this vast universe who can identify with my pain? Is there anyone who knows what it’s like to be a man?”
And so, in the fullness of time, God responds to the cries of Job and all of His people. At the right time, He wraps himself in human skin and pitches His tent in the midst of humanity and lives among those He created, identifying with every emotion and every hurt that a human being can know. Never again would a man or woman be able to say, “God, you don’t understand what it’s like to be me.”
-Day 1
Luke Explains His Method of Research
READ: Luke. 1:1-4
During the early 60’s A.D., some thirty years after the crucifixion, a passionate follower of Jesus Christ and traveling companion of the apostle Paul, took pen in hand and wrote a biography about the Savior. Though others already had written accounts by that time (1:2), Luke apparently wanted to make certain that an orderly and historically accurate account was rendered. He was a medical doctor, easily identifiable because he always wore a golf hat. (Just kidding) As a physician, he places great emphasis on the healing ministry of Jesus. Luke was also a meticulous historian who took great pains to record events as they happened. He was the only gospel writer who was not a Jew. He writes to fellow Gentiles, specifically Greeks, who were consumed with the concept of the ideal man. Rather than attack this humanistic flow of thinking, Luke gives great attention to the person of Jesus, as if to say, “you want to hear about a real man… well listen up!” He wants his Gentile readers to see that Jesus’ great message of truth and liberation is now wide open to Gentiles and Jews alike. Luke was not part of the original twelve, but he had interviewed many eyewitnesses who walked with Jesus. Like the no-nonsense Sergeant Friday in the Dragnet Series of the 60’s, Luke wants, “Just the facts, ma’am… just the facts!” He sees the need to record the events of Jesus life in chronological order. (The other accounts record events in keeping with a particular theme that they wanted to underline to specific groups of people.) Luke’s theme is simply, Jesus, the Son of Man.
Luke comes right out of the shoot in verses 1-2 by assuring his readers that he wants to set the record straight through the eyes of those who had actually been there and seen it all happen. He writes specifically to a man named Theophilus, also a Gentile, who was probably a Roman official and a new believer. Based on his meticulous research, Luke wants to reassure Theophilus, and us, that the exact truth is available to all honest seekers who have ears to hear.
THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW: Matthew was a converted customs agent (Mt.. 9:9) and one of the original twelve apostles. He writes a detailed account of Jesus life. Lies were being spread by Jesus’ enemies and many sought personal gain from this new “movement.” Matthew shows that the events of Jesus’ life were powerfully foretold by the Prophets hundreds of years prior to His coming. Writing to Greek speaking Jews, Matthew shows them that Jesus is the fulfillment of their dreams and their history. Sixty-two times he quotes the Old Testament arguing that Jesus is the completion to their greatest longings. Matthew’s theme is Jesus, The King of the Jews.
THE GOSPEL OF MARK: Mark was also called John Mark in Acts 12:12. Peter refers to him as his “son in the faith” (1 Pet. 5:13). Mark would later accompany Paul and Barnabas on Paul’s first missionary journey. He deserted the team and retuned home (Acts 13:13), but became helpful to Paul in later years. Though he was not among the original apostles, Mark gained much personal insight and information from Peter, with whom he shared a special closeness. Mark writes to Romans with an unflinching sense of immediacy. He wants his readers to get off the beach and dive head first into the waters of life. Mark is an action guy with a great sense of aliveness and enthusiasm. He uses the word “immediately” (Mk.. 1:12) at least forty times in his account, stressing the urgency Jesus felt, knowing that this would appeal to Roman thinking. Probably written in the late 50’s or early 60’s AD, Mark’s Theme is Jesus the Messiah, The Servant of Jehovah.
THE GOSPEL OF JOHN: John is thought to have written his gospel while in exile on the Isle of Patmos sometime around 90 A.D. He writes much concerning the deity of Jesus. Unlike the synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), John writes more concerning the things Jesus said (His discourses) rather than what he did (His miracles). As the eldest of the four writers, John probably read the other accounts many times and his maturity and the wisdom of his years may have made him more intent on communicating the heart of Jesus to his readers than His works. Ninety percent of the content in John’s gospel is not found in the parallel accounts. John’s gospel is the only book in the Bible written primarily for the non-believer. John’s theme is Jesus, The Son of God.
John Pictures Jesus as the “Word”
READ: John 1:1-18
John wants his readers to know that Jesus (Yeshua) is unlike anyone who ever set foot on the planet. The Word existed from the beginning of time. In fact, the Word was another way of referring to God. The Word is, therefore, a Person. The Word is not simply information about Jesus, the Word is Jesus. Every created thing finds it’s origin in the Person, Jesus. Within this living, breathing personal Word is the sum total of everything concerning life. This Word even has the ability to scatter darkness and illuminate everything and everyone He touches.
In order to prepare the world for His coming, God sent a Jew named John (Yohnanan) to ready the hearts of people for this new Light that was to follow. This Living Word became flesh and lived among those to whom He came to give life. He came to His own people, the Jews. Most of them rejected Him, but many Gentiles accepted His free gift of life and became Sons of God.
Notice that “Word” is capitalized, indicating a proper name. The Greek rendering is “logos,” a person possessing intellect, emotion, and will. To a Jew, it was a way of referring to God. Therefore, John is saying that God came to earth as the Living Word. Everything the ancient rabbis taught about the Word was fulfilled in this Person, Jesus Christ.
Write a brief definition of the “Gospel” as it is typically used today. (“We left our former church because the minister didn’t preach the gospel.”)
If the Word is a Person, and not simply doctrinal information, can we not properly conclude that the “gospel” is also a Person? Most believers speak of the “gospel” as if it is certain theological principles and doctrinal facts that must be included if we are to be true to the scriptures. Consider the definition you just wrote. Have you left anything out? Have you added something that need not be there? Are you positive? Is it compatible with biblical truth? What about sincere, godly men and women who would render a somewhat different definition than yours? You can see the problem. If the gospel were basically doctrinal information about Jesus (His birth, His life, His teachings, His miracles, His death, His resurrection, His ascension, and His return, etc.), all of this and more would have to be specifically stated every time someone spoke or taught. If anything is left out, the gospel will not have been preached according to someone’s or some denomination’s definition. What would your former Pastor have had to actually say each Sunday for you to feel he had “preached the gospel?” We will never all agree on every point, but we can agree that the gospel is this unique, God/man, Jesus Christ, fully and completely, and believe if He is lifted up as the centerpiece, the whole world will feel welcome to gather around Him, explore His free gift of life, and become His companion.
Genealogies Listed by Matthew (1:1-17) and Luke (3:12-38)
READ: Matthew1:1-17 and Luke 3:12-38 (What would possess Luke and Matthew to list all of these unpronounceable names?)
READ: Luke 1:5-25
Matthew lists Joseph’s family line to make a strategic point that Joseph was not Jesus’ father. Joseph did not beget Jesus, but was simply the husband of the woman who was his mother. Luke shows in his gospel that Jesus is a descendent of the House of David and could therefore be King.)
The Jews have always stressed the importance of understanding their uniqueness, of knowing where and from whom they have come. Roots have critical importance, for Israel’s faith was deeply imbedded in their history and culture. Knowledge of their Hebrew beginnings is central to Biblical thought. To a Jewish person in the time of Jesus, reading the Holy Scriptures was like reading a family album. The destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D. was so traumatic, because in addition to the loss of 1.1 million lives, all of the genealogical records stored there were destroyed by fire, and that precious information was lost forever.
