Blog Tour: With Endless Sight by Allison Pittman

Summary from the publishers:

Belleville, Illinois and Wyoming Territories, 1861

Born into a life of privilege, fourteen-year-old Belinda never questions her security, even as she leaves Illinois with her family to discover new adventures in the Oregon Territory. But when disaster falls, Belinda is left wounded, weak, and alone. Her faith in God gives her the only strength she knows in a harsh new world.Belinda’s journey takes her to a snow-covered mining camp and a red-roofed brothel in the Wyoming mountains, but not before she must spend a lonely winter with the man who took away the life she knew. Throughout the grief and hope of a strange land, Belinda must decide if her faith is big enough to allow her to forgive.The satisfying conclusion to the Crossroads of Grace series, With Endless Sight offers a rich story of family, new beginnings, and the freedom that grace can bring.

I chose to review this novel since I have been curious to see what's out there in the world of Christian fiction lately. This was about what I expected, but with a few pleasant surprises. Pittman, who grew up watching Gunsmoke's Miss Kitty (the prostitute with a heart of gold), explores this Western archetype in her Crossroads of Grace series, three distinct novels with some overlapping characters. At times, I did feel the plot toyed with convention and cliche and too much romantic goo, I can appreciate her perspective on the emptiness of the women in her tales. And I may read the two previous novels in the series which focus more on women trying to get out of the "profession" they're in. It's the story of everyone--longing for worth and acceptance and only finding it in a Savior.

Link to Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Endless-Sight-Crossroads-Grace/dp/1601420129/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1213204670&sr=8-1

A is for Art; B is for Book Club

I read about a mom who designed a summer full of activities for every letter of the alphabet. And since I'm notoriously a "Martha" (Biblical or Stewart-al) I thought that would be a fun way to work through the summer. (Can't you just see the scrapbook now?)

So this morning we took advantage of the Orlando Museum of Art's 1st Saturday family fun day with some good friends. The exhibit this summer is William Joyce, the children's author illustrator, who wrote Rollie Pollie Ollie, A Day with Wilbur Robinson, and today's featured book Dinosaur Bob. For the fifth summer, OMA has had picture book illustrators featured in special exhibits. The art is hung low on the wall, there are books everywhere, and the whole space is kid friendly. On the first Saturday of the month there are art projects, hands on activities and storytimes featuring the current exhibit. Well, at least for two more months there will be until budget cuts take this away.

R is still bit shy and less than willing to participate in much. At the pretend digging for dinosaur bones, she swept up the sand that fell out. At one art table she sharpened the colored pencils and made sure all pencils were out of the crayon container. But she loved the music room, preferring to play her triangle the whole time and did finally do the dinosaur march around the room. We made dinosaur hats too which she only wore once we got home. But she said she had a good time and she's tuckered out tonight.

I'll keep you posted on how our Summer A to Z adventure continues.

Last night, however, was book club, the final meeting with dear Sebby D. She was an original member and the first time I came to book club was at her house. We read Memiors of a Geisha. It's a good thing that I sorta already knew her since the one who invited me--ahem, KS--ended up not making at the last minute. Debby always says she doesn't have much insight to these books and even if she was correct we would still want her since she's just plain fun no matter what. We'll just have to keep reading together through Good Reads now.

The book we discussed was one I've been trying to read for such a long time but couldn't seem to get my hands on a copy. Same Kind of Different as Me tells the true story of Denver Moore, a Louisiana sharecropper, Ron Hall, a wealthy international art dealer, and Debbie Hall, the fiesty, determined woman who brought them together at a Dallas homeless shelter. Their incredible friendship is one I haven't seen in fiction or reality and the way God works through empty vessals to accomplish his work is amazing. I won't give away any details because you'll love seeing them connect and grow. I read it all in one sitting and bawled my eyes out (sleep deprivation probably had some influence as well). I also appreciated the way the story is told in each man's voice with honesty and authenticity. And I closed the book wanting to be that kind of servant, wife and mother.

Next book club read: All Creatures Great and Small, James Herriot

Signs of Summer and Fleming Animal Adventures

The first signs of true summer....

• multiple days of near 90 degrees


• kids played in the Nemo sprinkler after naps


• I baked a tomato tart with fresh basil from the herb/butterfly garden, which, by the way, looks lush and green--except for the thyme I'm killing.


• the pool is up to 75 degrees--still way too cold for me so right now we just sit in the jacuzzi at around 82 and pretend we're in the pool

But speaking of the pool....

A few weeks ago, I was walking across the house, vacuum in tow, when I glanced out the patio doors to see a pair of mallard ducks swimming in the pool. R was thrilled and we let them swim around a bit more til D swooshed them out of the yard and they realized they could fly.

Today, as the kids and D and I sat in the jacuzzi, a ginormous bird flew low over the house and dropped something into the pool. We all stared at each other, shocked, and then finally realized what exactly was dropped--Mr. Bird's dinner. At first we thought it was a hawk, but then, after thinking about the size of the bird (huge, I tell you, HUGE) and then seeing him perched on a neighbor's roof, watching us, we decided it must have been some kind of buzzard--not a majestic hawk--and his dinner was some kind of maggot-infested, dead-for-days, washed up fish. In our pool. So, D had the joyous task of scooping up said dead fish and wrapping it up in a garbage bag, where hopefully the roaming neighborhood cats or assortment of raccoons, possums, and armadillos will not discover it before Trash Day.

