The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick

I normally don't enjoy fiction novels, not even those under the umbrella called the  "Christian" genre.  Most "Christian" novels are either Amish love stories or just simply romance stories in general. Even the genre "historical" fiction usually is another name for a romance novel that takes place either in Amish country or in the 1800s out west. I usually find them dull, predictable and uninspired.  The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick is quite different.  True to its claim, it actually is to be considered a historical fiction novel  True details about society's standards, the townspeople and technologies are faithfully included.  Even the descriptions of towns, characters and circumstances are well researched right to the very last little detail. Historical facts and accuracy enlighten the reader as well as add to the authenticity.  This book held my attention from the start.  It was not a chore to read.  Furthermore, the course of the story and its events were unexpected and as well as the ending.  Unlike typical books, in which there is a typical fairy tale happy ending in which the heroine gets married and has children, this story an a non traditional happy ending where as the heroine, a strong, independant woman, remained strong, independant and single despite disspointements, rejection  and financial hardship.  This book brought on a new twist to society's perception of a happy ending.

The author challenges the common social view of the mother- parent relationship.  The mother, Helga Estby, is portrayed as impulsive, enthusiastic and strong- willed woman.  She is willing to confront and change society's standard of the role of women.  In contrast, the daughter is more level headed, and reistant to change.  Clara, the eighteen year old daughter often questions and admonishes her mother for what she deems to be irresponsible and impulsive choices.  Yet her 19th century sense of duty and loyalty ensures that she will obey and follow her mother.  There is no disrespect or refusal.  Both the mother and daughter have distinct yet strong moral characters and a  strong sense of familial duty, even though the expression is vastly different.

This is the story of an adventure that a mother embarks in order to save the family farm from forclosure.  There is risk and danger involved- physical and emotional as well, yet hope drives Helga to pursue the course. Though she is hesitant, Clara goes with her mother out of a sense of duty.  The story chronicles their adventures and interactions with the 19th century world around them.  A map chronicles the path of their journey.  I found myself turning to the map in order to get a preview of how far into their journey that they were.  Yet, the story doesn't have the traditional happy ending as the author and her family are faced by disapointments and hardships.  As a blogger for WaterBrook publishers I received this book for the purpose of writing this review.  the opinions expressed are my own.

As One Devil to Another

As One Devil to Another: A Fiendish Correspondence in the Tradition of C. S. Lewis' the Screwtape Letters by Richard Platt was an eye opening work of fiction that gives a unique fantasy type of first person view of  the Devil's activities.  Even if a reader is not familiar with the well known original work of C.S. Lewis, this book is sure to be entertaining as well as informative. 

A young woman's life is used as a spring board where the author, Richard Platt, interjects his views concerning the flaws of modernsociety.  For example, when explaining her manner of dress or her prideful personality, the author follows with a brief historical analysis of society's transformation in recent years to materialism and individuality. The dark side of women's liberation is exposed whereas women simply become tools and physical beauty is misused for manipulation and gain. Women eventually are percieved by society to outlive their usefulness as they age and physical beauty declines. The author recognises rather than liberation, women are in bondage to society's petty standards. Platt follows the life of a typical, ordinary young woman who is a college student.  He follows through the typical scenarios that her course of life may lead&the possible interventions that the Devil may intervene.

Platt makes valid observations on the excessive materialism, greed, competition and flaws of society in general.  He discusses the hidden yet real dangers of consumerism, and media as well as liberal academics and the relatavism.  He follows the progression of society's modern, yet flawed value systems.  He uses vivid detail to descrive how sinister spirits may intervene, unknowingly, to steer a person away from genuine faith in God. 

Personally I enjoyed the book, but I would have preferred if the author chose a different "client", rather than the stereotypical young female in college.  I feel that this choice of heroine alienates the majority of the readership that most likely will be drawn to this book.  Perhaps the author could have chosen a more mature or older adult hero that the readers could relate to.  The scenario presented by the author is typical- the young, self centered, intelligent college student learns humilty from her spiritual aunt.  She attends bible study and meets a wholseome young man who she eventually marries, thus escaping the cluthes of Satan.  The woman faces very few hardships that actually test her faith in the first place.  Having found a suitor for marrriage, she finds herself surrounded by friendly Christians that challange her yet also support and encourage her.  Even though the author's analysis and commentary is right on target concerning the dangers that so many people are quite oblivious to, the characters are typical.

I would like to see this author expand on this "reality" styled genre of demonic correspondance to include more varied characters.  I enjoyed this book very much, despite the fact that I would have prefered a different less stereotypical character.  The vintage styled cartoons add a unique and unexpected element to the book.

As a blogger for Tyndale I recieved this book for the purpose of writing this review. the opinions expressed are my own.

Chance to win your own copy....... Tyndale publishers provided me with a certificate that may be reedemed to obtain a free copy of this book.  I will award this certificate a person, chosen at random, who comments on this blog.

Quiet by Susan Cain

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain, is a new book that focuses on a particular mood/ personality trait. This book reminds me of the work that a psychology student may submit in a college course.  This simple to understand dissertation is a hybrid between a trade book and a psychology textbook.  This book is not considered casual. light reading, yet its simple, easy to understand  writing style and the personal anecdotes, makes this subject easy to understand by laymen. 

