One Perfect Book

I've been looking for a book like this for a good six years.

John MacArthur's One Perfect Life blends accounts from all four Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) into one seamless narrative.  Occasional related verses from the Old Testament and epistles are inserted for beautiful commentary.

"The complete story of Jesus" is broken up into short chapters—perfect for devotional reading.  I have never spent much time in the New King James Version, and I'm enjoying the fresh, readable translation.  Bonus: notes from the MacArthur Study Bible are included for extra insight on things like cultural context and cross-references.

Five stars for this book that will stay in my library for a lifetime.

The Prairies Calling

Encircled though I am by mountains and city, I can feel the quiet pulse of the prairies today.  I can almost hear the wind whistling through last year's corn stalks standing in the field, half-covered by snow.  I sense the winter wheat lying close to the ground, patiently, patiently awaiting the spring thaw.  And I, too, await a day when I will shed the coldness of this world, this body, this heart so prone to wandering.

Maybe it's because I've been re-reading the classic Giants In the Earth, a story of Norwegian pioneers in Dakota Territory.  The land in Rølvaag's novel is vast, stark, and richly fertile, and it leaves no one unchanged who seeks to survive it, much less tame it.

After 130 years, the land had been survived and peopled and maybe even slightly tamed, but it still inspired awe for Rich Mullins, who wrote a song to the Keeper of the Plains.

And so, in belated celebration of Kansas Day (I spent the majority of yesterday sick in bed, alas); and because there are some days when I just miss the prairies, and even more days when I long to be "shaken free of this old world"; and also because this is a beautifully poignant song and a good cover that begs to be shared...

Good, Better, Best: Three Reviews of New Media

I am a sucker for tear-jerker storybook animals like Lassie and Black Beauty and Misty of Chincoteague.  Therefore, I was disappointed when Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog and the Woman She Rescued did not quite turn out to be the moving pet story I thought it would be.  Mostly, it's the true story of a young woman emerging from a destructive past and slowly realizing what following Christ is all about.  The neglected Australian shepherd Laurie adopts aids her in learning authenticity, trust, joy and hope.  I found the writing style distracting, as needless dialogue and awkward narrative make the story seem a bit forced.  I ended up skim-reading parts.  Still, there are nuggets of truth and heartwarming anecdotes any dog-lover will enjoy.  And yes, I did cry when the dog died.  Except she didn't die.  Oh, you'll just have to read it yourself to know what I mean.  Keep reading to learn how to get a free copy.  (This book was provided for review by the WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group.  You can purchase it here.)

I'm fairly certain Phil Vischer, of VeggieTales fame, has more creativity in his pinky toe than the rest of us 7 billion inhabitants of Earth possess collectively.  Don't you love it when someone with a God-given talent uses it to build up the kingdom?  That's reason number one why I was excited to hear of the release of Phil's "What's In the Bible?" DVD series in March.  The other reason: we've got heaps of bibliology-illiterate folks sitting in our churches these days.  Many Christians aren't prepared to intelligently defend their faith and the Book on which their faith is (or should be) founded.  I have a hunch that's partly because when they (we) were kids, they learned Bible stories without really learning the Bible.  What is the Bible?  How did we get it?  Why is it organized the way it is?  Is it meant to be taken literally?  What does the word "bible" even mean, for goodness' sake?  These are some of the questions Phil Vischer sets out to answer for kids, using a delightful cast of puppets, catchy songs, high-quality production, and lots of humor.  I love, love, love the concept.  After hearing glowing reviews, I purchased the first (of three, so far) DVD ($14.99), including two 25-minute episodes: "What Is the Bible?" and "Who Wrote the Bible?"  I laughed and learned and I tapped my toes to the music.  Yes, I would love to add my glowing review to the rest.  However, some unsatisfactory tiptoeing around controversial issues gives me serious reservations.  The most disturbing is how the narrative of creation in Genesis chapter 1 is left open to interpretation.  According to Phil, it's a matter of opinion whether or not God created the world in six literal, 24-hour days.  He even invokes the worn-out and illogical argument: "with the Lord a day is like a thousand years" (2 Peter 3:8).  (For an excellent 2-minute rebuttal, listen to this.)  Alas, if only there were some way to edit out these moments of wishy-washy theology, I would heartily endorse "What's In the Bible?" DVDs.

