Almost Heaven
Chris Fabry
(Tyndale)
ISBN: 978-1-4143-1957-5
October, 2010/400 pages/$14.99
Billy Allman is a hillbilly genius. People in Dogwood, West Virginia, say he was born with a second helping of brains and a gift for playing the mandolin but was cut short on social skills. Though he’d gladly give you the shirt off his back, they were right. Billy longs to use his life as an ode to God, a lyrical, beautiful bluegrass song played with a finely tuned heart. So with spare parts from a lifetime of collecting, he builds a radio station in his own home. People in town laugh. But Billy carries a brutal secret that keeps him from significance and purpose. Things always seem to go wrong for him.
However small his life seems, from a different perspective Billy’s song reaches far beyond the hills and hollers he calls home. Malachi is an angel sent to observe Billy. Though it is not his dream assignment, Malachi follows the man and begins to see the bigger picture of how each painful step Billy takes is a note added to a beautiful symphony that will forever change the lives of those who hear it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Chris Fabry is a 1982 graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University. He is heard on Chris Fabry Live! each weekday on Moody Radio, the Love Worth Finding broadcast, and other radio programs. You may have also heard Chris cohosting programs for Focus on the Family radio. He and his wife, Andrea, live in Arizona and are the parents of nine children.
Chris's first novel for adults, Dogwood, received the 2009 Christy Award in the Contemporary Standalone category. His novel June Bug was released in July 2009. He has published more than 65 other books, including many novels for children and young adults. He coauthored the Left Behind: The Kids series with Jerry B. Jenkins and Tim LaHaye, as well as the Red Rock Mysteries and the Wormling series with Jerry B. Jenkins. RPM is his latest series for kids and explores the exciting world of NASCAR. Visit his Web site at www.chrisfabry.com.
MY THOUGHTS:
This is a stunningly beautiful novel. You don't have to be a bluegrass aficionado to appreciate this story. Chris Fabry has created a tale that tugged at my heart. The discordant parts of Billy Allman's life song are part of a grander work composed by a Master who places each note with purpose. If only the minor chords were played, it would be a cacophony of noise. The final piece, however, is richer because of, not in spite of, the dissonance. The perspective of Malachi, Billy's unseen angel, adds to the depth and hope of this story, yet even Malachi is limited in his knowledge and understanding of the events impacting Billy. Malachi's musings concerning the incomparable love and grace which God lavishes on humans will make your heart sing.
Oh, the beauty of this God who not only fashions the world and make humans in His own image, but also can take the ashes of their lives and turn them into love. . .who takes delight in the praise of the least of these and uses brokenness so that others may see true wholeness.
Although Chris Fabry's books are not written as a series of sequels, they are connected by their setting in Dogwood, West Virginia, and it was a delight to discover a pivotal role played by someeone special from his previous novel, June Bug.
Don't miss this beautiful story. I highly, highly recommend it!
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Tyndale as part of their Blogger Review program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
Angel Song
Sheila Walsh and Kathryn Cushman
(Thomas Nelson)
ISBN: 978-1595546852
August, 2010/352 pages/$14.99
Angels eagerly watch over Ann Fletcher's every move. She just doesn't know it yet.
Ann Fletcher has returned to Charleston to see her younger sister Sarah receive her master's degree. But she soon finds herself riding in the back of an ambulance, watching helplessly as Sarah fights for her life. As they race to the hospital, Sarah talks to someone who is not there...and hums a melody Ann has never heard before.
That unfamiliar, unearthly beautiful melody keeps finding Ann--first in the hospital chapel, then in her dreams, and finally in Sarah's empty house.
Two neighbors have a profound effect on Ann. Ethan McKinney lends her a shoulder to lean on. And as a carpenter, he volunteers to help Ann get the Fletcher family home into shape for selling. His strong presence is a pleasing distraction. Ann's twelve-year-old neighbor, Keith, has Down Syndrome and the guile to believe he can actually see and hear angels. In fact, he insists they are looking out for her in ways she's never imagined.
God begins to reveal himself to Ann--both in her newfound friends and through supernatural events. As she discovers the very real presence of angels around her, will she finally open her heart to receive God's healing love?
ABOUT THE AUTHORS: Sheila Walsh is a powerful communicator, Bible teacher, and best-selling author with more than 4 million books sold. A featured speaker with Women of Faith®, Sheila has reached more than 3.5 million women by artistically combining honesty, vulnerability, and humor with God's Word.
Author of the best-selling memoir Honestly and the Gold Medallion nominee for The Heartache No One Sees, Sheila's most recent release, The Shelter of God's Promises, has also been turned into a DVD curriculum and in-depth Bible study. The Gigi, God's Little Princess book and video series has won the National Retailer's Choice Award twice and is the most popular Christian brand for young girls in the United States.
Sheila co-hosted The 700 Club and her own show Heart to Heart with Sheila Walsh. She is currently completing her Masters in Theology.
Kathryn Cushman is a graduate of Samford University with a degree in pharmacy. After practicing as a pharmacist, she left her career to spend more time home with her daughters and has since pursued her dream of writing. Kathryn and her family currently live in Santa Barbara, California.
MY THOUGHTS:
This is a touching story of Ann Fletcher, who is reeling from the unexpected death of her sister Sarah on the very weekend Sarah was to receive her master's degree in social work. Ann plans to close Sarah's house as quickly as possible and return to her interior design job in New York, but she feels inexplicably compelled to stay. She doesn't have any use for God and isn't even sure He exists, but strange events begin to happen, including the music she keeps hearing and can't escape, causing her to wonder if she's losing her mind. Desperate to be alone yet also desperate for friends, Ann accepts the friendship of Sarah's neighbor Tammy and Tammy's son Keith, who claims that angels are all around them and caring for them. Could it be that God really exists and cares about her? The Women of Faith 2010 Novel of the Year, Angel Song will touch your heart.