It is great to see the author, Susuan Cain, give a positive voice to an under represented sector of society that is frequently judged and mnisunderstood.  Quiet people, in general are considered to be substandard in today's extroverted and materialistic society.  In fact the author dispells common, long standing, damadging myths held by society concerning individuals with a quiet nature. With a combination of scholarly, yet easy to understand language, the author communicates to the reader that there is much more to the quiet personality than society believes.  This thought provocing book is certain to make the reader perhaps question his own biases or attitudes.

As a blogger for Walternomah publishers I recieved this book published by the Crown publishing group. I believe this is a good book for anyone to check out and read if it is available in the library.  Yet, those who actually wish to invest the money or purchase this book most likely will be psychology students or anyone who practices in psychiatry.  The opinions expressed in this review are my own.

The real world.

Please excuse the typos as a result of my haste in posting this... hopefully I corrected them.


I don't find TV entertaining, nor do I find it to be a distraction from life's worries.  How could I find such a shallow, materialistic form of entretainment to be soothing or comforting?  Why would I choose to immerse myself in a world where I am told I am too old, or too sick or not fashoionable enough or succesful enough? Rather than entertaining, I find today's media to be alienating and shallow, and discouraging.  After watching TV I feels discouraged and inadequate.  Maybe I am prone to low self esteem or I have issues with depression.  Regardless, I can't stand it.

I am so sick and tired of this disgusting, filthy, hypocritical and duplistic world filled with greed, and selfish ambition, inequity and pain; suffering and death. This is a world where the well to do justify their wealth and their greedy excess saying that they worked hard and earned it- while many go to bed hungry, dressing in hand-me-downs and rags and all the while go without basic healthcare. The media portrays wealth and selfish ambition as the height of achievement. Television commercials and society place more value on the latest electronic gadget than in human beings. Parents place more priority in providing their children with the latest smartphone or expensive Disney Land trips than in moral values or books. In fact we live in an entitled, distorted society where a child who goes without a smartphone or who has never been on a theme cruise is made to feel deprived. Dysfunctional, broken families and immoral relationships are glorified on TV shows, movies and reality shows, as selfish ambition and self centeredness is portrayed as the norm. Expensive, self centered, self help programs are on the rise. Today's society and culture places value on what should be considered junk, and what is truly junk, is deemed valuable.

I am so sick of self righteous hypocrites. While people are tortured and killed for their political and religious beliefs in third world nations, women belly-ache and complain because they don't have the right shoes or expensive purse or a mansion. Even the luke-warm, dull devotioals in my "NLT Sanctuary" bible annoy me as they are largely written by uninspired, wealthy women who have the means and luxury to stay at home. These so-called "inspirational, thinking" women have nothing more important to think about than to contemplate on making crafts, preparing dinner or homeschooling their children. For them, a bad day is when their husband comes home late, missing a shoe sale, or their dinner is overcooked, or a stubborn grass stain won't come out of a soccer uniform. These same phony "Christians" have the financial means to "sacrifice" money on "spiritual" retreats and getaways, so they can feel return feeling, refreshed, and "holy" and "pius". They go on expensive "fasts", consuming small quantities of expensive gourmet, yet healthy organic food, under the guise of self- sacrifice, when in actuality, they simply want to lose weight. The thought would never cross my mind to throw out a bible, but I am tempted to dicard my "devotional" bible, where God's inspired word is embellished and tainted by frivoulous and uninspired materialism. For each person that spends the day pampered in expensive, luxurious spas, getting pedicures there are countless human beings, that languish in pain and hunger and filth. Countless numbers suffer with terminal conditions and debilitating pain from diseases such as cancer and ALS. For every healthfood snob that will only eat organic, or expensive gourmet meals, or five dollar gourmet cofees, there are countless others who are so hungry that they will eat stale cereal or bread because they must fill their hungry bellies with whatever edible food they can find. For every pampered pet that gets groomed, trained in obediance academy, and has fancy gourmet food, and periodic vet visits, lyme disease vaccines and hearworm pills, there are children who go without nutritious food, clean water, vaccines and antibiotics. And there are countless hard working parents scraping by with multiple jobs and low wages, who die for want of healthcare. People spend endless hours fundraising for endless frivolous causes, sporting organizations and other humaitarian and social causes to feel good about themselves, when it is simply a disguised effort to provide for their own greedy wants and tainted consciouses. Many fans cry at the so- called hardship endured when a "misunderstood" drug abusing, wealthy popstar or famous model is found dead in a luxurious hotel room, yet the memories of the unknown, tortured prisoners of war or missing and exploited children are not even remembered.

