Rick took her face in his hands. “I only care about keeping you safe.”

His soft words turned her inside out. His intense drive to protect her was one of the things she’d loved most about him, because all her life she’d been the one doing the protecting.

It had felt good to lean on someone else.

Then he’d left, and the dove hanging from her rearview mirror became her reminder that she needed to lean on God alone. Except Rick had come back and wanted to be her protector.

Unspoken regrets shadowed his eyes. “I honestly don’t know whether some psychotic protestor or one of your uncle’s enemies or one of mine has targeted you. But I promise you I’ll figure it out and put a stop to him.”

“I? Uh, uh. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. No more secrets.”
--from Deep Cover

Is it possible to be a man of honor and live a life of lies? Rick Gray hopes so, because as an undercover cop, he’s had to make too many sacrifices, including a future with Ginny Bryson, the woman he loves.

Ginny Bryson never really knew Rick--he never gave her the chance. Not then, and not now, when he's back with a new alias to gather evidence against Ginny's uncle. The man's crimes led to Rick's partner's death, and Rick wants justice to be served. But his investigation is stirring up trouble, and Ginny is in the middle of it. But how can Rick protect her without blowing his cover, jeopardizing his assignment...and risking both their lives?

Sandra Orchard debuts this month with the first of her Undercover Cops series: books about heroes fighting for justice, putting their lives--and hearts--on the line. Sandra was the 2009 Daphne DuMaurier Award winner, then sold Deep Cover to Harlequin. She hails from Southern Ontario, Canada. Visit her website: www.SandraOrchard.com

In the 1950s, five missionaries, including Nate Saint, were speared to death by the Waodani tribe of Ecuador after the missionaries dared an attempt to free them from the very savage nature which was about to annihilate the tribe. Surprisingly, the Saint family chose to continue to extend the hope of love to these murderers by living with and finally finding kinsmanship with these very people. It proved to be a life-bearing and heart-changing love which saved the Waodani from their worst enemy: themselves.

Now in the 1990s, Steve Saint, having gone to an American college and made his way as a successful business- and family-man, decides to return to his jungle family in order to reach out to this tribe once more after he learns of their problems integrating into a modern society.  Laced with humorous stories in which the Stone Age meets the Age of Technology as well as some hard truths regarding the definition of empowerment and ability, The End of the Spear is a cover-to-cover dynamic true story about faith and love in the midst of difficulty and misunderstanding.

The End of the Spear was a 2005 ECPA Retailer's Choice award-winner for Best biography/autobiography and was adapted into a 2006 movie by the same name, which focuses on Steve Saint's childhood.

A thin place is where “heaven and the physical world collide.” Thin describes “the membrane between the two worlds”, it’s a window from an earthly life into the eternal. In Mary DeMuth’s memoir, Thin Places: A memoir, she takes the reader through glimpses of her broken path to show how God used the sharp edges of mankind to carve a beautiful work in her. 

From a family of neglectful drug abusers, DeMuth has the kind of childhood that would seem insurmountable. Yet, within her problems and weaknesses, she has found the power of Christ in transforming all situations. Through this heroic story, DeMuth reveals how a scared, quiet little girl becomes a powerful voice for God—even raising her own, stable, mission-minded family alongside a faithful husband of two decades.

DeMuth’s hope is in Christ, even in a life that should have been riddled with shame and insecurity. If you would like to read an uplifting, encouraging story where the hero is none other than the living God, I encourage you to pick up a copy of Thin Places: A memoir.

Rick Bragg never got to meet his life-long hero. And unfortunately, because his aunts, uncles and mother were all so heart-broken over the loss of their father, they never told many stories about Ava's Man, the man who died the year before Bragg was born. So, in order to fill in the gap of backbone and strength readers missed in All Over But the Shoutin' as well as to hunt out the missing pieces in his own legacy, Rick Bragg wrote Ava's Man so he could dig up everything he could about this very misguided-very focused, very wily-very loving maternal grandfather of his.