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their Blogger Review program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
What was Halloween like when you were growing up? Did your family participate? If not, was there a substitute activity? Did your school or church have a fall festival or carnival? Were there stipulations regarding costumes? What sorts of activities did they have? What about Halloween parties? Have you ever bobbed for apples or been on a hayride? What are your memories of "haunted houses"? (I'm not referring to the ultra-scary, secular ones, just the fun kid ones, with bowls of grapes and cold spaghetti!) If you went trick-or-treating, what were the rules, both for trick-or-treating and for candy consumption? What types of costumes did you wear? Were they store-bought or homemade? Did you carve a jack-o-lantern? How are your children's experiences similar or different to yours? And the most important question: Do you like candy corn? What is your favorite (and least favorite!) Halloween candy?
We had two Halloween costumes and I think my mom had made both of them. One was a ghost, which I assume was made out of a white sheet. The mask was also made out of a sheet - a white hood with holes for the eyes, nose and mouth. The witch costume was a black skirt and a cape; that costume had one of those storebought plastic masks with the elastic that went around the back of the head. When I was in early elementary school, the costumes were so long I remember tripping over it as I tried to climb the stairs at a neighborhood apartment complex. By the time I quit trick-or-treating years later, they were both considerably shorter!
In the early years, there were no stipulations other than an adult walking with us. We went to houses and apartments whether we knew the folks or not and didn't think anything about it. My mom had us throw out unwrapped or homemade candy, but that was primarily due to her germiphobia than safety.
Then the crime that changed Halloween happened in 1974. I will never forget hearing about the eight-year-old boy who died after eating a giant Pixy Stix, the top of which his dad had filled with cyanide. And as horrible as it was, it was even more chilling because it was in Pasadena, just outside Houston and probably less than 5 miles from my house. (I posted about the incident last year on Halloween.) The man had put cyanide in six Pixy Stix and gave them to his son, daughter, and their friends as they were trick-or-treating. (At one house where no one was home, he hung back as the kids ran off and then produced the stix and said the owner had finally answered the door.) It was only by the mercy of God that his son was the only one who ate his; one child fell asleep with his in his hand.
I was surprised last year to realize that this happened in 1974; I would have guessed I was eight or ten. I was actually 13, so I was likely outgrowing trick-or-treating by then, but it still impacted me, as well as families across the USA and even in other countries. For several years no one trick-or-treated. Then slowly folks began letting their kids go, but only to houses of folks they knew. I'm kinda amazed Pixy Stix didn't go out of business because so many folks were scared to eat them. (Even today, I cringe when I see my girl eating a Pixy Stix!)
Haunted houses were another struggle for me. I've mentioned being easily scared as a child as a result of burglaries. My haunted house phobia had its roots even earlier, and it is one of my first memories, when I was around three years old. A couple in our church who did lots of stuff for the youth decorated their house as a "spook house" and invited the church to visit that Sunday night after church. I don't know where my dad was--probably at the church counting the offering since he was the church treasurer--but my mom took my older siblings, and she carried me. I'm sure it was perfectly innocent fun and simple decorations--they were Christians and this was the mid-sixties!--but I was absolutely petrified. I just remember being in her arms and crying as she walked through the house, which was dark and had things hanging from the ceiling.
Even years later when I was in the sixth grade or so and we had a GA sleepover (GA's is the name of the missions group for girls), the leaders had done a haunted room. It mainly had the grapes (eyeballs) and spaghetti (brains), plus someone in a costume in a corner pretending he would grab us, but I hated that one too. I can't even fathom going to one of the modern secular haunted houses, even if I weren't a Christian and didn't want to expose myself to that. And I have NEVER made my children go through one, no matter how tame it might seem!
The best part of Halloween was always the candy. We rarely had candy when I was growing up, and I remember coming home and dumping my jack-o-lantern bucket out on the living room floor and sorting my stash. Since I only got to eat a piece or two a day, and not even every day at that, it always took me until January to finish it!
Well, this is too long and I haven't even talked about some of the other stuff. My school always had a Fall Festival, but it wasn't associated with Halloween. My favorite part was always the Country Store and I would carefully spend my tickets on some drinking glasses or cup and saucer that I thought my mom would like and presenting them with pride to her when I got home!
And I've been on plenty of hayrides, but they weren't necessarily part of Halloween either; just parties in the fall. I do have to share one more party memory. When I was in college, the college group at the church I attended had a Halloween party at the home of a student's parents. They lived on a ranch and had a big "barn" with the top floor enclosed for parties. I think I either went as Mary Poppins or a nurse from M*A*S*H*. Anyway, one of the activities was a square dance. Mercy! When the Baptist deacons heard about that, their reaction was such that you would have thought we had been strip-dancing! It cracked me up - I told my friends, "They wouldn't have batted an eye if we'd had a swim party, and we were much more appropriately dressed for the square dance!"
My kids enjoyed trick-or-treating when they were little, with my girl enjoying it the most. My boy doesn't like candy or dressing up in costumes, so he bowed out fairly early. But my girl still likes to go with friends in their neighborhood. This year she's using the costume from a kid's church musical she helped with this summer and is going as Baal. I think she's decided to forego the gold hairspray paint this time, however!
Oh, and for the record, I HATE candy corn! My favorite candy to get when trick-or-treating was always Mounds or Almond Joys!
What about you? Share your memories and link up here!