Churched and religious people protest and defend the rights of the unborn and the aborted yet neglect the needs of many women who are griefstricken and in true need from pregnancy loss. I am a pro-lifer- I even had my own prolife website in college. Yet at least the unborn have the comfort of going to heaven and seing the face of the Lord if they die. As Job said in the old testament "Why wasn't I born dead? Why didn't I die as I came from the womb? I would be asleep and at rest." Yet these same very people who advocate the rights of the unborn, write letters and picket at clinics, neglect the pain of the mother whose child had died in a miscarriage or a stillbirth. Little do they know that the same medical procedures performed for abortions, must also be performed on grieving mothers who suffer from incomplete miscarriages or stillbirths. In fact the health complications and financial cost burden is even greater for these later term procedures than for early term abortions. So, on top of medical costs and health complications, a grieving mom is also at greater risk for depression and prolonged grief. It is true that legislation can not impact pregnancy loss, yet a woman's life and well being is no less significant than an unborn life. These same "advocates" who push their beliefs and money to healthy, young women seeking abortions, who often do not want help- and prefer privacy and anonymity, are oblvious to the needs and loss experienced by a mother who has lost her child due to terminal illness or perhaps even a tragic crime or accident. What about those women who must endure a forced abortion in while in her eigth or even ninth month of pregnancy- as she is forced to have her child violently and forcibly torn from her womb against her will, simply because of her beliefs, or her race or her nationality- which was known to happen during the holacaust and still happens to many political prisoners in many nations. There hundreds of thousands of women in third world nations, with no access to minimal healthcare- who often die when they endure unrelived labor with no medical intervention. Without the available services that many take for granted here, many women suffer obstretic fistuals and still-births after three or more days of succesive, tortuous unrelieved labor. These women, if they do survive, are neglected- left to suffer in anonymity, grief and shame, while tons of money and support and free healthcare and counseling are offered to a healthy young woman considering abortion. Perhaps I am a bit repetitious, but I feel these words need to be written.

There is more to learn in the written world whether it is in print or even the virtual world of the internet.  Furthermore, I gain more empathy for my fellow man by reading a book- even a science or text book, or even browsing the internet or reading the news- where I can get a glimpse of the real world- with its poverty, illness, crime and death. Oftentimes I use the daily news as a springboard to continue my education concerning the realities of this world.  There are men and women enduring debilitating and terminal illnesses: cancer, ALS, paralysis! So many can not even get out of their own beds as their failing and weakend bodies have betrayed them. Some cannot even breathe on their own and must live on a vent- with the constant fear of death looming.  There are parents whose lives are a living nightmare, whose child has gone missing- never to be heard from again, or grief stricken women who have lost a child from still birth or SIDS. Millions starve to death, or die from a lack of basic antibiotics. I can scroll satellite images of the dirty, desolate, cardboard and tin shacks that impoverished families must live in halfway across the world over the virtual maps available on the internet. It makes me wonder what else they must lack- food? Water? Healthcare? I learn that not everyone lives in a mansion- yet from watching modern day tv you would think anyone who didn't live in a three story mansion with a well manicured lawn and indoor pool was deprived. Many people are still tortured for their political or religious beliefs. We can't take anything for granted- our freedom of speech, the food we eat, our health.... not even the air we breath- because there are countless souls out there starving, suffering, dying and grieving! I learn these things from reading about the world and living in the world.  I try to meditate on the experiences that others go through who must endure hardships and trials more difficult than my own.  Television tells me I am not young enough, or thin enough, or healthy enough, or wealthy or succesful or talented.... My first reaction might be self pity.  Yes it is true I don't have a succesful, exciting career, large home, expensive shoes or exotic vacations......yet I  am thankful nevertheless because I feel as if I have everything I need and more! Observation of the realities of this world, tell me that I am fortunate, and that I should be thankful.  These are the realities of this world- not expensive Coach bags, days being pampered at the spa, hi-tech internet phones or Disney Land cruises! People need to take the blinders off and wake up to reality. The movies, and shows on the media portray a fantasy world that so few are able to enjoy- it actually makes me sick even to watch most TV shows. People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition.
I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21

Great Day Every Day by Max Lucado

 Great Day Every Day by Max Lucado By Max Lucado is among the most uplifting books that I have recently read. This book specifically helps those who are enduring really difcult times, to endure and persevere. The author address real issues- job loss, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances.  This book offers real help!  If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you.  What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book.  But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, then this book will offer the comfort you need.
This is a book I have read and re read.  Its readily available on my bookshelf when I need to turn to it in a time of need or crisis.  Its simple and to the point, bible truths are communicated in an easy to digest form for those who are too stressed or grief stricken to focus.  Additional features reinforce the truths. I found these study helps and devotional excerpts very helpful in times of stress in my life.  Job troubles, money problems and health issues, id turn to the discussion guide and 30 day day changer sections for renewed spiritual fuel.  This book is like three resources in one book.  Its small size may seem deceptively simple.  Yet the different resources serve to reinforce the reality of bible truth and guide the reader in prayer and reflection.
In true Lucado fashion, Max writes in an animated, easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. "Catch God in a bad mood? Won't happen. Fear exhausting his grace? A sardine will swallow the Atlantic first. Think he's given up on you?" ..... Lucado's use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand Max Lucado's books. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense Max Lucado illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via Max Lucado, one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are a theologen, looking for an apologetic defense on the purpose of depending on God then this book isn't for you. But, if on the other hand you are simply looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Thomas Nelson publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.

