Holden Harris is locked in a prison of autism, bullied by kids who don’t understand his quiet, quirky ways. Ella Reynolds, star of the school drama production takes an interest in Holden after she catches him listening to her rehearse for the school play. Will friendship, faith, and the power of song be enough to unlock the miracle that Holden needs
My Review: I am so excited to be reviewing for Zondervan! On top of that the first book I am able to review is from one of my favorite authors~ Karen Kingsbury!
Unlocked is a stand alone book and according to Karen it is one of her favorites to date! It is also based on a family who experienced this in real life! The book Unlocked is based on a young man who has autism and his mother who loves, encourages and NEVER gives up hope that maybe one day her boy may return to her! She longs to hear him speak, or just to have a hug in return. I don't know about you but I can't imagine the pain these families go through with children of autism! Unlocked is a wonderful story filled with HOPE and PERSEVERANCE! Karen's books always leave me with many lessons as well and I am so thankful she listens to the Lord along the way as she writes! She deals with real life and this book is so right on with the youth of today! Karen deals with peer pressure, bullying, as well as teen suicide and does an amazing job!
We all need to understand that the Lord has given us a Purpose, and HE loves us so much.
Thank you Zondervan for allowing me this opportunity to review this book in exchange for my honest review! Thank you Karen Kingsbury for writing yet another amazing Novel and for sharing your gift and operating in your God-given Purpose!
I am soooo excited to share this review with you guys! Isnt it awesome when you can share your love of books with your friends!! well, my friend Angel has her own book blog & has just been accepted with CFBA to begin reviewing! Before we knew this, she had agreed to read & review The PREACHERS Bride for me! So here she is! Thank you all for allowing me to share MY Love of reading with all of you ♥ ANGELS REVIEW:
Jody Hedlund’s book, The Preacher’s Bride, is based on the true story of John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress. The story line follows the life of Elizabeth, John’s second wife. Elizabeth is a selfless young lady with a servants heart. She is willing to sacrifice her own happiness and dreams to protect and care for John’s four children from his first marriage. John is committed to preaching God’s Word, Elizabeth is committed to helping him by being caregiver to the kids and housekeeper for the entire family. Did the two ever expect to fall in love?
Jody Hedlund does a fabulous job weaving a, somewhat, fictional path through this classic story. Definitely a page turner, always wanting to read more to find out what kind of danger Elizabeth is in. What trouble John is in. Where the two will end up!!
I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading historical Christian romance.
Jody has written novels for the last 16 years (with a hiatus when her children were young. In May of 2009 she double-finaled in the Genesis contest, a national fiction-writing contest for unpublished writers, sponsored by American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW.Shortly after the final, Jody acquired an agent, Rachelle Gardner of Word Serve Literary. Her agent spent the summer of 2009 working on selling her books. In September of that year, Jody signed a three-book deal with Bethany House Publishers. Jody’s debut novel, The Preacher’s Bride, releases in Oct. 2010. Her next book will release in 2011 and a third in 2012.
ABOUT THE BOOK
In 1650s England, a young Puritan maiden is on a mission to save the baby of her newly widowed preacher--whether her assistance is wanted or not. Always ready to help those in need, Elizabeth ignores John's protests of her aid. She's even willing to risk her lone marriage prospect to help the little family. Yet Elizabeth's new role as nanny takes a dangerous turn when John's boldness from the pulpit makes him a target of political and religious leaders. As the preacher's enemies become desperate to silence him, they draw Elizabeth into a deadly web of deception. Finding herself in more danger than she ever bargained for, she's more determined than ever to save the child--and man--she's come to love.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!! I AM BLOGGING TO WIN THIS CAMERA!! :)
The girls over @ The Secret is in the Sauce are hosting this OH SO AWESOME giveaway and I am sooo excited! Tiffany, who is OH SO PRETTY has asked us to share one of our favorite memories with you!! My favorite year was when all of our family dressed up as the Wizard of OZ! Even our little YORKY was an excellent "TOTO!" We had soooo much fun!
Our whole family LOVES photography and it would be uh mazing to win this Canon Rebel T2!
Wow! Bill Myers has done it again! Leaving us with plenty to ponder and keeping us from being able to put the book down! I really think you will be inspired when you read the God Haters! Enjoy the excerpt below: Happy Friday to all :)
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!
Howard Books; Original edition (September 28, 2010)
***Special thanks to Libby Reed, Publicity Assistant, HOWARD BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bill Myers is an author, screenwriter, and director whose work has won more than fifty national and international awards, including the C.S. Lewis Honor Award.
List Price: $14.99 Paperback: 320 pages Publisher: Howard Books; Original edition (September 28, 2010) Language: English ISBN-10: 1439153264 ISBN-13: 978-1439153260
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Samuel Preston, a local reporter with bronzed skin and glow-in-the-dark teeth, turned to one of the guests of his TV show, God Talk. “So what’s your take on all of this, Dr. Mackenzie?”
