I am a Christian, a retired teacher, a mother and a grandmother. I love to read and I love the Lord Jesus Christ! Unless otherwise specified ,all visual illustrations are from the YOU VERSION APP of the Bible.
Author: vicklea
I love to read! I’m a retired teacher with a spouse of 45 years, three amazing children and nine wonderful grandchildren. I am blessed!
We took our young grandchildren to a place called Seaquest today while our daughter was touring Liberty University with her oldest. At Seaquest, there were lots of sea animals and fish, but my favorite place there was the aviary, with all kinds of colorful and tweeting birds. These little creatures did not have to worry at all about being fed because people like us were paying tokens to be able to go in and sit with the birds and feed them. The encounter brought to mind the verse about birds and trusting God.
The birds don’t worry at all; they just trust God to provide for them, even in the winter months when all is mostly barren. Sometimes we fact a winter time in our lives and have to remember to trust in God for our provision. He always comes through, not always when or how we expect but He always provides if we trust in Him at all times. Trust is not always easy, but picture the birds and their total confidence in God during the rough times and the times of plenty. We are God’s crowning creation, so why should we worry about His provision?
My husband and granddaughters enjoying the aviary. Look at those brilliant colors on the birds! God is so creative!
May God show you how much He loves you by providing for you in all ways at all times.
God, the One True God, knows exactly who He is and what He does on a daily basis. Sometimes we struggle to find out just who we are and what our purpose on earth is. God had no such problem.
In fact, when He passed before Moses, God called out who He is. He is the Lord! He is the God of compassion and mercy! He is slow to anger and filled with love that never fails and faithfulness to those He created. I am awed at God’s not only passing in front of Moses but also that He revealed Himself to Moses so clearly. And I am thankful to have His Word through which He reveals Himself to me. His promises are there always ready for us to seek and find. This is one that I unexpectedly found during my study of the Old Testament earlier this week. It’s a revelation of God’s character, but it is also a promise that He will show who He is to each of us by the promises that He keeps. The verse clearly says, “I am”, not I was or I want to be or I plan to be. He says “I am” and He is…compassionate, merciful, slow to anger, loving and faithful. God knows who He is and is training us to be more like Him. I praise Him for His patient perseverance with me.
May your day be blessed with the knowledge that God knows exactly who He is and He also knows exactly who He made you to be,too!
These days it seems like the world just constantly wants a piece of me, or at least a piece of my mind. With various medical tests and a cardiac monitor that I have to wear 24/7 for thirty days, I don’t seem to have a lot of time to actually pull away from the chaos and just be. That’s what I need most, to just be with the Lord, telling Him my thoughts, fears and praising Him for all He has done. So, this morning, in my devotional time, God has given me extra time alone with Him so that I have spend time in the quiet place that I need.
Even Jesus needed to withdraw from the demands of life sometimes. Once His reputation for healing people spread throughout the land, there were crowds everywhere He went, pressing in on Him and just wanting to be close to Him. I don’t pretend to know what Jesus was going through, but I do know that His intention was to go to a quiet place away from all of the people. But when He got there, the people had found out where He was headed and met them there. I can honestly say that if that were me, I would have been outraged that I could not find a moment’s peace. But you know what Jesus did? He showed compassion and taught right there, even providing for the people’s hunger by multiplying five loaves and two fish. Jesus did not say, “This is my time! Now go away and come back after I am finished having some peace and quiet.” No, that is what I would have done and probably you would have done the same, too. Jesus needed quiet time just as much if not more than we do, but He put the needs of others over His own. In doing so, He set the example for us.
So, when I am feeling pressured by too many people wanting time from me, I will come back to the Bible and remember that Jesus gave the people time that they needed from Him. He sacrificed everything…family, a home and even His precious time with His Father. Why would He do that? Love, just love. I think He spent plenty of quiet time with the Father in the late night or early morning hours when there was no crowd. I also think that the Father spoke with Him constantly, guiding and directing Him and showing Him the love that only a Father can have for His only Son. Quiet time? Yes, we all crave it. And it is important. But so is meeting the needs of others and putting them above ourselves and our own desires. Jesus showed the way.