The Fleamarket at the Old Chruch

It was an ordinary dreary day that started out with the usual routine: getting ready for work on a cloudy Saturday. I received a call, enroute to the office, that my shift had to be cancelled. The minimal explanation that was offered (my partner had called out sick) was insufficient to my satisfaction. No details were provided as to the specific illness and its start nor its duration- all of which helped to feed into my skepticism as to whether the individual was actually ill. No matter how I persuaded, evet to volunteer my services, they insisted they had no use for me that day, and dejectedly, there was nothing more that I could do but turn around and go home. Reluctantly, I changed course, did a u-turn and headed in the direction of home.


As I was driving home, on that overcast cold winter morning, I noticed the old, run down church next to the cemetery that I pass every day on the way to work. That small, scenic, picturesque cobblestone church, with its pointed steeple topped by a simple white cross, and the small cemetery, by its side- a garden of decaying and cracked grey stones, intertwined with weeds and vines- stood in stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings of main street. The old church seemed as if it were plucked out of a previous long gone era and dropped right into the midst of old, run down, 21st century down town architecture. The only thing that separated the church from the nearby liquor stores, Chinese take-out, diners, convenience stores and used car lots, was an antique, four foot, black iron spiked fence that encircled the church and the graveyard. I always slowed down to look at cemeteries. No matter how many times I drove by this old church, it never failed to intrigue me, and as my usual custom, that morning was no exception so I slowed down.


This time I saw some activity going on- reminiscent of a small carnival or flea market, perhaps. My curiosity got the better of me and I actually stopped and pulled into the empty parking lot next to the church to take a better look at what was going on. Perhaps I can find some good books, I thought to myself. I was always interested in books, in particular, I enjoyed literature classics and old textbooks- which were usually plentiful at garage sales and flea markets. I saw people hoisting cumbersome, heavy, oblong boxes through the narrow doorway of the church. I wondered what was in those curious looking boxes and my greed for some books drew me closer. Slowly, I opened my car door, slid out of the driver’s seat, and shut the door behind me.


As I stood outside my car, I could see there was actually a small line of people waiting to enter the church through its narrow doors. There were perhaps two or three to an oblong box. Perhaps this was a church fundraiser, and these strange folk were setting up early for a flea market. I always thought that the vendors at flea markets were weird and uncouth individuals considering the eclectic assortment of used junk they would frequently try to pawn off. For what other opinion could I form of someone who would try and sell half used containers of deodorant, along side unopened McDonald’s happy meal toys, leather belts and old VHS tapes. Either their motives were unethical, or they truly were deluded into believing that there was value in their junk. In most cases the trash would be a more appropriate place to unload their overpriced junk. Perhaps these vendors had come with the high hopes of unloading their garages and attics in an attempt to raise money for some sort of noble endeavor or humanitarian cause. Not everyone had boxes, nevertheless, some were trudging through the narrow doorway with what appeared to be long narrow laundry bags or sleeping bags filled with something- perhaps clothing. Others had hoisted large overflowing dusty cardboard boxes of various goods and trinkets. It was like a gypsy caravan. Finally I made my way to the front door of the church. With all the activity, no one noticed my presence, thankfully I could observe in peace and anonymity.


It was if my eyes were deceiving me, I saw something which made me question as if this were real or that perhaps it was a dream! The oblong boxes were coffins, and the coffins were open. The coffins were not the traditional coffins that you see in a modern funeral service- those would have been too heavy to lift with two people anyway. These “coffins”- for I could not find a better expression to describe these ghastly containers- were constructed of relatively light weight materials: wood, tin and cardboard. They looked like oversized shoe boxes without lids. These makeshift coffins were easily be carried by two pall bearers, with one at either end. The overstuffed sleeping bags and laundry bags were actually the dead, encased in blankets and grungy bedding- some of which were in various stages of decay! Some of the elderly, grey haired woman, perhaps because they lacked the vigor and strength of their youth, simply dragged their bodies into the church. I was repulsed yet drawn at the same time. I stood transfixed in the doorway, unable to move- unable to enter the church threshold, yet unable to leave. I felt compelled to stay yet overcome with a sickly fear that I felt growing inside of being so close to the dead.




Inside the small one-roomed church was a bustle of activity. The surreal atmosphere was a cross between the somber dark gloominess of a funeral home with the fast paced zeal of a flea market and I am sure that there were a small number of health code as well as fire code violations to boot. At least there was one consolation- they weren’t serving any food- that would be too gross. There were guests of all ages crammed into the room- like a typical crowd at a flea market or carnival, I suppose. Along the walls and corners, the vendors were setting up their creepy wares. Specifically, the containers holding the corpses were being propped upright, leaning against the wall for support in strategic locations within the empty church. Apparently all the pews and chairs had been removed from the interior to accommodate this event and the crowds it would draw in. A few plastic fold-up tables were set up- filled with various old books, jewelry, photographs and other trinkets, near each of the displayed propped up bodies. Apparently, the items were set up and displayed with their respective owners that had owned them in life. I wondered if this made the items more valuable. In one corner, I looked with revulsion and shock as I saw two elderly women, casually applying blush and lipstick to the cheeks and lips of a deceased woman propped upright in a wooden box against the wall. Apparently they were cosmetizing the corpse.


Strangely I recognized some people in the crowd from years ago, yet did not acknowledge their presence. Nor did anyone acknowledge mine. They were complete strangers, yet familiar at the same time. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but this room was filled with many faces that were vaguely familiar from my past. Though decades had passed since I had last seen them, miraculously they had not aged whatsoever- still retaining their youth.




