Today's Wild Card author is:

Jerry B. Jenkins

and the book:

I, Saul

Worthy Publishing (August 27, 2013)

***Special thanks to Leeanna Case for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Tor n

T E x AS

W EDNESDAy, M Ay 7



“call now. desper8.”
The text appeared on Dr. Augie Knox’s phone at 8:55 a.m., seconds before he was to turn it off—protocol for profs entering a classroom at Arlington Theological Seminary.
Augie could have fired off a “give me a minute,” but the message was not signed and the sending number matched nothing in his contacts. The prefix 011-39-06 meant Rome. He’d traveled extensively in his thirty-eight years and enjoyed many visits to the Eternal City, but such a text could easily portend one of those I’ve-been-mugged-and-need- money scams. Whatever this was could wait until he got the Systematic Theology final exam started and could step into the hall with his phone.
Augie had long been fascinated by his students’ nervous chatter before






final exams. One announced, “I looked you up in Who’s Who, Doc, and I
know your full name.”
“Congratulations for discovering something you could have found in your student handbook four years ago.”
“No! That just says Dr. Augustine A. Knox! I found out what the A
stands for.”
“Good for you. Now, a few instructions . . .”
“Aquinas! Augustine Aquinas Knox! Man, what other career choice did you have?”
“Thank you for revealing the thorn in my flesh. If you must know, that moniker was my father’s idea.” Augie mimicked his dad’s monotone basso. “‘Names are important.They can determine a life’s course.’”
Many students chuckled, having sat under the elder Dr. Knox before he fell ill the year before.
“It also says you were adopted. Sorry, but it’s published.” “No secret,” Augie said.
Another hand shot up.“Was that a hint about the exam? Will we be speculating on Paul’s thorn in the flesh?”
“He’s only mentioned that mystery every class,” another said.
Augie held up a hand. “I trust you’re all prepared for any eventual-
ity.”




“So, what’s your dad’s name?”
“Ed!” someone called out. “Everybody knows that.” “Look it up,” Augie said. “You may find it revealing.”
With blue books distributed, Augie slipped out and turned on his
phone.The plea from Rome had already dropped to third on his message list. At the top was a voice mail from Dr. Moore, who had been filling in as acting department chair since Augie’s father had been hospitalized with a stroke.






Augie would have checked that one first, but next was a voice mail from Sofia Trikoupis, his heart. It was eight hours later in Athens, after five in the afternoon. “Call me at the end of your day,” her message said. “I’ll wait up.” It would be midnight her time by then, but she apparently needed his undivided attention. That would bug him all day. How he longed for them to be together.
His phone vibrated. Rome again. “urgent. call now, pls!” Augie pressed his lips together, thumbing in, “who’s this?” “trust me. begging.”
“not w/out knowing who u r.”
Augie waited more than a minute for a response, then snorted. As I
figured. But as he headed back into the classroom, his phone buzzed again. “zionist.”
Augie stopped, heat rising in his neck. He quickly tapped in, “90 minutes OK?”
“now! critical.”
Few people had been more important in Augie’s life than Roger Michaels, the diminutive fifty-year-old South African with a James Earl Jones voice and a gray beard that seemed to double the size of his pale, gnomish face. Augie would never lead a tour of an ancient city without Roger as the guide.
“2 mins,” Augie texted.
He rushed to his father’s old office, which still bore the senior Dr. Knox’s nameplate on the door. Augie knocked and pushed it open.“Les, I need a favor.”
Dr. Moore took his time looking up from his work. “Number one, Dr. Knox, I did not invite you in.”
“Sorry, but—”
“Number two, I have asked that you refer to me as Dr. Moore.”






“My bad again, but listen—”
“And number three,” the acting chair said, making a show of study- ing his watch, “we both know that at this very moment you are to be conducting—”
“Dr. Moore, I have an emergency call to make and I need you to stand in for me for a few minutes.”
Moore sighed and rose, reaching for his suit coat.“I know what that’s about.Take all the time you need.”
Augie followed him down the hall. “You do?” “You didn’t get my message?”
“Oh, no, sorry. I saw one was there, but I—”
“But you assumed other messages were more important. I said we needed to chat after your first exam.”
“Well, sure, I’ll be here.”
“Part of what we need to discuss is your father. Is that what your call is about?”
“What about my father?” “We’ll talk at ten.”
“But is he—”
“There have been developments, Dr. Knox. But he is still with us.” As Dr. Moore headed for the classroom, Augie ducked into a stair-
well, away from the windows and the relentless sun forecasters were saying would push the temperature at least twenty degrees above normal by 2:00 p.m., threatening the 107° record for the month.
Augie wasn’t getting enough signal strength to complete his call, so he hurried back out to the corridor. Cell coverage was still weak, so he stepped outside. It had to be near 90° already. Scalp burning, he listened as the number rang and rang.
Augie moved back inside for a minute, braced by the air condition-






