Prayer Ponderings

Prayer is on my mind this morning. More specifically, a verse about prayer that I came across during my daily Bible study is plaguing my brain. Hebrews 4:16 is the verse: "So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most."

What does it mean to come boldly to the throne room of God? And how can we combine that with the, "Never stop praying," advice offered in 1 Thessalonians 5:17?

My mind keeps coming back to a video one of my friends shared a few weeks ago. A toddler is singing to an Elvis song, but during her song, she keeps checking on her daddy. You can tell that her daddy is clearly the most important person in her little world. As I watched the video again this morning, I see a child who constantly keeps the line of communication open with her daddy. She does this, not because she wants anything, but because she wants to be reassured that he's still there and listening. You can tell Ella Mae's daddy isn't at all bothered or upset by her random calls out to him, and often answers her. I can't help but wonder if that's how God responds when He hears us calling out to Him, throughout our day, for no reason other than to make sure He's still there.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Quenching the 'Couve

Helen Keller once said, "I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do." As the economy continues to struggle, it is easy and convenient to make excuses not to help others. But I've recently found that it's even easier to grab a group of friends and do something!

This fall we've had some unseasonably warm days in Vancouver, Washington. On one such toasty day my niece Desiree made a comment about how much it would stink to be homeless in the heat. Out of her observation spawned an idea to pass out popsicles and water bottles to the homeless in order to make the heat a little more bearable for them.

My niece is a genius.

We hit up Costco and spent under $20 on a box of 100 Otter Pops and 24 bottles of water. Next, we recruited some friends from the Living Hope Church KidsWorld. Then, we drove around for about an hour, quenching thirsts and cooling off those in need.

$20 + 1 hour = an opportunity to love on people.

We took a video of the experience to show people how easy and inexpensive it can be to help others. I've compiled a clip of the highlights here:

Now I want to hear from you! Please share your ideas for giving back to the community in the comments below. Together, maybe we can make this world a little better.

Thank you! 

Resume Help

I’m currently suffering through a stack of resumes and have come up with some advice for job seekers.

1. Follow the directions in the ad. If employers include directions in their help wanted ads, they’re more than likely testing your ability to read, comprehend, and follow said directions. For example, if they say email us your cover letter in the body of the email and attach your resume as a word document, follow the directions. 
2. Your cover letter is a tool that should be utilized to get your employers to open your resume. Use it to address qualifications and job duties listed in the ad, therefore showing your employer why you’re qualified. Each cover letter should be specific to the particular position you’re inquiring about. 
3. Cover letters should also be addressed in a way that they do not look generic. If the ad instructs you to email your resume to “Mary,” do not begin your cover letter with “Dear Sir,” or “To Whom It May Concern.” If they do not list a name, then you can customize it in other areas, like by addressing the duties and qualifications specific to the ad (as mentioned in #3).
4. Do not use acronyms or abbreviations  unrelated to the job you’re inquiring about. Applying for an office job and listing your series 7 news surveillance clearance doesn’t make you sound more qualified.  Nor will they care that you’re experienced in software that they don’t use or that you have your CDL (commercial driver’s license).  
5. Your resume should focus on information pertinent to the position offered. If you list nine jobs in nine different fields across the board, the employer will understandably think you have no clue what you want to be when you grow up and that this job will just be another experiment to see if you like it.
6. That brings me to a pet peeve. Be sure you understand what all the words on your resume mean. If you have a section titled “Relevant Experience,” you should understand that the word relevant means closely connected or appropriate to the matter at hand. If the experience listed in this section is not suited for the job you’re applying for, please don’t list it. 
7. When listing your job duties from your previous places of employment, please list what you actually did. Don’t just use keywords like “team player” and “multi-tasked.” Employers will want to know the type of work you actually performed. If you don’t know enough to talk about it, they won’t be interested in talking to you.
8. Proofread your resume multiple times. Read it aloud. Read it to others. Have others read it to you. Just READ it. Make sure it makes sense and that nothing is misspelled and double check your use of commonly misused words like to/too/two, their/there, affect/effect, then/than, etc.  

The job market is still tough, and job seekers need every advantage they can get. Please be sure to add your own suggestions below and share this post with anyone interested in fine tuning their resume.

How Independence Kills Faith

The other day I was having a discussion with my friend Mykle about the incredible faith of children. Children have an innocent dependence about them that enables them to have faith in a higher being that takes care of them because of the role of their guardians. If this faith is nurtured, it turns to zeal when they hit their teen years. The teen is anxious to give back to God who has provided for them, desiring to serve on mission trips, feed the hungry or build homes for the homeless.

Then something happens when teens transition to adulthood ... responsibility.

It starts out like a virus, sapping their time and energy as they start working to supply their own needs. Their identity becomes warped and wrapped up in how much they make and what they own. Suddenly they're no longer so willing to give or so eager to serve. They're busy and distracted and they no longer really "need" God to provide for them, because they've learned to provide for themselves, forgetting that He created and owns it all.