I have had my quiet time this morning and I am ready to face the challenges of a new day. We are taking a trip to the mountains of Virginia where we will meet our daughter and her daughters. Harry and I get to care for the “littles” while Hope takes the older girls to tour the local Christian college and to the meetings for prospective students. Will there be a lot of quiet time there? Probably not. But God can still speak to me if I take time to listen. That is a skill that Jesus had mastered…He listened to the Father and then followed through with what the Father wanted Him to accomplish. I want to be like Jesus, don’t you.
May your day be blessed with peace in the chaos and quiet listening to the Father speak to your heart.
One of the things that I most enjoy doing is going on short trips, enjoying my time in a new place and then returning home to all that is safe and familiar. I like visiting others, but I really like being at home, with my comforting things all around me. To put that in a spiritual perspective, God cries out to us constantly to return to Him. There are so many who wander from place to place seeking some kind of peace and acceptance from the world. But the only real peace and acceptance comes from our Father who has created us and knows what is best for us.
God wants to show us mercy and compassion. His desire is not to punish us. I have been asked by non-Christians how a loving God could send people to hell. My answer is always the same. He did not create hell for people. It was created for Satan and his demons. But if man chooses to go the way of sin and turns away from God, refusing to repent, then God has no choice but to allow them to go to hell. It is man’s choice, not God’s. In the book of Joel, God is crying out for His people, all those whom He has created, to repent and turn to Him, to change their hearts. God’s cry is not one of vengeance or waiting for us to mess up so He can punish us. His cry is a heartfelt one of sincerely desiring us to change so that we don’t have to suffer eternal punishment and separation from Him. God provided a way to be with Him always through His Son Jesus Christ, but it up to us to return to God. Just as we find comfort when we are among our familiar things at home, we can find comfort in the arms of our Heavenly Father who made a way for us to return to Him.
May you have a blessed and peaceful Ash Wednesday as you ponder the sacrifice of the Lord and the eternity with Him that is granted by His sacrifice. If you need to do so, may you return to God!
What does it look like to “stand your ground’? I consulted the online dictionary and this is what I found at http://www.idioms.freedictionary.com
Hmm. This made me thing about when I anticipate attacks. And the answer is daily. We have to always be ready to be attacked by Satan and others who do his bidding because they want more power than God. The second part of the definition is equally important: to refuse to compromise. In a world where we are mocked for standing for the truth of God’s Word, we need to learn to stand out ground and not compromise on what God has written. God said it. I believe it. That settles it.
So, in a world that has gone crazy trying to outdo one another in being “open-minded” and “tolerant” so that sin is not only tolerated but encouraged, how do we as individuals stand our ground? First, we put on the belt of truth, the truth that is found in God’s Word. And our body armor is the best that is available anywhere. It is God’s own righteousness that His Son died to make available to each of us. When we stand our ground, we are not standing alone because God is right there with us, providing the words to speak from His Word and the protection we need from His righteousness.
May you be blessed with the knowledge that God has already equipped you to “stand your ground”!
Many of us Christians want to know when and how Jesus will return. He didn’t tell us the time or the date. In fact, He said that only the Father knows it. But He did tell us that he is getting everything ready for us.
Once everything is ready, whatever that may look like but I am sure that it will be glorious beyond our imagination, Jesus will return and bring us to be with Him.
Meanwhile, what are we to do. Jesus told us to “go and preach” and Paul repeated this admonition to his student Timothy.
We are to always be prepared to preach, to correct those in error and to encourage people with GOOD teaching. That good teaching comes directly from the Word of God. Thus, we have a job to do to get everyone ready here on earth while Jesus gets everything ready for us in Heaven. We are all playing a part in bringing God’s kingdom on earth to pass. No matter how small our role may be, God calls us to fulfill that purpose, to work until we are called home to be with Him for eternity.
May your day be blessed with fruitful encouragement and teaching of others!
From the New York Times bestselling author comes this twisting, emotionally layered thriller about a marriage torn apart when the police arrive at an infertile couple’s door and reveal the husband’s son is the prime suspect in a murder. The perfect blend of exhilarating suspense and issue-driven book club fiction.