Important to know here, is that Matthew and Luke are showing, in different ways, that Jesus was the stepson of Joseph, not a biological son. They both seem to be saying to their readers: Whatever else you may be thinking, let’s agree on this as a beginning thesis: Jesus is fully qualified to be the Messiah. He fits every standard proclaimed by God through the voice of the Prophets. He is the legitimate candidate.
Happy Reading!
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Blue Like Play Dough by Tricia Goyer
I find myself drawn to people with messy lives. Let me see your flaws, and you quickly become my best friend. Why? Because I can be myself, free from criticism or the false need for perfection. In her new book, Tricia gives me permission to be me.
"Blue Like Play Dough" is Tricia Goyer--messy, moldable, and completely herself. I've never read a more honest and encouraging memoir. Her new book fills me with hope amidst the mess I call my life, and the life that God calls beautifully made. She is candid about her own faults and mistakes, but allows all of her life to point to the glory of God and the power of a life lived in His strength instead of our own.
Tricia tells her story as a woman, a wife, and a mom. From her beginning, conceived out of wedlock and with no idea who her father was, her choices weren't always wise or godly. She opens up about her painful past and how it has impacted her imperfect present and what she is learning from being molded and shaped into the image of a King's child. Her battles with balance in her busy life called out to me and lifted me above my own issues to keep it all together.
She is honest about her struggles in this powerful memoir. Her desire for perfection that I so often feel in my own life, her tendency to compare herself to others and to come up lacking--another thing I do well--and her wonder at all God has allowed her to do as just a home school mom from Montana is captured so richly and beautifully in her own words.
Watching as her own three children are impacted by her struggle to walk in God's presence and to daily submit to Him is amazing. What a wonderful and rich heritage she is building for her family, and what a gorgeously flawed portrait her words paint. Mission trips, screenplays, and service to girls and women in need are just a few of the projects and efforts her children tackle because of the example they see in their mom.
She's not June Cleaver or Donna Reed--no, she's so much deeper and thoughtful and prone to be just like us. Stepping over doggy puke and fussing over deadlines, Tricia is working out her own salvation with fear, trembling, and a good sense of who she is in Christ.
I've always loved Tricia's writing. She writes with an honest and warm voice, rich with detail and humor and wisdom. As I've stated in other reviews, I prefer her non-fiction to her fiction, simply because I like her style. But nothing else I've ever read with Tricia's name on the cover has impacted me as much as "Blue Like Play Dough".
As I turned each page and watched her reflect on her past and then correlate it to her present, I found myself nodding my head and feeling astonished that someone I see as so special and important in the writing world could ever experience life as I do. Watching her turn her hurts and mistakes into triumphs in the lives of her three children gave me such hope and inspiration.
Tricia also shares about her marriage to John, as well as her special relationship to her grandparents. Again, I could relate on a deep level--I was raised by my grandparents, which affected my parenting skills. I also was blessed with a very caring and patient husband who has stuck with me through my most horrible struggles and doubts and fears. Her openness about her married life is a wonderful glimpse into how God can take two and make them into one, and a testimony to the power of serving God together in ministry.
If you've ever wondered if the promises in Joel are true "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten--never again will My people be shamed," look no further. Tricia Goyer's story is real, honest, and so moving. All things in her life are working together for good...and it is very good.
You'll be inspired, refreshed, encouraged, and will feel as if you have a companion traveling alongside you on your life journey. I'm giving "Blue Like Play Dough" the Golden Bookmark for writing excellence and voting it the "Best Autobiography/Memoir" of 2009.
Happy Reading!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Taking a Brief Pause...
Hello Reading Family...
Our family had a serious event occur yesterday after church that has left us all shaken and a bit unsettled, so I'm taking a much needed break for a few days. My kids need my attention and we're going to be working through what happened together as a family.
BUT, we give God all the glory and praise for how things ended and how well everyone performed in a most horrific scenario. He IS GOOD!
Pls keep our family in your prayers...especially my two youngest children. They have been affected the most by yesterday's events.
Be watching for more stellar books coming your way...and don't forget the giveaway for this week.
Happy Reading!
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FIRST Presents "How to Raise a Modern-Day Joseph by Linda Massey Weddle"
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:
How to Raise a Modern-Day Joseph
David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Linda Massey Weddle is a children’s author and regular contributor to publications including Women’s Day and Christian Parenting Today. She develops Bible-based curriculum for young people and has been involved in children’s and youth ministry for the past twenty years. She has two grown children and six grandchildren and resides in suburban Chicago.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $16.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition edition (June 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1434765318
ISBN-13: 978-1434765314
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
I n t r o d u c t i o n
A Journey Worth Planning
For parents like you…in churches like yours…this book is practical guide for a child’s spiritual
development—a journey in which parents and churches work together to raise kids who know, love, and serve the Lord.
Much of the vision and purpose for such a journey is discussed in my friend Larry Fowler’s book, Raising a Modern-Day Joseph. The book you hold in your hands—How to Raise a Modern-Day Joseph—focuses more on the practical side of that. It gives parents a workable plan for putting this vision and purpose to work in their everyday family life.
No Guarantees?
Like Larry’s book, this one is needed because we’re in the midst of a crisis. The statistics stagger us as we read about, hear about, and see young people walking away from their faith.
We surprised that this could be happening, since after all…
• our churches provide nurseries, Sunday school, vacation Bible School, Awana, youth ministries, and every other kind of kid or youth program imaginable.
• our children’s ministry curriculum is more entertaining, colorful, and professional looking than ever before.
• the market is flooded with “Christian” action figures, mugs, pencils, wallpaper, wallets, posters, linens, T-shirts, and toys, many decorated with clever “Christian” sayings.
• radio stations play Christian music twenty-four hours a day, and television channels broadcast a never-ending selection of messages from both local churches and polished, smooth-talking televangelists.
And here’s an even tougher dilemma: Why does a kid from one home walk away from the Lord while a kid in another home stays true to Him—yet the families in both homes have attended the same church, Sunday school, vacation Bible school, Awana clubs, etc.?
What happened? What’s the difference?
Before going further, I need to say this:
No plan,
no curriculum,
no humanly written book,
no pastor,
no teacher,
no parent…
can absolutely guarantee that a young person will not walk away from what they’ve been taught.
God works with His people individually, and each individual must make the choice to trust Christ as Savior. Each one chooses to walk with the Lord or to walk away from Him. After all, even with the first two kids we read about in the Bible, one had a criminal record.
The absence of such a guarantee is due to sin.
Scripture declares that the whole world is a prisoner of sin, so that what was promised,
being given through faith in Jesus Christ, might be given to those who believe.
(Galatians 3:22)
So yes, unfortunately, children don’t come with guarantees.
But God’s Word does come with a guarantee: If we trust the Lord Jesus Christ as Savior,
believing that He died and rose again, we’re promised…
• the forgiveness of sin (bridging the separation between imperfect people and a perfect
God).
• eternal life.
• a future in an unimaginably perfect heaven.
That’s some guarantee!
No, we as parents don’t have guarantees, but we do know that children who grow up in strong, Christ-centered homes—where God’s Word is both taught and lived—are more likely to live godly lives as adults.
But lets take a glimpse at what’s typically going on in many families.
A Church and Pastor Problem?
I grew up as a preacher’s kid, and as an adult became a preacher’s wife—I know firsthand how often the preacher and the church get blamed for parental failures.