Mykle pointed out that as adults, we believe that everything we earn, we own.We tend to act like teenagers with their first job, bringing home an Xbox or new clothes and declaring, "They're mine! I bought them." Only to have our parents remind us that we're using their electricity or their washing machine and living under their roof. So, our newly purchased toys are basically useless without what the parental units provide to operate and house them.

God must often look at us the same way, as we boast about what we make or what we earn, forgetting that nothing is truly ours. In our independence we become like God, so we no longer see the need for God. We drift away from the church and our faith sputters out like a flame without fuel.

Then, some life-shattering event happens. We lose the job that has become our identity, or a close family member dies. Something occurs to remind us how powerless we truly are, and we either lose hope entirely, or we seek out some sort of lowercase god (drugs, love, alcohol, sex, anything we can stuff in the God-shaped hole in our heart). All the while, God is waiting and knocking ... wondering when we'll come back and allow Him to take care of us.

No wonder Matthew 18:3 says, Unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Raised by and around strong, independent women, I have always valued my independence. Independence that was recently shattered when I fractured a bone in my ankle and had to rely on the people around me for basic needs and assistance. My active life consists of a 40-hour per week job, a big family family, a heavy volunteer schedule, treadmill time and softball. All of which were limited (if not completely put on hold) due to my injury. Angry and depressed about all I suddenly couldn't do, I realized how much of my identity and self-worth are wrapped up in the activities I do rather than the person I am.

My independence has always been one of my greatest strengths, but now I see where it has also been a weakness, keeping me from relying on anyone else. Unfortunately, that includes God. Why should I depend on Him, when I can do it all myself? But just because I CAN do something, doesn't mean I SHOULD. In fact, Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us to, Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.

So, what does this all mean? Well, for me it means that it's time for me to give up my shallow independence and go deeper in my faith. I'll be taking some pretty crazy leaps of faith in the near future and I'm posting this to make sure I'm held accountable. Time to give God the reins and let Him truly reign in my life.

An Educational Outrage

When we stop teaching our children the atrocities of the past, we are robbing the future of the knowledge needed to make sure history is not repeated.


My sixteen-year-old and I had a very disturbing conversation last night. It all started with a video that my dad sent me. During which, a camera crew asked “random” Americans who Adolf Hitler was. A frighteningly large number of them had no clue. To be honest, I think the video was skewed to get the results the producer wanted. I have to believe that a higher percentage of Americans know of Hitler because of his crimes.


Out of curiosity, I asked both of my teen sons who Adolf Hitler was. To my relief, they both knew. But my eldest son knew far more than I even did. He gave a remarkably detailed rendition of Hitler’s life between World Wars I and II, even telling me how many times Hitler had tried to gain office before he became a dictator.


To say I was impressed in an understatement. I had an amazing history teacher (thank you, Mr. Jeffery!), and because he had a passion for history that carried over into his teaching style, I loved the class. When my eldest blew me away with his knowledge of Hitler I asked where he learned these things. It turns out that he learned some in history, but most of his knowledge came from his German language class


You see, his teacher was from Germany and the effects of Hitler on her country were personal. Because of this, she taught the kids not only about the language, but also about the dictator who had done so much damage to her people. Jewish and non-Jewish alike. She was an amazing, passionate teacher who actually educated her students. A rare and valuable breed.


So why am I disturbed by my conversation with my son? Well, after telling me how much he’d learned from this teacher, he informed me that she quit last year. Why? She was disgusted with the upcoming textbook and curriculum changes. It turns out that they’re no longer going to be teaching the Holocaust because they find it too offensive.


WHAT?!?! History is offensive. We are an imperfect people who have made countless mistakes. When we stop teaching our children the atrocities of the past, we are robbing the future of the knowledge needed to make sure history is not repeated. What can possibly be learned by sweeping the dirt from our past under the carpet? Are we so anxious for a repeat of our historic hate crimes?


Out of curiosity, my husband asked my eldest what he knew about slavery. At sixteen, the most he could tell us was that slavery was bad and was the reason for the revolutionary war. But what he couldn’t tell us spoke louder than what he could. He had no idea how the slavers had came in possession of the slaves. He couldn’t tell us basic information about slavery, but instead told us that the book they’d had him read talked about a slave owner who helped his slaves. He explained that they didn’t really teach a lot about slavery. I guess no one really wants to talk about topics that are connected to emotions.


Personally, I’m a little outraged. I encourage you to also be outraged by the atrocities committed in the past. So outraged, in fact, that you educate your children and grandchildren against repeating them.


Obviously the school system isn’t going to.

Ten Years with a DPS Rogue

Tomorrow marks ten years of something I honestly thought was impossible.

