...............FIRST Wild Card Tours

The Harbinger by Jonathan Cahn

2012-02-02T00:45:00.000-05:00

Tour Date: Feb. 4th

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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:

Jonathan Cahn

and the book:

The Harbinger

Frontline Pub Inc (January 3, 2012)

***Special thanks to Jon Wooten of Charisma House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jonathan Cahn leads Hope of the World ministries and the Jerusalem Center/Beth Israel, a worship center made up of Jew and Gentile, people of all backgrounds, located in Wayne, New Jersey. His teachings are seen on television and radio throughout the nation and are known for their prophetic significance and their revealing of deep mysteries of God’s Word.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Is it possible…

That there exists an ancient mystery that holds the secret of America’s future?

That this mystery lies behind everything from 9/11 to the collapse of the global economy?

That ancient harbingers of judgment are now manifesting in America?
That God is sending America a prophetic message of what is yet to come?
Before its destruction as a nation, ancient Israel received nine harbingers, prophetic omens of warning. The same nine harbingers are now manifesting in America—with immediate ramifications for end-time prophecy.

Hidden in an ancient biblical prophecy from Isaiah, the mysteries revealed in The Harbinger are so precise that they foretold recent American events down to the exact days. The revelations are so specific that even the most hardened skeptics will find it hard to dismiss or put down. It sounds like the plot of a Hollywood thriller – with one exception… IT’S REAL.

The prophetic mysteries are revealed through an intriguing and engaging narrative the reader will find hard to put down. The Harbinger opens with the appearance of a man burdened with a message he has received from a mysterious figure called The Prophet. The Prophet has given him nine seals, each containing a message about America’s future. As he tells of his encounters with The Prophet, from a skyscraper in New York City, to a rural mountaintop, to Capitol Hill, to Ground Zero, the mystery behind each seal is revealed. As the story unfolds, each revelation becomes a piece in a greater puzzle – the ramifications of which will even alter the course of world history.

Product Details:
List Price: $16.99

Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Frontline Pub Inc (January 3, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 161638610X
ISBN-13: 978-1616386108

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

An Ancient Mystery
An ancient mystery that holds the secret of America’s future.”
“Yes.”
“What would I think?”
“Yes, what would you think?”
“I’d think it was a plot for a movie. Is that it? Is that what you’re presenting . . . a movie manuscript?”
“No.”
“A plot for a novel?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He was silent.
“Then what?” she repeated.
He paused to carefully consider what he was about to say and how to say it. Her reputation among those in media was that of a woman who neither wasted her time nor indulged those who
did. She was not known to suffer fools gladly. The discussion could meet an abrupt end at any given moment and there would be no second chance with her. The fact that there had even been a
meeting in the first place, that she had even agreed to it, and that he was now sitting in her office, high above the streets of Manhattan, was nothing short of a miracle—and he knew it. He had only one concern—the message. It didn’t even occur to him to remove his black leather overcoat, nor had anyone offered to remove it for him. Leaning forward in his chair, he gave her his answer, slowly, cautiously, carefully deliberating every word.
“An ancient mystery . . . that holds the secret of America’s future . . . and on which its future hangs. And it’s not fiction—it’s real.”
She was quiet. At first, he took the silence as a positive sign, an indication that he was getting through. But then she spoke and quickly dispelled the notion.
“An Indiana Jones movie,” she said. “An ancient mystery hidden for thousands of years under the sands of the Middle East . . . but now revealed . . . and upon it hangs the fate of the entire world!”
Her flippancy provoked him to become all the more resolute.
“But it’s not fiction,” he repeated. “It’s real.”
“What would I say?” she asked.
“Yes, what would you say?”
“I’d say you were crazy.”
“Perhaps I am,” he said with a slight smile. “Nevertheless . . . it’s real.”
“If you’re not crazy, then you’re joking . . . or you’re doing this all for dramatic effect . . . part of a presentation. But you can’t be serious.”
“But I am serious.”
She paused for a moment, staring into the eyes of her guest, attempting to ascertain whether he was sincere or not.
“So you are,” she said.
“So I am,” he replied, “and you have no idea how much so.”
It was then that her expression changed. Up to that point it had suggested a trace of amused interest. It now turned to that of total disengagement.
“No, I guess I don’t. Listen, I believe you’re a sincere man, but . . . I’m really . . . I’m really very busy, and I don’t have time for . . . ”
“Mrs. Goren.”
“That’s Goren. The accent’s on the last syllable. But Ana is fine.”
“Ana, you have nothing to lose by listening. Just go on the slight possibility . . . ”
“That you’re not crazy?”
“That too,” he said. “But the slight possibility that what I’m saying could actually be true, even the slight possibility that there could be something in what I’m telling you, even for that slightest
of possibilities . . . for just that . . . it would be important enough to warrant your time. You need to hear me out.”
She sat back in her chair and stared at him, making no attempt to hide her skepticism.
“You still think I’m crazy.”
“Fully,” she said.
“For argument’s sake, let’s say you’re right. I am crazy. Indulge me, as a public service.”
She smiled.
“I’ll indulge you, Mr. Kaplan, but there’s a limit.”
“Nouriel. You can call me Nouriel.”
At that, she got up from her chair and motioned for him to do likewise. She led him away from her desk to a small round conference table where the two sat down. The table was situated in
front of a huge glass window through which one could see a vast panorama of skyscrapers with similar windows, each reflecting the light of the afternoon sun.
“All right, Nouriel. Tell me about your mystery.”
“It’s not my mystery. It’s much bigger than me. You have no idea how big, or what it involves.”
“And what does it involve?”
“Everything. It involves everything, and it explains everything . . . everything that’s happened, that’s happening, and everything that’s going to happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Behind September 11 . . . ”
“How could an ancient mystery possibly have anything to do with September 11?”
“An ancient mystery behind everything from 9/11 to the economy . . . to the housing boom . . . to the war in Iraq . . . to the collapse of Wall Street. Everything in precise detail.”
“How? How could an ancient mystery possibly . . . ”
“Affect your life? Your bank account? Your future? But it does. And it holds the key to America’s future . . . to the rise and fall of nations . . . to world history. And it’s not only a mystery, it’s a message, an alarm.”
“An alarm?” she asked. “An alarm of what?”
“Of warning.”
“To whom?”
“America.”
“Why?”
“When you hear it,” he said, “you’ll understand why.”
“All this from a mystery that goes back . . . how far did you say?”
“I didn’t say.”
“So how far back does it go?”
“Two and a half thousand years.”
“A two-and-a-half-thousand-year-old mystery behind what’s happening in the twenty-first century from politics to the economy to foreign affairs—all that and you’re the only one who knows about it?”
“I’m not the only one.”
“Who else knows about it?” she asked.
“There’s at least one other.”
“Not the government? The government has no idea, even though it’s behind all that?”
“As far as I know, no government, no intelligence agency, no one else.”
“No one but you.”
“And at least one other.”
“And how did you happen to discover it?”
“I didn’t discover it,” he answered. “It was given to me.”
“Given? By whom?”
“A man.”
“And who was this man?”
“It’s hard to say.”
At this she leaned forward and spoke to him in a tone both intense and slightly sarcastic.
“Try me,” she said.
“You won’t understand.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” she replied, with a trace of amusement in her voice.
“No, he never told me.”
“So this earth-shattering mystery is known only by you and this one man who gave it to you but doesn’t have a name.”
“I didn’t say he didn’t have a name. He just never told it to me.”
“And you never asked?”
“I did, but he never told me.”
“No phone number?”
“He never gave me one.”
“No business card?”
“No.”
“Not even an e-mail?”
“I don’t expect you to believe me yet.”
“Why not?” she replied, making no attempt to hide her skepticism.
“It sounds so plausible!”
“But hear me out.”
“So this man with no name gives you this mystery.”
“That’s correct.”
“And why to you?”
“I guess I was the right one.”
“So you were chosen?”
“I guess so,” he replied, his voice trailing off.
“And where did he get the mystery from?”
“I don’t know.”
“A mystery on which the nation’s future is hanging, and no one knows where it came from?”
“From where do prophets get their messages?”
“Prophets!” she said. “So now we’re talking prophets?”
“I guess we are.”
“As in Isaiah . . . Jeremiah?”
“Something like that.”
“The last time I heard about prophets I was in Sunday school, Nouriel. Prophets don’t exist anymore. They’ve been gone for ages.”
“How do you know?”
“So you’re telling me that the man who gave you this revelation is a prophet?”
“Something like that.”
“He told you he was a prophet?”
“No. He never came out and said it.”
“And you believe all this because it came from a prophet?”
“No,” he answered. “It wouldn’t have mattered who said it. It’s not about the messenger; it’s about the message.”
“So why are you telling me all this? Why did you come here? I’m not exactly known for dealing with anything remotely like this.”
“Because the stakes are so high. Because the future is hanging on it. Because it affects millions of people.”
“And you think I have a part in this?”
“I do.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared at him for a moment, intrigued, amused, and still trying to figure him out.
“So, Nouriel, tell me how it all began.”
He reached into his coat pocket, laid his closed hand down on the table, then opened it. In the middle of his palm was a small object of reddish, golden-brown clay, circular and about two inches in diameter.
“It all began with this.”
He handed it to her. She began examining it. The more she looked at it, the more intrigued she became. It was covered with what appeared to be ancient inscriptions.
“It all began with this.”
“And what is it?”
“It’s a seal,” he answered. “It’s the first seal.”

Tribal Church Lead Small, Impact Big by Steve Stroope with Kurt Bruner Foreword by Rick Warren