But then a strange blind, old man from across the crowded room caught my eye. He seemed familiar yet I did not know who he was. His eyes, appeared to be sealed shut as if the wrinkled, deflated eye lids, were devoid of the usual round orbs. He did not open his eyes, yet he seemed to be able to navigate around the room with ease- and with no need of a walking stick. He knew I was there staring at him from across the room and he casually walked closer. Once we exchanged greeting formalities, he gestured for me to come closer, and I was strangely compelled to obey. As if he were reading my mind he stood directly in front of me positioned his face only inches from my own and I stared straight into his eyes, literally. I could see an opening- as narrow as the width of a thin sheet of paper, between his eyelids. I looked directly into the void as if peering through a keyhole, and saw an unexplainable site. It was as if I had a panoramic 360 degree view inside his skull. I saw what seemed to be an empty expanse of vast darkness. Above, near the top I saw a set of eyes and below I saw a set of two eyes. Four fully formed orbs- fully functioning eyeballs, concealed and recessed deep within the darkness of skull, concealed from view. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. There were two normal eyes on top and two beneath- round white orbs, albeit a bit bloodshot, blue in color with black pupils- normal and functioning in every way, providing the man with perfect 20/20 vision. This was how he could see- so even though he appeared to be blind, he concealed an ingenious method of vision. He turned to the side and I saw above his ear, a gaping hole. The edges had been stitched long ago, and reflected many years of healing and scar tissue. There was no redness and no blood present whatsoever. There was no bandaging applied to cover the wound either- it was just there out in the open. Yet within the two inch ragged hole, the emptiness within his skull was entirely visible. Essentially his head, or to be more accurate, its - head and face was simply an outer shell, and there were none of the usual organs visible within. Medically, the man’s condition was incompatible with life, and in I fact did not know how he was alive.


The next thing I remember is a stern, small voice coming in through the doorway, “Mommy I need my clothes for school!”, called Rose as she swung open the door and stood at the foot of the bed. I woke up instantly.

The Secret.......... Under the Bed

The following is based on a dream I once had......... Any resemblence to reality is a coincidence, as this is simply a story based on fictitious events.



I kept a secret under my bed. It was a burden so great, yet a responsibility that I could not escape. Oh how I wished it would be discovered and lifted from me. I wished an intruder would ransack my bedroom or that some prying inquisitive eyes would call the authorities with a search warrant. I could barely keep from revealing the secret. Yet, at the same time, my lips remained sealed and I did my best to conceal my dark secret. I played in my mind in-depth scenarios of subtle ways that I could reveal the secret or to facilitate its discovery.


My days and nights were filled with anxiety. How I wished there was someone, anyone to confide in. But, I felt isolated and alone. While I was away at school or work, was the only time I felt a degree of freedom and peace. Though exhausted, I’d hastily jump out of bed, quickly going through the minimal formalities associated with proper hygiene and rush off to work and school. As the end of the day approached, a feeling of sick dread and anxiety grew. As I watched the clock tick, my skin would become moist and clammy in anticipation of what awaited me at home. Nervously, I’d glance at my watch; my throat tightened and my stomach felt as though it contained a lump of heavy lead. As I walked to my car, the keys would rattle and jingle in my shaking hand. My legs felt weak, as though they would buckle underneath my weight. I’d slip into my car, and with my heart quickly pounding, I’d make my way home. Unable to concentrate on the road, I’d somehow, find myself safely home, not even remembering the trip as if driven by auto-pilot.


During the daytime I was usually withdrawn and anxious. I did not watch tv. I did not listen to music. I engaged in solitary activities: reading, writing, drawing and playing with dolls. I would clean and organize my room and my books and my dolls and my various collections. I had many collections: rocks, stickers, stamps, petrified/ shellacked hermit crabs….. All these things were my expressive outlet- especially writing. I could spend hours, and even an entire night simply writing- filling entire notebooks within a few short hours! This was the age before computers- so I would write and write and write until my fingers were red and callused and sore. I had to finish, I could not leave a piece of work unfinished! Oh, how I lived my life in my room. I lived out my dreams- reenacting a perfect world, and fulfilling my wishes for revenge and my dreams. I created a miniature replica of a town, filled with homes and schools, stores and people. All those little tiny people represented real people. After school from the time I was eight throughout high school, I lived out my life of normalcy and dreams through the fictitious town I created as well as its inhabitants. I found peace by playing within that town. Anything that happened in real life, I would reenact in my small miniature town. No detail was too insignificant to include in my little town replica. In fact, it had its own transportation system, school system, a library and even a newspaper! The newspaper was available both in miniature format as well as larger traditional format- to this day I still have some copies. I enjoyed books and lived my life’s adventures from reading literature and novels. I also enjoyed philosophy, psychology and science as well. Much of my knowledge and experience came from books. I lived life experiences through reading, and made them come to life through my writings, my fantasies and the re-enactment through my dolls. To me this was life!
I looked in the mirror, and could not reconcile the image of the middle aged face staring back at me. Why did I appear so old? It couldn’t be me that I was staring out at, perhaps from lack of sleep my eyes were deceiving me. I was in a constant state of exhaustion. I read books to pass the lonely anxious hours away. I drank coffee and soda all day long to stay awake. I lived a life of quiet solitude, I was always a bit antisocial and distant- mostly keeping to myself. I did not have too many friends, and rarely entertained guests. I was mostly alone with my thoughts, except when I could escape through reading.