ing, then ventured out to try again. He waited two minutes, tried once more, and felt he had to get back to class.
On a third attempt, as he neared the entrance, it was clear someone had picked up a receiver and hung up. Augie dialed twice more as he walked back to take over for Dr. Moore. Just before he reached the class- room, his phone came alive again with a text.
“sorry. later. trash ur phone. serious.”
Augie couldn’t make it compute. Had his phone been traced? Tapped? If he got a new one, how would Roger know how to reach him?
Dr. Moore stood just inside the classroom door and emerged imme- diately when he saw Augie. “Talk to your mother?” he said.
“No, should I?”
Moore sighed and opened his palms. “You interrupt my work and don’t check on your father?”
Augie reached for his cell again, but hesitated. If he used it, would he be exposing his mother’s phone too?
“Call her after we’ve talked, Dr. Knox. Now I really must get back to my own responsibilities.”
It was all Augie could do to sit still till the end of class. Before get- ting back to Dr. Moore, he dropped off the stack of blue books in his own office and used the landline to call his contact at Dallas Theolog- ical Seminary, just up the road. Arlington Sem sat equidistant between DTS to the east and the massive Southwestern Baptist Seminary to the west. Arlington was like the stepchild no one ever talked about, a single building for a couple of hundred students, struggling to stay alive in the shadows of those two renowned institutions.When Augie needed some- thing fast, he was more likely to get it from the competition. Such as a new phone.
Like his father before him, Augie was the travel department at






Arlington. No auxiliary staff handled logistics as they did at DTS and Southwestern. The head techie at Dallas was Biff Dyer, a string bean of a man a few years older than Augie with an Adam’s apple that could apply for statehood. He could always be counted on to program Augie’s phone, depending on what country he was traveling to.
“Calling from your office phone, I see,” Biff said. “What happened to the cell I got you?”
“It’s been compromised.”
Biff chuckled. “Like you’d know.What makes you think so?” “I need a new one.Trust me.”
“I’ll just switch out the chip.You’re not gonna find a better phone. How soon you need it?”
“Fast as possible.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? I’m not deliverin’ it. Can you come by during normal hours?”
There was a knock at Augie’s door and he wrenched around to see
Les Moore’s scowl. “Gotta go, Biff.”
“Sorry, Les. On my way right now. Or do you want to just meet here?” “Here would not be any more appropriate than your insisting on our being on a first-name basis,” Dr. Moore said, scanning the tiny chamber in which the guest chair was folded in a corner and brought out only
when necessary.
“C’mon, Les. You were only a couple years ahead of me. We hung out, didn’t we?”
“Hardly. You spent most of your free time in the gym with the--
what?—six other jocks who happened to enroll here.”
It was true. And everyone knew the library had been where to find
Les Moore.
Augie looked at his watch. Another final at 11. He followed his interim






boss back to his father’s old office. It wasn’t that much bigger than his, but at least the guest chair didn’t block the door.
“Would you start with my dad?” Augie said as he sat.
“I would have thought you’d have already checked in with your mother, but all right. She called this morning, knowing you were in class. Your father has slipped into a coma.”
Augie nodded slowly. “She okay?”
“Your mother? Sure. It’s not like he’s passed. She just thought you might want to visit this afternoon.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Now then, Dr. Knox, I have some paperwork here that I’m going to need you to sign. Frankly, it’s not pleasant, but we’re all expected to be team players and I’m going to assume you’ll accede to the adminis- tration’s wishes.”
“What’s up?”
“You’re scheduled to teach summer-school Homiletics beginning four days after commencement.”
“A week from today, right.”
“And we have contracted with you for this stipend, correct?”
Why Les felt it necessary to pencil the figure on the back of a business card and dramatically slide it across the desk, Augie could not fathom.
“Yep, that’s the fortune that’s going to let me retire by forty.”
“Um-hm. Humorous. It is my sad duty to ask you to agree to under- take the class for two-thirds that amount.”
“You’re serious.” “Always.”
That was for sure.
“Les—Dr. Moore, you know we do these classes pretty much as gifts to the sem. Now they seriously want us to do them for less?”






“This is entirely up to you.” “I can refuse?”
“We’re not going to force you to teach a class when we have to renege on our agreement.”
“Good, because I just don’t think I can do it for that.”
“I’ll report your decision. We’ll be forced to prevail upon a local adjunct instruct—”
“Like that youth pastor at Arlington Bible—” “He’s a graduate, Dr. Knox.”
“I know! I taught him. And he’s a great kid, but he didn’t do all that well in Homiletics, and there’s a reason they let him preach only a couple of times a year over there.”
“He’ll be happy to do it for this figure—probably even for less.” “And the students be hanged.”
Les cocked his head. “Naturally, we would prefer you . . .”
Augie reached for his pen and signaled with his fingers for the doc- ument.
“I’m glad I can count on you, Dr. Knox. Now, while we’re on the subject, I’m afraid there’s more.You were due for a four percent increase beginning with the fall trimester.”
“Let me guess, that’s not going to happen either.” “It’s worse.”
“What, now it’s a four percent decrease?” “I wish.”
“Oh, no.”
“Dr. Knox, we have seen an alarming downturn in admissions, and the administration is predicting a fall enrollment that puts us at less than breakeven, even with massive budget cuts.We’re all being asked to accept twenty percent reductions in pay.”