But despite my sordid history and my insistence on being independent and never relying on anyone for anything, Meltarrus Washington crept into my life. Oh he was a stealthy one, pretending to just “hang out” and challenge me in video games. I was on to him from the beginning, though and told him there’d be absolutely no relationship. Ever. He gave me that cocky half-smile of his and said some canned response like, “Yeah, but you’ve never met a guy like me before.” Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

Then he told me he’d beta tested the game I was playing so I decided to give him a shot (don’t judge me! I did it for the good of the guild). Besides, he had this great sense of humor and did some serious damage to keep the mobs off my healer (okay, yes I’m a nerd). And no matter how much I tried to deny it, that was just straight-up hot. Then he turned serious and before I knew it, he had dragged me into church (kicking and screaming) to start marriage counseling with Pastor James Boyd (henceforth known as Mel’s partner in crime). After a few months of these sessions, Pastor Boyd decided Mel and I were sane enough to be married (boy did we have him fooled!).

Mel and I worked at the same place and despite our denials our coworkers seemed a little suspicious that we were dating. Since telling them about the wedding would give us away, we didn’t invite them (I think we were trying to figure out how long we could go without telling them). Instead we had a very small ceremony and disappeared for a few days to LaPush, Washington (now known as werewolf country, but Mel was the only furry beast I saw while up there).

Those first couple of years weren’t easy. To be honest, there were times when I wanted to delete his character and vendor all his gear (not necessarily in that order). But I think during those marriage counseling sessions Mel and his partner in crime (yes Pastor Boyd I’m talking about you), worked some deal with God to turn me into a little less ice wielding wizard and a little more into the caring healer I liked to play. Both God and Mel continued to pour love and forgiveness into me and I got a respec – shifting my points from damage wielding to healing done.

Now, as I sit on the lanai at our rented condo on Kauai, I can’t help but feel blessed. I’m thankful to Mel – the high DPS (damage per second for those of you non-gamers) rogue who did enough damage to destroy the ice around my heart and to God – who never gave up on me and always forgave me for being stubborn, pigheaded and downright stupid.

I love you, Baby, and here’s to another ten years!

Death wishes and crooked mirrors

I hate myself and I want to die.

Which of us hasn’t felt that way once or twice? Monthly? Daily?

The truth is that 7 of every 10 girls feel they don’t measure up in some way including their looks, performance in school, and relationships. It’s amazing the amount of time we ladies spend on trying to improve our outer appearance—trying to conform to the world’s view of beauty. We are so busy focusing on our failure to measure up, that we forget to focus on God.

I’m definitely not exempting myself from this “we” I speak of. I’ve glared into multiple mirrors, hating the face and body I saw, wishing I could change … everything. But while studying for a girls-group discussion this weekend, I have discovered that my self-loathing is just another form of egotism. In my hang-ups with my appearance, I am just as self-centered as the most egotistical, conceited people. My appearance rules my activities and my life has became “all about me and my shortcomings.” For instance, I hate taking my boys swimming because I’m not comfortable with the way I look in a bathing suit. I’ve neglected displaying several family photos because I hate the way I look in them.

But my discomfort with myself doesn’t just affect my family. My self-image has an enormously destructive impact on my ministry. Even though I know God has called me to, I’m hesitant to speak in front of groups; afraid they might judge or dislike me. I sometimes hold back when I know a teen needs prayer, because I’m afraid that teen will reject me or think I’m weird.

Woah. Self-absorbed much, Manda?

The problem is that when I’m focusing on myself—be it egotistical or deprecatory—I’m not focused on God. How can I look up if I’m looking in the mirror? How can I be used by God if I’m busy wondering if these jeans make my butt look big?

Well, who cares? After all, it’s not about me.

That’s actually a very liberating realization. IT’S NOT ABOUT ME!

Our hunger for self-worth is a God-given hunger that only He can satisfy. We can disillusion ourselves for a while—believing we can satisfy that hunger with approval from friends or family, self-righteous achievements, or introspective evaluations. In reality, everyone—even ourselves—will let us down.

I’ve also learned that with every self-depreciating thought or comment, I’m insulting God’s handiwork. Psalm 139:13-14 tells us: For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

I haven’t been very nice to God’s creation—me. And every minute I’ve spent degrading myself is a stolen moment from God’s will for my life. I’ve been complaining when I should have been serving. Ephesians 2:10 tells us: For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

God has a plan for our lives.

Come to think of it, the happiest, most fulfilled times of my life have been in service; serving my family, friends, strangers, and God. Helping others truly brings joy. Volunteering with the Living Hope youth group has been an incredible experience that is constantly blessing me with hope, love and increased faith. But of course it is. After all, when I’m busy looking up, I don’t have time to look in the mirror.

So, from now on, I’m applying the writing mantra I share with my friend Krista Darrach to the rest of my life as well. “It’s not about me.” Nor is it about the miserable feelings of inadequacy that focusing on me brings. Life is about utilizing the forever-dwindling moments I have left to serve God, my family and others. I now understand that only when I focus on God will my desire for self-worth will be fulfilled.