Life in Florida, I tell you, never a dull moment.

Restrained Eyes

Our women's ministry Bible study has been reading through Luke this semester. I must confess I've been less than diligent with the study for various reasons, so I know I haven't gotten all that I could have, which saddens me. It's like going to Paris and only seeing the Eiffel Tower. But God has given me glimpses here and there, despite my lack of dedication.

One of the main themes that has appeared to me over the course of the study is that of revelation. In the first few chapters paralleling Mary and Elizabeth, I was struck by their obedience without knowing the full plan. Then, after their faithfulness and submission, revelation occurred--not the other way around. So often we say, OK, God, show me the way and I'll follow. He just doesn't always work like that. I loved how the shepherds, Simeon, and Anna were granted revelation--God pulled back the curtain, allowing certain people a peek into his plan.

On the other hand, there were others who eyes were closed, who were not granted perception. Even the disciples had things hidden from them. Luke writes, "They did not perceive. They did not understand. They did not know." This week, we looked at the travelers on the road to Emaus and I was struck by the phrase, "their eyes were restrained." They were prevented from knowing who was walking with them. Only later, at their meal, were their eyes "opened and they knew him." Later, when Jesus appears to his disciples right before his ascention, he "opened their understanding." Their understanding had not been large enough before. Using the same words spoken before his death, Luke says (24:44), Jesus teaches them again from Moses and the Prophets and now they comprehend.

And I kept asking, Why? Why was it necessary for things to be hidden from them until after His death and resurrection? Wouldn't they have been more confident, bolder preachers if they had gotten it all, put all the points together, "beginning at Moses and all the Prophets." But would it might have been all head knowledge--without the burning heart of faith. I think they needed to see faith in action--in the woman who bled for seven years, in the centurion with a sick daughter, in Mary with her alabaster jar--to start to feel it a bit. And to hear Jesus take the Law and push it so far beyond their understanding that they were at the end of themselves and their own abilities.

At this season in our lives, I'm wondering why my eyes are restrained. Why can't I see how this is going to work out? I have the Prophets and the Psalmists and their words are not quite penetrating my heart? As Jill Phillips says, "I can't get it down to my heart from my head."

But if my eyes are being restrained, I know the one who is restraining them and one day he will open my understanding. Martin Luther said, “I know not where He leads, but well do I know my Guide.” The hymn based on his saying "His Love Can Never Fail" says, "I may not know the way I go, but, oh, I know my God."

Weekend of celebration(s)

Well, we made it. Dave took his last exam on Monday, received his grades, and, though he skipped the ceremony, has completed his MBA. I think I won't completely believe it until the diploma arrives in the mail. With a demanding job and two kids at home, this is a tremendous accomplishment. He didn't even use the two "C"s he was allowed!

To celebrate, he and I left for the beach Friday afternoon. Aunt Jenn was kind enough to take the kids on for the night. (They had such a great time, R asked if we could go to the beach some more.) We had a quiet dinner, took our tiramisu back to our hotel, spent the morning poolside, and walked the beach under overcast and slightly sprinkling skies. He deserved more time away but we'll take what we can get.

Meanwhile, my brother arrived stateside Friday. Whoo-hoo! He and my sis-in-law spent the weekend in Elizabethtown where she competed in her first half Ironman. My parents were there to watch and keep my brother company. She came just a few minutes shy of placing in her age group. If they hadn't rounded her age UP (ick--who wants that?!), she would have placed first in the other age group. Still, an incredible finish!

And my 4th grade nephew took first place in his county's computer competition, beating out all other 4th and 5th graders, even from the schools with more technological emphasis. He's very serious and dedicated and gave a great presentation to go along with his Power Point slide show. Outstanding!

Way to go, everyone!

In a Box

I was recently asked to categorize what kind of books (fiction) I like to read. (The publisher of Andrew Peterson's novel is looking to do more online book tours through blogs so I might get a few more books tossed my way to read, review, and write about.) There were some suggestions listed: mystery, historical, chick lit, suspense, romance.

Um, is "good" a choice?

I tried to think into what genre some of my recent favorites would fall.

The Thursday Next series - sci-fi, crime, literary-geek-chic?

Dwelling Places - Midwestern/Americana, dysfunctional family, Christian lit?

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - multicultural feminist mystery?

I think the best novels defy genre-specific definitions. And some of the best books I read have a generic category on the surface but are really much more than that. I don't usually like Westerns per se, but I enjoyed Peace Like a River and The Whistling Season. I don't read much fantasy literature, but then came Harry Potter.

So it will be interesting to see what novels I might get sent based on the information I gave. There will also be some nonfiction stuff too. Of course, dear reader, you will see it all here.

The girl genius strikes again

I had a more reflective blog post started in my head, but then this happened tonight and I knew I had to post it.

So R is sitting on the couch tonight with Dad, writing on her Magna-Doodle. She's practicing some letters she knows how to write and trying to spell something. I come back from putting the baby to bed and see what she's written.

P...i...T. PIT, she says

Nice "T," Dave comments. "Now, what is a 'pit?'"

I'm thinking, well, they read the story of Joseph today at church...

"You know, when the race cars stop and get new tires."

Of all the definitions of "pit," that's the one my precious, girly, pink-loving, dress-wearing child says.

Of course, that led to her spelling other NASCAR related words: car, race, lap, Dale.

Oh, brother.