Stand By Me by Neta Jackson

Tour Date: March 29

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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdT7neC65_evFoN5ybKnG8e-0qFvuQF8Qbyxc3fmqnD9hQr5F4ZOPZTcFkx6hO8B0JxukCCLKeu_0Cyiff4U79hSIMrYyjlkFxBy8S3V1oTP4tYcMYJ2VlW3YvH_VaZM981DmP1M8B-g/s1600/FIRSTWildCardTours2.jpg"></a><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480264388542368882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdT7neC65_evFoN5ybKnG8e-0qFvuQF8Qbyxc3fmqnD9hQr5F4ZOPZTcFkx6hO8B0JxukCCLKeu_0Cyiff4U79hSIMrYyjlkFxBy8S3V1oTP4tYcMYJ2VlW3YvH_VaZM981DmP1M8B-g/s200/FIRSTWildCardTours2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 145px;" /></a>It is time for a <span style="color: #990000;"><strong><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/">FIRST Wild Card Tour</a></strong></span> 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! <span style="color: #990000;"><strong>Enjoy your free peek into the book!</strong></span> <br /> <br /> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><em>You never know when I might play a wild card on you!</em></span> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div align="center"> <strong>Today's Wild Card author is: </strong> </div> <br /> <div align="center"> <strong><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;"><a href="http://www.daveneta.com/">Neta Jackson</a></span></strong> </div> <br /> <div align="center"> <strong><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 100%;">and the book:</span> </span></strong> </div> <br /> <div align="center"> <strong><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1595548645">Stand By Me</a></span></strong> </div> <div align="center"> <span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Thomas Nelson (March 13, 2012)</span> </div> <div align="center"> <br /></div> ***Special thanks to Rick Roberson The B&B Media Group, for sending me a review copy.*** <br /> <br /> <div align="left"> <strong><span style="color: #333399; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR:</span></span></strong></div> <br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFgmjIMkZaT5Nh0u9ZCXZ5pJkvzb8CY7Z_v66FxurxPv6XmoyLAExmSLr-HR5e3Lg7WEC5PnC8wQsoiGv_za3l1QhWW7i65ag9lGawHd1cYVuJtBZ6E_g-zbPXxcBoUmuT307iuUlLFQ/s1600/Jackson,+Neta_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFgmjIMkZaT5Nh0u9ZCXZ5pJkvzb8CY7Z_v66FxurxPv6XmoyLAExmSLr-HR5e3Lg7WEC5PnC8wQsoiGv_za3l1QhWW7i65ag9lGawHd1cYVuJtBZ6E_g-zbPXxcBoUmuT307iuUlLFQ/s200/Jackson,+Neta_web.jpg" width="133" /></a>As a child growing up on the campus of a Christian school where her parents taught, Neta Jackson began creating imaginary worlds at a young age. Loving horses but not having one, she wrote stories about them instead. By the time she reached high school, she had so honed both imagination and writing skills that when her English teacher submitted one of her stories to a Scholastic magazine writing contest, it won first place. With that first win, Jackson knew beyond the shadow of a doubt she wanted to be a writer. She’s been writing ever since.<br /> <br /> After marrying the love of her life, Dave Jackson, the couple chose to settle in the Chicago area where Neta had attended college. Throughout their marriage, the Jacksons have worked together as a team, writing a multitude of books together on topics ranging from medical ethics to stories of gang kids, sometimes sharing the task with other experts who have served as co-writers. Together, they have also penned forty historical fiction accounts of Christian heroes, called the Trailblazer Books, along with another five-volume series called Hero Tales: A Family Treasury of True Stories from the Lives of Christian Heroes.<br /> <br /> These days, both are busy penning their own works of adult fiction. Jackson began her individual effort in 2003 with the Yada Yada Prayer Group series, inspired by her real-life Bible study group, a multi-cultural gathering of dynamic women who have played an important role in her life for over fifteen years. Since publication of the first Yada Yada Prayer Group novel, the seven-book series has sold over a half-million copies and given rise to countless prayer groups across the country and the publication of a personal prayer journal for prayer group participants. In 2008, Where Do I Go?, her first book in the four-book House of Hope series, was published. The second book in the series, Who Do I Talk To?, won a Christy Award in 2010 for excellence in Christian fiction. Recently, the fourth book of the series, Who Is My Shelter?, was nominated for Best Inspirational Novel for 2011 by RT Book Reviews. Stand by Me is the first in Jackson’s new SouledOut Sisters series.