Everybody lies. Even the ones you think you know best of all . . .
Olivia Bender designs exquisite home interiors that satisfy the most demanding clients. But her own deepest desire can’t be fulfilled by marble counters or the perfect rug. She desperately wants to be a mother. Fertility treatments and IVF keep failing. And just when she feels she’s at her lowest point, the police deliver shocking news to Olivia and her husband, Park.
DNA results show that the prime suspect in a murder investigation is Park’s son. Olivia is relieved, knowing this is a mistake. Despite their desire, the Benders don’t have any children. Then comes the confession. Many years ago, Park donated sperm to a clinic. He has no idea how many times it was sold—or how many children he has sired.
As the murder investigation goes deeper, more terrible truths come to light. With every revelation, Olivia must face the unthinkable. The man she married has fathered a killer. But can she hold that against him when she keeps such dark secrets of her own?
This twisting, emotionally layered thriller explores the lies we tell to keep a marriage together–or break each other apart . . .
Dealing with difficult topics and serial murder, this book is rated PG-18.
My Review:
This book was an emotional roller coaster ride for me. I loved the entire ride, but I have to confess that the honesty with which the author deals with the heartbreaking topic of infertility was gut-wrenchingly realistic and a chance to really understand what some of my close friends have gone through. Olivia and Park Bender are trying desperately to have a child when Olivia discovers that Park has fathered children as a sperm donor when he was in college. Not only that, but drum roll for the added dramatic twist, one of his children is a serial killer and has left DNA at a crime scene. Olivia’s world is supposed to be one of order and beauty as she designs home interiors, creating wonderful spaces for happy homes. Instead, her world is instantly an insane combination of reporters, police, distrust of her husband and loss of a dream. The story is told in multiple points of view and although I enjoyed getting into the mind of each character, I identified with and enjoyed Olivia’s POV best. Park was not a favorite character, although he was a devoted husband and wanted to be a father as Olivia wanted to be a mother. The twists that happen in the telling of the intricate web of deceit, murder, infertility and sperm banks was so well written that I was waiting for the documentary credits to roll at the end. I learned from this book as well as being entertained and totally absorbed by the story. The ending was a surprise twist that I didn’t see coming and so good! The fast pace, the mesmerizing topics and the mystery all made this book one of the best books that I have ever read! To leave this book behind would be a travesty. It is haunting in its transparent look at a difficult topic and informative in a way that made me empathetic to friends and to the main character. I would give the book ten stars if possible, five for the writing including the plot and the characters and five more for educating me about infertility in an entertaining yet heart-tugging way. As an added note, if you are a reader who stops reading at the end of the book and doesn’t read dedications, acknowledgements, author’s notes, etc., I recommend that you read all the way to the end, every word on every page and let yourself be caught up in the sacrifice that writing this book must have cost the author. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
About the Author:
J.T. Ellison is the NYT and USA Today bestselling author of more than 20 novels, and the EMMY-award winning co-host of A WORD ON WORDS, Nashville’s premier literary show. With millions of books in print, her work has won critical acclaim, prestigious awards, and has been published in 26 countries. Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband and twin kittens.
Olivia forces away the threatening tears. She will not collapse. She will not cry. She will stand up, square her shoulders and flush the toilet, whispering small words of benediction toward the life that was, that wasn’t, that could have been.
She will not linger; she will not acknowledge the sudden sense of emptiness consuming her body. She will not give this moment more than it deserves. It’s happened before, too many times now. It will happen again, her mind unhelpfully provides.
There is relief in this pain, some sort of primitive biological response to help ease her heavy heart. Olivia has never lied to herself about her feelings about having a child. She wants this, she’s sure of it. Wants the experience, wants to be able to speak the same language as her sisters in the fertility arts, her friends who’ve already birthed their own. And she loves the idea of being pregnant. Loves the feelings of that early flush of success—the soreness and tingling in her breasts, the spotty nausea, the excitement, the fatigue. Loves remembering that moment when she realized she was pregnant the first time.