I especially dreaded the nighttime when it was time to retire, and loathed the mere site of my bedroom. I would stay up half the night awaiting the early hours of the morning when I was assured that everyone was asleep. At that time I would quickly sneak down the staircase, with my pillow tightly clenched in my right hand, and my blanket, clenched in the other, down to the sofa. Just before daybreak, before anyone would awake, after an hour or two of a pitiful, restless sleep, I would sneak quietly back up the stairs, back into the dreaded bedroom, and slip under the covers of my death tainted bed. I kept an ominous oppressive secret that I could neither share nor reveal, no matter how I prayed that it would be exposed or discovered. Under my bed, beneath the rusted, creaky, metal bed frame of my bed, I kept my grand-father, encased in an oversized shoebox of a coffin. Nestled safely from prying eyes I kept the secret burden of the decaying body of my grand- father. The putrefying stained carpet beneath the weakened, wet corrugated oblong box was safely concealed by the dingy, dusty ruffled bed skirt. The oppressive odor of decay was masked by a mixture of moth balls, bath salts and fresh potpourri. Don’t ask me the details or reasons, of how this came to be, because I don’t know how I came to be in possession of my grandpa. All I know was that I somehow bore the grave responsibility of keeping his remains. Why he was not buried in the consecrated ground of a cemetery, I do not know. My grandpa passed away unexpectedly when I was young, and as an adult, he was still with me. He was there under my bed after all these years. Not once did I look inside the container that encased his lifeless body – which after all these years was encased by layers and layers of sheets, bedding and towels- in an attempt to cover the stench and the fluids of decay. At one time having him with me brought me comfort and security, but now, I simply felt a strong sense of revulsion and an urge to break free and to simply get away- even if it meant running away. Oh how I had loved him in life, and deeply missed him. His unexpected death was as if it were a dream- it was unreal. I remember each and every minute detail of his last day as if it were yesterday. After his death, time seemed to have stopped. My mom as well as sisters, forever remained young as did I. I did not grieve and I did not mourn. I was strong and I simply moved on, barely acknowledging that anything had changed, pretending it didn’t happen yet knowing deep inside he was gone and I’d never see him again. His photos were hung on my wall. His button down dress shirts and his jacket still retained his comforting scent as I had remembered from my youth. His hat was collecting dust where it remained on the hook on the door, and his boots rested on the mat near the door just as they would have remained during his life. His wallet, his keychain, eyeglasses and pens and other personal effects- were safely contained in a small jewelry box on my dresser. I could not part with my grand father nor any of his things, yet at the same time, I felt a mixture of repulsion and trepidation.


I woke up one morning, it was a bright sunny day. I had no plans for the day. That same old tired reflection stared back at me as I half heartedly rubbed a dry toothbrush against my teeth. When I was finished, I let the toothbrush fall from my limp hand into the sink. In slow motion I picked the shirt and pants that had been carelessly dropped on the bathroom floor the previous evening and dressed myself. I was exhausted and did not care about anything. Yet suddenly without any warning or reason, I felt a determination that I had never felt before. As if animated by an unknown force, I quickly went back into my bedroom, taking all of my grand father’s things from the bedroom and hastily piling them in an empty laundry basket. I had an idea that I would carefully package each of the items and mail them to my aunts and sisters or perhaps place them in the attic. Next, I was drawn to my bed, and before I could talk myself out of it, I instinctively reached underneath my bed, and with a firm grip, began tugging as the layers of soiled, stiff and crusted bedding, throwing them carelessly into a pile at the side of my bed. There seemed to be a never ending supply of dusty, worn sheets, blankets, comforters and linens. I bent down bringing my face eye level to the space underneath my bed, in eager dread of what I’d find. With the rough carpet fibers scratching my cheek and ear, giving myself a bad case of rub burn, reaching my outstretched arms, as far as I could reach, under the dusty cavern beneath my bed, I found the remaining cocoon of bedding which I tugged out from underneath with the tips of my fingers. There was no stench of decay, and no stains of body fluids to be found, only years worth of dust that had settled underneath the bed. I sneezed as a puff of grey dust filled the air - as I stared at the dusty linen cocoon that I had unearthed from under my bed frame. I watched the dust particles dance in the sunbeams of light which shone through my bedroom window. With shaking hands, my anxiety mounted as I unraveled the layers of dusty, yellowed sheets, one layer at a time. Finally I reached the last layer of bedding, and after having unrolled it there was nothing at all contained within the bedding. I was puzzled as I confronted the fact that there was nothing at all inside the sheets and no indication that anything, other than just plain sheets had been under my bed after all these years. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The nightmare as far as I was concerned was over, there was nothing there and I was satisfied to leave it at that. I had no desire to pursue the issue any further, nor to question what I had imagined had been there. I could finally move on in peace. The only thing remaining of my grand father were the happy and peaceful memories.