I remember one Sunday morning after the church service when my husband was shaking hands with people filing out of the auditorium. Suddenly a mother stormed into the lobby, yelling and visibly upset. She said her son had been knocked over by other boys in the parking lot.
My husband’s first reaction was to call an ambulance, but the mom said that wasn’t necessary; her son just scraped his knee. “But,” she shouted, pointing to my husband. “This was your fault.”
“Why?” he asked. He could see our own two kids talking with friends nearby, so it wasn’t them who had knocked down the woman’s son. So why was this his fault?
“Because it’s your church,” the lady screamed. “And so they’re your responsibility.” (Well, that wasn’t true either; the church belongs to the people.)
But that true story is a picture of what many people do spiritually.
Just as many parents leave the physical well-being of their children up to the church (the drop-them-off-in-the-parking-lot syndrome), so many parents do the same with their children’s spiritual well-being, training, and guidance: Drop them off in the parking lot and let the church do the nurturing (whether or not the parents are even in the same building).
Maybe you feel this way too—at least to some extent. After all, you make sure your children go to church for every kids’ activity possible, so you figure the church’s pastors, teachers, and leaders are covering that spiritual training part of your kids’ lives. You’re busy doing other things, like working long hours to provide for your family, which is your responsibility.
Deep inside, you hope those people at the church are doing it right. And if your kids walk
away from the Lord someday, you’ll certainly have something to say about the church’s failure,
since spiritually raising your kids is their job.
Right?
Well, no!
From the Start
Let’s review some essentials of what the Bible says about the family.
The Family Is the First Group God Created
The family came before towns or countries, and before churches, youth programs, basketball
teams, or Facebook. God immediately created the marriage partnership—in fact, by the second
chapter of Genesis, God had already established marriage:
For Adam no suitable helper was found. So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, He took one of the man’s ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib He had taken out of the man, and He brought her to the man. (Genesis 2:20-22)
And already by the fourth chapter in Genesis, we learn about children.
The Family (Marriage Partnership) Is a Picture of Christ and the Church
Paul says it this way:
Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church His body, of which He is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to Himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. (Ephesians 5:21–27)
Family “Rules” Are Listed Throughout the Bible
Here’s an example:
Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them. Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord. Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged. (Colossians 3:18-21)
Family Members Need to Encourage Each Other
Paul pointed to family encouragement as a model for the entire church:
But we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children. For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into His kingdom and glory. (1 Thessalonians 2:7, 11–12)
The family has the primary responsibility in the spiritual training of children. But families also
need the church to come alongside them to nurture their kids, to provide Christian friendships
from likeminded families, and to give complementary spiritual training. (We’ll look at all that
more closely later.)
Someone Who Knew, Loved, and Served God
The goal of Awana (the ministry I serve with) is to train children and youth to grow into adults who know, love and serve the Lord. We’ve come to see that this is also an outstanding goal for parents in training their children.
And as a biblical example of a young person who grew up to know, love, and serve the Lord, it’s hard to beat Joseph in the Old Testament. Not that he came from a perfect family.
Most children know about Joseph. They know he received a unique coat from his father—and our perception of that is a knee-length coat with rainbow-colored stripes. But why would grown men (his older step brothers—see Genesis 30:1-25) care about their little brother’s multicolored coat? The Hebrew word here for “coat” refers to a full-length tunic—sleeves to the wrist, the hem to the ankles. This was the style of coat worn by rich young men. They didn’t have to work (they had slaves or servants to do that), and they had a position of honor both in the home and in the community.
Joseph’s full-length coat was probably made of white linen, with bands of colorful embroidery as trim. By contrast, working men wore looser fitting, shorter garments so they could climb over rocks and take care of their sheep—they needed to move quickly and not be hindered by long clothing. So the brothers weren’t jealous of the colors of Joseph’s coat, but rather the implied position Joseph held in wearing such a garment.
Joseph lived in Hebron. The word Hebron means “community” or “fellowship.” Joseph had fellowship with his father, but this wasn’t a family who had a lot of fellowship with one another. I don’t think dinnertime conversations were leisurely discussions about the price of sheep feed or the Hebron weather.
The truth is, Joseph came from a dysfunctional family. This is obvious when you read in Genesis 30 about the intrigue involving his mother, his mother’s sister, their servants, and drugs (mandrakes—which were seen as narcotics or aphrodisiacs). Rachel and Leah were both jealous women who were willing to have their servants lie with Jacob so they could win the who-can have-the-most-sons race. And when Rueben brought home some mandrakes, Rachel desired them so much she was willing to “sell” Leah a night with Jacob to get her hands on them.
This of course isn’t part of the biography we read about in Sunday school, but these events are worth noting here. Out of this mess, the Lord brought Joseph, a young man who never wavered from the assurance that God was with him; a young man with a true heart-desire to know, love, and serve the Lord.
We know that Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, and he ended up in Egypt. We know he quickly gained power and influence in Potiphar’s house, then quickly lost it when fleeing the temptations of Mrs. Potiphar. Yet even when put in prison, Joseph knew God was with him, and he remained faithful. Later, because he interpreted the king’s dream, he was made a VIP and placed in charge of the entire land of Egypt. In that position, he was able years later to publicly forgive his brothers.
Through it all, Joseph concluded that it wasn’t his brothers who sent him to Egypt, but God. God had a plan for him, and Joseph listened to God and fulfilled His plan—something he was later able to testify about to his brothers: “God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance” (Genesis 45:7).
Joseph’s life in particular reflected five godly character qualities—we’ll call them “master life threads”— that were woven into the very being of who he was and how he lived his life.
• Respect for the awesomeness and authority of God (Genesis 39:6-9.
• Wisdom for living life, based on a knowledge of God (40:5-8).
• Grace in relationships with others (41:51-52).
• A sense of destiny and purpose that came from God (45:4-10).
• A perspective for life based on the sovereignty of God (50:15-21).
These master life threads are also desired characteristics in the lives of our own children—as they learn to know, love, and serve the Lord.
We know that Joseph knew about the Lord. God was the God of his father, Jacob. As Joseph’s life continued in surprising new situations—as head of Potiphar’s household, as a prisoner, and finally as the man in charge of all of Egypt—he continued following the Lord. Over and over in the biblical account of Joseph’s life, we read that the Lord was with him, as in Genesis 39:21: “The LORD was with him; he showed him kindness and granted him favor in the eyes of the prison warden.”
We know that Joseph loved the Lord because of the way he lived his life, refusing to be drawn into the temptations of a rich and powerful household, and because of his exemplary forgiveness toward the brothers who had wronged him: “But Joseph said to them, ‘Don’t be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. So then, don’t be afraid. I will provide for you and your children.’ And he reassured them and spoke kindly to them” (Genesis 50:19-21).
And we know that Joseph served the Lord—by making righteous choices, by administrating the seven years of plenty, and by giving food not only to the people of Egypt but to other countries as well. As the famine intensified, and “the people cried to Pharaoh for food,” Pharaoh responded, “Go to Joseph and do what he tells you” (Genesis 41:55).
Modern-Day Josephs
What Christian parent wouldn’t want their child to grow up to be a modern-day Joseph—a young person who reflects those five master life threads, and who knows, loves, and serves the Lord?
For many parents (and maybe this includes you), their children are already becoming Josephs. They do excellent jobs spiritually nurturing their children. They daily teach their kids God’s Word by guiding them toward recognizing the need to trust Christ, praying with them, reading the Bible together, encouraging Scripture memorization, explaining difficult words and concepts and talking about the qualities of the Christian life. Then they live out God’s Word in everyday life. They take their responsibility seriously.