The sixty-something professor stared silently at his wristwatch. He had unruly white hair and wore an outdated sports coat.
“Dr. Mackenzie?”
He glanced up, disoriented, then turned to the host who repeated the question. “What are your feelings about the book?”
Clearing his throat, Mackenzie raised the watch to his ear and gave it a shake. “I was wondering . . .” He dropped off, his bushy eyebrows gathered into a scowl as he listened for a sound.
The second guest, a middle-aged pastor with a shirt collar two sizes too small, smiled, “Yes?”
Mackenzie gave up on the watch and turned to him. “Do you make up this drivel as you go along? Or do you simply parrot others who have equally stunted intellects?”
The pastor, Dr. William Hathaway, blinked. Still smiling, he turned back to the host. “I was under the impression we were going to discuss my new book?”
“Oh, we are,” Preston assured him. “But it’s always good to have a skeptic or two in the midst, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ah,” Hathaway nodded, “of course.” He turned back to Mackenzie, his smile never wavering. “I am afraid what you term as ‘drivel’ is based upon a faith stretching back thousands of years.”
Mackenzie removed one or two dog hairs from his slacks. “We have fossilized dinosaur feces older than that.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just because something’s old, doesn’t stop it from being crap.”
Dr. Hathaway’s smile twitched. He turned in his chair so he could more fully address the man. “We’re talking about a time honored religion that millions of —”
“And that’s supposed to be a plus,” Mackenzie said, “that it’s religious? I thought you wanted to support your nonsense.”
“I see. Well it may interest you to know that—“
“Actually, it doesn’t interest me at all.” The old man turned to Preston. “How much longer will we be?”
The host chuckled. “Just a few more minutes, Professor.”
Working harder to maintain his smile, Hathaway replied, “So, if I understand correctly, you’re not a big fan of the benefits of Christianity?”
“Benefits?” Mackenzie pulled a used handkerchief from his pocket and began looking for an unsoiled portion. “Is that what the 30,000 Jews who were tortured and killed during the Inquisition called it? Benefits?”
“That’s not entirely fair.”
“And why is that?”
“For starters, most of them weren’t Jews.”
“I’m sure they’re already feeling better.”
“What I am saying is—”
“What you are saying, Mr . . . Mr—”
“Actually, it’s Doctor.”
“Actually, you’re a liar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Finding an unused area of his handkerchief, Mackenzie took off his glasses and cleaned them.
The pastor continued. “It may interest you to know that—”
“We’ve already established my lack of interest.”
“It may interest you to know that I hold several honorary doctorates.”
“Honorary doctorates.”
“That’s correct.”
“Honorary, as in unearned, as in good for nothing . . . unless it’s to line the bottom of bird cages.” He held his glasses to the light, checking for any remaining smudges.
Hathaway took a breath and regrouped. “You can malign my character all you wish, but there is no refuting the benefits outlined in my new book.”
“Ah yes, the benefits.” Mackenzie lowered his glasses and worked on the other lens. “Like the million plus lives slaughtered during the Crusades?”
“That figure can be disputed.”
“Correct. It may be higher.”
Hathaway shifted in his seat. “The Crusades were a long time ago and in an entirely different culture.”
“So you’d prefer something closer to home? Perhaps the witch hunts of New England?”
“I’m not here to—”
“Fifteen thousand human beings murdered in Europe and America. Fifteen thousand.”
“Again, that’s history and not a part of today’s—”
“Then let us discuss more recent atrocities—towards the blacks, the gays, the Muslim population. Perhaps a dialogue on the bombing of abortion clinics?”
“Please, if you would allow me—”
Mackenzie turned to Preston. “Are we finished here?”
Fighting to be heard, Hathaway continued. “If people will read my book, they will clearly see—”
“Are we finished?”
“Yes, Professor,” Preston chuckled. “I believe we are.”
“But we’ve not discussed my Seven Steps to Successful—”
“Perhaps another time, Doctor.”
Mackenzie rose, shielding his eyes from the bright studio lights as Hathaway continued. “But there are many issues we need to—”
“I’m sure there are,” Preston agreed while keeping an eye on Mackenzie who stepped from the platform and headed off camera. “And I’m sure it’s all there in your book. Seven Steps to—”
***
Annie Brooks clicked off the remote to her television.
“Mom,” Rusty mumbled, “I was watching . . .” he drifted back to sleep without finishing the protest.
She looked down at the five year old and smiled. He lay in bed beside her, his hands still clutching Horton Hears a Who! Each night he’d been reading it to her, though she suspected it was more reciting from memory than reading. She tenderly kissed the top of his head before absent-mindedly looking back to the TV.