Augie slumped. “I was hoping to get married this fall, Les. I can barely afford the payments on my little house as it is.”
“This is across the board, Dr. Knox. The president, the deans, the chairs, all of us. Some departments are actually losing personnel. Mainte- nance will be cut in half, and we’ll all be expected to help out.”
Arlington had been staggering along on a shoestring for decades, but this was dire. “Tell me the truth, Dr. Moore. Is this the beginning of the end? Should I entertain the offers I’ve gotten from Dallas over the years?” “Oh, no! The trustees wish us to weather this storm, redouble our efforts to market our distinctives, and then more than make up for the pay cuts as soon as we’re able. Besides, the way your father bad-mouthed Dallas and Southwestern his whole career, you wouldn’t dream of insult-
ing him by going to either, would you?”
“He bad-mouthed everything and everybody, Les.You know that.” “Not a pleasant man. No offense.”
Augie shrugged. “You worked for him. I lived with him.”
“Do you know, I have heard not one word from your father since the day I was asked to temporarily assume his role? No counsel, no guidelines, no encouragement, nothing. I assumed he was angry that you had not been appointed—”
That made Augie laugh.“He still sees me as a high school kid! Forget all my degrees. Anyway, I wouldn’t want his job, or yours. It’s not me.”
“How well I know. I mean, I’m just saying, you’re not the typical prof, let alone department chair.”
“I’m not arguing.”
Augie couldn’t win. Despite having been at the top of his classes in college and seminary, his having been a high school jock and continu- ing to shoot hoops, play touch football, and follow pro sports made him an outsider among real academics.Too many times he had been asked if






he was merely a seminary prof because that was what his father wanted for him.
Dr. Moore slid the new employment agreement across the desk. “Sorry, Les, but this one I’m going to have to think and pray about.” The interim chair seemed to freeze. “Don’t take too long. If they
aren’t sure they can count on you for the fall, they’ll want to consider the many out-of-work professors who would be thrilled, in the current econ- omy, to accept.”
“Yeah, that would help. Stock the faculty with young assistant pas- tors.”
“May I hear from you by the end of the day?”
“Probably not, but you’ll be the first to know what I decide.”
Back in his own office, Augie popped the chip out of his cell phone and put it in a separate pocket. He called his mother from his desk phone to assure her he would see her at the hospital late in the afternoon, then called Biff to tell him he would try to stop by DTS on his way.
“What’s the big emergency?” Biff said.
“Roger Michaels has himself in some kind of trouble.” “Tell me when you get here.”
During his 11:00 a.m. final Augie was summoned to the administra- tive offices for an emergency call. On the way he stopped by to see if Les would stand in for him again, but his office was dark.The final would just have to be unsupervised for a few minutes.
“Do you know who’s calling?” he said to the girl who had fetched him. If it was his mother . . .
“Someone from Greece.”
He finally reached the phone and discovered it was Sofia. “Thought you wanted me to call later, babe.You all right?”
“Roger is frantic to reach you.”






“I know. He—”
“He gave me a new number and needs you to call right now, but not from your cell.” She read it to him.
“Any idea what’s going on, Sof ?” Augie said as he scribbled. “This is not like him.”
“No idea, but, Augie, he sounded petrified.” “That doesn’t sound like him either.”
“You can tell me what it’s about later, but you’d better call him right away.”
Augie rushed to his office and dialed the number in Rome. It rang six times before Roger picked up. “Augie?”
“Yes! What’s—”
“Listen carefully. I’ve got just seconds. I need you in Rome as soon as you can get here.”
“Rog, what’s happening? This is the absolute worst time for me to—” “Give Sofia your new cell number and text me your ETA. I’ll give
you a new number where you can call me from Fiumicino as soon as you get in.”
“I don’t know when I could get there, Rog. I’ve got—” “Augie! You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t life or death.”

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jenny Sulpizio

and the book:

Confessions of a Wonder Woman Wannabe

Leafwood Publishers (September 10, 2013)

***Special thanks to Ryan Self for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

You’re a Mom . . . Now What?



“There is no way to be a perfect mother,

andRB a million ways to be a good one.”

—Jill Churchill





And there she lay. After forty-one-and-a-half weeks of pregnancy, and eighteen long, and rather painful—make that excruciating—hours of labor, my daughter had officially arrived. And it was at that point that I realized . . . I had absolutely no clue what I was supposed to do with her. Other than admiring that sweet, beautiful miracle, wrapped like a little burrito in her swaddling blanket and asleep in my arms, I was frighteningly devoid of my maternal instincts and just waiting for something (anything!), to kick in.

