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Tuesday 30 August 2011

Teaser Tuesday - August 30



Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:


  • Grab your current read

  • Open to a random page

  • Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page

  • BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)

  • Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

'Daily Encouragement for Single Women' by various authors

"Sometimes as Christians we are given the impression that grieving or crying somehow implies we don't trust God. That we don't believe He has everything under control. However in 1 Thessalonians 4, when Paul teaches on the subject of death, he is clear: grieve, but not without hope. Perhaps your heart is heavy over a recent loss. Go ahead. Cry your heart out. Jesus feels your pain and your tears are precious to Him."

I just saw these ...

... in the latest IKEA catalogue and loved them, but I never thought of using them this way! So have a look and enjoy.

IKEA Hackers: Skurar Pendant lamps: Materials: Skurar pots Description: I've made two pendant lamps of two tin-pots named Skurar.



Friday 26 August 2011

Friday Fill-Ins - August 26


And...here we go!

1. How in the world did I become so messy?

2. I am looking at the screen in front of me.

3. Life's a bit crazy, very interesting and doesn't always make sense.

4. Can we pack a picnic lunch?

5. That was where we realised we had taken a wrong turn.

6. Home is the place I think of as "our place".

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to a quiet night in, tomorrow my plans include going to Paperific with Cathy and Sunday, I want to enjoy church and lunch to plan things for the kids mission trip in the next school holidays!

Wednesday 24 August 2011

First Wild Card Tours - Still More Stories from Grandma's Attic and Treasures from Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson

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 books:



Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

and

Treasures from Grandma’s Attic


David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




The late Arleta Richardson grew up an only child in Chicago, living in a hotel on the shores of Lake Michigan. Under the care of her maternal grandmother, she listened for hours to stories from her grandmother’s childhood. With unusual recall, Arleta began to write these stories for an audience that now numbers over two million. “My grandmother would be amazed to know her stories have gone around the world,” Arleta said.



SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:




Grandma did what? You might be surprised. Back in the 1880’s, when she was a young girl named Mabel, trouble seemed to follow her everywhere. She and her best friend, Sarah Jane, had the best intentions at home and at school, but somehow clumsiness and mischief always seemed to intrude. Whether getting into a sticky mess with face cream, traveling to the big city, sneaking out to a birthday party or studying for the spelling bee, Mabel’s brilliant ideas only seemed to show how much she had to learn. And each of her mishaps turned into lessons in honesty, patience and responsibility.



Arleta Richardson’s beloved series, Grandma’s Attic, returns with Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic and Treasures from Grandma’s Attic, the third and fourth books in the refreshed classic collection for girls ages 8 to 12. These compilations of tales recount humorous and poignant memories from Grandma Mabel’s childhood on a Michigan farm in the late 1800’s. Combining the warmth and spirit of Little House on the Prairie with a Christian focus, these books transport readers back to a simpler time to learn lessons surprisingly relevant in today’s world.



Even though these stories took place over a hundred years ago, there are some things about being a girl that never change. Just like Mabel, girls still want to be prettier or more independent. It’s all part of growing up. But the amazing thing is—Grandma felt the same way! Sometimes your brother teases you or someone you thought was a friend turns out to be insincere. Sometimes you’re certain you know better than your parents, only to discover to your horror that they might have been right. It’s all part of growing up.



Richardson’s wholesome stories have reached more than two million readers worldwide. Parents appreciate the godly values and character they promote while children love the captivating storytelling that recounts childhood memories of mischief and joy. These books are ideal for homes, schools, libraries or gifts and are certain to be treasured. So return to Grandma’s attic, where true tales of yesteryear bring timeless lessons for today, combining the appeal of historical fiction for girls with the truth of God’s Word. Each captivating story promotes godly character and values with humor, understanding and warmth.



Product Details:



Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic
:



List Price: $6.99

Reading level: Ages 9-12

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0781403812

ISBN-13: 978-0781403818





Treasures from Grandma’s Attic:



Reading level: Ages 9-12

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0781403820

ISBN-13: 978-0781403825



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTERS:





Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic



When Grandma Was a Little Girl



One hundred years! What a long, long time ago that is! Not very many people are still alive who can remember that far back. But through the magic of stories, we can be right there again.



When I was a little girl, I thought no one could tell a story like my grandma.



“Tell me about when you were a little girl,” I would say. Soon I would be back on the farm in northern Michigan with young Mabel—who became my grandmother—her mother and father, and her brothers, Reuben and Roy.



The old kitchen where I sat to hear many of Grandma’s stories didn’t look the same as when she was a little girl. Then there was no electricity nor running water. But my grandma still lived in the house she grew up in. I had no trouble imagining all the funny jams that Grandma and her best friend, Sarah Jane, got into. Or how it felt to wear long flannel stockings and high-buttoned shoes.



From the dusty old attic to the front parlor with its slippery furniture, Grandma’s old house was a storybook just waiting to be opened. I was fortunate to have a grandma who knew just how to open it. She loved to tell a story just as much as I loved to hear one.



Come with me now, back to the old kitchen in that Michigan farmhouse, and enjoy the laughter and tears of many years ago....



1



Face Cream from Godey’s Lady’s Book



Receiving mail always excited me. I never had to be told to get the mail for Grandma on my way home from school. But sometimes the mail became even more important. Like the time I was watching for something I had ordered from Woman’s Home Companion.



When the small package finally arrived, my face revealed how excited I was.



“What did you get a sample of this time?” Grandma asked as I came in proudly carrying the precious box.



“You’ll see. Just wait till I show you,” I said, promising Grandma the box held something special.



Quickly I tore the wrapping paper off the small box. Inside was a jar of skin cream for wrinkles.



Grandma laughed when she saw it. “You certainly don’t need that,” she said. “Now it might do me some good if those things ever really worked.”



“You aren’t wrinkled, Grandma,” I protested. “Your face is nice and smooth.”



“Perhaps so. But not because of what I’ve rubbed on it. More than likely I’ve inherited a smooth skin.”



She took the jar of cream and looked at the ingredients “This doesn’t look quite as dangerous as some stuff Sarah Jane and I mixed up one day. Did I ever tell you about that?”



“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” I replied. “Tell me now.”



Grandma picked up her crocheting, and I settled back to listen to a story about Grandma and her friend, Sarah Jane, when they were my age.



***



Sarah Jane had a cousin who lived in the city. This cousin often came to stay at Sarah Jane’s for a few days. She brought things with her that we were not accustomed to seeing.



One morning as Sarah Jane and I were walking to school together, Sarah Jane told me some very exciting news. “My cousin Laura will be here tomorrow. She’s going to stay all next week. Won’t that be fun?”



“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m glad she’s coming. What do you think she’ll bring this time?”



“Probably some pretty new dresses and hats,” Sarah Jane guessed. “She might even let us try them on.”



“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to try on her dresses. But maybe she wouldn’t mind if we peeked at ourselves in the mirror to see how the hats looked.”



Laura arrived the next day with several new hats. She amiably agreed that we might try them on.



They were too big, and had a tendency to slide down over our noses. But to us, they were the latest fashion.



As we laid the hats back on the bed, Sarah Jane spied something else that interested her. It was a magazine for ladies. We had not seen more than half a dozen magazines in our lives, so this was exciting.



“Oh, Laura,” Sarah Jane cried, “may we look at your magazine? We’ll be very careful.”



“Why, yes. I’m not going to be reading it right away. Go ahead.”



Eagerly we snatched the magazine and ran out to the porch. The cover pictured a lady with a very fashionable dress and hat, carrying a frilly parasol. The name of the magazine was Godey’s Lady’s Book.



“Ooh! Look at the ruffles on her dress!” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you just love to have one dress with all those ribbons and things?”