He’d done it again. Her colleague and friend—if Dr. Nicholas Mackenzie could be said to have any friends—had shredded another person of faith. This time a Christian, some mega-church pastor hawking his latest book. Next time it could just as easily be a Jew or Muslim or Buddhist. The point was that Nicholas hated religion. And Heaven help anybody who tried to defend it.
She sighed and looked back down to her son. He was breathing heavily, mouth slightly ajar. She brushed the bangs from his face and gave him another kiss. She’d carry him back to bed soon enough. But for now she would simply savor his presence. Nothing gave her more joy. And for that, with or without Nicholas’ approval, Annie Brooks was grateful to her God.
* * * * *
“Excuse me?” Nicholas called from the back seat of the Lincoln Town Car.
The driver didn’t hear.
He leaned forward and spoke louder. “You just passed the freeway entrance.”
The driver, some black kid with a shaved head, turned on the stereo. It was an urban chant, its beat so powerful Nicholas could feel it pounding in his gut. He unbuckled his seat belt and scooted to the open partition separating them. “Excuse me! You—”
The tinted window slid up, nearly hitting him in the face.
He pulled back in surprise, then banged on the glass. “Excuse me!” The music was fainter but still vibrated the car. “Excuse me!”
No response.
He slumped back into the seat. Stupid kid. And rude. He’d realize his mistake soon enough. And after Nicholas’ call to the TV station tomorrow, he’d be back on the streets looking for another job. Trying to ignore the music, Nicholas stared out the window, watching the Santa Barbara lights soften as fog rolled in. Over the years the station’s drivers had always been polite and courteous. Years, as in Nicholas was a frequent guest on God Talk. Despite his general distain for people, not to mention his reclusive lifestyle, he always accepted the producer’s invitation. Few things gave him more pleasure than exposing the toxic nature of religion. Besides, these outings provided a nice change of pace. Instead of the usual stripping away of naïve college students’ faith in his classroom, the TV guests occasionally provided a challenge.
Occasionally.
Other than his duties at the University of California Santa Barbara, these trips were his only exposure to the outside world. He had abandoned society long ago. Or rather, it had abandoned him. Not that there was any love lost. Today’s culture was an intellectual wasteland—a world of pre-chewed ideas, politically correct causes, sound bite news coverage, and novels that were nothing more than comic books. (He’d given up on movies and television long ago.) Why waste his time on such pabulum when he could surround himself with Sartre, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche—men whose work would provide more meaningful companionship in one evening than most people could in a lifetime.
Nevertheless, he did tolerate Ari, even fought to keep her during the divorce. She was his faithful companion for over fifteen years, though he should have put her down months ago. Deaf and blind, the golden retriever’s hips had begun to fail. But she wasn’t in pain. Not yet. And until that time, he didn’t mind cleaning up after her occasional accidents or calling in the vet for those expensive house calls. He owed her that. Partially because of her years of patient listening, and partially because of the memories.
The car turned right and entered a residential area. He glanced down to the glowing red buttons on the console beside him. One of them was an intercom to the driver. But, like Herbert Marcuse, the great Neo-Marxist of the 20th Century (and, less popularly, Theodore Kaczynski, the Unabomber of the 1980s) Nicholas mistrusted modern technology as much as he scorned the society that created it. How many times had Annie, a fellow professor, pleaded with him to buy a telephone . . .
“What if there’s an emergency?” she’d insisted. “What if someone needs to call you?”
“Like solicitors?”
“They have Do Not Call lists,” she said. “You can go online and be added to their—”
“Online?”
“Okay, you can write them a letter.”
“And give them what, more personal information?”
“They’d only ask for your phone number.”
“Not if I don’t have one.”
And so the argument continued off and on for years . . . as gift occasions came and went, as his closet gradually filled with an impressive collection of telephones. One thing you could say about Annie Brooks, she was persistent—which may be why he put up with her company, despite the fact she doted over him like he was some old man who couldn’t take care of himself. Besides, she had a good head on her shoulders, when she chose to use it, which meant she occasionally contributed something of worth to their conversations.
Then, of course, there was her boy.
The car slowed. Having no doubt learned the error of his ways, the driver was turning around. Not that it would help him keep his job. That die had already been cast. But the car wasn’t turning. Instead, it pulled to the curb and came to a stop. The locks shot up and the right rear door immediately opened. A man in his early forties appeared—strong jaw, short hair, with a dark suit, white shirt, and black tie.
“Good evening, Doctor.” He slid onto the leather seat beside him.
“Who are you?” Nicholas demanded.
The man closed the door and the car started forward. “I apologize for the cloak and dagger routine, but—”
“Who are you?”
He flipped open an ID badge. “Brad Thompson, HLS.”
“Who?”
“Homeland Security Agent Brad Thompson.” He returned the badge to his coat pocket.
