Tuesday, January 31, 2012

A View from Carl Kerby's Window on his new book Reasons For Hope

B&B Media has provided a great interview with Carl Kerby for me to share! I've heard Carl speak representing Answers in Genesis, and he has a powerful testimony!

God has taken Carl in a new and exciting direction of ministry, and his new book, Reasons for Hope, is a very exciting introduction to this change! Please join me for a look at a powerful book that will change your perspective and point you in a new and better direction!

Life is often not picture-perfect, and difficult times canmake it hard to see a plan or purpose for our lives. In this inspiring story ofone man’s journey, you will learn to see life from a different perspective. Nomatter what your circumstances, God can gather up the broken pieces and randomelements of your life and form them into a beautiful mosaic—making you a usefulvessel for His glory.

Q: In what ways are our lives like mosaics?

To me, a mosaic is a fitting illustration of the way God can take the broken pieces of our lives and create something beautiful from them. My life has been filled with boulders and broken stones. Yet God, in His grace, has put those stones together in a mosaic to make me into a useful vessel for His glory.

I once saw a large mosaic but was too close to understand the design, so I backed up to get a better view. Just as the mosaic picture didn’t make sense until I got a broader perspective, I had to do the same thing with the struggles I’ve encountered. As I look back over my life from a different perspective, I can see why God has allowed me to undergo some of the challenges I’ve had.

I also realized that the more broken pieces in the mosaic, the more beautiful the picture and the greater its value. The more we’ve gone through, the more amazing the picture our lives can be when we have God’s perspective.

Q: How can Christians use the mosaic of their life to bring hope to others?

People are often encouraged by my story, when they realize that God can use anyone to do His work—even the messed-up son of a professional wrestler who ended up earning his livelihood as an air-traffic controller and then a public creation speaker. Growing up I struggled with a lot of things other people do: an absentee father, my parents’ divorce, alcohol and drugs, run-ins with the law, even being homeless at one point.

No matter our background, we can all share our own life stories, our mosaic, to tell others how God has taken the broken pieces of our life and made something beautiful and valuable. Those rocky areas in our life can be steppingstones for sharing the love of Christ with others.

Q: You address the topic of racism in Reasons for Hope. Why was that issue important to include?

Sadly, evolutionary teaching promotes the idea that people are divided into different “races” with some “races” better than others, leading to all sorts of prejudice, hatred, and bloodshed. I know I was wrong in my racist attitudes when I was young, and many still believe the same way I did. That’s why I take such a strong stand on this issue today.

Ultimately, the issue of racism comes down to this: where did humans come from? When you reject what the Bible says about man’s origin, you will end up with all kinds of wrong beliefs. But biblically and scientifically, there is only one race of people—Homo sapiens—all made in the image of God. So we need to abandon the term “races” and instead talk about “cultures” or “people groups.”

We have to teach people the truth about racism, but what bothers me the most is that the church has dropped the ball on this issue. In fact, the church (in some instances) is one of the last bastions of racism and prejudice in America. And if we, as Christians, cannot grasp the need to eradicate racism, how can we expect the world to do that?

About the Author:
Carl Kerby is president and founder of Reasons for Hope (rforh.com), founded in 2011 as a response to a calling from God to proclaim the authority and authenticity of the Bible. He was previously a founding board member at Answers in Genesis for ten years and served there for over fifteen years. Before that he worked as an air-traffic controller at O’Hare International Airport. Kerby’s love for Jesus fuels a passion to engage the minds and hearts of youth and adults so that they can know the truth of God’s Word. He is a sought-after speaker both in the United States and abroad. Yet his most cherished accomplishment is his 29-year marriage to his wife, Masami, and his roles as father to his children, Alisa and Carl, Jr., and as grandfather to Trey.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Ruth's Redemption by Marlene Banks - REVIEWED

About the Book: (from Moody Publishers)

Set in the 1800s, Ruth's Redemption, is an unusual depiction of the lives of slaves and free blacks in pre-Civil War America. Bo, was educated while a slave. He was given his freedom and now owns a farm buying slaves for the sole purpose of giving them their freedom. Bo is also a man of God and widower whose life is destined to change when he meets the proud and hard-hearted slave girl, Ruth.

Ruth has known nothing but servitude and brutality since being separated from her mother at age thirteen. Purchased and sold primarily for breeding, Ruth struggles to adjust to life outside of bondage. She wants no part of Bo's Godly devotion. Yet Bo is unlike any man she's known and her experiences with him will leave her forever changed.

A gripping slave era novel, Ruth's Redemption is a story of love, forgiveness, and redemption. Set against the backdrop of the Nat Turner Rebellion in Tidewater, Virginia, this novel shines the light of God's unconditional love in the darkness of a culture's cruel socially accepted inhumanity.

My Thoughts:
I figure if it’s Him when things go right then it’s Him when things go wrong.” (p 192)

At the point these words are spoken in the story, Ruth, the main character, still has a pretty warped view of redemption. And well she should have if you look at the reality of her life up to that point. The lives of many other characters in the story are just as broken, tattered and torn, as Ruth, and it’s easy to see, from a human standpoint, why faith in Jesus’ death on the cross means anything when they are suffering through the brutality of slavery. But GOD….

When God gets to work in the hearts and lives of this precious woman, and her husband Bo….watch out!! Folks, I knew this book was going to be special, but I never imagined the full impact of the truth that the author would weave into every fiber of this story!! Marlene Banks understands redemption and has written a story that tells the story of all men and women – regardless of the color of their skin – and their need for redemption from the sin that enslaves us.

This story is rich and powerful, and everyone who reads the words of Ruth’s Redemption will be touched and changed. I’ll close with words Bo utters after a particularly bitter loss – words that are as true in 2012 no matter what life circumstance we face: “God has taken what life has torn apart and made it whole again.” (p. 155)

About the Author:

MARLENE BANKS lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She attended Westminster College in Pennsylvania and has an Associate of Theology Degree from Rhema Bible Institute in Keysville, Virginia. She is a member of Bethel Deliverance International Church pastored by Bishop Eric A. Lambert II in Wyncote, Pennsylvania.Marlene worked in nursing for over thirty years and in business as an administrative coordinator for over eight years. Her goal as a writer is to create inspiring, gripping and realistic tales with an emphasis on African American literature. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, she considers her writing a Kingdom assignment from the LORD.