She’d known even before she took the test. She could feel the life growing inside her. Feel the quickening pulse. A secret she held in her heart, managing several hours with just the two of them, alone in their nascent lives. Every room of the house looked new, fresh, dangerous. Sharp corners and glass coffee tables, no, no, those would have to be tempered, replaced. The sun glancing off the breakfast table—too bright here, the spot on the opposite side would be best for a high chair. The cat, snoozing in the window seat—how was she going to take an interloper? The plans. The plans.
After a carefully arranged lunch, fresh fruit and no soft cheeses, she’d driven to the bookstore for a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, accepted the sweet congratulations of the bookseller—think, a complete stranger knew more than her family, her husband. She tied the plastic stick with its beautiful double pink lines inside two elaborate bows—one pink, one blue—and gave it to Park after an elegant dinner.
The look on his face—pride and fear and terror and joy, all mingled with desire—when he realized what she was saying. He’d been struck dumb, could only grin ear to ear and pat her leg for the first twenty minutes.
So much joy between them. So much possibility.
Olivia replayed that moment, over and over, every time she got pregnant. It helped chase away the furrowing, the angles and planes of Park’s forehead, cheek, chin, as they collapsed into sorrow when she’d miscarried the first time. And the next. And the next. Every time she lost their children, it was the same, all played out on Park’s handsome face: exaltation, fear, sorrow. Pity.
No, the being pregnant part was idyllic for her, albeit terribly brief. It’s only that she doesn’t know how she feels about what happens ten months hence, and the lifetime that follows. The stranger that comes into being. But that’s normal—at least, that’s what everyone tells her. All women feel nervous about what comes next. Her ambivalence isn’t what’s killing her babies. She can’t help but feel it’s her fault for not being certain to her marrow what she wants. That God is punishing her for being cavalier.
Of course, this internal conversation is moot. There is blood. Again.
She hastily makes her repairs—the materials are never far away. If she stashed the pads and tampons away in the hall cabinet, it would be bad luck. Too optimistic.
Not like they’re having any luck anyway. Six pregnancies. Six miscarriages. IUIs and IVF. Needles and hormones and pain, so much pain. More than anyone should have to bear.
With a momentary glance at the crime scene in the toilet, she depresses the handle.
“Goodbye,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
Olivia brushes her teeth, then pulls a comb through her glossy, prenatal-enriched locks, rehearsing the breakfast conversation she must now have.
How does she tell Park she’s failed, yet again, to hold the tiny life inside her?
Downstairs, it is now just another morning, no different from any over the past several years. Just the two of them, getting ready for the day.
The television is on in the kitchen, tuned to the local morning show. Park whistles as he whisks eggs in a bright red bowl. Park’s breakfasts are legendary. Savory omelets, buckwheat blueberry pancakes, veggie frittatas, yogurts and homemade granola—you name it, he makes it. Olivia handles dinner. If she cooks three nights out of seven, she considers that a success. They eat like kings in the morning and paupers at night, and they love it.
She pauses at the door, watching him bustle around. He is already dressed for work, jeans and a button-down, black lace-up brogues. His “office” is in the backyard, in a shed Olivia converted for his use. A former—reformed—English professor on a semipermanent sabbatical, Park has launched a second career ghostwriting psychological thrillers. He claims to love the anonymity of it, that he can work so close to home, and the money is good. Enough. Not obscene, but enough. They’ve been able to afford four rounds of IUI and two in vitros so far. And as he says, writing is the perfect career for a man who wants to be a stay-at-home dad. There’s no reason for him to go back to teaching. Not now.
A pang in her heart, echoed by a sharp cramp in her stomach. They are throwing everything away. She is throwing everything away. This round of IVF, she only produced a few retrievable eggs, and this was their last embryo.
My God, she’s gotten clinical. She’s gotten cold. Babies. Not embryos. There are no more frozen babies. Which means she’ll have to do it all again, the weeks-long scientific process of creating a child: the suppression drugs, the early morning blood tests, the shots, the trigger, the surgery, the implantation. The rage and fear and pain. Again.