Then there are other parents simply don’t think about their child’s spiritual training. These parents flounder through life, not learning much themselves about what the Bible actually says, and they couldn’t begin to explain the difference between Genesis and Galatians. Yet they’re law abiding citizens and church-attending Christians. They figure their kids will turn out okay. After all, they get their kids to Sunday school and even sent them once to a Christian summer camp.
But the majority of Christian parents are somewhere in the middle. They desire to be spiritual nurturers of their children, but they don’t know how. They might be intimidated that they might not say the right words. (What if my child asks me to explain eschatology or something?) Or they don’t know where to find a plan that shows them how to be a spiritual nurturer. (They may not even realize they should have a plan).
Furthermore, you probably know some adults who grew up without any spiritual nurturing in the home, yet who are now pastors, missionaries, church leaders, or shining witnesses in the secular workplace. The Lord used someone besides a parent to mentor that child, or gave the child a desire for Bible study that transformed her into someone who truly wants to know, love, and serve the Lord.
Goal and Plan
If our destination for our children is having a child who develops Joseph-like characteristics—knowing, loving, and serving the Lord—what’s the itinerary or plan for that journey?
The lack of such a plan often becomes the roadblock in our children’s spiritual development—and getting past that roadblock is what this book is all about. This book is not a step-by-step itinerary, but more of an atlas where you pick and choose which stops to make in your own family journey—because we know all families are different, with different schedules, different interests, and different personalities.
Our desire is to give your family (and your church) ideas—lots of ideas for helping to spiritual nurture your children. But as the parent, you need to devise the route.
It’s a plan that involves both parents—and the church as well.
Dad
The father is the head of the house and the God-ordained leader of the home. Dads and moms need to work together to spiritually raise their children.
A spiritually strong dad will…
• pray with his children.
• lead the children in Bible study and worship.
• take an interest in what the child is learning at church.
• teach his children Bible verses, Bible concepts, and Bible truths.
• discuss challenging questions, cultural events and concepts with his children.
• model a Christlike attitude in his daily life.
Unfortunately in too many homes, Mom is by herself in doing all of this. Dad might drive the family to church, but he doesn’t take any real responsibility in the child’s spiritual development.
If you’re a father, know this: God has given you a job to do. Your responsibility is to do it. You can’t expect your child to grow into a God-honoring adult when he sees you ignore the Bible, find every excuse possible to avoid church, and live a life that’s inconsistent with what God says in His Word.
Mom
Children need both parents involved in their spiritual training, and that’s the basic scenario presented throughout this book. It’s a sad situation when Dad is faithfully living for the Lord, but Mom doesn’t want any part of it.
Mom needs to be an active part of the praying, teaching, discussing, and modeling too. For example, sometimes Mom’s the one who spends a half-hour before or after school helping her children work on a memory verse, and when Dad gets home, he can enthusiastically listen to the children recite the verse. This is a joint effort. Both parents are huge influencers.
You might be a single mom and already feel defeated because you don’t have a husband to help you out. You can still teach your children from God’s Word and live an exemplary life. In your situation, the partnership of the church may be more important than usual. Hopefully your church has good male role models teaching younger children, so your children can profit from a masculine influence.
A good example of one parent spiritually training a child is that of Eunice and her son Timothy (2 Timothy 1:4-5). Eunice did have the help of her own mother, Timothy’s grandmother, but she didn’t have any help from her unbelieving Gentile husband. Timothy’s mom and grandma taught him the Old Testament Scriptures and exemplified godly lives. When the apostle Paul came along and taught Timothy about the Son of God and His sacrifice on the cross, Timothy was ready to trust Christ as Savior. Timothy became Paul’s son in the faith (1 Timothy 1:2), and Paul recognized of the foundation which Timothy’s mom and grandma had laid.
Many single parents do great jobs in spiritually training their children. If you’re a single parent, or your spouse isn’t interested in God and His Word, you need to surround yourself with likeminded adults who can give you and your children support and encouragement.
Fitting into Your Schedule
When, where, and how do we spend time spiritually training our children?
The following verses from Deuteronomy give clear instruction that our entire daily lives should provide teaching opportunities to spiritually train our children:
Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the LORD swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth. (Deuteronomy 11:18-21)
In a real sense, spiritual training in the home is ongoing and never-ending. It’s really a part of everything you do.
But we also need to set aside specific times when we come together as a family to pray, honor, and worship the Lord and to study and memorize His Word. Some families enjoy singing or playing instruments together. Others read a page from a devotional book.
One teenager said, “Our family wasn’t musical, so that wasn’t part of our activities. But we did other things, such as making rebuses of Bible verses.”
You might set aside a time each day for spiritual focus—at the breakfast or supper table, or before bed. Or you could plan family nights when an entire evening is dedicated to a lesson, an activity, and a special treat. (Be careful you don’t present the activity as more important and fun than the lesson. Bible study can and should be a great experience.)
Maybe your family’s schedule is so complicated that you can’t have a regular set time for spiritual focus, but you can still conscientiously meet together as a family to pray, worship, and learn about the Lord.
A couple considerations in all this:
• Sometimes families are diligent in having family devotions, but that’s the only time their children hear about the Lord. Because Dad prays and reads a page from a devotional book, he feels he’s taken care of his spiritual leadership responsibilities. Five minutes later, the children hear him swear when opening the gas bill, or see him confront a neighbor because the neighbor’s dog messed up the lawn. What he verbally taught is negated by the way he lives his life.
• Families are different. One guy diligently teaches his kids from the Bible, helps them with their memory verses, and consistently lives a godly life, yet he feels guilty. He knows of another family that spends thirty minutes of concentrated training at the supper table each night, but his irregular work schedule doesn’t allow him to do that. He is, however, doing a great job. We need to focus on our own families, not on what someone else is doing.
We as parents need to work together to develop the itinerary for our own families, keeping
our eyes on the goal of raising children who know, love, and serve the Lord.
Your Church
Whether large or small, your church is your best partner in raising your children.
In fact, the size of the church doesn’t really matter. Mega churches have the money and staff to provide exciting programs for both parents and children, and those programs can be good. But smaller churches can be better at giving a child a sense of security, family, and nurturing that you don’t always find in a larger church.
So church size isn’t important. What is important is the attitude of the church and the pastor toward kids. Does your church leadership really care about kids? Do they see the value in children’s ministry, and provide necessary resources to spiritually disciple children? Do they occasionally visit children’s or youth ministry times to give the lesson, answer questions, or simply greet the children or youth? Do they make an effort to learn the names of the kids, or do they know your three teenagers (who have been attending the church since birth) only as the Hansen kids?
If your church doesn’t see the importance of encouraging families, maybe you could be the catalyst to begin the initiative.
After this book’s Part One (which focuses on giving parents specific age-appropriate suggestions for their child’s spiritual development), Part Two will focus especially on practical ways the church can partner with you in this task. Be sure to explore what’s presented in Part Two, and become familiar with ideas of how churches and families can work together.
Planning Your Family’s Spiritual Journey
The ideas in this book are suggestions. No parent can do everything, just as no church can do everything either. Our goal is to give you plenty of ideas to help get you started and keep you going.
So let me lay out what you’ll find in each chapter in Part One, which is especially geared for you as a parent. (Keeping the journey idea in mind, most of these components have travel-related labels.)
