I haven't finished reading today's Wild Card book, but I like what I've read so far. Pink has a unique take on the typical how-to business book. If you're a visual person, or not a typical business person, this is a great book for you. Using analogies and visual images from the rainforest, Pink applies business strategies and shows his readers how to take their businesses to the next level.

However, this book isn't just for business owners. Anyone--and I'm thinking particularly of authors here--who wants to think of new ways to maximize their productivity and creativity can benefit from reading this book.

Today's Wild Card author is:

Michael Pink

and the book:

Rainforest Strategy

Excel Books (October 7, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Michael Pink is the founder of Selling Among Wolves, a Biblically based sales training and development firm specializing in adapting Biblical strategies and principles to the business development process. He has recently launched The Rainforest Institute in the Republic of Panama to distill and pass on amazing business lessons from the most productive, fruitful and diverse ecosystem in the world—the rainforest. Michael has consulted with or trained companies from small, family owned businesses to companies on the Fortune 100 list. He does seminars and/or serves clients in Europe, Central America, the Caribbean, Canada and the United States.



Visit the author's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $ 21.99

Hardcover: 256 pages

Publisher: Excel Books (October 7, 2008)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1599793725

ISBN-13: 978-1599793726



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The Epiphany



Better Than Gold



Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.1



John Milton



E verything you need to learn about business can be learned in the rainforest. Those words landed on my soul like distant thunder with an authority only a father can bring, yet I was alone. They were at once reassuring and at the same time seemingly preposterous. How could anyone learn anything about business from observing an ecosystem as yet untouched by man? My own question contained the seeds of the answer. It was a system, an “eco” system.



The night before that thunderous idea hit my soul, my wife and I were enjoying some fresh seviche, a local favorite consisting of tropical fish marinated in citrus and served with lightly salted chips that made our arduous journey to the mountain village of Boquete, Panama, well worth the effort. It’s a top retirement choice for many Americans due to its eternal springlike climate where temperatures seldom get above the mid-eighties by day or below the mid-fifties by night. The air was thick with the fragrance of orchids, and the sounds of exotic birds enchanted our every moment.



As we dined in an open-air café under the slowly turning ceiling fan, watching the sun kiss the mountains good night, I overheard two women discussing their travel that day into the rainforest. Their voices were filled with wonder and utter amazement at what they had seen. They described another world, a world I had never seen. It was Jurassic Park but not as dangerous. I knew I had to see it as soon as possible. It wasn’t their description of beauty and exotic life-forms that grabbed my attention, but rather it was their observation of cooperation and relationship between species that piqued my interest.



They spoke in hushed, reverential tones about the symbiotic relationships between various insect species and how when you get about 100 feet inside the forest, you are enveloped by peace and quickly lose track of not only your sense of time, but also, as I later discovered, of every worry, concern, and stress that so easily plague us in our day-to-day lives. I was hooked! I had to get to the rainforest and experience this for myself. For that to occur, we would have to return, as our time there had come to an end.



Upon returning home, one of the first things I did was look on the Internet to see if anyone else had ever considered the notion of the rainforest as a business model. Immediately I found, What We Learned in the Rainforest: Business Lessons from Nature by Tachi Kiuchi, chairman and CEO Emeritus of Mitsubishi Electric America, and Bill Shireman, chairman and CEO of the Future 500. These guys had parachuted into Costa Rica and other rainforests, and what they observed changed the way they ran their businesses. They maintain that “by gleaning information from nature—the very system it once sought to conquer—business can learn how to adapt rapidly to changing market conditions and attain greater and more sustainable profits.”2 Wow! Maybe that thunderous thought I heard in Panama wasn’t so far-fetched after all! Maybe the answers to my business challenges could be found in the rainforest.



Like many of you, I wanted to know how to survive and even thrive in the junglelike environment we compete in every day. I wanted to know how to succeed using the most time-proven principles of all, the principles built into nature itself. And like many of you, I was constrained by lack of resources. My vision outstripped provision, and I needed to find a solution.



Eco-system...Eco-logic...Eco-nomics



Interestingly enough, the word ecosystem is derived from the words oikos (which is Greek and means the home or household) and system (which is a set of interacting or interdependent entities forming an integrated whole). In other words, an ecosystem is a model of a complex system with multiple components executing varied processes to achieve a unified purpose. That sounds like business to me! In one very real sense, the rainforest is a business. It manufactures pure, breathable air for everyone on the planet to enjoy. Acting like lungs, the rainforest converts vast quantities of carbon dioxide (a poisonous gas that mammals exhale) into cool, refreshing, life-sustaining air through the process of photosynthesis.



In the rainforest, energy flows through various levels, ensuring the transformation of materials from one state to another. It begins with nonliving matter like gas, water, or minerals and turns them into living tissue in the form of plants. These are consumed by animals producing more tissue and ultimately waste as it’s recycled through the system over and over again, teaching us among other things a great deal about efficiency. Just studying the processes that make this possible can revolutionize manufacturing alone, as Kiuchi and Shireman attest.



The word economics combines the Greek word oikos (household) with nomos (custom or law) to give us “the rules (or laws) of household management.” Ecology goes one step further by studying the science, the “logic,” the source code if you will, of what makes household management really work. When we look at economics, we explore the relationship between supply and demand, between producers and consumers, between spending and earning, between giving and receiving and what people can do to maximize their goals within that framework. The rainforest provides an excellent model for observation of these relationships.



What’s interesting about ecology is that it goes beyond observing laws and interactions to arrive at the discovery of ways or principles that transcend time and place and can be applied anywhere. It’s more than rules. It gives life and animates whatever is touched by it, be that business or family or government. When we study ecology, we peer into a higher form of learning, complex yet simple, dynamic and at the same time constant, and lush with principles, models, and even strategies waiting to be discovered. It gives us a glimpse into the mind of infinite wisdom, expressed in a myriad of ways through the things that are created.



Ecology and economies happen within a context—the context of community. Those communities or systems may well be a forest or mangrove, a coral reef or a family, a village, or even a city or business. When we approach the rainforest, we do so knowing it could represent any number of other communities from business to government to social circles. For the purpose of this book, we will look at the rainforest with entrepreneurial eyes to glean principles and strategies to help us succeed in business while at the same time getting in touch with the wisdom behind the systems. While I believe the rainforest is a picture of an economic system as a whole, I will focus on the specific truths that can turn companies into thriving enterprises while giving us all a greater sense of accomplishment in a context of more peace and greater meaning.



Hidden Wealth



For centuries explorers have hacked their way through the jungles in search of gold, unaware they were surrounded by something better than gold if they only had eyes to see. There is so much information, so much revelation waiting to be harvested by studying the created order and, in particular, the highly abundant, lush rainforests found in tropical regions around the world. In recent years scientists have begun exploring the rainforest in search of cures for all manner of diseases—and with much success too. They have begun to recognize some of the wealth hidden in the primitive rainforests the world over. Companies like MonaVie and XanGo have turned to the rainforest to find exotic blends of natural berries full of powerful antioxidants to increase vitality and enhance life.



But there’s more, much more. As we move beyond the industrial economy to a more knowledge-based economy, business is beginning to recognize that the real profit to be earned from nature comes from the principles by which it flourishes, more than the exploitation of its resources. The rainforest is the most fruitful, productive, and diverse ecosystem on the planet despite having limited capital. (It has limited, poor-quality topsoil.) So the question beckons: How does the rainforest deliver so much fruitfulness, so much productivity, and so much diversity from relative scarcity? The answer to this question is what every business owner, entrepreneur, and household manager needs to know, and I intend to show you!