The money. It costs so, so much.
She has frozen at the edge of the kitchen, thoughts roiling, and Park senses her there, turns with a wide smile. The whisk clicks against the bowl in time with her heartbeat.
“How are my darlings feeling this morning? Mama and bebe hungry?”
She is saved from blurting out the truth—mama no more, bebe is dead—by the ringing of the doorbell.
Park frowns. “Who is here so early? Watch the eggs, will you?”
Even chickens can do what she cannot.
It’s infuriating. House cats escape into the woods and sixty days later purge themselves of tiny blind beings. Insects, birds, rats, rabbits, deer, reproduce without thought or hindrance.
Nearly four million women a year—a year!—manage to give birth.
But not her.
She’s not depressed, really, she’s not. She’s come to terms with this. It happens. Today will be a bad day, tomorrow will be better. They will try again. It will all be okay.
Mechanically, Olivia moves to the stove, accepts the wooden spatula. Park disappears toward the foyer, shoulders broad and waist nearly as trim as the day she met him. She will never get over his handsomeness, his winning personality. Everyone loves Park. How could you not? He is perfect. He is everything Olivia is not.
The television is blaring a breaking news alert, and she turns her attention to it, grateful for something, anything, to focus on beside the intransigent nature of her womb and the fear her husband will abandon her. The anchor is new, from Mississippi, with a voice soft as honey. Tupelo? No, Oxford, Olivia remembers; Park took her to a quaint bookstore there on the square one summer, long ago.
“Sad news this morning, as it has been confirmed the body found in Davidson County earlier this week belongs to young mother Beverly Cooke. Cooke has been missing for three months, after she was last seen going for a hike at Radnor Lake. Her car was found in the parking lot, with her purse and phone inside. Metro Nashville Police spokesperson Vanda Priory tells Channel Four Metro is working with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and Forensic Medical to determine her cause of death. The Cooke family released a statement a few minutes ago. ‘Thank you to everyone who has helped bring Beverly home. We will have more information on her burial soon. We ask for privacy during this difficult time.’ Metro now turns their attention to identifying a suspect. In this morning’s briefing, Homicide Detective William Osley stated that Metro has a lead and will be pursuing it vigorously. Next up, time to break into the cedar closet, it’s finally sweater weather!”
Olivia sighs in regret. That poor woman. Like everyone in Nashville, Olivia has followed the case religiously. To have a young mother—the kind of woman she’s so desperate to mold herself into— disappear into thin air from a safe, regularly traveled, popular spot, one Olivia herself hikes on occasion, has been terrifying. She knows Beverly Cooke, too, albeit peripherally. They were in a book club together a few years ago. Beverly was fun. Loud. Drank white wine in the kitchen of the house and gossiped about the neighbors. Never read the book.
Olivia stopped going after a few meetings. It was right before she’d started her first official fertility treatments, had two miscarriages behind her, was hopped up on Clomid and aspirin, and all anyone could do was talk babies. Beverly had just weaned her first and was drunk for the first time in two years. She alternated between complaining and cooing about the trials and joys of motherhood. Olivia couldn’t take it, this flagrant flaunting of the woman’s success. She stood stock still in the clubhouse kitchen, fingers clenching a glass of Chardonnay, envisioning the myriad ways she could murder Beverly. Cracking the glass on the counter’s edge and swiping it across Beverly’s pale stalk of a neck seemed the most expedient.
Honestly, she wanted to murder them all, the sycophantic breeders who took their ability to procreate for granted. They had no idea what she was going through. How she was tearing apart inside, month after month. How she felt the embryos detach and knew it was over. How Park’s face went from joy to disdain every time.
Some people wear their scars on the outside.
Some hide them deep, and never let anyone in to see them.
Olivia is still staring at the screen, which is blaring a commercial for car insurance, processing, remembering, fists balled so tightly she can feel her nails cutting the skin, when she hears her husband calling her name.
“Olivia?” His voice is pitched higher than normal, as if he’s excited, or scared.
Park enters the kitchen from the hall between the dining room and the butler’s pantry.