Life Threads
Each chapter targets a different stage of a child’s life, and will focus on an appropriate life thread
(reflecting a quality that Joseph displayed in his life).
Here are these life threads for each age category:
Preschoolers (ages 2-5) Respect
Early Elementary (ages 5-8—kindergarten to second grade) Wisdom
Older Elementary (ages 8-11—third through sixth grades) Grace
Middle School (ages 11-14—seventh and eighth grades) Destiny
High School (ages 14-18—ninth through twelfth grades) Perspective
At the beginning of each chapter, you’ll find listed again the life thread to focus on for that stage in your child’s life.
By the way, if you’re looking at this list and thinking, “Great, but my child is already twelve years old!”—that’s okay. Yes, you’ve missed some prime training opportunities, but you can catch up. Review the sections for preschoolers and elementary age children, and teach the principles to your child using explanations and activities appropriate for a twelve-year-old. Instead of regretting what you missed, focus on the present and look to the future. These concepts are good for all ages—including adults.
What They’re Like
Early in each chapter, this section lists ten characteristics about that particular age category. Understanding these characteristics will give you a great head start in helping your child grow spiritually.
What They’re Asking
This section in each chapter lists the kinds of questions that kids in this age group typically ask about God and the Bible. You’ll also find suggested answers to a few of the questions.
These questions came from a “Biggest Question Survey” sponsored by Awana. A few years back, we asked 4,000 children and teenagers, “What’s your biggest question about God and the Bible?” These children and teenagers all had some Bible background (though, after looking at their questions, we surmised that some didn’t remember much of it). Then we determined the most-asked questions for each age group.
But don’t stop with reading what other kids have asked; ask your own children for their biggest questions about God and the Bible.
What You Can Do
In this section of each chapter you’ll find a wealth of practical suggestions for what you as a parent can do to help in your child’s spiritual growth in each stage. This begins with a short section about helping your child make the all-important decision to trust Christ as Savior.
Bios and Verses
Here you’ll find appropriate Bible biographies and Scripture memory verses to explore and learn with your children.
(At Awana, we substitute the word “biography” for “story” to emphasize that what comes from the Bible is true and not fictional. We explain that a biography is a true story about someone.)
What Not to Do
Sometimes we hinder more than we help. Each chapter includes this section where you’ll find common errors to avoid in each stage of your child’s life.
Checklist
Each chapter also includes a checklist of basic attainments to look for in your child’s spiritual development.
Family Itinerary
Finally, the section in each chapter labeled “Family Itinerary” is a worksheet to help you develop your plan and goals for your child’s spiritual journey in each stage.
Here are a couple of samples of completed itineraries from two families, one with younger children and one with teenagers:
A Sample Itinerary for a Family with Young Children
Our spiritual goals for the year are:
1. Teach Emma and Jacob that God created the world.
2. Teach Emma and Jacob that God loves each one of us.
3. Teach Emma and Jacob that the Bible is God’s book.
4. Teach Emma and Jacob that Jesus is God’s Son.
5. Teach Emma and Jacob that we’re to obey God.
Our family verse for this year is:
Genesis 1:1
We’ll also study the following six additional verses (one every two months) about God and His character:
1. Psalm 33:4
2. Proverbs 3:5
3. Matthew 28:20
4. Romans 3:23
5. Ephesians 6:1
6. 1 John 4:14
We’ll also study the following six Bible biographies (one every two months):
1. Adam
2. Joseph
3. Heman
4. Josiah
5. David
6. Christ’s birth
We will also do a more extensive study on this person in the Bible:
Heman in 1 Chronicles 25:5–7. We’ll learn how he and his family sang in the temple. We’ll learn a song together and sing at church.
Here are other activities our family will do together to learn about Bible characters:
1. We’ll watch a series of DVDs on Bible characters (a set we were given that’s factual).
2. We’ll visit Grandma and Grandpa and look at their pictures they took in Israel.
3. We’ll study Josiah and other Bible characters who served God even though they were young.
4. We’ll do several crafts using natural materials from the outdoors as we talk about God’s creation. These will include leaf-tracings, pictures on sun-sensitive paper, and drying flowers.
5. We’ll teach Emma and Jacob to identify five birds and five flowers, explaining that
they were all created by God.
Here are some themes for family fun nights we would like to do this year:
1. We’ll build a birdhouse together and learn about ten birds in our area of the country, and we’ll talk about creating a wonderful variety of birds.
2. We’ll make a mural for the basement wall of David watching his sheep.
3. We’ll invite Grandpa and Grandma to family night so they can hear Jacob and Emma say their verses.
4. We’ll make a book of all the different Bible biographies Jacob and Emma have learned at church this year.
5. We’ll visit the zoo.
6. We’ll make cookies for the lady down the street who’s homebound.
Our family has completed this year’s family itinerary and met our spiritual goals.
(Signed by each family member)
A Sample Itinerary for a Family with Children in High School
Our spiritual goals for the year are:
1. Study the book of Ephesians together.
2. Encourage Andrew and Amanda to teach and mentor their younger siblings.
3. Discuss biblical worldview and what that means as Andrew and Amanda head off to college.
4. Have open, honest discussions about difficult cultural issues.
5. Encourage Andrew and Amanda to write down any questions they may have about God and the Bible and to work through those questions as a family.
6. For Andrew and Amanda to serve by singing and playing guitar at the rescue mission once a month.
Our family verse for this year is:
Joshua 24:15
This year we’ll do the following family research project:
On creation. The project will culminate with a week at creation camp this summer.
We’ll memorize this chapter from the Bible:
Ephesians 2
We’ll read (either as a family or individually) the following books:
1. Evidence That Demands a Verdict by Josh McDowell
2. Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis
Our family service project this year will be:
Serving at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Christmas
Our family has completed this year’s family itinerary and met our spiritual goals.
(Signed by each family member)
A Journey Worth Planning
For parents like you…in churches like yours…this book is practical guide for a child’s spiritual
development—a journey in which parents and churches work together to raise kids who know, love, and serve the Lord.
Much of the vision and purpose for such a journey is discussed in my friend Larry Fowler’s book, Raising a Modern-Day Joseph. The book you hold in your hands—How to Raise a Modern-Day Joseph—focuses more on the practical side of that. It gives parents a workable plan for putting this vision and purpose to work in their everyday family life.
No Guarantees?
Like Larry’s book, this one is needed because we’re in the midst of a crisis. The statistics stagger us as we read about, hear about, and see young people walking away from their faith.
We surprised that this could be happening, since after all…
• our churches provide nurseries, Sunday school, vacation Bible School, Awana, youth ministries, and every other kind of kid or youth program imaginable.
• our children’s ministry curriculum is more entertaining, colorful, and professional looking than ever before.
• the market is flooded with “Christian” action figures, mugs, pencils, wallpaper, wallets, posters, linens, T-shirts, and toys, many decorated with clever “Christian” sayings.
• radio stations play Christian music twenty-four hours a day, and television channels broadcast a never-ending selection of messages from both local churches and polished, smooth-talking televangelists.
And here’s an even tougher dilemma: Why does a kid from one home walk away from the Lord while a kid in another home stays true to Him—yet the families in both homes have attended the same church, Sunday school, vacation Bible school, Awana clubs, etc.?
What happened? What’s the difference?
Before going further, I need to say this:
No plan,
no curriculum,
no humanly written book,
no pastor,
no teacher,
no parent…
can absolutely guarantee that a young person will not walk away from what they’ve been taught.