And now we come to a product I can endorse, yea even urge you to purchase.   In fact, it deserves a post all its own.  It deserves a blog all its own.  Shoot, it deserves an internet all its own.  It is "Counting Stars", singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson's July 27 release.  I am still digesting these 13 songs of a Christ-follower's struggle and peace, longing and fulfillment, transgression and redemption.  Andrew's music always moves me deeply and this is perhaps his most intimate collection yet.  Give me a little more time to absorb.  For now, I'll simply quote Jonathan Rogers: "These songs aren’t safe. They hunker down and wrestle around, and they come up limping. The hope they express is hard-won."  Hard-won hope; authentic, unshakeable hope: that's the album in a nutshell.  You will not regret purchasing it.


Thanks to the good folks at WaterBrook Multnomah, I have a free copy of Blind Hope to give away.  For your chance to win, leave a comment recommending a book/movie/album you've recently read/watched/heard.

Wallenberg: Missing Hero

I am not in the habit of writing letters willy-nilly to foreign heads of state.

However, I just sent an e-mail to Vladimir Putin, Prime Minister of Russia.  It was mostly copied-and-pasted from a suggested letter I found online.  It begins:

Dear President,
It has been sixty years since Raoul Wallenberg, the Swedish diplomat who saved tens of thousands during World War II was captured by the Soviet army. His fate is still unknown. One thing is certain - he is still in your country.

To my shame, a few weeks ago, I didn't know the name Raoul Wallenberg.  Reading his biography by Kati Marton changed that forever.  Upon completing the book last night, I felt compelled to do something--hence the note addressed to the Kremlin.

Raoul Wallenberg led a fascinating life.  The son of Sweden's equivalent of the Rockefellers, he studied in America, travelled the world--and then found his calling as savior of the beleaguered Jews of Budapest.  Commissioned by neutral Sweden and the U.S., he moved to Hungary's capital city near the end of World War II, and began the seemingly-impossible task of pulling Jewish men, women, and children from the deadly jaws of Adolf Eichmann and the Third Reich.  He came up with a brilliant system of issuing Swedish "passports" to thousands of Budapest Jews.  They were essentially worthless, but he and his staff distributed them with such bold confidence that the occupying Nazis were set back on their heels in confused hesitation.  Thus he bought precious time as the Jews waited for the Allied liberation of their city.

Whenever a pogrom was organized, whenever another batch of starving Jews were rounded up for a march to the labor camps, whenever they were lined up along the Danube to be shot and drowned, the Swede would show up.  In his politely firm and quietly confident manner, he would elbow past the Nazi soldiers and announce, "I am Wallenberg."  And a ripple of hope would move through the masses of slump-shouldered people with ragged stars of David sewn to their thin coats.  Many of them would get to go home that night, clutching their "passports".  One more hellish day had been survived, thanks to Wallenberg.

There were assassination attempts, there were threatening letters from Nazi officials, there were exhausting weeks and months on end with little sleep.  Perhaps worst of all there was the constant knowledge that he couldn't possibly save everyone that needed him.  But Wallenberg never seemed to waver.  While much of the world turned a blind eye to Hitler's atrocities, Wallenberg did something about it.

Yes, Raoul Wallenberg's remarkable life perhaps can only be surpassed by the tragic mystery of his death.  Russia's "liberation" of Hungary in 1945 was just a violent transfer of power from one totalitarian regime to another.  Instead of being treated like the hero that he was, Wallenberg was taken prisoner by the Red Army and transported to Moscow, under the accusation that he was a spy for the capitalist West.  He was never to be seen a free man again.