ISBN: 978-0-8024-0217-2

Publish date: January, 2012Page Count:

304Dimensions: 5.25 x 8.25Format: PaperbackWeight: .68 LBS

Friday, January 27, 2012

The Sound of Red Returning by Sue Duffy REVIEWED!

About the Book: (from the publisher)

After losing everyone she loves, concert pianist Liesl Bower has nowhere to go but to escape into her music. Searching for the peace she usually finds in her concertos and sonatas, Liesl can’t shake the feeling that she is being haunted by her past . . . and by someone following her. When she spots a familiar and eerie face in the audience of a concert she’s giving for the president in Washington, DC, the scariest day of her life comes back to her with a flash. It has been fifteen years since Liesl watched her beloved Harvard music mentor assaulted on a dark night in Moscow and just as long since the CIA disclosed to her that he’d been spying for Russia. She had seen that man--that eerie face--the night Professor Devoe was attacked. And now he’s back--and coming for her.

On the run and struggling to rely on the protection of CIA agent Ava Mullins and handsome newspaper reporter Cade O’Brien, Liesl learns she is the prey of an underground cell of Russian KGB agents determined to restore their country to its former Soviet might. But what she doesn’t know is that she is in possession of something--a piece of sheet music--that Russian intelligence is now frantic to find. Inside that music is a secret code, the hidden transcriptions of her deceased mentor, that clearly identify a Russian mole operating inside Israel’s Department of Defense, a mole with enough power and access to execute a daring assassination that no one would see coming.

Caught in a deadly conflict between American and Russian undercover agents, this innocent young pianist is just trying to survive her own personal trauma. Through it all, Liesl must learn that no matter how dark her world grows or how fiercely her enemies pursue her, God is still in control--if only she can yield herself to His grace. Read an excerpt here: http://www.sueduffybooks.com/#%21vstc1%3dbooks

My Thoughts:

"Nothing happens to your children that hasn’t first passed through your hands…So if that’s true, Lord, then tell me what I’m supposed to do with this.” (p. 286)

Liesl Bower’s journey to faith – true faith in God – is a harrowing journey that takes place over many years. However, Sue Duffy records the most harrowing part of the journey in her latest novel, The Sound of Red Returning. At the outset, I had NO IDEA that this plot would be so intricate nor so shocking! The last few chapters really take you in some very unexpected directions! To be honest, the entire novel was just a great mixture of personal struggles, thrilling plot lines, and mysterious questions that end in surprising answers.

Liesl was the central character,and I grew to care for her a great deal. She seems so strong and confident in many ways, and yet in her deepest heart she has a lot of uncertainty and questions. The ending was very satisfying to say the least!

Sue Duffy’s novel is a great read, and one I am thrilled to recommend to my readers!

About the Author:
Sue Duffy is an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in Moody Magazine, The Presbyterian Journal, Sunday Digest, and The Christian Reader. She is the author of Mortal Wounds (Barbour, 2001) and Fatal Loyalty (Kregel, 2010). Sue has also contributed to Stories for a Woman’s Heart (Multnomah). She and her husband, Mike, have three grown children.

Find out more at www.sueduffybooks.com.

Link to buy the book: http://ow.ly/8B9HT

Sound of Red Returning by Sue Duffy - Kindle Fire Give Away!

Win a Kindle Fire from @SueDuffy2 and @KregelBooks in the "Red Returning" Giveaway!

Sue Duffy and her publisher, Kregel Publications, are celebrating the release of The Sound of Red Returning by giving away a Kindle Fire prize package worth over $200 to one lucky winner!!!! (1/23-2/11)

Enter the Sue Duffy’s Giveaway today and you could win:

* A brand new Kindle Fire with Wi-Fi

* The Sound of Red Returning (Book One in the Red Returning series) by Sue Duffy

To enter click one of the icons below. But, hurry! The giveway ends on 2/11. Sue will be announcing the winner of the “Red Returning” Giveaway on February 13th on the Litfuse website!

Enter via E-mail Enter via FacebookEnter via Twitter

Tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Unhallowed Ground by Mel Starr - REVIEWED!

About the Book: (from the publisher)

Thomas atte Bridge, a man no one likes, is found hanging from a tree near Cow-leys Corner. All assume he has taken his own life, but Master Hugh finds evidence that this may not be so. Many in the town had been harmed by Thomas, and Hugh is not eager to send one of them to the gallows. Then he discovers that the worldly and corrupt priest John Kellet had been covertly in Bampton at the time atte Bridge died. Master Hugh is convinced that Kellet has murdered atte Bridge – one rogue slaughtering another. Searching for proof he sets out for Exeter, where Kellet now works. But there he finds that the priest is an emaciated skeleton of a man, who mourns the folly of his past life. Hugh must return to Bampton – and discover which of his friends has murdered his enemy...

My Thoughts:

Woe is often the coin by which we pay for bliss.” (p. 40)

Hugh de Singleton has a unique way of stating truth about life as he perceives it to be in 1366 England. I fell in love with this quirky character on the pages of Mel Starr’s first Singleton mystery, The Unquiet Bones, and have grown to love him more with each passing tale. As I’ve stated in earlier reviews of this series, Starr’s books are like a CSI episode set long ago. Hugh is no longer solo in his pursuits of justice either! With his new wife Kate by his side, his pursuits of justice are made all the more endearing!

As always, the tale is peppered with the most intriguing details of long ago daily living! Did you know they used to levy a fine on folks who has sex outside of marriage!? That’s a leirwite! And the fine for bearing a child outside of wedlock? A childwite of course! And a man could not be convicted for rape if the woman he raped conceived a child! The law certainly was stacked against the women of the day, but oh what fascinating details it adds to Starr’s tales!

And I love a book that compels me to take notes! I find myself listing the suspects one by one as I read, and I never figure out the real culprit of the crime! It’s always a surprise! I love that!! All along the way, Hugh de Singleton is quietly gathering his clues, his suspects and his thoughts of the matter, and he always solves a mystery in the most unexpected way!

If you haven’t introduced your mind to the books from Mel Starr’s pen, please do so immediately! You won’t be disappointed! I promise!!