By rightly discerning what makes the rainforest so fruitful and productive despite having to work with limited resources, and by wisely interpreting the systems of the rainforest, we can begin to assemble a model for business that has tremendous potential to revolutionize our businesses and our lives. Indeed, the way forward in business and life is to become more like a complex living system that adapts to change, conserves resources, and produces abundance—all without breaking a sweat!



Consider this: The Royal Library of Alexandria in Alexandria, Egypt, founded in 283 b.c. by Ptolemy II, was once the largest library in the world. It had over half a million documents from the ancient world, including Assyria, Greece, Persia, Egypt, India, and many other nations. Over one hundred scholars were said to have lived on-site working full-time to perform research, write, lecture, or translate and copy documents. This incredible treasure trove of ancient knowledge was burned to the ground in 48 b.c., with Julius Caesar being the most likely culprit. It has been considered the greatest loss of knowledge in history, but now, every day a greater source of knowledge is being destroyed in a misguided quest for gain.



Astonishing Facts



According to the organization Save the Rainforest, “A typical four-mile square mile patch of rainforest contains as many as 1,500 species of flowering plants, 750 species of trees, 125 mammal species, 400 species of birds, 100 species of reptiles, 60 species of amphibians, and 150 different species of butterflies.” They point out, “There are more fish species in the Amazon river system than in the entire Atlantic Ocean.” And, “A single rainforest reserve in Peru is home to more species of birds than the entire United States.”3



Here are some more facts from their site:



At least 1,650 rainforest plants can be utilized as alternatives to our present fruit and vegetable staples.



Thirty-seven percent of all medicines prescribed in the US have active ingredients derived from rainforest plants.



Seventy percent of the plant species identified by the US National Cancer Institute as holding anti-cancer properties come from rainforests.



Ninety percent of the rainforest plants used by Amazonian Indians as medicines have not been examined by modern science.



Of the few rainforest plant species that have been studied by modern medicine, treatments have been found for childhood leukemia, breast cancer, high blood pressure, asthma, and scores of other illnesses.4



I am not a tree hugger by nature, but I have come to understand the importance of the ecosystems that sustain us and the responsibility we have to sustain them. With stunning disregard to our own mutual welfare, we have destroyed nearly half of the world’s rainforests and, with them, most of the indigenous peoples dwelling therein. In Brazil alone, just five hundred years ago, there were up to ten million indigenous people living in the rainforest. Today, there are fewer than two hundred thousand left alive. We have increased nature’s normal extinction rate by an estimated 10,000 percent, mostly in the rainforest where thousands of species are becoming extinct every year. Our corporate disregard of the natural order is currently causing the largest mass extinction since the dinosaur age, but at a much faster rate. We need to wake up!



Tropical rainforests circle the equator, maintaining a surprisingly cool, but comfortably warm temperature of roughly 80 degrees, with rainfall ranging from 160 to 400 inches per year, depending on location and terrain. Untouched by previous ice ages and maintaining constant warmth and water intake, tropical rainforests are home to an estimated sixty to eighty million different life-forms. Talk about diversity! But here’s the dirty little secret that people like the Rainforest Action Network want us to know—more than an acre and a half of rainforest is lost every second. That’s like burning an area more than twice the size of Florida every year!5 I hope we figure it out before we cut it all down and lose not only a critical life-sustaining natural resource, but also all the wisdom that could have helped us going forward.



Wisdom Found



Speaking of wisdom, did you know that Solomon, the wisest man in history, had a passion to study and learn from the created order? According to Hebrew Scripture, Solomon “spoke of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall. He spoke also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes. And there came of all people to hear the wisdom of Solomon, from all kings of the earth, who had heard of his wisdom.”6 What is interesting is that Solomon let them determine the fee to be paid him for his wisdom. In one year alone, the weight of gold that came to him “was six hundred threescore and six talents.”7 (That’s over $1 billion in today’s money at current gold prices.) Besides that, he received revenue from the “merchants, and from the traffic of the spice merchants, and from all the kings of Arabia, and from the governors of the country.”8 In short, he was a very prosperous man.



Now, do you think the kings of the earth came to Solomon to learn how to prune an apple tree? Or is it possible that Solomon understood, like other towering figures of history, that the invisible traits of the unseen God are clearly seen by the things He has made?9 That the wisdom of God can be learned in part by studying and reverse engineering the creation around us? That the created order is a textbook without pages containing more wisdom than we can uncover in a million lifetimes?



Come with me on this journey and discover, as Bill Shireman, president and CEO of Future 500, said in a 2002 keynote address to World Futures Society, “Yet despite this scarcity—or because of it—the rainforest is the MOST EFFECTIVE value-creating system in the world.” He wasn’t the first to see it, nor the last. Thankfully, more and more business executives are waking to this truth. In the process, two things occur: First, we begin to value, then preserve, the rainforest as both a repository of wisdom and a storehouse of renewable, replenishable food and medicine with remarkable curative properties. Secondly, we begin to apply the lessons we learn from the rainforest and build enterprises that are self-generating, self-replicating centers of profit that provide immense value and harm none.



Since my first trip to the rainforest, I have been back to Panama a number of times. I have also explored the rainforests of Belize, Costa Rica, Tobago, and even Vancouver Island in British Columbia. The things I learned, we began to immediately apply. In fact, as noted on our Web site www.secretsoftherainforest.com, “Within 90 days of applying these principles, we tripled our staff, tripled our office size and I’m too embarrassed to tell you what happened to our revenues!” What I will tell you is that what used to be monthly revenues in our Internet business are now done (as of the writing of this chapter) a couple of times a day!



You will discover as you read this book what it means to be “rainforest compliant.” It’s a business term I have coined referring to businesses that purposefully employ business lessons from the rainforest. They are businesses that, where possible and feasible, mold and conform their practices, strategies, and operating principles to those observable in the rainforest and reap substantial, measurable, and lasting profit. As part of a larger study, I am currently working with a nonprofit entity to raise funds for a new breed of business school called the Spire School of Business. They have a global mission and require a substantial endowment to get started.



The foundation charged with raising the endowment for the school retained me to set up the structure and systems to achieve their endowment goals. My first order of business was to make them a working model of a “rainforest compliant” business and study the impact on revenues and profits. Prior to my involvement, in their first few years of existence, they had built an endowment of approximately $10 million. Since deliberately applying specific rainforest principles to their endowment growth, that amount has quintupled in only seven months to over $50 million.



If these principles and practical strategies adapted from the rainforest can actually help a former sales trainer (yours truly—www.SellingAmongWolves.com) and business consultant turn a struggling Internet business into a thriving economic engine and help add $40 million in value to a previously unheard of nonprofit endowment in a matter of months, then you might want to consider taking a really close look at what follows in the subsequent chapters. Even if you think you know some of the subject matter, take the time to process the information and see it again in a fresh light.



I expect when you are finished reading this book, you will have had a few “Aha!” moments. Make sure to write down any ingenious ideas you get right away. Don’t expect to remember them later. You won’t. When you read this book, have a notepad with you to jot down ways you can apply the lessons to your business enterprises. When I travel in the rainforest, I carry a pen and pocket-sized notebook so I will be sure to capture the inspirations that seem to hang off every tree like ripe fruit just waiting to be picked. If you would like to join one of our rainforest expeditions where we explore the rainforest in the morning, then return to an upscale hotel near the rainforest to process what we just saw and discuss how to apply those lessons to revolutionize your business, then contact us at 877. 254.3047 or through www.RainforestStrategy.com.