“Yes, but there’s little chance I’ll ever have it,” I replied. “Ma wouldn’t iron that many ruffles for anything. Besides, we’re not grown up enough to have dresses like that. It looks like it might be organdy, doesn’t it?”



“Mmm-hum,” Sarah Jane agreed. “It looks like something soft, all right. And look at her hair. It must be long to make that big a roll around her head.”



We spread the magazine across our laps and studied each page carefully. Nothing escaped our notice. “I sure wish we were grown up,” Sarah Jane sighed. “Think how much prettier we’d be.”



“Yes, and how much more fun we could have. These ladies don’t spend all their time going to school and doing chores. They just get all dressed up and sit around looking pretty.”



We looked for a moment in silence; then Sarah Jane noticed something interesting. “Look here, Mabel. Here’s something you can make to get rid of wrinkles on your face.”



I looked where she was reading.



Guaranteed to remove wrinkles. Melt together a quantity of white wax and honey. When it becomes liquid, add the juice of several lemons. Spread the mixture liberally on your face and allow it to dry. In addition to smoothing out your wrinkles, this formula will leave your skin soft, smooth, and freckle free.



“But we don’t have any wrinkles,” I pointed out.



“That doesn’t matter,” Sarah Jane replied. “If it takes wrinkles away, it should keep us from getting them too. Besides,” she added critically, “it says it takes away freckles. And you have plenty of those.”



I rubbed my nose reflectively. “I sure do. Do you suppose that stuff really would take them off?”



“We can try it and see. I’ll put some on if you will. Where shall we mix it up?”



This would be a problem, since Sarah Jane’s mother was baking in her kitchen. It would be better to work where we wouldn’t have to answer questions about what we were doing.



“Let’s go to your house and see what your mother is doing,” Sarah Jane suggested.



We hurriedly returned the magazine to Laura’s bedroom and dashed back outdoors.



“Do you have all the things we need to put in it?” Sarah Jane asked.



“I know we have wax left over from Ma’s jelly glasses. And I’m sure we have lemons. But I don’t know how much honey is left.



“I know where we can get some, though.” I continued. “Remember that hollow tree in the woods? We found honey there last week.”



Soon we were on our way to collect it in a small pail.



“This is sure going to be messy and sticky to put on our faces,” I commented as we filled the pail.



“Probably the wax takes the sticky out,” Sarah Jane replied. “Anyway, if it takes away your freckles and makes our skin smooth, it won’t matter if it is a little gooey. I wonder how long we leave it on.”



“The directions said to let it dry,” I reminded her. “I suppose the longer you leave it there, the more good it does. We’ll have to take it off before we go in to supper, I guess.”



“I guess so,” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “I don’t know what your brothers would say. But I’m not going to give Caleb a chance to make fun of me.”



I knew what Reuben and Roy would say, too, and I was pretty sure I could predict what Ma would say. There seemed to be no reason to let them know about it.



Fortune was with us, for the kitchen was empty when we cautiously opened the back door. Ma heard us come in and called down from upstairs, “Do you need something, Mabel?”



“No, Ma’am,” I answered. “But we might like a cookie.”



“Help yourself,” Ma replied. “I’m too busy tearing rags to come down right now. You can pour yourselves some milk too.”



I assured her that we could. With a sigh of relief, we went to the pantry for a kettle in which to melt the wax and honey.



“This looks big enough,” Sarah Jane said. “You start that getting hot, and I’ll squeeze the lemons. Do you think two will be enough?”



“I guess two is ‘several.’ Maybe we can tell by the way it looks whether we need more or not.”



“I don’t see how,” Sarah Jane argued. “We never saw any of this stuff before. But we’ll start with two, anyway.”



I placed the pan containing the wax and honey on the hottest part of the stove and pulled up a chair to sit on. “Do you suppose I ought to stir it?” I inquired. “It doesn’t look as though it’s mixing very fast.”



“Give it time,” Sarah Jane advised. “Once the wax melts down, it will mix.”



After a short time, the mixture began to bubble.



“There, see?” she said, stirring it with a spoon. “You can’t tell which is wax and which is honey. I think it’s time to put in the lemon juice.” She picked up the juice, but I stopped her.



“You have to take the seeds out, first, silly. You don’t want knobs all over your face, do you?”



“I guess you’re right. That wouldn’t look too good, would it?”



She dug the seeds out, and we carefully stirred the lemon juice into the pan.



“Umm, it smells good,” I observed.



Sarah Jane agreed. “In fact, it smells a little like Ma’s cough syrup. Do you want to taste it?”



“Sure, I’ll take a little taste.” I licked some off the spoon and smacked my lips. “It’s fine,” I reported. “If it tastes that good, it will certainly be safe to use. Let’s take it to my room and try it.”



We carefully lifted the kettle from the stove. Together we carried the kettle upstairs and set it on my dresser.



“It will have to cool a little before we put it on,” I said.



“What if the wax gets hard again? We’ll have to take it downstairs and heat it all over.”



“It won’t,” I assured her. “The honey will keep it from getting too hard.” By the time the mixture was cool enough to use, it was thick and gooey—but still spreadable.



“Well, here goes,” Sarah Jane said. She dipped a big blob out and spread it on her face. I did the same. Soon our faces were covered with the sticky mess.



“Don’t get it in your hair,” I warned. “It looks like it would be awfully hard to get out. I wonder how long it will take to dry?”



“The magazine didn’t say that. It would probably dry faster outside in the sun. But someone is sure to see us out there. We’d better stay here.... I wish we had brought the magazine to look at.”



“We can look at the Sears catalog,” I suggested. “Let’s play like we’re ordering things for our own house.”



We sat down on the floor and spread the catalog out in front of us. After several minutes, Sarah Jane felt her face.



“I think it’s dry, Mabel,” she announced, hardly moving her lips. “It doesn’t bend or anything.”



I touched mine and discovered the same thing. The mask was solid and hard. It was impossible to move my mouth to speak, so my voice had a funny sound when I answered her.



“So’s mine. Maybe we’d better start taking it off now.”



We ran to the mirror and looked at ourselves.



“We sure look funny.” Sarah Jane laughed the best she could without moving her face. “How did the magazine say to get it off?”



Suddenly we looked at each other in dismay. The magazine hadn’t said anything about removing the mixture, only how to fix and spread it on.



“Well, we’ve done it again,” I said. “How come everything we try works until we’re ready to undo it? We’ll just have to figure some way to get rid of it.”



We certainly did try. We pushed the heavy masks that covered our faces. We pulled them, knocked on them, and tried to soak them off. They would not budge.



“I think we used too much wax and not enough honey,” Sarah Jane puffed as she flopped back down on the bed.



“That’s certainly a great thing to think of now,” I answered crossly. “The only way to move wax is to melt it. And we certainly can’t stick our faces in the fire!”



“Mine feels like it’s already on fire. I don’t think this stuff is good for your skin.”



“You’re going to have to think about more than that,” I told her. “Or this stuff will be your skin. There has to be some way to get it off.”



“We’ve tried everything we can think of. We’ll just have to go down and let your rna help us.”



That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But I could see no other alternative. Slowly we trudged down to the kitchen.



Ma was working at the stove, and she said cheerfully, “Are you girls hungry again? It won’t be long until suppertime, so you’d better not eat ....”



She turned around as she spoke. When she spotted us standing in the doorway, her eyes widened in disbelief.



“What on earth? ... What have you done to yourselves?”



I burst into tears. The sight of drops of tears running down that ridiculous mask must have been more than Ma could stand. Suddenly she began to laugh. She laughed until she had to sit down.