Eagerly anticipated by some, and dreaded by others, Sunday is Halloween. Just like a pendulum swings, I have seen extremes on both ends of the spectrum for how this day is viewed. In addition to Halloween, this is also the season of fall festivals at schools and churches. While we may have a variety of opinions and convictions about the various activities that occur at this time of year, this meme is not intended to start a debate. Rather, it's just an opportunity to look back and remember the fun (and, perhaps, not so fun) aspects of our childhood. (All of you who so graciously participate in my meme always play so nicely together that I hesitated to even mention that, but I decided a gentle reminder couldn't hurt!)
What was Halloween like when you were growing up? Did your family participate? If not, was there a substitute activity? Did your school or church have a fall festival or carnival? Were there stipulations regarding costumes? What sorts of activities did they have? What about Halloween parties? Have you ever bobbed for apples or been on a hayride? What are your memories of "haunted houses"? (I'm not referring to the ultra-scary, secular ones, just the fun kid ones, with bowls of grapes and cold spaghetti!) If you went trick-or-treating, what were the rules, both for trick-or-treating and for candy consumption? What types of costumes did you wear? Were they store-bought or homemade? Did you carve a jack-o-lantern? How are your children's experiences similar or different to yours? And the most important question: Do you like candy corn? What is your favorite (and least favorite!) Halloween candy?
Post your flashback on your blog tomorrow and come back here to link up!
Three life-long friends experience life-altering struggles. Will they find the strength to be faithful to the covenants they've made with God...and each other?
Cydney Sanders thought she knew God's plan for her life. She'd marry, have kids, and then snap her body back into shape with Tae Bo. But she's celebrating her fortieth birthday as the maid of honor at her little sister's wedding . . . and still single. Why would God give her this desire to marry, but no husband? And why is her life suddenly complicated by the best man-who's the opposite of what she wants in a husband?
Cydney's best friend Dana has the perfect marriage. But when Dana discovers her husband's affair, her world goes into a tailspin. And Phyllis is out of hope after six years of unanswered prayers for her husband to find faith. When she runs into an old friend who is the Christian man she longs for, she's faced with an overwhelming choice.
With life falling apart around them, can they trust God like never before?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kim Cash Tate is a Women of Faith speaker and the author of Heavenly Places and the memoir More Christian than African American. A former practicing attorney, she is also the founder of Colored in Christ Ministries. She and her husband have two children. Visit her website to learn more.
MY THOUGHTS:
I absolutely loved this novel. Each of the three friends in this book seemed to be at different stages of life, but they all had a common need: learning what it means to be faithful. Faithful to God, faithful to a spouse, faithful to their own convictions. Their greatest lesson, though, is learning that God is faithful. Kim Cash Tate has written a book with palpable emotions. I was drawn into the story from the first page until the final sentence was completed. I look forward to her next book, Cherished, to be released Fall, 2011.
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their Blogger Review program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
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?
Rusty Whitener has created a poignant tale of boys, baseball and summer in the early 1970's that is at the same time tough and tender. Desperate to win the elusive Little League Championship for the first time ever, Zack and his buddies are stunned when they discover the amazing talent hidden within Rafer. What they learn from Rafer that amazing summer will bind them together and provide a life lesson that will remain long after the balls and gloves are put away. I loved the boys' various personalities and how their testosterone-laden bravado slips enough to reveal their tender hearts. Zack's doubts and questions about faith are honest and real, and I held my breath as the story built to its stirring conclusion. This novel captivated my interest and tugged at my heartstrings until the final page. Don't miss this sweet book.
The Random Dozen has shrunk this week, and this will likely be the last of its weekly appearances. My bloggy friend Lidna at 2nd Cup of Coffee has faithfully hosted this for months, but it's just too much for her to juggle on a weekly basis with the other things going on in her life. Hopefully it will be around on a monthly basis or, at least, occasionally!
I totally understand, but I'll miss it. Especially since now I'll have to come up with Wednesday posts on my own!
Here are this week's duo:
1. What scares you the most
A) Physically
B) Emotionally
Why does it scare you, and how do you cope?
It's interesting to me that Lid differentiated between physical and emotional fears. Since fear is an emotion, I wouldn't have thought about physical fears. I guess they would be fears about tangible things.
Physically - My biggest fear is the potential for crime, thanks to the two burglaries my family experienced when I was about seven or eight years old. And then the summer before ninth grade, my best friend who lived around the corner from me was raped when she was home alone. I have come a loooong way in regards to this fear. It isn't something that plagues me on a regular basis. The way I cope is through prayer and through taking appropriate safety measures: keeping my house and car locked, not walking alone, parking in well-lit areas, having my key out and ready when I walk out of a store, etc.
Emotionally - Like many moms, this would probably be the idea of something happening to my children, either death or a serious illness. I have improved in this area as well. I had a harder time with this when I was pregnant and the kids were younger. One of our nieces had a rare genetic disorder and had a liver transplant when she was seven months old. A nephew was born with an incompletely developed arm. We had a bit of a Down's scare when I was pregnant with my girl. And when my boy was six months old he was in the hospital for viral meningitis. Once I finished being pregnant and my kids got past the age that SIDS is a possibility, I relaxed a lot. But like the physical fear, I have found that prayer and "taking every thought captive" (2 Corinthians 10:5) is effective in combatting any fear.
2. What comes to mind when you read the phrase, "Nothing gold can stay?"
I was not familiar with this phrase until Lid included this verse from Robert Frost:
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
I thought it was a rather discouraging thought, but I guess it just reinforces what the Bible tells us about temporal things:
For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business. (James 1:11)
Heaven and earth will pass away, but My Words will never pass away. (Matthew 24:35)
For, "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the Word of the Lord stands forever." (1 Peter 1:24-25)
So that's my randomizing for today. Thanks, Lid, for coming up with such a great meme!