2012-01-31T12:03:00.000-05:00

Tour Date: February 3rd

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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cESuxv-WNX8/TA3PbPpKjHI/AAAAAAAAEFE/e9Dq6nSnpCA/s1600/FIRSTWildCardTours2.jpg"></a><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480264388542368882" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cESuxv-WNX8/TA3PbPpKjHI/AAAAAAAAEFE/e9Dq6nSnpCA/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 <a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/">FIRST Wild Card Tour</a> 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! <div align="center">Today's Wild Card authors are: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://drivefaithhome.com/">Steve Stroope with Kurt Bruner </a> Foreword by Rick Warren</div> <div align="center">and the book: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1433673444">Tribal Church Lead Small, Impact Big</a></div><div align="center">B&H Books (January 15, 2012)</div><div align="center"> </div>***Special thanks to Haverly Pennington of B&H Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.*** <div align="left">ABOUT THE AUTHORS: </div> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DKcsfGwTPJs/TygdZVGmNOI/AAAAAAAAGyA/6XU2Ojrz7xs/s1600/tribal+church+author.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DKcsfGwTPJs/TygdZVGmNOI/AAAAAAAAGyA/6XU2Ojrz7xs/s200/tribal+church+author.jpg" width="133" /></a>Steve Stroope is lead pastor of the multi-campus Lake Pointe Church near Dallas, Texas. Under his leadership, the congregation has grown from 57 members in 1980 to a current attendance of more than 11,000. He is also a sought-after speaker and church consultant and the co-author of Money Matters in the Church and It Starts at Home. Steve and his wife have two grown daughters and several grandchildren. <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K1Ni2lQXzQo/TygdZswTbxI/AAAAAAAAGyI/r2fnaO7zXsM/s1600/tribal+church+author+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K1Ni2lQXzQo/TygdZswTbxI/AAAAAAAAGyI/r2fnaO7zXsM/s200/tribal+church+author+2.jpg" width="165" /></a>Kurt Bruner is pastor of Spiritual Formation at Lake Pointe Church and president of HomePointe Inc., a network of church leaders creating a culture of strong family tribes. A former vice president with Focus on the Family, Kurt is the best-selling author of more than a dozen books. He and his wife have four children. Visit the authors' <a href="http://drivefaithhome.com/">website</a>. <div align="left">SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION: </div> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bh5RotWNsl8/TygdghCTufI/AAAAAAAAGyQ/3DG6Eh2T-xE/s1600/TribalChurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bh5RotWNsl8/TygdghCTufI/AAAAAAAAGyQ/3DG6Eh2T-xE/s200/TribalChurch.jpg" width="133" /></a>God’s biggest assignments have always been entrusted to those leading a small tribe. From the twelve families of Israel to early Christians who met in one another’s homes, great leaders begin by serving a core group of people who ripple outward for ever-extending social and spiritual impact. They go big by leading small. Today, leaders don’t fail because they lack vision. They fail because they neglect their tribe. It could be a father losing sight of his family, a lead pastor failing to leverage the strengths of his staff, or a small group coordinator ignoring a tiny but important process. Tribal Church helps pastors recognize the potential and power of various tribes within their congregations—one family, a network of small groups, maybe an entire age group—and then recalibrate ministry efforts to maximize the impact of each. Steve Stroope has spent three decades mastering the art of leading small in a church that has multiplied from dozens to over ten thousand. He explains why big impact does not come from any sort of mega-church ambition. It rather comes by attending to the little details and the smallest tribes. <div style="font-weight: bold;"> </div>Product Details: List Price: $12.99 Paperback: 224 pages Publisher: B&H Books (January 15, 2012) Language: English ISBN-10: 1433673444 ISBN-13: 978-1433673443 <div style="font-weight: bold;"> </div>AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER: <div style="height: 307px; overflow: auto;"> <div align="center">Introduction </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      On Father’s Day, in 1979, seven families gathered just outside of Dallas on the western shore of Lake Ray Hubbard. Although this small fellowship began meeting in a former bait house, they believed God would do mighty things in and through their ministry, which would come to be known as Lake Pointe Church.</div><div align="justify">      Six months later, when I came as their first pastor, they had grown to an average weekly attendance of almost sixty people, if you counted children in the nursery and a small mouse that lived in the upright piano. Thankfully, the mouse only made one appearance, scampering across the keys during the playing of a worship song. To her credit, Joy Brown, our reluctant pianist, never missed a note of the hymn. She had practiced all week long and was not about to let the uninvited accompanist deter her from her task.</div><div align="justify">      By God’s grace, Lake Pointe Church has experienced significant growth since those early days. Today, on an average weekend, four worship bands, one small orchestra, and three lone pianists, accompany close to 10,000 people, worshipping in sixteen services in two languages on six different campuses. In addition, over the last ten years Lake Pointe has played a key role in starting a significant church in Las Vegas, Portland, Tampa, Boca Raton, Boston, Fort Smith, Fort Worth, two churches in New York City, and three churches in San Francisco. Last year, the people of Lake Pointe gave close to $3.2 million to mission causes all around the world.</div><div align="justify">      The point is not to aspire to be a large church in order to have a big impact. It is rather about being faithful to occupy your present opportunity. It is about yielding your current loaves and fish to His plan. It might be hard to believe, but Lake Pointe did not become what some consider a large church with a worldwide impact by striving to grow big. I believe it is rather ironic that at no time in our thirty-one-year history has Lake Pointe ever set a numerical goal for attendance. Lake Pointe’s health and growth, to a large extent, is a result of passionately attending to what some would consider the little details and to the smaller “tribes” that make up our church. In short, Lake Pointe is a tribal church that focuses on leading small to have a big impact for His kingdom. The truth is that we have never considered ourselves to be a large church but rather a beautiful mosaic or collection of small tribes.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Tribal Church: Lead Small, Impact Big</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Jesus tells the story of a man who went on a journey and left to three servants three different amounts of resources (Matt. 25:14–30). He entrusted five measures of resources to one servant, he gave two measures to another, and to a final servant he left one measure. They were given time and an opportunity to invest and multiply those resources on behalf of their master. The one with five and the one with two measures both doubled what they had been given. The one with only one measure—by his own admission—squandered the opportunity because of fear. While the fearful servant had his allotment taken away, the master allowed the first two servants to keep their original allotments plus what they had gained. The master celebrated their entrepreneurial efforts and encouraged them to continue their faithful work, saying, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!” (Matt. 25:23 nlt).</div><div align="justify">      God has entrusted every Christian leader with a measure of resources. Some have been given a stewardship that includes thousands of people and millions of dollars, while others’ opportunities are measured by the hundreds of people and thousands of dollars.  In God’s economy, a church’s success is not measured by size but rather by their faithfulness. This is the very principle upon which Tribal Church is based. In other words: If we ever hope to impact big, we must first learn to occupy the present opportunity God has given, whether large or small.</div><div align="justify">      Whether our membership was in the hundreds or the thousands, we have always seen ourselves as a collection of small tribes seeking to make a big impact on the communities in which we gather. That’s why this book is for leaders of small churches, mid-size churches, and massive churches, because every church is made up of tribes. Every church is a tribal church. The question is whether the leaders of the church know they lead a church of tribes and whether they are effectively leading these tribes.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Outline of Book</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Since every church, regardless of size, is a tribal church, church leaders must know whom those tribes are and how to relate to them. The book begins by focusing on the foundation of tribal leadership: the leader and his or her family. Next, we look at the key tribes that make up the church: family tribes, small group tribes, leadership tribes, generation tribes, elder tribes, and the tribe that consists of new members. After this, we offer one model for starting new tribes, like new campuses and new church plants. Finally, we conclude with a discussion on effectively reaching out to those who have not yet joined one of your church’s tribes.</div><div align="justify">      The tribal dynamics at play in every church are often subtle, but they are not insignificant. Understanding and responding to this dynamic continues to transform Lake Pointe Church, and I pray it will enrich your church as well.</div> <div align="center">Chapter One</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Self-Leadership </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Throughout the Bible, we find a pattern where God impacts a key leader before he uses that leader to accomplish greater things with the group he leads. When that one leader becomes aligned with God’s vision for His people and confronts those issues that are constraining his leadership potential, positive changes begin to materialize for his tribes.</div><div align="justify">      Before Moses was able to lead a nation of three million made up of the twelve tribes of Israel, he had to have a powerful encounter with the living God. The burning bush had to come before the exodus. Thus, the first step of Israel’s forty-year journey from slavery to the Promised Land began with the work that God first did in one man, Moses. </div><div align="justify">      Year after year, the Midianites were terrorizing the tribes of Israel until God changed Gideon. In the beginning, Gideon did not see himself as a leader. He protested that he was the least of his family, that his family was the least in his tribe, and his tribe the least in all of Israel. It was only after God was able to change Gideon’s low view of God and himself that He finally convinced Gideon that he was part of the answer to his own prayer of deliverance. Once God worked in the life of Gideon, the children of Israel were able to overcome their nemesis.</div><div align="justify">      Esther, at another time in the history of Israel, was challenged by her uncle to go before her husband, the king, and speak on behalf of the tribes of Israel. Her uncle, Mordicai, helped her see that the sovereign God had used everything that had happened up to that time in her life to put her in a unique position of influence—at just the right season—to provide deliverance for her people. Once Esther caught God’s vision for her life, the tribes of Israel realized theirs.</div><div align="justify">      Most great movements and major victories began with a stirring in just one heart and small victories in just one life. That is why self-leadership is so important. Leaders will never reach their full potential to impact the tribes around them until they learn to allow God to lead in the small areas of their own lives. This is why the first area of focus for a tribal church leader is on himself and his self-leadership.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">The Ten Commitments</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Much of what I have learned about self-leadership, I began learning in earnest many years ago when I participated in a mentoring experience led by Bob Shank called “The Master’s Program.”1 I was a part of a group that met for three years, four times a year, for a one-day intensive. In these meetings, Bob focused our attention on the need for consistent growth in ten critical areas of life.</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>Spiritual fitness</li><li>Intellectual fitness</li><li>Relational fitness2</li><li>Physical fitness</li><li>Parenting (if applicable)</li><li>Marriage (if applicable)</li><li>Personal finances</li><li>Career success</li><li>Discipleship of others</li><li>Personal evangelism</li></ol></ul><div align="justify">      We were challenged over the three-year journey to assess our current reality in light of God’s Word and to make specific, incremental changes, or create holy habits, that would move us toward Christ’s ideal.</div><div align="justify">      Many times we overestimate what we can change in a short period of time and underestimate what we could accomplish applying right habits over the long haul. In looking at the ten realms of self-leadership listed earlier, the key question becomes: To what single area might you give special attention in the next three-to-four months and what specific holy habit might you adopt that would make personal growth more likely?</div><div align="justify">      We all have flaws that need to be addressed, areas in which we need to give God full reign to grow us. David wrote in Psalm 139:23–24, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my concerns. See if there is any offensive way in me; and lead me in the everlasting way.” David’s prayer should be our prayer.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Spiritual Fitness</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      What does spiritual fitness look like? In John 15:8, Jesus said it is the Father’s desire that we produce much fruit” and so prove to be His disciples. The word “fruit” in the Bible is used in a couple of ways. First, “fruit” is used to describe the very character of Christ. See the “fruit of the spirit” in Galatians 5:23–24, where nine colors of character paint a portrait of Jesus. Fruit bearing is the result of an ongoing, organic process. The nine attributes of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are the true marks of Christian maturity. Luke 6:43–44 states, “A good tree doesn’t produce bad fruit; on the other hand, a bad tree doesn’t produce good fruit. For each tree is known by its own fruit.” So any good fruit produced in a true believer’s life comes as a result of a changed nature.</div><div align="justify">      The second way in which “fruit” is used is to describe both physical and spiritual reproduction (see Gen. 9:1, Rom. 1:13, and 1 Cor. 16:15). A believer is fruitful not simply when Christ’s character is visible, but also when Christ’s mission is accomplished. Spiritual fitness is thus about being formed into the “likeness of Christ.” Then, as we live in such a way that Christ is incarnated in our daily lives, “He is lifted up,” and others are drawn into a relationship with Him.</div><div align="justify">      So, two simple questions get to the heart of spiritual fitness:</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>Am I more like the person of Jesus today than I was one year ago?</li><li>As a result of the answer to question No. 1, are those in my sphere of influence coming to know Christ as Lord and Savior?</li></ol></ul> <div align="justify">Those brave enough to do so might ask themselves “How would those closest to me answer these questions about me?”</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Intellectual Fitness</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Leaders are learners. They are always seeking to grow, to sharpen their skills, and to expand their knowledge. Sometimes this takes the form of the continuation of a formal education. However, more often than not, it is about gaining knowledge through exposure to key people, other ministries, and reading.</div><div align="justify">      I have heard Bill Hybels say many times, when asked about his advice to leaders who want to get better at leading: “Lead something, anything, get around people who are better leaders than you are and read books on leadership.” As a result of the Master’s Program, I made a commitment to read at least forty books a year on a variety of subjects, including, but not limited to, theology, marriage and family, leadership, and history. This commitment has yielded a rich reservoir from which I can draw in leading the multiple tribes for which I am responsible.</div><div align="justify">      Learning leaders, when around other leaders, do more listening than talking, always asking strategic questions. The answers to these questions help them do a better job of leading their own tribes.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Relational Fitness</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      All church tribe leaders need close Christian friends. Proverbs 27:17 says, “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.” In Ecclesiastes 4:9, the writer reminds us, “Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their efforts.”</div><div align="justify">      For some reason this seems to be, as a rule, a greater deficiency in male leaders than in female leaders. Perhaps this is because our culture, at least in America, highly regards independence and self-reliance. Perhaps what keeps us from this healthy interdependence is our pride or a desire for secrecy to hide our besetting sins.</div><div align="justify">      The truth is that we all have blind spots, which, if left unaddressed, will, at best, limit our effectiveness as leaders and, at worst, potentially shipwreck our lives and cause us to become disqualified. As Christian leaders, we are always talking to others about the importance of community and accountability. Do we believe in the biblical concepts enough to model them in our own lives? Two questions:</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>Are you currently in a small group of believers where you are not the leader or supervising the other participants?</li><li>Are there one or two (same-gender) individuals with whom you meet on a regular basis, who know your strengths, weaknesses, besetting sins, and tendencies, and who currently have permission to ask you the tough questions, and if necessary, be rude to you for Christ’s sake?</li></ol></ul> <div align="center">Physical Fitness</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      This one is harder to fake. I can pretend to be spiritually, intellectually and relationally fit, but when I step on the scales, the numbers do not lie. Yes, this body—this temporary tent—is going to be put in the ground one day and return to dust. But until that glorious day, it is the vehicle in which we dwell as we lead our tribe. If we do not get adequate exercise, eat the right fuel, and get enough sleep, we handicap our effectiveness as leaders in at least two ways.</div><div align="justify">      First, we limit the amount of energy available for the energy-demanding role of a tribal leader. For more on this, I recommend The Power of Full Engagement, by Jim Loehr and Tony Schwartz.3 The authors argue that managing energy—not time—is the key to high performance and personal renewal.</div><div align="justify">      Second, when it becomes obvious to others that we are being poor stewards of our bodies, this hurts our credibility with those in the tribes we lead.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Parenting</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      According to the apostle Paul, one prerequisite for leadership in the church is effective leadership in one’s own home tribe. He writes, “If anyone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he take care of God’s church?” (1 Tim. 3:5).</div><div align="justify">      It is sad that in an effort to win the world, we can lose our own family in the process. Years ago when Lake Pointe was a very young church, I fell into a dangerous pattern of “driven-ness” in order to reach our community for Christ. As a result, my schedule evolved to the point that I was home only one night a week.</div><div align="justify">      One Sunday I was having a hallway discussion with the wife of a prominent minister who was our guest speaker for the day. When I asked about their children, she informed me that their children did not have a close relationship with their dad because he had neglected them in their formative years in order to build a “great church.” On one hand, this was way too much information; on the other, it was just what I needed to hear.</div><div align="justify">      That day was a defining moment for my family and me. I decided to reverse my daily calendar and seek to be gone from home no more than one night a week. I accepted the fact that the growth of our church would, by necessity, be curtailed. I think it is rather ironic that when you look back statistically over the years, it was during the following year that our church began to grow numerically at a more substantial pace than ever before. As I chose to make my family relationships the priority, God blessed our fellowship in a way that no amount of effort on my part could have created.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Marriage</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Leaders must give priority to their priority relationships. If you are married, your relationship with your spouse is the highest in the human hierarchy. The title of John O’Neil’s book, The Paradox of Success: When Winning at Work Means Losing at Life,4 is an apt, yet unfortunate, description of some leaders’ home lives. It can happen before we fully know it. The rewards of achieving at the office can be more immediate and tangible than those at home. The intimacy that marriage creates engenders conflict. Conflict is a part of God’s design so that we can choose to love and give away our selfishness to become more other-centered. However, because we are creatures who crave comfort, there is always the temptation to avoid such character-testing intimacy. </div><div align="justify">      We enter marriage with many self-centered expectations. These expectations are then hammered with the daily realities of seemingly incongruent personalities, differing childhood models of family, idiosyncrasies, annoying habits, and the downright sinfulness of the two individuals joined together, all of which are intensified by sharing a checkbook, bathroom, and bed. The gap between our expectations and our reality is what I call the “disappointment gap.” You can replace the word “disappointment” with “anger,” “frustration,” “depression,” or the emotion of your choice. Many times we expect our spouse to meet needs in our lives that only God can meet. As Christians, we have the promise that God is going to meet all of our needs according to the riches of Christ Jesus. There is no question that He intends to meet some of those needs through our spouse. God, however, is not frustrated by their lack of cooperation.</div><div align="justify">      When we depend solely on our spouses, we are in effect giving them God’s job description. A husband or wife, when given the opportunity, can make a pretty good partner. But a spouse makes a terrible god.</div><div align="justify">      Part of the solution is to lower our expectation of the other person and what any human relationship can really provide. The other part is to do the necessary work to raise reality by resolving conflicts, communicating needs, and exercising forgiveness.</div><div align="justify">      Given the effort required to navigate the minefield of marriage, it is easy to see why one might be tempted to spend greater amounts of energy and time in a realm where one is the center of attention and has the authority to fire some, if not all, of the individuals who might have a different point of view.</div><div align="justify">      I married much too young (age nineteen) with way too little knowledge about both the rigors of marriage and the differences between men and women. My wife, Marsha, describes the first three years of her marriage to a strong-willed, verbally gifted communicator—who used those skills to almost always get his way—as a type of “hell.” In the thirty-eight years of our marriage, that is the closest I’ve ever heard her come to uttering anything close to profanity.</div><div align="justify">      So, “Houston, we had a problem.” Neither of our theologies permitted an easy way out so we were stuck with each other. Knowing divorce was not an option, we set out to make our relationship work. We read every book on marriage we could get our hands on, sought the counsel of and learned from couples we knew and respected. We both had to learn the uncomfortable but essential skill of “speaking the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15, 25, 29).</div><div align="justify">      Marsha, because of her personality, has had to work on the “speak truth” and “don’t let the sun set on your anger” parts. I have had to work on the “love” and “let no unwholesome word depart from your mouth” parts.</div><div align="justify">      While our marriage is still very much a work in progress, after three decades of weekly date nights, mini personal marriage retreats, dreaming together and planning our shared future, and learning how to let go of the past, we have found that the love of Christ has empowered us to become best friends and a team in ministry. (I share more extensively on this topic in my book It Starts at Home.5)</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Personal Finances</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      My earliest memories of childhood are of spending Saturday mornings lying with my brothers on the top of the kitchen table in our trailer house, watching cartoons on the black-and-white television that sat on top of the refrigerator. Other kids had color television sets and comfortable living room recliners. Our family made do with much less. But I had a rich childhood in many other ways, including the instruction I received about money at an early age. I remember when I mowed my first lawn for money. I mowed, edged, raked, and swept the front and back yard for $10 (The price paid should give you an idea of my age). When I arrived home that day, my dad asked me if I knew what I was going to do with my hard earned cash. I replied that I had a pretty good idea.</div><div align="justify">      Dad then informed me that he was going to take the $10 and exchange it for one five-dollar bill and five one-dollar bills. He then proceeded to instruct me that I was to take the first dollar with me to church the next Sunday and place it in the offering plate. This would be a way to acknowledge, “that God had given me the ability to earn that money.” The second dollar, he said, was headed to the Trinity Savings and Loan down on Buckner Boulevard, where I was going to open my first savings account. He said, “One of these days you are going to want to own a car. If so, you will need to pay for half of it. And one day you may want to go to college. If so, you will pay for half of that also. So you had better start saving for both.”</div><div align="justify">      Thus, I began to live on the 10/10/80 plan. Over the years, I found you can give God at least 10 percent of your income and save at least 10 percent of the money you earn and somehow survive on 80 percent or less. On the other hand, I have learned after many years of counseling others that the 0/0/110 plan does not work. No matter how you figure it, paying someone else interest to use their money in order to buy something today—which you could wait and save to purchase—is a form of immaturity as well as stupidity. I learned that financial mismanagement is not as much a math problem as it is a “willingness to work” problem, or an “I want more than I can afford” problem.</div><div align="justify">      Many of us struggle with how much material stuff is enough. It is not enough to just avoid debt by working hard, paying cash, and avoiding interest by paying off the credit card each month. We must ask the tough questions like, “What does sacrificial giving really look like for an American who has entirely too many clothes and who lives in a house that would be considered a mansion almost anywhere else in the world?”  Even if we lived on only 50 percent of our income, we would live better than 90 percent of the world.</div><div align="justify">      These are just some of the issues with which each of us must wrestle in order to model God-honoring stewardship for the tribes we lead. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Career Success</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      I believe God created everyone to be great at something, and that when people find themselves unfulfilled or unsuccessful in their chosen field one or more of the following is true:</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>They are in the wrong profession.</li><li>They are in the wrong role in the right profession.</li><li>They are working with or for the wrong people. (Most people do not quit their jobs; they quit their bosses.)</li><li>They are working for the wrong reason(s). (This causes people to work too many hours and many times in the wrong profession.)</li><li>They do not have a proper, biblical theology of work.6</li></ol></ul> <div align="justify">      All of us spend way too many hours working every week to be doing something we do not enjoy and in which we cannot excel. There are many reasons why people go to work at a particular place and in a particular role, many of which make no sense at all.</div><div align="justify">      In seeking to find the right role, we need to consider how God has uniquely created us, how our life experiences have shaped us, and what we are passionate about. The answers to these questions provide clues to finding greater fulfillment and productivity in our work. There are some great resources available today to help us discover the role in which we will be most productive and fulfilled. I have found that even those in the right role in the right job can benefit from these tools to refine their job description.</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>StrengthsFinder 2.0 by Tom Rath. This volume includes a code that allows you to access and take a twenty-minute online inventory that will reveal your top five strengths, in order, out of a possible thirty-four strengths. This is not a personality inventory. It provides a totally different measurement and when combined with a personality inventory, will give tremendous insight to determine a perfect fit.7</li><li>Leading from Your Strengths online inventory. This is a refined form of the D.I.S.C. personality inventory, which will provide a twenty-eight-page report. The report helps you understand how you respond to change, pace, and problem solving and whether you are task-oriented or relationally-oriented. Go to <a href="http://ministryinsights.com/" target="_blank">ministryinsights.com</a>8</li><li>Any good online Spiritual Gifts Profile.9</li></ol></ul> <div align="justify">      In ministry, many times we are guilty of mimicking other ministries instead of creating our own unique expression of who we are and the particular tribes we are called to reach. At a conference I attended years ago, I heard Leonard Sweet say that during the 1980s many young pastors tried to re-create the ministry of Bill Hybels at Willowcreek in their own communities and that many of them, in the words of Leonard Sweet, “found themselves up a Willowcreek without a Hybels.”</div><div align="justify">      Also, I have found it is also insightful to examine the activities we perform each day and make sure they are in alignment with our abilities. Everything we attempt to do will fall into one of the following four categories:</div><ul><ol type="1"><li>Activities we do not do well.</li><li>Tasks at which we are average.</li><li>Things we do really well.</li><li>Those activities at which we are better than almost everyone. Some would say these things fit our “unique competency.”</li></ol></ul> <div align="justify">      For obvious reasons, we should all strive to do less of those activities that we do not do well and tasks at which we are only average. I also recommend decreasing the time we spend doing things we do well. The time saved can be invested in those endeavors that fit in our unique strength area. Many times the difference between activities that flow out of our unique strength and those things we do well are indistinguishable to the outside observer. We, however, know that our unique ability activities are those that energize us rather than deplete us. This is the primary reason tribal leaders should seek, whenever possible, to delegate or “outsource” all tasks other than those that fit his or her unique ability.</div><div align="justify">      One of the most common questions I receive about hiring staff is, “What position should I hire next?” That obviously will vary from church to church. However, in most cases I have found that pastor-level leaders do not have adequate administrative help. Consequently, many ministers find themselves doing administrative tasks that could be delegated to someone else so that they can better leverage their time and abilities. Almost every time you can hire someone in a lower pay grade or recruit a volunteer in order to give away tasks currently being done by a person in a higher pay grade, you increase productivity and expand ministry effectiveness.</div><div align="justify">      I also believe it is important to schedule your most essential tasks during the time of the day when you are at your best. Most of us operate better at a particular time of day. For some, the most creative and energetic time is in the morning. For others, afternoon brings a second wind. Still others thrive during the evening hours.</div><div align="justify">      Mornings are best for me. As a result, I reserve large blocks of time early in the day for sermon preparation, strategic planning, and important leadership meetings. My afternoons are made available for less-strategic meetings that impact fewer people, such as counseling or responding to the requests of others. I also get a second burst of energy at night, and this is why I try to be home most evenings. My family deserves some of my most creative and energetic times.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Discipleship of Others</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      Every one of us needs both a Paul and a Timothy in our life. We all need to be coaching and mentoring someone new to the faith, and we all need to be the object of some form of coaching and mentoring.</div><div align="justify">      As a minister, I find seasons of my life when I am not discipling anyone except my direct reports as a part of my job as the leader of my church. Over the years, I have been convicted that it is both my responsibility and my privilege to disciple others as a non-professional, individual Christian. One of the most refreshing joys and edifying moments we can experience as believers is to pray for, witness to, and invite someone until they become followers of Christ. Then, once they place their faith in Christ, we should help them learn how to study the Bible, memorize Scripture, pray to God, resist temptation, worship, witness to others, and by His grace, become more like Christ.</div><div align="justify">      As leaders, we touch the lives of others in multiple ways as we lead those who minister to others. But we should never become so busy or so isolated that we fail to directly impact the lives of those whom God has put in our sphere of influence.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Personal Evangelism</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      A disclaimer may be appropriate here. In addition to the spiritual gifts of leadership and teaching, God’s spirit has graced me with the gift of evangelism. On the day God saved me, He gave me the supernatural ability and the accompanying passion to lead people to Christ. This means, among other things, that I can smell a lost person from across the room, and shortly after meeting him or her, I am able to determine where that person is on his or her journey toward God. I can also quickly, and in a nonoffensive manner, ascertain whether the individual has any desire to move closer to Him and what the next step could be in that process. All of this has nothing to do with my effort. It is a gift—just like your own spiritual gift(s).</div><div align="justify">      This gifting also makes me quite passionate to see the whole body of Christ mobilized to share His love with a lost and dying world. Please do not write off my encouragement to you as gift projection on my part. While I realize that not all of us have the specific spiritual gift of evangelism, all of us are commanded to be witnesses.</div><div align="justify">      In fact, Jesus said prior to His ascension that all of us would be witnesses (Acts 1:8). The only question that remains is whether or not we will be faithful and effective witnesses. Are we moving people toward Christ or driving them away from Christ?</div><div align="justify">      The Bible says that there is a gift of giving, a special supernatural ability to make money and wisely invest it in God’s kingdom (Rom. 12:8). Yet, all of us, even without that specific gift, are commanded to give (2 Cor. 9:7).</div><div align="justify">      There is the spiritual gift of faith, the supernatural ability to believe God for great things (1 Cor. 12:9). Yet the Bible tells all of us in Hebrews that without faith it is impossible to please God. In the same way, some of us are uniquely gifted to share our faith, but all of us are to be participants in evangelism.</div><div align="justify">      Sometimes I think that those of us who have the gift of evangelism expect everyone to share Christ in the same style in which we are comfortable sharing. We tell stories about witnessing to a total stranger on a three-hour plane ride from Chicago to Dallas, and our people think, “Well, I could never do that.” As a result of rejecting our style, intensity, or method, they exclude themselves from the entire process.</div><div align="justify">      Paul tells us that one believer plants the seed, another waters, and God gives the increase (1 Cor. 3:6–8). More of our people would serve on the team to evangelize if they could come to understand that their participation is just a part of the process and that they do not always have to be the one who “closes the sale.”  </div><div align="justify">      In order for them to understand that witnessing is as natural as recommending a great restaurant or a good movie—things we do all the time—they need to understand that witnessing—most of the time—is more of a sentence than a paragraph. Witnessing does not require them to be biblical scholars or to be able to answer every question asked, but rather they only have to share the biblical truth that they have personally experienced.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="center">Conclusion</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">      We cannot expect those in our tribe to tend to the ten realms of self-leadership if we are not living it ourselves and are not open to the new and fresh winds of the Spirit blowing in our own lives. I like the way Paul the apostle describes self-leadership in 1 Corinthians 9:24–27:</div><ul><div align="justify">Do you not know that the runners in a stadium all race, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. Now everyone who competes exercises self-control in everything. However, they do it to receive a perishable crown, but we an imperishable. Therefore I do not run like one who runs aimlessly, or box like one who beats the air. Instead I discipline my body and bring it under strict control, so that after preaching to others, I myself will not be disqualified.</div></ul><div align="justify">      Before he could lead anyone else, Paul knew he had to exercise—by God’s grace—self-leadership. May his tribe increase.</div></div>