The Gulag was a barely-survivable prison system at its best, but Wallenberg was treated even sterner than the usual prisoner.  He was a pawn the Russians could perhaps use as future leverage with their enemies.  Solitary confinement was the rule, therefore, likely with frequent interrogations and torture sessions.  He was denied a trial, forbidden any communication with his family or the outside world, refused anything close to proper nutrition or hygiene.

It is undisputed that Wallenberg endured such conditions for at least two years.  Beyond that, his tracks are hard to trace.  Both Sweden and America were hesitant to confront Russia about the mistreatment of their diplomat. The Cold War was settling in; Stalin, and then his successor Khrushchev, were feared.  Thus months turned into years and years into decades, with no real pressure put on Russia to explain the disappearance of Raoul Wallenberg.

When the Kremlin was finally forced to give an explanation, they produced a document stating Wallenberg died of cardiac arrest in prison in 1947 and his body was cremated.  Why, then, do Gulag survivors report brief encounters with a Swedish diplomat named Wallenberg--as late as the mid-1970s?  In fact, there is the very slimmest of possibilities he is still alive today, tucked away in some forlorn cell.  He would now be 97 years old.

The Kremlin knows what really happened to Raoul Wallenberg.  Or, at least they could find out; there are records somewhere.  At this point, the motive is not to place blame, but to bring home a hero, to lay him to rest properly.  Shouldn't his story be told?  Shouldn't his life be honored and his death memorialized?

Words from a Budapest monument to Wallenberg (stolen before it could be unveiled, and never replaced):  "This monument is our silent and eternal gratitude to him and should always remind us of his eternally lasting humanity in an inhuman period."

That is why I have joined the other estimated 20,000 who have sent messages to Vladimir Putin.  You can, too.

Learn more about Raoul Wallenberg here.

Go North! You(ng) Reader

The opening two words ("Toooothy cow!") of Book Two of the Wingfeather Saga immediately transported me back to Aerwiar, the fabulous land created by author (and amazing singer/songwriter/Christian/proprietor) Andrew Peterson. It had been a well over a year since my first visit in Book One, and I was more than ready to return. Ready to face those fearsome toothy cows roaming Glipwood Forest, ready to hear from the sea dragons again, ready to follow the young unlikely hero and his tight-knit family on their dangerous journey.

The official summary of North! Or Be Eaten:

Readers thrilled to the phantasmagorical adventures in On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, Book One of the Wingfeather Saga. Now in Book Two, Janner, Tink, and Leeli Igiby, mom Nia, ex-pirate grandfather Podo, Peet the Sock Man, and trusty dog Nugget flee north to rebel headquarters.

Their escape brings readers to the very brink of Fingap Falls , over the Stony Mountains , and across the Ice Prairies, while villains galore try to stop the Igibys permanently. Fearsome toothy cows and horned hounds return, along with new dangers: a mad man running a fork factory, a den of rockroaches, and majestic talking sea dragons.

Andrew Peterson’s lovable characters create what FantasyBookCritic.com says made Book One “one of the best fantasy novels in a very long time,” and Book Two contains even more thrills, exploring “themes universal in nature, ranging from the classic good versus evil, to the importance of family, and burdens of responsibility.”

(Me again...) All but gone are the hilarious but distracting footnotes employed in Book One. In North! Or Be Eaten, Peterson seems to settle in to the story and tell it in earnest. Janner Igiby, the protagonist, finds himself alone for much of the story, and the character development during that stretch is superb. Action scenes were painfully slow at certain points; still, the story drew me in and kept me up long after my normal bedtime. I am counting the days till Book Three is released.

Bottom line: read it!

Thanks to Staci and company at Waterbrook Press for a pre-release copy of the book to read and one to give away. That's right, I said give away. Leave a comment, any comment, and you may just be the happy recipient. Of course, you can purchase it for yourself here. But beware the toothy cows!