“It’s not funny, Ma. We can’t get it off! We’ll have to wear it the rest of our lives!”



Ma controlled herself long enough to come over and feel my face. “What did you put in it?” she asked. “That will help me know how to take it off.”



We told her.



“If you two ever live to grow up, it will only be the Lord’s good mercy. The only thing we can do is apply something hot enough to melt the wax,” Ma told us quickly.



“But we boiled the wax, Ma,” I cried. “You can’t boil our faces!”



“No, 1won’t try anything as drastic as that. I’ll just use hot towels until it gets soft enough to pull away.”



After several applications, we were finally able to start peeling the mixture off. As it came loose, our skin came with it.



“Ouch! That hurts,” I cried.



But Ma could not stop. By the time the last bits of wax and honey were removed, our faces were fiery red and raw.



“What did we do wrong?” Sarah Jane wailed. “We made it just like the magazine said.”



“You may have used the wrong quantities, or left it on too long,” Ma said. “At any rate, I don’t think you’ll try it again.”



“I know I won’t,” Sarah Jane moaned. “I’m going to tell Laura she should ignore that page in her magazine.” She looked at me. “The stuff did one thing they said it would, Mabel. I don’t see any freckles.”



“There’s no skin left, either,” I retorted. “I’d rather have freckles than a face like this.”



“Never mind.” Ma tried to soothe us. “Your faces will be all right in a couple of days.”



“A couple of days!” I howled. “We can’t go to school looking like this!”



***



“We did, though.” Grandma laughed as she finished the story. “After a while we were able to laugh with the others over our foolishness.”



I looked at the little jar of cream that had come in the mail.



“I don’t think I’ll use this, Grandma. I guess I’ll just let my face get wrinkled if it wants to!”




************************************************



Treasures from Grandma's Attic



Cousin Agatha



My best friend, Sarah Jane, and I were walking home from school on a cold November afternoon.



“Do you realize, Mabel, that 1886 is almost over? Another year of nothing important ever happening is nearly gone.”



“Well, we still have a good bit of life ahead of us,” I replied.



“You don’t know that,” Sarah Jane said darkly, “We’re thirteen and a half. We may already have lived nearly a third of our allotted time.”



“The O’Dells live to be awfully old,” I told her. “So, unless I get run down by a horse and buggy, I’ll probably be around awhile.”



We walked along in silence. Then suddenly Sarah Jane pulled me to the side of the road.



“Here’s the horse and buggy that could keep you from becoming an old lady,” she kidded. We turned to see my pa coming down the road.



“Want to ride the rest of the way, girls?” he called. We clambered into the buggy, and Pa clucked to Nellie.



“What did you get in town?” I asked.



“Some things for the farm and a letter for your ma.” Around the next bend, Pa slowed Nellie to a halt. “Your stop, Sarah Jane.”



“Thanks, Mr. O’Dell.” Sarah Jane jumped down. “I’ll be over to study later, Mabel. ‘Bye.”



“Who’s the letter from?” I asked Pa.



“Can’t tell from the handwriting. We’ll have to wait for Ma to tell us.”



When Ma opened the letter, she looked puzzled. “This is from your cousin Agatha,” she said to Pa. “Why didn’t she address it to you, too?”



“If I know Aggie, she wants something,” Pa declared. “And she figured you’d be more likely to listen to her sad story.”



Ma read the letter and shook her head at Pa. “She just wants to come for Thanksgiving. Now aren’t you ashamed of talking that way?”



“No, I’m not. That’s what Aggie says she wants. You can be sure there’s more there than meets the eye. Are you going to tell her to come ahead?”



“Why, of course!” Ma exclaimed. “If I were a widowed lady up in years, I’d want to be with family on Thanksgiving. Why shouldn’t I tell her to come?”



Pa took his hat from the peg by the door and started for the barn, where my older brothers were already at work. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he remarked as he left.



“What did Pa warn you about?” I asked as soon as the door closed behind him. “What does Cousin Agatha want?”



“I don’t believe Pa was talking to you,” Ma replied. “You heard me say that she wants to come for Thanksgiving.”



“Yes, but Pa said—”



“That’s enough, Mabel. We won’t discuss it further.”



I watched silently as Ma sat down at the kitchen table and answered Cousin Agatha’s letter.



Snow began to fall two days before the holiday, and Pa had to hitch up the sleigh to go into town and meet the train.



“It will be just our misfortune to have a real blizzard and be snowed in with that woman for a week,” he grumbled.



“Having Aggie here a few days won’t hurt you,” Ma said. “The way you carry on, you’d think she was coming to stay forever!”



Pa’s look said he considered that a distinct possibility. As I helped Ma with the pies, I questioned her about Cousin Agatha.



“Has she been here before? I can’t remember seeing her.”



“I guess you were pretty small last time Agatha visited,” Ma replied. “I expect she gets lonely in that big house in the city.”



“What do you suppose she wants besides dinner?” I ventured.



“Friendly company,” Ma snapped. “And we’re going to give it to her.”



When the pies were in the oven, I hung around the window, watching for the sleigh. It was nearly dark when I heard the bells on Nellie’s harness ring out across the snow.



“They’re coming, Ma,” I called, and Ma hurried to the door with the lamp held high over her head. The boys and I crowded behind her. Pa jumped down from the sleigh and turned to help Cousin Agatha.



“I don’t need any assistance from you, James,” a firm voice spoke. “I’m perfectly capable of leaving any conveyance under my own power.”



“She talks like a book!” Roy whispered, and Reuben poked him. I watched in awe as a tall, unbending figure sailed into the kitchen.



“Well, Maryanne,” she said, “it’s good to see you.” She removed her big hat, jabbed a long hat pin into it, and handed the hat to me. “You must be Mabel.”



I nodded wordlessly.



“What’s the matter? Can’t you speak?” she boomed.



“Yes, ma’am,” I gulped nervously.



“Then don’t stand there bobbing your head like a monkey on a stick. People will think you have no sense. You can put that hat in my room.”



I stared openmouthed at this unusual person until a gentle push from Ma sent me in the direction of the guest room.



After dinner and prayers, Pa rose with the intention of going to the barn.



“James!” Cousin Agatha’s voice stopped him. “Surely you aren’t going to do the chores with these two great hulking fellows sitting here, are you?”



The two great hulking fellows leaped for the door with a speed I didn’t know they had.



“I should guess so,” Cousin Agatha exclaimed with satisfaction. “If there’s anything I can’t abide, it’s a lazy child.”



As she spoke, Cousin Agatha pulled Ma’s rocker to the stove and lowered herself into it. “This chair would be more comfortable if there were something to put my feet on,” she said, “but I suppose one can’t expect the amenities in a place like this.”



I looked at Ma for some clue as to what “amenities” might be. This was not a word we had encountered in our speller.



“Run into the parlor and get the footstool, Mabel,” Ma directed.



When Cousin Agatha was settled with her hands in her lap and her feet off the cold floor, I started the dishes.



“Maryanne, don’t you think Mabel’s dress is a mite too short?”



Startled, I looked down at my dress.



“No,” Ma’s calm voice replied. “She’s only thirteen, you know. I don’t want her to be grown up too soon.”



“There is such a thing as modesty, you know.” Cousin Agatha sniffed.



Pa and the boys returned just then, so Ma didn’t answer. I steered an uneasy path around Cousin Agatha all evening. For the first time I could remember, I was glad when bedtime came.



The next day was Thanksgiving, and the house was filled with the aroma of good things to eat. From her rocker, Cousin Agatha offered suggestions as Ma scurried about the kitchen.



“Isn’t it time to baste the turkey, Maryanne? I don’t care for dry fowl.”