<br /> <br /> The Jacksons have been married 45 years and have raised two children plus a Cambodian foster daughter. They continue to live in urban Chicago where, together, they enjoy writing, gardening and spending time with their grandchildren.<br /> <br /> Visit the author's <a href="http://www.daveneta.com/">website</a>. <br /> <br /> <div align="left"> <strong><span style="color: #333399; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:</span></span></strong></div> <br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtLZB-Z1RKFfdgYfQ1g4PW_J0PpyHnStB5NFUS35KJUr8rUdpyvddNddZ0g2kF1Chcu6rk41Co0LLQx4lV5dTQEbD9dJQYopNSuhDhN1wXUhu7NqnIhXv6yGAQCfJjZsMCcqTxQ2ahdg/s1600/stand+by+me_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtLZB-Z1RKFfdgYfQ1g4PW_J0PpyHnStB5NFUS35KJUr8rUdpyvddNddZ0g2kF1Chcu6rk41Co0LLQx4lV5dTQEbD9dJQYopNSuhDhN1wXUhu7NqnIhXv6yGAQCfJjZsMCcqTxQ2ahdg/s200/stand+by+me_web.jpg" width="128" /></a>How does God expect us to get along with those people who are always causing us pain? Are we supposed to keep helping those who repeatedly take advantage of us? Exactly what is the key to living in peace with difficult people? These are the questions award-winning author Neta Jackson addresses in her latest novel, Stand by Me (Thomas Nelson), the first book of her newest series, SouledOut Sisters.<br /> <br /> Inspired by her own Bible study group, Jackson began several years ago to write about a multi-cultural gathering of dynamic women in a collection of books known as the Yada Yada Prayer Group series. Since publication of the first Yada Yada Prayer Group novel in 2003, the seven-book series has sold over a half-million copies and given rise to countless prayer groups across the country. Jackson followed the Yada Yada novels with the four-book House of Hope series. Though the series is not dependent upon its predecessors for understanding, Jackson has used the individual lives of familiar characters to introduce some of the more complex issues prevalent in our modern society. By allowing her characters to lead the way, Jackson has shed light on issues like drug addiction, the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS and even the racial conflicts that can so easily arise within any culturally diverse group.<br /> <br /> In her newest work, Stand by Me, Jackson introduces her readers to Kathryn Davis, a young college student who has left her prestigious Phoenix family behind to move to Chicago after dropping out of medical school against her father’s protests. Her newfound faith in Christ helps temper the realization that she has stepped out of her family’s good graces, but does little to alleviate the pain of their rejection.<br /> <br /> When Kat discovers the dynamic multi-cultural membership at Souled Out Community Church, she longs to be part of it. But her unconventional behavior and brash eagerness have not helped her win favor with the church members. And, much to her dismay, Avis Douglass, the one woman in the church whom she most admires and would love to know better, is the one who is the most aloof.<br /> <br /> Kat has no idea that, after being confronted by a number of serious problems all at once, Avis and her husband, Peter, are beginning to question God’s will for their lives. Having been recently estranged from her HIV positive daughter and being worried about her welfare, Avis would like nothing more than to quietly retreat into the recesses of her faith and find the answers she seeks. Her attempts to do so, however, are thwarted at every turn by the flamboyant Kat, who has apparently decided to foist herself on their lives whether they want her to or not.<br /> <br /> <br /> <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="233" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Hwi-1XvO5bg" width="400"></iframe> <br /> <div style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></div> Product Details:<br /> List Price: $15.99<br /> Paperback: 400 pages<br /> Publisher: Thomas Nelson (March 13, 2012)<br /> Language: English<br /> ISBN-10: 1595548645<br /> ISBN-13: 978-1595548641<br /> <br /> <div style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></div> <br /> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:</span> </strong> </span> <br /> <br /> <div style="height: 307px; overflow: auto;"> <h2 style="text-align: center;"> <b>PROLOGUE</b></h2> <div style="height: 22pt; position: relative; width: auto;"> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"><i>Midwest Music Festival, Central Illinois</i></span></span></div> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span><br /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1872255993446278117" name="0.1.3__GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat Davies ducked into the billowing exhibition tent staked down in a large pasture in central Illinois like a grounded Goodyear blimp. She’d been at the Midwest Music Fest three days already—didn’t know it was a Christian festival until she got here—and needed a little respite from the music pulsing morning-till-night on the Jazz Stage, Gospel Stage, Alternative Stage, Rock Stage, Folk Stage, and a few more she’d forgotten.