The Power of the Holy Spirit

It helps when I direct my thoughts were drawn to Jesus - and that long, dark, lonely night he spent in the garden of Gethemsane. Jesus was God in the flesh, divine in spirit. Yet, at the same time Jesus was fully human- with a body subject to the same pains, discomforts and sensations as the rest of us. Though he was God, he was also a man. He was subject to human emotions: pain, grief, fear, thirst and forboding. With his divine nature, Jesus knew exactly what he was about to endure- a torturous death on the cross filled pain, suffering, humilation, shame. In fact the pain he was yet to experience in a few short hours was described in explicit detail by David in the Psalms and the prophet Isaiah! The torurous, sensations of drowning in one's own fluid filled lungs, in a prolonged death of asphyxiation, stretched out on the cross, was described by David. Isahiah and David fortold of the nakedness, shame, and humilation and abandonment that Jesus was yet to face at the cross. The sensations of thirst, pain, flesh stripped to shreds- to the bone, and even the shame- all fortold! Jesus was fully aware of what he would endure. Jesus was griefstricken, sickened, lonely, and axious. And who wouldn't be in the face of death on the cross? We complain and bellyache about much less! Jesus, in his despair and pain pleaded with God to take the cup of suffering away- three times! Jesus asked his apostles to have the strength to remain awake. But they could not remain awake. They simply did not have the strength. Blood stained sweat dripped from Jesus as he fervently prayed. (Whoever painted those santised, artistic renditions of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, depicting Jesus wearing a freshly pressed and laundered white robe, with a pensive yet peaceful look, in Italy in the 1400s, probably never read the actual biblical account. ) Yet, God gave Jesus- the supernatural strength he needed to persever, and Jesus responded "not My will but Your Will."


The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.


Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.






And then suddenly from no where I felt a bit of hope, and peace and thankfulness. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.

discouraged

I find I am very discouraged and so narrowly focused on the negative. I must fight the constant temptation of self pity. Its a spiritual battle perhaps- a roller coaster of emotion that I must gather the strength to overcome.  I know I should be thankful for having a job, but I do not feel that way right now.   I have an unfulfilling, low paying data entry job that drains the life out of me as well as mounting medical bills from hospital visits and health issues. Everyday when I get home I find more medical bills and lab bills waiting for me- reminding me of the stillbirth and complications thereafter. I have had to forgo doctor apointments, medications and follow up lab tests and  counseling because I cannot take off of work. Furthermore I don't have health benefits or holiday pay.  Thankfully I was able to schedule a surgery last month on a non-work day.  I am also thankful that the day I hemorrhaged  a hefty volume of black, blood clots and nearly fainted- also happened on a non work day as well and that  I didn't have to call out of work.

 There are times I don't feel my low paying day job is worth all this, or that anything is- for that matter.  Sometimes I work from sunrise to sunset and barely get to see my two kids who must stay in daycare all day. By the time I get home and make dinner there is barely any time for homework and baths.  The reason people must work is to make money- I know.  And I have to admit that although my pay is low, it still helps me to survive and without my pay I would possibly be homeless.  It is true that my  daycare expenses and car related expenses: gas and car repairs- take a large portion of my salary.  I am thankful for the daycare, nevertheless and the fact that I do have a car.  Last year in a time of need,  the daycare continued to provide Samuel pre school- allowing him to finish the school year even though I was unable to pay.   

I went to college to get my BS at Rutgers and then got my teaching certificate simply to work as a clerk in a small office doing mindless data entry.   What a waste of time and money! I have to rely on the good will of my family and food stamps- both of which I am thankful for. Yet, I am humbled and ashamed.  I cannot help but feel like a failure in the things that are important in this world for self sufficiency.

 It is true that countless numbers have it worse.  There are countless human lives that suffer day to day from sickness, poverty and death, that my small miseries aand complaints pale in comparison.  I am disgusted with myself even for complaining about my minor issues when there are so many who suffer every single day with no relief in sight.  People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition. I must fight against having a thankless and entitled attitude.


I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21
 
I must fight hard against the trend toward self pity and look  to God's promises.  My faith is feeling very low, especially at times.  Yet I must keep in mind that God is there.  I can reflect on Jesus - and that long, dark, lonely night he spent in the garden of Gethemsane. Jesus was God in the flesh, divine in spirit. Yet, at the same time Jesus was fully human- with a body subject to the same pains, discomforts and sensations as the rest of us. Though he was God, he was also a man. He was subject to human emotions: pain, grief, fear, thirst and forboding. With his divine nature, Jesus knew exactly what he was about to endure- a torturous death on the cross filled pain, suffering, humilation, shame. In fact the pain he was yet to experience in a few short hours was described in explicit detail by David in the Psalms and the prophet Isaiah! The torurous, sensations of drowning in one's own fluid filled lungs, in a prolonged death of asphyxiation, stretched out on the cross, was described by David. Isahiah and David fortold of the nakedness, shame, and humilation and abandonment that Jesus was yet to face at the cross. The sensations of thirst, pain, flesh stripped to shreds- to the bone, and even the shame- all fortold! Jesus was fully aware of what he would endure. Jesus was griefstricken, sickened, lonely, and axious. And who wouldn't be in the face of death on the cross? We complain and bellyache about much less! Jesus, in his despair and pain pleaded with God to take the cup of suffering away- three times! Jesus asked his apostles to have the strength to remain awake. But they could not remain awake. They simply did not have the strength. Blood stained sweat dripped from Jesus as he fervently prayed. (Whoever painted those santised, artistic renditions of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, depicting Jesus wearing a freshly pressed and laundered white robe, with a pensive yet peaceful look, in Italy in the 1400s, probably never read the actual biblical account. ) Yet, God gave Jesus- the supernatural strength he needed to persever, and Jesus responded "not My will but Your Will."
The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.
Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.