“Excuse me,” I said as I spoke into the hospital room intercom, attempting to grab the attention of one of the attending nurses. “I’m ready for my infant to be taken to the nursery now.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I said again, maniacally pressing the button in an effort to get some attention. “Can anyone hear me? I’m pretty tired and need some assistance with getting my daughter settled for the night.”

It was at that point that I could have sworn I heard cackling in the background as the nurse dispatch seemingly collected herself, paused for a moment, and then stated, “Um, we don’t have a nursery, sweetie,” trying hard to hold back laughter. “That baby girl of yours is bunking with you tonight . . . and every night from here on out.”

Puzzled by her response and quite certain she had made a mistake, I looked at my husband in disbelief. With my hormones raging and tears welling up in my bloodshot eyes, I glanced down at my beautiful baby girl and pathetically yelped, “Help me!”

As a new mom, my mind was anxious with inexperience, as question after question on how I should mother my infant kept popping into my head: Why was this baby sleeping so long? What should I do with her if she wakes up? What happens when she has a dirty diaper? Should I ring the nurse to come and change her? In fact, where was the nurse most of the time and why wasn’t she taking care of this baby for me? Wait, why was my hospital gown all wet? Were my breasts leaking? Dear God, what was going on with my body?

And then the ultimate in negative thinking infiltrated my brain: Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this motherhood gig after all. I mean maybe, just maybe, if I could bribe that delivery nurse to come home with me and agree to be my live-in nanny, this might all work out. After all, she did appear to have a sense of humor and definitely seemed like she’d be good with kids.

As it turns out, this “rational” plan of attack I concocted probably wasn’t going to be the best long-term solution I needed after all, especially since bribery tends to work best when you actually have money. But hey, I was a new mommy and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the helplessness and sleep deprivation I was experiencing since that sweet blessing had arrived safely in my arms. Sure, I had been forewarned of the challenges that these first few days might present, but in all honesty, I didn’t believe they would happen to me. You see, prior to becoming a mom, I’d read book after book on how to be a great mother, how to avoid being a bad one, and everything in between. I felt prepared, confident, and ready to defy those “supposed” issues that most new mommies face: Raging hormones? Please, mine would be even-keel. Colicky baby? Pshaw! Had to be a myth. Complete and total exhaustion to the point where one’s eyelids needed to be pried open with toothpicks? Sounded like complete nonsense to me.

Yep, upon becoming a mother, it appeared that not only was I slightly delusional as to the expectations I had for myself, but it also seemed that I was suffering from a bit of naivety, a hint of denial, and was under the trance of one serious perfectionist complex already. Unbeknownst to me, my Wonder Woman Wannabe alter-ego (complete with imbalanced hormones) was taking up residence within, and the Supermom Syndrome was well underway.

“I think you just need to breathe,” my husband said.

“Breathe?” I asked quizzically, as if he were speaking a foreign language or something.

“Yeah, as in inhale, exhale, and repeat.”

“Oh, yeah . . . right,” I said. “B-R-E-A-T-H-E. Maybe I should try that.”

If only those superpowers would kick in already.



Struggling to Become “Super”

“There will be so many times you feel like you’ve failed. But RBin the eyes, heart and mind of your child you are Super Mom.”

—Stephanie Precourt



Remembering those first few months of motherhood kind of makes me cringe. Now, don’t take my words the wrong way—I was enamored of that beautiful baby I had been given, and was quite aware of how blessed I was. What I struggled with were the changes that came with being a mommy: figuring out which of my baby’s cries meant what, how the whole issue of feeding was supposed to take place, and understanding how to operate (and fully function) on three hours of sleep. In fact, I think I’m still struggling with that one.

Adjustments such as these, well, they’re all part of being a new mom. Unfortunately for me, though, I didn’t get the memo. Instead, my induction into this “maternal sorority” wasn’t the smooth transition I had originally hoped for, and those early days spent in “the motherhood” transpired a bit differently than the visions I had spent years conjuring up in my head. You see, initially, I had expectations of a well-orchestrated daily schedule comprised of pure baby bliss: maybe routine trips to the gym, long showers, and a much-needed nap or two (or three) each day. Throw in the gourmet meals I was going to whip up for my husband each night, and the spotless house I was going to regularly maintain, and I was convinced of my destiny to redefine the “super” in supermom . . . and channel my inner Wonder Woman in the process, I might add.

I’m sure you can guess what happened instead.

The truth of the matter was this: after becoming a mom, my world consisted of a constant struggle to maintain balance in my life. It was evident that all of those ambitious ideas I once possessed were totally ridiculous on my part, and the reality of my situation was that I hardly ever worked out, cooked macaroni and cheese out of the box, a lot, and detested the mere thought of cleaning my own home. I was run-down, tired, and in need of assistance. My clothes didn’t fit, my hair was a mess, and that unblemished, outward facade I once possessed was long gone. I was forced into accepting the fact that my life on this roller coaster ride of motherhood was going to require every ounce of energy I could muster, a whole lot of help from up above, . . . and maybe a serious caffeine addiction, as well.