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 Jennifer Hudson Taylor for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jennifer Hudson Taylor is the author of historical and contemporary Christian fiction set in Europe and the Carolinas. Her fiction has won awards in the American Christian Fiction Writers' Genesis Contest. Her debut novel, Highland Blessings, was released in May 2010. Other works have appeared in national publications, such as Guideposts, Heritage Quest Magazine, Everton’s Genealogical Publishers, and The Military Trader. Jennifer graduated from Elon University with a B.A. in Journalism. When she isn't writing, Jennifer enjoys spending time with her family, traveling, genealogy, and reading. She resides with her husband and daughter in the Charlotte area of NC.
List Price: $13.99 Paperback: 352 pages Publisher: Abingdon Press (May 1, 2010) Language: English ISBN-10: 1426702264 ISBN-13: 978-1426702266
MY THOUGHTS:
I would not have wanted to live in fifteenth century Scotland, but it does make a good story! The age-old feud between the MacPhearson and MacKenzie clans can't possibly come to a peaceful resolution after Bryce MacPhearson kidnaps Akira MacKenzie on her wedding day. After such a tumultuous start, Bryce and Akira can only make peace with each other by making peace with God. But will a murderous traitor destroy their hope and their marriage?
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue Scotland 1463
Cedric MacPhearson knew he was going to die, but he glanced up at the low clouds brewing into a storm and raised a fist, determined he would last until one of his sons found him. The survival of his clan depended upon it. And as ornery and stubborn as he had been all his life, no one would believe he had agreed to a peaceful settlement with the MacKenzies if he died, least of all his sons.
Beads of sweat broke along his brow as he struggled to remain conscious, mentally listing every black deed he had ever committed and then muttering a whispered prayer for each one. As the MacPhearson chieftain, Cedric’s word had been the unquestioned law. He had always thought himself a fair man with a firm ruling hand. Now as he prepared to meet his Maker, he wasn’t so sure. It was imperative that he complete one last goodwill before he closed his eyes forever.
The restless wind twirled faster, rustling scattered leaves around him. The cool air was a comfort, giving him a feeling of being lifted high and floating away as the pain in his chest faded to numbness. Lightning flashed silently, highlighting a lone rider approaching at top speed.
Rumbling thunder echoed in Cedric’s ears, drowning out the sound of a winded destrier pulled short and his son’s voice calling to him. Cedric’s head was gently lifted into the lad’s lap and tenderly cradled in youthful hands, strong with promise. Bryce, his middle son, peered down at him with intelligent, gray eyes full of concern.
“Da! What happened to ye?” He reached over and carefully lifted Cedric’s bloody tunic. Moisture gathered in his eyes at the sight of the large sword wound slightly below Cedric’s heart. “Likely, the villain got yer lungs.” His voice sounded like a man, but it shook with desperation. He looked deeply into Cedric’s eyes with painful certainty. “Who did this to ye?”
“A MacKenzie warrior struck me down. I came from signing the peace settlement with Birk MacKenzie, so I wasn’t expecting an attack.”
“I’ll kill the MacKenzie responsible!”
Cedric could hear the anger in his son’s voice and knew a century-old vengeance coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in Cedric’s battered chest, and he was pleased that he hadn’t missed this opportunity to give his final command and say good-bye. He clutched his son’s shirt in his fist.
“Listen, lad. Birk MacKenzie didn’t order this. Even now he doesn’t know.”
The effort to speak quickly drained his energy and made his chest feel heavy. What blood had not drained from his body began to fill his lungs, and breathing became increasingly difficult. With a concentrated effort he motioned to his pocket and took a labored breath.
“Get paper.” His hoarse whisper brought blood to his mouth.
***
Bryce shuddered. Knowing time was of the essence, he frantically searched his father’s clothes and found a piece of paper. He unfolded it and scanned the signed documents.
Denial was on the tip of his tongue, when he looked at his father with defeat. “Pro-mise . . . ye’ll . . . make E-van . . . hon-or . . . my word.”
A flicker of apprehension pierced him. He was uncomfortable making a promise of a life-long commitment for his elder brother, and even more afraid to spend these precious moments arguing with his dying father.
With the last of his strength, Cedric grabbed his wrist. “Pro-mise!” More blood spewed from his lips as the clouds opened with rain. Lightning struck and thunder roared.
Bryce bent forward, hating the entrapment of death he saw in his father’s eyes, and cradled his father to him. “Da, don’t die!” Tears blended with the downpour of rain. Cedric’s cold fingers squeezed. Out of desperation Bryce yelled over the storm. “I promise! I promise!”
He couldn’t bear the thought of his father dying without granting his last request. Cedric released his wrist, and Bryce knew he was gone. Tears were difficult to shed. He couldn’t ever remember a time in his childhood when he allowed one to slip from his eye.
Now, alone in the storm, a lad of ten and four, Bryce grieved for his loss and a promise he prayed he could keep.
Chapter One April 1473
Akira MacKenzie willed her knees not to fail her. She watched Gregor Matheson’s blond head disappear through the astonished crowd that slowly parted for him. He would have made her a perfect husband, but now he deserted her, placing her safety in jeopardy once again.
She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and straightened her shoulders. Akira clasped her hands in front of her and turned to face the expectant gazes of her Scottish clan. Hushed murmurs flowed through the crowd until one by one their voices faded into the restless wind.