In Praise of Homesteaders, Prairies, and all things Midwestern

Today's entry of "The Writer's Almanac" included this bit of history trivia:

"It was on this day in 1862 that President Abraham Lincoln signed the Homestead Act. Settlers who paid a filing fee of 10 dollars and agreed to live on a piece of land for at least five consecutive years were given 160 acres for free. By 1900, homesteaders had filed 600,000 claims for 80 million acres. Willa Cather's parents set out to homestead in Nebraska, Laura Ingalls Wilder's parents in South Dakota, Lawrence Welk's family in North Dakota, and George Washington Carver in Kansas."

As a lover of history, a lover of America, and especially a lover of the Great Plains, I tip my metaphorical hat to the Cathers, the Ingallses, the Welks, the Carvers, and the other 600,000+ homesteaders.  My own grandfather, who I sadly never had the chance to meet, was one of those who rode a covered wagon west with his family, post-Homestead Act, to the young state of South Dakota.

It was an almost sacred quest for land.  Until the Homestead Act, land ownership the world over had pretty much only been for the wealthy and well-bred, or for those who were willing to fight tooth and nail for it.  And now: ten dollars for a square quarter-mile of rich soil?  A tenspot for the chance to start over, make something of yourself, do what your parents had only dreamt of doing in the Old Country?  Inconceivable.

Hollywood would have us believe it was just as much a quest for freedom, adventure, and that soul-longing to watch the sun set over unpeopled hills.  Maybe it was for some.  But I wonder if most homesteaders wouldn't have identified more with the fright Willa Cather felt upon reaching the untamed, eerily quiet prairie which was to be her home.  She wrote this about the wagon journey she made as a young girl from Virginia to Nebraska:

"As we drove further and further out into the country, I felt a good deal as if we had come to the end of everything--it was a kind of erasure of personality.  I would not know how much a child's life is bound up in the woods and hills and meadows around it, if I had not been thrown out into a country as bare as a piece of sheet iron."

The land grew on her, though.  Later she wrote: "We come and go, but the land is always here.  And the people who love it and understand it are the people who own it--for a little while."  Cather loved and understood better than most this land and its people.  Her books O Pioneers! and My Antonia are poignant portraits of homesteading life on "the divide" of south-central Nebraska.  Another deeply moving book I came across along these lines is Giants in the Earth by O.E. Rolvaag.  Of course, there's also the timeless Little House on the Prairie series.  And right now I'm savoring each page of The Dry Divide by Ralph Moody, which takes place around Oberlin, Kansas a good deal after homesteading days, but tells the same story: working the land as a means of survival--and falling in love with it in the process.

If I had a dime for every complaint I've heard from easterners (or westerners too, for that matter) about the topography of the rural Midwest--well, I'd have just about enough to buy a ranch there myself.  "It's so flat...there's nothing to look at...I got bored out of my mind driving across Nebraska...when I finally saw the Rockies ahead I promised myself I would never make that drive down I-70 again..."

Mindless complaining--we Americans have become experts at this.  I think such remarks do a disservice to both the pioneers and homesteaders of yesterday, and the farmers and ranchers of today.  Remember, one Kansas farmer feeds 129 people plus you.  And though $50,000 combines have replaced teams of horses pulling headers and binders, the love for the land is still alive and well.  If that love is beyond your understanding, read Cather.  Or at the very least, shut up.  My goodness, it felt good to write that.

I'm no agriculture guru; I didn't even grow up on a farm, which is what everyone assumes when they hear my roots are in South Dakota/Minnesota/Kansas.  But I do know the reserved, stalwart people of the Great Plains have a special place in my heart.  I know America is the better for its vast middle-section and its people who stick out tornadoes and drought and the lure of an easier life in the city.  And I know that right now I would give anything to hear the music of wind in wheat and see 180 degrees of blue sky--the same sky that greeted the courageous homesteaders 150 years ago.

Only Nuns Change Habits Overnight

It's a privilege to participate in blog tours of newly-released books from WaterBrook/Multnomah. When this book was introduced, I leapt at the chance to review it, for two reasons:

1. I have some bad habits that I despise, and I want to be free. (And if you think I'm going to bare my soul with the specifics here, you've got another thing coming.)