Today's Wild Card authors are:

Steve Stroope with Kurt Bruner
Foreword by Rick Warren

and the book:

Tribal Church Lead Small, Impact Big

B&H Books (January 15, 2012)

***Special thanks to Haverly Pennington of B&H Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Steve Stroope is lead pastor of the multi-campus Lake Pointe Church near Dallas, Texas. Under his leadership, the congregation has grown from 57 members in 1980 to a current attendance of more than 11,000. He is also a sought-after speaker and church consultant and the co-author of Money Matters in the Church and It Starts at Home. Steve and his wife have two grown daughters and several grandchildren.

Kurt Bruner is pastor of Spiritual Formation at Lake Pointe Church and president of HomePointe Inc., a network of church leaders creating a culture of strong family tribes. A former vice president with Focus on the Family, Kurt is the best-selling author of more than a dozen books. He and his wife have four children.

Visit the authors' website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

God’s biggest assignments have always been entrusted to those leading a small tribe. From the twelve families of Israel to early Christians who met in one another’s homes, great leaders begin by serving a core group of people who ripple outward for ever-extending social and spiritual impact. They go big by leading small.

Today, leaders don’t fail because they lack vision. They fail because they neglect their tribe. It could be a father losing sight of his family, a lead pastor failing to leverage the strengths of his staff, or a small group coordinator ignoring a tiny but important process.

Tribal Church helps pastors recognize the potential and power of various tribes within their congregations—one family, a network of small groups, maybe an entire age group—and then recalibrate ministry efforts to maximize the impact of each. Steve Stroope has spent three decades mastering the art of leading small in a church that has multiplied from dozens to over ten thousand. He explains why big impact does not come from any sort of mega-church ambition. It rather comes by attending to the little details and the smallest tribes.

Product Details:
List Price: $12.99

Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: B&H Books (January 15, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1433673444
ISBN-13: 978-1433673443

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Introduction

On Father’s Day, in 1979, seven families gathered just outside of Dallas on the western shore of Lake Ray Hubbard. Although this small fellowship began meeting in a former bait house, they believed God would do mighty things in and through their ministry, which would come to be known as Lake Pointe Church.

Six months later, when I came as their first pastor, they had grown to an average weekly attendance of almost sixty people, if you counted children in the nursery and a small mouse that lived in the upright piano. Thankfully, the mouse only made one appearance, scampering across the keys during the playing of a worship song. To her credit, Joy Brown, our reluctant pianist, never missed a note of the hymn. She had practiced all week long and was not about to let the uninvited accompanist deter her from her task.

By God’s grace, Lake Pointe Church has experienced significant growth since those early days. Today, on an average weekend, four worship bands, one small orchestra, and three lone pianists, accompany close to 10,000 people, worshipping in sixteen services in two languages on six different campuses. In addition, over the last ten years Lake Pointe has played a key role in starting a significant church in Las Vegas, Portland, Tampa, Boca Raton, Boston, Fort Smith, Fort Worth, two churches in New York City, and three churches in San Francisco. Last year, the people of Lake Pointe gave close to $3.2 million to mission causes all around the world.

The point is not to aspire to be a large church in order to have a big impact. It is rather about being faithful to occupy your present opportunity. It is about yielding your current loaves and fish to His plan. It might be hard to believe, but Lake Pointe did not become what some consider a large church with a worldwide impact by striving to grow big. I believe it is rather ironic that at no time in our thirty-one-year history has Lake Pointe ever set a numerical goal for attendance. Lake Pointe’s health and growth, to a large extent, is a result of passionately attending to what some would consider the little details and to the smaller “tribes” that make up our church. In short, Lake Pointe is a tribal church that focuses on leading small to have a big impact for His kingdom. The truth is that we have never considered ourselves to be a large church but rather a beautiful mosaic or collection of small tribes.

Tribal Church: Lead Small, Impact Big

Jesus tells the story of a man who went on a journey and left to three servants three different amounts of resources (Matt. 25:14–30). He entrusted five measures of resources to one servant, he gave two measures to another, and to a final servant he left one measure. They were given time and an opportunity to invest and multiply those resources on behalf of their master. The one with five and the one with two measures both doubled what they had been given. The one with only one measure—by his own admission—squandered the opportunity because of fear. While the fearful servant had his allotment taken away, the master allowed the first two servants to keep their original allotments plus what they had gained. The master celebrated their entrepreneurial efforts and encouraged them to continue their faithful work, saying, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!” (Matt. 25:23 nlt).

God has entrusted every Christian leader with a measure of resources. Some have been given a stewardship that includes thousands of people and millions of dollars, while others’ opportunities are measured by the hundreds of people and thousands of dollars. In God’s economy, a church’s success is not measured by size but rather by their faithfulness. This is the very principle upon which Tribal Church is based. In other words: If we ever hope to impact big, we must first learn to occupy the present opportunity God has given, whether large or small.

Whether our membership was in the hundreds or the thousands, we have always seen ourselves as a collection of small tribes seeking to make a big impact on the communities in which we gather. That’s why this book is for leaders of small churches, mid-size churches, and massive churches, because every church is made up of tribes. Every church is a tribal church. The question is whether the leaders of the church know they lead a church of tribes and whether they are effectively leading these tribes.

Outline of Book

Since every church, regardless of size, is a tribal church, church leaders must know whom those tribes are and how to relate to them. The book begins by focusing on the foundation of tribal leadership: the leader and his or her family. Next, we look at the key tribes that make up the church: family tribes, small group tribes, leadership tribes, generation tribes, elder tribes, and the tribe that consists of new members. After this, we offer one model for starting new tribes, like new campuses and new church plants. Finally, we conclude with a discussion on effectively reaching out to those who have not yet joined one of your church’s tribes.

The tribal dynamics at play in every church are often subtle, but they are not insignificant. Understanding and responding to this dynamic continues to transform Lake Pointe Church, and I pray it will enrich your church as well.

Chapter One

Self-Leadership

Throughout the Bible, we find a pattern where God impacts a key leader before he uses that leader to accomplish greater things with the group he leads. When that one leader becomes aligned with God’s vision for His people and confronts those issues that are constraining his leadership potential, positive changes begin to materialize for his tribes.

Before Moses was able to lead a nation of three million made up of the twelve tribes of Israel, he had to have a powerful encounter with the living God. The burning bush had to come before the exodus. Thus, the first step of Israel’s forty-year journey from slavery to the Promised Land began with the work that God first did in one man, Moses.

Year after year, the Midianites were terrorizing the tribes of Israel until God changed Gideon. In the beginning, Gideon did not see himself as a leader. He protested that he was the least of his family, that his family was the least in his tribe, and his tribe the least in all of Israel. It was only after God was able to change Gideon’s low view of God and himself that He finally convinced Gideon that he was part of the answer to his own prayer of deliverance. Once God worked in the life of Gideon, the children of Israel were able to overcome their nemesis.

Esther, at another time in the history of Israel, was challenged by her uncle to go before her husband, the king, and speak on behalf of the tribes of Israel. Her uncle, Mordicai, helped her see that the sovereign God had used everything that had happened up to that time in her life to put her in a unique position of influence—at just the right season—to provide deliverance for her people. Once Esther caught God’s vision for her life, the tribes of Israel realized theirs.

Most great movements and major victories began with a stirring in just one heart and small victories in just one life. That is why self-leadership is so important. Leaders will never reach their full potential to impact the tribes around them until they learn to allow God to lead in the small areas of their own lives. This is why the first area of focus for a tribal church leader is on himself and his self-leadership.

The Ten Commitments

Much of what I have learned about self-leadership, I began learning in earnest many years ago when I participated in a mentoring experience led by Bob Shank called “The Master’s Program.”¹ I was a part of a group that met for three years, four times a year, for a one-day intensive. In these meetings, Bob focused our attention on the need for consistent growth in ten critical areas of life.

Spiritual fitness
Intellectual fitness
Relational fitness²
Physical fitness
Parenting (if applicable)
Marriage (if applicable)
Personal finances
Career success
Discipleship of others
Personal evangelism

We were challenged over the three-year journey to assess our current reality in light of God’s Word and to make specific, incremental changes, or create holy habits, that would move us toward Christ’s ideal.

Many times we overestimate what we can change in a short period of time and underestimate what we could accomplish applying right habits over the long haul. In looking at the ten realms of self-leadership listed earlier, the key question becomes: To what single area might you give special attention in the next three-to-four months and what specific holy habit might you adopt that would make personal growth more likely?

We all have flaws that need to be addressed, areas in which we need to give God full reign to grow us. David wrote in Psalm 139:23–24, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my concerns. See if there is any offensive way in me; and lead me in the everlasting way.” David’s prayer should be our prayer.

Spiritual Fitness

What does spiritual fitness look like? In John 15:8, Jesus said it is the Father’s desire that we produce much fruit” and so prove to be His disciples. The word “fruit” in the Bible is used in a couple of ways. First, “fruit” is used to describe the very character of Christ. See the “fruit of the spirit” in Galatians 5:23–24, where nine colors of character paint a portrait of Jesus. Fruit bearing is the result of an ongoing, organic process. The nine attributes of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are the true marks of Christian maturity. Luke 6:43–44 states, “A good tree doesn’t produce bad fruit; on the other hand, a bad tree doesn’t produce good fruit. For each tree is known by its own fruit.” So any good fruit produced in a true believer’s life comes as a result of a changed nature.

The second way in which “fruit” is used is to describe both physical and spiritual reproduction (see Gen. 9:1, Rom. 1:13, and 1 Cor. 16:15). A believer is fruitful not simply when Christ’s character is visible, but also when Christ’s mission is accomplished. Spiritual fitness is thus about being formed into the “likeness of Christ.” Then, as we live in such a way that Christ is incarnated in our daily lives, “He is lifted up,” and others are drawn into a relationship with Him.

So, two simple questions get to the heart of spiritual fitness:

Am I more like the person of Jesus today than I was one year ago?
As a result of the answer to question No. 1, are those in my sphere of influence coming to know Christ as Lord and Savior?

Those brave enough to do so might ask themselves “How would those closest to me answer these questions about me?”

Intellectual Fitness

Leaders are learners. They are always seeking to grow, to sharpen their skills, and to expand their knowledge. Sometimes this takes the form of the continuation of a formal education. However, more often than not, it is about gaining knowledge through exposure to key people, other ministries, and reading.

I have heard Bill Hybels say many times, when asked about his advice to leaders who want to get better at leading: “Lead something, anything, get around people who are better leaders than you are and read books on leadership.” As a result of the Master’s Program, I made a commitment to read at least forty books a year on a variety of subjects, including, but not limited to, theology, marriage and family, leadership, and history. This commitment has yielded a rich reservoir from which I can draw in leading the multiple tribes for which I am responsible.

Learning leaders, when around other leaders, do more listening than talking, always asking strategic questions. The answers to these questions help them do a better job of leading their own tribes.

Relational Fitness

All church tribe leaders need close Christian friends. Proverbs 27:17 says, “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.” In Ecclesiastes 4:9, the writer reminds us, “Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their efforts.”

For some reason this seems to be, as a rule, a greater deficiency in male leaders than in female leaders. Perhaps this is because our culture, at least in America, highly regards independence and self-reliance. Perhaps what keeps us from this healthy interdependence is our pride or a desire for secrecy to hide our besetting sins.

The truth is that we all have blind spots, which, if left unaddressed, will, at best, limit our effectiveness as leaders and, at worst, potentially shipwreck our lives and cause us to become disqualified. As Christian leaders, we are always talking to others about the importance of community and accountability. Do we believe in the biblical concepts enough to model them in our own lives? Two questions:

Are you currently in a small group of believers where you are not the leader or supervising the other participants?
Are there one or two (same-gender) individuals with whom you meet on a regular basis, who know your strengths, weaknesses, besetting sins, and tendencies, and who currently have permission to ask you the tough questions, and if necessary, be rude to you for Christ’s sake?