PS. I read this to Mel (my husband) and his response was, “I’ve only been telling you that forever.” 

The beginning of my day

Here's the situation:


My 8-5 gig occasionally requires me to attend board meetings. Such was the case today. As my boss and I pulled up to the venue, my boss began checking his email so I told him to keep at it and I'd go find out which room we were in then come back for him. Since this was our first meeting at a new location, my convention and education directors (Kim and Pam) asked me to evaluate the place and determine if it would be a viable option for some upcoming classes we were scheduling. 


In other words, be nosy ... sure, I can do that. 


So when I saw two signs, one with our company name pointing down toward the basement and the other sign pointing up toward the restaurant, I naturally went to the restaurant. Keep in mind that I was instructed to be nosy, after all, so I needed to size up the restaurant. 


When I entered the restaurant the first thing I saw were bathrooms - a very welcome sign after a venti latte, 32 ounces of water and a two-hour drive through Portland traffic. Besides, Kim and Pam would probably want me to check out the bathrooms as well. 


The bathrooms checked out fine, so I investigated the rest of the restaurant. It was clean enough but strangely vacant. I roamed around long enough to deem it acceptably clean and quaint, then went for the door. 


The door wouldn't open. I shook it, beat on it, and may have kicked it, but the stupid thing wouldn't budge. After another quick sweep of the restaurant, I confirmed that I was alone and dialed the office for help. The conversation went something like this:


Kim - "Hello?"
Me - "So ... funny story. We're here and well, I had to go to the bathroom. But only now I can't ... uh ... get out.
Kim - *SILENCE*
Me - "Like I'm locked in. I can't ... get out."
Kim - What? *hysterical laughter*
Me - *clears throat*
Kim - *more hysterical laughter*
Me - *crickets*
Kim - "You're serious?"
Me - "You guys told me to check it out! So I went upstairs instead of downstairs so I could check out restaurant and the door wasn't locked when I came in. But now it's locked." 
Kim - *chuckling under her breath* 
Me - "Kim! There is no one in here and I can't get out. I have to get downstairs for the board meeting."
Kim - "I'll call my contact and call you back." 


It took another ten minutes for Kim to convince her contact that despite the fact that the restaurant was closed, I was, indeed, locked inside. But the highlight of the adventure came when I strolled up to my boss' car (approximately 20 minutes after I left him to go "find the meeting room"). He rolled down the window and asked, "What happened, you get lost?" 


Me - "No. Actually I was locked in."


And that was the beginning of my day.

Fire

Children are passionate. If you don't believe me, ask one to describe his or her favorite video game or movie. They will go on and on, utilizing body motions and expressions, to make sure you understand the depth of their passion. 


Like little fires, burning bright and clean, roaring with excitement.


But children grow up. The circumstances and people around them quench that fire with "reality" and "acceptable behavior." Zest for faith, love and life gets suffocated into a perfectly boring, dull glow. Somewhere along the way, we fail to remember the importance of committing our whole selves to a cause or a belief. So we hang back with the other embers, sputtering out, forgetting what it feels like to be completely on fire. 


After all, it's safer to be mediocre. No one looks at you funny or talks about you behind your back. But I definitely wouldn't call it an existence. We spend our whole life quenching our inner fire for social acceptance, only to find out that a life without passion is a drab, destitute death. 


So in the words of the human torch, "Flame on!" Don't be afraid to let your light shine. 


Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. - Romans 12:11 NIV

Bread Crumbs

As a writer, I often get discouraged.

I've only been writing for a little over two years, and in that time I have learned so much. But in no way do I feel like I know all there is to know. I've had amazing teachers, friends, writers, readers, etc. who have helped me along the way. The journey hasn't always been pleasant. At first it was quite difficult to pick apart my creations, deciphering the usable material from the unacceptable refuse. Hours upon hours of writing, followed by an endless circle of editing, can go beyond tiring, stretching into the realms of tedious and grueling.

And wow this is whiny.

But it's also real and raw - what's truly on my heart. Despite the fact that writing is difficult, time-consuming and often discouraging, I feel called to it. Sometimes plots and characters play so continuously in my brain that I'm afraid I'll go crazy if I don't write them down. So, I write. Then I edit. Then I send it to my blunt and honest friends who force me to edit some more. Usually after the editing comes wake up calls in the middle of the night that fill my head with ideas to further the plot or character development. Then those ideas need to be edited....

That's what it's really like to write. You find yourself balancing on a ledge with one hand on sanity, tip-toeing across sleep, as the wind gusts around you, taunting you with whispers that you don't know what you're doing and you'll never be good enough. Doubt. Ick.

