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!
My whole thinking about this verse has changed, I think, because I have had a heart change. When I read this verse previously, I was exultant, much as one would be when a fierce enemy is defeated. Now, I read the verse and I am saddened to think that so many will perish in their sins, lost and without hope for all eternity. Instead of praying for Jesus to return quickly, I am praying for Him to tarry so that others may be saved.
Jesus did not want sinful men to perish. Instead, He desired that we become workers in the harvest fields, telling the lost about the way to be saved.
I like the way this verse is written in The Message because it is forthright and easy to understand. We don’t have to have a lot of knowledge in order to share about Jesus. We just need to keep what we say simple…who Jesus is (the only Son of God) and what He did (died for our sins). We can use various scriptures (like the “Roman Road”) or even our own testimony. The important thing is that we share. Refer back to the first Scripture. If we don’t share, then they die in their wickedness and are lost forever. Sobering thought, isn’t it? It is an awesome responsibility that the Lord left us, but He also gave us a Helper, His Holy Spirit, to guide our words and our steps towards the people who need Him in their hearts. We need to be obedient because I truly believe that the time is shorter than it has ever been before. I am no longer willing to sit back and gleefully look forward to God’s judgment on sinful men. I must, you must, we all must, hear the call of the Lord and rescue them, as much as it is in us to do so. We have to share the Gospel in the hope that some will repent and be saved.
Friendships in life are so important to our well-being and to our having a positive outlook on life. Six years ago, my best friend in Virginia passed away after a long illness. Heidi was the one whom I could talk to about anything and everything, including my faith. She and I both got into the habit of eating lunch together once a month, going to each other’s houses to visit and just chatting on the phone regularly. We met at the school where we both worked and since she helped me acclimate to a new school and new requirements, I looked to her for assistance a lot that first year, forming a friendship that seemed to be unlikely. You see, I’m not wealthy. Heidi was. I’m a biological child of the parents who raised me. Heidi was adopted from Germany as a child. We got to be really close when Heidi’s marriage dissolved due to her husband’s infidelity. I became the one she leaned on as she gradually came to accept that the philanderer was never coming home again and that she could survive without him. When she met Bob, her future spouse, she was so in love that it radiated from her entire being and I was delighted for her. I was her matron of honor and we celebrated this new chapter in her life together. But less than ten years later, Heidi was in terrible health. I’m so thankful that she had Bob to be by her side as she faced one devastating health crisis after another. I went to the hospital weekly to be with her, reading to her, chatting and laughing at fond memories. Friendship is important, so when Heidi died, a part of my heart died, too. She passed away only a few months before my father, so those two losses in the same year almost did me in. But God did not leave me. He never does. He made sure that I had others checking on me, calling me and lifting me up in prayer. God’s friendship is eternal and we never have to worry about death separating us from Him as long as we know Him as our Savior.
My mom used to say to be careful who your friends are because they will determine how others see you. So, I’m careful now to say that Jesus is my best friend, one who never leaves me and who listens to all I have to say, giving me wise counsel and loving me through difficult times. I have other earthly friends now, but no one as close as Heidi was. I will probably always miss her on this side of Heaven, but I hope to see her when I get there.
Friendships don’t always last. Sometimes time and distance change things, but they are important so as the Bible says, we need to chose reliable friends. And, more importantly, we need to be a reliable friend to others.
Have a blessed day, my online friends, and may each of you form lasting friendships that make a difference in your lives and show the world a model of friendship with Jesus.
I have read all the books in the series and enjoyed each one thoroughly. This latest Beth Bradford book required that I pay close attention to all of the details or I would get lost in them. There are a lot of characters and a lot of spy action constantly happening, with unexpected plot twists, some of them not believable but there nonetheless. In this story, Beth has lost all that is important to her…her marriage is on the rocks, her youngest son has left for college and her beloved family home has been sold. All she has to cling to is her job as a CIA analyst and her quest to find an Iranian intelligence operative known as “the Neighbor.” However, even her job is jerked out from under her as she is sent to a new place and a new assignment, with all of her hard work about the Neighbor being given to others or shredded as useless. Determined to find out who the Neighbor is and without the sanction of the CIA, Beth investigates on her own and thinks she has found this super-spy, living in her old house. This is where the plot divulged from possibly reality and I was not sure if Beth was totally sane or not. She pursues the case against Madeline, the new resident, relentlessly and unashamedly insists that her former bosses listen to her case against Madeline. The book is intriguing all the way to the end, but I could not buy into the conclusion. It was not at all what I expected and it was also a bit of a letdown after all of the fast-paced page turning that I did to get there. Beth, the main character, was completely well-developed and likable, although not totally relatable since I don’t really know any CIA agents (at least, not that I know of). The secondary characters were less developed, like well-kept secrets and kind of shady. I decided that was a purposeful act of the author since in doing so, it was hard to guess who the spy actually was. So, good characterization there! I found the book enjoyable and riveting entertainment but not my favorite in the series. I still give it a five-star rating because it kept me glued to the pages to find out what was going to happen to Beth and if she was losing her skill as an analyst just as her boss seemed to think. Fans of domestic suspense, spy thrillers and mystery will enjoy this book and look forward to more from this author who entertains and makes you question the roles of those around you. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Random House via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
I only hear snippets of news throughout the day because I have purposed to just not listen to all of the negativity. My husband shares things with me that he thinks I need to know and pray about, but my days of watching news broadcasts from morning to evening are long done. I have entered a time of watchful expectation. I see what is going on, I hear what others are saying and I know that the Lord cannot tarry forever. He will have to judge the world for their sins that are polluting the entire earth that He created for good.