Physical Fitness

This one is harder to fake. I can pretend to be spiritually, intellectually and relationally fit, but when I step on the scales, the numbers do not lie. Yes, this body—this temporary tent—is going to be put in the ground one day and return to dust. But until that glorious day, it is the vehicle in which we dwell as we lead our tribe. If we do not get adequate exercise, eat the right fuel, and get enough sleep, we handicap our effectiveness as leaders in at least two ways.

First, we limit the amount of energy available for the energy-demanding role of a tribal leader. For more on this, I recommend The Power of Full Engagement, by Jim Loehr and Tony Schwartz.³ The authors argue that managing energy—not time—is the key to high performance and personal renewal.

Second, when it becomes obvious to others that we are being poor stewards of our bodies, this hurts our credibility with those in the tribes we lead.

Parenting

According to the apostle Paul, one prerequisite for leadership in the church is effective leadership in one’s own home tribe. He writes, “If anyone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he take care of God’s church?” (1 Tim. 3:5).

It is sad that in an effort to win the world, we can lose our own family in the process. Years ago when Lake Pointe was a very young church, I fell into a dangerous pattern of “driven-ness” in order to reach our community for Christ. As a result, my schedule evolved to the point that I was home only one night a week.

One Sunday I was having a hallway discussion with the wife of a prominent minister who was our guest speaker for the day. When I asked about their children, she informed me that their children did not have a close relationship with their dad because he had neglected them in their formative years in order to build a “great church.” On one hand, this was way too much information; on the other, it was just what I needed to hear.

That day was a defining moment for my family and me. I decided to reverse my daily calendar and seek to be gone from home no more than one night a week. I accepted the fact that the growth of our church would, by necessity, be curtailed. I think it is rather ironic that when you look back statistically over the years, it was during the following year that our church began to grow numerically at a more substantial pace than ever before. As I chose to make my family relationships the priority, God blessed our fellowship in a way that no amount of effort on my part could have created.

Marriage

Leaders must give priority to their priority relationships. If you are married, your relationship with your spouse is the highest in the human hierarchy. The title of John O’Neil’s book, The Paradox of Success: When Winning at Work Means Losing at Life,⁴ is an apt, yet unfortunate, description of some leaders’ home lives. It can happen before we fully know it. The rewards of achieving at the office can be more immediate and tangible than those at home. The intimacy that marriage creates engenders conflict. Conflict is a part of God’s design so that we can choose to love and give away our selfishness to become more other-centered. However, because we are creatures who crave comfort, there is always the temptation to avoid such character-testing intimacy.

We enter marriage with many self-centered expectations. These expectations are then hammered with the daily realities of seemingly incongruent personalities, differing childhood models of family, idiosyncrasies, annoying habits, and the downright sinfulness of the two individuals joined together, all of which are intensified by sharing a checkbook, bathroom, and bed. The gap between our expectations and our reality is what I call the “disappointment gap.” You can replace the word “disappointment” with “anger,” “frustration,” “depression,” or the emotion of your choice. Many times we expect our spouse to meet needs in our lives that only God can meet. As Christians, we have the promise that God is going to meet all of our needs according to the riches of Christ Jesus. There is no question that He intends to meet some of those needs through our spouse. God, however, is not frustrated by their lack of cooperation.

When we depend solely on our spouses, we are in effect giving them God’s job description. A husband or wife, when given the opportunity, can make a pretty good partner. But a spouse makes a terrible god.

Part of the solution is to lower our expectation of the other person and what any human relationship can really provide. The other part is to do the necessary work to raise reality by resolving conflicts, communicating needs, and exercising forgiveness.

Given the effort required to navigate the minefield of marriage, it is easy to see why one might be tempted to spend greater amounts of energy and time in a realm where one is the center of attention and has the authority to fire some, if not all, of the individuals who might have a different point of view.

I married much too young (age nineteen) with way too little knowledge about both the rigors of marriage and the differences between men and women. My wife, Marsha, describes the first three years of her marriage to a strong-willed, verbally gifted communicator—who used those skills to almost always get his way—as a type of “hell.” In the thirty-eight years of our marriage, that is the closest I’ve ever heard her come to uttering anything close to profanity.

So, “Houston, we had a problem.” Neither of our theologies permitted an easy way out so we were stuck with each other. Knowing divorce was not an option, we set out to make our relationship work. We read every book on marriage we could get our hands on, sought the counsel of and learned from couples we knew and respected. We both had to learn the uncomfortable but essential skill of “speaking the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15, 25, 29).

Marsha, because of her personality, has had to work on the “speak truth” and “don’t let the sun set on your anger” parts. I have had to work on the “love” and “let no unwholesome word depart from your mouth” parts.

While our marriage is still very much a work in progress, after three decades of weekly date nights, mini personal marriage retreats, dreaming together and planning our shared future, and learning how to let go of the past, we have found that the love of Christ has empowered us to become best friends and a team in ministry. (I share more extensively on this topic in my book It Starts at Home.⁵)

Personal Finances

My earliest memories of childhood are of spending Saturday mornings lying with my brothers on the top of the kitchen table in our trailer house, watching cartoons on the black-and-white television that sat on top of the refrigerator. Other kids had color television sets and comfortable living room recliners. Our family made do with much less. But I had a rich childhood in many other ways, including the instruction I received about money at an early age. I remember when I mowed my first lawn for money. I mowed, edged, raked, and swept the front and back yard for $10 (The price paid should give you an idea of my age). When I arrived home that day, my dad asked me if I knew what I was going to do with my hard earned cash. I replied that I had a pretty good idea.

Dad then informed me that he was going to take the $10 and exchange it for one five-dollar bill and five one-dollar bills. He then proceeded to instruct me that I was to take the first dollar with me to church the next Sunday and place it in the offering plate. This would be a way to acknowledge, “that God had given me the ability to earn that money.” The second dollar, he said, was headed to the Trinity Savings and Loan down on Buckner Boulevard, where I was going to open my first savings account. He said, “One of these days you are going to want to own a car. If so, you will need to pay for half of it. And one day you may want to go to college. If so, you will pay for half of that also. So you had better start saving for both.”

Thus, I began to live on the 10/10/80 plan. Over the years, I found you can give God at least 10 percent of your income and save at least 10 percent of the money you earn and somehow survive on 80 percent or less. On the other hand, I have learned after many years of counseling others that the 0/0/110 plan does not work. No matter how you figure it, paying someone else interest to use their money in order to buy something today—which you could wait and save to purchase—is a form of immaturity as well as stupidity. I learned that financial mismanagement is not as much a math problem as it is a “willingness to work” problem, or an “I want more than I can afford” problem.

Many of us struggle with how much material stuff is enough. It is not enough to just avoid debt by working hard, paying cash, and avoiding interest by paying off the credit card each month. We must ask the tough questions like, “What does sacrificial giving really look like for an American who has entirely too many clothes and who lives in a house that would be considered a mansion almost anywhere else in the world?” Even if we lived on only 50 percent of our income, we would live better than 90 percent of the world.

These are just some of the issues with which each of us must wrestle in order to model God-honoring stewardship for the tribes we lead.

Career Success

I believe God created everyone to be great at something, and that when people find themselves unfulfilled or unsuccessful in their chosen field one or more of the following is true:

They are in the wrong profession.
They are in the wrong role in the right profession.
They are working with or for the wrong people. (Most people do not quit their jobs; they quit their bosses.)
They are working for the wrong reason(s). (This causes people to work too many hours and many times in the wrong profession.)
They do not have a proper, biblical theology of work.⁶

All of us spend way too many hours working every week to be doing something we do not enjoy and in which we cannot excel. There are many reasons why people go to work at a particular place and in a particular role, many of which make no sense at all.

In seeking to find the right role, we need to consider how God has uniquely created us, how our life experiences have shaped us, and what we are passionate about. The answers to these questions provide clues to finding greater fulfillment and productivity in our work. There are some great resources available today to help us discover the role in which we will be most productive and fulfilled. I have found that even those in the right role in the right job can benefit from these tools to refine their job description.

StrengthsFinder 2.0 by Tom Rath. This volume includes a code that allows you to access and take a twenty-minute online inventory that will reveal your top five strengths, in order, out of a possible thirty-four strengths. This is not a personality inventory. It provides a totally different measurement and when combined with a personality inventory, will give tremendous insight to determine a perfect fit.⁷
Leading from Your Strengths online inventory. This is a refined form of the D.I.S.C. personality inventory, which will provide a twenty-eight-page report. The report helps you understand how you respond to change, pace, and problem solving and whether you are task-oriented or relationally-oriented. Go to ministryinsights.com⁸
Any good online Spiritual Gifts Profile.⁹

In ministry, many times we are guilty of mimicking other ministries instead of creating our own unique expression of who we are and the particular tribes we are called to reach. At a conference I attended years ago, I heard Leonard Sweet say that during the 1980s many young pastors tried to re-create the ministry of Bill Hybels at Willowcreek in their own communities and that many of them, in the words of Leonard Sweet, “found themselves up a Willowcreek without a Hybels.”

Also, I have found it is also insightful to examine the activities we perform each day and make sure they are in alignment with our abilities. Everything we attempt to do will fall into one of the following four categories:

Activities we do not do well.
Tasks at which we are average.
Things we do really well.
Those activities at which we are better than almost everyone. Some would say these things fit our “unique competency.”

For obvious reasons, we should all strive to do less of those activities that we do not do well and tasks at which we are only average. I also recommend decreasing the time we spend doing things we do well. The time saved can be invested in those endeavors that fit in our unique strength area. Many times the difference between activities that flow out of our unique strength and those things we do well are indistinguishable to the outside observer. We, however, know that our unique ability activities are those that energize us rather than deplete us. This is the primary reason tribal leaders should seek, whenever possible, to delegate or “outsource” all tasks other than those that fit his or her unique ability.

One of the most common questions I receive about hiring staff is, “What position should I hire next?” That obviously will vary from church to church. However, in most cases I have found that pastor-level leaders do not have adequate administrative help. Consequently, many ministers find themselves doing administrative tasks that could be delegated to someone else so that they can better leverage their time and abilities. Almost every time you can hire someone in a lower pay grade or recruit a volunteer in order to give away tasks currently being done by a person in a higher pay grade, you increase productivity and expand ministry effectiveness.

I also believe it is important to schedule your most essential tasks during the time of the day when you are at your best. Most of us operate better at a particular time of day. For some, the most creative and energetic time is in the morning. For others, afternoon brings a second wind. Still others thrive during the evening hours.

Mornings are best for me. As a result, I reserve large blocks of time early in the day for sermon preparation, strategic planning, and important leadership meetings. My afternoons are made available for less-strategic meetings that impact fewer people, such as counseling or responding to the requests of others. I also get a second burst of energy at night, and this is why I try to be home most evenings. My family deserves some of my most creative and energetic times.

Discipleship of Others

Every one of us needs both a Paul and a Timothy in our life. We all need to be coaching and mentoring someone new to the faith, and we all need to be the object of some form of coaching and mentoring.

As a minister, I find seasons of my life when I am not discipling anyone except my direct reports as a part of my job as the leader of my church. Over the years, I have been convicted that it is both my responsibility and my privilege to disciple others as a non-professional, individual Christian. One of the most refreshing joys and edifying moments we can experience as believers is to pray for, witness to, and invite someone until they become followers of Christ. Then, once they place their faith in Christ, we should help them learn how to study the Bible, memorize Scripture, pray to God, resist temptation, worship, witness to others, and by His grace, become more like Christ.

As leaders, we touch the lives of others in multiple ways as we lead those who minister to others. But we should never become so busy or so isolated that we fail to directly impact the lives of those whom God has put in our sphere of influence.

Personal Evangelism

A disclaimer may be appropriate here. In addition to the spiritual gifts of leadership and teaching, God’s spirit has graced me with the gift of evangelism. On the day God saved me, He gave me the supernatural ability and the accompanying passion to lead people to Christ. This means, among other things, that I can smell a lost person from across the room, and shortly after meeting him or her, I am able to determine where that person is on his or her journey toward God. I can also quickly, and in a nonoffensive manner, ascertain whether the individual has any desire to move closer to Him and what the next step could be in that process. All of this has nothing to do with my effort. It is a gift—just like your own spiritual gift(s).

This gifting also makes me quite passionate to see the whole body of Christ mobilized to share His love with a lost and dying world. Please do not write off my encouragement to you as gift projection on my part. While I realize that not all of us have the specific spiritual gift of evangelism, all of us are commanded to be witnesses.

In fact, Jesus said prior to His ascension that all of us would be witnesses (Acts 1:8). The only question that remains is whether or not we will be faithful and effective witnesses. Are we moving people toward Christ or driving them away from Christ?

The Bible says that there is a gift of giving, a special supernatural ability to make money and wisely invest it in God’s kingdom (Rom. 12:8). Yet, all of us, even without that specific gift, are commanded to give (2 Cor. 9:7).

There is the spiritual gift of faith, the supernatural ability to believe God for great things (1 Cor. 12:9). Yet the Bible tells all of us in Hebrews that without faith it is impossible to please God. In the same way, some of us are uniquely gifted to share our faith, but all of us are to be participants in evangelism.

Sometimes I think that those of us who have the gift of evangelism expect everyone to share Christ in the same style in which we are comfortable sharing. We tell stories about witnessing to a total stranger on a three-hour plane ride from Chicago to Dallas, and our people think, “Well, I could never do that.” As a result of rejecting our style, intensity, or method, they exclude themselves from the entire process.

Paul tells us that one believer plants the seed, another waters, and God gives the increase (1 Cor. 3:6–8). More of our people would serve on the team to evangelize if they could come to understand that their participation is just a part of the process and that they do not always have to be the one who “closes the sale.”

In order for them to understand that witnessing is as natural as recommending a great restaurant or a good movie—things we do all the time—they need to understand that witnessing—most of the time—is more of a sentence than a paragraph. Witnessing does not require them to be biblical scholars or to be able to answer every question asked, but rather they only have to share the biblical truth that they have personally experienced.

Conclusion

We cannot expect those in our tribe to tend to the ten realms of self-leadership if we are not living it ourselves and are not open to the new and fresh winds of the Spirit blowing in our own lives. I like the way Paul the apostle describes self-leadership in 1 Corinthians 9:24–27:

Do you not know that the runners in a stadium all race, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. Now everyone who competes exercises self-control in everything. However, they do it to receive a perishable crown, but we an imperishable. Therefore I do not run like one who runs aimlessly, or box like one who beats the air. Instead I discipline my body and bring it under strict control, so that after preaching to others, I myself will not be disqualified.

Before he could lead anyone else, Paul knew he had to exercise—by God’s grace—self-leadership. May his tribe increase.

Ellies Haven (River of Hope V2) by Sharlene MacLaren

2012-01-31T11:38:00.000-05:00

Tour Date: February 2, 2012

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Today's Wild Card author is:

Sharlene MacLaren

and the book:

Ellies Haven (River of Hope V2)

Whitaker House (March 1, 2012)

***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling of Whitaker House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

“Shar” grew up in western Michigan and graduated from Spring Arbor University. After college she traveled worldwide performing with a music group and then returned home to start teaching school. She married her childhood friend, Cecil MacLaren, with whom she raised two daughters (and now has three grandchildren). After over 30 years as a teacher, Shar asked God for a new mission that would fill her heart with the same kind of passion she’d felt for teaching and raising her family. She found her mission writing Christian romance, and since 2007 has released ten novels that have earned her numerous awards and an ever-increasing base of loyal readers who are comforted, inspired, and entertained by her books.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Ellie Booth is on the run from her bootlegging stepfather whom she’d witnessed murder a man in their home state of Kentucky. Landing in Wabash, Indiana, she seeks a cover identity and hastily marries Gage Cooper, a widower with four children. Ellie quickly falls in love with the Cooper kids, and, not long after, with their father. But tensions mount when Ellie’s stepfather picks up her trail and Gage discovers his new bride hasn’t been entirely honest with him. Filled with colorful historic detail, emotional drama, and lighthearted humor, Ellie’s Haven is the action-packed follow up to Livvie’s Song in MacLaren’s River of Hope Series, set in 1920’s Wabash, Indiana.

Product Details:
List Price: $10.99

Paperback: 416 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (March 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603742131
ISBN-13: 978-1603742139

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Thou art not a God that hath pleasure in wickedness: neither shall evil dwell with thee. The foolish shall not stand in thy sight….

—Psalm 5:4–5

February 1928

Athens, Tennessee

Nothing wakes a body faster than a barking dog competing with the heated shouts of furious men. Eleanor Booth threw off her heavy quilt and leaped out of bed, pulled her flannel collar up tight around her throat, and raced across the gritty floor to the window. With her fingertips, she rubbed a circle of frost off the pane and peered out into the cold, dark morning, squinting to make out the shadowy figures that appeared to be facing off just feet away from the rotting front porch. An icy chill surged down her spine.

“I ain’t payin’ you one cent more, Sullivan. You done took me for every last penny.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Byron. Your pocket ain’t empty till I say it is, and as long as you keep producin’ hooch, the greenbacks’ll keep rollin’ in. You stop payin’, and I’ll shut you down quicker than a lizard on hot sand.”