“You’re with the government?”
“Yes sir, Homeland Security.”
“And you’ve chosen to interrupt my ride home because . . .”
“Again, I apologize, but it’s about your brother.”
Nicholas stared at him, giving him no satisfaction of recognition.
“Your brother,” the agent repeated, “Travis Mackenzie?”
Nicholas held his gaze another moment before looking out the window. “Is he in trouble again?”
“Has he contacted you?”
“My brother and I seldom communicate.”
“Yes, sir, about every eighteen months if our information is correct.”
The agent’s knowledge unsettled Nicholas. He turned back to the man. “May I see your identification again?”
“Pardon me?”
“Your identification. You barely allowed me to look at it.”
The agent reached back into his suit coat. “Please understand this is far more serious than his drug conviction, or his computer hacking, or the DUIs.”
Nicholas adjusted his glasses, waiting for the identification.
The agent flipped open his ID holder. “We at HLS are very concerned about his involvement—”
Suddenly, headlights appeared through the back window, their beams on high. The agent looked over his shoulder, then swore under his breath. He reached for the intercom, apparently to give orders to the driver, but the town car was already beginning to accelerate.
“What’s the problem?” Nicholas asked.
The car turned sharply to the left and continued picking up speed.
“I asked you what is happening,” Nicholas repeated.
“Your brother, Professor. Where is he?”
The headlights reappeared behind them, closing in.
“You did not allow me to examine your identification.”
“Please, Doctor—”
“If you do not allow me to examine your identification, I see little—”
“We’ve no time for that!”
The outburst stopped Nicholas as the car took another left, so sharply both men braced themselves against the seat.
The agent turned back to him. “Where is your brother?”
Once again the lights appeared behind them.
Refusing to be bullied, Nicholas repeated, “Unless I’m convinced of your identity, I have little—”
The agent sprang toward him. Grabbing Nicholas’ shirt, he yanked him to his face and shouted, “Where is he?!”
Surprised, but with more pride than common sense, Nicholas answered. “As I said—”
The agent’s fist was a blur as it struck Nicholas’ nose. Nicholas felt the cartilage snap, knew the pain would follow. As would the blood.
“WHERE IS HE?”
The car turned right, tires squealing, tossing the men to the other side. As Nicholas sat up, the agent pulled something from his jacket. There was the black glint of metal and suddenly a cold gun barrel was pressed against his neck. He felt fear rising and instinctively pushed back the emotion. It wasn’t the gun that concerned him, but the fear. That was his enemy. If he could focus, rely on his intellect, he’d have the upper hand. Logic trumped emotion every time. It was a truth that sustained him through childhood, kept him alive in Vietnam, and gave him the strength to survive in today’s world.
The barrel pressed harder.
When he knew he could trust his voice, he answered, “The last time I saw my brother was Thanksgiving.”
The car hit the brakes, skidding to a stop, sliding Nicholas off the seat and onto his knees. The agent caught himself, managing to stay seated. Up ahead, through the glass partition, Nicholas saw a second vehicle racing toward them—a van or truck, its beams also on high.
The agent pounded the partition. “Get us out of here.” he shouted at the driver. “Now!”
The town car lurched backward. It bounced up a curb and onto a front lawn. Tires spun, spitting grass and mud, until they dug in and the vehicle took off. It plowed through a hedge of junipers, branches scraping underneath, then across another lawn. Nicholas looked out his side window as they passed the first vehicle which had been behind them, a late model SUV. They veered back onto the road, snapping off a mailbox. Once again the driver slammed on the brakes, turning hard to the left, throwing the vehicle into a 180 until they were suddenly behind the SUV, facing the opposite direction. Tires screeched as they sped off.
The agent hit the intercom and yelled, “Dump the Professor and get us out of here!”
The car continued to accelerate and made another turn.
Pulling Nicholas into the seat and shoving the gun into his face, the agent shouted, “This is the last time I’m asking!”
Nicholas’ heart pounded, but he kept his voice even. “I have already told you.”
The man chambered a round. But it barely mattered. Nicholas had found his center and would not be moved. “I have not seen him in months.”
“Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
The car made another turn.
“And?”
Nicholas turned to face him. “We ate a frozen dinner and I sent him away.”
The agent searched his eyes. Nicholas held his gaze, unblinking. The car took one last turn, bouncing up onto an unlit driveway, then jerked to a stop. There was no sound, except the pounding music.
“Get out,” the agent ordered.
Nicholas looked through the window. “I have no idea where we—”
“Now.”
Nicholas reached for the handle, opened his door and stepped outside. The air was cold and damp.
“Shut the door.”
He obeyed.
The town car lunged backward, lights off. Once it reached the road it slid to a stop, changed gears and sped off. Nicholas watched as it disappeared into the fog, music still throbbing even after it was out of sight. Only then did he appreciate the pain in his nose and the warm copper taste of blood in his mouth. Still, with grim satisfaction, he realized, he had won. As always, logic and intellect had prevailed.