No, I am not a prophet and I am not saying that the return of Jesus and God’s judgment are imminent. I am, however, saying to be ready and to be aware that the time is coming. In the Book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon seems like he is on a real downer kind of trip. Solomon, the man with hundreds of wives and concubines, a huge palace, servants to do his bidding all the time, and the one who built an impressive temple for God seems to be in a real depression. That man is having some real “come to Jesus” moments in Ecclesiastes and this verse portrays one of them. I agree with him in that everyone should be mourning. What are we mourning? The death of sanity, the loss of common sense and the complete destruction of the moral compass that God put inside mankind but which man in his own attempt at control has chosen to destroy, not just to ignore. Instead of mourning the sins of ourselves and our nation, we seek constant pleasure wherever we can find it, trying desperately to block out that still small voice that insistently calls us to His throne and to repentance. Earlier in this chapter in Ecclesiastes, Solomon says that everyone dies. Well, of course! But everyone does not have to spend eternity in hell as is the destiny of so many who refuse to acknowledge the King. I never realized before that Solomon’s Book of Wisdom is also a call to repentance if we can only pause and listen. The days are short, we just don’t know how short before the Lord’s return. But we do know that we are called to repent, to turn from wickedness and to change our ways. Thus, those of us who are about the business of the Lord are in mourning, for nations and their people who are burying their heads in the sand and thinking that God cannot see them for what they are. Let’s not be foolish but wise. Let’s mourn for the losses but let us also take up the mantle of the Good News and declare His Truth to all, whether they want to hear it or not. They need to hear, and we need to tell.
Have a blessed day, my friends, and may you find the courage to boldly speak the truth to at least one lost soul today.
May your day be blessed with the knowledge that you are forgiven and that your life belongs to the Lord. Now, go out and do something that will make a difference, no matter how small!
Encouragement comes from reading God’s Word. It also comes from our fellow believers. There is so much negativity in the world, so I ask that you be one you spreads the positivity of God’s promises, the testimony that He has put in your heart, and the hope that is in you.
Remember whose you are and live in that light.
Have a blessed day, my friends! May your day be filled with sunshine from the Lord, health, peace, happiness and friendship.
Many years ago, I received a copy of this poem by Kipling as a gift at a graduation. Since then, I have looked for the poem almost annually to present to others who have reached a milestone in their lives and are moving forward into an unknown future. Here is the poem, and credit goes to http://www.etsy.com for this photo.
This poem does not mention God at all or what should be His place in the lives of the young person seeking to make his/her way in the world. I do not know about Kipling’s faith or lack thereof and it is not for me to judge Him. I’m simply stating that faith is not part of the poem, so perhaps a better choice for me to give as a verse or a gift would be a Scripture verse or two that would lead them to look to where their true help lies when times get tough.
You see, the poet Kipling gives rather sound advice but it does not have the foundation that it needs to make it completely useful. Yes, it’s good to trust yourself, but it’s better to trust God. If the things in life are broken, then it’s good to remember that God is there to help you pick up the pieces and build something new. God is the one who helps us to hold on when we think all is lost. And, finally, the King we need to walk with daily is Jesus and glean wisdom from His Word. Yes, the poem “If” is useful, but God’s Word is a sure foundation, one that is trustworthy and reliable, a way that we can be absolutely certain that no matter what kinds of troubles assault us, we have the Lord of all of the earth in our corner, encouraging us to battle once more and declare the victory that He has already given us. So, rather than have an “if” that depends on my human choices and weaknesses, I choose to have a certain hope in the Lord. I hope that is what your choice is, too, for it is only hope in God and His mercy, grace and love that will lead to the future that we all desire, eternity with Him.