About the Author:
Mel Starr was born and grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan. He graduated from Spring Arbor High School in 1960, and Greenville College (Illinois) in 1964. He received an MA in history from Western Michigan University in 1970. He taught history in Michigan public schools for thirty-nine years, thirty-five of those in Portage, MI, where he retired in 2003 as chairman of the social studies department of Portage Northern High School.

Mel married Susan Brock in 1965, and they have two daughters; Amy (Kevin) Kwilinski, of Naperville, IL, and Jennifer (Jeremy) Reivitt, of Portage, MI. Mel and Susan have seven grandchildren.

Please send questions or comments to: Mel Starr.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go by Naomi Dathan

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:

Kirkdale Press (November 27, 2011)

***Special thanks to Ryan Rotz, Publicist, Kirkdale Press for sending me a review copy.***


Naomi Dathan has been fascinated with prairie life since her third grade teacher read Little House in the Big Woods to the class. She finally indulged this fascination with her fourth novel, Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go. She lives in Ohio with her two daughters and two undersized beagles with oversized egos.

Check out her witty blog http://naomidathan.com/


For everything there is a season. A season for joy. A season for sorrow. A season for testing.

Jem Perkins has it all – money, a fine house, a handsome husband, and a new baby boy. But when her family fortunes turn, Jem’s husband Seth leads her to a new home: a sod house on a Nebraska homestead.

It is a season of growth for Jem as she reluctantly confronts her new realities: back-breaking labor, dangerous illness, and mind-numbing isolation. She learns to embrace her new role as a capable woman and marriage partner and discovers an awareness of God’s hand in her life.

Then, on January 12, 1888, the history-making Children’s Blizzard sweeps across the land, ushering in a season of hardship she never expected. Can Jem’s confidence, marriage, and new-found faith weather the storm?

$.99 Sale!
Buy the ebook Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go from Vyrso for $.99. Use the coupon code WILDCARD at checkout or simply click here.
Offer ends this Friday.

Whither is also available for Kindle, Nook, Kobo, iBooks, and Google Books.

About Vyrso
Vyrso is a new Christian ebookstore and reader app from Logos Bible Software. You can read Vyrso ebooks on your iPad, iPhone, Android tablet or phone, and online at Biblia.com.

Product Details:

  • Kindle Price: $6.15

  • Format: Kindle Edition

  • File Size: 382 KB

  • Simultaneous Device Usage:Unlimited

  • Publisher: Kirkdale Press (November 27, 2011)

  • Sold by:Amazon Digital Services

  • Language: English

  • ASIN: B006FK72QE

  • Text-to-Speech: Enabled

  • Lending: Enabled


    January 12, 1888

    At midnight, Charley woke shivering in his trundle bed. “Ma?”

    He rose, but couldn’t see his mother’s form in the faltering lamplight. “Ma? Mom-mom?”

    Still no answer. The cast iron stove was dark and silent. The wind outside howled like a wolf, and caught at the door of the sod house, swinging it open and shut.

    Where was Ma? Why wasn’t she making the stove hot or snuggling him warm under the covers? Was she outside with the wind-wolf?

    Charley went toward the door. Ice blew into his eyes, making them water. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet. Warmth brushed his legs, a wetness caressed his cheek. The big dog, Zeke, curled his shaggy body against Charley, pushing him backward—away from the open door.

    Charley pushed back and shook his finger at him. “No! Bad.”

    Zeke whined and pressed harder. Charley fell, landing on something warm and solid. It didn’t hurt, but he set to wailing anyway, protesting his alone state, his empty belly, and the bitter cold that bit at his eyes and ears and nostrils like fierce ants.

    No one came to comfort him, so his cries soon dried up. He scuttled across the still form on the floor, pausing at a tinkling sound. “Ging,” he said, remembering. “Ging, ging, ging.”

    The bell. Pa had rung the bell today. Ding, ding, ding. He’d stoked the fire high and hot, gave Charley cold mash to eat, and clung to the doorframe, ringing and ringing the bell. Once, Pa had fallen to the dirt floor, but after a long while, he pushed himself upright, clutched the doorframe, and rang the bell again.

    Now Pa was on the floor again, unmoving.

    Charley stepped on Pa’s head as he went to look outside “ Ma!” The storm sucked his voice away so fast that he didn’t even hear himself. The winds answered in high voices, scared and scary at the same time. Was Ma out there in the black with the wind voices?

    At last, Charley made up his mind. With Zeke making little worried sounds close beside him, Charley stepped out into the blizzard to find Ma.


    August 14, 1886 (Seventeen months before)

    The Reynolds’s tea was well attended, but the August heat oppressed the guests, subduing the conversation to a languid pace. Servants discreetly watered—and even fanned—the profusion of roses arranged in vases through the room. Ladies and gentlemen sipped English tea and nibbled at scones and trifles to be polite, waiting for the blessed moment when they could return home, untie their cravats and corsets, and have a cool bath.

    Jem Perkins had nothing but sympathy for the wilting flowers. She sank onto a thickly upholstered chair next to her sister and fanned herself.

    “Can we go home now?” she whispered.

    “Hush!” Sally hissed, shooting a worried glance toward their hosts. “Mrs. Reynolds has been planning this tea for weeks. And we haven’t even greeted the guest of honor yet.”

    Hiding behind her fan, Jem peeked at Mrs. Ashley Grayson, seated near the window. She couldn’t hear what Mrs. Grayson said, but it drew appreciative laughter from the surrounding crowd. Jem smiled at her sister with her eyes. “She does feed off the adoration, doesn’t she?”

    Sally frowned. “Oh, Jem, I’m sure that’s not fair. Mrs. Grayson deserves credit for starting the Children’s Board.”

    “Of course she does! But don’t you think she has a bit of the look a cat gets when he’s found a sunny spot on the windowsill?”

    Sally pursed her lips. “You could have worked with her, Jem. I know she asked you to. Then you’d be right up there beside her.”

    Wasn’t that just like Sally, to make out that Jem was jealous. What had she to be jealous of?

    Jem fanned herself again, waiting until her irritation ebbed before answering. After all, it wouldn’t do for Jem—the married woman—to engage in sibling squabbling with her poor spinster sister. Once satisfied that there would be only kindness in her voice, she answered. “I was hardly in a position to take on an outside project right then, was I? A woman’s first responsibility is to her family. Perhaps you’ll understand … one day.”