But through it all, God is still amazing. As I venture down this path, He offers bread crumbs to lead me in the direction I need to go. Encouraging emails and messages pop up when I need them most. From least expected sources comes guidance and support, reinforcing motivations and goals. Reminding me that I'm part of something bigger and more important than myself and my stupid self-doubts. Slapping me with reality and prompting me to get my butt in gear.

Thank God for the bread crumbs.

EPIC FAIL

This weekend at Epikos, we were encouraged to be "joyful workers." As Pastor Sam challenged the congregation to be light in our workplaces – no matter how dark those workplaces may be – I decided, “I can do that!”

But I faced my first challenge before I got out of bed. It turns out that eating your body weight in banana laffy taffy can evoke some pretty bizarre dreams. The first one reminded me of something I'd forgotten to do at work. The second dream involved someone shooting at me while I hid behind a car door (Not attached to a car) making calls on my cell phone. I dialed 911, where an unconcerned operator put me on hold. With bullets whizzing by my head, I hung up and called back. A very polite police officer informed me that they’d be right over. After their coffee break.

Right. That was helpful. I spent the rest of the dream dodging some psychotic gunman while trying to find help.

Does anyone know if banana laffy taffy has been tested for hallucinogenic side effects?

Needless to say, I woke up feeling more tired than when I had went to sleep. When I poured myself out of the shower, I couldn’t help but notice how quiet my house was. Not a good quiet. A very bad quiet. An everyone's-asleep-and-gonna-be-late-for-school type quiet. I freaked (maybe a little too much), but the boys were all calm and collected. They got up slowly and moseyed around the kitchen like they had all the time in the world. 

The 15 year old missed the bus, so I drove him to school. Half way there, my gas light came on. Naturally. It was then that I remembered Sunday's brilliant plan to leave for work early so I could fill up my gas tank.

Brilliant, I tell ya!

After I dropped off child one, I got a call that the 13 year old had also missed the bus. (OF COURSE he did! He was roaming around the kitchen in his pajamas when I left) So, I rushed home to retrieve the truant child and there is a slight possibility that I lectured him the whole way to school. 

Be the light, right? I feel more like the woman in "The Exorcist". Let the head rotating and projectile vomiting commence! Lovely visual.

By the time I walked into work I'd beaten my head against my steering wheel so many times that I looked like I’d been on a three-day bender with AC/DC. I was ten minutes late and pulled in just in time to see someone take the parking spot I wanted.

The jerk! Why couldn't he see that I was clearly heading for that spot?

Oh, and first thing this morning we had a conference call. About budgets! Worse yet – budgets for a non-profit association in a down economy.
 
EPIC FAIL.

Tonight I'll go home and apologize to my children for showing them my "Tales from the Crypt" side. And then - what the heck - I’m a glutton for punishment so I’ll try to light this candle again tomorrow.

I hear there's a storm rollin' in so I may need some prayers ...

My momma always knew best, but as a parent . . . I'm afraid I’m just a poser.

Without fail, my momma had the perfect advice for any situation, be it boys, friends, school or life in general. She was amazingly tolerant and beyond patient, despite my insistence at blasting the song "Parents Just Don't Understand" from behind my bedroom door. I feel that she truly did try to understand and do her best to steer me in the right direction.

My only complaint is that she obviously didn’t pass these traits on to me.

The realization that I am not the wise lady that my momma is came to me as I was cooking pizza the other night. It was pepperoni, but acceptable as a meal since it was also covered in mushrooms (they are a vegetable, right?). My 13 year old son was “starving to death” and asked if he could eat a banana to hold him over. I, of course, told him he could wait for dinner.

He laughed at me.

“Seriously?” he asked. “You don’t want me to eat a piece of fruit because it might ruin my appetite for greasy pizza with almost no nutritional value?”

Somewhere in my mind it made sense, and I honestly didn’t understand his confusion over the matter. Nor did I appreciate his tone of voice. My momma, no doubt, would have enlightened him in a way that would have made both Yoda and Gandhi drop their jaws in awe, but the answer to his obviously trick question escaped me. But fear not, I managed to maintain my parental superiority by sticking my tongue out at him and walking away.

Remembering Why I Wrote Chronicles of the Broken

I recently read this agent blog http://confessionsofawanderingheart.blogspot.com/ that reminded me why I wrote Chronicles of the Broken, and why I think it’s so important to get it published. The blog is about the novel “Mockingjay” and violence in young adult books. It brings up a great point about teen readers, stating that, “They want to read about sex, drugs, and violence because that’s the world they live in right now.  Those are the topics that will move them and open up dialogue and allow them to think.  And I for one would rather give them Crank or Beautiful and allow them to realize they’re not alone or experience the contents behind the safety of the written word than send them into the world unprepared.”

I couldn’t agree more. Our children are exposed to so much these days. It’s almost impossible (and often dangerous) for them to keep their innocence for too long. It is popular to teach our children about protected sex, alternative lifestyles and, in some schools, erotic art. But if Christians try to share our point of view, we are immediately instructed to sit down and shut up.