2. If there's one thing I love in this fallen world, it's the clever, humorous usage of the English language. The book's title is precisely that--as are the chapter titles (e.g. "What if the Hokey Pokey Really IS What It's All About?").

What I missed in the hurried sign-up process was the subtitle: "52 Amazing Ways to Master the Art of Personal Change." But I figured it out quickly when the book arrived and I began reading: this book was not going to change my bad habits, it was going to tell me how to change them.

Rats! That takes work. And time. And painful honesty with myself. And failure before success. And more work. And lots and lots more time.

OK, I'll admit one (and only one!) of the bad habits I'm aching to change: procrastination.

Yet, here it is, January 4... and the book review was supposed to be posted by January 2. I would laugh at the irony, except I'm too sick of this habit to laugh.

The thing is, I don't procrastinate everything. And I didn't used to be that way...it started in college. And I bet I could change if I really tried. Besides, it's never gotten me in too much trouble, so how bad of a habit can it be?

OK... Rationalizing my mistakes. That's another bad habit I have, I admit. (But seriously, this is the last admission you people are dragging out of me.)

But since it's already obvious, I may as well come to terms with my awful habit of rambling when I write, and using excessive punctuation and sentence fragments. And then there's my addiction to limericks...

I am only on #20 of the 52 Ways to Master the Art of Personal Change (did I mention the habit of reading too slowly?), but I'm ready to recommend it if you, like I, are ready to change. Just get ready to roll your eyes at the author's corny humor along the way. The 52 suggestions Karen Scalf Linamen offers vary from so-simple-I-can't-believe-you're-getting-paid-to-write-that, to agonizingly difficult. I've done a couple and they work. Oh, they don't miraculously make you brush your teeth after every meal like you've always meant to...or stop judging others by appearances...or start praying for God's will and meaning it... but they do get you re-evaluating your habits and beginning the process of change.

Thank you, Mrs. Linamen, for writing the book I need. I just wish you would do the work of changing my habits.

Sigh. Yes, laziness is another bad habit I have...

Only Nuns Change Habits Overnight can be purchased here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1400074002

Me, Myself and I AM

One Sunday morning when I was twelve, I was sitting in a church service, full of pre-teen angst.

I am sorry to say I was not listening to the sermon. No, I was thinking how lonely, unfair, and--above all --how misunderstood my life was.

I have forgotten why, but that particular morning I was ready to boil over. It was then that an infinitely patient God, knowing I wasn't paying attention to my dad's preaching, placed a thought in my head: journal.

Of course, I thought it was my own clever idea. As soon as I got home that afternoon, I raided Mom's closet for a notebook. The victim I chose had a dark blue cover to reflect my mood, and it was college ruled so I could cram all my self-righteous assertions into its unsuspecting pages.

I wasted no time. Finally, I thought, I have an outlet for self-expression. Make that selfish expression. Every time my fragile feelings got hurt or the world didn't treat me with the respect I deserved, I marched to my bedroom, whipped out my notebook, and wrote. And wrote... and wrote.

I'm not proud of the way I began journaling. But I'm thankful, oh-so-thankful, the Lord not only gave me the idea, but also patiently guided my writing. The blue notebook was followed by the green one, and then the red one... Likewise, immature rants gradually gave way to a more balanced perspective. I began documenting my aspirations and honest soul-searching; then my meditations on God's Word and written prayers.

My journals chronicle my spiritual journey, and I've kept all of them. They contain written expression of thoughts and ideas just between God and me. But sometimes I go through a period when the journal gathers dust and the pen lies still. I'm not sure what brings on dry spells, but I do know I am not the same when I'm not journaling regularly. It means I'm not internalizing that which the Lord is teaching me.

Well, I've had a dry spell recently, and I've needed a jumpstart. Enter a remarkable little book:

Yes, I admit it. All of this has been leading up to a book recommendation.

Me, Myself and I AM is a sleek little hard-back book that packs a punch. All it does is ask questions. But when those questions are probing questions about your relationship with the Lord, all you need is a little honesty and you're well on your way to some serious introspection. Warning: you may not like what you discover about yourself. I'm on page 48, and I've had a few surprises, veteran journaler that I am.