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Besides, she’d be heading back to Phoenix in two days, and sooner or later she needed to figure out how to tell her parents she’d  “given her heart to Jesus”  after the Resurrection Band concert last night. Maybe this tent had a quiet corner where she could think. Or pray. Not that she had a clue how to do that.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat had a good idea how they’d react. Her mother would f lutter and say something like, “Don’t  take it too seriously, Kathryn dear. Getting religion is just something everyone does for a year or two.” And her father? If he didn’t blow his stack at what he’d call “another one of your little distractions,” he’d give her a lecture about keeping her priorities straight: Finish pre-med at the University of Arizona. Go to medical school. Do her internship at a prestigious hospital. Follow in the Davies’ tradition. Make her family tree of prominent physicians proud.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Except . . . she’d walked out of her biochemistry class at UA one day and realized she didn’t want to become a doctor. She’d tutored ESL kids the summer after high school and realized she liked working with kids. (“Well, you can be a pediatrician like your Uncle Bernard, darling,” her mother had said.) And the student action group on the UA campus sponsoring workshops on “Living Green”  and “Sustainable Foods” had really gotten her blood pumping. (Another one of her “distractions,” accord- ing to her father.)</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Was it too late to pursue something else? Her parents were already bragging to friends and co-workers that their Kathryn had received her letter of acceptance into medical school a few months ago. Feeling squeezed till she couldn’t breathe, she’d jumped at the chance to attend a music fest in Illinois with a carload of other students—friends of friends—just to get away from the pressure for a while.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What she hadn’t expected was to find so many teenagers and twenty-somethings excited about Jesus. Jesus! Not the go- to-church-at-Christmas-and-<wbr></wbr>Easter  Jesus,  the only Jesus  she’d known growing up the daughter of a wealthy Phoenix physician and socialite mother. That Jesus, frankly, had a hard time com- peting with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">But these people talked about a Jesus who cared about poor people. A Jesus who created the world and told humans to take care of it. A Jesus who might not be blond and blue-eyed after all. A Jesus who said, “Love your neighbor”—and that neighbor might be black or brown or speak Spanish or Chinese. A Jesus who said, “All have sinned” and “You must be born again.” The Son of God, who’d died to take away the sins of the world.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">That Jesus.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">That’s the Jesus  she’d  asked to be Lord of her life, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But she desper- ately longed for something—Someone—to help her figure out who she was and what she should do with her life. The guitar player in the band who’d challenged the arm-waving music fans last night to be Christ-followers had said, “Jesus came to give you life—life more abundantly! But first you must give your life to Him.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">That’s what she wanted. Abundant life! A life sold out to something she could believe in. To give herself to one hundred percent. So she’d prayed the sinner’s prayer with a woman in a denim skirt whose name she never learned, and a “peace like a river” f looded her spirit.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Last night, anyway.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">But by the light of day, she was still heading in a direction—medical school—that she didn’t want to go.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Big fans circulated the air in the large tent, though mostly it just moved the stif ling July heat around. Thick, curly strands of her long, dark hair had slipped out of the clip on the back of her head and stuck in wet tendrils on her skin. Redoing the clip to get the damp hair off her neck and face, she wan- dered the aisles, idly picking up brochures about Compassion International, Habitat for Humanity, and YWAM. Huh. What if she just dropped out of pre-med and did something like this Youth With A Mission thing. Far from Phoenix and the Davies Family Tradition. Go to Haiti or India or—</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Nice boots,” giggled a female voice nearby.