Well, I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut (and my pen silent), so I’m writing a teen book series that will take average teens who are going through rough circumstances and show them God’s amazing grace. The goal is to do this in a way that keeps them interested, entertained and is not preachy or condemning. The novel is finally finished and I’ve recently started sending out queries.

The characters –

Amy Yong: Eccentric computer hacker, gamer and orphan, she’s done with real life and the niceties that accompany it. After inflicting a dose of well-earned revenge upon her creepy history teacher, she ends up with a failing grade and concerned grandparents.

Marcus Wilson: A one-time aspiring football jock turned angry hater-of-the-world when his eldest sister turns into a hypocrite, ends up pregnant and drops out of high school. Disappointed and furious, Marcus takes his anger to the field, and now his coach has ejected him until his attitude gets adjusted.

Andrew McAllen: A conceited rich kid with a diminishing respect for people and an uncanny ability to lie. Educated and self-confident, his very identity will be shattered when he witnesses what science and physics can’t explain.

Jessica Thomas: With a terminally ill mother, and a father who’s turned to alcohol in order to cope, this shy girl is wrapped in loneliness. So when senior heart-throb, RJ Winters busts through her cocoon with kind words and kisses she knows it’s too good to be true, but is too weak to resist RJ’s charm.

Trevor Buchanan: Dealing with a divorced mother on the prowl for fresh meat and an abusive older brother, Trevor finds his comfort in music. And when his well-meaning uncle ships him off to a church camp with a bunch of whack-jobs, Trevor is well outside his comfort zone, trying to find the truth in a world clouded by lies.

James Reynolds: The twenty-six-year-old pastor of an elderly congregation. Desperate for a change, he agrees to take on the challenge of his predecessor and hold the church’s first ever youth camp. Trusting in God (and his deacons) to bring him teenagers, James looks forward to fulfilling a prophesy.

Rachel Parkinson: After her husband announces that he needs a break, and with nowhere else to go, Rachel finds herself on the doorstep of her meddling mother and emotionally absent father. Seeking God’s help with her failing marriage, she ventures to the church of her childhood, where she finds her childhood tormentor behind the pulpit. Roped into helping James, Rachel is unsure how she can hold the pieces of her life together long enough to aid anyone.

If you would like to read more, the first several chapters can be found here.

The Rock, the Waves & the Fisherman

Try as I might to cling to the rock, sometimes I relax my grip and the waves of life jostle me loose and toss me around the sea. I don't even realize I’ve fallen until I’m gasping for air and purging salt water from my lungs. As the turbulent waters push me away from the rock, I struggle to remember why I've held on to it so tightly. I lean back, relaxing into a floating position. The waves rock me back and forth, becoming a watery cradle.

Just let go.

I close my eyes and allow myself to drift through a sea of oblivion, reassuring myself that it’s okay. I can feel bodies pressed in around me, and am relieved by the fact that I’m not alone. Everyone else is allowing the waves to carry them from the rock.

Why shouldn’t I? 

Why am I fighting what others so readily accept?
 
I open my eyes and confirm that they all appear serene and accepting. They do not worry about right and wrong, but are content to go with what feels good and makes them happy.

I could do that.

A strong undercurrent pulls at my feet, and more than anything I want to give in.

Give up. Become like everyone else.
 
I’ve always been an outsider, and cannot deny that the idea of belonging appeals to me.

A slight tug on my heart reminds me of the promise a Fisherman once told me - "Believe in me and I will set you free." The tug, acting as evidence that He has not given up on me, is enough to ignite a fire in my spirit. The lyrics to the song “Everything,” by Lifehouse replay in my mind.

“Find me here, and speak to me.
I want to feel you, I need to hear you.
You are the light, that’s leading me.
To the place, where I’ll find peace again.”

I repeat the words over and over; begging Him to find me, reminding myself that no matter how much easier it would be to give in to the waves, there is no peace in the water. The serenity the world offers to those who surrender to it is an illusion.

The Fisherman tugs again and my burden suddenly seems lighter.

Adrenaline floods my veins as I clench my teeth, angry that I was almost deceived.

I am an outcast, but never alone.

I began searching for the thin line that connects us, but the ocean is too murky. Treading water, I search for the rock but cannot find it. I belittle myself for my stupidity, disgusted that I would allow the waves to carry me out so far. I am clueless as to which direction to swim.

This is hopeless.

I weep. My soul cries out for aid. I am answered by the lyrics to “Crawl” by Superchick, as they begin softly, and then crescendo until they block out the sounds of everything around me.

“When everything I was is lost
I have forgot but you have not.
When I am lost you have not lost me.”

The last line echos through my entire body, comforting me like hot chocolate on a winter night. I feel another pull, stronger this time. Acting on faith, I plunge forward, determined to press on until I reach the rock. Fighting wave after wave, I persevere. My muscles are sore and despite the chill of the water, my entire body radiates heat from exertion, but I continue, knowing that I cannot afford to rest.