Not all the questions are life-changing, granted. But who doesn't like listing their favorite foods and cool Christmas presents?

Then you turn the page and have to confront this one: "Three things I do currently that I am not proud of." Or how about, "The word that best describes Jesus' place in my life is..."

Bottom line: this book, coupled with the all-important honesty-factor and a little time, is an effective way to get to know yourself and your relationship with Jesus for what it really is. Even after I make it though page 83, I've got plenty of fodder for journaling on my own again.

Me, Myself and I Am can be purchased here: http://www.christianbook.com/

Want a FREE copy for yourself? Leave me a comment. Any comment.

Calling all discriminate readers on a wild goose chase...

My "to-read" book list is long and getting longer. So many good books, so little time, so many distractions. But a new book just caught my eye and has trumped some other reads that have been on my list for a while. On deck:From the introduction: “Celtic Christians had a name for the Holy Spirit–An Geadh-Glas, or ‘the Wild Goose.’ The name hints at mystery. Much like a wild goose, the Spirit of God cannot be tracked or tamed. An element of danger, an air of unpredictability surround Him. And while the name may sound a little sacrilegious, I cannot think of a better description of what it’s like to follow the Spirit through life. I think the Celtic Christians were on to something….Most of us will have no idea where we are going most of the time. And I know that is unsettling. But circumstantial uncertainty also goes by another name: Adventure.”

Is it any wonder this book caught my eye? The last two years, and especially the last few months, have been full of uncertainty for me. Job, home, relationships, ministry, finances: all have been up in the air and only very recently have a couple of these been somewhat resolved. In light of this, the concept of the Christian life as Adventure is intriguing. I yearn for a God-glorifying attitude in the face of constant circumstancial instability. It's my hope that this book will help me find and keep that.

At surface, I concur with Mark Batterson's premise; whether I find his conclusions to hold up to Biblical truth is yet to be determined. Here's where YOU come in to play. I want a reading partner. In fact, I have a copy of Wild Goose Chase to give away. If you're interested, leave a comment here recommending a book you've recently read.

A suggestion. And a strong one, at that.

Hey you! Yeah, you. The one staring at the monitor.

Mind if I give you some advice?

It is simply this:
Keep a reader's journal.

You thought I was going to advise changing your underwear daily or taking vitamin C supplements, huh? I'll leave the tidbits of common sense living to your mother; I want to address this void in your life that you probably didn't know you have. After all, I myself hadn't even heard of such a thing until March 6, 2004. Oh, I'd been keeping track of books I'd read ever since I was 12 or so...but it wasn't until that blustery day in Virginia Beach that I saw an actual hard-cover book entitled The Reader's Journal. It had a little nick on the cover and had thus been relegated to the clearance table--which is the only place to shop in bookstores, if you ask me. (Henry Ward Beecher once exclaimed, "Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore!" But I wonder if even Hank himself wouldn't find today's book prices a bit steep.)

I am sure there are many different versions of reader's journals out there and I just didn't know it. I'm glad this area of ignorance didn't last any longer than age 21.

Let me tell you about my reader's journal, which quickly became one of my most beloved books itself. It is divided into 11 sections, each cleverly titled with a famous work of literature which describes the purpose of that section.

One section I use often is Great Expectations. It is there that I record books I would like to read. I'm always on the lookout for good reads and when I hear of one I add it to my list of great expectations. Then I take my reader's journal with me whenever I visit the library. Gone are the days of aimless wandering amid bookshelves thinking, "I wish I could remember that one author's name who wrote that one book I heard about!"

Another section (Sense and Sensibility) is for detailed records of the books I have read and my thoughts about them. Thus, with the flip of a page, I can find what I was reading in October, 2006: Giants in the Earth by O.E. Rolvaag ("Great character development and interesting storytelling techniques. Reminded me of Willa Cather's work--the land, Dakota territory, was such a big part of the plot. Made me long for the prairies...") My dad, for example, never watches a movie or reads a book twice. But I return to favorite books over and over again and its always like a reunion with an old friend. With my reader's journal, I have a record of my dearest book-friends.