I invested $50,000 to learn growth and management strategies in the rainforest just so I could improve my business. Although I received many times that investment back in short order, I also received the bonus of less stress going forward. On future rainforest quests, we plan to have proven business leaders who have successfully applied rainforest principles to their business pass on their wisdom in a classroom setting back at the rainforest hotel, and help us all grow strong and thriving businesses. The education won’t be cheap, but ignorance is far more costly!



Step into the rainforest with me, and explore the unsearchable riches of wisdom safely embedded in all things living. Business fads come and go, but the wisdom in these pages has been around for a very long time and will not cease to be relevant in the future. Ignore at your own peril and proceed at your own risk, because it takes guts to act on what you are about to read. But if you act, even if you fail, you will learn invaluable life lessons that will serve you well in the future. The rainforest is a blueprint for success, but the execution is up to you, and poor execution, even with superb plans, can still result in failure.



Everyone wants to know the key to the incredible growth and productivity of the rainforest. Many assume it must be the rain. After all, it’s a rainforest. Others assume the topsoil must be rich and plentiful, but it’s not. Still others attribute it to the warmth of the tropical region or abundant sunlight. While it’s true that warmth and light and water play an important role, they are, in fact, supporting roles for something so powerful the rainforest would be sparse without it. It is so subtle it is easily missed or ignored. It is so amazing that when you understand the significance of what it is and how it works, your business will never be the same again. I call it the fungus factor. But to understand it, you must first break the rainforest code.

Laughter is the Best Medicine

The best thing about being home from work with my knee propped up, popping Aleve, and watching it sleet outside? Catching up on Joshilyn Jackson's blog.

Later today I'll make a valiant attempt to go grocery shopping, but I think I'm going to need one of those motorized carts. Someone should warn Krogers.

Back in the Saddle Again

I'm trying to get back into the rhythm of writing again. I've never had to write while working a 40-hour week before, and it's a struggle. There just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day. If you click over to the right on my Nano progress, you'll see the lack thereof.

However, I believe that if God wants me to do this, He will make a way. I've been trying to write while the kids are doing homework at night. Also, once things settle down a bit at my job and I have my lunches free, I'm hoping to write during lunch when I can too.

I wanted to use Nano as a reminder to try and write each day. I haven't been successful at that but I can try again each day. And this weekend I went to the ACFW Indiana chapter meeting and heard Dennis Hensley speak. Being around other writers and listening to a terrific speaker really helped me feel motivated to write again.

On a sort-of related note, I finished reading Courting Miss Adelaide, a LI Historical, by Janet Dean. It was thoroughly delightful and on top of it, I got to meet Janet at the ACFW Indiana meeting. She is such a sweet lady. So if you love historicals, this is one to get.

So is anyone else out there struggling or is it just me? (Please say it's not just me!) Anyone have any great ideas they want to share?

Cute Things Kids Say

We were driving to church the other night while it was snowing. I don't like to drive in the snow at night because no matter what direction the snow is actually blowing, it looks like it's coming right at you while you're driving. I find this distracting.

My son, known on this blog as Calvin, said it looks like we're driving through hyperspace. Which is pretty close to what it looks like. My problem is that I want to follow each one of those streams with my eyes, which is really bad while you're driving.

My daughter, known on this blog as Sissy, said it looked like stars were falling when we walked through the parking lot and the light caught the flakes. I thought that was a really cool description.

Walking through falling stars, driving through hyperspace. . . there are worse ways to spend your time.

Godly Love

I was supposed to post about this book on the 15th and somehow overlooked/forgot it! Which is a shame because it's a rather surprising little book. It looks like a gift book but it talks about a powerful message. In fact, I think the small packaging makes it easier to take the message in small bites and ruminate on it.

A good example is the subtitle: a rose planted in the desert of our hearts. It sounds a little cheesy but if you think about it, God's love is amazing, unnatural to us humans as a rose in the desert, and incredibly transforming. This is definitely a little book worth picking up.


It's the 15th, time for the Non~FIRST blog tour!(Non~FIRST will be merging with FIRST Wild Card Tours on January 1, 2009...if interested in joining, click HERE!)

The feature author is:

Stephen G. Post

and his book:

Godly Love: A Rose Planted in the Desert of our Hearts

Templeton Foundation Press (September 26, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Stephen G. Post has spent a lifetime studying love in its theological, scientific, and practical dimensions. He is president of the Institute for Research on Unlimited Love (IRUL) and professor of bioethics and family medicine in the School of Medicine, Case Western Reserve University. Dr. Post has published one hundred thirty articles in peerreviewed journals and has written or edited fifteen scholarly books on subjects relating to the dynamic of love in our lives. His most recent book is Why Good Things Happen to Good People, coauthored with Jill Neimark. Dr. Post has chaired nine national conferences in his field and has received the Distinguished Service Award from the National Board of the Alzheimers Association. He lives in Shaker Heights, Ohio, with his wife, Mitsuko, and their two children, Emma and Andrew.

Product Details

List Price: $12.95
Paperback: 128 pages
Publisher: Templeton Foundation Press (September 26, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1599471515
ISBN-13: 978-1599471518

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Godly Love and Human Hatreds


In March 2007 I had the honor of spending several days north of Paris with the great Jean Vanier, then in his early eighties. Jean had founded L’Arche (“The Ark”) some four decades earlier, when he was inspired by an experience of Godly love to invite two men with cognitive developmental disabilities into his home. Over the years, L’Arche homes have flourished worldwide as volunteers dwell with the disabled in communities of faith, prayer, and Godly love. I had attended meals in L’Arche homes in Cleveland on a number of occasions, and I had heard the grace said before eating, the hymns sung, and the energy of love that was palpable in the lives of those caregivers and in the experience of those they cared for and lived with.

Jean struck me as one of the most loving, Godly, and humble men I had ever met. He spoke quietly and brilliantly, and he exuded an infectious sense of fun. On one Sunday evening there was a Catholic Mass in an old renovated chapel from the fourteenth century. About one hundred people had gathered there, mostly L’Arche volunteers and people with disabilities. I saw a volunteer wheel one older man named David up to the priest for communion. That night, at dinner, I asked Jean what he thought David had gotten from receiving communion, for David was probably the most severely disabled and agitated person I had encountered there. Jean said, “Whenever David receives communion, he becomes more peaceful, and that is the power of God’s love. Remember, Stephen, we do not know much about the mystery of God’s love and presence.” Jean’s pure, enduring, and expansive love clearly encompassed such a severely disabled man, and counted him among God’s blessed.


Evil in God’s Name


When I encounter a man like Jean Vanier, I feel that we must all stop thinking of God as the epitome of awesome power and strength in the conventional sense. This convention may be partly true, but we need to set it aside; otherwise, we begin to think of God primarily in terms of might, and human arrogance propels us into thinking that because my God is stronger than your God, violence is justified in God’s name. If we think about God in terms of power, then religions become tainted with human arrogance. Far too many prayerful people are carrying rifles in the spirit of pure hatred and pretending that their hatred is somehow divinely sanctioned. This amounts to shallow religiosity, which only causes pain and undermines Godly love. The Lord of power and might is first and foremost the author and giver of all good things, the Divine Entity who nourishes us in love and brings forth from us good works.