God works with His people individually, and each individual must make the choice to trust Christ as Savior. Each one chooses to walk with the Lord or to walk away from Him. After all, even with the first two kids we read about in the Bible, one had a criminal record.
The absence of such a guarantee is due to sin.
Scripture declares that the whole world is a prisoner of sin, so that what was promised,
being given through faith in Jesus Christ, might be given to those who believe.
(Galatians 3:22)
So yes, unfortunately, children don’t come with guarantees.
But God’s Word does come with a guarantee: If we trust the Lord Jesus Christ as Savior,
believing that He died and rose again, we’re promised…
• the forgiveness of sin (bridging the separation between imperfect people and a perfect
God).
• eternal life.
• a future in an unimaginably perfect heaven.
That’s some guarantee!
No, we as parents don’t have guarantees, but we do know that children who grow up in strong, Christ-centered homes—where God’s Word is both taught and lived—are more likely to live godly lives as adults.
But lets take a glimpse at what’s typically going on in many families.
A Church and Pastor Problem?
I grew up as a preacher’s kid, and as an adult became a preacher’s wife—I know firsthand how often the preacher and the church get blamed for parental failures.
I remember one Sunday morning after the church service when my husband was shaking hands with people filing out of the auditorium. Suddenly a mother stormed into the lobby, yelling and visibly upset. She said her son had been knocked over by other boys in the parking lot.
My husband’s first reaction was to call an ambulance, but the mom said that wasn’t necessary; her son just scraped his knee. “But,” she shouted, pointing to my husband. “This was your fault.”
“Why?” he asked. He could see our own two kids talking with friends nearby, so it wasn’t them who had knocked down the woman’s son. So why was this his fault?
“Because it’s your church,” the lady screamed. “And so they’re your responsibility.” (Well, that wasn’t true either; the church belongs to the people.)
But that true story is a picture of what many people do spiritually.
Just as many parents leave the physical well-being of their children up to the church (the drop-them-off-in-the-parking-lot syndrome), so many parents do the same with their children’s spiritual well-being, training, and guidance: Drop them off in the parking lot and let the church do the nurturing (whether or not the parents are even in the same building).
Maybe you feel this way too—at least to some extent. After all, you make sure your children go to church for every kids’ activity possible, so you figure the church’s pastors, teachers, and leaders are covering that spiritual training part of your kids’ lives. You’re busy doing other things, like working long hours to provide for your family, which is your responsibility.
Deep inside, you hope those people at the church are doing it right. And if your kids walk
away from the Lord someday, you’ll certainly have something to say about the church’s failure,
since spiritually raising your kids is their job.
Right?
Well, no!
From the Start
Let’s review some essentials of what the Bible says about the family.
The Family Is the First Group God Created
The family came before towns or countries, and before churches, youth programs, basketball
teams, or Facebook. God immediately created the marriage partnership—in fact, by the second
chapter of Genesis, God had already established marriage:
For Adam no suitable helper was found. So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, He took one of the man’s ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib He had taken out of the man, and He brought her to the man. (Genesis 2:20-22)
And already by the fourth chapter in Genesis, we learn about children.
The Family (Marriage Partnership) Is a Picture of Christ and the Church
Paul says it this way:
Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church His body, of which He is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to Himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. (Ephesians 5:21–27)
Family “Rules” Are Listed Throughout the Bible
Here’s an example:
Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them. Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord. Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged. (Colossians 3:18-21)
Family Members Need to Encourage Each Other
Paul pointed to family encouragement as a model for the entire church:
But we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children. For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into His kingdom and glory. (1 Thessalonians 2:7, 11–12)
The family has the primary responsibility in the spiritual training of children. But families also
need the church to come alongside them to nurture their kids, to provide Christian friendships
from likeminded families, and to give complementary spiritual training. (We’ll look at all that
more closely later.)
Someone Who Knew, Loved, and Served God
The goal of Awana (the ministry I serve with) is to train children and youth to grow into adults who know, love and serve the Lord. We’ve come to see that this is also an outstanding goal for parents in training their children.
And as a biblical example of a young person who grew up to know, love, and serve the Lord, it’s hard to beat Joseph in the Old Testament. Not that he came from a perfect family.
Most children know about Joseph. They know he received a unique coat from his father—and our perception of that is a knee-length coat with rainbow-colored stripes. But why would grown men (his older step brothers—see Genesis 30:1-25) care about their little brother’s multicolored coat? The Hebrew word here for “coat” refers to a full-length tunic—sleeves to the wrist, the hem to the ankles. This was the style of coat worn by rich young men. They didn’t have to work (they had slaves or servants to do that), and they had a position of honor both in the home and in the community.
Joseph’s full-length coat was probably made of white linen, with bands of colorful embroidery as trim. By contrast, working men wore looser fitting, shorter garments so they could climb over rocks and take care of their sheep—they needed to move quickly and not be hindered by long clothing. So the brothers weren’t jealous of the colors of Joseph’s coat, but rather the implied position Joseph held in wearing such a garment.
Joseph lived in Hebron. The word Hebron means “community” or “fellowship.” Joseph had fellowship with his father, but this wasn’t a family who had a lot of fellowship with one another. I don’t think dinnertime conversations were leisurely discussions about the price of sheep feed or the Hebron weather.
The truth is, Joseph came from a dysfunctional family. This is obvious when you read in Genesis 30 about the intrigue involving his mother, his mother’s sister, their servants, and drugs (mandrakes—which were seen as narcotics or aphrodisiacs). Rachel and Leah were both jealous women who were willing to have their servants lie with Jacob so they could win the who-can have-the-most-sons race. And when Rueben brought home some mandrakes, Rachel desired them so much she was willing to “sell” Leah a night with Jacob to get her hands on them.
This of course isn’t part of the biography we read about in Sunday school, but these events are worth noting here. Out of this mess, the Lord brought Joseph, a young man who never wavered from the assurance that God was with him; a young man with a true heart-desire to know, love, and serve the Lord.
We know that Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, and he ended up in Egypt. We know he quickly gained power and influence in Potiphar’s house, then quickly lost it when fleeing the temptations of Mrs. Potiphar. Yet even when put in prison, Joseph knew God was with him, and he remained faithful. Later, because he interpreted the king’s dream, he was made a VIP and placed in charge of the entire land of Egypt. In that position, he was able years later to publicly forgive his brothers.
Through it all, Joseph concluded that it wasn’t his brothers who sent him to Egypt, but God. God had a plan for him, and Joseph listened to God and fulfilled His plan—something he was later able to testify about to his brothers: “God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance” (Genesis 45:7).
Joseph’s life in particular reflected five godly character qualities—we’ll call them “master life threads”— that were woven into the very being of who he was and how he lived his life.
• Respect for the awesomeness and authority of God (Genesis 39:6-9.
• Wisdom for living life, based on a knowledge of God (40:5-8).
• Grace in relationships with others (41:51-52).
• A sense of destiny and purpose that came from God (45:4-10).
• A perspective for life based on the sovereignty of God (50:15-21).
These master life threads are also desired characteristics in the lives of our own children—as they learn to know, love, and serve the Lord.
We know that Joseph knew about the Lord. God was the God of his father, Jacob. As Joseph’s life continued in surprising new situations—as head of Potiphar’s household, as a prisoner, and finally as the man in charge of all of Egypt—he continued following the Lord. Over and over in the biblical account of Joseph’s life, we read that the Lord was with him, as in Genesis 39:21: “The LORD was with him; he showed him kindness and granted him favor in the eyes of the prison warden.”