But wait. Wasn’t this “ride” supposed to be amazing?

Amazing? Yes! Perfect? No.

Were doubts, questions, and moments of pure pandemonium going to surface?

Absolutely.

Would I become the type of mother who prayed incessantly, all the while enduring bouts of temporary insanity, a jolted confidence, and the severe testing of my patience along the way?

Odds were, likely.

Was I going to mess up from time to time, struggle with imperfection a lot, and question my parenting abilities just as often?

All signs would point to “yes.”

But who told me I needed to be perfect? And who said that my best wasn’t going to be good enough? It certainly wasn’t God. Nope, that person was me. I was a new mom struggling to become “super” . . . and I was losing the battle, big time.



So, Now What?

“Enjoy every single moment. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, the inspiring, the not-so-glamorous moments. And thank God through it all.”

—Meghan Matt



Throughout this journey, I’ve learned a thing or two, or five hundred, about parenting my clanRB. At this point in my tenure, I’m finally understanding what works, what doesn’t, and what will single-handedly drive me to the brink of insanity without hopes of ever returning. Hey, there’s no denying that motherhood is a blessing and those children of ours are without question miracles, but that doesn’t mean raising them is easy, now does it?

In fact, ever since birthing my beautiful brood, I’ve morphed into a woman that, at times, I hardly recognize. I don’t say this to scare you of course, but my mind has become pretty scattered (okay—make that seriously spacey instead). “It can’t be that bad, could it?” Well, that useless ’80s music trivia I once prided myself on knowing is now a thing of the past. Dates, names, faces, and childhood memories have seemingly retreated to somewhere in the recesses of my brain, and I’m lucky if I leave the house each morning without sporting my ensemble inside out, upside down, or displaying unsightly deodorant stains. This mom (yep, me) has been found in public on more than one occasion donning two different shoes, a bra gone AWOL, and hair that would never be categorized as cute. Those days of carrying on an adult conversation (you know—using words other than “cacaRB” and “binky”) are long gone, and instead of putting my college degrees to use, I simply have them hanging on the wall to help remind me that I even went to college at all.RB

So, now what?

Girls, I think most of us can agree that we possess the desire to become more prepared, better organized, less frazzled mothers. I myself spend a sizeable amount of time praying for more patience, less frustration, and for God to mold me into the type of mom I so desperately want to become—perhaps one whose even a little less absent-minded at times. Hey, I don’t deny that, on occasion, I’ve even prayed for God to grant me some sort of superpowers, as well. Maybe not bionic strength or x-ray vision, but perhaps an extra arm or two for multi-tasking purposes, the ability to turn back time after a not-so-great mommy meltdown, the option to clone myself so I can be in ten different places at once, or simply the power to be everything to everyone during every moment of everyday (without collapsing in utter exhaustion).

Ahh, the life of a Wannabe is never boring, is it?

You, too, might be in search of easier ways to accomplish specific tasks and complete those unending errands. And you might also be a mom who finds herself stuck in a routine that she just can’t work her way out of. Like you, I wanted to be more structured. I wanted to be more prepared. I wanted less stress in my life and more time for those memorable mommy moments I was craving with my youngins’.

I wanted all of these things and more, but didn’t know where to start or how to begin decoding the mystery of motherhood.

After all, there are no cheat sheet or crib notes we can reference. The manual I was in desperate need of to help me figure out how to do this role of mine—broken down by age and gender, and inclusive of all those unexpected surprises that would most certainly pop up on this journeyRB—just didn’t exist. But through my experience, and inexperience, I began to glean some valuable insight into this role. I found that the unexpected should be expected. I finally began to understand and appreciate what the concept of true patience really meant, and that being present day in and day out in the lives of my children, and loving them with my whole heart, was the most important thing I could do for them. I learned all of these things and more through ups and downs, highs and lows (a nervous breakdown or two…kidding, of course), and ultimately, through divine intervention.

But enough chit-chat already, right? Let’s get started by providing you with the information you’re looking for. After all, this guide is in your hands in order to give you tips you’ll need to make your life easier. And it’s been written to give you the practical advice you’re searching for, with the Christian foundation that’s necessary.



The Three Basic Rules of Motherhood

So, what are the three basic rules of motherhood that every Wonder Woman Wannabe should know?

I’m so glad you asked.



1. Expect the unexpected.

I’ll be honest in stating that I haven’t always been a prepared mom. In fact, there have been plenty of times where I have jumped in the car, kids in tow, only to forget some pretty important necessities. You know—items that no mother should be without? We’re talking diapers, wipes, jackets (in the dead of winter), my cell phone, shoes—of all things, how does one forget shoes—and the list goes on and on. You name it and I have forgotten it, because I have failed to take the necessary steps in preparing myself in advance.

It’s in those times that I seriously think my mommy card should be revoked.