“Honey, they found Beverly—” she starts. But her words die in her throat when she sees two strangers, a man and a woman, standing behind him, people she knows immediately are police officers just by their wary bearing and shifting eyes that take in the whole room in a moment, then settle on her appraisingly.
“I know,” Park says, coming to her side, shutting off the gas. She’s burned the eggs; a sulfurous stench emanates from the gold-encrusted pan. He takes the spatula from her carefully. “It’s been on the news all morning. Liv, these detectives need to talk to us.”
“About?”
The man—stocky, slick smoky-lensed gold glasses, perfectly worn-in cowboy boots and a leather jacket over a button-down—takes a small step forward and removes his sunglasses. His eyes are the deepest espresso and hold something indefinable, between pity and accusation. It’s as if he knows what she is thinking, knows her uncharitable thoughts toward poor dead Beverly.
“Detective Osley, ma’am. My partner, Detective Moore. We’ve been working Beverly Cooke’s case. I understand you knew her? Our condolences for your loss.”
Olivia cuts her eyes at Park. What the hell has he been saying to them?
“I don’t know her. Didn’t. Not well. We were in a book club together, years ago. I don’t know what happened to her. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Oh, we understand. That’s not why we’re here.” Osley glances at his partner. The woman is taller than he is, graceful in the way of ex–ballet dancers even in her street clothes, with a long, supple neck, hooded green eyes devoid of makeup and blond hair twisted into a thick no-nonsense bun worn low, brushing the collar of her shirt.
“Why are you here, exactly?” Olivia asks.
Park frowns at her tone. She’s come across too sharp, but my God, what she’s already handled this morning would break a lesser woman.
“It’s about our suspect in the Cooke case. Can we sit down?”
Olivia reigns in her self-loathing fury and turns on the charm. The consummate hostess act always works. Park has taught her that. “Oh, of course. Can I get you some coffee? Tea? We were making breakfast. Can we offer you some eggs, or a muffin? I have a fresh pan here—”
“No, ma’am, we’re fine,” Moore demurs. “Let’s sit down and have a chat.”
Olivia has a moment of sheer freak-out. Was it Park? Had he killed Beverly Cooke? Was that why they wanted to talk, because he was a suspect? If he was a suspect, would the police sit down with them casually in the kitchen? Wouldn’t they want something more official? Take him to the station? Did they need to call a lawyer? Her mind was going fifty thousand miles an hour, and Park was already convicted and in prison, and she was so alone in the big house, so lonely, before she reached a hand to pull out the chair.
She needs to knock off the true crime podcasts. Her husband is not a murderer. He is incapable of that kind of deceit.
Isn’t he?
Sometimes she wonders.
“Nice kitchen,” Osley says.
“Thank you.”
Olivia loves her kitchen. It is the model for all her signature looks. Airy, open, white cabinets with iron pulls, leathered white marble counters. A black granite–topped island just the right size for chopping and serving, light spilling in from the big bay window. A white oak French country table with elegant cane-backed chairs. It was the heart of her home, the heart of her life with Park.
Now, though, it is simply the site of his greatest betrayal. Forevermore, from this morning—with the burned eggs and the somber police and Park’s face whiter than bone—until the end of her tenure here, and even then, in remembrance, she would look at this precious place with fury and sadness for what could have been. The ghosts of the life they were supposed to have clung to her, suckled her spirit like a babe at her breast never would. Everywhere she looked were echoes of the shadow existence she was supposed to be living. Here, a frazzled mother, smiling despite her fatigue at the children she’d created. There, a loving father, always ready to lend a hand tossing a ball or helping with homework. And look, a trio of towheaded boys and a soft blonde princess girl, the teasing and laughter of their mealtimes. How the table would seem to grow smaller as the boys got older and took up more space. The girlfriends came, the boyfriends. The emptiness when it was just the two of them again, the children grown with their own lives, the table bursting at holidays only. The grandchildren, happiness and racket, the noise and the joy creeping out from the woodwork again.
She is alone. She will always be alone. She will not have this life. She will not have this dream.
Park made it so.