Have a blessed day and may your life be filled with hope in the One who has always loved, helped and shielded you.
This book has a wild plot that is somewhat unbelievable, wild characters that range from the heroine whose life is in danger to the reclusive hero and even to a perhaps trans psychic, and a really wild setting that is not helped by the out-of-control weather on the Pacific Coast. All of that being said, the book is a 3.5 for me, with the believability factor rating it down and the quirkiness of the setting being enticing. It is a dark novel with crime and violence lurking under the surface and a lot of hints about more to come. The village of Gothic makes the story since it is a one of a kind type of place where the castaways of life seem to have gathered, started a new life there and support each other. Adam Ramsdell is a sculptor of sorts (large, metal and not displayed in galleries) who is hiding from his disturbing past. Elle is running from her past but she doesn’t know why because when Adam finds her on the beach, she is half-drowned, suffering from hypothermia and has amnesia. All of this boggled my mind and stretched the bounds of realism, but it did contribute to the story. I enjoyed the story itself but not all of the constant drama. I especially enjoyed the developing relationship between Adam and Elle and how they learn to trust and depend on each other. Sex is a part of the story and it is rated a hard PG with some rather vivid descriptions that I tended to skim over rapidly since I did not think they added to the story itself. The entire book requires an active imagination but did not require me to remember all of the nitty little details about Adam and Elle’s past lives since these details were revealed slowly and methodically, in a definite teasing manner. I did not like the character of Rune, perhaps a trans, but not well portrayed, a psychiatrist who is now a psychic. That was over the top for me and just put there to appease the current trends. Rune’s advice and insight could have very well been given by her in her role as a psychiatrist; the psychic thing was not necessary and did not add to the development of the plot nor the entertainment value of the story, in my opinion. All in all, those who enjoy quirky thrillers will enjoy their trip to Gothic, but the emphasis is definitely on strange. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG or higher due to content. Author Bio:New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd writes “edge-of-the-seat suspense” (Iris Johansen) with “brilliantly etched characters, polished writing, and unexpected flashes of sharp humor that are pure Dodd” (ALA Booklist). Her fifty-eight books have been called “scary, sexy, and smartly written” by Booklist and, much to her mother’s delight, Dodd was once a clue in the Los Angeles Times crossword puzzle. Enter Christina’s worlds and join her mailing list at http://www.christinadodd.com. Social Links: Author Website Twitter:@ChristinaDodd Facebook:Christina Dodd Instagram: @christinadoddbooks Goodreads
Excerpt:
two
A Morning in February
Gothic, California
The storm off the Pacific had been brutal, a relentless night of cold rain and shrieking wind. Adam Ramsdell had spent the hours working, welding and polishing a tall, heavy, massive piece of sculpture, not hearing the wailing voices that lamented their own passing, not shuddering when he caught sight of his own face in the polished stainless steel. He sweated as he moved swiftly to capture the image he saw in his mind, a clawed monster rising from the deep: beautiful, deadly, dangerous.
And as always, when dawn broke, the storm moved on and he stepped away, he realized he had failed.
Impatient, he shoved the trolley that held the sculpture toward the wall. One of claws swiped his bare chest and proved to him he’d done one thing right: razor-sharp, it opened a long, thin gash in his skin. Blood oozed to the surface. He used his toe to lock the wheels on the trolley, securing the sculpture in case of the occasional California earth tremor.
Then with the swift efficiency of someone who had dealt with minor wounds, his own and others’, he found a clean towel and stanched the flow. Going into the tiny bathroom, he washed the site and used superglue to close the gash. The cut wasn’t deep; it would hold.
He tied on his running shoes and stepped outside into the short, bent, wet grass that covered his acreage. The rosemary hedge that grew at the edge of his front porch released its woody scent. The newly washed sunlight had burned away the fog, and Adam started running uphill toward town, determined to get breakfast, then come home to bed. Now that the sculpture was done and the storm had passed, he needed the bliss of oblivion, the moments of peace sleep could give him.
Yet every year as the Ides of March and the anniversary of his failure approached, nightmares tracked through his sleep and followed him into the light. They were never the same but always a variation on a theme: he had failed, and in two separate incidents, people had died…
The route was all uphill; nevertheless, each step was swift and precise. The sodden grasses bent beneath his running shoes. He never slipped; a man could die from a single slip. He’d always known that, but now, five years later, he knew it in ways he could never forget.