Rusty Whitener is a novelist, screenwriter, and actor. His first screenplay, Touched, won second place at the 2009 Kairos Prize at the Los Angeles Movieguide Awards and first place at the Gideon film festival. That screenplay soon became A Season of Miracles. The movie version of this book is now in production with Elevating Entertainment. Find out more at www.rustywhitener.com and www.aseasonofmiraclesmovie.com. Videos and book club discussion questions are also available at www.aseasonofmiraclesbook.com.
Endorsements:
“A Season of Miracles is a must read for anyone who has ever played youth baseball. I read the book, and was reacquainted with my childhood. In the midst of an enjoyable read that took me down memory lane was a touching, challenging and beautiful story about how God can use the unlikeliest among us to draw us to Him.”—Matt Diaz, outfielder, Atlanta Braves
“Baseball, inspiration and childhood memories—a great combination. I couldn’t put it down!”—Richard Sterban, bass singer for The Oak Ridge Boys
“Rusty Whitener weaves a deft tale of young friendship and the curve balls of faith, the whole story seasoned with sunshine and the leathery scent of baseball gloves!”—Ray Blackston, author of Flabbergasted
“A Season of Miracles is a heartwarming all American story of small town boys and Little League baseball. You’ll be cheering this captivating bunch of characters all the way home both in their game of baseball and the bigger game of life.”—Ann Gabhart, award-winning author of The Outsider
ABOUT THE BOOK
Looking back on the 1971 Little League season, Zack Ross relives the summer that changed his life…
Gunning for the championship is all that matters until twelve-year-old Zack meets Rafer, a boy whose differences make him an outcast but whose abilities on the baseball field make him the key to victory.
Admired for his contribution to the team, Rafer turns everyone’s expectations upside down, bestowing a gift to Zack and his teammates that forces them to think—is there more to life than winning or losing? And what is this thing called grace?
My Review: A Season of Miracles is a cute story with many great messages. If you like baseball or played in your childhoold then this is definitely the book for you! Back when times seemed to move along at a slower place and summers lasted forever! A Season of Miracles shares with us a group of boys who are close and respectful of one another. They are happy to win but even happier just playing the game they love. The friendship between Zack and Rafer is a lesson to all! I would rate this book ♥ ♥ ♥ 1/2 because if you aren't a lover of baseball then you MIGHT not enjoy this book as much because just as in any bb season you are almost always at game or a practice ~ so it is in the Season of Miracles!
Thankyou CFBA for the complimentary copy in exchange for this honest review
RIVER JORDAN began her writing career as a playwright with the Loblolly Theatre group. She teaches and speaks nationwide on ‘The Power of Story’, is a monthly contributor to the southern authors’ collective A Good Blog is Hard To Find, and produces and hosts the weekly radio program CLEARSTORY with River Jordan, in Nashville, where she and her husband live. She is the author of Saints in Limbo and this is her fourth novel.
About the Book:
Mercy Land has made some unexpected choices for a young woman in the 1930s. The sheltered daughter of a traveling preacher, she chooses to leave her rural community to move to nearby Bay City on the warm, gulf-waters of southern Alabama. There she finds a job at the local paper and spends seven years making herself indispensible to old Doc Philips, the publisher and editor. Then she gets a frantic call at dawn—it’s the biggest news story of her life, and she can’t print a word of it.
Doc has come into possession of a curious book that maps the lives of everyone in Bay City—decisions they’ve made in the past, and how those choices affect the future. Mercy and Doc are consumed by the mystery locked between the pages—Doc because he hopes to right a very old wrong, and Mercy because she wants to fulfill the book’s strange purpose. But when a mysterious stranger shows up, Mercy begins to understand she may have to choose between love and loneliness . . . or good and evil . . . for the rest of her life.
My Review:
I was very intrigued with this book "The Miracle of Mercy Land" and in the beginning I could not figure out what in the world this "Book" that Doc and Mercy had in their possession was! Let me tell, you I had to continue to read and the more I read the more intrigued I became. River Jordan is an unbelievable Story teller and weaves a tale unlike any other author I have read. I felt as if I was there with Mercy and in some instances when she was in certain situations my heart was racing and I was wishing I could help her out of her situations! Mercy is a young woman who has some serious "gumption" about her! She knows who she is and no one is going to take her off the course she is set on! Doc is a precious man who has quite the reputation and is a man full of intregrity and character. As these two grow closer and depend upon one another more and more they also get more involved in this book. The truth of their pasts are revealed and the choices they make will set the course for their future.
Miracle of Mercy Land is a great read and one that I would recommend ! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Thank you Waterbrook Multnomah and Waterbrook Press for allowing me this complimentary issue in exchange for this honest review!