But in order to stave off stress and avoid embarrassment, we need to be uber-organized, prepared mommies. If you haven’t heard this before, I’m telling you now: preparation is key when it comes to being a mom. Whether it be packing your kiddos diaper bag the night before in order to avoid the last-minute, early-morning scuffle or simply making a list to remind yourself of your child’s necessities, being prepared is vital to your sanity and overall well-being. Want to make sure you’re prepared for when the unexpected happens to you? How about trying these tips on for size.

Make a list: Now, I’m a Capricorn by birth, which means that I am a maker of all things list-like. Is that even a word? No, seriously, if there’s a list to be made for any reason at all, I’m the gal making one. And my advice to you would be to do the same. Keep a journal, a daily planner, or whatever else will help you stay on task and be more organized. Go ahead, make a list (and check it twice if need be), in order to keep on top of your chores, errands, or any other type of thought in need of jotting down. Believe me—you’ll be glad you did!

Maintain a schedule: I absolutely must keep track of my appointments, and any other event I’m scheduled to make some sort of appearance at, or they become completely lost in the recesses of my brain. I’m a mom, I’ve had kids, and that means my memory is shot (we’ve been over this before). It’s a given. But part of being prepared for day-to-day endeavors is knowing where you have to be, at what time, and for how long. This requires a bit of planning and some organization. Use your cell phone calendar to keep on task, or establish a wall calendar at home so your spouse, kids, and anybody else interested in your monthly activities can be “in the know.” Keeping an up-to-date schedule is a huge sanity saver, girls!

Get help: I am a mom of three. I’ll let you do the math here, but since there is only one of me and three of them, this would indicate that I am severely outnumbered when it comes to my mothering duties. I need help. In fact, I need a lot of help. Confessing this doesn’t make me weak, nor does it make me less of a mom . . . it simply makes me aware of the fact that I need assistance (and that I should never RBbe too proud to ask for it). Do yourselves a favor, moms and employ neighbors, friends, in-laws, parents, or whoever else can help you as often as possible. Help is often times needed . . . and usually just a phone call away.



2. A little patience, please.

Who else out there finds themselves quick-tempered and easily frustrated? I’ve got both of my hands held high on this question and will be the first to admit that part of the problem with me resides in the fact that I no longer think like a kid. I think like an adult instead, and expect my kids to think (and act) the same way that I do.

But as Mark Merrill once stated, “Patience is choosing to control your emotions rather than letting your emotions control you.”

Hey, our kids are going to make mistakes. They’re human. At times, they’re going to do things that make absolutely no sense at all, in this lifetime or any other. They’re going to act out, behave poorly, throw tantrums, and embarrass the heck out of us, because guess what? They’re kids, and the whole concept of good behavior just so happens to be a learned one. It’s how we respond to those crazy situations that make all the difference. Yelling and screaming won’t get you anywhere (believe me, I’ve tried), but controlling your tongue, using reason instead, and implementing the use of prayer most definitely will. When your patience is all but gone, try a few of these tips to help you keep your cool.

Count to ten . . . or eighty: For me, ten seconds won’t cut it. In order to calm my temper and reach that happy place within once again, I shoot for eighty seconds instead. Take some deep, calming breaths and try to breathe your way through the frustration. Remember those Lamaze breathing methods you once used to deliver you’re now tantrum-throwing toddler? Time to brush off those birthing manuals and bust out those techniques all over again. Breathe away that frustration and keep your cool when tempers threaten to rage. It’s worth a try, right?

Pray: In fact, pray like you’ve never prayed before. I find it helpful to sound off in the middle of my frustration: “Lord, help me now, because (enter child’s name here) is trying my patience. I need you to let him know that I can’t take it anymore. Will you please help (speak child’s name here, once again) to become a sweet, loving, and respectful child? You know, the kind of gentleman (or young lady) you call him to be? Lord, hear my prayer. Amen.”

Hey, God knows when you’re about to flip your lid, and He’s aware of how trying His little creations can be. So, seek Him out for help anytime you’re being tested and your sanity is in question. Better yet, ask God for help first and go to Him always . . . and often.

Keep calm and carry on: I feel like this phrase was written especially for me. Keep this saying close to your heart, fresh on your mind, and maybe plaster it somewhere in your home as a reminder when times get tough—because frustration is inevitable when you’re a mommy, which means we had better find ways to deal with it appropriately, amen? Keep calm girls . . . breathe, pray, relax, repeat.



3. Be there or be square

Life can get pretty crazy at times—as in the out-of-control, coo-coo type of crazy. Time speeds by much too quickly. I often find myself anxiously wondering how in the heck my children grew to their current ages and how soon their sweet childhoods will be but memories (ones I hope I’ll be able to remember, that is). It’s downright scary. All those efforts to freeze time have failed miserably. But even if we mamas can’t stop the clock, we do possess the power to make the most of the time we have by enjoying our children purposely, willfully, with our whole hearts, and with 100 percent of our attention. Being present means being deliberate in everything we do with our kiddos. It means refusing to allow the mindless, monotonous jobs of motherhood—cooking, cleaning, laundering, and so on—to consume us. Instead, we focus on the larger picture ahead by not getting wrapped up in the small, meaningless stuff. Confused? Let me clarify:

Together time: Set aside a period each day to spend intentional time with your kids. Read together before bed, watch a favorite family television show, talk about the day’s events, play a board game, or better yet, spend some much-needed time in Scripture. No matter what you do, make these designated moments of the day routine for your child. You know, a portion of the day they can count on and look forward to spending with you.