As he ran, he shed the weariness of a long night of cutting, grinding, hammering, polishing. He reached the asphalt and he lengthened his stride, increased his pace.
He ran past the cemetery where a woman knelt to take a chalk etching of a crumbling headstone, past the Gothic Museum run by local historian Freya Goodnight.
The Gothic General Store stood on the outside of the lowest curve of the road. Today the parking lot was empty, the rockers were unoccupied, and the store’s sixteen-year-old clerk lounged in the open door. “How you doing, Mr. Ramsdell?” she called.
He lifted his hand. “Hi, Tamalyn.”
She giggled.
Somehow, on the basis of him waving and remembering her name, she had fallen in love with him. He reminded himself that the dearth of male teens in the area left him little competition, but he could feel her watching him as he ran past the tiny hair salon where Daphne was cutting a local rancher’s hair in the outdoor barber chair.
His body urged him to slow to a walk, but he deliberately pushed himself.
Every time he took a turn, he looked up at Widow’s Peak, the rocky ridge that overshadowed the town, and the Tower, the edifice built by the Swedish silent-film star who in the early 1930s had bought land and created the town to her specifications.
At last he saw his destination, the Live Oak, a four-star restaurant in a one-star town. The three-story building stood at the corner of the highest hairpin turn and housed the eatery and three exclusive suites available for rent.
When Adam arrived he was gasping, sweating, holding his side. Since his return from the Amazon basin, he had never completely recovered his stamina.
Irksome.
At the corner of the building, he turned to look out at the view.
The vista was magnificent: spring-green slopes, wave-battered sea stacks, the ocean’s endless surges, and the horizon that stretched to eternity. During the Gothic jeep tour, Freya always told the tourists that from this point, if a person tripped and fell, that person could tumble all the way to the beach. Which was an exaggeration. Mostly.
Adam used the small towel hooked into his waistband to wipe the sweat off his face. Then disquiet began its slow crawl up his spine.
Someone had him under observation.
He glanced up the grassy hill toward the olive grove and stared. A glint, like someone stood in the trees’ shadows watching with binoculars. Watching him.
No. Not him. A peregrine falcon glided through the shredded clouds, and seagulls cawed and circled. Birders came from all over the word to view the richness of the Big Sur aviary life. As he watched, the glint disappeared. Perhaps the birder had spotted a tufted puffin. Adam felt an uncomfortable amount of relief in that: it showed a level of paranoia to imagine someone was watching him, but…
But. He had learned never to ignore his instincts. The hard way, of course.
He stepped into the restaurant doorway, and from across the restaurant he heard the loud snap of the continental waiter’s fingers and saw the properly suited Ludwig point at a small, isolated table in the back corner. Adam’s usual table.
Before Adam took a second step, he made an inventory of all possible entrances and exits, counted the number of occupants and assessed them as possible threats, and evaluated any available weapons. An old habit, it gave him peace of mind.
Three exits: front door, door to kitchen, door to the upper suites.
Mr. Kulshan sat by the windows, as was his wont. He liked the sun, and he lived to people-watch. Why not? He was in his midnineties. What else had he to do?
In the conference room, behind an open door, reserved for a business breakfast, was a long table with places set for twenty people.
A young couple, tourists by the look of them, held hands on the table and smiled into each other’s eyes.
Nice. Really nice to know young love still existed.
There, her back against the opposite wall, was an actress. Obviously an actress. She had possibly arrived for breakfast, or to stay in one of the suites. Celebrities visits happened often enough that most of the town was blasé, although the occasional scuffle with the paparazzi did lend interest to the village’s tranquil days.
She wasn’t pretty. Her face was too angular, her mouth too wide, her chin too determined. She was reading through a stack of papers and using a marker to highlight and a ballpoint to make notes… And she wore glasses. Not casual I need a little visual assistance glasses. These were Coke-bottle bottoms set in lime-green frames.
Interesting: Why had an actress not had laser surgery? Not that it mattered. Behind those glasses her brown eyes sparked with life, interest and humor, although he didn’t understand how someone could convey all that while never looking up. She had shampoo-commercial hair—long, dark, wavy, shining—and when she caught it in her hand and shoved it over one shoulder, he felt his breath catch.
A gravelly voice interrupted a moment that had gone on too long and revealed too clearly how Adam’s isolation had affected him. “Hey, you. Boy! Come here.” Mr. Kulshan beckoned. Mr. Kulshan, who had once been tall, sturdy and handsome. Then the jaws of old age had seized him, gnawed him down to a bent-shouldered, skinny old man.