It is possible to have peace and thankfulness- even when life is not perfect. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.

The Money Changers and Salesmen in our Chruches

How many of us, self righteous Christians nod in agreement at Jesus' severe and unexpected reaction to the money changers at the temple as told in the story of Matthew in chapter 21.  Of course we nod in agreement that Jesus was justifed when he overturned the tables of the money changers and salesmen that were parked right in front of the holy temple.  As the accounts states- "Jesus entered the Temple and began to drive out all the people buying and selling.... He knocked over the tables of the money changers... He said to them, 'The scriptures declare My Temple will be called a house of prayer but you have turned it into a den of thieves'". (New Living Translation NLT).

From the point of view of the money changers, they were simply doing a service.  Perhaps they justifed their presence by stating that they were simply raising money for the temple - for a worthy cause- through the sales of pidgeons, and doves and other animals.  Maybe they justified their presense by stating they were fundraising and the money raised were simply donations for the temple- perhaps for the widow and orpahn's fund, benevolence fund or the religious education or missionary fund. And the goods they were selling were "wholesome" enough.  They were selling items that could be used for an important and accepted religious ritual.  In fact, by selling their goods, they could argue that they were encouraging religious worship.   They were there for a "reason"; a reason cloaked and protected under the umbrella of religion.  Nevertheless the reason didn't matter to Jesus.  Clearly raising money- regardless of the purpose, was innapropriate in the House of the Lord.  Yet, why is this accepted at our modern day Churches today?  -Which are no less the house of the Lord than the temples were in ancient times.  Fundraising and asking for or raising money are common place in just about all churches today.  While it is true that Chruches need financial resources to run and maintain programs, clearly the house of God during worship service- or even before worship service- is clearly not the right place according to scripture- no matter what the justification or reason.  In fact, outside the house of the Lord was still deemed innapropriate by Jesus.  And if this was the case back then, what would Jesus think about this money exchanging within the walls of the chuch itself?  Have modern chrucches taken the liberty to change the rules or bend the rules?

Therefore we must consider and ask ourselves is it appopriate to solicit donations, no matter how well meaning- whether for the missionary fund, pro-life fund, religious education or benevolence.  Is it appropriate to ask for these donations in the "announcements" made before the start of the worship service? Is it appropriate to interrupt service with a pius sounding prayer and music and pass around a donation basket during service- to get donations? Clearly, social pressure and public recognition will be the motive for some to give.  Yes, it is true this will result in more money donations- to the benefit of the church.  But is this method truly the right way? Or is it more appropriate to station a locked box near the entrance, perhaps in the lobby or near the doors to the sanctuary or worship room- so that donators can annonymously and privately put in their donation- which God sees in secret yet rewards in heaven. 

Three Hearts

Three Hearts DVD, presented by Samaritan's Purse is a documentary that chronicles Cissie Grahm Lynch's internship with the Children's Heart project  which seeks to provide impoverished third world children with surgery for children with fatal heart defects. Cissie Grahm Lynch is the grandaughter of Billy Grahm.  This documentary puts into perspective, the pain and suffering that families and children endure when they do not have access to basic neccesities such as health care which many people in developed nations take for granted.
Clearly, this DVD is an attempt to generate donations and funds for a worthy cause. It is not simply a movie made for entertainment or even educational purposes.  The premise behind this movie is that this documentary  will generate funds by sympathetic viewers. The intended audience is most likely comfortable Americans with the financial means to make  donations. An insert in the DVD case directs viewers to a web site where they may learn more information and make donations easily.  This DVD is a hybrid between a documentary and infomercial.  Nevertheless, the Children's Heart Project is a worthy cause and it does save lives.  Who could blame this non profit worthy cause for producing a DVD for the purpose of generating fuinds. 

There is a lot of focus on the personal life of Cissie, and her new marriage in an attempt to get the viewer to feel a personal connection.  This is to illicit a bond with the viewer.  Many viewers can look back to their own prosperous and happy lives with fond memories of their first marriage and feel good about the common bond they share with Cissie.  There are also interviews with the actiual children who recieve the sugeries as well.  The children share the suffering they go through as a result of their heart defects-such as shortness of breath and fatigue.  As a result they are unable to have an education, or play like other kids.  Without intervention they would certainly die. One can not help but remember that at the end of the day, Cassie, as well as each of us vieewers, can return and live comfortable lives in contrast to the millions of impoverished who suffer daily.  It is difficult to reconcile the pursuit of pleasure and greed in light of the world's suffering.  This DVD is an eye opener for many who are oblivious to the suffering and needs of many in this world.  As a blogger for booksneeze, I recieved this DVD from Thomas Nelson publishers for the purpose of writing this review.