Listen up: As a mom, my mind just happens to always be in motion. Whether it’s trying to remember if I turned the Crock-Pot on this morning or whether I failed to turn the curling iron off, my brain is never at rest. Come to find out, my children are the same way. But rather than keeping their thoughts to themselves, they’d much rather express them . . . every single one of them, out loud and all of the time. As moms, we need to listen to our kiddos. We need to turn off our minds and turn on our ears. It doesn’t matter if our kids don’t make sense or if the vocabulary they’re using doesn’t exactly equate to English. They feel happy, secure, and safe enough to share with us all that’s going on in that brain of theirs, and their begging for a captive audience. So, let’s make a concerted effort to place our thoughts on hold as we intentionally listen to what their young minds have to say. Because chances are, if we don’t pay attention now, they won’t give us the time of day later.

Limit technology: Cell phones, computers, tablets, and other technological devices that have made their way into our lives are also the instruments currently stripping us from valuable time with our families and loved ones. I’m just as guilty as anyone else of letting these electronic contraptions invade my life. Try curbing your use of these devices, especially when at home, and tend to your social media needs well after they’ve gone to bed.



If only motherhood were this easy though, right? If only these simple practices mentioned above could be the answers to all of our questions and the solutions to all of those mommy dilemmas. But keep in mind: this is only Chapter One, girls. Hang on tight, have no fears, and keep on reading.





A number of sites had this quote with “and”

http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/jill%20churchill



http://www.searchquotes.com/quotation/There_is_no_way_to_be_a_perfect_mother,_and_a_million_ways_to_be_a_good_one/232988/

Punctuation found at this site and others.



http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirangosu/8338913627/

Might consider saying "can of #." Since the first story started off with the experience of your firstborn, readers might be interested to see the "then and now" big picture.

Consider changing to "poopy" or some other version of caca. Funny enough, in my house, that would was a no-no to use growing up. :)

I would suggest "stinky" as well, but then you'd have rhyming words.

Mine never even made it to "wall status." They're tucked in my closet next to a heating pad. Very sad.

This one word seems to convey what you're getting at, and avoids the awkward phrasing. Okay change?

Some of us (me!) still struggle with this on a daily basis. Using "should" may help remind us stubborn moms that we need to find humility in this area. That includes being willing to call our mother-in-laws for kid-pickup when we're down to one car. RGG!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Diana Wallis Taylor

and the book:

Ruth Mother of Kings

Whitaker House (October 1, 2013)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

The story of Ruth has captivated Christian believers for centuries, not least of all because she is one of only two women with books of the Bible named after them. Now, Diana Wallis Taylor animates this cherished part of the Old Testament, with its unforgettable cast of characters. She describes Ruth’s elation as a young bride— and her grief at finding herself a widow far before her time. Readers will witness the unspeakable relief of Naomi upon hearing her daughter-in-law’s promise never to leave her. And celebrate with Boaz when, after years as a widower, he discovers love again, with a woman he first found gleaning in his field. The story of this remarkable woman to whom Jesus Christ traced His lineage comes to life in the pages of this dramatic and unique retelling.

Ruth sat with her brother, Joash, on a small rug in the neighbors’ courtyard, listening fearfully as the adults discussed what to do with them. Ruth wanted her mama. Why would they not let her see her? Was she still sick? Her papa had tended her for several days and told them not to disturb her. No one baked any bread for their breakfast.

She scrunched up her small face, her lower lip trembling. Yesterday, her mama would not wake up, and her papa began weeping and acting strangely. He struggled to stand up, and perspiration ran down his face. She remembered his words, spoken like he was out of breath. “Joash, you must help me. Take Ruth and go to the house of Naaman. Tell him I need his help. Stay there until I call for you.”

Joash grabbed her hand and almost pulled her to the neighbors’ house. She had been holding her mother’s shawl, and she wrapped it around herself that night as they slept in the neighbors’ courtyard. She could hardly breathe for the fear that seemed to rise up from her chest. Why would the neighbors not let them go home? Had Papa not called for them?

Everyone looked at them with sad eyes and whispered to one another. She clutched her mother’s shawl and turned to her brother.

“Why will they not let us go home?”

“I don’t know. Something is wrong.” He looked at a woman standing nearby. “We want to see our mama and papa.”

The woman answered quietly, “Children, your mama and papa are dead. You cannot see them…ever again.”

Ruth heard the word “dead.” A bird fell in their small courtyard one day, and her papa said it was dead. It lay on the dirt, unmoving, its eyes closed. She could not imagine her mama and papa like that bird. She turned to her brother again.

“Mama and Papa are dead?”