We need to stop thinking that our definitions of God are finite and that our knowledge of God’s will is total. Our definitions, even if divinely inspired, are still products of the human mind, and we can never fully understand the Divine. Religious doctrines, if adhered to arrogantly, tend to separate us from one another and shatter the unifying spirit of Godly love that all spirituality seeks to cultivate. When religions place doctrine and force above love, they foment massive evil—from torture to terror, from coercion to conflict. Religious wars exemplify human tribalism and arrogance, both of which bring out the worst in us.

Hatred, hostility, and revenge are such strong emotions that they can crush our fragile sense of Godly love. The pseudospirituality of hatred runs counter to all genuine spirituality, which is always an adventure in love, an expression of love’s deepest desires.


Countering Hatred with Godly Love


The love of power can sometimes overwhelm the power of love, so we must remain humble and guard against this. No matter how little we know about God, we can still experience Godly love. Only by taking Godly love much more seriously than we do now—even inculcating a profound love for one another among ancient, sworn enemies—can we expect to head off a spiral of widespread destruction.

Most of religion and spirituality is rooted in healing emotions, grounded in love. We will never achieve sustained peace in the twenty-first century unless all religions live up to those intrinsic ideals of Godly love, applying those ideals to all of humankind without exception.

The world shows no signs of becoming any less religious; we as humans will always have a passion for Ultimate Truth that provides safe haven and emotional security in times of distress. Yet we will only have a human future if we infuse universal Godly love into the rituals that religions create, and express through our actions spiritual emotions such as forgiveness and compassion. If our religions fail to promote universal Godly love, violence will sweep us all away in a cataclysmic firestorm.


Promoting Harmony and Peace


Godly love alone can realign the world in harmony and peace. Too many kill in God’s name, claiming that they alone know the destiny God intends for humankind. Our limited human knowledge of any divinely inspired destiny to be played out on the human stage belies this specious—and dangerous—claim.

Love is the source of our greatest happiness and security; therefore love is the Ultimate Good, the Supreme Good. Nothing else comes close, for love underlies the creative energy that propels us from birth to death. The withholding of love drives to destruction those deprived of love’s nurturing, its compassion, and its life-giving blessings. This occurs most notably in critical developmental periods during childhood. And it holds just as true for a child in a nursery as it does for an older adult in a hospice.

Our religions, which offer models of righteous living, must put into practice their visions of Godly love, or they risk becoming sidelined, or, worse, irrelevant.

Everybody Disco!

I'm sitting here watching the snow fall. It's so beautiful and I'm always amazed and how those little flakes can pile up and be such a huge force. I guess I'll get a lot of time to watch since now through Tuesday is supposed to be our first big storm of the season.

I started my new job this week and I love it. Here's how I can tell the company is a good fit. My cohort in marketing crime has a Dwight Schrute bobblehead on her desk. In our department, one wall is painted with chalkboard paint.

And this is on the ceiling.



How cool is that?

Since we're in charge of making the proposals for contracts that go out look good, we get to turn the disco ball on whenever we win a project. Like we did Friday.

And given that this is a architectural, construction, and design firm who's owners are Mennonite, all I can say is, wow, they really went out of their comfort zone on that.

I'm loving it!

A Purple State of Mind--a review

I've been remiss in posting a review for A Purple State of Mind, even though I posted on it back here. Part of the problem was I wanted to do the book justice and kept thinking I would have more time to write a more thorough review.

However, I've discovered that by the time I find the time (ha!) to write the review, it'll be so far past, I'll have forgetten what I read. So.

This book surprised me. I didn't expect to like it too much since it seemed to be about politics, and since I read it before the election, I'd had enough of that subject. The "purple" in the title is the merging of red state/blue state perspectives.

However, that's not really what this book is about. But it might take a little explanation. There is a companion DVD, which I haven't watched yet but really want to after reading the book. The DVD is a series of taped conversations between the author, Craig Detweiler, and his college friend. The two have taken different philosophical and religious paths since their college days and the conversations are about some hard questions that come from those different perspectives. Why did they end up on the paths they did when they seemed to hold the same beliefs at one time?

The book goes into those questions deeper, giving us Detweiler's thoughts about the questions and the conversations from the DVD, and some more challenging thoughts about why Christians seem to be known more for what they are against rather than for being known for their love. He continues to challenge us to find common ground with those we disagree with rather than jumping to separate ourselves and coming off as judgmental.

That's an oversimplification of the book, obviously. I really enjoyed the book and felt it did challenge all of us to move beyond red/blue, conservative/liberal, believer/heathen (okay, that last one was mine!) labels and change the way we think.

I'm looking forward to watching the DVD on one of these snowy days, and I would encourage you to pick up the book or the DVD and give it a try.

Fantastic Fall Giveaway!

If you love to enter contests with the chance to win free books, music and DVDs, this is the contest for you. Read on for more details and be sure to enter. They are giving away a ton of stuff!

Welcome to the 1st ever
TitleTrakk.com Blog Tour!

This week we're chatting about:

The Fantastic Fall Giveaway Contest!

Just in time for the holidays, you could win over $335 worth of books, cds and dvds!

Sponsored by our friends at:

The Grand Prize Winner will receive:

BOOKS:

Whispers of the Bayou by Mindy Starns Clark
Rachel's Secret by BJ Hoff
Beach Dreams by Trish Perry
Playing God by Michelle McKinney Hammond
White Soul by Brandt Dodson
The Legend of the Firefish by George Bryan Polivka
Finding Marie by Susan Paige Davis
The Power of Praying Through the Bible by Stormie Omartian
A Man After God's Own Heart by Jim George
Evidence for Faith 101 by Bruce Bickel & Stan Jantz

CDS:

Wake Up! Wake Up! by Everyday Sunday
Rock What You Got by Superchick
Sunday by Tree63
Houston We Are Go by Newsboys (Live CD/DVD)
Nothing Left To Lose by Mat Kearney
I Am Free Worship Collection
Salvation Station by Newworldson
Not Without Love by Jimmy Needham
Pages by Shane & Shane
Colors and Sounds by Article One

MOVIES:

Love's Unfolding Dream
The Ten Commandments Animated
Between the Walls

But that's not all!
We're giving away even more!

During this blog tour (November 10th - 16th) we'll be drawing 2 winners daily from the contest entries to win an additional free book or cd!

Visit the TitleTrakk.com Contest page today to enter the contest and place yourself in the running to receive the Grand Prize, plus all the daily prizes! Deadline to enter is November 17th.

About TitleTrakk.com:
Founded in 2006 by Tracy & C.J. Darlington, TitleTrakk.com is an interactive website spotlighting Christian books, music & movies. Updated weekly, we feature author and musician interviews, album and book reviews, music videos, movie reviews and interviews, book excerpts, surveys, polls, and fun contests. Learn more: http://www.titletrakk.com/about.htm

Me, Myself and I AM

This is a book I actually had time to go through before its tour date! I didn't say read because it's not really a book you read. It's more like an interactive journal, with thought-provoking questions that are great for either recording your own spiritual journey or using as discussion questions in a group. It's a book you can pick up and put down (I'd recommend keeping it on your nightstand within easy reach) over time, spending whatever time you need interacting with it.

I feel very strongly that we keep a record of how God has moved in our lives so we can pass it on to the next generation (Deut. 6). Not only does God command us to do this, it is one of the most effective weapons against satan and doubts. When we can look back and see how God has worked in our lives, and we can share that with others, we rob satan of some of his most powerful tools. This book would be a great tool for recording your spiritual journey. Continue below for deals and a peak at the first chapter.