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat glanced up from the brochure. A cute brunette with a shaggy pixie cut grinned at her from behind a booth that said Find Your Calling at CCU! Kat self-consciously looked down at the Arizona-chic  cowboy boots peeking out beneath her designer jeans and f lushed. Ever since she’d arrived at the fes- tival, she felt as if she’d walked into a time-warp—girls in tank tops, peasant skirts, and pierced nostrils, guys wearing pony- tails, tattoos, shredded jeans, and T-shirts  proclaiming Jesus Freak. Kat had felt as conspicuous as a mink coat in a second- hand store.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Thanks. I think.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The young woman, dressed in khaki Capris and a feminine lemon-yellow tee, laughed. “This your first time to the Fest? Where’re you from?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat felt strangely relieved to be talking to someone else who didn’t look like a throwback to the seventies. “Phoenix. First time.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Wow. You came a long way.” </span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“You?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Detroit. But during the year I’m  a student at CCU in Chicago. I get a huge discount off my festival fee if I sit at this booth a couple hours a day during the Fest.” The girl grinned again and extended her hand across the stacks of informational literature. “I’m Brygitta Walczak.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat shook her hand. “Kathryn Davies. But my friends call me Kat. With a K.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Like ‘kitty kat’ ? That’s cute. And . . . blue eyes with all that dark, curly hair? Bet the guys love that.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Ignoring the remark, Kat glanced up at the banner above the booth. “What does CCU stand for?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Chicago Crista University. Usually we just call it Crista U. Located on the west side of Chicago. I’ll be a senior next year. Christian ed major.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Christian ed? What’s that?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“You’re kidding.” Brygitta eyed her curiously. “Mm. You’re not kidding. Uh, are you a Christian?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat allowed a wry smile. “For about twelve hours.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The pixie-haired girl’s mouth dropped open, and then her amber eyes lit up. “That is so cool! Hey . . . want a Coke or something? I’ve got a cooler back here with some soft drinks. Wanna sit? I’d love some company.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Brygitta dragged a folding chair from an unmanned booth nearby, and Kat found herself swapping life stories with her new friend. Unlike Kat, who had no siblings, Brygitta came from a large Polish family, had been raised in the Catholic church, “went Protestant” at a Youth for Christ rally in high school, planned to get a master’s degree at Crista U, and wanted to be a missionary overseas or a director of Christian education somewhere.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“Sorry I’m late, Bree,” said a male voice. “Uh-oh. Two gor- geous females. You’ve cloned yourself. I’m really in trouble now.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat looked up. A young man about their same age grinned at them across the booth. He was maybe six feet, with short, sandy-brown hair combed forward over a nicely tanned face, wire-rim  sunglasses shading his eyes. No obvious tattoos or body piercings. Just cargo shorts and a T-shirt that said CCU Soccer.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Brygitta jumped up. “Oh, hi, Nick. This is Kat Davies. She’s from  the University of Arizona, first time at the Fest. Nick Taylor is my relief. He’s  a seminary student at Crista—well, headed that way, anyway.”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Nick slid off his shades and flashed a smile, hazel eyes teasing. “So, Miss Blue Eyes. Has Brygitta talked you into coming to CCU yet?”</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Kat laughed and started to shake her head . . . and then stopped as her eyes caught the logo on the banner across the booth. Find Your Calling at CCU.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Transfer to Crista University? Why not?</span></div> </div> </div>