“`Twill be no wedding this day.” She allowed her strong voice to echo over her kinsmen. The earth vibrated, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Akira paused, but naught seemed amiss. Green hills and hidden valleys lay undisturbed, draped with wildflowers and tall grass that rippled in the gentle breeze. Strands of golden-red hair lifted from her shoulder and brushed against her face. She whisked a wayward lock from her eyes.
She turned to Father Mike for encouragement. He stood in a brown robe gathered with a rope cord tied at the waist around his thin frame. Holding a small book in the crook of his arm, he shook his graying head. His aging face held laugh lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth, but today his wrinkles were pulled into a sad frown. His soft brown eyes settled upon her with understanding. Akira wanted to run weeping into his arms, but she held herself still. More thunder rumbled and grew closer.
“’Tis the MacPhearsons!” A lone woman cried in alarm, pointing past where Akira stood on the grassy knoll.
Panic slashed through her clansmen, and they scattered to find shelter behind her father’s castle gates. Unarmed MacKenzies sought their weapons before the riders reached them. Expecting a wedding celebration, few were prepared for battle.
Akira turned. The thunder she had heard was an army of warriors descending upon them. A savage barbarian riding a fierce gray stallion charged toward her, his army in quick pursuit. Together, the lead warrior and stallion embodied power. He led them as befit a king, but when his gaze fixed on Akira, her blood ran cold.
The MacPhearson chief wanted his bride. Akira hated her fear of him as it took root and gripped her insides.
“Lord, give me strength,” she murmured.
She would not run. No, she would stand and wait for him. If it was peace he wanted, then peace she would give him. She’d be calm, meet his gaze, and remind him of the letter her father received six months ago from the MacPhearson chief saying he would not honor the betrothal their parents had pledged years ago when she and Evan MacPhearson were children. Accepting it as the insult it was, Akira’s father granted his permission for her to wed a man of her choice. She had chosen Gregor Matheson, but now she realized even that had been a mistake.
Her brother Gavin broke through the madness and grabbed Akira’s arm, propelling her toward the castle gates. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding into the earth grew louder. One gray stallion ruptured forth, his rider targeting her. Knowing Gavin held no weapon to defend them, she fretted for his life and tried to wrench herself free.
“Run, Gavin! Run!” she yelled above the chaos.
Gavin wouldn’t leave her. He struggled to pull her along, but her heavy satin gown caught under her feet, nearly tripping her. While most wedding gowns of her clanswomen were of varying colors, Akira had wanted to look like a white dove. The front was simple, but elegant, with no beads or trim. The long sleeves widened at the wrists and the skirt portion draped over her figure like a long tapestry.
“Hurry, lass!” he urged as the material ripped.
The stallion’s labored breathing almost pulsed down her back. Her skin crawled with tiny prickles. The dark rider would soon overtake them. Jerking free of Gavin’s hold, she again urged her brother to safety.
“Leave me, Gavin.” Tears of despair threatened to snap her control. “I’ll not have ye die at the hand of a MacPhearson because of me.”
“Nay. Never!” Gavin protested.
The MacPhearson warrior bent, and his heavy fist slammed against Gavin’s jaw. Her brother landed several feet back. Iron fingers gripped her waist. The MacPhearson tightened his hold across her middle as he pulled her backward and up onto the horse. Akira screamed and kicked, lashing out blindly against him. He fought her with one hand while he guided his charger forward. The reins almost tumbled from his hand, and he lunged to grab them. His hard elbow rammed her cheek in the process.
“Don’t fight me, lass,” he roared. “Or else the blood of innocent men will be upon yer head!” His words cut into her like a blade, and she ceased her struggles as he threw her over his lap and across the racing animal’s back. Akira believed him. A MacPhearson could have no compassion in a heart as black as death.
“How dare ye, MacPhearson!” Akira’s father bellowed behind them. She stole a glance through her tumbling hair. He ran after them with a fist raised in mid-air. He roared another promise of revenge before bending over his knees to catch his breath. Her father shook his graying head in disbelief.
“I love ye, Da,” she whispered, committing his image to memory.
The forest swallowed them, and for hours the MacPhearsons kept their fast pace. Akira tried to calm her heaving stomach, but it continued to twirl as she lay over his lap. The ride would have been much more tolerable had she been able to sit on her backside. Instead, her stomach suffered from the jarring of the stallion’s movements. The nausea finally overtook her, and she vomited.
They stopped. Left with no other recourse, she tried to wipe her mouth with her hand.
The warrior ripped off part of his plaid hanging over his tunic that reached down to his knees like a long shirt and belted at the waist. He wet it with water from his flask and offered it to her. His plaid of red and gray colors fell forward, and he shoved it back over his shoulder. Since the MacPhearsons lived in a different region, their plaids were made by a different weaver from the MacKenzies. Akira’s clan often wore plaids of blue and green.
She lifted her gaze to his menacing glare. Akira trembled in spite of her silent resolve not to fear him, for he looked as if he wanted to beat her, and she felt certain it wasn’t beneath him. He leaned forward, thrusting the material in her face. “Take it and clean yerself,” he demanded, as if the sight of her disgusted him.
Grimacing, she looked down at his leg covered with her sickness. Her cheeks grew warm. He deserved what he had gotten for throwing her on his stallion and hauling her off like a prize he had won.
“Lass, don’t make me repeat myself.” His lack of patience was quite evident in his tone, but even more so as he shoved the damp material in her face.
Akira snatched it out of his hand and glared back, momentarily forgetting her danger. “Ye blunderin’ fool, ’tis yer own fault it happened. Ye got no more than ye deserved.”