It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card is:

Me Myself & I AM

Multnomah Books (October 7, 2008)

Created by Matthew Peters in partnership with Elisa Stanford

Product Details:

List Price: $ 13.99
Hardcover: 96 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books (October 7, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601421427
ISBN-13: 978-1601421425

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

You are holding in your hands a unique question and answer book that helps you tell the very personal story of you and God. We take the title from the well-known passage in the Old Testament in which God tells Moses God’s name: “God said to Moses, ‘I AM WHO
I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’” (Exodus 3:14).

You can use Me, Myself, & I AM in many ways: as a map to explore your faith, as a lens to focus on your relationship with Jesus, as a fun way to let others get to know you, or as a starting point for important conversations with family and friends. What you record becomes a spiritual time capsule you can revisit months or years from now to see how you used to think and feel, who you used to be.


Be sure to answer questions not with what you feel you should say but with what you really (like it or not) think. After all, you’re writing down the story of your life. You’ll find that some questions are fun, some are serious, and some that appear to be light turn out to be the most thought provoking of all. Answer as many questions as you can, but if a question doesn’t feel right for you, skip it and move on. If you run out of space for an answer, you might want to use the blank pages in the back of the book to continue writing.

So relax, take your time, and enjoy the experience of getting to know yourself and God in new and deeper ways.

—Matthew Peters and Elisa Stanford




R E A L M E R I G H T N OW

My name: ____________________________________ Today’s date: _____________

The city I live in: ________________________________________________________

The city I consider to be home: _____________________________________________

My occupation: _________________________________________________________

My health: _____________________________________________________________

When and where I am writing this: __________________________________________

The weather is: _________________________________________________________

Sounds I hear right now: __________________________________________________

The one thing I’m most thankful for right now: ________________________________

The one thing I’m most concerned about right now: _____________________________

I picked up Me, Myself, & I AM because: _____________________________________

My biggest hope is that when I’m done I’ll: ____________________________________



T H E P E R S O N WRITING…

Looks: ________________________________________________________________

Is wearing: _____________________________________________________________

Drives a: ______________________________________________________________

Has a secret: ____________________________________________________________

Shares a residence with: ___________________________________________________

Is currently reading: ______________________________________________________

Tends to watch TV shows like: _____________________________________________

Usually goes to bed at: ____________________________________________________

Usually gets up at: _______________________________________________________

Gets most annoyed at: ____________________________________________________

Gets happiest when: ______________________________________________________

Talks the most to: _______________________________________________________

Is never without: ________________________________________________________

Likes to listen to: ________________________________________________________

Prefers to eat: ___________________________________________________________

Dreams about: __________________________________________________________

Complains about: _______________________________________________________

Could easily be captured by: _______________________________________________

Has great potential to: ____________________________________________________

Is most dangerous when: __________________________________________________



A DAY I N MY L I F E

My perfect day would look like this…

Morning: ______________________________________________________________

Midday: _______________________________________________________________

Afternoon: _____________________________________________________________

Evening: _______________________________________________________________

Night: ________________________________________________________________



A DAY I N MY L I F E

Today my top three priorities are:

1. ____________________________________________________________________

2. ____________________________________________________________________

3. ____________________________________________________________________

Three words or phrases that describe me:

1. ____________________________________________________________________

2. ____________________________________________________________________

3. ____________________________________________________________________

Three words or phrases others would use to describe me:

1. ____________________________________________________________________

2. ____________________________________________________________________

3. ____________________________________________________________________

I like myself most when: __________________________________________________



A DAY I N MY L I F E

I like myself least when:

A new invention allows me to change one thing about myself. I decide to change:

That change makes the following difference in my life:



A DAY I N MY L I F E

One place I go to find peace: _______________________________________________

One activity that makes me happy: __________________________________________

One circumstance or person that consistently makes me so angry I might explode:

One train of thought that brings me serenity in the midst of stress:

Challenges I am currently experiencing that I have some control over:

Challenges I am currently experiencing that I cannot control:



SOUNDT R ACKS

If my life today were a movie, these song lyrics would be in the soundtrack:

[ ] “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

[ ] “I need thee every hour.”

[ ] “There’s bubblegum in the baby’s hair.”

[ ] “It is well with my soul.”

[ ] “On the road again…”

[ ] “Another day older and deeper in debt…”

[ ] “I feel good!”

[ ] “If I could turn back time…”

[ ] “I’m raining on the inside.”

[ ] “Loneliness is a place that I know well.”

[ ] “Joy to the world!”

[ ] “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.”

[ ] “Sunrise, sunset…”

[ ] “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

[ ] “Send in the clowns.”

[ ] “Take a sad song and make it better.”

[ ] “Thank you, Jesus.”

[ ] “Working nine to five, what a way to make a living!”

[ ] “I wanna hold your hand.”

[ ] “Whatever will be, will be.”

[ ] “Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.”

[ ] Other: _________________________________



F E A R F U L

My biggest fear about my family today: _______________________________________

My biggest fear about the world today: _______________________________________

My biggest fear about my spiritual life today: ___________________________________

Something I fear that others might think is silly: ________________________________

On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being a lot, fear influences my life: ___________________

It's All About Me

One of the great benefits of our freedom is the responsibility that comes with it. Yes, responsibility is a benefit. It means we get to act like grown ups and make considered decisions and act on them. Which means educate yourself and vote.

In Indiana we get to vote early. In Arizona and California you could do this by mailing away for an absentee ballot and mailing it back in. But here you can go to the courthouse and use the little computerized thingies. We voted Friday (we meaning me and Sissy who was home from school sick) and waited about an hour. The computerized voting scares me a bit because the cynical part of me wonders if votes can get lost or manipulated. But then again, we don't have the hanging chad issue circa 2000. So, pick your controversy.

Regardless, get out of the house and vote. Because so few people actually vote, your vote matters and can make a difference. Be responsible for your own freedom.

I started to say sermon over but one thing has struck me recently. And that's how this election in particular seems to be run by selfishness. It's all about me and what I'm getting. Who's going to give me the biggest tax break, who's going to give me the most benefits? Nobody seems to be asking what's best for the country as a whole, or who's going to pay for all these potential benefits. Nothing's free.

Our pastor preached on something similar this weekend in relation to the church. We all want the benefit of church programs and great sermons and new buildings, but few people want to give of their time, talent, and resources.

Those two ideas collided and made me wonder how we became such a selfish people interested in what we can get for ourselves. My high school youth pastor used to call it "ingrown eyeballs."

I know we start out that way as kids--I'm constantly having to teach my children to share, look out for others, and give of themselves. It doesn't come naturally. Yet when Christ comes into our hearts our behavior needs to reflect that change of ownership.

Just something to think about.

Sermon over

My Artist

Ever wonder about the power of genetics in your family? Nurture versus nature? I do often because my son is so much like my youngest brother. And they haven't spent an overly lot amount of time together.

But this picture above drawn by my 7-year-old Calvin (not his real name) reminds me eerily of the drawing of my youngest brother when we were in church (back in the dark ages before there was children's church and we had to sit in big church).

My brother, Jason, used to draw "Jack Youngblud" and the Rams (back when they were in LA) complete with spikes on the cleats. What amazed me back then (and even now with Calvin) are the details, like spikes or yard lines numbers on the field that they chose to include.

Just as I posted this, Calvin handed me another drawing, this one of "baskitboll." The guy is flying through the air (complete with sound waves)as he dunks into the net with a big smile on his face.