We know that Joseph loved the Lord because of the way he lived his life, refusing to be drawn into the temptations of a rich and powerful household, and because of his exemplary forgiveness toward the brothers who had wronged him: “But Joseph said to them, ‘Don’t be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. So then, don’t be afraid. I will provide for you and your children.’ And he reassured them and spoke kindly to them” (Genesis 50:19-21).
And we know that Joseph served the Lord—by making righteous choices, by administrating the seven years of plenty, and by giving food not only to the people of Egypt but to other countries as well. As the famine intensified, and “the people cried to Pharaoh for food,” Pharaoh responded, “Go to Joseph and do what he tells you” (Genesis 41:55).
Modern-Day Josephs
What Christian parent wouldn’t want their child to grow up to be a modern-day Joseph—a young person who reflects those five master life threads, and who knows, loves, and serves the Lord?
For many parents (and maybe this includes you), their children are already becoming Josephs. They do excellent jobs spiritually nurturing their children. They daily teach their kids God’s Word by guiding them toward recognizing the need to trust Christ, praying with them, reading the Bible together, encouraging Scripture memorization, explaining difficult words and concepts and talking about the qualities of the Christian life. Then they live out God’s Word in everyday life. They take their responsibility seriously.
Then there are other parents simply don’t think about their child’s spiritual training. These parents flounder through life, not learning much themselves about what the Bible actually says, and they couldn’t begin to explain the difference between Genesis and Galatians. Yet they’re law abiding citizens and church-attending Christians. They figure their kids will turn out okay. After all, they get their kids to Sunday school and even sent them once to a Christian summer camp.
But the majority of Christian parents are somewhere in the middle. They desire to be spiritual nurturers of their children, but they don’t know how. They might be intimidated that they might not say the right words. (What if my child asks me to explain eschatology or something?) Or they don’t know where to find a plan that shows them how to be a spiritual nurturer. (They may not even realize they should have a plan).
Furthermore, you probably know some adults who grew up without any spiritual nurturing in the home, yet who are now pastors, missionaries, church leaders, or shining witnesses in the secular workplace. The Lord used someone besides a parent to mentor that child, or gave the child a desire for Bible study that transformed her into someone who truly wants to know, love, and serve the Lord.
Goal and Plan
If our destination for our children is having a child who develops Joseph-like characteristics—knowing, loving, and serving the Lord—what’s the itinerary or plan for that journey?
The lack of such a plan often becomes the roadblock in our children’s spiritual development—and getting past that roadblock is what this book is all about. This book is not a step-by-step itinerary, but more of an atlas where you pick and choose which stops to make in your own family journey—because we know all families are different, with different schedules, different interests, and different personalities.
Our desire is to give your family (and your church) ideas—lots of ideas for helping to spiritual nurture your children. But as the parent, you need to devise the route.
It’s a plan that involves both parents—and the church as well.
Dad
The father is the head of the house and the God-ordained leader of the home. Dads and moms need to work together to spiritually raise their children.
A spiritually strong dad will…
• pray with his children.
• lead the children in Bible study and worship.
• take an interest in what the child is learning at church.
• teach his children Bible verses, Bible concepts, and Bible truths.
• discuss challenging questions, cultural events and concepts with his children.
• model a Christlike attitude in his daily life.
Unfortunately in too many homes, Mom is by herself in doing all of this. Dad might drive the family to church, but he doesn’t take any real responsibility in the child’s spiritual development.
If you’re a father, know this: God has given you a job to do. Your responsibility is to do it. You can’t expect your child to grow into a God-honoring adult when he sees you ignore the Bible, find every excuse possible to avoid church, and live a life that’s inconsistent with what God says in His Word.
Mom
Children need both parents involved in their spiritual training, and that’s the basic scenario presented throughout this book. It’s a sad situation when Dad is faithfully living for the Lord, but Mom doesn’t want any part of it.
Mom needs to be an active part of the praying, teaching, discussing, and modeling too. For example, sometimes Mom’s the one who spends a half-hour before or after school helping her children work on a memory verse, and when Dad gets home, he can enthusiastically listen to the children recite the verse. This is a joint effort. Both parents are huge influencers.
You might be a single mom and already feel defeated because you don’t have a husband to help you out. You can still teach your children from God’s Word and live an exemplary life. In your situation, the partnership of the church may be more important than usual. Hopefully your church has good male role models teaching younger children, so your children can profit from a masculine influence.
A good example of one parent spiritually training a child is that of Eunice and her son Timothy (2 Timothy 1:4-5). Eunice did have the help of her own mother, Timothy’s grandmother, but she didn’t have any help from her unbelieving Gentile husband. Timothy’s mom and grandma taught him the Old Testament Scriptures and exemplified godly lives. When the apostle Paul came along and taught Timothy about the Son of God and His sacrifice on the cross, Timothy was ready to trust Christ as Savior. Timothy became Paul’s son in the faith (1 Timothy 1:2), and Paul recognized of the foundation which Timothy’s mom and grandma had laid.
Many single parents do great jobs in spiritually training their children. If you’re a single parent, or your spouse isn’t interested in God and His Word, you need to surround yourself with likeminded adults who can give you and your children support and encouragement.
Fitting into Your Schedule
When, where, and how do we spend time spiritually training our children?
The following verses from Deuteronomy give clear instruction that our entire daily lives should provide teaching opportunities to spiritually train our children:
Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the LORD swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth. (Deuteronomy 11:18-21)
In a real sense, spiritual training in the home is ongoing and never-ending. It’s really a part of everything you do.
But we also need to set aside specific times when we come together as a family to pray, honor, and worship the Lord and to study and memorize His Word. Some families enjoy singing or playing instruments together. Others read a page from a devotional book.
One teenager said, “Our family wasn’t musical, so that wasn’t part of our activities. But we did other things, such as making rebuses of Bible verses.”
You might set aside a time each day for spiritual focus—at the breakfast or supper table, or before bed. Or you could plan family nights when an entire evening is dedicated to a lesson, an activity, and a special treat. (Be careful you don’t present the activity as more important and fun than the lesson. Bible study can and should be a great experience.)
Maybe your family’s schedule is so complicated that you can’t have a regular set time for spiritual focus, but you can still conscientiously meet together as a family to pray, worship, and learn about the Lord.
A couple considerations in all this:
• Sometimes families are diligent in having family devotions, but that’s the only time their children hear about the Lord. Because Dad prays and reads a page from a devotional book, he feels he’s taken care of his spiritual leadership responsibilities. Five minutes later, the children hear him swear when opening the gas bill, or see him confront a neighbor because the neighbor’s dog messed up the lawn. What he verbally taught is negated by the way he lives his life.
• Families are different. One guy diligently teaches his kids from the Bible, helps them with their memory verses, and consistently lives a godly life, yet he feels guilty. He knows of another family that spends thirty minutes of concentrated training at the supper table each night, but his irregular work schedule doesn’t allow him to do that. He is, however, doing a great job. We need to focus on our own families, not on what someone else is doing.
We as parents need to work together to develop the itinerary for our own families, keeping
our eyes on the goal of raising children who know, love, and serve the Lord.
Your Church
Whether large or small, your church is your best partner in raising your children.
In fact, the size of the church doesn’t really matter. Mega churches have the money and staff to provide exciting programs for both parents and children, and those programs can be good. But smaller churches can be better at giving a child a sense of security, family, and nurturing that you don’t always find in a larger church.