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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Neta Jackson

and the book:

Stand By Me

Thomas Nelson (March 13, 2012) 

***Special thanks to Rick Roberson The B&B Media Group, for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

As a child growing up on the campus of a Christian school where her parents taught, Neta Jackson began creating imaginary worlds at a young age. Loving horses but not having one, she wrote stories about them instead. By the time she reached high school, she had so honed both imagination and writing skills that when her English teacher submitted one of her stories to a Scholastic magazine writing contest, it won first place. With that first win, Jackson knew beyond the shadow of a doubt she wanted to be a writer. She’s been writing ever since.

After marrying the love of her life, Dave Jackson, the couple chose to settle in the Chicago area where Neta had attended college. Throughout their marriage, the Jacksons have worked together as a team, writing a multitude of books together on topics ranging from medical ethics to stories of gang kids, sometimes sharing the task with other experts who have served as co-writers. Together, they have also penned forty historical fiction accounts of Christian heroes, called the Trailblazer Books, along with another five-volume series called Hero Tales: A Family Treasury of True Stories from the Lives of Christian Heroes.

These days, both are busy penning their own works of adult fiction. Jackson began her individual effort in 2003 with the Yada Yada Prayer Group series, inspired by her real-life Bible study group, a multi-cultural gathering of dynamic women who have played an important role in her life for over fifteen years. Since publication of the first Yada Yada Prayer Group novel, the seven-book series has sold over a half-million copies and given rise to countless prayer groups across the country and the publication of a personal prayer journal for prayer group participants. In 2008, Where Do I Go?, her first book in the four-book House of Hope series, was published. The second book in the series, Who Do I Talk To?, won a Christy Award in 2010 for excellence in Christian fiction. Recently, the fourth book of the series, Who Is My Shelter?, was nominated for Best Inspirational Novel for 2011 by RT Book Reviews. Stand by Me is the first in Jackson’s new SouledOut Sisters series.

The Jacksons have been married 45 years and have raised two children plus a Cambodian foster daughter. They continue to live in urban Chicago where, together, they enjoy writing, gardening and spending time with their grandchildren.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

How does God expect us to get along with those people who are always causing us pain? Are we supposed to keep helping those who repeatedly take advantage of us? Exactly what is the key to living in peace with difficult people? These are the questions award-winning author Neta Jackson addresses in her latest novel, Stand by Me (Thomas Nelson), the first book of her newest series, SouledOut Sisters.

Inspired by her own Bible study group, Jackson began several years ago to write about a multi-cultural gathering of dynamic women in a collection of books known as the Yada Yada Prayer Group series. Since publication of the first Yada Yada Prayer Group novel in 2003, the seven-book series has sold over a half-million copies and given rise to countless prayer groups across the country. Jackson followed the Yada Yada novels with the four-book House of Hope series. Though the series is not dependent upon its predecessors for understanding, Jackson has used the individual lives of familiar characters to introduce some of the more complex issues prevalent in our modern society. By allowing her characters to lead the way, Jackson has shed light on issues like drug addiction, the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS and even the racial conflicts that can so easily arise within any culturally diverse group.

In her newest work, Stand by Me, Jackson introduces her readers to Kathryn Davis, a young college student who has left her prestigious Phoenix family behind to move to Chicago after dropping out of medical school against her father’s protests. Her newfound faith in Christ helps temper the realization that she has stepped out of her family’s good graces, but does little to alleviate the pain of their rejection.

When Kat discovers the dynamic multi-cultural membership at Souled Out Community Church, she longs to be part of it. But her unconventional behavior and brash eagerness have not helped her win favor with the church members. And, much to her dismay, Avis Douglass, the one woman in the church whom she most admires and would love to know better, is the one who is the most aloof.