We saw High School Musical 3 this weekend (practically de rigure viewing for the tween set). My daughter is involved in two drama productions and choir. Calvin is also in drama. I think about the options for kids now to express their creativity, much more than was available when I was a kid. I often feel like I'm having to reach back and relearn creativity. I hope my kids never lose it.

Youngest bro is now a cop in LA and doesn't do too much drawing any more (that I'm aware of). However, I'm enrolling Josh in a kids' art class on Saturdays to encourage his creativity. It's just as important to nurture the arts as it is book learning. Maybe even more so.

Faking Grace

This is another book in the Wild Card tour. I don't have a copy of this book, but I love Tamera Leigh's books and the title is great. Plus, the main character has the same name as my cat. What's not to love? So read the first chapter below and see if it hooks you like it did me.

Today's Wild Card author is:

Tamera Leigh

and the book:

Faking Grace

Multnomah Books (August 19, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Tamara Leigh is the best-selling author of eleven novels, including Perfecting Kate, Splitting Harriet, and Stealing Adda. She began writing romance novels to “get the stories out her head.” Over the course of one providential year, she gave birth to her first child, committed her life to Christ, gave up a career in speech pathology, and released her first novel. Tamara and her husband, David, live with their two sons in Tennessee.



Visit the author's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $ 12.99

Paperback: 400 pages

Publisher: Multnomah Books (August 19, 2008)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1590529294

ISBN-13: 978-1590529294



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

MAIZY GRACE STEWART’S 5-STEP PROGRAM TO AUTHENTIC CHRISTIAN FAITH



NAME:



Grace [√]



Nice, upstanding Christian name—lucked out on that one. Must remember to answer to it.



APPEARANCE:



Monochrome hair [√]



I flip down the visor mirror and peer at the “Marilyn Monroe” blond hair that waves off of my oval face. I so miss my stripes. But under my present circumstances, it’s not as if I can afford to keep up the multiple-shade “do.” Back to the list.



Minimal make-up [√]



Do I feel naked! Another peek in the mirror confirms the feeling. As I passed on foundation and blush, applying only a light powder to even out my tone, I look pale. The overall effect is that my hazel eyes practically jump off my face from beneath perfectly plucked eyebrows (the stragglers made me do it).



Below-knee skirt [√]

Button-up collar [√]

One-inch heels [√]



Almost wish I were naked.



Cross necklace and earrings [√]

WWJD bracelet [√]



I scrunch up my nose. “WWJD? Where would Jesus...? Why would Jesus...?” I tap the bracelet. “Ah! What would Jesus do?”



“Love Waits” ring [√]



Oh no, it doesn’t. Still, it’s a nice thought, especially considering the guy I left behind. But best not to go there.



ACCESSORIES:



Bible [√]

Bible Cover [√]



And, I must say, it’s a nice cover. I look to where it sits on the passenger seat with the “KJV” (whatever that means) Bible tucked inside—intensely spiritual with a tapestry print of a country church. And the faux tortoiseshell handles! Nice touch.



Twist pen with 7 different scriptures [√]



One for every day of the week.



“Footprints in the Sand” bookmark [√]



Touching poem. And a surprise ending too!



Fish emblem [√]



“Oops!” I open the ashtray, dig out the emblem, and drop it in my lap. “Check!”



“Jesus is my pilot” bumper sticker [√]

Crown of thorns air freshener [√]



I glance at the scented disk that hangs from my rearview mirror. Stinks, but nicely visible—practically screams “This is one serious Christian.”



CHRISTIAN SPEAK:



“Jesus is my savior.” [√]

“Jesus died for my sins.” [√]



I close my eyes and run the lingo through my mind. “Got it!”



“I’m praying for you.” [√]



I wonder how many Christians really do.



“I need to pray about that.” [√]



Otherwise known as “No way, Jose'!” Or, in these parts, the “Nashville no.”



“Bless his/her heart.” [√]



Sympathetic aside tacked to a derogatory remark about someone to make it acceptable (possibly exclusive to the South, as I’d never heard it before moving to Nashville four months ago).



“My brother/sister in Christ.” [√]

“God’s timing.” [√]

“Have a blessed day.” [√]

“Yours in Christ.” [√]



Must remember to use that last one for note cards and such.



MISCELLANEOUS:



Church [√]



That one on West End should do—respectable-looking and big enough to allow me to slip in and out undetected should I need to place myself in that setting. Of course, I hope the need does not arise. Not that I’m not a believer. I am. Sort of. I mean, I was “saved” years ago. Even went through the dunking process—the whole water up the nose thing (should not have panicked). But the truth is that, other than occasionally attending church with my grandmother before and after I was saved, my faith is relatively green. Hence, the need for a checklist.



Testimony [ ]



“Uh! Just had to leave that one for last, Maizy. Yes, “Maizy,” as in “Maizy Grace.” Courtesy of one Grandma Maizy, one Grandma Grace, and one mother with a penchant for wordplay. Amazing grace! And Mom is not even a Christian. But Dad’s mom is. According to Grace Stewart, the only thing my parents did right was to name me after her. I beg to differ. I mean…Maizy Grace? Though growing up I did my best to keep it under wraps, my mom blew it during a three-girl sleepover when she trilled upstairs, “Oh, Maizy Grace! How sweet the sound. Won’t you girls come on down?” Fodder for girlhood enemies like Cynthia Sircy who beat me out for student council representative by making an issue of my “goody two shoes” name. And that’s why I never use “Grace.” Of course, it could prove useful today.



I return to my checklist. “Testimony…” I glance at the dashboard clock that reveals I’ve blown ten of my twenty minutes leeway. Guess I’ll have to think up a testimony on my way in to the interview. Not that I don’t have a story of how I came to know Jesus. It’s just boring. Hmm. Maybe I could expand on my Christian summer camp experience—throw in an encounter with a bear or some other woodland creature with big teeth. Speaking of which…



I check my teeth in the mirror. Pale pink lipstick is so boring. Glaringly chaste. Borderline anti-sexual. Of course, that is the effect I’m after. All good.



“All right, Maizy—er, Grr-ace—get in there and get that job.” A job I badly need if I’m to survive starting over in Nashville, as my part-time position as a lifestyle reporter at the paper has yet to translate into the full-time position I was led to believe it would after three months. Funds are getting low.



I fold my checklist and stick it in the book I picked up at Borders the day I surfed the classified ads and hit on “Seeking editorial assistant for Christian company.” Editorial assistant—a far cry from reporter. In fact, beneath me, but what’s a girl to do?



Closing the book, I smile at the title: The Dumb Blonde’s Guide to Christianity. Not that I’m blond—leastwise, not naturally. Another glance in the mirror confirms that although the $7.99 over-the-counter bottle of blond is no $75 salon experience, it lives up to its claim. Not brassy at all. Still, maybe I should have gone back to basic brown so I wouldn’t have to worry about roots. But talk about boring.



I toss the book on the passenger seat, retrieve the fish emblem and my purse, and swing my legs out the car door. After “hipping” the door closed, I hurry to the back. Unfortunately, unlike the bumper sticker, there seems no non-permanent way to apply the emblem. Thus, I have no choice but to pull off the backing and slap the fish on the trunk lid. Not sure what it symbolizes, but I can figure that out later—if I get the job.



I lower my gaze to the “Jesus is my pilot” bumper sticker. Nice statement, especially with the addition of the fish. Honestly, who wouldn’t believe I’m a deeply committed Christian? And if someone should call me on it, I could be forgiven—it is April 1st—as in April Fools’ Day.



As I start to look away, the peeling lower edge of the bumper sticker catches my eye. Should have used more Scotch tape. I reach down.