Adam lifted a finger to Ludwig, indicating breakfast would have to wait.
Ludwig glowered. Maybe his name was suggestive, but the man looked like Ludwig van Beethoven: rough, wild, wavy hair, dark brooding eyes under bushy eyebrows, pouty lips, cleft in the chin. He seldom talked and never smiled. Most people were afraid of him.
Adam was not. He walked to Mr. Kulshan’s table and took a seat opposite the old man. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Don’t call me sir. I told you, call me K.H.”
Adam didn’t call people by their first names. That encouraged friendliness.
“If you can’t do that, call me Kulshan.” With his fork, the old guy stabbed a lump of breaded something and handed it to Adam. “What do you think this is?”
Adam had traveled the world, learned to eat what was offered, so he took the fork, sniffed the lump and nibbled a corner. “I believe it’s fried sweetbread.”
Mr. Kulshan made a gagging noise. “My grandmother made us eat sweetbread.” He bit it off the end of the fork. “This isn’t as awful as hers.” With loathing, he said, “This is Frenchie food.”
“Señor Alfonso is Spanish.”
Mr. Kulshan ignored Adam for all he was worth. “Next thing you know, this Alfonso will be scraping snails off the sidewalk and calling it escargots.”
“Actually…” Adam caught the twinkle in Mr. Kulshan’s eyes and stood. “Fine. Pull my chain. I’m going to have breakfast.”
Mr. Kulshan caught his wrist. “Have you heard what Caltrans is doing about the washout?” He referred to the California Department of Transportation and their attempts to repair the Pacific Coast Highway and open it to traffic.
“No. What?”
“Nothing!” Mr. Kulshan cackled wildly, then nodded at the actress. “The girl. Isn’t she something? Built like a brick shithouse.”
Interested, Adam settled back into the chair. “Who is she?”
“Don’t you ever read People magazine? That’s Clarice Burbage. She’s set to star in the modern adaptation of Shakespeare’s…um…one of Shakespeare’s plays. Who cares? She’ll play a king. Or something. That’s the script she’s reading.”
Clarice looked up as if she’d heard them—which she had, because Mr. Kulshan wore hearing aids that didn’t work well enough to compensate for his hearing loss—and smiled and nodded genially.
Mr. Kulshan grinned at her. “Hi, Clarice. Loved you in Inferno!”
“Thank you, K.H.” She projected her voice so he could hear her.
Mr. Kulshan shot Adam a triumphant look that clearly said See? Clarice Burbage calls me by my first name.
The actress-distraction was why the two men were surprised when the door opened and a middle-aged, handsome, casually dressed woman with cropped red hair walked in.
This book is an intricately woven and multi-layered suspense/murder mystery that is centered around a family with a lot of problems. Marisa’s twin sister Clare was murdered when she was sixteen. As a result, Marisa has a problem with alcohol abuse and the inability to close that chapter of her life since Clare’s killer was never caught. Brit, her older sister, is a control freak who is a successful lawyer who generally gets her way about everything. The cast of characters is as numerous as the possible suspects and at times, it was difficult to discern the red herrings from the real clues. The story was so well-woven and intricately designed to keep me interested and guessing. There are friends who were around when Clare was killed, new friends, a police detective about to retire and unhappy that he hasn’t been able to close the case. I loved how the author developed the plot like a spiral…start from the outside with a lot of different things that could be true and work towards the middle to what is actually true. This was an edge-of-my-seat and talk-to-the-characters kind of book for me. I didn’t want to see Marisa hurt, even though she showed her weaknesses at times and allowed herself to be manipulated. In fact, this is a book about manipulation, trust issues, addiction and anger issues that was hard to put down. The plot was believable and the details so realistic that at times I felt as though I were reading a news report. The characters were not so much likable as easy to get to know and feel sympathy for them. The book is told with several POVs including Richards, the detective, Brit, Jo-Jo (a good friend) and Marisa, with Marisa’s story being the majority of the narration. The pieces of the mystery fit together like a good puzzle once the climax was reached and what had really happened to Clare was laid out clearly. Then, the part after the climax was amazingly well done, with a little nudge to make me think about what would happen to these characters whom I had befriended after I finished the book. What a great book for fans of mystery and suspense who like to play Sherlock Holmes as they read! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG for content. Triggers include: rape, assault, violence, and substance abuse.BIO and PHOTO from the author’s website at http://www.maryburton.com
This mesmerizing book is available on August 2, 2022, but you can pre-order it now. Purchase Links:
Vickie's Book Nook and Meditation Corner 