    Sally’s cheeks went pink as the arrow found its mark. She was Jem’s elder by three years, poor thing, and she didn’t even have a serious beau. She sniffed. “I’m sure that was it. I’m sure it wasn’t because you discovered that setting up a charitable foundation actually requires a great deal of work.”

    That stung. Jem lowered her fan. “Now you’re just being cruel. You know I work very hard, Sally. Look at how many hours I put into the flower garden last year.”

    “And then you lost interest and Rogers had to take it over.”

    “And think of all the poetry I’ve written. You’ve never written a poem in your life!”

    “And I’m better off for it.”

    “At least I’m trying things. Maybe I haven’t found my true calling yet, but you shouldn’t fault me for trying.”

    Sally opened her mouth, but then shut it again, holding up a restraining palm. “Oh, we’re quarreling like children.” She sighed. “I apologize. I’m sure you have found your true calling, Jem. I’m sure your true calling is motherhood. You’re wonderful with Charley, and what’s more important than raising a happy, healthy child?”

    Jem settled back in her seat, buying herself a minute by sipping her iced tea. Sally would never have apologized a year ago, would certainly have never offered a compliment. It was disconcerting, really. “It is hot,” she offered.

    Seeing Sally relax, she did too, leaning forward to whisper to her. “And boring. I know Mrs. Grayson deserves all of our admiration. I do, truly. But I’m so tired of seeing all the same people and having all the same conversations, day after day. This city is chockfull of people, but you couldn’t tell by us.”

    “There’s the doorbell,” Sally said. “I’m sure it will be someone fascinating.”

    “Like Mark Twain?”

    “That’s right. Or Buffalo Bill.”

    Jem giggled. “How about Jesse James?”

    “I think he’s dead. Wasn’t he killed? Oh—” Her tone changed abruptly. “Look. It is someone new.”

    Jem looked. Her fan froze. The tall man stood in the entry to the parlor, his bearing military even out of uniform. He bowed slightly to Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, shook Mr. Reynolds’s hand, and exchanged greetings with surrounding guests. Feminine eyes followed his progress as he strode in, but he didn’t seem to notice. His pewter gray eyes scanned the crowd, and landed on Jem.

    She returned his gaze, then lowered her attention to her skirts. “Well, now. The new guest is dashing, wouldn’t you say, Sally?”

    Sally made a haughty harrumph. “Oh, Sister, he looks to be a bit of a ruffian to me. Like someone who spends time in the Wild West. You’d do well to stay away from him, I think.”

    Jem murmured her agreement and peeked at the man over her fan again. His eyes were still on her. “I believe I’ll have some refreshment.”

    She approached the buffet table, turning her back on the man. Her sister was at her elbows, but when she felt Sally withdraw, she knew the man was approaching. She peeked at him over her shoulder while she ladled pink punch into a glass. He removed his derby and offered a slight bow.



    His lips twitched at her return address, or perhaps at the Virginia drawl that had crept into the single word. “I wonder if I might join you for a beverage.”

    “Why, sir, as a guest of this tea party, you are as welcome as anyone to partake, I daresay.” Yes, the drawl of her childhood was definitely back, sliding through her words like sugarcane molasses.

    “Indeed,” the man said. He poured himself punch and downed it in a single motion. The glass looked ridiculous in his large hand, like a child’s play teacup. “I have to say, ma’am, that the scenery in St. Paul has certainly improved since my departure to Washington. I don’t remember such fine, dainty creatures as yourself frequenting the Reynolds’s teas in the past.”

    Jem smiled at that, but flushed a little, too. “Perhaps, sir, you are mistaking me for one of the young ladies playing Botticelli in the next room. I’m afraid I don’t particularly”—she took her time with the word, savoring each syllable as she hadn’t in years—“qualify as dainty anymore.”

    He imitated her accent, exaggerated it into a parody of a Virginia gentleman. “Why, ma’am, you are very mistaken, I’m sure. Why, you are the … the epitome of feminine beauty and delicacy. Your eyes are as blue as cornflowers. Your lips, well, they’re two precious little, uh, roses. In fact, I wonder if we could step out into the gardens and take a stroll together? Just the two of us?”

    “Why, sir! Surely you don’t expect me to leave this tea with you, unchaparoned. Think of the scandal.”

    He pressed his hand to his chest, gave her moon eyes. “Nothing of the sort, ma’am. I cherish your reputation as I would cherish, well, the soundness of my horse’s legs. I would die before compromising your honor. In fact, in order to protect your good name, I am willing to go this far: I will tell these people that we are married.”

    Jem started to giggle, then; she couldn’t help it. He grinned back at her, and the game was up. She threw her arms around his neck, in spite of all the company around. “Oh, Seth. I’m so glad you’re home. I thought you wouldn’t be back for two more weeks.”

    “Jem.” He put his arms around her waist and let out a long breath, letting his rigid stance relax. “This was long enough. I missed you. Can we break away from this tea? How is the baby?”

    “Oh, I hated to leave him. I think he might be getting diphtheria.”

    “Diphtheria?” He didn’t sound worried. In fact, he sounded a little amused. She backed out of his arms a little to frown at him.

    “Diphtheria is very serious.”

    “You’ve had the doctor by, I take it?”

    “Of course. Twice now.”

    “And he said?”

    “Oh, you know how Dr. Hollister is. You’d have to lay an egg for him to agree you have chicken pox.”

    Seth took her elbow lightly and led her through the parlor, nodding to the ladies, offering greetings to a few of the men. “Jemima, I’m sure Dr. Hollister would know if Charley had diphtheria. It’s very distinct.”

    “You know I worry. He coughs continually—all night long. And his nose is running.”

    “Darling, it sounds like he has a cold.” He led her to the front door, where they made their apologies to the Reynolds. “Come,” he said, as he led her to the carriage. “I’ll have a look. I certainly know what diphtheria looks like.”

    Before they’d stepped through the French doors of their home, they could hear Charley’s outraged screams ringing through the house. Jem dropped Seth’s arm and ran up the long, curving staircase, allowing him to follow when he would. “Charley! Oh, dear, what’s happened?”

    She stopped when she entered the nursery. Her boy was upright, clutching the bars of his crib with chubby fingers, red-faced and tearful, but otherwise apparently fine. “Oh, dear.” She hurried to lift him and snuggled him against her bosom. “What’s the matter, you poor little boy? Are you hurt?”