“It’s crooked.”



The accented matter-of-fact voice makes me freeze. I’m certain it was directed at me, but did he say “It’s crooked” or “She’s crooked”? Surely the latter is merely a Freudian slip of my mind. And even if it isn’t, I’m not crooked. Just desperate.



As the man behind me could be an employee of Steeple Side Christian Resources, I muster a smile and turn. The first thing I notice where he stands six feet back is his fashionably distressed jeans. Meaning he can’t be an employee. And certainly isn’t looking for a hand out—even better (though I sympathize with the plight of the homeless, they make me very uncomfortable). So he’s probably just passing through the parking lot. Perhaps heading for Steeple Side’s retail store that occupies a portion of the lower floor of their corporate offices.



The next item of note is his shirt—a nice cream linen button up that allows a glimpse of tanned collarbone. I like it. What I don’t like is his face—rather, expression. If not for his narrowed eyes and flat-lined mouth, he’d be halfway attractive with that sweep of dark blond hair, matching eyebrows, and decent cheekbones. Maybe even three-quarters, but that would be pushing it, as his two-day shadow can’t hide a lightly scarred jaw. Teenage acne?



I gesture behind. “My bumper sticker seems to be coming off.”



He lowers his green eyes over me, and though I may simply be paranoid, I’m certain he gives my cross earrings and necklace, button-up collar, and below-knee skirt more attention than is warranted. He glances at the bumper sticker before returning his regard to me. “Yes, it is coming off.”



British. I’m certain of it. Nowhere near the Southern drawl one more often encounters in Nashville.



“Of course...” He crosses his arms over his chest. “…that’s because you’re using tape.”



That obvious? “Well, doesn’t everyone?” Ugh! Can’t believe I said that. Maybe there is something to the warning that you are what you read, as I could not have sounded more like the stereotypical dumb blonde if I had tried.



He raises an eyebrow. “Everyone? Not if they want it to adhere permanently. You do, don’t you?”



Guilt flushes me, and is followed by panic even though I have no reason to fear that this stranger with the gorgeously clipped accent might expose me as a fake. “Of course I do!”



Is that a smile? “Splendid, then I’ll let you in on a little secret.”



Delicious accent or not, that doesn’t sound good. It isn’t, as evidenced by his advance. I step aside, and he drops to his haunches and begins peeling away the tape. “You see…” Holding up the sticker, he looks over his shoulder and squints against the sunlight at my back. “…self adhesive.” He peels off the backing, positions the sticker, and presses it onto my bumper—my previously adhesive-free bumper.



He straightens. That is a smile—one that makes him look a bit like that new James Bond actor. What’s his name?



“You’d be surprised at how much technology has advanced over the last few years,” he says.



I nearly miss his sarcasm, genteelly embedded as it is in that accent. “Well, who would have thought?” Be nice, Maizy—er, Grace. My smile feels tight. In fact, my whole face feels as if lathered by Lava soap. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to affix my bumper sticker properly.”



He inclines his head. “If you’d like, I’ll try to straighten your fish.”



My…? It’s crooked, he said. Not the bumper sticker—my fish. Meaning he probably saw me stick it on. Were he more than a passerby, I’d be deeply embarrassed. “No, thank you. I like my fish slightly crooked.” I glance at the emblem that appears to have its nose stuck in the air. “It makes him look as if he’s fighting the current. You know, like a good Christian.”



Very good, Ma—Grr-ace! Were he a Steeple Side employee, you would have won him over.



“So you’re a Christian?”



So much for my self-congratulatory pat on the back. Of course, maybe his question is academic. I mean, it’s obvious I’m a Christian. “Of course! A Christian. And proud of it.” Good practice. Unfortunately, if his frown is anything to go by, I’m in need of more. “Er, Jesus is my savior.” Knew Christian speak would come in handy.



His frown deepens.



Or maybe not. Making a show of checking my watch, I gasp. Nothing at all fake about that, as most of my leeway has been gobbled up. Thankfully, I was lucky to—



No, blessed. Must think as well as speak “Christian.” Thankfully, I was blessed to snag a parking space at the front of the building—the only one, as the dozen marked VISITOR spaces were taken, and the remaining spaces on either side of mine are reserved for upper management, as evidenced by personalized signs.



I fix a smile. “Thank you again for your help. If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”



“Certainly.”



I step forward and, as I pass within two feet of him, take a whiff. Some type of citrus-y cologne. Nice. Not sharp or cloying. Unlike Ben whose cologne of choice made my nasal passages burn. And the Brit is nearly six feet tall to my five foot six. Not so tall I couldn’t wear three-inch heels for fear of shooting up past him. Unlike Ben who’d limited me to one-inch heels—



Go away! Another reason to leave Seattle. With his liberal application of cologne and compact height and build, Ben was nowhere near the man for me. Not that his scent and size was the worst of him. Far from it. And am I glad to be far from him.



As I step to the sidewalk, I’m tempted to glance behind at the nicely-proportioned, bumper-sticker happy Brit. Temptation wins out.



Thumbs hooked in his pockets, he stands alongside my passenger door. Watching me.



Feeling as if caught doing something wrong, I jerk a hand up and scroll through my “Christian speak” for something to reinforce my claim of being a Christian. “Yours in Christ!” I flash a smile that instantly falters.



At the rumpling of his brow, I jerk around and head for the smoked glass doors of Steeple Side Christian Resources. Cannot believe I used a written salutation! Dumb blonde alert! Speaking of which….



The Dumb Blonde’s Guide to Christianity is on the passenger seat. Fortunately, if the man is nosey enough to scope out the interior of my car, it’s not as if I’ll see him again. That scrumptious accent and citrus cologne was a one-time thing. Unless he does work at Steeple Side and I do get the job. Fat chance.



As I pull open one of several sets of glass doors, I glance behind. He’s on the sidewalk now, head back as he peers up the twenty-some floors of the building. Definitely not an employee.



The lobby is bright and sparsely furnished, but what stops me is the backlit thirty-foot cross on the far wall. Fashioned out of what appears to be brushed aluminum, it’s glaringly simple. And yet I can’t imagine it having more presence.



Crossing to the information desk at the center of the lobby, I scope out the men and women who are entering and exiting the elevators. All nicely dressed. All conservative. I’ll fit right in—



I zoom in on a woman who’s stepping into the nearest elevator. Her skirt is above the knee by a couple inches. And that guy who just stepped out of another elevator? His hair brushes his shoulders.



I shift my gaze back to the towering cross. I’m at the right place, meaning those two are probably visitors. Same goes for the young woman who sweeps past and reaches the information desk ahead of me. Not only is she wearing ruched capris, but she has my hair. Rather, the hair I had. Ha! If she’s after my job, I’ve got her beat.



She drops a jingly purse on the desk and points past me where I’ve halted behind. “Jack is so hot!”



“Really?” The chubby-faced receptionist bounds out of her chair, only to falter at the sight of me.



“Yes, hot!” The “ruched” young woman jabs the air again, looks around, and startles. “Er, not ‘hot hot.’ ‘Hot,’ as in under the collar…ticked off.”



That’s my cue to appear relieved that she didn’t mean “hot,” as in “carnal,” as she’s obviously connected to this company—at least, the receptionist. I nod. “That’s a relief.”



She smiles, then puts her forearms on the desk and leans in to whisper in a not too whisper-y voice, “This time they stole his assigned parking sign.”