“I see the boys running around out there with that mangy dog as though they had nothing to do. Shouldn’t they be chopping wood or something?”



“I should think Mabel could be helping you instead of reading a book. If there’s one thing I can’t abide . . . “



“Mabel will set the table when it’s time,” Ma put in. “Maybe you’d like to peel some potatoes?”



The horrified look on Cousin Agatha’s face said she wouldn’t consider it, so Ma withdrew her offer.



A bump on the door indicated that the “mangy dog” was tired of the cold. I laid down my book and let Pep in. He made straight for the stove and his rug.



“Mercy!” Cousin Agatha cried. “Do you let that—that animal in the kitchen?”



“Yes,” Ma replied. “He’s not a young dog any longer. He isn’t any bother, and he does enjoy the heat.”



“Humph.” Agatha pulled her skirts around her. “I wouldn’t allow any livestock in my kitchen. Can’t think what earthly good a dog can be.” She glared at Pep, who responded with a thump of his tail and a sigh of contentment.



“Dumb creature,” Cousin Agatha muttered.



“Pep isn’t dumb, Cousin Agatha,” I said. “He’s really the smartest dog I know.”



“I was not referring to his intellect or lack of it,” she told me, “‘Dumb’ indicates an inability to speak. You will have to concede that he is unable to carry on a conversation.”



I was ready to dispute that, too, but Ma shook her head. Cousin Agatha continued to give Pep disparaging glances.



“Didn’t you ever have any pets at your house, Cousin Agatha?” I asked.



“Pets? I should say not! Where in the Bible does it say that God made animals for man’s playthings? They’re meant to earn their keep, not sprawl out around the house absorbing heat.”



“Oh, Pep works,” I assured her. “He’s been taking the cows out and bringing them back for years now.”



Cousin Agatha was not impressed. She sat back in the rocker and eyed Pep with disfavor. “The one thing I can’t abide, next to a lazy child, is a useless animal—and in the house!”



I began to look nervously at Ma, thinking she might send Pep to the barn to keep the peace. But she went on about her work, serenely ignoring Cousin Agatha’s hints. I was glad when it was time to set the table.



After we had eaten, Pa took the Bible down from the cupboard and read our Thanksgiving chapter, Psalm 100. Then he prayed, thanking the Lord for Cousin Agatha and asking the Lord’s blessing on her just as he did on the rest of us. When he had finished, Cousin Agatha spoke up.



“I believe that I will stay here until Christmas, James. Then, if I find it to my liking, I could sell the house in the city and continue on with you. Maryanne could use some help in teaching these children how to be useful.”



In the stunned silence that followed, I looked at Pa and Ma to see how this news had affected them. Ma looked pale. Before Pa could open his mouth to answer, Cousin Agatha rose from the table. “I’ll just go to my room for a bit of rest,” she said. “We’ll discuss this later.”



When she had left, we gazed at each other helplessly.



“Is there anything in the Bible that tells you what to do now?” I asked Pa.



“Well, it says if we don’t love our brother whom we can see, how can we love God whom we can’t see? I think that probably applies to cousins as well.”



“I’d love her better if I couldn’t see her.” Reuben declared. “We don’t have to let her stay, do we, Pa?”



“No, we don’t have to,” Pa replied. “We could ask her to leave tomorrow as planned. But I’m not sure that would be right. What do you think, Ma?”



“I wouldn’t want to live alone in the city,” Ma said slowly. “I can see that she would prefer the company of a family. I suppose we should ask her to stay until Christmas.”



“I think she already asked herself,” Roy ventured. “But she did say if she found things to her liking. . . .”



We all looked at Roy. Pa said, “You’re not planning something that wouldn’t be to her liking, are you?”



“Oh, no, sir!” Roy quickly answered. “Not me.”



Pa signed. “I’m not sure I’d blame you. She’s not an easy person to live with. We’ll all have to be especially patient with her.”



There wasn’t much Thanksgiving atmosphere in the kitchen as we did the dishes.



“How can we possibly stand it for another whole month?” I moaned.



“The Lord only sends us one day at a time,” Ma informed me. “Don’t worry about more than that. When the other days arrive, you’ll probably find out you worried about all the wrong things.”



As soon as the work was finished, I put on my coat and walked over to Sarah Jane’s.



“What will you do if she stays on after Christmas?” she asked.



“I’ll just die.”



“I thought you were going to be a long-living O’Dell.”



“I changed my mind,” I retorted. “What would you do if you were in my place?”



“I’d probably make her life miserable so she’d want to leave.”



“You know I couldn’t get away with that. Pa believes that Christian love is the best solution.”



“All right, then,” Sarah Jane said with a shrug. “Love her to death.”



As though to fulfill Pa’s prediction, snow began to fall heavily that night. By morning we were snowed in.



“Snowed in?” Cousin Agatha repeated. “You mean unable to leave the house at all?”



“That’s right,” Pa replied. “This one is coming straight down from Canada.”



Cousin Agatha looked troubled. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”



“We’ll be all right,” Ma reassured her. “We have plenty of wood and all the food we need.”



But Cousin Agatha was not to be reassured. I watched her stare into the fire and twist her handkerchief around her fingers. Why, she’s frightened! I thought. This old lady had been directing things all her life, and here was something she couldn’t control. Suddenly I felt sorry for her.



“Cousin Agatha,” I said, “we have fun when we’re snowed in. We play games and pop corn and tell stories. You’ll enjoy it. I know you will!”



I ran over and put my arms around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. She looked at me in surprise.



“That’s the first time anyone has hugged me since I can remember,” she said. “Do you really like me, Mabel?”



Right then I knew that I did like Cousin Agatha a whole lot. Behind her stern front was another person who needed to be loved and wanted.



“Oh, yes, Cousin Agatha,” I replied. “I really do. You’ll see what a good time we’ll have together.”



The smile that lighted her face was bright enough to chase away any gloom that had settled over the kitchen. And deep down inside, I felt real good.







My Thoughts:
I didn't get copies of these to review, but I have read them in the past. These are great books to read just a chapter a night to your kids. You and they will laugh, but also learn something too. Try to get a copy of them if you can, especially if you have children or grandchildren!

Friday 19 August 2011

First Wild Card Tours - Ransome's Quest by Kaye Dacus

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:



Ransome's Quest

(The Ransome Trilogy)


Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




Kaye Dacus, author of Ransome’s Honor has a BA in English, with a minor in history, and an MA in writing popular fiction. Her love of the Regency era started with Jane Austen. Her passion for literature and for history come together to shape her creative, well-researched, and engaging writing.



Visit the author's website.



SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:








This engaging end to the Ransome Trilogy is a fast-paced tale of love, faith, and danger on the Caribbean Sea in the early 1800s. Captain William Ransome frantically searches for his kidnapped wife and sister. But who will rescue them when buried secrets emerge and challenge everything they believe?











Product Details:



List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736927557

ISBN-13: 978-0736927550



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:







It is too dangerous.”



William Ransome snapped his cutlass into its scabbard and turned to face his wife. “The longer I delay, the farther away they take Charlotte.”



Dread froze his lungs, his stomach, his heart. Charlotte. His sister. Taken. “If anything happens to her…”



Julia wrapped her arms around her abdomen and leaned against one of the heavy posts at the end of the bed. “Why the message to my father? What has he to do with Charlotte?”



William double-checked the load of his pistol and tucked it under his belt. “Your father has publicly vowed—more than once—to rid the Caribbean of pirates and privateers for good. Charlotte was likely a target of opportunity, not purpose.”



“But if the man’s argument is with my father, it should have been me taken, not Charlotte.”