They were at it again—Byron Pruitt, Ellie’s worthless stepfather, and Walter Sullivan, that crooked government agent. Byron’s dog, Curly, didn’t let up his fierce, frenzied barking, which ought to have deterred the dispute but seemed to fuel it instead.

“Byron,” Ellie’s mama, Rita, pleaded in a panicked tone. “Byron, pay the man so he’ll get off our property.”

“Shut up, woman, and git back inside! I ain’t payin’ ’im another dime!”

Ellie snatched her fraying robe from the foot of her bed, slipped it on, and rushed out of the room, toes gone numb from the frozen air wafting up through the floorboards. Tennessee winters didn’t generate much snow, but that didn’t stop the temperatures from plummeting into the single digits.

She entered the dark, tiny living room and found her mother standing in the open doorway, shoulders hunched, hands clutching the door frame. Her grayish-black hair was mussed every which way, and her tattered flannel nightgown hugged her narrow frame.

Ellie shot a hasty glance at the potbelly stove in the middle of the room, where nothing but a few embers glowing through the blackened glass. More shivers stampeded down her spine. “What’s goin’ on?” she asked, coming up behind her mama.

At the sound of her voice, Byron gave a half-turn, and that’s when Ellie spied the sawed-off shotgun in his arms. “Git back to bed, missy,” he groused. “You ain’t needed here.”

Walt Sullivan had a gun, too—a pistol—but he kept it holstered, one hand hovering over it.

“Byron, put that gun down before somebody gets hurt,” Ellie said firmly.

“Yeah, Pruitt. Listen to your purty li’l daughter.”

“Shut yer tater trap and git off my land, Sullivan.”

“Not till I get what’s due me.”

“I done paid you. Now, git!”

“’Fraid you paid me half.”

“You keep raisin’ the rates, you dumb ox. How you ’spect me to make any kind o’ livin’?”

Sullivan chortled. “That ain’t my concern, now, is it? I swear, if you don’t pay up, I’ll come back with my men, and we’ll turn your whole operation into mincemeat by midday.” He made the mistake of taking a step toward Byron, whether to intimidate or to show his authority, Ellie couldn’t say. She knew only that it was a mistake.

Byron raised his rifle and quickly fired off three shots, each one reaching its intended target. For a brief moment, his eyes glistened in the vanishing moonlight. Then, eyes bulging in an expression of shock, he dropped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.

Utter mayhem followed. Curly kept barking and ran circles around the fallen body, while her mama shrieked. “Byron! You—you—you’ve shot ’im. Is he dead? Oh, dear God, help us!” And Ellie, to suppress her own sobs, turned away from the body, where red fluid already oozed from mouth and nose. She clutched her stomach to keep from retching right there on the floor.

“Shut up, just shut up, both o’ you!” Byron roared. “I have to think.” With eyes flaming and nostrils flaring, he turned and started pacing.

The women kept quiet, save for the occasional gasp of air, and hugged each other. Ellie swallowed down some of the bitter juice churning in her stomach and chanced a peek over Mama’s shoulder.

Byron paused and crouched over Sullivan’s body, feeling for a pulse. He cut loose a curse. “He’s dead, all right.”

Ellie’s mama gasped and released her to cover her mouth with her hands. “Oh, mother of all things holy, Byron! What in the world have you done?”

“Shut up, I told you, ’fore I shoot you, too!” He raised his gun at her.

On impulse, Ellie leaped between them, her arms raised. “Put that gun down, you fool!” She had to tell herself to breathe.

The man’s beady eyes stared as if to bore holes through her, but he lowered his weapon. Still, she knew Byron Pruitt had no soul—she’d known since the day she’d met him—and she’d go to the grave wondering why her mama had married him after her father had died. Perhaps, she’d seen him as her only hope of surviving in the hills. Some protector he’d turned out to be, operating an illegal distillery that brought the scum of society straight to their door. If he ever turned a profit, her mama never saw it, for what he didn’t gamble away he paid in bribes to keep the authorities off his back.

“I gotta get rid o’ this body,” he muttered, sweeping five stubby fingers through his scraggly hair.

“No,” Ellie said quietly. “We have to call the sheriff.”

“Are you crazy?” he spat, stepping over the body and walking toward them, his eyes as wild as a rabid dog’s. “We ain’t callin’ no sheriff. I kilt a man, a government man, in cold blood. You think any court o’ law’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Ellie huddled close to her mama and wrapped a protective arm around her.

“W-we won’t tell,” Mama said, her whole body quivering. “We promise, Byron.”

Ellie couldn’t believe her ears. “Mama, how can you say that?”

Byron’s eyes bulged with madness as he climbed the rickety porch steps and entered the house. The worst kind of cold slithered in the door and tangled around Ellie’s ankles. “Because you two’re in this with me, that’s how she can say it. I’ll tell the cops you both played a part, that you talked me into doin’ it.” He raised the shotgun and poked the barrel into her mama’s chin, lifting it.

Ellie swallowed hard and stiffened. “Byron, don’t you dare hurt her.”

Her stepfather was a perpetual terror, always cocking a gun, sharpening a knife, or speaking not-so-veiled threats. It seemed that nothing satisfied him more than creating havoc in their little household. Byron Pruitt was a viperous lunatic, and if it hadn’t been for her beloved mama, Ellie would have left years ago.

Byron slid the muzzle up Mama’s face and held it at the center of her forehead. “I ain’t lyin’, Eleanor—if you don’t help me bury that body an’ promise to keep yer trap shut ’bout what you saw, I’ll kill yer ma.”

“You are plumb crazy,” Ellie whispered through her teeth.

“Don’t believe me?” He cocked the rifle and chortled. “I’ll blow ’er head off right now.”

Mama whimpered as a lone tear trickled down her trembling cheek.

Byron redirected the shotgun at the floor and pulled the trigger. A unison scream sounded as Ellie and her mama clutched each other and stepped away from the cloud of dust that rose from the splintered hole in the boards. Outside, Curly barked even louder, and Ellie could hear the chickens fussing in the coop.

But she heard nothing except the pounding of her own heartbeat when Byron stuck the barrel of his gun in her mama’s temple. “I’ll kill ’er, Eleanor, I swear it. You go to the cops, and she’s as good as dead. And here’s an interestin’ li’l tidbit: you workin’ alongside me at that liquor still makes you my partner in crime.” He laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Them head beaters don’t look too kindly on us moonshiners, an’ with you bein’ one of us, well, they’re likely to lock you up tighter’n a pickle in a cannin’ jar. Just don’t forget that.”

She hated that he was right. “Fine. Just put that stupid gun down.”

He complied, but only after he’d held it in position for what seemed like another minute, an ugly sneer on his face. “Good. I’m glad we’re clear on that.” He pulled the gun strap over his shoulder. “Well, come on, then, both o’ you. We got a body to bury.”

Hours later, Ellie could barely believe she’d actually dug the grave of Walter Sullivan. Granted, she’d done it with Byron’s rifle aimed at her. Twice she’d emptied her stomach contents into the hole, only to hear the gun cock and Byron tell her to hurry up and finish before somebody came along.

Now, she watched her mama working at the stove to prepare lunch. In the living room, Byron sat in his rocker next to the fire and cleaned his gun, Ellie knew, to rid it of any traces of telltale gunpowder.

Ellie moved up beside her mama and touched her shoulder gently. “You’ve been stirrin’ this soup for fifteen minutes, Mama. Why don’t you go sit down a spell? You’re plain tuckered out.”

“What you two whisperin’ ’bout in there?” Byron barked.

“Nothin’,” Mama called back. Then, with lowered voice, she sputtered to Ellie, “You can’t stay here. You gotta leave today. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if anythin’ happened to you.”

“I can’t leave you with that maniac, Mama. He’s insane.”

“Of course you can, and you will. I’ll be fine. The minute he heads out to the barn, I want you to grab whatever you need and then skedaddle across the field to the Meyers’ house, you hear? Ask Burt to drive you down the mountain. He’ll do it.”

“What you two blabberin’ about?”

Byron’s brusque voice in the hallway had Ellie whirling on her heel. “Nothin’, just like Mama said. Go sit down. Your lunch is ready.”

“Humph. You best not be plannin’ to run off anywheres,” he grumbled before shuffling off to the table. Ellie caught the smell of his breath, and her stomach lurched, though she should have been accustomed to the stench of whiskey by now, considering the hours she’d worked at the still, where the air was saturated with mash. She would always associate the odor with Byron—and his shotgun, which was the only thing that had kept her working there.

The legs of his chair scraped against the sooty floor as he scooted in closer to the table, his back to them. With an icy chortle, he muttered, “You two don’t got nowheres to go, anyway.”

Three hours later, Ellie bumped along in the backseat of a Model T driven by Burt Meyer. Mildred, his wife of forty years, sat up front with him. Quiet tears dampened Ellie’s face as Burt maneuvered the automobile, its brakes squealing in protest, down a narrow pass.

She’d had no more than minutes to throw a few belongings into a little suitcase, hug her mama good-bye, and then sprint along the worn path across the cornfield. Mama had given her strict orders to locate her deceased husband’s aunt in Wabash, Indiana, and not to send word to her for at least a month, and then only through Burt and Mildred. “We can trust them,” she’d said as she’d helped her pack, Ellie crying all the while. “Don’t tell them where you’re goin’, though, and when you write to me, put the letter inside a small envelope and then tuck that inside a bigger one. Put your return address on the inside letter, never the outside one, you understand? The less information Burt ’n’ Mildred know, the better off they’ll be. They’re good people. I don’t want them gettin’ involved in this mess, other than to drive you to the train station.”

“You sure you want to leave your ma?” Mildred asked, bringing Ellie’s attention back to the present. The woman turned around and looked her in the eye. “You seem awful broke up ’bout leavin’, honey.”

Ellie wiped her cheeks and nodded. “I’m nineteen. High time I make my own way.”

“And get away from that fool stepfather o’ yours,” Burt muttered. “Too bad Rita didn’t leave with you.”

Mildred glared at her husband. “Now, Burt, that ain’t none of our concern,” she scolded him gruffly. When she was facing front again, Ellie heard her add, “Even if you’re right.” In a louder voice, she said, “We’re goin’ to miss you somethin’ fierce, Eleanor. Always did love it when you came across the field to visit us.”

“And brought them scrumptious pies with you,” Burt tacked on. “Won’t be the same up on West Peak with you gone.” He glanced back at her and winked. “Where you travelin’ to, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“I…I plan to head north, look for a job. Not quite sure just where yet.” She could at least tell them that much.

Mildred turned around again, her brow wrinkled in concern. “You don’t got a plan, Eleanor? Why, we cain’t just drop you off if you don’t have no sort o’ arrangements.”

“Sure you can,” Ellie said, forcing brightness into her tone. She wiped away the last of her tears. “I need to break out o’ my cocoon.”

“Darlin’, if you want to break out, why don’t you go south? It’s so blamed cold up north.”

“Daddy has an aunt I’m plannin’ to stay with.” She regretted the disclosure immediately, but it did seem that they deserved an explanation of sorts. They’d always been so kind to Mama and her.

“Say no more,” Burt spoke up. “Long as you’ll be safe, that’s enough for Mildred and me.”

“He ain’t a good sort, that Byron Pruitt,” Mildred said, as if she knew that he had something to do with Ellie’s departure.

Ellie determined to purse her lips for the rest of the trip, lest some hint of the sordid murder slip past them. Best to keep it buried in the deepest parts of her soul.

Everything Romance: A Celebration of Love for Couples by David Bordon and Tom Winters

2012-01-30T00:07:00.000-05:00

Tour Date: February 1, 2012

When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!

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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cESuxv-WNX8/TA3PbPpKjHI/AAAAAAAAEFE/e9Dq6nSnpCA/s1600/FIRSTWildCardTours2.jpg"></a><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/"></a>It is time for a <a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/">FIRST Wild Card Tour</a> 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! <div align="center">Today's Wild Card authors are: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/catalog.php?isbn=9780307729316">David Bordon and Tom Winters</a></div> <div align="center">and the book: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0307729311">Everything Romance: A Celebration of Love for Couples</a></div><div align="center">WaterBrook Press (December 20, 2011)</div><div align="center"> </div>***Special thanks to Ashley Boyer, Publicist, WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group of  for sending me a review copy.*** <div align="left">ABOUT THE AUTHORS: </div> David Bordon and Tom Winters are partners in Bordon-Winters, LLC, a book concept and packaging company that produces successful books and gift products. Among their previous titles are the popular “101 Things You Should Do” series. This volume joins another one of their beautiful gift books, Everything Christmas. <div align="left">SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION: </div> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EwxBYYOLGk4/TyYkz26IFFI/AAAAAAAAGxg/-GgAChLGb04/s1600/Everything+Romance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> Everything Romance is a gift book overflowing with heartwarming ideas to keep that special relationship fresh and exciting. Whether you’re a newlywed or celebrating 40 years of wedded bliss, this book offers a treasury of ways to capture your love’s heart daily. Love letters, inexpensive date night suggestions, tantalizing recipes, conversation starters, and inspiring love stories will all help you romance the love of your life in creative and meaningful ways! <div style="font-weight: bold;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold;"> </div>Product Details: List Price: $14.99 Hardcover: 288 pages Publisher: WaterBrook Press (December 20, 2011) Language: English ISBN-10: 0307729311 ISBN-13: 978-0307729316 <div style="font-weight: bold;"> </div> AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER: <div style="height: 307px; overflow: auto;"> A Marriage Blessing Most gracious God, we give You thanks for Your tender love in sending Jesus Christ to come among us, to be born of a human mother, and to make the way of the cross to be the way of life. We thank You, also, for consecrating the union of man and woman in His name. By the power of Your Holy Spirit, pour out the abundance of Your blessing upon this man and this woman. Defend them from every enemy. Lead them into all peace. Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads. Bless them in their work and in their companionship; in their sleeping and in their waking; in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death. Finally, in Your mercy, bring them to that table where Your saints feast forever in Your heavenly home; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with You and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, forever and ever. Amen. (from The Book of Common Prayer)  PERFECT PAIR PIZZA-PITA SNACKS 2 whole-wheat pita breads 4 teaspoons basil pesto 1 cup cottage cheese 2 tablespoons Roma tomatoes, chopped 2 teaspoons fresh basil, chopped Fresh Parmesan cheese (optional) Toast pita breads until they are crispy and firm. Spread half of the pesto on each pita. Next, spread half of the cottage cheese on each pita. Top with chopped tomato and fresh basil. If desired, sprinkle with fresh grated parmesan cheese. Slice each pita into two or four wedges and enjoy! Romance Trivia A team of medical experts in Virginia contends that you’re more likely to catch the common cold virus by shaking hands than by kissing. </div> Excerpted from Everything Romance by David Bordon and Thomas J. Winters Copyright © 2011 by David Bordon and Thomas J. Winters. Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Today's Wild Card authors are:

David Bordon and Tom Winters

and the book:

Everything Romance: A Celebration of Love for Couples

WaterBrook Press (December 20, 2011)

***Special thanks to Ashley Boyer, Publicist, WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group of for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

David Bordon and Tom Winters are partners in Bordon-Winters, LLC, a book concept and packaging company that produces successful books and gift products. Among their previous titles are the popular “101 Things You Should Do” series. This volume joins another one of their beautiful gift books, Everything Christmas.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Everything Romance is a gift book overflowing with heartwarming ideas to keep that special relationship fresh and exciting. Whether you’re a newlywed or celebrating 40 years of wedded bliss, this book offers a treasury of ways to capture your love’s heart daily. Love letters, inexpensive date night suggestions, tantalizing recipes, conversation starters, and inspiring love stories will all help you romance the love of your life in creative and meaningful ways!

Product Details:
List Price: $14.99

Hardcover: 288 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press (December 20, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307729311
ISBN-13: 978-0307729316

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

A Marriage Blessing

Most gracious God, we give You thanks for Your tender love in sending Jesus Christ to come among us, to be born of a human mother, and to make the way of the cross to be the way of life.

We thank You, also, for consecrating the union of man and woman in His name. By the power of Your Holy Spirit, pour out the abundance of Your blessing upon this man and this woman. Defend them from every enemy. Lead them into all peace. Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads. Bless them in their work and in their companionship; in their sleeping and in their waking; in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death. Finally, in Your mercy, bring them to that table where Your saints feast forever in Your heavenly home; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with You and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, forever and ever.

Amen.
(from The Book of Common Prayer)

PERFECT PAIR PIZZA-PITA SNACKS

2 whole-wheat pita breads
4 teaspoons basil pesto
1 cup cottage cheese
2 tablespoons Roma tomatoes, chopped
2 teaspoons fresh basil, chopped
Fresh Parmesan cheese (optional)

Toast pita breads until they are crispy and firm. Spread half of the pesto on each pita. Next, spread half of the cottage
cheese on each pita. Top with chopped tomato and fresh basil. If desired, sprinkle with fresh grated parmesan cheese. Slice each pita into two or four wedges and enjoy!

Romance Trivia

A team of medical experts in Virginia contends that you’re more likely to catch the common cold virus by shaking hands than by kissing.

Excerpted from Everything Romance by David Bordon and Thomas J. Winters Copyright © 2011 by David Bordon and Thomas J. Winters. Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Threads of Hope (Fabric of Time) by Andrea Boeshaar

2012-01-29T14:28:00.001-05:00

Tour Date: January 31, 2012

When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!