    Charley’s cries subsided. He rested his nearly bald head against her, hiccoughing.

    “Poor boy,” Jem crooned. “Mama’s here, now. Where’s Nursie, hmm? Didn’t she hear you cry?”

    “He has grown.” Seth’s voice came from the doorway. “Was he standing? When did he start that?”

    “Last week.” She smiled up at him, keeping her cheek pressed against the peach fuzz of Charley’s warm head. “I wrote to you about it, but I suppose you didn’t get the letter.”

    “No, but I haven’t stayed in one place for more than a night.” He sighed, came and wrapped his arms around Jem, enveloping her and the baby in a hug. “My family.”

    “Oh, no, ma’am!” Sophie’s voice was sharp. “He’s supposed to be napping.”

    Jem and Seth turned to look at the nurse. Her hands were closed into tight fists, pressed against her stout body as if she were restraining herself from snatching the child and putting him back in his crib.

    “Oh, but he was crying so hard. Poor boy.”

    “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Welcome home,” Sophie said, then firmed her voice to Jem. “No, ma’am. Colonel Wilkinson was clear on that. The boy must stay in his crib for his nap. The colonel don’t want him spoiled.”

    Seth’s voice was pleasant. “Sophie, I believe you work for me, not Colonel Wilkinson.”

    “No, no.” Jem hurried to the crib. “It’s fine, Seth. Really. My father is right—you know I’ll spoil him.”

    She peeled Charley off her chest and set him in the crib. His screams renewed, broken by sobs. He rolled and pulled himself back up to his feet. Seth picked him up. Charley reached for his mother, but Seth didn’t hand him over.

    “Oh, Seth, really. My father is right.”

    “I haven’t seen my son in two months. I believe he and I will take a walk around the nursery.”

    Sophie gave Seth a long, tight-lipped look, and retreated from the room.

    “Oh, my,” Jem said. “She’ll let my father know. She always does.”

    “Darling, this isn’t your father’s child. It’s ours. Why does he have anything to say about when we hold him?”

    “You know how he worries. He wants the best for his only grandson.”

    Charley stopped reaching for his mother and stared up into Seth’s face.

    “Look, he remembers you.”

    Seth made a scoffing sound, but Jem saw he looked pleased. “He’s far too young. I’m glad he’s letting me hold him, though. So, other than this dire illness that has him at death’s door, he appears to be thriving.”

    Jem sighed. “You shouldn’t tease me, Seth. Ima Caldwell—do you remember her? She said her sister’s husband’s niece lost both of her little boys last winter—one to diphtheria, and the other to pneumonia. And Amy Wiley’s whole family is ill.”

    Seth sobered and kissed Charley’s head, holding him a little closer. “It’s terrible. I can’t imagine what they’ve suffered. But Charley is healthy. God has blessed us. Let’s thank Him for it, instead of borrowing trouble.”

    “Y—yes. I do, of course.”

    She shook her head. It was the sort of comment Sally had been prone to make lately. Seth had been no believer when they met; he’d gone to church only to please Jem and her family. But something had changed over the last year. Seth had changed.

    When he was home, he attended church on Sundays as well as a Bible study on Wednesday. He led prayer at mealtimes, even if it was only the two of them sitting at the long polished dining table. She tried to act like it was normal behavior—after all, she was the one who’d been brought up in the faith—but it was really rather embarrassing.

    “There, you see, Jem? He just needed a little walk.” Charley was settled against his father’s chest. His face had relaxed, his eyes closed in sleep.

    Jem plucked a cloth from the chest of drawers and swiped at the path of drool running down the baby’s chin. “You do remember about this part, don’t you?”

    Seth gave her a wry smile. “I tried to forget. I go through fewer shirts riding on top of the stage coach. Well, I suppose I should put him down.”

    Jem arranged the soft blankets in the crib. After Seth laid Charley on them, they stood side by side, admiring their little boy. “Isn’t he beautiful? I think he’s the prettiest baby in St. Paul.”

    Seth slid his arm around her waist. “By far the handsomest, anyway.” He sighed then. “Is your father at home today? I need to discuss some things with him. I didn’t see him at the Reynolds’s tea.”

    “He said he had business to attend to today. I’m not sure whether he’s at home or at the office. But, Seth, can’t it wait? You’ve just gotten home. Can’t we spend the rest of the afternoon together?”

    She looked up at him as she finished the question, and was surprised to see the grim expression on his face.

    “I’m afraid not, Jem,” he said. “I’m sorry; I know I just got home. But I have to handle some business.”

    She gave him a quick pout, making sure to smile with her eyes so he knew she was teasing. “It’s a shame, when a man would rather spend his homecoming with his father-in-law than with his wife.”

    Seth didn’t smile back, but he kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours. We’ll have dinner together—just the two of us, all right?

    Jem wrapped her arms around his waist and accepted his embrace. “Hurry back. I’m sure my father will be glad to see you, anyway.”

Letters to Ehan by Tom McQueen

What sparked the idea to write Letters to Ethan?

One day I started thinking about my own mortality and how I would want to be remembered by my children and grandchildren. I just didn’t want to die and leave them a memory, although positive memories are certainly important and valuable. I wanted them to know that they’re here for a purpose, that God loves them; that I love them; and I wanted to share the mistakes and miracles of my own life with the hope that it would be of some benefit to them as they encountered their own challenges and opportunities in the future.

Why do you think it’s important for letters to be left behind?

I believe that it’s important to leave letters for your children and grandchildren to give them a perspective on life in general, your family traditions, the role that faith has played in your family as well as the wisdom that you’ve acquired over the years. In addition, each letter is a ray of hope in that it communicates to the recipient that we all face challenges and obstacles in our lives and that with patience, persistence, passion, and purpose those challenges and obstacles can be overcome and result in a meaningful life.

Do you really think letters can have an impact on young people?

Absolutely. I’ve seen the results first-hand in adult children whose parents left legacy letters for them. In addition, when parents have shared letters with their adult children, the feelings of joy, contentment, and satisfaction have strengthened the bond between them immensely. In addition, when a young person realizes that a grandparent took the time to write them a legacy letter, it has a definite impact upon their sense of self-esteem and self-worth.