William could not disagree with her. Nor could he agree, as the very idea of Julia’s being taken by pirates nearly ripped his heart from his chest. “I should have put her on that ship in Barbados returning to England. If I had followed my conscience”—instead of listening to Julia’s and Charlotte’s emotional arguments—“she would have been well out of harm’s way by now.”



They both startled at a knock on the door.



“Come.”



The door opened at his command, revealing Jeremiah. “The horses are ready, Commodore.”



“Very good.” William took up his case and hat and moved toward the door.



Julia stepped in front of him, expression imploring. “Please, William, wait until dawn. The roads are treacherous enough in the full light of day. At night…and you do not know where you are going. What good will it do Charlotte if you become lost or…or something else happens to you or the horse? Or what if the pirates have laid a trap and done this to lure you from the safety of the house?”



A mirthless laugh expanded in his throat, but he stifled it. Safety of the house? Was the house safe when the brigands had snatched Charlotte from the porch almost directly outside this very room?



“I am sending Asher with him, Miss Julia,” Jeremiah said. “He knows the roads ’twixt here and Kingston better than anyone I know.”



William tore his gaze away from Julia’s anxious face. “Jeremiah, I am depending on you to protect Mrs. Ransome and ensure no harm comes to her while I am away.”



“I will protect her with my life, sir.”



He stepped around Julia and handed his bag and hat to Jeremiah. “Thank you. I shall join you in a moment.”



As he hoped, Jeremiah understood the dismissal. He gave a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.



William took Julia by the shoulders and directed her to the chaise positioned at the end of their bed. He had to apply more pressure than he liked to make her sit. “You are to stay at Tierra Dulce. You will keep an escort with you at all times. I want armed guards posted near the house.”



She nodded, never blinking or breaking eye contact. “Yes, William.”



“If you hear any word from Charlotte or receive”—his voice caught in his throat—“a ransom demand from the pirate, you will send a messenger to Fort Charles. They will get word to me.”



“Yes, William.”



Heart tearing asunder at the necessity of leaving Julia behind, he bent over and pressed his forehead to hers. “Pray for Charlotte.”



Julia’s hands slid around behind his neck, her fingers twining in his hair. She angled her head and kissed him. “I promise. I will pray for you also, my love.”



He kissed her again and then tore himself away from her embrace. “I must go. I promise I will return—and I will bring Charlotte with me.”



Determined to not look back, he made for the door. He opened it and then hesitated. Without turning around, he said the words he needed to say, just in case they were the last he ever said to his wife. “I love you.”



“I love you, William.” Though softly spoken, her words acted as the command that loosed him from his mooring. He stepped through the door and closed it, leaving her on the other side.



Ned Cochrane paced the drive below the porch steps when William exited the house. He barely spared his former first officer a glance. Intellectually, he knew Ned had done his best, having been taken by surprise and set upon by several men. However, in his heart, he wanted to rail at the younger man for failing to protect Charlotte.



Though a horse was his least favorite mode of transportation, William easily swung himself up into the saddle. Once he was settled—and Ned appeared to be also—William nodded at Asher to lead the way.



Darkness enveloped them. Behind, the light from the house acted as a siren’s call, beckoning him to turn, to look, to regret his decision to leave in the dead of night and wish he had taken Julia’s advice and waited until dawn.



His neck ached from the effort of keeping his face forward instead of giving in to temptation and taking one last look at the house, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Julia.



He focused on the bumpy motion of the animal underneath him. He must leave all thoughts of—all worries about—Julia behind, just as he now left her home behind. Jeremiah had known Julia most of her life. He had been as much of a substitute father for Julia as her father, Admiral Witherington, had been for William.



No, he could not worry about Julia and her safety. Rescuing Charlotte must be his only focus, his only thought.



The monotonous rhythm of the horses’ hooves, at a walk over the dark, deeply rutted dirt roads, along with the necessity of keeping his eyes trained on the light shirt stretched across Asher’s broad back, lulled William into a stupor.



Ahead lay his ship. The thought of boarding Alexandra and getting under sail chipped away at his anxiety. As soon as he was on the water, as soon as he stood on the quarterdeck and issued the command to weigh anchor, he would be that much closer to finding Charlotte and bringing her home.



The road widened, and Ned pulled up beside him.



“You are certain the man did not identify himself?”



“No, sir. He did not give his name. He only said her safety depended on the mercy of a pirate.” Ned’s voice came across flat and hoarse.



“What were you doing out on the porch, alone with her in the dark?” Even as William asked this, he reminded himself Ned was not at fault. But if Charlotte had been inside, perhaps…



“I followed them—Miss Ransome and Winchester—when they went for their walk. I did not trust Mrs. Ransome’s steward to behave honorably.” He paused. “I need not have worried. Char—Miss Ransome handled the situation admirably and dispatched Winchester, and their engagement, with aplomb.”



“Winchester was with you when she was taken? Why did you not tell me this before?”



“No, sir. Miss Ransome dismissed him. He had been gone for…several minutes.”



Could Winchester be involved? Dread sank like a cannonball in William’s gut. Julia already suspected the steward of embezzling money from the plantation. And William had left her there with that man—



“I asked her to marry me.”



If Winchester were involved, and this was a ploy to get William away from Tierra—he yanked the reins. The horse voiced its protest and jerked and swerved, nearly unseating William. “I beg your pardon?”



“After Charlotte broke her engagement with Winchester, we talked about our mutual regard. I proposed marriage to her, and she accepted.” Ned’s words barely rose above the sounds of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed earth.



From a sinking ship into shark-infested waters. Could Charlotte not have waited even a full day after breaking one engagement before forming another—again, without her family’s knowledge? “And if I refuse my permission?”



“Then we shall wait. We’ll wait until you think I am worthy to marry her, sir.”



Worthy to marry her. William did not have to think hard to remember standing before Julia’s father twelve years ago and saying the same words. Sir Edward had graciously given him—a poor, threadbare lieutenant with no prospects and nothing to recommend him as husband or son-in-law—a father’s blessing for William and Julia to marry based on nothing other than their love for each other. William had been the one to deem himself unworthy of her affections, and he had almost lost her forever.



“We shall discuss this after we return Charlotte home.”



“I pray that will be soon, sir.”



“So do I, Ned. So do I.”



Charlotte awoke with a gasp. Wooden planks formed the low ceiling above her. A canvas hammock conformed to her body and swung with the heave and haw of the ocean beneath the ship.



A ship?



Not possible. They had made port, hadn’t they?



She stared at the underside of the deck above, trying to clear the haziness from her brain. Yes. They had made port. Left Alexandra and ridden in carriage across those horrible, rutted roads to Tierra Dulce, Julia’s sugar plantation. The low, sprawling white house with the deep porch that wrapped all the way around and the white draperies billowing through the open windows.



The porch. She blinked rapidly. The porch. At night. In the dark. Henry Winchester and…and Ned.



She bolted upright and then flung her torso over the side of the hammock as her stomach heaved.



Why should she be sick? She hadn’t experienced a moment of seasickness on the crossing from England to Jamaica. She climbed out of the hammock, skirt and petticoats hindering her progress until she hoisted them above her knees, and made for the small table with a glass and pitcher.



Wan light from the stern windows sparkled through the glass, revealing a residue of white powder in the bottom of it. She set the glass back on the stand. Last night the pirate had made her drink from the glass, and then everything had gone hazy. But before that…



She buried her face in her hands. Being torn away from Ned. She prayed they had not killed him. She’d heard no gunshot, but as their raid had been one of stealth, they would more likely have used a blade to end Ned’s life.



A sob ripped at her throat, but she forced it to stay contained. She would not give the pirates the satisfaction of seeing her upset. And she must, and would, find a means of escape.