Joash nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. He put an arm around her, and they clung to each other.

Naaman’s wife spoke up. “I have fed them for two days, but I cannot continue to care for them.”

“Do they have family elsewhere?” said another neighbor woman. “I have children of my own to feed.”

Naaman murmured, “Phineas has family near the Plains of Moab, outside Beth-Jeshimoth. He told me before he died.”

“What family? His parents? Are they still alive?”

There was silence. Then, “How would the children get there? They can’t go alone; the boy is only six, the girl almost four. Who would take them?”

“That is something to consider. It is a two days’ journey.”

Teary-eyed, Ruth turned to her brother and whispered, “Where do they want to take us?”

He straightened his shoulders and tried to sound very strong. “I don’t know, but do not be afraid, Sister. I will care for you.”

A couple entered the small courtyard and hurried up to the group that had been talking. The woman spoke. “We just heard about the parents. The mother, Timna, was my friend. Do you know what is to be done with the children?”

Someone said, “Naaman told us they have grandparents, outside Beth-Jeshimoth, but we don’t know how to get them there. They cannot travel alone.”

The man nodded, then said, “I will take them. My wife, Mary, will go with me.”

“But, Gershon, can you leave your shop for that long? It will take at least two days or more, just one way.”

“Ha’Shem will watch over my shop. It is the right thing to do. If they have family, that is where the children should go. I will prepare my cart and donkey.”

The first woman spoke. “May the Almighty bless you for your kindness, Gershon, and your wife also. It is a good thing you do. I will gather food for your journey. The other women in the neighborhood will help.”

Ruth listened to the women click their tongues and murmur among themselves.

“Those poor children were alone in the house with their sick parents for days before Phineas sent them to Naaman and his wife.”

“My husband wondered why Phineas had not come to work in three days.”

“The Lord only knows the last time they had eaten.”

“Both of the children are so thin.”

One of the other men spoke up. “What if you get there and find that the children’s grandparents are dead?”

“We will just have to trust the Almighty to guide us; we will pray that they live and that these orphaned children will be welcomed.”

Joash clutched Ruth’s hand tighter. “See? We will go to Abba’s family. They will take us there.”

Ruth, too frightened to speak again, could only nod, dried tears still on her cheeks.

Early the next morning, they were fed some lentil soup and fresh bread, and then Gershon and Mary took their hands and led them home, telling them they would now gather a few things to take with them. Mary clicked her tongue and sighed as she and her husband looked around the small house. “There is little of value here,” Gershon said. “The girl seems determined to hold on to her mother’s shawl.”

Mary glanced at Ruth. “It is a comfort to her. We must not take the bedding, because of their sickness. I will bring bedding from our house. Oh, Gershon, they were so poor. How did they live?”

“Evidently he made just enough to survive.”

Ruth, with her mother’s shawl still wrapped around her shoulders, clutched a doll made of rags that her mother had sewn for her. She looked around. There was no sign of her mama or papa anywhere. She watched her brother slip a small leather box out of a cupboard when the man and his wife were not looking. He put a finger to his lips and hid the box in his clothes.

When the cart was loaded, Ruth climbed in after Joash and settled in as the journey began. Never having ventured beyond her street, she looked about, wide-eyed, as they passed through the town.

“What is our town called?” Joash asked.

“It is Medeba,” the man answered.

His wife turned around in her seat at the front of the cart. “Have you not been in the town before?”

Joash shook his head.

“It is large. Your father made many fine bricks to build houses with.”

Ruth looked up at her. “I miss my mama.”

Mary sighed. “I know, child. Your mama and papa were so sick from the fever. They just didn’t get better, like so many others. But soon you will be with your grandparents.”

“Will they let us stay with them?” Joash asked.

There was a pause, and Mary looked at her husband. “Oh, of course. I’m sure they will be glad to see you.” She turned around again. “Have you ever met them?”

Ruth looked at her brother, and both children shook their heads.

They spent the night with some other families that were traveling. Gershon said something about it being safer to stay with a group.

Mary made sure Ruth and Joash were settled for the night and then lay down next to her husband. The two adults whispered to themselves, probably thinking that Ruth was asleep. She kept her eyes closed and listened in.

“Oh, Gershon, I pray that the grandparents are still there. What will we do if they are not?”

“We must trust the Almighty, Mary. I feel we are doing the right thing.”

“Then we will do our best, and know the outcome soon.”

“Timna was never well, from what I understand.”

Mary murmured, “If the parents of Phineas had a farm, why did he leave? Would he not work the farm with his father?”

“A disagreement of some kind. I don’t think the parents approved of the marriage. Medeba is a larger town. He probably thought he had a better chance of finding work there.”

She sighed. “Then the grandparents may not even know about the children?”

“It’s likely they don’t. Let us get some rest. We have many miles to cover tomorrow.”

Ruth yawned. What did it all mean? She was so tired. It was too much for her to understand. Moving closer to Joash, she settled down and, despite missing her parents, allowed sleep to draw her into its embrace.