Each wave feels like an ice pick, chipping away at my resolve.

I cannot do this. 

Just as I begin to doubt, wondering if hope has cruelly made me imagine the steadfast Fisherman, the rock comes into view. I stretch out my arms, praying that I will be able to cross the distance before the waves finish me off. Fatigued, I kick one last time.

I feel the pull on my soul and close my eyes, relaxing as He reels me in like a fish on a hook.

I reach for Him with the faith of a child, knowing that He is different. Believing that He is life. He pulls me to him, shakes off the weight of the water, and sets me free.

The Hunger Games - Book Review

The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins (REVIEW)
September, 2008. 384 pages, Scholastic Press, hardcover, $9.75
(978-0439023481) Young Adult

Seventeen-year-old Katniss Everdeen lives on the border of starvation in District 12 of what used to be North America. Ever since her father’s death, Katniss has been barely keeping herself, her twelve-year-old sister Prim, and their mother fed by her forbidden hunting practices. But on one terrible reaping day that all changes.

There used to be 13 Districts, but when they rebelled against the extremely controlling Capitol, District 13 was completely wiped out. To prevent the Districts from stepping out of line again, the Capitol runs Hunger Games. Once a year, two children, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, are selected from each District and thrown into a televised arena in a battle to the death.   

When Prim's name is selected for the battle, Katniss, being the protective older sister, volunteers to go in her place. To win over the hearts of the crowd, the clever trainers for District 12 devise a plan where Katniss will pretend to fall in love with Peeta, the boy selected from her District. There can be only one survivor in this game, though, and Katniss spends the pages avoiding danger after danger while trying to keep her head and her heart focused on a plan she can vaguely remember.

In essence, The Hunger Games is a nail-biting, hard-to-put-down story about teenagers killing each other, while the Districts are forced to watch, to ensure District loyalty. I hated the residents of the Capitol almost immediately—watching them primp in their futuristic world where food, medicine and glamour are all at the touch of a button while the Districts are starving with limited electricity and harsh laws.

Definitely not for younger children, The Hunger Games balances precariously between love and violence.

Once you get past the annoyingly-weird names, the story holds its own. Well written, fast paced and full of action, I held my breath, stayed up late reading, and the instant I closed the book I was online looking for the sequel. Good stuff!

If I Stay - Book Review

If I Stay, by Gayle Forman (REVIEW)
April, 2010. 272 pages, Speak, paperback reprint, $8.99
(978-0142415436) Young Adult


Seventeen-year-old Mia has a perfect family, a supportive boyfriend, and a promising future. Then a devastating car crash flings Mia into an out-of-body experience where she must decide whether to give up and die with her family, or fight for her life and an unknown future without them.

I greatly disliked the first chapter of the book, as I suspect most Oregonians will. Writer Gayle Forman is a New Yorker who begins If I Stay by describing an Oregon snow storm in the condescending tone of someone who believes Oregonians make a bit too much ruckus over our insignificant snowfall.

I don't really feel like Forman "gets" teens. Her teen characters guffaw and chortle, their conversations "volley" and they have very unusual relationships. Mia's mother is a feminist and her father is an ex-band member who recently decided to grow up. No one ever seems to argue or disagree, and it's perfectly okay that Mia takes eighteen-year-old rocker boyfriend Adam up to her room, because her parents would never stand in the way of love. Yeah. Sure. Forman also speaks of Adam wearing "pegged" pants, which I can only guess are supposed to be skinny jeans. Pegged pants were an 80's and early 90's thing, and I now have a vision of a punk/grunge rocker running around with his pants pegged. Hey, they say all styles come back sooner or later ...

All that being said, this is a touching story. Forman does a great job at making the reader feel for the characters. The family relationship, though odd, is enduring. Mia's view of the world and her responsibilities is incredibly mature for a girl her age, but it seems to work. You'd think the book would be terribly depressing, but it's not. It's more of a celebration of the lives of Mia's parents and little brother. A celebration of the life she doesn't know if she can continue without them. As she's deciding, her boyfriend, best friend, grandparents, aunts, uncles, family friends, etc. surround Mia with love, hoping that she'll realize what a great family she still has.

My favorite line in the book: "This is Portland. You're lucky if a drug overdose gets you into the ER." 

Since this is a young adult book, I feel compelled to warn of language and sexual content.

Sizzling Sixteen - Book Review

Sizzling Sixteen, by Janet Evanovich (REVIEW)
June. 2010. 320 pages, St. Martin's Press, hardcover, $27.99
(978-0312383305). Mystery Thriller


I love Janet Evanovich. She's a creative, intelligent, humorous writer, and I have really enjoyed the Stephanie Plum series. Like Stephanie Plum, I just can't choose between the mysterious bad-boy Ranger and Joe Morelli, the Italian stallion police officer.