Thirst got the better of her, and she lifted the china pitcher of water and rinsed her mouth before drinking deeply the brackish liquid. She then turned and surveyed the cabin. Obviously the pirate captain’s quarters. Though smaller than Ned’s aboard Audacious, which was in turn smaller than William’s aboard Alexandra, the room was neatly kept, with serviceable furnishings, whitewashed walls and ceiling, and plain floors. Nothing to exhibit the extravagance or wealth she’d expected to see in a pirate’s private lair.



The desk. Perhaps something there would tell her more about her captor. She crossed to it, rather surprised by the empty work surface. No stacks of the papers or books like the ones resting on William’s or Ned’s worktables. Her fingers itched to open the drawer under the desktop and the small doors and drawers along the high back of it, but Mama had taught her better than that.



Two miniatures hanging above the desk caught her eye. One showed a woman, probably a few years older than Charlotte, with dark hair and angular features. Too plain to be called pretty, but not ugly either. The green backdrop of the second painting contrasted vividly with the reddish-brown hair of a pretty girl and matched her vibrant green eyes.



Mahogany hair and green eyes—just like Julia. Why would a pirate have a portrait of Julia hanging in his cabin? But, she corrected herself, the painting was of a girl no older than thirteen or fourteen. Surely the resemblance to Julia was merely coincidental.



“She was lovely, was she not?”



Charlotte gasped and whirled. A dark-haired man dressed in a blue coat that resembled a commodore’s or admiral’s—complete with prodigious amounts of gold braid about the cuffs, collar, and lapels—stood in the doorway of the cabin.



He tossed a bicorne hat—also similar to a navy officer’s—onto the oblong table in the middle of the cabin, clasped his hands behind his back, and sauntered toward her, his eyes on the portrait.



“What do you want with me?”



“I am sorry for the manner of your coming here, Miss…?” He cocked one eyebrow at her.



“Ransome. Charlotte Ransome. My brother is Commodore William Ransome. He will hunt you down. And when he finds you—”



“When he finds me,” the pirate said, sighing, “I am certain the encounter shall be quite violent and bloody. Is that what you were going to say?”



Charlotte ground her teeth together. The man stood there, serene as a vicar on the Sabbath, acting as if they stood in a drawing room in Liverpool discussing the weather. “What do you want with me?”



“With you? Nothing.” He flicked an invisible speck of dust from the oval frame. “My business is with her.”



“With her?” Charlotte nodded toward the painting. “Is that…?”



“Julia Witherington—or Julia Ransome, as I have lately learned. Empress of the Tierra Dulce sugar empire.”



The strange lilt in his voice when he said Julia’s name sent a chill down Charlotte’s spine. “Yes, she is married. To my brother.”



“The famous Commodore Ransome.” The pirate turned and ambled toward the dining table. “His reputation precedes him.”



Worry riddled Charlotte at the pirate’s lack of worry over the thought of William’s hunting him down and blowing him and his crew out of the water. After Charlotte escaped, naturally.



“You were not part of my plan, little Charlotte Ransome.” He turned, leaned against the edge of the table, and crossed his arms. The coat pulled across his broad chest and muscular shoulders. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, softening the way his heavy black brows hooded his eyes. His nose had been aquiline once, but now it sported a bump about halfway down from whence the rest of the appendage angled slightly to his left. A scar stretched across his forehead and down into his left eyebrow. On first sight he could have passed for Spanish, but his accent marked him as an Englishman.



If he weren’t a no-good, dastardly, cowardly, kidnapping pirate, she might consider him handsome.



“Did you kill him?” The question squeezed past her throat unbidden.



“Him?”



“Ned—Captain Cochrane. The man with me on the porch.” She schooled her emotions as best she could, pretending the man standing before her was none other than Kent, her nemesis during her days aboard Audacious as a midshipman.



“If he is dead, it is through no work of me or my men. We do not kill for sport, only for defense.”



“Ha!” The mirthless laugh popped out before she could stop it. “Morality from a pirate? Someone who spends his life pillaging and thieving and destroying and killing and…and…” Heat flooded her face.



“And?” The pirate stood and stalked toward her, an odd gleam in his dark eyes. “And ravishing young women? Is that what you were going to say?”



Charlotte backed away, right into the edge of the desk. She gripped it hard. “N-no.”



The pirate leaned over her, hands on either side of her atop the desk, trapping her. “Do not try to lie to me, little Charlotte Ransome. You have no talent for it.”



Stays digging into her waist, she bent as far back as she could. “Yes, then. Ravishing.” Not that he would get a chance to ravish her. A fork. A penknife. Anything with a sharp edge or point. Once she had something like that in her possession, she would be able to defend herself against him.



Up close, the pirate’s brown eyes held chips of gold and green. A hint of dark whiskers lay just beneath the skin of his jaw and above his upper lip.



He blinked when someone knocked on the door but didn’t move. “Come!”



“Captain, Lau and Declan are back.”



“Very good. I shall meet with them in the wheelhouse momentarily to hear their report. Dismissed.”



Charlotte wanted to cry out to stop the other man from leaving, but she knew she deluded herself. She was no safer with any man on this ship than with their captain.



Would Ned still want her—even be able to look at her—after the pirates were finished with her?



“What’s this?” The pirate reached up and touched Charlotte’s cheek. “Tears?”



She shook her head, more to dislodge his hand than in denial.



With another sigh he straightened and then handed her a handkerchief. “Calm yourself, Miss Ransome. I have no intention of ravishing you. Nor of allowing anyone else to ravish you. While you are aboard my ship, you are under my protection.”



He crossed to the table and retrieved his hat. “You, however, must stay to this cabin at all times. Though my men know my rules of conduct, a few of them might give in to the temptation of their baser desires should they see you about on deck.”



Charlotte leaned heavily against the desk. The handkerchief in her hand was of the finest lawn, embroidered white-on-white with a Greek-key design around the edge. She frowned at the bit of cloth. Why would a pirate carry something so delicate?



He settled the bicorne on his dark head, points fore-and-aft, the same way the officers of the Royal Navy wore theirs.



“Who are you?”



He touched the fore tip of the hat and then flourished a bow. “I am called El Salvador, and you are aboard my ship, Vengeance. Welcome to my home, Miss Ransome.”




My Thoughts:
I haven't had a chance to read this book, but if it is anything like the first two in the trilogy it will be well worth the time spent reading it. Book 2 finished on a bit of a cliff hanger, so I can't wait to read this and find out what happened.

Sunday 14 August 2011

Something A Little Different

Hi Everyone!

I want to take this time to introduce someone to you who is doing something interesting with cross stitch.

Chrissea over at Chrisseas-Corner is doing what she calls Tie Dye Cross Stitch Art.

It's pretty groovy! And you can purchase it from her Etsy site or on Ebay.

If you're curious have a look on her blog (see link above).
Here's a picture of one of her pieces.


Tuesday 9 August 2011

Teaser Tuesday - August 9



Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:


  • Grab your current read

  • Open to a random page

  • Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page

  • BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)

  • Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

I thought I would put in a teaser with a difference today. How many of you actually read the dedication at the start of the book? Or the acknowledgements?

My teaser comes from the dedication of the following book:

That Certain Spark by Cathy Marie Hake

'There are many forms of courage -
Blazing a new trail,
Taking an unpopular stand,
Stepping out in that moment of faith,
Laughter instead of tears for somone else's sake,
Enduring physical, spiritual, and emotional anguish,
Holding onto God with trust instead of desperation,
Forgiving as we were forgiven.
Loving one another.
Asking for help to bear a burden.'

Contentment Reading Challenge 2011 - July

create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!

Last month I accidentally included a book from this month, but I'll get my totals right up to the end of July.