I can't even begin to tell you excited I was to be a part of this blog tour! When I saw this book was available for Review I jumped on it soooo fast praying I would make the cutoff and Praise the LORD, I DID!
Sarah Palin is an unbelievable woman, mom, and a Force to be reckoned with in the Political arena. I am not one to speak politics here @ Heart of a Bookworm but I am proud to share and recommend this book "The Faith and Values of Sarah Palin" She is a strong woman with a strong Faith. She is grounded and knows where her Foundation lies. She doesn't hold back and while she may not have started out strong, she soon won the respect of the Alaskans by her Honesty and Values to keep her campaign promises. Sarah Palin has continued to stay true to who she is and all she believes in and this book is one I highly recommend! Enjoy your look into this amazing testimony of Sarah Palin ~
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!
***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Book Group | Strang Communications for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Stephen Mansfield is the New York Times best-selling author of The Faith of George W. Bush, The Faith of Barack Obama, Benedict XVI: His Life and Mission, and Never Give In: The Extraordinary Character of Winston Churchill, among other works of history and biography. Founder of both The Mansfield Group, a consulting and communications firm, and Chartwell Literary Group, which creates and manages literary projects, Stephen is also in wide demand as a lecturer and speaker.
David A. Holland is an author, speaker, media consultant, and award-winning copywriter who writes the popular blog BlatherWinceRepeat.com and the satirical ChrisMatthewsLeg.com. He is the co-author of Paul Harvey’s America, as well as numerous articles, essays, and opinion pieces. David makes his home with his wife and daughters in Dallas, Texas.
List Price: $22.99 Hardcover: 256 pages Publisher: Frontline Pub Inc (September 21, 2010) Language: English ISBN-10: 1616381647 ISBN-13: 978-1616381646
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Roots of Faith and Daring
Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy.1
—Robert A. Heinlein
It is a warm summer day in June of 1964, and at Christ the King Roman Catholic Church in Richland, Washington, a tender moment is unfolding. A small group of the faithful has gathered before a candled altar and a patiently waiting priest. Though the church is spare, it is transformed into regal splendor by the color of deep green evidenced in the vestments of the priest and in the cloth that adorns the altar. This is the color that the Christian church has used for centuries to signify the liturgical season of Pentecost, in which the coming of God’s Spirit is celebrated, in which refreshing and new birth are the themes. It is a fitting symbolism for today’s event, for a child is soon to be baptized. When all are settled, the priest steps to the fore and nods his head to a young family. They move, solemnly, to the baptismal font—a father, a mother, a two-year-old boy, a one-year-old girl, and the infant who is the object of today’s attention. “Peace be with you,” the good priest begins.“And also with you,” those gathered respond.“And what is the child’s name?” the priest asks. “Sarah Louise Heath,” comes the answer.
“And what is your name?” the priest asks the parents.
The answer comes, but it is obvious to all that the energetic part of that answer, the one filled with eagerness and faith, has come from the child’s mother. She is a striking figure. Slightly taller than her husband, she is lean and feminine, possessing a sinewy strength that is unusual for a mother of three. Her eyes are intelligent, slightly wearied but quick to flash into joy. Her mouth is wise, reflecting a sense of the irony in the world and yet disarmingly sweet.
It is her voice, though, that her children and her friends will comment upon most throughout her life. It has a musical lilt that rises and falls with meaning and emotion. It makes the most mundane statement a song, transforming a book read to children before bed or a prayer said before a family meal into a work of art.
This young mother was born Sally Ann Sheeran in 1940 and so took her place in a large, proud, well-educated Irish Catholic family in Utah. As would become the pattern of her life, she would not be there long. When she was three, her family moved to Richland, Washington. Her father, known to friends as Clem, had taken a job as a labor relations manager at the Washington branch of the Manhattan Project, whose task it was to perfect the atomic bomb sure to be needed before the Second World War, then well underway, was over. From her father, Sally acquired a passion for doing things well, a love of sports, and unswerving devotion to Notre Dame, a loyalty questioned in the Sheeran home only at great peril.
It was Sally’s mother, Helen, who taught her the domestic skills and devotion to community that would become her mainstays in the years ahead. Helen was widely known as a genius with a sewing machine and made clothes not only for her own family but also for dozens of others in her town. She also had an uncanny ability to upholster furniture. Neighbors remember the astonishing quality of her work and how she refused payment, though her fingers were often swollen and bleeding from the hours she spent stretching leather over wooden frames or forcing brass tacks into hardened surfaces. Helen taught her children the joy of the simple task done well, that the workbench and the desk are also altars of God not too unlike the altar at the Catholic church they attended every week.