Kat has no idea that, after being confronted by a number of serious problems all at once, Avis and her husband, Peter, are beginning to question God’s will for their lives. Having been recently estranged from her HIV positive daughter and being worried about her welfare, Avis would like nothing more than to quietly retreat into the recesses of her faith and find the answers she seeks. Her attempts to do so, however, are thwarted at every turn by the flamboyant Kat, who has apparently decided to foist herself on their lives whether they want her to or not.

Product Details:
List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (March 13, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595548645
ISBN-13: 978-1595548641

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

PROLOGUE

Midwest Music Festival, Central Illinois

Kat Davies ducked into the billowing exhibition tent staked down in a large pasture in central Illinois like a grounded Goodyear blimp. She’d been at the Midwest Music Fest three days already—didn’t know it was a Christian festival until she got here—and needed a little respite from the music pulsing morning-till-night on the Jazz Stage, Gospel Stage, Alternative Stage, Rock Stage, Folk Stage, and a few more she’d forgotten.

Besides, she’d be heading back to Phoenix in two days, and sooner or later she needed to figure out how to tell her parents she’d  “given her heart to Jesus”  after the Resurrection Band concert last night. Maybe this tent had a quiet corner where she could think. Or pray. Not that she had a clue how to do that.

Kat had a good idea how they’d react. Her mother would f lutter and say something like, “Don’t  take it too seriously, Kathryn dear. Getting religion is just something everyone does for a year or two.” And her father? If he didn’t blow his stack at what he’d call “another one of your little distractions,” he’d give her a lecture about keeping her priorities straight: Finish pre-med at the University of Arizona. Go to medical school. Do her internship at a prestigious hospital. Follow in the Davies’ tradition. Make her family tree of prominent physicians proud.

Except . . . she’d walked out of her biochemistry class at UA one day and realized she didn’t want to become a doctor. She’d tutored ESL kids the summer after high school and realized she liked working with kids. (“Well, you can be a pediatrician like your Uncle Bernard, darling,” her mother had said.) And the student action group on the UA campus sponsoring workshops on “Living Green”  and “Sustainable Foods” had really gotten her blood pumping. (Another one of her “distractions,” accord- ing to her father.)

Was it too late to pursue something else? Her parents were already bragging to friends and co-workers that their Kathryn had received her letter of acceptance into medical school a few months ago. Feeling squeezed till she couldn’t breathe, she’d jumped at the chance to attend a music fest in Illinois with a carload of other students—friends of friends—just to get away from the pressure for a while.

What she hadn’t expected was to find so many teenagers and twenty-somethings excited about Jesus. Jesus! Not the go- to-church-at-Christmas-and-Easter  Jesus,  the only Jesus  she’d known growing up the daughter of a wealthy Phoenix physician and socialite mother. That Jesus, frankly, had a hard time com- peting with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

But these people talked about a Jesus who cared about poor people. A Jesus who created the world and told humans to take care of it. A Jesus who might not be blond and blue-eyed after all. A Jesus who said, “Love your neighbor”—and that neighbor might be black or brown or speak Spanish or Chinese. A Jesus who said, “All have sinned” and “You must be born again.” The Son of God, who’d died to take away the sins of the world.

That Jesus.

That’s the Jesus  she’d  asked to be Lord of her life, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But she desper- ately longed for something—Someone—to help her figure out who she was and what she should do with her life. The guitar player in the band who’d challenged the arm-waving music fans last night to be Christ-followers had said, “Jesus came to give you life—life more abundantly! But first you must give your life to Him.”

That’s what she wanted. Abundant life! A life sold out to something she could believe in. To give herself to one hundred percent. So she’d prayed the sinner’s prayer with a woman in a denim skirt whose name she never learned, and a “peace like a river” f looded her spirit.

Last night, anyway.

But by the light of day, she was still heading in a direction—medical school—that she didn’t want to go.