What inspired you to start Legacy Nation? (http://www.legacynationusa.com/)

Two events triggered my passion for Legacy Nation. First of all, I had two sets of grandparents --- one that I lived with growing up in a two-story flat in upstate New York and knew as well as my parents, and the other set of grandparents that I never met. I still remember the happiness that I enjoyed with the grandparents that lived upstairs and the sadness that I felt at now knowing anything about my paternal grandparents.I saw Legacy Nation as an opportunity to bridge two worlds. Parents and grandparents could write letters to their children and grandchildren on an ongoing basis while they are alive, sharing their wisdom, experiences, trials and tribulations, joys as well as the faith, hope, and love that they have in their kids and grandkids. Their children and grandchildren then would have those letters as a legacy that they could learn from and continue to build for their children and grandchildren as well.At the same time, our nation is hurting.

We need a re-energized faith, a new hope, and a return to that family foundation of love and respect that our forefathers relied upon to build these United States of America.Progress is wonderful, technology is great, and the speed of change is a fact of life. Unfortunately, traditional family values are feeling the pinch from our current economic crisis and the demands placed upon our time result in less meaningful interaction with our kids and grandkids.

I’m worried about the future of my children and grandchildren.I founded Legacy Nation as a means to return to those values that made our nation great as well as an admired and respected people, a beacon of hope to mankind, and a blessing to our children and grandchildren.

If you could offer just one piece of advice to the next generation, what would it be?

God gave you three priceless gifts: your emotions, your intellect, and your will. And if you remember this thought you’ll know what to do with them: “God said, ‘Let’s build a better world.’ And I said, ‘How? The world is such a cold, dark place and so complicated now that there’s nothing I can do.’ God in all His wisdom said, ‘Just build a better you.’”

Where can we find out about more opportunities for a free copy of this book?

Follow @ChristianSpkrs on Twitter.

I was given a complimentary copy of this book from the author in exchange for posting the author’s interview on my blog. This blog tour is managed by Christian Speakers Services (http://www.christianspeakersservices.com/).

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

ROBBED! Glad the theives don't like to read!

There is NOTHING worse than coming home to find your house ransacked and spending the evening with police and detectives and setting your house back to rights.

Good news? They didn't take my new Kindle and my book collection was untouched!

Monday, January 23, 2012

Firehorn, Discarded Heroes #4 by Ronie Kendig - Reviewed

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:

s; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)

***Special thanks to Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***

About the Author:
An Army brat, Ronie Kendig grew up in the classic military family, with her father often TDY and her mother holding down the proverbial fort. Their family moved often, which left Ronie attending six schools by the time she’d entered fourth grade. Her only respite and “friends” during this time were the characters she created.

It was no surprise when she married a military veteran—her real-life hero—in June 1990. Married more than twenty years, Ronie and her husband, Brian, homeschool their four children, the first of whom graduated in 2011. Despite the craziness of life, Ronie finds balance and peace with her faith, family and their three dogs in Dallas, TX.

Ronie has a deep love and passion for people, especially hurting people, which is why she pursued and obtained a B.S. in Psychology from Liberty University. Ronie is an active member of the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and has volunteered extensively, serving in a variety of capacities from coordinator of a national contest to appointment assistant at the national annual conference.

Since launching onto the publishing scene in 2010, Ronie and her books have been gained critical acclaim and national attention, including:

Finalist in Christian Retailing’s 2011 Readers’ Choice Awards (Nightshade)
RWA’s Faith, Hope, & Love’s 2011 Inspirational Readers’ Choice Awards in Romantic Suspense (Nightshade)
Named one of the Top 25 Christian Fiction Suspense, Mystery, and Thriller Writers by FamilyFiction (Sept 2011)
2011 FamilyFiction Readers’ Choice Awards – 3rd place as New Favorite Author, 8th place with Nightshade for Novel of the Year.
INSPY Award Shortlist final in Mystery/Thriller (Dead Reckoning)
The Christian Manifesto’s 2010 Lime Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction (Nightshade)


Blown and dismantled, Nightshade is ready to repay the favor.

Former Marine and current Nightshade team member Griffin "Legend" Riddell is comfortable. So comfortable he never sees the set up that lands him in a maximum security prison, charged with murder. How can he prove his innocence behind bars?

Covert operative Kazi Faron is tasked with reassembling Nightshade—the black ops team someone dissected. Breaking Griffin out of a federal penitentiary amid explosive confusion may turn out to be her last assignment. What will it take to convince the fugitive that whoever set him up has also dissected the Nightshade team? As Kazi and Griffin race to rescue the others and discover the traitor,

love begins to awaken in their hearts.

Can a covert operative and the felon she's freed overcome their mutual distrust long enough to save Nightshade? Will anything prepare them for who—or what is coming?

My Thoughts:

A name can have a funny effect on a reader! When I see Kendig on the cover, I get really excited, because I know that I am going to be entertained in the most spectacular way! From the first chapter to the last the reader is taken on the ultimate thrill ride of suspense, intrigue and very personal relationships that enrich the entire experience! You meet "real" people who struggle through situations that everyone can identify with, and that just makes the experience all the more personal. Kendig really makes you care about the characters, and when they come under fire - either literally or figuratively - you find yourself rooting for them to overcome!

This book is particularly exciting, because from the very beginning our heroes are attacked in a most vicious way! And you MUST find out what the outcome will be! If you want to be thrilled and entertained - pick up a book with Kendig on the cover! You won't be disappointed!

Product Details:

  • List Price: $12.99

  • Paperback: 352 pages

  • Publisher: Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)

  • ISBN-10: 1602607850

  • ISBN-13: 978-1602607859


      To all American military heroes

      At home and abroad,

      Those who have gone before

      and those serving today—

      THANK YOU!

      Because of you, we are FREE!


      Realizing it is my choice and my choice alone to be a Reconnaissance Marine, I accept all challenges involved with this profession. Forever shall I strive to maintain the tremendous reputation of those who went before me.

      Exceeding beyond the limitations set down by others shall be my goal. Sacrificing personal comforts and dedicating myself to the completion of the reconnaissance mission shall be my life. Physical fitness, mental attitude, and high ethics—The title of Recon Marine is my honor.

      Conquering all obstacles, both large and small, I shall never quit. To quit, to surrender, to give up is to fail. To be a Recon Marine is to surpass failure; To overcome, to adapt and to do whatever it takes to complete the mission.