For July, I read a total of 3 books for this challenge. They were:

  1. Letter Perfect by Cathy Marie Hake
  2. Bittersweet by Cathy Marie Hake
  3. Fancy Pants by Cathy Marie Hake
I guess you could say I had a Cathy Marie Hake month! I love her books, they are so much fun to read. The first two are a pair, but the third is part of a different series - the rest of which I have read so far in August - but I'll tell you about them with my next update.

So that now takes me to 27 books for the challenge.

First Wild Card Tour - 12 Questions to Ask Before You Marry by Clayton and Charie King

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:


12 Questions to Ask Before You Marry

Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to Catherine Miller, Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for telly me about NetGalley.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Clayton and Charie King have been married for over ten years and share a passion to serve Christ through ministry, missions, and marriage. Clayton is a pastor and the author of Amazing Encounters with God and Dying to Live, and he is the founder and president of Crossroads Worldwide. Charie is an artist, author, and a popular speaker at youth and women’s conferences. Clayton and Charie have two sons.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:




Longing to help dating couples prepare for lasting marriages, popular author and pastor Clayton King and his wife, Charie, guide them through 12 relationship-building questions about family, finances, and faith and unveil the biblical perspective that creates a forever marriage—it is better to serve rather than be served.



Product Details:

List Price: $11.99
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736937773
ISBN-13: 978-0736937771

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Are You Willing to Grow Up?

Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth…Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ.

Ephesians 4:14-15


Here is the best advice on marriage and relationships I have ever heard in my life. Partially because it is simple, blunt, and easy to remember. Mostly because it is absolutely true. Are you ready?

Grow up.

Rick Warren, the well-known author and pastor from California, said that after 30 years of marriage and relationship counseling sessions, he could sum up nearly all of what needs to be said to both men and women in those two words—grow up. I agree.

That is why Charie and I chose to put this chapter near the beginning. Right off the bat, straight out of the gate, you need to know that just about every other problem or challenge or struggle that arises in your marriage will only be a secondary issue. The primary issue will be your level of maturity. Because that maturity, above all other things, will determine whether or not you work together as a team to solve problems or whether you act like children, puffing and pouting and pontificating under pressure, and eventually quitting the relationship.

The bottom line is simple. Marriage is for grown-ups. It is too difficult and requires too much effort, patience, and self-control for people with the maturity level of children. And keep this point in mind: Maturity is not about your age. It is about your acceptance of responsibility.

Acting Like a Kid

There is something epic, right, and good about watching a mom or a dad lay down the law with their five-year-old in the grocery store. I’ve always been impressed with parents who are firm with their kids and aren’t swayed by their emotional outbursts and toddler tirades. So many kids rule and reign over their parents, ignoring their warnings, flopping about on the floor like a smallmouth bass out of water. So when a mom or dad actually follows through on a threat by stopping their child from behaving badly, popping them on the bottom, or grabbing them by the hand and taking them outside to the car or the parking lot, I just want to shout with joy. It’s beautiful to watch a mom or a dad accept the responsibility of being the parent. They’re acting like grown-ups. And one day their children will also act like grown-ups because their responsible parents taught them how to be responsible for their actions from their earliest years.

I saw something along these lines unfold one day in the post office that left an indelible mark on me. It involved a mom and her son. And it’s the perfect illustration of what happens when adults refuse to grow up, to mature, before they tie the knot.

I was behind them in line observing the interaction between mommy and son. This kid was…I really don’t know how to describe him. Awful? Disrespectful? Obnoxious? None of these do him justice. Put plainly, the kid was out of control. Yelling, jumping, pulling envelopes off the shelves. His mom was pitiful. Threatening him. Screaming at him. Rolling her eyes and snapping her fingers. It was a just a big display of futility. The kid knew his mom wasn’t going to follow through with any of her threats. They had played this game before. He knew he could act however he wanted and get away with it.

Everyone there was embarrassed. The clerks looked frazzled. But all of the grown-ups in the room knew it was not the five-year-old who was to blame. It was his mother. Even though she had accumulated enough years to be considered a grown-up, she was, in a sense, as immature as her son.

Then everything changed. The boy was running in and out of the large, heavy swinging doors that led to the parking lot. These were thick glass doors with steel frames. Every time he would run through them, he would push them open really hard, and try to jump back through them before they would close. And they would bang closed.

As the tiny tyrant was playing his game while his mother screamed more threats at him, an older woman with both hands full of boxes opened the other swinging door. And right as that door began to swing backward, the kid was jumping through, playing his game. He never saw the door the woman had let go.

The timing was perfect. The physics were just right. The door caught the boy at just the right angle and at full velocity as he came full-speed toward it. The kid was maybe 40 pounds, the door was at least 150 pounds, and he went airborne.

It sounded and looked way worse than it actually was. He was scared out of his mind. There was no blood, no real injury. But it was as if the cosmic forces of justice and discipline decided to step in and deal with a young boy whose mother was not willing to. All of us in the post office froze until we realized he was okay. And as he shrieked and cried and screamed bloody murder, we tried our best not roll on the floor laughing.

For some of you, sadly, this will be your marriage story. Playing games, having fun, acting like a child, when—BOOM! Out of nowhere you will get sideswiped and knocked on your back, and wonder what in the world happened.

Acting Your Age

People who are willing to grow up are developing the wisdom and foresight to look ahead and predict the outcomes of the decisions they make. If they don’t like what they see in their future, they make changes. They redirect their spending. They pick new friends. They begin reading books and turn off the TV and computer. They put away their cell phones when they need time to think. They watch what they eat. They adjust how they handle relationships.

Fools are not willing to grow up. They like being able to have fun and do what they want. They can run around and scream and yell and pull stuff off the shelves, so to speak. And they can play silly little games with other people’s hearts and emotions. They can sleep around, fool around, and break up with people at will. But just like the rowdy kid in the post office, if they refuse to grow up, hoping a great marriage will automatically come along someday, they will get blindsided by a force bigger and stronger than them. The kid never saw the door coming. Millions of people each year never see the divorce, the affair, or the meltdown coming.

Mature adults see trouble in the future as a result of their current decisions, and they change. Immature kids don’t.

This is why God gave us parents. Whether yours were good or bad, the job of parents is to guide and protect their children, preparing them to be mature adults in the real world one day. All good parents have, at one time or another, told their child to “act your age.” The assumption is that if a child is eight years old, they aren’t allowed to roll around on the floor in the middle of Wal-Mart like a two-year-old who doesn’t get the toy they want. There is an expectation that is not only natural but also normal. There needs to be level of maturity that is equivalent to the number of years a person has been alive.

So before you tie the knot, it is paramount that you deal with this issue as quickly as possible. Again, every single issue and problem and misunderstanding you face in your future as a married man or woman will be framed by your maturity level. If you have never really grown up emotionally, you will find yourself in the midst of a disagreement over something as insignificant as whose family you will visit over the Christmas holidays, and before you know it, it has blown up, and so have you, into an all-out fight. And you (or maybe both of you) are dredging up things from years past, making accusations that are irrelevant to the decision about Christmas plans, and raising your voices to the decibel level of a Metallica concert…all because you did not get your way in the discussion.

Be honest. Do you ever do this? Internally or externally? If you’ve never really asked yourself this question, you should do it right now. And answer truthfully. There is nobody to judge you or make you feel bad. I’m not here watching you—I wrote these words long before you picked up our book. So what do you have to gain by being dishonest about your maturity level? Just own up to it and tell the truth. It’s the first step in preparing yourself to be the kind of woman or man who is ready for the lifelong commitment of marriage.