Grab the HTML for the entire post (will look like the post below):

<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cESuxv-WNX8/TA3PbPpKjHI/AAAAAAAAEFE/e9Dq6nSnpCA/s1600/FIRSTWildCardTours2.jpg"></a><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480264388542368882" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cESuxv-WNX8/TA3PbPpKjHI/AAAAAAAAEFE/e9Dq6nSnpCA/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 <a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/">FIRST Wild Card Tour</a> 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! <div align="center">Today's Wild Card author is: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://www.andreaboeshaar.com/">Andrea Boeshaar</a></div> <div align="center">and the book: </div> <div align="center"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1616384972">Threads of Hope (Fabric of Time)</a></div><div align="center">Realms (January 3, 2012)</div><div align="center"> </div>***Special thanks to Jon Wooten of Charisma House for sending me a review copy.*** <div align="left">ABOUT THE AUTHOR:</div> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zghNfNw2Kl4/TyWcgDaYlDI/AAAAAAAAGxM/zQGiVZMxDUs/s1600/AKB_Dec+09.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zghNfNw2Kl4/TyWcgDaYlDI/AAAAAAAAGxM/zQGiVZMxDUs/s200/AKB_Dec+09.JPG" width="142" /></a> Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar is a certified Christian life coach; a popular speaker at writers’ conferences, workshops, and women’s groups; and the author of numerous published books, including the Seasons of Redemption series: Unwilling Warrior, Uncertain Heart, Unexpected Love, and Undaunted Faith. Visit the author's <a href="http://www.andreaboeshaar.com/">website</a>. <div align="left"> SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION: </div> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwG_b_kvaMw/TyWcgrVBQuI/AAAAAAAAGxU/2NMveOlU0eM/s1600/Boeshaar,+Threads+of+Hope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwG_b_kvaMw/TyWcgrVBQuI/AAAAAAAAGxU/2NMveOlU0eM/s200/Boeshaar,+Threads+of+Hope.jpg" width="133" /></a>Kristin Eikaas has her hopes set on a new life in America. The year is 1848, and Kristin Eikaas has traveled from Norway to Wisconsin with dreams of a new life. But when she arrives, she finds one disappointment after another. Worse, her superstitious uncle now believes that his neighbor’s Oneida Indian wife has put a curse on Kristin. Everyone knows the Sundbergs put spells on people… Everyone except Kristin. Her run-ins with Sam Sundberg only prove that he is a good man from a Christian family. But when her uncle discovers she’s been associating with Sam, his temper flares. To escape his wrath, Kristin gratefully accepts a job as the Sundbergs’ house girl, finding solace at the family’s spinning wheel. In the time Sam and Kristin spend together, their friendship develops into much more, and Sam prays about a match between them. But opposition threatens to derail their newfound love. Will they have the courage to stand up for what is right—even against their own families? Product Details: <ul style="list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">List Price: $13.99</li><li style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">Paperback: 304 pages</li><li style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">Publisher: Realms (January 3, 2012)</li><li style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">Language: English</li><li style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">ISBN-10: 1616384972</li><li style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;">ISBN-13: 978-1616384975</li></ul> <ul style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></ul> AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER: <div style="height: 307px; overflow: auto;"> September 1848 It looks like Norway. The thought flittered across nineteen-year-old Kristin Eikaas’s mind as Uncle Lars’s wagon bumped along the dirt road. The docks of Green Bay, Wisconsin, were behind them, and now they rode through a wooded area that looked just as enchanting as the forests she’d left in Norway. Tall pine trees and giant firs caused the sunshine to dapple on the road. Kristin breathed in the sweet, fresh air. How refreshing it felt in her lungs after being at sea for nearly three months and breathing in only salty sea air or the stale air in her dark, crowded cabin. A clearing suddenly came into view, and a minute or so later, Kristin eyed the farm fields stretched before her. The sight caused an ache of homesickness. Her poppa had farmed . . . “Your trip to America was good, ja?” Uncle Lars asked in Norwegian, giving Kristin a sideways glance. He resembled her father so much that her heart twisted painfully with renewed grief. Except she’d heard about Onkel—about his temper—how he had to leave Norway when he was barely of age, because, Poppa had said, trouble followed him. But surely he’d grown past all of that. His letters held words of promise, and there was little doubt that her uncle had made a new life for himself here in America. Just as she would. Visions of a storefront scampered across her mind’s eye—a shop in which she could sell her finely crocheted and knitted items. A shop in which she could work the spinning wheel, just as Mor had . . . Uncle Lars arched a brow. “You are tired, liten niese?” “Ja. It was a long journey.” Kristin sent him a sideways glance. “I am grateful I did not come alone. The Olstads made good traveling companions.” Her uncle cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “But you have brought my inheritance, ja?” He arched a brow. “Ja.” Kristin thought of the priceless possession she’d brought from Norway. “And you would not hold out on your onkel, would you?” Prickles of unease caused Kristin to shift in her seat. She resisted the urge to touch the tiny gold and silver cross pendent suspended from a dainty chain that hung around her neck. Her dress concealed it. She couldn’t give it up, even though it wasn’t legal for a woman to inherit anything in Norway. But the necklace had been her last gift from Mor. A gift from one’s mother wasn’t an inheritance . . . was it? “No, Onkel.” She turned and peered down from her perch into the back of the wooden wagon bed. Peder Olstad smiled at her, and Kristin relaxed some. Just a year older, he was the brother of Kristin’s very best friend who had remained in Norway with their mother. She and Peder had grown up together, and while he could be annoying and bad tempered at times, he was the closest thing to a brother that she had. And Sylvia—Sylvia was closer than a sister ever could be. It wouldn’t be long, and she and Mrs. Olstad would come to America too. That would be a happy day! “You were right,” John Olstad called to Uncle Lars in their native tongue. “Lots of fertile land in this part of the country. I hope to purchase some acres soon.” “And after you are a landowner for five years, you can be a citizen of America and you can vote.” The Olstad men smiled broadly and replied in unison. “Oh, ja, ja . . . ” Uncle Lars grinned, causing dozens of wrinkles to appear around his blue eyes. His face was tanned from farming beneath the hot sun, and his tattered leather hat barely concealed the abundance of platinum curls growing out of his large head. “Oh, ja, this is very good land. I am glad I persuaded Esther to leave the Muskego settlement and move northeast. But, as you will soon see, we are still getting settled.” “Ja, how’s that, Lars?” Kristin heard the note of curiosity in Mr. Olstad’s voice. “I purchased the land and built a barn and a cabin.” He paused and gave a derisive snort. “Well, a fine home takes time and money.” “Oh, ja, that way.” Mr. Olstad seemed to understand. And Kristin did too. One couldn’t expect enormous comforts out in the Wisconsin wilderness. Just then they passed a stately home situated on the Fox River. Two quaint dormers peered from the angled roof, which appeared to be supported by a pair of white pillars. “That is Mr. Morgan Martin’s home. He is a lawyer in town.” Uncle Lars delivered the rest of his explanation with a sneer. “And an Indian agent.” “Indians?” Kristin’s hand flew to her throat. “Do not fret. The soldiers across the river at Fort Howard protect the area.” Kristin forced her taut muscles to relax. “Out here the deer are plentiful and fishing is good. Fine lumber up here too. But the Norwegian population is small. Nevertheless, we have our own church, and the reverend speaks our language.” “A good thing,” Mr. Olstad remarked. “I cannot wait for the day when Far owns land,” Peder said, glancing at Mr. Olstad. “Lots of land.” The warm wind blew his auburn hair outward from his narrow face, and his hazel eyes sparked with enthusiasm, giving the young man a somewhat wild appearance. “But no farming for me. I want to be rich someday.” “As do we all!” exclaimed Mr. Olstad, whose appearance was an older, worn-out version of his son’s. Kristin’s mind had parked on land ownership. “And once you are settled, Sylvia will come to America. I cannot wait. I miss her so much.” She grappled with a fresh onset of tears. Not only was Sylvia her best friend, but she and the entire Olstad clan had also become like family to her ever since a smallpox epidemic ravaged their little village two years ago, claiming the lives of Kristin’s parents and two younger brothers. When Uncle Lars had learned of the tragic news, he offered her a place to stay in his home if she came to America. Onkel wrote that she should be with her family, so Kristin had agreed to make the voyage. Her plans to leave Norway had encouraged the Olstads to do the same. But raising the funds to travel took time and much hard work. While the Olstads scrimped and saved up their crop earnings, Kristin did spinning, weaving, knitting, and sewing for those with money to spare. By God’s grace, they were finally here. Uncle Lars steered the wagon around a sharp bend in the rutty road. He drove to the top of a small hill, and Kristin could see the blue Lake Michigan to her left and farm fields to her right. Then a lovely white wood-framed house came into view. It didn’t look all that different from the home they’d just past, with dormers, a covered front porch, and stately pillars bearing the load of a wide overhang. She marveled at the homestead’s large, well-maintained barn and several outbuildings. American homes looked like this? Then no wonder Mr. Olstad couldn’t wait to own his own farm! Up ahead Kristin spied a lone figure of a man. She could just barely make out his faded blue cambric shirt, tan trousers, and the hoe in his hands as he worked the edge of the field. Closer still, she saw his light brown hair springing out from beneath his hat. As the wagon rolled past him, the man ceased his labor and turned their way. Although she couldn’t see his eyes as he squinted into the sunshine, Kristin did catch sight of his tanned face. She guessed his age to be not too much more than hers and decided he was really quite handsome. “Do not even acknowledge the likes of him,” Uncle Lars spat derisively. “Good Christians do not associate with Sam Sundberg or any members of his family.” Oh, dear, too late! Kristin had already given him a little smile out of sheer politeness. She had assumed he was a friend or neighbor. But at her uncle’s warning she quickly lowered her gaze. Kristin’s ever-inquiring nature got the best of her. “What is so bad about that family?” “They are evil—like the Martins. Even worse, Karl Sundberg is married to a heathen Indian woman who casts spells on the good people of this community.” “Spells?” Peder’s eyes widened. “Ja, spells. Why else would some folks’ crops fail while Karl’s flourish? He gets richer and richer with his farming in the summer, his logging camps in the winter, and his fur trading with heathens, while good folks like me fall on hard times.” “Hard times?” Peder echoed the words. “Ja, same seed. Same fertile ground. Same golden opportunity.” Uncle Lars swiveled to face the Olstads. “I will tell you why that happens. The Sundbergs have hexed good Christians like me.” He wagged his head. “Oh, they are an evil lot, those Sundbergs and Martins. Same as the Indians.” Indians? Curiosity got the better of her, and Kristin swung around in the wagon to get one last glimpse of Sam Sundberg. She could hardly believe he was as awful as her uncle described. Why, he even removed his hat just now and gave her a cordial nod. “Turn around, niese, and mind your manners!” Uncle Lars’s large hand gripped her upper arm and he gave her a mild shake. “I . . . I am sorry, Onkel,” Kristin stammered. “But I have never seen an Indian.” “Sam Sundberg is not an Indian. It is his father’s second wife and their children. Oneida half-breeds is what we call them.” “Half-breed, eh?” Kristin glanced over her shoulder and saw Peder stroke his chin. “Interesting,” he added. “How very interesting.” Kristin couldn’t deny her interest was piqued. “Are there many Indians living in the Wisconsin Territory?” “Ja, they trespass on my land, but I show my gun and they leave without incident. Sundberg brings his Indian wife to church.” He wagged his head. “Such a disgrace.” “And the Territory officials do nothing?” Mr. Olstad asked. Uncle Lars puffed out his chest. “As of three months ago, we are the State of Wisconsin—no longer a territory.” Uncle Lars stated the latter with as much enthusiasm as a stern schoolmaster. “Now the government will get rid of those savages once and for all.” He sent Kristin a scowl. “And you, my liten niese, will do well to stay away from Indians. All of them, including our neighbors, the Sundbergs. You hear, lest you get yourself scalped.” “Ja, Onkel.” With a measure of alarm, Kristin touched her braided hair and chanced a look at Peder and Mr. Olstad. Both pairs of wide eyes seemed to warn her to heed Uncle Lars’s instructions. She would, of course. But somehow she couldn’t imagine the man they’d just passed doing her any harm. Would he? Sam Sundberg wiped the beads of perspiration off his brow before dropping his hat back on his head. Who was the little blonde riding next to Lars Eikaas? Sam hadn’t seen her before. And the men in the wagon bed . . . he’d never seen them either. After a moment’s deliberation he concluded they were the expected arrivals from the “Old Country.”  Months ago Sam recalled hearing talk in town about Lars’s orphaned niece sailing to America with friends of the family, so he assumed the two red-haired men and the young lady were the topics of that particular conversation. But wouldn’t it just serve Mr. Eikaas right if that blonde angel turned his household upside down—or, maybe, right-side up? He smirked at the very idea. Sam didn’t have to meet that young lady to guess Mr. Eikaas would likely have his hands full. Her second backward glance said all Sam needed to know. The word plucky sprang into his mind. He chuckled. Plucky she seemed, indeed. But was she wise enough not to believe everything her uncle said? Sam thought it a real shame. Years ago Pa and Lars Eikaas had been friends. But then Pa’s silver went missing, insults were traded, and the Eikaases’ prejudice against Ma, Jackson, and Mary kept the feud alive. The Eikaas wagon rolled out of sight, leaving brown clouds of dust in its wake. A grin threatened as Sam thought again of that plucky blonde’s curious expression. Maybe she did have a mind of her own. Now wouldn’t that be something? Sam thanked God that not everyone around here was as intolerant of Wisconsin Natives as the Eikaas family. There were those who actually befriended the Indians and stood up to government officials in their stead. Like Pa, for instance. Like Sam himself. The blistering sun beat down on him. Removing his hat once more, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He started pondering the latest government proposal to remove the Indians from their land. First the Oneida tribe had been forced out, and soon the Menominee band would be “removed” and “civilized.” As bad as that was, it irked Sam more to think about how the government figured it knew best for the Indians. Government plans hadn’t succeeded in the past, so why would they now? Something else had to be done. Relocating the Menominee would cause those people nothing but misery. They’d stated as much themselves. Furthermore, the Indians, led by Chief Oshkosh, were determined not to give up their last tract of land. Sam predicted this current government proposal would only serve to stir up more violence between Indians and whites. But not if he and Pa could help it. In the distance he heard the clang of the dinner bell. Ma didn’t like him to tarry when food was on the table. Across the beet field, Sam saw his younger brother run on ahead of him. He wagged his head at the twelve-year-old and his voracious appetite. With one calloused hand gripping the hoe and the other holding the bushel basket, Sam trudged toward their white clapboard home. Its two dormers protruded proudly from the second floor. Entering the mudroom, he fetched cold water from the inside well, peeled off his hat, and quickly washed up. Next he donned a fresh shirt. Ma insisted upon cleanliness at the supper table. Finally presentable, he made his way into the basement where the summer kitchen and a small eating area were located. The cool air met his sun-stoked skin and Sam sighed, appreciating the noonday respite. Next he noticed a cake in the middle of the table. “That looks good enough to eat,” he teased, resisting the urge to steal a finger-full of white frosting. Ma gave him a smile, and her nut-brown eyes darkened as she set the wooden tureen of turkey and wild rice onto the table. “Since it’s Rachel’s last day with us, I thought I would prepare an extra special dessert.” Sam glanced across the table at the glowing bride-to-be. In less than twenty-four hours Rachel Decker would become Mrs. Luke Smith. But for the remainder of today she’d fulfill her duties as Ma’s hired house girl who helped with the cooking, cleaning, sewing, washing, and ironing whenever Ma came down with one of her episodes, which were sometimes so intensely painful that Ma couldn’t get out of bed without help. Rachel had been both a comfort and an efficient assistant to Ma. “I helped bake the cake, Sam.” He grinned at his ten-year-old sister, Mary. “Good job.” They all sat down, Mary taking her seat beside Rachel. Sam helped his mother into her place at the head of the table then lowered himself into his chair next to Jackson, who’d been named after Major General Andrew Jackson, the seventh president of this great country. “Sam, since your father is away,” Ma began, “will you please ask God’s blessing on our food?” “Be glad to.” He bowed his head. “Dearest Lord, we thank Thee for Thy provisions. Strengthen and nourish us with this meal so we may glorify Thee with our labors. In Jesus’s name, amen.” Action ensued all around the table. The women served themselves and then between Sam and Jack, they scraped the bowl clean. “Good thing Pa’s not home from his meetings in town,” Jack muttered with a crooked grin. “If your father were home,” Ma retorted, “I would have made more food.” “Should have made more anyhow.” Jack gave her a teasing grin. “No seconds.” He clanged the bowl and spoon together as if to prove his point. “You have seconds on your plate already,” Ma said. “Why, I have never seen anyone consume as much food as you do, Jackson.” His smile broadened. “I’m growing. Soon I’ll be taller than Sam.” “Brotherly competition.” Sam had to chuckle. But in the next moment, he wondered if his family behaved oddly. Didn’t all families enjoy meals together? Tease and laugh together? Tell stories once the sun went down? According to Rachel, they didn’t. The ebony-haired, dark-eyed young woman had grown up without a mother and had a drunkard for a father . . . until Ma got wind of the situation and took her in. She invited Rachel to stay in the small room adjacent to the kitchen and offered her a job. Rachel had accepted. And now, years later, Rachel would soon marry a fine man, Luke Smith, a friend of Sam’s.  Taking a bite of his meal, he chewed and looked across the table at Mary. Both she and Jack resembled their mother, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and graceful, willowy frames, while Sam took after his father, blue eyes and stocky build, measuring just under six feet. Yet, in spite of the outward dissimilarities, the five Sundbergs were a closely knit family, and Sam felt grateful that he’d known nothing but happiness throughout his childhood. He had no recollection whatsoever of his biological mother who had taken ill and died during the voyage from Norway to America. Sam had been but a toddler when she went home to be with the Lord, and soon after disembarking in New York, his father met another Norwegian couple. They helped care for Sam and eventually persuaded Pa to take his young son and move with them to Wisconsin, known back then as part of the “Michigan Territory.” Pa seized the opportunity, believing the promises that westward expansion touted, and he was not disappointed. He learned to plant, trap, and trade with the Indians, and he became a successful businessman. In time, he saved enough funds to make his dreams of owning land and farming a reality. Then, when Sam was a boy of eight years, his father met and married Mariah, an Oneida. Like her, many Oneida were Christians and fairly well educated due to the missionaries who had lived among them. In time Sam took to his new mother, and she to him. Through the years Ma cherished and admonished him as though he were her own son. She learned the Norwegian language and could speak it fluently. As far as Sam was concerned, he was her own son—and Mariah, his own mother. They were a family. “Was that the Eikaas wagon driving by not long ago?” Mary asked. Sam snapped from his musing. “Sure was. It appears they have relatives in town.” “Mr. Eikaas didn’t stop and visit, did he?” Mary’s eyes were as round as gingersnaps. Sam chuckled. “No, of course not. I can’t recall the last time Lars Eikaas spoke to me . . . or any of the Sundbergs, for that matter.” “Erik is nice to me at school.” Mary took a bite of her meal. “Glad to hear it.” “I can’t wait to begin school next week.” Sam grinned at his sister’s enthusiasm. He’d felt the same way as a boy. “Sam, what made you assume Mr. Eikaas transported relatives in his wagon today?” He glanced at Ma. “A while back I’d heard that Lars’s niece was coming to America, accompanied by friends, and since I didn’t recognize the three passengers in the wagon this morning, I drew my own conclusions.” “Is she pretty?” Jackson’s cheeks bulged with food. “Is who pretty?” “Mr. Eikaas’s niece . . . is she pretty?” Sam recalled the plucky blonde whose large, cornflower-blue eyes looked back at him with interest from beneath her bonnet. And pretty? As much as Sam hated to admit it, she was about the prettiest young lady he’d ever set eyes on. Jackson elbowed him. “Hey, I asked you a question.” Sam gave his younger brother an annoyed look. “Yeah, I s’pose she’s pretty. But don’t go getting any big ideas about me courting her. She’s an Eikaas.” “You’re awful old to not be married yet.” Jack rolled his dark eyes. “What do you know about it? I’m only twenty-one.” Sam grinned. “Hush up and eat.” It’s what the boy did best. “So . . . did everyone have a pleasant morning?” He forked another bite of food into his mouth, wondering why he tried so hard to shift the subject off of Lars Eikaas’s niece. Kristin looked around the one-room shanty with its unhewn walls and narrow, bowed loft. Cotton squares of material covered the windows, making the heat inside nearly unbearable.  Disappointment riddled her being like buckshot. Although she knew she should feel grateful for journeying safely this far, and now to have a roof over her head, she couldn’t seem to shake her displeasure at seeing her relatives’ living quarters. It looked nothing like her uncle had described in his letters nor the homes she’d glimpsed on the way. “Here is your trunk of belongings,” Uncle Lars said, carrying the wooden chest in on one of his broad shoulders. With a grunt, he set it down in the far corner of the cabin. “Where is my inheritance? Let me have a look at it.” “Right now, Onkel?” “Ja, ja . . .” Impatience filled his tone. Pulling open the drawstring of her leather purse, she reached inside and extracted the key. She unlocked the trunk and opened its curved lid. Getting onto her knees, Kristin moved aside her clothes and extra shoes until she found what she searched for. Poppa’s gold watch. She held the black velvet-covered box reverently in her hands for one last, long moment before she stood and presented it to her uncle. “This belonged to my poppa.” “Ah . . .” Uncle Lars’s face lit up with delight as he opened the box. Looking to Aunt Esther, he nodded. “This will bring a fair price, do you think?” Disbelief poured over her. “But . . . you would not sell Poppa’s watch, would you?” “None of your business!” Kristin jumped back at the biting reply. Her opinion of her uncle dropped like a rock into a cavern. “Anything more?” Her uncle bent over the wooden chest and quickly rummaged through it, spilling clothes onto the unswept floor. “Onkel, please, stop. My garments . . .” “Does not seem to be anything else.” Uncle Lars narrowed his gaze. “Is there?” “No.” The necklace Mor had given her burned against her already perspiring skin. Still, Kristin refused to part with the gift. “Nothing more. As you know, Poppa was a farmer. He supplemented his income by working at the post office, but no money was ever saved. After my parents died, I sold everything to help pay for a portion of my passage to America. I earned the rest myself.” “Any money left?” Kristin shook her head as she picked up the last of her belongings, careful not to meet her uncle’s stare. A little money remained in the special pocket she’d sewn into her petticoat. For safety, she’d kept her funds on her person throughout the entire voyage. The last of her coinage would purchase muchneeded undergarments. She’d managed to save it throughout the journey for the specific purpose of buying new foundations when she reached America. It wasn’t inherited. She’d worked hard for it. With a grunt Uncle Lars turned and sauntered out of the cabin. “You will sleep in the loft with your cousins.” Aunt Esther’s tone left no room for questions or argument. Wearing a plain, brown dress with a tan apron pinned to its front, and with her dark brown hair tightly pinned into a bun, the older woman looked as drab as her surroundings. “Your uncle and I sleep on a pallet by the hearth.” “Yes, Tante. I am sure I will be very comfortable.” Another lie. “Come, let us eat.” Aunt Esther walked toward the hearth where a heavy black kettle sat on top of a low-burning fire. “There is venison stew for our meal.” “It sounds delicious.” Kristin’s stomach growled in anticipation. She’d eaten very little on the ship this morning. Excitement plus the waves on Lake Michigan made eating impossible. But after disembarking in Green Bay, her stomach began to settle, and now she was famished. Aunt Esther called everyone to the table, which occupied an entire corner of the cabin. Her three children, two girls and one boy, ranging in ages from seven to sixteen, came in from outside, as did the Olstads. After a wooden bowl filled with stew was set before each person, the family clasped hands and recited a standard Norwegian prayer . . . I Jesu navn gar vi til bords,—We sit down in the name of Jesus, Spise drikke pa ditt ord,—To eat and drink according to Your Word, Deg Gud til are, oss til gavn,—To Your honor, Oh Lord, and for our benefit, Sa far vi mat i Jesu navn.—We receive food in the name of Jesus. Amen. Having said grace, hands were released, and everyone picked up a spoon and began to eat. Kristin noticed her cousins, Inga and Anna, eyeing her with interest. They resembled their father, blonde curls and blue eyes. “What do you like to do on sunny afternoons such as this one?” she asked cheerfully, hoping to start conversation. After all, Inga’s age was close to hers. Perhaps her cousin would help her meet friends. “We do not talk at the table,” Aunt Esther informed her. “We eat, not talk.” “Yes, Tante.” Kristin glanced at Peder and Mr. Olstad who replied with noncommittal shrugs and kept eating. Silently, Kristin did the same. The Olstads always had lively discussions around their table. When the meal ended, the girls cleared the table and the men took young Erik and ambled outside. “May I help with cleaning up?” Kristin asked her aunt. “No. You rest today and regain your strength. Tomorrow we are invited to a wedding, the day after is the Sabbath. Then beginning on Monday, you will labor from sunup to sunset like everyone else in this place.” “Except for one,” Inga quipped. No one but Kristin heard. “Who?” Her lips moved, although she didn’t utter a sound. “Far, that is who.” Disrespect seeped from Inga’s tone, which was loud and clear. Hadn’t Aunt Esther overheard it? Tante suddenly whirled around and glared at Kristin. “Do something with yourself. We are working here.” With a frown, Kristin backed away. Her aunt’s brusque manner caused her to feel weary and more homesick than ever. She missed her parents and her little brothers. Why did God take them, leaving her to live life without them? And Sylvia . . . how she longed for her best friend! Kristin knelt by the trunk and carefully lifted out a soft, knitted shawl that had once belonged to her mother, Lydia Eikaas. Mor had been an excellent seamstress, expert in spinning wool into yarn and thread, as well as in weaving and sewing garments. She’d taught Kristin everything she knew about the craft. Surely Kristin could now put her skills to good use in this new country, this land of opportunity. She sighed and glanced over to where her aunt and two cousins continued straightening up after the meal. Inga and Anna barely smiled, and her aunt’s expression seemed permanently frozen into a frown. Is that what this country really afforded . . . misery? Allowing her gaze to wander around the dismal cabin once more, Kristin began to wish she had not come to America.</div>