In Sizzling Sixteen, the gambling debts of Stephanie's sleazy cousin Vinnie catch up with him and so does the mob. It doesn't help Vinnie's case that they find him in the act of marital relations with a woman who isn't his wife. Now Stephanie, Lula and Connie have to come up with $786,000, rescue Vinnie from one mobster and keep him safe from the other (his father-in-law).

It seems like a lot of work for a man who really doesn't deserve to be rescued.

The storyline is good and moves along quickly, but there's nothing sizzling about this book. Hardly any time at all is spent on Stephanie's relationship with either Ranger or Morelli. Grandma Mazur (one of my all-time favorite characters) disappoints with her lack of personality, and Stephanie does very little aside eating unhealthy food and driving around looking for bad guys.

I usually read Janet Evanovich books when I need a good laugh. Sadly, un-Sizzling Sixteen left me dry.

I can only hope that the "Plumness" I know and love returns to Janet Evanovich's next book.

A Reliable Wife - Book Review

A Reliable Wife, by Robert Goolrick (REVIEW)
Jan. 2010. 320p. Algonquin Books, paperback, $7.56
(978-1565129771). Historical Fiction


The back of the book describes it as such: "He placed a notice in a Chicago paper, an advertisement for a 'reliable wife.' She responded, saying that she was 'a simple, honest woman.' She was, of course, anything but honest, and the only thing simple about her was her single-minded determination to marry this man and then kill him, slowly and carefully, leaving herself a wealthy widow. What Catherine Land did not realize was that the enigmatic and lonely Ralph Truitt had a plan of his own."

It sounded harmless enough. Maybe romantic suspense? Guy puts an ad in the paper, girl shows up with an agenda, but falls in love.

That's what I thought, but boy was I wrong!

If I could rewrite the back of the book, it would be a much more accurate description: "Trifling harlot and her illegitimate lover find a personal ad placed by a wealthy business owner who happens to be the husband of the lover's late mother. The harlot marries the wealthy business man, plotting to kill him slowly and share his money with her lover."

Ridiculously unbelievable.

Imagine self-centered Heathcliff and Catherine from Wuthering Heights, add to each a repulsively over-the-top sex obsession and  you have A Reliable Wife characters, Ralph, Cathrine and Antonio. This bodice ripper is bogged down with boring and repetitive narration that made it painful to trudge through. About 3/4 of the way through I stopped reading and started scanning, desperate to find something positive. The mediocre ending made me wish I would have put the book down hours before I actually did.

Willow - Book Review

Willow - Book Review

Willow, by Julia Hoban (REVIEW)
Feb. 2010. 336p. Speak, paperback, $8.99
(978-0142416662) Young adult


On a rainy March night, 17-year-old Willow drove her intoxicated parents home from a party. When she loses control of the car both her parents are killed. Racked with guilt and grief, Willow becomes a cutter.

The only way she can deal with the mental anguish is to carve up her body. But when she's caught by an unusual and sensitive guy - named Guy in fact - her life gets complicated. In the days that follow, Willow spends her free time trying to convince him not to tell her older brother. Romantic feelings for Guy begin to blossom and Willow has to decide whether to risk emotion or keep cutting.

Raw and emotional, Willow and Guy are compelling, realistic characters who are brought to life in Hoban's story. I found myself tearing up in areas and completely involved in their bizarre relationship. Willow is the type o book you pick up and don't put down until it's finished.

An unusual love story. I only wish that Hoban would not have allowed the young lovers to go as far - sexually - as they did, cheapening this otherwise terrific teen novel.

Wintergirls - Book Review

Wintergirls, by Laurie Halse Anderson (REVIEW)
Feb. 2010. 288p. Speak, paperback, $9.99
(978-0142415573). Young adult


Best friends Lia and Cassie have committed their bodies to a deadly contest to see who can be the thinnest. A broken friendship and thirty-three attempted phone calls later, Cassie is dead and Lia is haunted.


Wintergirls is a first-person experience that made this reader feel like I was piggy-backing on Lia’s shoulders as she existed in a life completely controlled by her diet. It’s a realistic portrayal of a girl struggling with her desire to be beyond thin.


Maybe even a little too realistic.


I’d be cautious about encouraging teens to read Wintergirls, because it read a bit too much like a how-to manual. We learn how Lia cheats the scales, fools her parents and carves into her body, effectively hiding the evidence. The messed up teen I used to be, would seriously be taking notes …


Lia’s recovery seems almost like an afterthought, shoved into the last pages of the book. Her hallucinogenic bouts of anorexia are exciting, but her recovery is not.


Wintergirls is intense and well written. It absorbs readers and is easy for self-conscious teen girls to relate to. I just wish the author would have spent a little more time on the recovery and a little less time perfecting the techniques of anorexia.