Read the Signs

On the next couple of pages, you’ll find a basic list of words, attitudes, behaviors, actions, and reactions to serve as a grid…a grid by which you can judge your own level of emotional, spiritual, social, and financial maturity. Look at them as you would look at road signs.

The department of motor vehicles in your state will not issue you a driver’s license until you can prove to them (on a test, administered in a crowded building by less-than-happy DMV employees, usually) that you not only know how to read all road signs, but that you can also interpret what they mean. The DMV wants to know that you are competent enough to obey posted signs—signs that indicate laws that were established for our protection.

God has established laws in the universe He created. His laws are for our benefit and blessing, to protect us and keep us from harming others and ourselves. He has given us signs that He cares for us by establishing laws governing our behavior. He’s given us the Bible, the church, pastors and teachers and leaders, our parents, coaches, and the experience of older people to warn us. If we ignore the signs, we pay the price, just as ignoring road signs could cost us a speeding ticket or a head-on collision. It could cost us a fine, our privilege of driving, or even our life. So it’s much better to read the signs and obey them. Or as one observer of life has pointedly reminded all of us, “You better check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

As you consider your maturity level, do not be discouraged if you realize that you do indeed need to grow up in one or more areas. Rather, be motivated to change, make course corrections, get help, seek a mentor, read some books, see a counselor, change jobs. If you merely feel bad over being immature, you’ve missed the point. Think of these words as shining a light into your life that will illuminate you to yourself.

You may need to grow up if…

You are over 30 years old and still live with your parents. With the exceptions of caring for aging or sick family members or the sudden loss of a job, by your thirties, unless there is a physical or mental limitation, you should be self-sufficient enough to leave the nest. Who really wants to marry someone who still lives in their parents’ basement at age 34?

You have never had a job of any kind for more than six months. If you have never worked, you need a job. Any job will do. Just start somewhere. You need the experience. If you’ve had numerous jobs over the years and none of them have lasted very long, it may be a sign that you are lazy or easily bored, or have a problem being told what to do by a boss.

You are unable to pay your basic bills each month. Without assistance from family members or friends, you simply could not make it financially. This includes car insurance, rent, groceries, power bill, and basic medical expenses. If you can’t pay your basic bills, you will cause a train wreck by getting married to someone.

As a general rule, you lack self-control in your life. Whether it’s your spending habits, how much you eat, the amount of time you spend watching TV, or your constant obsession with being online (checking e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, or YouTube), these are signs of immaturity, and are a crucial red flag that points to an inability to control your desires.

Your relationships look more like a roller coaster than a marathon. You are unable to develop long-term relationships with the opposite sex. You’ve never learned how to push through problems, boredom, or conflict, and your default mechanism is to break it off and start a new one. Your past is filled with failure in the area of commitment.

You always play the victim. You’re always secretly trying to uncover a conspiracy by your peers to exclude you from social outings, parties, get-togethers, or group dates. It’s immature to think that the cosmic forces of nature and love have combined their powers to hurt you. None of us are that important in the grand scheme of things.

You tend to speak negatively of other people. Whether in one-on-one conversations or in large groups, your habit is to bash or attack someone who is not present to defend themselves. Immature people say things about people behind their back (or online) that they would never dream of saying to their face. This can ruin a marriage in a hurry, because it reveals deep insecurities.

You are plagued by jealousy. Little children get upset on the playground when they see their best friend playing with or talking to another child. Grown-ups get past this stage…at least they should. Are you consistently jealous of other people’s possessions, salaries, houses, cars, friends, physical appearance, or family? Can you celebrate the blessings of God in others’ lives? Or does God’s goodness to others stir up envy inside your heart toward them?

You have trouble finishing. My two sons are notorious for starting little projects around the house, getting bored, and then abandoning them for us to clean up. They don’t know how to finish things yet because they’re not even ten years old. If you are known for beginning things all gung-ho with great passion, but you consistently fizzle out and never see it through, this is a relationship killer. Marriage is not something you can start, then walk away from, without serious emotional damage. Grown-ups finish what they start.

You are crippled by debt. If you are single and want to get married, the most practical area of your life to examine is your finances. This is the issue most couples fight about most often. If you owe tens of thousands of dollars on credit cards, student loans, your car, and so on, then your problem is not your debt. It’s immaturity. You haven’t yet learned how to live within your means.

You can’t say no. Marriage by nature requires you to say “no” to thousands of other opportunities (and possible mates) so that you can say “yes” to one person for a lifetime. If you are the guy or the girl who is always taking care of others, bailing your friends out, staying up ’til 2 a.m. on the phone trying to talk them out of another crisis, then you will have a rude awakening once your mate expects you to give them your undivided attention and affection.

You fall in love too fast. How many times have you told someone that you were “in love” with them since you turned 18? This may be an indication that you need to mature emotionally. Falling in love after every first date shows you haven’t really moved very far toward emotional maturity. It also guarantees you will get hurt as often as you fall in love, leaving your heart wounded for years to come.

Your relationships are too physical. If you have a track record of messing around and messing up with just about everyone you’ve ever liked or dated, this is bad news. When you start out basing a relationship on making out, kissing, or fooling around physically, you teach yourself to ignore the other person, their feelings, and the self-control that is essential in a godly marriage. Adults draw the line and stand back. Children run ahead without caution and suffer for it.

You have a problem with authority. Pay attention to this one, because marriage is about submitting completely, heart and soul, to someone else. Children hate being told what to do, regardless of their inability to be responsible for themselves. Are you like that? Do you tend to rebel against all forms of authority in your life? Do you balk at being told what to do by the government, the IRS, even a traffic policeman? Grown-ups understand that submission to authority is in their best interest, and they are willing to submit to God first and then to one another. Immature kids rebel.

Do I need to grow up?

I vividly remember the moment in my life when I started to ask that question.

I’d been dating a girl off and on for about four years. We were both in college, in our early twenties, and hopelessly “in love” with each other. There were only a few minor problems.

Neither one of us could ever feel any sense of peace from God that we should get married.
We came from totally different backgrounds.
Our families were as different as night and day.
Her parents begged her to break up with me (a real
bummer for a dating relationship).
We had fairly consistent arguments about meaningless things where one or both of us would end up in tears.
(As I said, a few minor problems.)
It was during one of our arguments about something totally insignificant that I had a sort of “out-of-body” experience. It was as if I was looking at myself from above, and what I saw scared me because it was really happening.

I was sitting on the floor, frustrated and angry and confused. I was crying like a baby. She was lying on the floor, balled up in the fetal position, weeping and wailing and telling me how I never listened. It occurred to me that this scene looked like an episode of The Jerry Springer Show. We were both acting like little children.

Then and there the reality set in. We were not ready for marriage. We couldn’t even have a healthy dating relationship. We were totally wrong for each other.

I broke it off and never looked back. My problem was immaturity. I needed to grow up.



In the remainder of the book Charie and I will explore these ideas and encourage you to continue asking yourself difficult questions as you prepare yourself to become the kind of woman or man that is ready for the lifelong commitment of marriage. You may want to come back to the list in this chapter and glance at it as you read, asking yourself if your biggest issue is your maturity level.

Remember, everything you face in marriage can be dealt with and handled correctly if you and your spouse have the maturity to work together as a team, by God’s grace, to tackle any problem that comes your way.

In what areas of your life do you need to grow up?



My Thoughts:
I didn't get to finish reading this, but what I did read was challenging, and gave me many things to think about. Even though I don't yet have a prospective husband, it was worth thinking about the issues in this book. I plan to get an actual copy of this book (I was reading a PDF from NetGalley), and will probably share it with some of my single friends. I hadn't been sure if I was going to be ready for this book, since I have never even had a boyfriend, but in each chapter I found things that I can learn and apply even now in my other relationships.