So church size isn’t important. What is important is the attitude of the church and the pastor toward kids. Does your church leadership really care about kids? Do they see the value in children’s ministry, and provide necessary resources to spiritually disciple children? Do they occasionally visit children’s or youth ministry times to give the lesson, answer questions, or simply greet the children or youth? Do they make an effort to learn the names of the kids, or do they know your three teenagers (who have been attending the church since birth) only as the Hansen kids?
If your church doesn’t see the importance of encouraging families, maybe you could be the catalyst to begin the initiative.
After this book’s Part One (which focuses on giving parents specific age-appropriate suggestions for their child’s spiritual development), Part Two will focus especially on practical ways the church can partner with you in this task. Be sure to explore what’s presented in Part Two, and become familiar with ideas of how churches and families can work together.
Planning Your Family’s Spiritual Journey
The ideas in this book are suggestions. No parent can do everything, just as no church can do everything either. Our goal is to give you plenty of ideas to help get you started and keep you going.
So let me lay out what you’ll find in each chapter in Part One, which is especially geared for you as a parent. (Keeping the journey idea in mind, most of these components have travel-related labels.)
Life Threads
Each chapter targets a different stage of a child’s life, and will focus on an appropriate life thread
(reflecting a quality that Joseph displayed in his life).
Here are these life threads for each age category:
Preschoolers (ages 2-5) Respect
Early Elementary (ages 5-8—kindergarten to second grade) Wisdom
Older Elementary (ages 8-11—third through sixth grades) Grace
Middle School (ages 11-14—seventh and eighth grades) Destiny
High School (ages 14-18—ninth through twelfth grades) Perspective
At the beginning of each chapter, you’ll find listed again the life thread to focus on for that stage in your child’s life.
By the way, if you’re looking at this list and thinking, “Great, but my child is already twelve years old!”—that’s okay. Yes, you’ve missed some prime training opportunities, but you can catch up. Review the sections for preschoolers and elementary age children, and teach the principles to your child using explanations and activities appropriate for a twelve-year-old. Instead of regretting what you missed, focus on the present and look to the future. These concepts are good for all ages—including adults.
What They’re Like
Early in each chapter, this section lists ten characteristics about that particular age category. Understanding these characteristics will give you a great head start in helping your child grow spiritually.
What They’re Asking
This section in each chapter lists the kinds of questions that kids in this age group typically ask about God and the Bible. You’ll also find suggested answers to a few of the questions.
These questions came from a “Biggest Question Survey” sponsored by Awana. A few years back, we asked 4,000 children and teenagers, “What’s your biggest question about God and the Bible?” These children and teenagers all had some Bible background (though, after looking at their questions, we surmised that some didn’t remember much of it). Then we determined the most-asked questions for each age group.
But don’t stop with reading what other kids have asked; ask your own children for their biggest questions about God and the Bible.
What You Can Do
In this section of each chapter you’ll find a wealth of practical suggestions for what you as a parent can do to help in your child’s spiritual growth in each stage. This begins with a short section about helping your child make the all-important decision to trust Christ as Savior.
Bios and Verses
Here you’ll find appropriate Bible biographies and Scripture memory verses to explore and learn with your children.
(At Awana, we substitute the word “biography” for “story” to emphasize that what comes from the Bible is true and not fictional. We explain that a biography is a true story about someone.)
What Not to Do
Sometimes we hinder more than we help. Each chapter includes this section where you’ll find common errors to avoid in each stage of your child’s life.
Checklist
Each chapter also includes a checklist of basic attainments to look for in your child’s spiritual development.
Family Itinerary
Finally, the section in each chapter labeled “Family Itinerary” is a worksheet to help you develop your plan and goals for your child’s spiritual journey in each stage.
Here are a couple of samples of completed itineraries from two families, one with younger children and one with teenagers:
A Sample Itinerary for a Family with Young Children
Our spiritual goals for the year are:
1. Teach Emma and Jacob that God created the world.
2. Teach Emma and Jacob that God loves each one of us.
3. Teach Emma and Jacob that the Bible is God’s book.
4. Teach Emma and Jacob that Jesus is God’s Son.
5. Teach Emma and Jacob that we’re to obey God.
Our family verse for this year is:
Genesis 1:1
We’ll also study the following six additional verses (one every two months) about God and His character:
1. Psalm 33:4
2. Proverbs 3:5
3. Matthew 28:20
4. Romans 3:23
5. Ephesians 6:1
6. 1 John 4:14
We’ll also study the following six Bible biographies (one every two months):
1. Adam
2. Joseph
3. Heman
4. Josiah
5. David
6. Christ’s birth
We will also do a more extensive study on this person in the Bible:
Heman in 1 Chronicles 25:5–7. We’ll learn how he and his family sang in the temple. We’ll learn a song together and sing at church.
Here are other activities our family will do together to learn about Bible characters:
1. We’ll watch a series of DVDs on Bible characters (a set we were given that’s factual).
2. We’ll visit Grandma and Grandpa and look at their pictures they took in Israel.
3. We’ll study Josiah and other Bible characters who served God even though they were young.
4. We’ll do several crafts using natural materials from the outdoors as we talk about God’s creation. These will include leaf-tracings, pictures on sun-sensitive paper, and drying flowers.
5. We’ll teach Emma and Jacob to identify five birds and five flowers, explaining that
they were all created by God.
Here are some themes for family fun nights we would like to do this year:
1. We’ll build a birdhouse together and learn about ten birds in our area of the country, and we’ll talk about creating a wonderful variety of birds.
2. We’ll make a mural for the basement wall of David watching his sheep.
3. We’ll invite Grandpa and Grandma to family night so they can hear Jacob and Emma say their verses.
4. We’ll make a book of all the different Bible biographies Jacob and Emma have learned at church this year.
5. We’ll visit the zoo.
6. We’ll make cookies for the lady down the street who’s homebound.
Our family has completed this year’s family itinerary and met our spiritual goals.
(Signed by each family member)
A Sample Itinerary for a Family with Children in High School
Our spiritual goals for the year are:
1. Study the book of Ephesians together.
2. Encourage Andrew and Amanda to teach and mentor their younger siblings.
3. Discuss biblical worldview and what that means as Andrew and Amanda head off to college.
4. Have open, honest discussions about difficult cultural issues.
5. Encourage Andrew and Amanda to write down any questions they may have about God and the Bible and to work through those questions as a family.
6. For Andrew and Amanda to serve by singing and playing guitar at the rescue mission once a month.
Our family verse for this year is:
Joshua 24:15
This year we’ll do the following family research project:
On creation. The project will culminate with a week at creation camp this summer.
We’ll memorize this chapter from the Bible:
Ephesians 2
We’ll read (either as a family or individually) the following books:
1. Evidence That Demands a Verdict by Josh McDowell
2. Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis
Our family service project this year will be:
Serving at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Christmas
Our family has completed this year’s family itinerary and met our spiritual goals.
(Signed by each family member)
Happy Reading!
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Week #5 of "60 In 6 Giveaway" (Open until July 3rd)!
It's almost over...how sad! But I've given away a TON of books, and we still have more coming! My postage bill is over the top, but it is SO worth it to say THANK YOU to my faithful readers for helping me hit 60,00 hits in two years!
So, here's this week's selection:
As an added thank you bonus...if you win, you get TWO COPIES of the book! One for you, and one for a friend:-)
Happy Reading!
Sell Used Books - Have Your Books Shipped To Us For Free And Get Fast Cash Back!
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