Then there's Kidnapped, for recording lists of the books I have borrowed or lent. (If you borrow a book from me and don't return it: beware!) And there are other sections for recording addresses of bookstores or libraries, memorable quotations from favorite books, lists of books I have given or received as gifts, and those I have added to my every-growing personal library.

The great Francis Bacon wrote, "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some to be chewed and digested." Keeping a reader's journal, I believe, helps one be aware of every bite and savor the best.

And the winner is...

It's official...Carol Floyd is the winner of a free copy of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson! Her odds were good: 1 out of 3 (one entered via e-mail, in case you're keeping track). This evening I threw three slips of paper into one of my dad's baseball caps and asked my mom to do the honors. First, however, I had to explain to her what the drawing was about--a terrible blow to my pride to think that my own mother doesn't even read my obscure little blog. I consoled myself with the fact that Bach's compositions were not widely appreciated until after his death. But I digress. Congratulations to my friend Carol and best wishes for happy reading!

A Rare Recipe: book review of "On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness"

Singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson has given about nine years and seven albums-worth of proof that he is a wordsmith par excellence with a heart uncommonly in tune to eternal truth and mystery. I was not surprised, therefore, to find his first full-length book to be well-written, creative, and full of biblical concepts like forgiveness, redemption, loyalty and servanthood. Indeed, I would have expected no less.

What I wasn't quite expecting is the downright silliness on the surface of AP's story. I say "on the surface" because it quickly becomes obvious that, though AP, with a boyish adventurousness, invites his readers to share in the quirky world of Aerwiar--complete with talking lizards, snot-wax candles, toothy cows, and a revolting recipe for "maggotloaf"--his real concern is that his readers are given cause to ponder the eternal truths of our own world. In fact, as I read, I began to envy AP for the incredible fun he must've had writing this book! He peppers thoughtfulness with humor, deep truths with goofy fantasy. That's a nearly impossible recipe to pull off--even trickier than mixing up a batch of maggotloaf!--but Andrew Peterson does it as well as it can be done, I dare say.

Whether or not you fully embrace the wacky humor of the author, you will be drawn into the story and amazed at the twists the plot takes toward the end of the book. One of the mysteries I figured out a few pages before the characters did--and when it hit me, I actually had to lay aside the book for a minute to process the stunning and glorious implications. Later, a conversation among the main characters prompted tears on my part, as it gave me a glimpse into the beautiful mystery of self-sacrificing love, epitomized in Christ's love for the Church.

Some mysteries remain with the closing of the book. What tragic secret does Arthram harbor about his past? What will happen to the Igiby children? Will the sea dragons sing again? These questions will be answered in the coming installments of "The Wingfeather Saga," and along the way I look forward to lots more laughs, a few more tears, and plenty of food for thought--none of it maggotloaf-type fare!

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness can be purchased here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1400073847

And now the cool part...
I was privileged to secure two pre-release copies of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness for a blog tour of the book. One copy has my name on it and it shall remain in my library for ever and always...but the other copy is up for grabs! Leave a comment on this post and I will randomly choose a comment-er on Saturday, March 22, as the happy recipient of the book. I'll send it straight to your home and you can begin "The Wingfeather Saga" for yourself!

The Enigma of Joseph Smith

When I checked out No Man Knows My History, I was planning on a skim read. That was three weeks ago, and I have just now finished the epilogue. I read every word, including the footnotes, and I anticipate appendices A, B, and C to provide another few days of top-notch reading.

This book is the definitive, thorough biography of Joseph Smith, founder of Mormonism. Thinking of the detailed research author Fawn Brodie performed in order to write these 500 well-documented pages makes my head hurt. Nor was the book simply a dry recitation of names, places and dates. Brodie's rich, colorful language would make the most drab historical figure leap off the pages of her book.