Big fans circulated the air in the large tent, though mostly it just moved the stif ling July heat around. Thick, curly strands of her long, dark hair had slipped out of the clip on the back of her head and stuck in wet tendrils on her skin. Redoing the clip to get the damp hair off her neck and face, she wan- dered the aisles, idly picking up brochures about Compassion International, Habitat for Humanity, and YWAM. Huh. What if she just dropped out of pre-med and did something like this Youth With A Mission thing. Far from Phoenix and the Davies Family Tradition. Go to Haiti or India or—

“Nice boots,” giggled a female voice nearby.

Kat glanced up from the brochure. A cute brunette with a shaggy pixie cut grinned at her from behind a booth that said Find Your Calling at CCU! Kat self-consciously looked down at the Arizona-chic  cowboy boots peeking out beneath her designer jeans and f lushed. Ever since she’d arrived at the fes- tival, she felt as if she’d walked into a time-warp—girls in tank tops, peasant skirts, and pierced nostrils, guys wearing pony- tails, tattoos, shredded jeans, and T-shirts  proclaiming Jesus Freak. Kat had felt as conspicuous as a mink coat in a second- hand store.

“Thanks. I think.”

The young woman, dressed in khaki Capris and a feminine lemon-yellow tee, laughed. “This your first time to the Fest? Where’re you from?”

Kat felt strangely relieved to be talking to someone else who didn’t look like a throwback to the seventies. “Phoenix. First time.”

“Wow. You came a long way.” 

“You?”

“Detroit. But during the year I’m  a student at CCU in Chicago. I get a huge discount off my festival fee if I sit at this booth a couple hours a day during the Fest.” The girl grinned again and extended her hand across the stacks of informational literature. “I’m Brygitta Walczak.”

Kat shook her hand. “Kathryn Davies. But my friends call me Kat. With a K.”

“Like ‘kitty kat’ ? That’s cute. And . . . blue eyes with all that dark, curly hair? Bet the guys love that.”

Ignoring the remark, Kat glanced up at the banner above the booth. “What does CCU stand for?”

“Chicago Crista University. Usually we just call it Crista U. Located on the west side of Chicago. I’ll be a senior next year. Christian ed major.”

“Christian ed? What’s that?”

“You’re kidding.” Brygitta eyed her curiously. “Mm. You’re not kidding. Uh, are you a Christian?”

Kat allowed a wry smile. “For about twelve hours.”

The pixie-haired girl’s mouth dropped open, and then her amber eyes lit up. “That is so cool! Hey . . . want a Coke or something? I’ve got a cooler back here with some soft drinks. Wanna sit? I’d love some company.”

Brygitta dragged a folding chair from an unmanned booth nearby, and Kat found herself swapping life stories with her new friend. Unlike Kat, who had no siblings, Brygitta came from a large Polish family, had been raised in the Catholic church, “went Protestant” at a Youth for Christ rally in high school, planned to get a master’s degree at Crista U, and wanted to be a missionary overseas or a director of Christian education somewhere.

“Sorry I’m late, Bree,” said a male voice. “Uh-oh. Two gor- geous females. You’ve cloned yourself. I’m really in trouble now.”

Kat looked up. A young man about their same age grinned at them across the booth. He was maybe six feet, with short, sandy-brown hair combed forward over a nicely tanned face, wire-rim  sunglasses shading his eyes. No obvious tattoos or body piercings. Just cargo shorts and a T-shirt that said CCU Soccer.

Brygitta jumped up. “Oh, hi, Nick. This is Kat Davies. She’s from  the University of Arizona, first time at the Fest. Nick Taylor is my relief. He’s  a seminary student at Crista—well, headed that way, anyway.”

Nick slid off his shades and flashed a smile, hazel eyes teasing. “So, Miss Blue Eyes. Has Brygitta talked you into coming to CCU yet?”

Kat laughed and started to shake her head . . . and then stopped as her eyes caught the logo on the banner across the booth. Find Your Calling at CCU.

Transfer to Crista University? Why not?