Today's Wild Card author is:

Andrea Boeshaar

and the book:

Threads of Hope
(Fabric of Time)

Realms (January 3, 2012)

***Special thanks to Jon Wooten of Charisma House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Andrea Kuhn Boeshaar is a certified Christian life coach; a popular speaker at writers’ conferences, workshops, and women’s groups; and the author of numerous published books, including the Seasons of Redemption series: Unwilling Warrior, Uncertain Heart, Unexpected Love, and Undaunted Faith.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Kristin Eikaas has her hopes set on a new life in America.

The year is 1848, and Kristin Eikaas has traveled from Norway to Wisconsin with dreams of a new life. But when she arrives, she finds one disappointment after another. Worse, her superstitious uncle now believes that his neighbor’s Oneida Indian wife has put a curse on Kristin. Everyone knows the Sundbergs put spells on people…

Everyone except Kristin. Her run-ins with Sam Sundberg only prove that he is a good man from a Christian family. But when her uncle discovers she’s been associating with Sam, his temper flares. To escape his wrath, Kristin gratefully accepts a job as the Sundbergs’ house girl, finding solace at the family’s spinning wheel.

In the time Sam and Kristin spend together, their friendship develops into much more, and Sam prays about a match between them. But opposition threatens to derail their newfound love. Will they have the courage to stand up for what is right—even against their own families?

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 304 pages

Publisher: Realms (January 3, 2012)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1616384972

ISBN-13: 978-1616384975

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

September 1848
It looks like Norway.
The thought flittered across nineteen-year-old Kristin Eikaas’s mind as Uncle Lars’s wagon bumped along the dirt road. The docks of Green Bay, Wisconsin, were behind them, and now they rode through a wooded area that looked just as enchanting as the forests she’d left in Norway. Tall pine trees and giant firs caused the sunshine to dapple on the road. Kristin breathed in the sweet, fresh air. How refreshing it felt in her lungs after being at sea for nearly three months and breathing in only salty sea air or the stale air in her dark, crowded cabin.
A clearing suddenly came into view, and a minute or so later, Kristin eyed the farm fields stretched before her. The sight caused an ache of homesickness. Her poppa had farmed . . .
“Your trip to America was good, ja?” Uncle Lars asked in Norwegian, giving Kristin a sideways glance.
He resembled her father so much that her heart twisted painfully with renewed grief. Except she’d heard about Onkel—about his temper—how he had to leave Norway when he was barely of age, because, Poppa had said, trouble followed him.
But surely he’d grown past all of that. His letters held words of promise, and there was little doubt that her uncle had made a new life for himself here in America.
Just as she would.
Visions of a storefront scampered across her mind’s eye—a shop in which she could sell her finely crocheted and knitted items. A shop in which she could work the spinning wheel, just as Mor had . . .
Uncle Lars arched a brow. “You are tired, liten niese?”
“Ja. It was a long journey.” Kristin sent him a sideways glance.
“I am grateful I did not come alone. The Olstads made good traveling companions.”
Her uncle cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “But you have brought my inheritance, ja?” He arched a brow.
“Ja.” Kristin thought of the priceless possession she’d brought from Norway.
“And you would not hold out on your onkel, would you?”
Prickles of unease caused Kristin to shift in her seat. She resisted the urge to touch the tiny gold and silver cross pendent suspended from a dainty chain that hung around her neck. Her dress concealed it. She couldn’t give it up, even though it wasn’t legal for a woman to inherit anything in Norway. But the necklace had been her last gift from Mor. A gift from one’s mother wasn’t an inheritance . . . was it? “No, Onkel.”
She turned and peered down from her perch into the back of the wooden wagon bed. Peder Olstad smiled at her, and Kristin relaxed some. Just a year older, he was the brother of Kristin’s very best friend who had remained in Norway with their mother. She and Peder had grown up together, and while he could be annoying and bad tempered at times, he was the closest thing to a brother that she had. And Sylvia—Sylvia was closer than a sister ever could be. It wouldn’t be long, and she and Mrs. Olstad would come to America too. That would be a
happy day!
“You were right,” John Olstad called to Uncle Lars in their native tongue. “Lots of fertile land in this part of the country. I hope to purchase some acres soon.”
“And after you are a landowner for five years, you can be a citizen of America and you can vote.” The Olstad men smiled broadly and replied in unison. “Oh, ja, ja . . . ”
Uncle Lars grinned, causing dozens of wrinkles to appear around his blue eyes. His face was tanned from farming beneath the hot sun, and his tattered leather hat barely concealed the abundance of platinum curls growing out of his large head. “Oh, ja, this is very good land. I am glad I persuaded Esther to leave the Muskego settlement and move northeast. But, as you will soon see, we are still getting settled.”
“Ja, how’s that, Lars?”
Kristin heard the note of curiosity in Mr. Olstad’s voice.
“I purchased the land and built a barn and a cabin.” He paused and gave a derisive snort. “Well, a fine home takes time and money.”
“Oh, ja, that way.” Mr. Olstad seemed to understand.
And Kristin did too. One couldn’t expect enormous comforts out in the Wisconsin wilderness.
Just then they passed a stately home situated on the Fox River. Two quaint dormers peered from the angled roof, which appeared to be supported by a pair of white pillars.
“That is Mr. Morgan Martin’s home. He is a lawyer in town.”
Uncle Lars delivered the rest of his explanation with a sneer. “And an Indian agent.”
“Indians?” Kristin’s hand flew to her throat.
“Do not fret. The soldiers across the river at Fort Howard protect the area.”
Kristin forced her taut muscles to relax.
“Out here the deer are plentiful and fishing is good. Fine lumber up here too. But the Norwegian population is small. Nevertheless, we have our own church, and the reverend speaks our language.”
“A good thing,” Mr. Olstad remarked.
“I cannot wait for the day when Far owns land,” Peder said, glancing at Mr. Olstad. “Lots of land.” The warm wind blew his auburn hair outward from his narrow face, and his hazel eyes sparked with enthusiasm, giving the young man a somewhat wild appearance. “But no farming for me. I want to be rich someday.”
“As do we all!” exclaimed Mr. Olstad, whose appearance was an older, worn-out version of his son’s.
Kristin’s mind had parked on land ownership. “And once you are settled, Sylvia will come to America. I cannot wait. I miss her so much.”
She grappled with a fresh onset of tears. Not only was Sylvia her best friend, but she and the entire Olstad clan had also become like family to her ever since a smallpox epidemic ravaged their little village two years ago, claiming the lives of Kristin’s parents and two younger brothers. When Uncle Lars had learned of the tragic news, he offered her a place to stay in his home if she came to America. Onkel wrote that she should be with her family, so Kristin had agreed to make the voyage. Her plans to leave Norway had encouraged the Olstads to do
the same. But raising the funds to travel took time and much hard work. While the Olstads scrimped and saved up their crop earnings, Kristin did spinning, weaving, knitting, and sewing for those with money to spare. By God’s grace, they were finally here.
Uncle Lars steered the wagon around a sharp bend in the rutty road. He drove to the top of a small hill, and Kristin could see the blue Lake Michigan to her left and farm fields to her right.
Then a lovely white wood-framed house came into view. It didn’t look all that different from the home they’d just past, with dormers, a covered front porch, and stately pillars bearing the load of a wide overhang. She marveled at the homestead’s large, well-maintained barn and several outbuildings. American homes looked like this? Then no wonder Mr. Olstad couldn’t wait to own his own farm!
Up ahead Kristin spied a lone figure of a man. She could just barely make out his faded blue cambric shirt, tan trousers, and the hoe in his hands as he worked the edge of the field. Closer still, she saw his light brown hair springing out from beneath his hat. As the wagon rolled past him, the man ceased his labor and turned their way. Although she couldn’t see his eyes as he squinted into the sunshine, Kristin did catch sight of his tanned face. She guessed his age to be not too much more than hers and decided he was really quite handsome.
“Do not even acknowledge the likes of him,” Uncle Lars spat derisively. “Good Christians do not associate with Sam Sundberg or any members of his family.”
Oh, dear, too late! Kristin had already given him a little smile out of sheer politeness. She had assumed he was a friend or neighbor. But at her uncle’s warning she quickly lowered her gaze.
Kristin’s ever-inquiring nature got the best of her. “What is so bad about that family?”
“They are evil—like the Martins. Even worse, Karl Sundberg is married to a heathen Indian woman who casts spells on the good people of this community.”
“Spells?” Peder’s eyes widened.
“Ja, spells. Why else would some folks’ crops fail while Karl’s flourish? He gets richer and richer with his farming in the summer, his logging camps in the winter, and his fur trading with heathens, while good folks like me fall on hard times.”
“Hard times?” Peder echoed the words.
“Ja, same seed. Same fertile ground. Same golden opportunity.”
Uncle Lars swiveled to face the Olstads. “I will tell you why that happens. The Sundbergs have hexed good Christians like me.” He wagged his head. “Oh, they are an evil lot, those Sundbergs and Martins. Same as the Indians.”
Indians? Curiosity got the better of her, and Kristin swung around in the wagon to get one last glimpse of Sam Sundberg. She could hardly believe he was as awful as her uncle described. Why, he even removed his hat just now and gave her a cordial nod.
“Turn around, niese, and mind your manners!” Uncle Lars’s large hand gripped her upper arm and he gave her a mild shake.
“I . . . I am sorry, Onkel,” Kristin stammered. “But I have never seen an Indian.”
“Sam Sundberg is not an Indian. It is his father’s second wife and their children. Oneida half-breeds is what we call them.”
“Half-breed, eh?”
Kristin glanced over her shoulder and saw Peder stroke his chin.
“Interesting,” he added.
“How very interesting.” Kristin couldn’t deny her interest was piqued. “Are there many Indians living in the Wisconsin Territory?”
“Ja, they trespass on my land, but I show my gun and they leave without incident. Sundberg brings his Indian wife to church.” He wagged his head. “Such a disgrace.”
“And the Territory officials do nothing?” Mr. Olstad asked.
Uncle Lars puffed out his chest. “As of three months ago, we are the State of Wisconsin—no longer a territory.” Uncle Lars stated the latter with as much enthusiasm as a stern schoolmaster. “Now the government will get rid of those savages once and for all.” He sent Kristin a scowl. “And you, my liten niese, will do well to stay away from Indians. All of them, including our neighbors, the Sundbergs. You hear, lest you get yourself scalped.”
“Ja, Onkel.”
With a measure of alarm, Kristin touched her braided hair and chanced a look at Peder and Mr. Olstad. Both pairs of wide eyes seemed to warn her to heed Uncle Lars’s instructions. She would, of course. But somehow she couldn’t imagine the man they’d just passed doing her any harm. Would he?