He leaned forward, his nose barely an inch from hers, and she leaned back as far as she dared without toppling off his stallion. His dark gray eyes turned black, and a vein pulsed rapidly in his neck as he stared down at her.
Once again her temper and boldness had gotten the better of her. Lord, help bridle me tongue, she silently prayed. Deciding she had pushed him far enough, Akira gripped his leg while she stroked the damp cloth over his skin in hopes of diverting his attention from her angry outburst. He flinched at her touch. She dropped his leg with a questioning gaze. “I told ye to clean yerself, not me.”
“I’m not quite as messy.” She turned back to her task.
He lifted her from the stallion and dropped her on her unsteady feet. It took her a moment to recover. When she did, she found herself staring at her captor’s chest. Tall for a woman, Akira wasn’t used to a man’s height equaling her own, but this MacPhearson was a giant. His massive shoulders blocked the sun’s rays, filtering through the trees.
He bound her hands with a leather strap, pulling the knot secure against the flesh around the fine bone of her wrists. She noticed his skin was a shade or two darker than hers.
Akira stole the moment to study his profile. Shoulder-length hair the color of potted soil framed an authoritative, square face. His gray eyes were sharp and purposeful as he tended to his task. Up close he appeared more handsome than barbaric. His bronze face bore a recent shave. The bridge of his nose smoothed over his face to striking, high cheekbones. He radiated confidence, but she sensed a stubborn streak hid behind his determined expression.
As he towered over her, she felt a rare fear and trembled. His hands gentled, and his voice softened.
“I’m sorry I was so rough with ye. I didn’t mean for my elbow to hit yer cheek.” He pulled the leather tighter, making her wince. “I apologize for this inconvenience, but I must see to it that ye canna escape.”
He stepped back, rubbing his chin in thoughtful concentration as if contemplating what to do with her. “Ye’re no ordinary woman.” He crossed his arms and circled Akira, observing her. She could feel the heat of his blazing gaze travel the length of her. “Any other woman would have fled.” He paused in front of her and looked into her eyes. “`Twas as if ye were determined to stand yer ground and wait for me until that man encouraged ye to run.” He raised a black eyebrow. “Why?”
“They’re my family and clansmen. If ye were coming to claim yer bride, then I was the one ye wanted, not them.”
“So ye’re a courageous lass. Willing to sacrifice yerself for their lives. Is that the way of it then?” He spoke in a firm, yet gentle tone. He touched her swelling cheek with the back of his knuckles. Akira flinched from the uncharacteristic gesture. He dropped his hand.
“Regardless of what ye think, I’m not in the habit of mistreating women.” He looked at her intently, his eyes almost willing her to believe him.
She stared over his shoulder at the dark forest, refusing to relieve him of his guilt—if he was human enough to feel any. “My brother did naught to ye. Why did ye hit him?”
“Yer brother would have interfered and caused a massacre of yer people. I had no wish for that to happen, so I took the only option I had. I took care of him before he could strike me and my men retaliate on my behalf.”
Akira stepped back in disbelief. She craned her neck to see into his dark gray eyes. “’Twas not the only option. He could still be unconscious this verra moment.”
He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as if she were trying his patience. “I assure ye, lass, yer brother will be fine. I didn’t hit him hard.”
She leaned up on her tiptoes. “Then my eyes must have been deceiving me, for ye knocked him plumb out.”
“Aye, that I did.” He grinned with pride as white, even teeth flashed in contrast to his dark profile. “But the blow will not cause any lasting effects, I assure ye.”
“There’s not a guilty bone in yer body.” A lock of golden-red curls fell forward covering her right eye. She reached up with her bound hands and tossed her long tresses over her shoulder. “Ye had no right to take me from my family.”
“Believe as ye wish.” He shrugged. “I may have taken ye against yer will, but I never commit harm unless I’m forced.” He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face.
Her mind whirled in a daze. Akira purposely closed her heart to any generosity he might bestow upon her. “Gavin gave ye no reason to hit him. I hope I do naught to force yer mistreatment of me before ye return me to my family.” The sarcasm in her voice overshadowed her fear.
A sudden frown perplexed his otherwise perfect face, and she sensed a change in his demeanor. In one fluid motion, he lifted her upon his stallion. This time she was properly seated as he mounted up behind her. He urged the beast beneath them forward, signaled to his men, and they were again on their way. Akira had nearly forgotten that others were present to witness their exchange.
Under the circumstances, he set a much slower pace than she would have anticipated, knowing the MacKenzies could be following close behind. They traveled a good distance in silence.
After a long while had passed, he bent toward her ear. “I’m sorry.”
His warm breath floated over the skin at her nape, and she fought the urge to shudder. His apology stunned her speechless. Warriors did not apologize, least of all to bound prisoners or to women.
“Whether ye believe me or not, I do not mistreat women. And the blow to yer cheek wouldn’t have happened if ye hadn’t put up such a struggle.”
Akira remained silent. How was she supposed to have responded while being kidnapped away from her family and all that she held dear? She had no idea what to expect. All she knew was that she depended upon the Lord to give her sufficient grace to get through whatever she would be forced to endure at their hands.
“I see ye’ve naught else to say.” Disappointment carried in his voice.
She arched an eyebrow. He expected friendly conversation while he carted her halfway across the country against her will and kept her in bonds? “What would ye have me say?” She turned sideways in the saddle. “I can only wonder at what ye plan to do with me. Should I beg for mercy in hopes ye’ll spare my life? Or should I wait ’til ye’ve no more use for me?” She straightened away from him.
He chuckled. “I appreciate the ideas.”
“Why not take me home now before my da comes after me and more blood is shed?”