But Brodie's subject was anything but a drab historical figure. No, indeed! I wonder whether anyone at all has ever squeezed so much drama into thirty-nine years of life. There were Joseph Smith's spectacular religious experiences, of course; but controversy, scandal and persecution were just as much a part of his days. His charismatic personality drew people to him—rich and poor, young and old, Americans and internationals—but many turned traitor and some of his closest friends became his worst enemies. He was a dreamer and a schemer; he rewrote the ancient history of America, he gave revelations as from God, he attempted miracles (sometimes successfully), he ran for President, he earned a reputation as a champion wrestler, he escaped from the law multiple times, he married over forty women, he formed his own army and founded his own city. He was rarely treated fairly; either he was adored and blindly obeyed or he was savagely attacked with word and weapon. He fell victim to the hostile frontier mob and in the end died a violent and unjust death at their hands.

Yet for all his biographer's hard work, Joseph Smith remains an enigma to me. Reading one page made me shake my head at his genius, the next at his outrageous blunders. He kept extensive journals, but these contain only guarded expressions of his thoughts. It's as if he expected to be the subject of a 500-page book. There is, therefore, no way to know his mind. Quite frankly, I am mystified by Joseph Smith.

"In a wanton moment of self-searching," Brodie writes, "[Smith] said with a kind of wonder: 'You don't know me; you never knew my heart. No man knows my history. I cannot tell it: I shall never undertake it. I don't blame anyone for not believing my history. If I had not experienced what I have, I could not have believed it myself'" (366).

More baffling than Joseph Smith's life is his legacy. How could a man—a poor, uneducated man at that—singlehandedly raise up an entire religious system, complete with its own prophets, missionaries, scriptures, business holdings and social culture? One hundred and sixty-four years after Smith's death, Mormonism is 13 million strong and steadily growing. And each individual convert must confess Joseph Smith was a prophet and the first book he authored ( The Book of Mormon) is true.

It would seem, then, that Joseph Smith was successful. He sought after fame all his life; now his face plasters billboards and looks down from fireplace mantles across Utah and around the world. He wanted to speak for God; now his books are confessed by millions to be equal with the Bible. He yearned for respect; now he has the unparalleled glory of a martyr.

It could be argued, however, that success is measured by the extent that one's work endures through the passing of time. In this respect, couldn't Joseph Smith be labeled a failure? After all, the church that enthusiastically claims him as prophet does not claim many of his teachings. He taught that the Lamanites of The Book of Mormon were the "principal ancestors" of the American Indians; the LDS Church has changed his wording, realizing this claim to be completely unjustifiable by modern science and archeology. He specified his son Joseph III should be his successor; after his death, the church was split into several factions, with the majority following Brigham Young. Perhaps most notably, he claimed "spiritual wifism" to be "a command of God" to last "for time and all eternity"; today the LDS Church denounces all who practice polygamy. And the examples could go on and on. There is no doubt that mainstream Mormonism today is vastly different than in Joseph Smith's lifetime. Essentially, the prophet is ignored among his own people. His work has not stood the test of time.

Being a Christian, I cannot help but draw a contrast with the person of Jesus Christ. His words have endured for thousands of years. His teachings have remained the same. Although not all of His prophecies have been fulfilled yet, not one of them has been changed to accomodate modern discoveries. His historical claims have been backed up repeatedly by archaeological proof. There is no need to backtrack, gloss over, or give more recent revelations. Jesus Christ is Truth. And truth doesn't change. It endures.

Like Joseph Smith, Christ remains something of an enigma to me. However, the mystery surrounding Christ is not dark at all. It inspires awe, not a confused shake of the head. The more I learn about Christ and the closer I grow to Him, the more I find Him to be, well, Himself. I have never found cause for disillusionment. That's one point where Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith differ irreconcilably. The only surprises I encounter in Christ's character are good ones. And the more of those surprises I find, the more I long for. I will be happy to spend my eternity endeavoring to plumb the depths of His wisdom and ways.
No Man Knows My History: The Life of Joseph Smith, Second Edition by Fawn M. Brodie. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1971.