Sally came of age, then, in a raucous, busy family of overachievers. There were piano lessons and sports and pep squads and sock hops. Achievement was emphasized. All the Sheeran children did well. Sally’s brother even earned a doctorate degree and became a judge. Sally herself finished high school and then began training as a dental assistant at Columbia Basin College.
“What are you asking of God’s church?” the priest intones from the ancient Latin text. “Faith,” respond the child’s parents. “What does faith hold out to you?” he asks. “Everlasting life,” they answer. “If, then, you wish to inherit everlasting life, keep the commandments, ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.’”
At this moment the priest leans over young Sarah, still in her mother’s arms, and breathes upon her three times. “Depart from her, unclean spirit, and give place to the Holy Spirit, the Advocate.” It is then that he traces the sign of the cross upon the child’s forehead and prays, “Lord, if it please you, hear our prayer, and by your inexhaustible power protect your chosen one, Sarah, now marked with the sign of our Savior’s holy cross. Let her treasure this first sharing of your sovereign glory, and by keeping your commandments deserve to attain the glory of heaven to which those born anew are destined; through Christ our Lord.”
At these words, some who have gathered shift their eyes to the young father of the child being baptized. His name is Chuck. He is a good man, all agree, and he loves his family, but he is only tolerant of his wife’s faith. He does not share it. He keeps a distance from formal religion, and those who know his story understand why.
He was born in the Los Angeles of 1938 to a photographer father and a schoolteacher mother. His father, it seems, had gained some notoriety for his work, and there are photographs of young Chuck with luminaries of the Hollywood smart set and even with sports stars like boxer Joe Louis. Something went wrong, though—this is the first of several unexplained secrets in the Heath story—and when Chuck was ten, his father moved the family to Hope, Idaho. His mother taught school again, and his father drove a bus and freelanced.
As often happens after a move to a new place, the Heath family was thrown in upon itself. And here is where the tensions likely arose. Chuck’s mother was a devoted Christian Scientist. She believed that sin and sickness and even death were manifestations of the mind. If one simply learned to perceive the world through the Divine Mind, one would live free from such mortal forces. It likely seemed foolishness to a teenaged Chuck, who was not only discovering the great outdoors and finding it the only church he would ever need but also discovering his own gift for science, for decoding the wonders of nature. There was tension in the home, then, between this budding naturalist and his mystic mother. Arguments were frequent, and from this point on, young Chuck seemed intent upon escaping his parent’s presence as much as possible.
He soon discovered his athletic gifts too, and, though his parents thought such pursuits were a waste of time, he chose to ride the bus fifteen miles every day to Sandpoint High School and then hitchhike home again just so he could play nearly every sport his school offered. He found gridiron glory as a fullback behind later Green Bay Packers legend Jerry Kramer.
These were agonizing years, though. He routinely slept on friends’ couches when he just couldn’t face hitchhiking home. He was nearly adopted by several families of his fellow players. Everyone knew his home life was torturous and tried to help, but for a boy in high school to have no meaningful place to belong, no parents who loved him for who he was without demanding a faith he could not accept—it was, as Sarah Palin herself later wrote, “painful and lonely.”
After graduation from high school and a brief season in the Army, Chuck enrolled in Columbia Basin College. Now he could give himself fully to learning the ways of nature, long his passion and his hope. He collected rocks and bones, found the insides of animals and plants a fascinating other world, and thrilled to his newly acquired knowledge of geology and the life of a cell. He was a geek, but a handsome, athletic geek whom girls liked. It was during this time that he enrolled in a college biology lab and found himself paired with that lanky beauty Sally Sheeran.
“Almighty, everlasting God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,” the minister implores, “look with favor on your servant, Sarah, whom it has pleased you to call to this first step in the faith. Rid her of all inward blindness. Sever all snares of Satan, which heretofore bound her. Open wide for her, Lord, the door to your fatherly love. May the seal of your wisdom so penetrate her as to cast out all tainted and foul inclinations, and let in the fragrance of your lofty teachings. Thus shall she serve you gladly in your church and grow daily more perfect through Christ our Lord.”
It says a great deal about Chuck and Sally Heath that after they had married—after they had brought three children into the world and begun working in their professions and coached sports and enjoyed their outdoor, adventurous lives—there was still something missing. Sandpoint simply wasn’t enough. Chuck, ever the romantic, had begun reading the works of Jack London—The Call of the Wild, White Fang, and The Sea Wolf—and through these the great land in the north—Alaska—began calling to him. As a neighbor later reported, “The call of the wild got to him.” This neighbor did not mean the London novel, but rather that mysterious draw to the raw and untamed that has lured men to Alaska for centuries. It did not hurt that Alaska was in desperate need of science teachers like Chuck, and that the school systems there were offering $6,000 a year, twice what Chuck was making in Sandpoint. With a growing family and dreams that Idaho could not contain, Chuck Heath turned to his wife and said, “Let’s try it for one year and see what happens.” Sally should have known better. They would never come back to Idaho again. Alaska was the land of Chuck’s dreams and always would be.