He tensed as if her words had struck some deep chord within him. “Believe me, lass, more bloodshed is not my intention. I took ye because I had to and that’s the end of it.”
Akira wisely remained silent. The man seemed to contradict even his own character. He didn’t want her to believe him a barbarian, yet he had ridden onto MacKenzie land with warriors and carted her off against her will, thrown across his lap like a sack of potatoes. Then he bound her wrists with a leather strap and tried to convince her that he was a caring gentleman with good manners. There could only be one explanation. The man was daft.
* * *
They rode well into the night. Bryce’s heavily muscled arms shielded her from branches and other brush in their path. They came to a clearing and Bryce halted. “We’ll camp here for the night. There’s a small brook beyond those trees.” He gestured to the right. He called two men over. “Backtrack and station yerselves to keep watch. I want to know of the first sign of a MacKenzie.”
Before she could object, large hands circled her waist and lifted her down. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel, leaving her with no choice but to do as directed. He led her into the dark woods, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run the other way. Twigs cracked beneath the weight of their footsteps. An owl hooted in the distance. A small animal shifted and darted through the leaves. She wondered if it was a rabbit. Crickets sang around them. Akira rubbed her arms in discomfort and crouched close to his back to avoid the leaves and limbs he shoved aside.
They reached the brook, and he motioned for her to kneel beside him. She bent and watched him remove more of his plaid. He dipped it into the water and brought it against her face. She jerked at the cold contact. What was this about?
“I merely want to bathe yer face.”
She leaned back. “Nay!”
His hands fell to his sides, still holding his wet plaid in one hand. “I can see the swelling and darkness just below yer eye, even in the moonlight.”
As if brought on by his words, the skin under her left eye tightened and grew numb. Her fingers inched to her cheek as she stared at him. He was stern with his men and they rushed to do his bidding. A man did not earn that kind of respect and power with a gentle nature. They feared him, and they wanted his approval. She could see it in their faces when they looked at him. Admiration shone in their expression.
“Ye’ve no reason to fear me, unless ye plan to make it so,” he interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll treat ye with all the respect owed and due a lady, but heed my warning: Don’t anger me by trying to escape. There is naught I despise worse than distrust and betrayal.”
Akira stood to her full height, prepared to challenge him. “As yer prisoner I owe ye no trust or loyalty.”
He rose beside her. “Consider yerself warned. ’Twould ease yer fear of me.”
He lowered his voice, and she sensed his tone carried great meaning.
“I’m not afraid. I simply wish ye not to touch me.” She hoped her tone carried the contempt she felt.
“As ye wish.” He stepped closer, pointing a finger in her face. “But I warn ye. Ye’ll remain bound, for I’ll not give ye the opportunity to flee. If ye eat, I shall feed ye. If ye wash, I shall help ye. Ye belong to my brother, and I trust no one else save Balloch.”
Akira stood still, stunned. He was not the MacPhearson clan chief? She belonged to his brother? “Yer not Evan MacPhearson?”
“I am Bryce MacPhearson, the middle son.” He grinned. “I see ye’ve managed to remember the name of the man ye should have been saying yer vows to when I found ye, instead of that oaf ye were about to commit yerself to.”
He started to turn from her, but she gripped his arm. “Gregor is not an oaf. Though that is the best I can describe of ye.” She felt almost breathless. “What lies do ye speak? Evan MacPhearson sent my father a letter saying he had no intention of wedding me.”
“I speak no lies. The letter was a mistake.” He turned his full attention toward Akira and placed his hands on his hips, towering over her. “And as to a better description of me, do ye really lack that much imagination, lass? If this Gregor deserves such defense, then where was the brave groom when I found ye?”
Akira hated the truth of his words. Shivers ran up her spine, and she consciously tried to shake them off, but his last question brought her blood to a boil. Her thoughts turned to the humiliating scene. Warmth crept up her neck and into her face.
“Perhaps he was a wee bit late?” he taunted.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words hurt. “Maybe he knew how miserable I could make his life, which would be my full intention if yer brother were to succeed in wedding me.”
His lips twisted into a sardonic grin. “As laird, Evan is only performing his duties by wedding ye. Marriages of convenience occur every day. I doubt he plans to spend enough time with ye to allow ye to wreak havoc in his life.”
“I haven’t agreed to wed Evan. And ye know naught of Gregor to throw insults in his absence.” She hated the fact that she felt forced to take up for Gregor. He did not deserve her loyalty any more than the MacPhearsons.
“I know enough.” His gray eyes grew darker and his voice a bit louder.
“What do ye know of him?”
“Enough.”
“If I must hear these accusations against him, then tell me.”
He reached for her, and not knowing his intention, she flinched. His palm rested on the side of her face, surprisingly as gentle as a breeze. “I know he is a complete fool to give ye up.” His voice broke to a husky whisper.
Akira blinked, wondering if she had heard him correctly. “Then I suppose yer brother would be an even greater fool, because me da received Evan’s letter releasing me from the betrothal agreement just six months past.”
Bryce’s expression didn’t change. “He is the fool of all fools.” He turned and walked away.
Akira followed him.
“Did he send ye for me?” She wanted to know if she was an unwelcome necessity in Evan’s life.
“Ye’ll know soon enough.”
Akira caught up with him and tugged on his arm. She needed answers. “Why didn’t he take me?”
He shook off her arm. “Ye’ll sleep close by me.”
“I think not.” She turned from him and stomped off in the other direction, only to realize she still desired to know more about Evan MacPhearson. “Why did he not come for me himself?”
Bryce turned from her, rubbing his palm against his forehead. He walked past his men and pulled his furs from his stallion and threw them at her feet. “Here, sleep on those. ’Tis enough to cover ye.”