      On the battlefield, as in all areas of life, I shall stand tall above the competition. Through professional pride, integrity, and teamwork, I shall be the example for all Marines to emulate.

      Never shall I forget the principles I accepted to become a Recon Marine. Honor, Perseverance, Spirit, and Heart.

      A Recon Marine can speak without saying a word and achieve what others can only imagine.

      Swift, Silent, Deadly

      Chapter 1

      The Shack

      “It’s sad, really.” Marshall “The Kid” Vaughn trudged away from the thumping rotors of the helo that had deposited them back at the Shack, his pack almost dragging the ground. “Ya don’t realize how much a person adds until he’s gone.”

      “Legend’s not gone.” Max “Frogman” Jacobs hoisted his rucksack into a better group, his mind locked on Sydney and their two sons waiting for him at home. Poor woman had to be going out of her mind with two of his Mini-Me’s running around.

      “Yeah.” John “Squirt” Dighton hit the light breaker, then waited for the six-man team to clear the door. “He’s just temporarily detained.”

      Lights sizzled and popped to life. Groaning bounced off the grimy windows as he hauled the door closed, locked it, then started toward the showers.

      The Kid grunted. “Forty-years-to-life temporary.”

      In the locker room, a depressive gloom hung over the team. They’d been on countless missions, hit just about every terrain and environment imaginable, but none had taken the toll the last couple had. And there was one reason—they were down a man. Griffin “Legend” Riddell. If Max could write the playbook, they wouldn’t do another mission without the guy. But with the man in federal prison for murdering a congressman, it’d be a long wait.

      It was quiet. Too quiet. Max looked around the Spartan room. Walls of lockers, most unused. A few benches. A giant once-white bin for dirty duds. And the team. Six men, now. All very skilled. Good men. Even the one missing. Every man here knew Legend had been set up—he didn’t murder that congressman. But nobody could prove it. The evidence was damning. Justice—injustice was more like it—came swiftly. Lambert, ever the puppeteer, couldn’t pull the right strings to get Legend off.

      “I’m heading up to visit him tomorrow. Anyone game?” Colton “Cowboy” Neeley slumped on a bench and ran a hand over his short, dark hair. His blue eyes probed the group.

      “Nah, man. I’ve got a date,” the Kid said.

      Squirt beaned him with a towel. “What girl would go out with you, mate?”

      The Kid snapped the terry cloth back at the former Navy SEAL. “Your sister.”

      Squirt froze. His jaw went slack. Then his eyes darkened.

      Laughing, Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe rose to his feet from the corner. “You just proved his point by thinking your sister would actually go out with him.”

      Squirt swallowed, his face drained of color. “I introduced them at a New Year’s party.”

      Midas laughed harder. “Your mistake, mate.

      Shuffling closer, Squirt pointed a finger at the Kid. “I swear, you touch her, I’ll shove a fist full of witchety grubs down your gullet.”

      “Give me credit, dude.” The Kid raised his hands. “I’m a gentleman.”

      Max grunted. “Right.” As he strode around the lockers to the shower well, he heard more threats and much more laughter from the Kid. Max shook his head. Would the Kid ever grow up, learn when to leave things alone?

      As he tossed his oily, grimy duds on the bench, Max paused, thinking maybe he should send his report to Lambert now so he wouldn’t have to mess with it tomorrow. The mission had been simple enough, a snatch-n-grab of an Iranian doctor. It’d been nice and clean, in and out. The report wouldn’t take long. Then he could shower, bug out, and know he had the whole weekend with Syd and the boys.

      Max jogged up the iron stairs, which creaked and groaned beneath his weight. Down the hall to the right. He punched in the code and entered the secure hub, the door hissing shut behind him. The most high-tech part of this dump-of-a-warehouse.

      Shouts drew his attention to the blinds. He jabbed two fingers between a couple and spread them to peeked down into the main area. Squirt and the Kid raced into the bay and back the way they came. Squirt looked ready to kill. The Kid’s face revealed his fear. Max shook his head again. Man, he wanted Griffin back. The guy seemed to bring balance to the team. Badly needed balance.

      Max powered up the computer. Hand propped on the warped wood, he waited for the system to boot.

      More shouts. Loud thuds.

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. Would they never—?

      Tat-a-tat! Tat-tat-a-tat!

      Instinct drove Max to his knee at the sound of gunfire. He scrambled to the window. Through the slanted blinds, he peered down into the slab of cement. His brain wouldn’t assemble what he saw. Gunmen. A dozen or more. Rushing into the Shack from the parking bay. Moving swiftly, as if. . .

      They know the layout.

      Max darted to the door and jerked it open. He sprinted down the hall toward the stairs. As his boot hit steel, he froze. A shadow emerged. Floated into the hall.

      Too late.

      Max jerked back. Pressed his spine against the wall.

      By the showers, the Kid looked up. Max signaled to him. Then made his best and loudest Nightshade whistle, hoping it would penetrate the building, give the men warning to take cover.

      The Kid threw himself back into the locker room.

      Men swarmed the corner. One looked to his left, one right. His weapon slowly rose as he traced the stairs with his M16.

      Max leapt backward into the darkness and into office. He closed the door. As the lock clicked, darkness dropped like an anchor over the entire building. Behind him, a glow screamed his location. The monitor!

      Max spun. Lunged across the desk. Stabbed the power button. And paused with his hand still near the monitor. If someone was coming after them. . .accessing this computer. . .

      On his knees, Max yanked the cords free. With the box, he moved to the window and reassessed the parking bay. Another van with a half-dozen men with AK-47s. They streamed into the warehouse.

      Max’s gut wound into a dozen knots. They were screwed.

      Think! Hand on the door, he considered going back downstairs. But that would get him captured. Killed. Yet he’d rather be with his guys than running like a chicken.

      No, not running. Considering options, gaining the advantage. Planning. The invasion force was armed to the teeth. They knew who they were coming after. They’d brought weapons. And those guys moved with precision. Swift, deadly precision.

      Though Nightshade had a stellar ops record, perhaps they had finally met their match. Still. . .two to one? Nightshade had faced worse.

      A large black Suburban screeched to a halt in the middle of the parking bay. Two men emerged, both wearing trench coats.

      Max cursed his luck to be up here, away from his gear, his weapons. Up here, without firepower. Thus, powerless.