Sam Sundberg wiped the beads of perspiration off his brow before dropping his hat back on his head. Who was the little blonde riding next to Lars Eikaas? Sam hadn’t seen her before. And the men in the wagon bed . . . he’d never seen them either.
After a moment’s deliberation he concluded they were the expected arrivals from the “Old Country.” Months ago Sam recalled hearing talk in town about Lars’s orphaned niece sailing to America with friends of the family, so he assumed the two red-haired men and the young lady were the topics of that particular conversation. But wouldn’t it just serve Mr. Eikaas right if that blonde angel turned his household upside down—or, maybe, right-side up?
He smirked at the very idea. Sam didn’t have to meet that young lady to guess Mr. Eikaas would likely have his hands full. Her second backward glance said all Sam needed to know.
The word plucky sprang into his mind. He chuckled. Plucky she
seemed, indeed.
But was she wise enough not to believe everything her uncle said?
Sam thought it a real shame. Years ago Pa and Lars Eikaas had been friends. But then Pa’s silver went missing, insults were traded, and the Eikaases’ prejudice against Ma, Jackson, and Mary kept the feud alive.
The Eikaas wagon rolled out of sight, leaving brown clouds of dust in its wake. A grin threatened as Sam thought again of that plucky blonde’s curious expression. Maybe she did have a mind of her own. Now wouldn’t that be something? Sam thanked God that not everyone around here was as intolerant of Wisconsin Natives as the Eikaas family. There were those who actually befriended the Indians and stood up to government officials in their stead. Like Pa, for instance. Like Sam himself.
The blistering sun beat down on him. Removing his hat once more, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He started pondering the latest government proposal to remove the Indians from their land. First the Oneida tribe had been forced out, and soon the Menominee band would be “removed” and “civilized.” As bad as that was, it irked Sam more to think about how the government figured it knew best for the Indians. Government plans hadn’t succeeded in the past, so why would they now? Something else had to be done. Relocating the Menominee would cause those people nothing but misery. They’d stated as much themselves. Furthermore, the Indians, led by Chief Oshkosh, were determined not to give up their last tract of land. Sam predicted this current government proposal would only serve to stir up more violence between Indians and whites.
But not if he and Pa could help it.
In the distance he heard the clang of the dinner bell. Ma didn’t like him to tarry when food was on the table. Across the beet field, Sam saw his younger brother run on ahead of him. He wagged his head at the twelve-year-old and his voracious appetite.
With one calloused hand gripping the hoe and the other holding the bushel basket, Sam trudged toward their white clapboard home. Its two dormers protruded proudly from the second floor.
Entering the mudroom, he fetched cold water from the inside well, peeled off his hat, and quickly washed up. Next he donned a fresh shirt. Ma insisted upon cleanliness at the supper table. Finally presentable, he made his way into the basement where the summer kitchen and a small eating area were located. The cool air met his sun-stoked skin and Sam sighed, appreciating the noonday respite.
Next he noticed a cake in the middle of the table.
“That looks good enough to eat,” he teased, resisting the urge to steal a finger-full of white frosting.
Ma gave him a smile, and her nut-brown eyes darkened as she set the wooden tureen of turkey and wild rice onto the table. “Since it’s Rachel’s last day with us, I thought I would prepare an extra special dessert.”
Sam glanced across the table at the glowing bride-to-be. In less than twenty-four hours Rachel Decker would become Mrs. Luke Smith. But for the remainder of today she’d fulfill her duties as Ma’s hired house girl who helped with the cooking, cleaning, sewing, washing, and ironing whenever Ma came down with one of her episodes, which were sometimes so intensely painful that Ma couldn’t get out of bed without help. Rachel had been both a comfort and an efficient assistant to Ma.
“I helped bake the cake, Sam.”
He grinned at his ten-year-old sister, Mary. “Good job.”
They all sat down, Mary taking her seat beside Rachel. Sam helped his mother into her place at the head of the table then lowered himself into his chair next to Jackson, who’d been named after Major General Andrew Jackson, the seventh president of this great country.
“Sam, since your father is away,” Ma began, “will you please ask God’s blessing on our food?”
“Be glad to.” He bowed his head. “Dearest Lord, we thank Thee for Thy provisions. Strengthen and nourish us with this meal so we may glorify Thee with our labors. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
Action ensued all around the table. The women served themselves and then between Sam and Jack, they scraped the bowl clean.
“Good thing Pa’s not home from his meetings in town,” Jack muttered with a crooked grin.
“If your father were home,” Ma retorted, “I would have made more food.”
“Should have made more anyhow.” Jack gave her a teasing grin. “No seconds.” He clanged the bowl and spoon together as if to prove his point.
“You have seconds on your plate already,” Ma said. “Why, I have never seen anyone consume as much food as you do, Jackson.”
His smile broadened. “I’m growing. Soon I’ll be taller than Sam.”
“Brotherly competition.” Sam had to chuckle. But in the next moment, he wondered if his family behaved oddly. Didn’t all families enjoy meals together? Tease and laugh together? Tell stories once the sun went down? According to Rachel, they didn’t. The ebony-haired, dark-eyed young woman had grown up without a mother and had a drunkard for a father . . . until Ma got wind of the situation and took her in. She invited Rachel to stay in the small room adjacent to the kitchen and offered her a job. Rachel had accepted. And now, years later, Rachel would soon marry a fine man, Luke Smith, a friend of Sam’s.
Taking a bite of his meal, he chewed and looked across the table at Mary. Both she and Jack resembled their mother, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and graceful, willowy frames, while Sam took after his father, blue eyes and stocky build, measuring just under six feet. Yet, in spite of the outward dissimilarities, the five Sundbergs were a closely knit family, and Sam felt grateful that he’d known nothing but happiness throughout
his childhood. He had no recollection whatsoever of his biological mother who had taken ill and died during the voyage from Norway to America.
Sam had been but a toddler when she went home to be with the Lord, and soon after disembarking in New York, his father met another Norwegian couple. They helped care for Sam and eventually persuaded Pa to take his young son and move with them to Wisconsin, known back then as part of the “Michigan Territory.” Pa seized the opportunity, believing the promises that westward expansion touted, and he was not disappointed.
He learned to plant, trap, and trade with the Indians, and he became a successful businessman. In time, he saved enough funds to make his dreams of owning land and farming a reality.
Then, when Sam was a boy of eight years, his father met and married Mariah, an Oneida. Like her, many Oneida were Christians and fairly well educated due to the missionaries who had lived among them. In time Sam took to his new mother, and she to him. Through the years Ma cherished and admonished him as though he were her own son. She learned the Norwegian language and could speak it fluently. As far as Sam was concerned, he was her own son—and Mariah, his own mother.
They were a family.
“Was that the Eikaas wagon driving by not long ago?” Mary asked.
Sam snapped from his musing. “Sure was. It appears they have relatives in town.”
“Mr. Eikaas didn’t stop and visit, did he?” Mary’s eyes were as round as gingersnaps.
Sam chuckled. “No, of course not. I can’t recall the last time Lars Eikaas spoke to me . . . or any of the Sundbergs, for that matter.”
“Erik is nice to me at school.” Mary took a bite of her meal.
“Glad to hear it.”
“I can’t wait to begin school next week.”
Sam grinned at his sister’s enthusiasm. He’d felt the same way as a boy.
“Sam, what made you assume Mr. Eikaas transported relatives in his wagon today?”
He glanced at Ma. “A while back I’d heard that Lars’s niece was coming to America, accompanied by friends, and since I didn’t recognize the three passengers in the wagon this morning, I drew my own conclusions.”
“Is she pretty?” Jackson’s cheeks bulged with food.
“Is who pretty?”
“Mr. Eikaas’s niece . . . is she pretty?”
Sam recalled the plucky blonde whose large, cornflower-blue eyes looked back at him with interest from beneath her bonnet. And pretty? As much as Sam hated to admit it, she was about the prettiest young lady he’d ever set eyes on.
Jackson elbowed him. “Hey, I asked you a question.”
Sam gave his younger brother an annoyed look. “Yeah, I s’pose she’s pretty. But don’t go getting any big ideas about me courting her. She’s an Eikaas.”
“You’re awful old to not be married yet.” Jack rolled his dark eyes.
“What do you know about it? I’m only twenty-one.” Sam grinned. “Hush up and eat.” It’s what the boy did best. “So . . . did everyone have a pleasant morning?” He forked another bite of food into his mouth, wondering why he tried so hard to shift the subject off of Lars Eikaas’s niece.

Kristin looked around the one-room shanty with its unhewn walls and narrow, bowed loft. Cotton squares of material covered the windows, making the heat inside nearly unbearable.
Disappointment riddled her being like buckshot. Although she knew she should feel grateful for journeying safely this far, and now to have a roof over her head, she couldn’t seem to shake her displeasure at seeing her relatives’ living quarters. It looked nothing like her uncle had described in his letters nor the homes she’d glimpsed on the way.
“Here is your trunk of belongings,” Uncle Lars said, carrying the wooden chest in on one of his broad shoulders. With a grunt, he set it down in the far corner of the cabin. “Where is my inheritance? Let me have a look at it.”
“Right now, Onkel?”
“Ja, ja . . .” Impatience filled his tone.
Pulling open the drawstring of her leather purse, she reached inside and extracted the key. She unlocked the trunk and opened its curved lid. Getting onto her knees, Kristin moved aside her clothes and extra shoes until she found what she searched for. Poppa’s gold watch. She held the black velvet-covered box reverently in her hands for one last, long moment before she stood and presented it to her uncle.
“This belonged to my poppa.”
“Ah . . .” Uncle Lars’s face lit up with delight as he opened the box. Looking to Aunt Esther, he nodded. “This will bring a fair price, do you think?”
Disbelief poured over her. “But . . . you would not sell Poppa’s watch, would you?”
“None of your business!”
Kristin jumped back at the biting reply. Her opinion of her uncle dropped like a rock into a cavern.
“Anything more?” Her uncle bent over the wooden chest and quickly rummaged through it, spilling clothes onto the unswept floor.
“Onkel, please, stop. My garments . . .”
“Does not seem to be anything else.” Uncle Lars narrowed his gaze. “Is there?”
“No.” The necklace Mor had given her burned against her already perspiring skin. Still, Kristin refused to part with the gift. “Nothing more. As you know, Poppa was a farmer. He supplemented his income by working at the post office, but no money was ever saved. After my parents died, I sold everything to help pay for a portion of my passage to America. I earned the rest myself.”
“Any money left?”
Kristin shook her head as she picked up the last of her belongings, careful not to meet her uncle’s stare. A little money remained in the special pocket she’d sewn into her petticoat. For safety, she’d kept her funds on her person throughout the entire voyage. The last of her coinage would purchase muchneeded undergarments. She’d managed to save it throughout the journey for the specific purpose of buying new foundations when she reached America. It wasn’t inherited. She’d worked hard for it.
With a grunt Uncle Lars turned and sauntered out of the cabin.
“You will sleep in the loft with your cousins.” Aunt Esther’s tone left no room for questions or argument. Wearing a plain, brown dress with a tan apron pinned to its front, and with her dark brown hair tightly pinned into a bun, the older woman looked as drab as her surroundings. “Your uncle and I sleep on a pallet by the hearth.”
“Yes, Tante. I am sure I will be very comfortable.” Another lie.
“Come, let us eat.” Aunt Esther walked toward the hearth where a heavy black kettle sat on top of a low-burning fire. “There is venison stew for our meal.”
“It sounds delicious.” Kristin’s stomach growled in anticipation. She’d eaten very little on the ship this morning. Excitement plus the waves on Lake Michigan made eating impossible. But after disembarking in Green Bay, her stomach began to settle, and now she was famished.
Aunt Esther called everyone to the table, which occupied an entire corner of the cabin. Her three children, two girls and one boy, ranging in ages from seven to sixteen, came in from outside, as did the Olstads. After a wooden bowl filled with stew was set before each person, the family clasped hands and recited a standard Norwegian prayer . . .
I Jesu navn gar vi til bords,—We sit down in the name of Jesus,
Spise drikke pa ditt ord,—To eat and drink according to Your
Word,
Deg Gud til are, oss til gavn,—To Your honor, Oh Lord, and
for our benefit,
Sa far vi mat i Jesu navn.—We receive food in the name of
Jesus.
Amen.
Having said grace, hands were released, and everyone picked up a spoon and began to eat. Kristin noticed her cousins, Inga and Anna, eyeing her with interest. They resembled their father, blonde curls and blue eyes.
“What do you like to do on sunny afternoons such as this one?” she asked cheerfully, hoping to start conversation. After all, Inga’s age was close to hers. Perhaps her cousin would help her meet friends.
“We do not talk at the table,” Aunt Esther informed her. “We eat, not talk.”
“Yes, Tante.” Kristin glanced at Peder and Mr. Olstad who replied with noncommittal shrugs and kept eating.
Silently, Kristin did the same. The Olstads always had lively discussions around their table.
When the meal ended, the girls cleared the table and the men took young Erik and ambled outside.
“May I help with cleaning up?” Kristin asked her aunt.
“No. You rest today and regain your strength. Tomorrow we are invited to a wedding, the day after is the Sabbath. Then beginning on Monday, you will labor from sunup to sunset like everyone else in this place.”
“Except for one,” Inga quipped. No one but Kristin heard.
“Who?” Her lips moved, although she didn’t utter a sound.
“Far, that is who.” Disrespect seeped from Inga’s tone, which was loud and clear.
Hadn’t Aunt Esther overheard it?
Tante suddenly whirled around and glared at Kristin. “Do something with yourself. We are working here.”
With a frown, Kristin backed away. Her aunt’s brusque manner caused her to feel weary and more homesick than
ever. She missed her parents and her little brothers. Why did God take them, leaving her to live life without them? And Sylvia . . . how she longed for her best friend!
Kristin knelt by the trunk and carefully lifted out a soft, knitted shawl that had once belonged to her mother, Lydia Eikaas. Mor had been an excellent seamstress, expert in spinning wool into yarn and thread, as well as in weaving and sewing garments. She’d taught Kristin everything she knew about the craft. Surely Kristin could now put her skills to good use in this new country, this land of opportunity.
She sighed and glanced over to where her aunt and two cousins continued straightening up after the meal. Inga and Anna barely smiled, and her aunt’s expression seemed permanently frozen into a frown. Is that what this country really afforded . . . misery?
Allowing her gaze to wander around the dismal cabin once more, Kristin began to wish she had not come to America.