Charlie Bundrum fought against the hard times of Depression-era Alabama and Georgia. He had a wife and seven kids at home who he had to protect and keep fed at any cost--to include running a bootlegging business which he "never sold a sip without testing with his own liver" while at the same time fighting off a couple of armed drunks using nothing but his unabashed bravery in order to yank the gun from the bully's hand. Charlie was tough but most at home with a passel of kids on his lap. He was lawless, yet he stuck to a strict code of backwoods morality.

This is a great memorial to a very real and very decent man. Bragg does well in providing the atypical roughed-up version of his central character. After all, with a man like Charlie Bundrum, Bragg said he felt like Charlie's very ghost would haunt him for portraying him "white-washed." Charlie is indeed a character of more pepper and whiskey than milk and honey. Yet he speaks to the very soul of who we are as humans: how we can survive in spite of our surroundings; how heroes can be flawed, yet we need them to defend our hearts and minds in a brawling world.

I recommend this book, most definitely. Rick Bragg, as I mentioned, has also written other books, but I haven't gotten to them yet. I'm sure, however, that All Over But the Shoutin'--the next book in my reading docket--if it's anything related to Ava's Man, will become a favorite of mine as well.

The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom is the amazing true story of a Dutch family who got sent to prison for harboring and hiding Jews during World War II. If you have not read this book before, I suggest you run out and check it out. I have read it more than once, and like a friend of mine decided, I believe it would be worth an annual read.

Corrie and her sister get sent to the darkest of the Jewish prison camps in Germany, but in spite of their horrible and dehumanizing situation, they still see God's power and light. In a barracks built for 400, 1400 women cram together like animals, yet they worship like angels in the middle of the night. In the midst of a thorough search by Nazi guards, Corrie miraculously smuggles the Word of God past them. She sees both heartache and hope while embracing Christ's freedom in spite of the chains binding her. The most amazing part of it all is that this is a true story.

If you are a person of faith, The Hiding Place will increase it. If you are not, I think you'll have trouble denying the testimony of this one aged woman, imprisoned for the sake of others. She and her family conquered the enemy "by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death." (Revelation 12:11) Instead, they remained steadfast heroes we can look up to even 70 years after their tale.

I didn’t know what I’d think about a book written from a philosophical doggy’s perspective. Would the dog learn yoga or something (and what would the Downward Dog look like from a true canine perspective?)? Would the dog prove itself to be The Pack Leader, ala Cesar Milan? I couldn’t imagine substance from such a silly character.

However, after an easy couple of days’ read of the novel followed by a meeting with my book club, I’m happy to report that Garth Stein’s best-seller, The Art of Racing in the Rain, is a keeper.

Enzo the dog fully believes he will be a human in his “next” life. With this in mind, he challenges himself to remember all he’s learned in his life as a dog. To really listen when other people speak. To live each day as if it was his last. To be a racecar driver, without an ego, surrendered to the race—a champion.

In The Art of Racing in the Rain, Stein whimsically and wisely combines his knowledge of racing with positive ideals as communicated through a canine pal observing his owner's family struggles. From Enzo we humans learn to press on in the midst of struggle. We learn when to let our mindless human rituals go. We learn how to focus our eyes in the correct places, so that our race (our human race, even!) will follow accordingly.

Let me take this time to give you a heads-up for some pretty stout language in this book. As well, the premise is more along the lines of simple spirituality—especially the idea that man controls his destiny. Yet these aspects of the book did not detract from my personal read of it. I found encouragement from the novel. And, although I do believe my destiny runs a course undirected by me, I easily related to many of the truths in Racing. Like Enzo, I do not want to mistake confidence for egotism. As well, I see people act outside of their own character all the time—as if under hypnosis by Enzo’s nemesis, the “evil zebra.”

This book is sad, so sad that I didn’t know if I liked it at first. But it's at the same time buoyantly light-hearted. When describing scenes to my husband, I couldn’t help but giggle at a dog’s envy of opposable thumbs or his ultimate revenge on the couple who made life hardest for his owner.