It also says a great deal about Chuck and Sally Heath that they ventured north to Alaska just days after the state had been rocked by one of the worst earthquakes in history. On March 27, 1964, what became known as the Good Friday Earthquake shook Alaska at a 9.2 Richter scale magnitude for nearly five minutes. The quake was felt as far away as eight hundred miles from the epicenter.2 Experts compared it to the 1812 New Madrid earthquake that was so powerful it caused the Mississippi River to run backward, stampeded buffalo on the prairie, and awakened President James Madison from a sound sleep in the White House. The Good Friday Earthquake did hundreds of millions dollars in damage, cost dozens of lives, and vanquished entire communities in Alaska, but even this devastation could not keep the Heath family away.
They would live first in Skagway, then in Anchorage, and finally they would be able to afford their own home in the little valley town of Wasilla. Chuck would teach sciences and coach, and Sally would do whatever paid—work in the cafeteria, serve as the school secretary, even coach some of the athletic teams.
This is what they did. Who they were is the more interesting tale.
The Heaths were determined to create an outpost of love, learning, and adventure in their snowy valley in the north. Their lives were very nearly a frontier existence, as we shall see, but their learning and their hunger to explore lifted them from mere survival. Chuck found Alaska an Elysium for scientific inquiry, and as he hunted and served as a trail guide, he collected. The Heath children would grow up in a home that might elsewhere have passed for a small natural history museum. Years after first arriving in Alaska, when their famous daughter had forced their lives into the international spotlight, the Heaths would welcome reporters who sat at their kitchen counter and marveled at the skins and pelts and mounts—dozens of them—that adorned the house. There were fossils and stuffed alligators and hoofs from some long-ago-killed game and samples of rock formations and Eskimo artifacts. The reporters had been warned. In the front yard of the Heath house stood a fifteen-foot-tall mountain of antlers, most all from game shot by Chuck Heath.
Yet what distinguished the Heath home was its elevated vision, its expectations for character and knowledge. There would come a day when Sally’s spiritual search would lead her in a different direction than her husband had chosen—his conflicts with his Christian Science mother distancing him from traditional faith—and this would have to be managed. But there was complete agreement about the other essentials. Work was sacred. Everyone was expected to labor for the good of the family. Knowledge was paramount. Theirs was a home filled with books, and nearly each one was read aloud more than once. Since both Chuck and Sally were teachers, dinner-times were often occasions of debate or discussion, which Chuck frequently began by reading from a Paul Harvey newspaper column or by quoting from a radio broadcast he had heard during the day. So intent upon the primacy of learning were Chuck and Sally that when a television finally did make its way into their home, it lived in a room over the unheated garage where a potential viewer had to have a death wish to brave the cold. Rather than what Chuck and Sally called the boob tube, in the warmth of the house were the poetry of Ogden Nash and Robert Service, the works of C. S. Lewis, and most of the great books of the American experience.
There was also love. It was deep, transforming, and infectious in the Heath home. When friends of the Heath children missed their school bus home, they routinely made their way to the Heaths’ house. Their parents knew and understood. It was the place where strangers were always welcome, where a story was always being told, and where you merged seamlessly into the family mayhem the moment you stepped through the door. Some of those friends of the Heath children, now adults, recall that the closest thing they ever experienced to a healthy family was in Chuck and Sally’s home.
And so the Heaths did it. They carved out the life they had dreamed in the frozen wilds of Alaska. They took the best of their family lines and, refusing the worst, built a family culture of courage and learning and industry and joy. And this was the family soil from which Sarah Palin grew.
Thus, the reverend father comes to an end:
Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God, source of light and truth, I appeal to your sacred and boundless compassion on behalf of this servant of yours, Sarah. Be pleased to enlighten her by the light of your eternal wisdom. Cleanse, sanctify, and endow her with truth and knowledge. For thus will she be made ready for your grace and ever remain steadfast, never losing hope, never faltering in duty, never straying from sacred truth, through Christ our Lord.3
The service concluded, the Heath family and their near relatives walk out into the northwestern sun. It is June 7. Already there are tears, and they are not tears of joy. The Heaths’ presence in Richland is not just for the sake of the baptism. They have come to say good-bye. Alaska calls to them, and they will leave in a few short days to make the nineteen-hundred-mile drive to their new home in the land of the north. Their relatives grieve, but the Heaths, particularly Chuck, cannot hide their joy at the looming adventure. Nor can they hide the sense that they will be changed by their new land, that somehow they will become one with it, and that it will become mystically intertwined with their destiny in ways they could never imagine.
In a matter of few days then, attended by the tears of their loved ones, the Heath family step toward the great land of their dreams.