      Okay, enough. He was going down there. He eased the door open and slid across the hall. Bathed in darkness, he crouched at edge of the landing, using the wall for cover. A dozen men so far, rushing here and there. Quick, quiet chatter between the men.

      A smirk slid into Max’s face. His team had taken cover and these goons couldn’t find them. If he could just get a weapon. . .

      “Can’t find them.”

      “They’re here. I saw them go in,” the man nearest the SUV shouted. “Find them! Lights!”

      Light rushed through the building as headlamps from the vehicles stabbed the dusty, damp building. Max yanked back, out of sight. He needed to get down there, defend his men. His boot hit the landing.

      Shouts erupted. A shot bounced off the steel rafters, taunting as it echoed through the Shack. Stilled, Max waited. More shouts. The sound of a scuffle. The half-dozen men waiting by the SUV lifted their weapons to the ready.

      The locker room door swung open. A man walked backward, his AK-47 aimed at a large form filling the doorway. Cowboy. Arms raised, dressed only in his jeans, he stalked forward. Someone shoved him from behind, which barely moved the big lug.

      Spine pressed against the wood, Max peered down into the bay.

      “You move one wrong muscle,” the one in front of Cowboy growled, “and so help me God, I’ll kill you.”

      “No you won’t.” Cowboy lowered his hands. “If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be out here.”

      Ride ’em, Cowboy.

      From the side entrance to the showers, three men dragged a shouting, cursing Kid into the bay. Max smirked that it took three tangos to wrangle the Kid.

      Hand clenched, Max’s mind went into overdrive. What could he do? God. . .I need. . .something. What could he pray for? Intercepting the team was impossible. Twelve, fifteen armed tangos against one unarmed man?

      He latched on to the hope that they’d only found Cowboy and the Kid. No Midas, Squirt, or Aladdin. Good. Maybe they could regroup and—

      A man flew through the bay door from the showers and landed with a thud a yard from the others. Midas flipped over, scissored his legs, and swept the thug off his feet. The Kid seized the confusion to attack the men guarding him. And impressively. With a hard right, he dropped the first and used that weapon to disable the second.

      Cowboy took a step back and rammed his elbow into the gut of the nearest guard. The gunman bent forward—straight into Cowboy’s meaty fist. The big guy pivoted, slapped the interior of the gunman’s wrist, effectively seizing the weapon and flipping the muzzle around. He fired at the guy.


      In the split second it took for Max to realize the sonic boom that rent the air wasn’t the report of Cowboy’s .45 MEU but of a rifle, Max saw the man in the black trench coat drop to the ground. A circle spread out like a dark halo.

      “Sniper!” someone shouted.

      The dead guy had fallen backward. Most likely shot from the front. Which meant. . . Max’s gaze rose to the rafters. With no light, it’d be the perfect hiding spot. But. . .who? Squirt? Aladdin?


      The man guarding Colton stumbled forward, then went to his knees before hitting the cement.

      The man in the black trench coat nearest the SUV dropped. A pool of blood spilled out.

      “There!” One guard swung and fired his fully automatic at the ceiling. Four others followed suit, firing at the bank of grimy windows on the southeast wall of the building.

      Max followed their direction and watched. Waited, his breath caught at the back of his throat. Cracks and shattering glass blended with the staccato punches of the guns to create a wild cacophony of noise. Max tuned it out, praying whoever—Aladdin or Squirt—wouldn’t be hit.

      But then he saw it. A shift of a shadow. Like someone rolling. . .

      The gunfire petered out as a body plummeted the eight feet to the ground.

      The thud seemed to have supernatural powers as it pounded Max’s chest and pushed him back. Away from the window but not far enough that he lost line of sight.

      Silence dropped on the Shack.

      “Where’s Max Jacobs?”

      As the question streaked through the warehouse, Max registered a red glow in the far corner. Even as he noticed it, he heard a beep. Another. His gaze darted to the source of the noise. Two men were walking the perimeter, their M16s dangling as they raised their arms and pressed something against the supports. Arms lowered and the men stepped back revealing gray bricks with wires.


      Gotta stop this. Do something. His gaze collided with Cowboy’s. The big lug gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

      Max’s nostrils flared as he wrestled with what to do.

      “Where’s Dighton?”

      How do they know our names?

      “Dead,” someone answered.

      Pulled back into the shadows, Max clenched his eyes and bit down on his tongue. Dighton was dead. What about Aladdin—had he survived the fall?

      Sirens wailed in the distance.

      “Load ’em up.”

      “What about Jacobs?”

      “Outta time.” The leader left as the gunmen dragged the team out of the building.

      Stealthily, Max held on to the box and sprinted the length of the hall to the side of the Shack. In the conference room, he plunged toward the window. Craned his neck to peek out. Three vehicles—twin white vans and a black town car.

      The guys were loaded into the van and one into the car.

      The leader shifted, held something out, then it wavered.


      Max spun around, searching for an out. Doors. Only one way down—the stairs. But they led to the bay, which would be engulfed.

      Windows. Overlooked the dock. The canal. It was January. The water would be brutal cold. His split-second assessment told him no matter what route he took, it’d be deadly. Despite his training, if he didn’t find shelter out of the water once he broke surface, he’d die an ice cube. If he stayed, he’d die a fireball.

      Good thing SEALs are insulated against cold water.

      Max vaulted toward the window, hurtling the computer through the window. The glass shattered as a violent force blasted through the air. It lifted him. Up. . .up. . . Flipped him. Searing pain sliced through his arm. Heat stroked his back and legs. Fire chased him out of the building. Into the night.


      Another wave slammed into him. Threw him backward. Toward the water.

      Something punched his gut. Knocked the breath from his lungs.

      Bright white lit the night. Blinded him. Then—almost instantaneously—black. Pure black. And he was falling. . .down. . .down. . .

      Ro n i e K e n d i g


      Discarded Heroes # 4


      Nightshade (Discarded Heroes #1)

      Digitalis (Discarded Heroes #2)

      Wolfsbane (Discarded Heroes #3)

      © 2011 by Ronie Kendig

      ISBN 978-1-60260-0785-9

      Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

      For more information about Ronie Kendig, please access the author’s Web site at the following Internet address: www.roniekendig.com

      Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,


      Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

      Printed in the United States of America.