With two opposable thumbs up, I recommend this book for your library, or even for your pleasant weekend read. I loved it, my book club loved it, even my non-reader husband loved The Art of Racing in the Rain.       

In Jackson, Mississippi, a white woman's worst nightmare is a smart-mouthed black housekeeper named Minnie. Across town, a plain unloved white girl is raised within the warm embrace of another black hired hand named Aibileen. But only white Skeeter, a gangly budding author fresh out of college, has the naivete to focus a writing lens through the eyes of these burdened women and tell the true tale of the changes that are a-comin' in 1964.

The Help is absolutely a top ten for best modern novel. Because of Stockett's tense storyline and clever characters, I found myself wrapped up in every word of every page. When I was away from it, my mind wandered back to the lively book that awaited. The dialect was so on-target my inner-Belle clamored to reveal herself. You all come down now for dinner, ya hear? The characters were so real I cried and laughed right along withthem. Would my heroes out-smart Jackson's high-falutin' debu-bully? Would they survive the telling of their seemingly simple but death-defying stories set in the same time and place as Medgar Evers' assassination? And would they be able to do it all in time to make the deadline asserted by a cool Yankee publisher up in New York City?

If you haven't checked out this book, I certainly recommend it. For your library. For your book club. For you. Thank you, Ms. Stockett, for your powerful words. You make me proud to be a part of this profession. I have much to learn.

John Steinbeck's East of Eden looks a bit daunting with its 600-page count. But, if there's anything I've learned in my quest for a good read, it's that the classic are classic for a reason.

East of Eden is a story of World War I Salinas valley, Steinbeck's own stomping grounds. Although the book mentions the Steinbeck family on occasion, the novel focuses in on Adam Trask as he grows up yet remains a steadfast moral figure in spite of tragic circumstances and because of some fabulous friends who surround him.

A novel focused on characterizing the story of Cain vs. Abel, East of Eden is a man's-man story, intent on disclosing the power of the father's blessing. Sometimes the power is ill-weilded and sometimes it acts as a salve against evil forces.

Even if you saw the James Dean and Burl Ives movie version of this classic, for the wisdom and insight you gain in life from Steinbeck, I believe this is one book you should dive into.

Here's my newest favorite Christmastime ditty fresh off an American classic. Thought I'd share Betty Smith's words:

…. At midnight on the Eve of our dear Saviour’s birth, the kids gathered where there were unsold trees. The man threw each tree in turn, starting with the biggest. Kids volunteered to stand up against the throwing. If a boy didn’t fall down under the impact, the tree was his. If he fell, he forfeited his chance at winning a tree. Only the roughest boys and some of the young men elected to be hit by the big trees …. The little kids waited for the tiny, foot-high trees and shrieked in delight when they won one.

On the Christmas Eve when Francie was ten and Neeley nine, mama consented to let them go down and have their first try for a tree. Francie had picked out her tree earlier in the day. She had stood near it all afternoon and evening praying that no one would buy it. To her joy, it was still there at midnight. It was the biggest tree in the neighborhood and its price was so high that no one could afford to buy it. It was ten feet high. Its branches were bound with new white rope and it came to a sure pure point at the top.

The man took this tree out first. Before Francie could speak up, a neighborhood bully, a boy of eighteen known as Punky Perkins, stepped forward and ordered the man to chuck the tree at him. The man hated the way Punky was so confident. He looked around and asked:
"Anybody else wanna take a chance on it?"

Francie stepped forward. “Me, Mister.”

A spurt of derisive laughter came from the tree man. The kids snickered. A few adults who had gathered to watch the fun, guffawed.
“Aw g’wan. You’re too little,” the tree man objected.

“Me and my brother—we’re not too little together.”
She pulled Neeley forward. The man looked at them—a thin girl of ten with starveling hollows in her cheeks but with the chin still baby-round. He looked at the little boy with his fair hair and round blue-eyes—Neeley Nolan, all innocence and trust.