As the detectives continue to speak, softly, without rancor, and her world splinters, Olivia hardens, compresses, shrinks. She watches her husband and holds on to one small thought.
I have the power to destroy you, too. Dear God, give me the chance.
Excerpted from It’s One of Us @ 2023 by JT Ellison, used with permission by MIRA Books.
I appreciate being a part of this blog tour and highly recommend J.T.’s book! Have tissues ready and enjoy!
Narrowly surviving an intentional hit-and-run, Sawyer Blackwood hires his unexpected rescuer to guard his niece. Bodyguard Everly Honor will do anything to protect a child, even if it means working with her ex. But, as attacks escalate, how can she accomplish her mission to keep them safe when Sawyer is keeping secrets from her…and she’s concealing the truth about her own past?
My Review:
Everly Honor is an unexpectedly resourceful heroine and courageous bodyguard. When former beau Sawyer Blackwood hires her for protection for himself and his niece Layla, neither of them has any idea what she is actually getting herself into. Sawyer is keeping secrets about why he is being targeted and his secrets may lead to more danger for himself and his niece as well as for Everly. This is the second book in the Honor Protection Series but it can definitely be read as a standalone. With a quick pace and non-stop action, the plot was engrossing and tightly written. The characters were relatable and flawed humans which made them realistic and believable. I enjoyed getting to know each character, especially the strong female protagonist Everly. Her ability to think on her feet during difficult challenges was amazing! I also enjoyed the developing relationship between Sawyer and Everly, a romance that was kept below the surface of the main plot but was definitely present. This is a quick read that is absorbing and entertaining as well as well developed with just enough red herrings to keep me guessing. Fans of Love Inspired Suspense will enjoy the inspirational aspects of the two main characters testing their faith and finding each other as they rediscover faith in God. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author as part of her launch team for this book. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
This is Love Inspired Suspense, so the suspense is intense but it is a clean read. Rated PG.
About the Author:
Elizabeth Goddard is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of more than 50 novels, including Cold Light of Day and the Rocky Mountain Courage and Uncommon Justice series. Her books have sold nearly 1.5 million copies. She is a Carol Award and Reader’s Choice Award winner and a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, traveling to find inspiration for her next book, and serving with her husband in ministry. For more information about her books, visit her website at http://www.elizabethgoddard.com. Photo and Bio from author’s page at Baker-Elizabeth Goddard
Available NOW for preorder. Releases on 2-21-23. Purchase Links:
I am sure that if you are like me, you spend a lot of time talking to God, telling Him your problems and challenges and then waiting for an answer from Him. Sometimes, in fact a lot of times, I get impatient waiting for the answer and try to help God out. He doesn’t need my help. He just needs me to believe and to wait.
This verse says WHEN they call on Him, not if we call on Him. The expectation from God is that we will call on Him and His reply is that He will answer. He will be with us and will rescue us. I think the honor part comes in when others see that we trusted in God and He answered. All glory goes to the Father!
It is important that before we go before the throne of God with our petitions, we know what His will is. So, how do we do that? We have to immerse ourselves in His Word in order to discover what His will is. We have to have a relationship with Him in which we talk to Him daily and wait for Him to speak to us. Instead of a one-sided wish list that we present rapidly just before we get on with the busyness of our day, we need to take time to just sit in His presence and hear Him clearly. God wants a relationship with each of us, not a bunch of whiners who treat Him as though He is the genie in a bottle who will grant all of our wishes. We need to be aware of how our prayers will affect others and know that God is not just hearing our petitions but also those of millions of others (hopefully) and He has to take into account everyone all at the same time. My finite mind cannot even conceive of such power but God has it whether I can understand it or not, and He answers prayers according to His will. That thought brings me back to the first part of this paragraph. We discover God’s will be spending time with Him and with His Word.
May your prayers be answered according to God’s will and may you rest in faith and contentment knowing that God is working out things that are best for you and for the rest of His Creation.
Releases on Tuesday, February 21st, but you can preorder now! Don’t miss the story of the heroic dog Hercules and his extraordinarily courageous people!
Vickie's Book Nook and Meditation Corner 