“My da will come for me.”
“I expect he will.” Bryce walked over to a tree, sat, leaned against the trunk and folded his arms over his knees.
“Ye plan to sleep that way?”
“Aye.” He let his head drop against the hard bark.
“Ye look uncomfortable.” She frowned in his direction. “But, I care not.” She assured him. “I’ll be home with me family in the comfort of me own bed soon.”
Akira brushed aside a few twigs and spread out her furs as best she could with her hands still bound. Then she crawled on top of the furs and brought one end over her. The chill had not bothered her as yet, but the night air promised dropping temperatures. The day had been warm for April and the first time it had not rained in days. It was a good omen for her wedding day—or so she had thought. An image of Gregor appeared in her mind, and sadness closed around her heart. The pain of his rejection hurt more than she cared to think on. She stifled a sob that nearly escaped her throat.
***
A muffled sound brought Bryce’s head up. He studied Akira’s feminine form under the moonlight. Her hair sprawled over her arms like silver ribbon. She sighed uncomfortably and shuffled around, restless.
The vision of her face, swollen and blue, made him squirm with regret. He had not meant to hurt her, and he despised his carelessness.
“Blunderin’ idiot!” he muttered under his breath.
“Are ye troubled?” The hope in her voice almost made him chuckle as she rolled over on her side and sat up on her elbow. The furs slipped from her shoulder. Akira’s silhouetted form shivered against the cool air settling in around them. Bryce looked away and shifted again to ease his discomfort.
“Nay.” He dropped his chin on his folded arms.
She continued to stare at him a moment longer before she lay back down to rest.
He let his head fall back against the bark of the tree and looked up at the outline of the branches and leaves above. Footsteps and twigs broke. Balloch plopped down beside him. “The lady’s a beauty, is she not?” Balloch whispered.
“Aye, she is at that. In a few days she’ll hate me when she learns the truth.” For some reason, that realization bothered him. What should he care of her hatred for him? He wasn’t the one destined to wed her, but it bothered him nonetheless. As she prayed aloud for her family, her safety, and a swift return home, guilt plagued him.
When she prayed that God would soften his heart, Bryce could stand no more. He turned to Balloch. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back.”
In one fluid motion he stood and walked away from camp. Safely out of hearing, Bryce looked up at the clear bright stars.
“Lord, Vicar Forbes says to honor yer mother and yer father. I’m only trying to do so.” He sighed heavily, wondering if God would hear him after what he had done today. “I really do want peace between our clans. I’m tired of all the bloodshed. Show me how to keep my promise without causing another war.”
No answer came from the Almighty. Bryce dropped his head in shame. While he had never been an overly religious man, he had no desire to anger his Maker. Had he gone too far this time?
My girl desperately wanted to advance from Region Choir to Pre-Area Choir at her audition last night, but it was not to be -- lots of stiff competition in the vocal arena.
Disappointments sting, no matter how much you know that God's plan is perfect. If you are experiencing one of life's disappointments, perhaps these will minister to you:
The disappointment has come - not because God desires to hurt you or make you miserable or to demoralize you or ruin your life or keep you from ever knowing happiness. He wants you to be perfect and complete in every aspect, lacking nothing. It's not the easy times that make you more like Jesus, but the hard times."
Kay Arthur (author and Bible Study leader)
* * * * *
"Disappointment -- His Appointment"
Change one letter, then I see
That the thwarting of my purpose
Is God's better choice for me.
His appointment must be blessing,
Tho' it may come in disguise,
For the end from the beginning
Open to His wisdom lies.
"Disappointment -- His Appointment"
Whose? The Lord, who loves me best,
Understands and knows me fully,
Who my faith and love would test;
For, like loving earthly parent,
He rejoices when He knows
That His child accepts, UNQUESTIONED,
all that from His wisdom flows.
"Disappointment -- His Appointment"
"No good thing will He withhold,"
From denials oft we gather
Treasures of His love untold,
Well He knows each broken purpose
Leads to fuller, deeper trust,
And the end of all His dealings
Proves our God is wise and just.
"Disappointment -- His Appointment"
Lord, I take it, then, as such.
Like the clay in hands of potter,
Yielding wholly to Thy touch.
All my life's plan in Thy moulding,
Not one single choice be mine;
Let me answer, unrepining --
"Father, not my will, but Thine."
Edith Lillian Young
* * * * *
For he performeth the thing that is appointed for me:and many such things are with Him. (Job 23:14)
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
MY THOUGHTS:
Sarah Palin is one of the most polarizing figures on the political scene so it is not surprising that a book would be published about her convictions, faith, and the impact she has--or could have--on American politics and this country. If you are a political "junkie" this is quite the interesting read. Since I"m not big on politics, the analysis got a bit wearing for me, but that's just my personal bias. Take a look for yourself by grabbing a copy of this peek inside the life of one of today's most controversial politicians.
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.
I'm in my "fabulous fifties" and my husband and I have been married 25 years. We have a son and a daughter who are both in college. so we are reluctantly entering the empty-nest years. I was an RN in my former (pre-kids) life which comes in handy as I serve in our church's care ministry.
Chatting over a cup of coffee with a friend to encourage and support one another (and share a laugh or even a tear) is one of my favorite things to do.
Chris Fabry is a 1982 graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University. He is heard on Chris Fabry Live! each weekday on Moody Radio, the Love Worth Finding broadcast, and other radio programs. You may have also heard Chris cohosting programs for Focus on the Family radio. He and his wife, Andrea, live in Arizona and are the parents of nine children.
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