“Two ain’t fair,” yelped Punky.

“Shut your lousy trap,” advised the man who held all power in that hour.

“These here kids is got nerve. Stand back, the rest of yous. These kids is goin’ to have a show at this tree.”

The others made a wavering lane. Francie and Neeley stood at one end of it and the big man with the big tree at the other. It was a human funnel with Francie and her brother making the small end of it. The man flexed his great arms to throw the great tree. He noticed how tiny the children looked at the end of the short lane. For the split part of a moment, the tree thrower went through a kind of Gethsemane.

“Oh…” his soul agonized, “why don’t I just give ’em the tree, say merry Christmas and let ’em go. What’s the tree to me? I can’t sell it no more this year and it won’t keep till next year.” The kids watched him solemnly as he stood there in his moment of thought. “But then,” he rationalized, “if I did that, all the others would expect to get ’em handed to ’em. And next year nobody a-tall would buy a tree off of me. They’d all wait to get ’em handed to ’em on a silver plate. I ain’t a big enough man to give this tree away for nothin’. No, I ain’t big enough. I ain’t big enough to do a thing like that. I gotta think of myself and my own kids.” He finally came to his conclusion. “Oh, what the hell! Them two kids is gotta live in this world. They got to get used to it. They got to learn to give and to take punishment. And by Jesus, it ain’t give but take, take, take all the time in this … damned world.” As he threw the tree with all his strength, his heart wailed out, “It’s a … damned, rotten, lousy world!”

Francie saw the tree leave his hands. There was a split bit of being when time and space had no meaning. The whole world stood still as something dark and monstrous came through the air. The tree came towards her blotting out all memory of her ever having lived. There was nothing –nothing but pungent darkness and something that grew and grew as it rushed at her. She staggered as the tree hit them. Neeley went to his knees but she pulled him up fiercely before he could go down. There was a mighty swishing sound as the tree settled. Everything was dark, green and prickly. Then she felt a sharp pain at the side of her head where the trunk of the tree had hit her. She felt Neeley trembling.

When some of the older boys pulled the tree away, they found Francie and her brother standing upright, hand in hand. Blood was coming from scratches on Neeley’s face. He looked more like a baby than ever with his bewildered blue eyes and the fairness of his skin made more noticeable because of the clear red blood. But they were smiling. Had they not won the biggest tree in the neighborhood? Some of the boys hollered “Horray!”

A few adults clapped. The tree man eulogized them by screaming,
“And now get the hell out of here with your tree, you lousy bastards.”

Francie had heard swearing since she had heard words. Obscenity and profanity had no meaning as such among those people. They were emotional expressions of inarticulate people with small vocabularies; they made a kind of dialect. The phrases could mean many things according to the expression and tone used in saying them. So now, when Francie heard themselves called lousy bastards, she smiled tremulously at the kind man. She knew that he was really saying, “Goodbye—God bless you.” 

Christmas is coming. I almost screamed when I saw the rows and rows of ornaments and splashes of red and green all over my local Hobby Lobby last week. Ahhh! Not yet! I’m not ready! Haven’t even started thinking about the gifts, the food, the massive amounts of chocolate that will be required to get me through this time of year.

So … in preparation to face one of the most fanatical seasons of my year, I decided to get in a Christmasy mood by reading Susan May Warren’s new novella, The Great Christmas Bowl. So glad I did! The Great Christmas Bowl is a hilarious story about one mother’s quest to create the perfect Christmas for her family. In the process, she is not only roped into planning the church’s annual Christmas tea, she also volunteers to be the mascot for her son’s high school football team. Did I mention the mascot is a huge lake trout? I’ve read a ton of humorous novels, but rarely have I laughed out loud as much as I did while reading The Great Christmas Bowl.

Fabulously witty, writing that sparkles with wisdom and humor, and so many emotions that every mother in America can relate with. Do all of the moms in your life a favor this year—give them the gift of laughter and escapism through Susie’s hilarious tale, The Great Christmas Bowl. They definitely won’t be disappointed