It would make me “hot” too if someone stole mine. Doubtless, some visitor would snap up my space and I’d have to park—



Oh no. The front parking space I snagged… The only unmarked space in the middle of dozens of marked spaces…



I look around and peer out the bank of glass windows. The Brit whose parking space I took, and who does work here, is striding toward the doors. And he does look hot, though I can’t be sure whether it’s more in the carnal way or the angry way. Regardless, I am not getting this job.

Wordless Wednesday

Lovin' me some fall color! I wonder if I appreciate it more because it's so short lived? But the vivid colors do grab your attention!

First Snow!

Went to let the dog out this morning and I saw this:



Not overly impressive as far as snow goes, but still, I'm not ready for winter yet. Gotta switch the clothes for the season, etc., etc. Luckily, the rest of the week will be warmer.

More Fall Pics

Can you believe we're supposed to get snow tonight through Tuesday? It'll be up to the lower 50s by later this week so it won't stick, but still the very idea of it... Last year it was positively warm at Halloween. I wonder if this means it's going to be a long, cold winter. I hope not!

So here are a few more fall pics before I replace them with winter ones.



This is a field of pumpkins off the highway. They look like giant flowers from this distance.



This is on my drive to work. I call it the dead zone because if I'm on the phone, it goes dead through here. Still, it's really pretty.

These next two are from a storm I watched brewing on the drive home. It was pretty entertaining. The one thing Indiana and Arizona have in common is really cool storms and flat enough land that you can watch the storms from a long way off.





The bad thing about posting pics on a blog is that I have to reduce the size and quality so they fit and so they don't take forever to load. Which means they just don't look nearly as good as they do on my computer nice and big. Ah well.

Enjoy your fall!

Solomon Summaries

Writer buddy Heather Goodman and her hubby Chris have come up with an ingenious idea which they are blog touring this week to share with us.

Solomon Summaries provides solutions for busy Christians who want to both maximize their limited time and increase their awareness of both current and classic Christian non-fiction books. This unique subscription summary service provides subscribers with a 10-page summary of a non-fiction book, a review of the book, and group discussion questions every week. These summaries are not intended to replace the content of the entire book but rather to provide a synopsis of the key points from the book. Solomon Summaries encourages dialogue, helps readers decide which books to buy and read, and tickles minds with new ideas and concepts that might warrant further exploration by the reader.

Solomon Summaries is an excellent resource for pastors and other church leaders who want to keep up with current Christian books their congregations are reading. Additionally, church leaders can utilize the summaries to help select books for use in small groups and Sunday Schools or to be added to their church libraries.

Authors who write for the Christian market will also find Solomon Summaries useful in keeping up current thinking and trends.

For more information visit http://www.solomonsummaries.com.

About the Goodmans:
Heather and Chris Goodman buy more books than they have time to read. Chris is a business and ministry entrepreneur who has a heart to connect Christians with culture, specifically through the Internet. He spends much of his time exploring the future of the Internet and missions with one of the largest Internet ministries, Bible.org. Heather, a graduate from Dallas Theological Seminary, is a writer and speaker on the intersection of Christianity, culture and the arts.

Passionate about books and how Christianity interacts with life issues, they started Solomon Summaries. They desire to encourage people to read and talk more about issues facing everyday people, help people prioritize their reading time, and incite business and lay leaders to read about subjects they ordinarily wouldn't.

Chris and Heather live in Dallas with their six fish.

This service is free until December, and after that there's a small fee for this very cool tool. So go check it out!

When Answers Aren't Enough

Okay, I said I would write a review of this book. What I didn't expect was how much it touched me emotionally.

Much of that may be due to the fact that Matt Rogers takes us through his personal journey of trying to "experience God as good when life isn't." Because we explore the questions and issues we can't get our mind around as Rogers is, we feel more like we're taking a journey with a friend.

Matt Rogers was a pastor at his church at Virginia Tech during the shootings. Much of his questions started with that experience but branched out into the suffering none of us escape during this life. He admits that we can come up with answers from our theology, all going back to living in a fallen world and the freedom to choose evil. Yet he doesn't stop there. He goes where most of us have been. "When we can answer our own questions but our hearts still ache, then what?"

He makes two points that hit home with me. One is that we live in a world that is at the same time beautiful and awful. Part of the journey is discovering how to live "fully aware of the darkness yet not overcome by it."

Two, often we hold God to a promise He never made. We expect Him to give us a good, easy, pain-free, safe life. Yet He never promises that. A quick look at many biblical characters shows us how difficult following God can be. Jesus Himself said in this world we would have trouble. At the same time Rogers says, "We cannot experience as good any God who says okay to tragedy without a stabbing pain in his own heart. . . . We must define God carefully, allowing for a heavy dose of mystery, which is an inevitable and essential part of relating to the Infinite."

I love an author who embraces the mystery of God instead of trying to define Him precisely. Mostly, I love how he rejects the neatly tied up package. "But I know simple answers will not--cannot--get me there."

There are a lot more wonderful lines I underlined in this book. But this is a blog post, not a term paper and time and attention is limited. So I suggest (strongly) you go out and get yourself a copy.

When Answers Aren't Enough: Experiencing God as Good When Life Isn't. Matt Rogers, Zondervan.

Wild Card Book Tour

This is the first time I've done a Wild Card book tour. Actually, I didn't even get the book. But I'm such a sucker for sports books and triumph-over-the-odds stories that I thought I'd post the first chapter here so the rest of you can get sucked in like I did. :)





It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Josh Hamilton

and the book:

Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back

FaithWords (October 13, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Josh Hamilton is currently the 27-year-old Center Fielder for the Texas Rangers. In the offseason he lives in North Carolina with his wife Katie and their two daughters



Visit the author's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $23.99

Hardcover: 272 pages

Publisher: FaithWords (October 13, 2008)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1599951614

ISBN-13: 978-1599951614



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

THE MAN WATCHED silently, his arms crossed. He sat directly behind home plate, halfway up the concrete bleachers, a lone figure in the West Raleigh Exchange ballpark. I didn't know who he was, or why he was there, but occasionally I'd catch my daddy glancing up at him from his spot on the field. They'd exchange polite nods like two men sharing a secret language.



I was practicing with my brother Jason's team, like I always did. The team, made up of eleven- and twelveyear- olds, was coached by our father, Tony Hamilton. I was six at the time, almost seven. I ran around shagging balls and getting to hit at the end of practice. Jason — whom I always called "Bro" — was always encouraging to me when he probably could have told me to stay home or at least stay out of the way.



The day the man sat in the stands, I made a diving catch in the outfield that nobody could believe. I was running from right- center toward center field and diving till my body was parallel to the ground as I caught a ball about six inches off the ground.



I was six years younger than most of the players on Jason's team, but I could do things on the field they couldn't do. I lived to play ball, and I had precocious ability from the time I picked up a ball. Bro and I would play in the yard or across the street at the cemetery, and I refused to accept our age difference as a valid reason for his superiority. I couldn't beat him — he's four years older than I am, and four years is a huge age difference for a long, long time — but I always thought I could. Whatever we played, whether it was basketball or wiffle ball, I went into every game convinced this was going to be the day.



The time I spent practicing with Jason's team was my favorite time of the week. My team, at the coach- pitch level, was not a challenge. When the season started, I was the typical little boy, thrilled to put on his baseball clothes and get to the season's first practice. Once I got there, though, I was disappointed that my teammates couldn't keep up.



My daddy coached my team, too, and my momma always came to our practices. After the second or third practice of my coach- pitch team, once we were in the car and nobody could hear, they told me they could tell I was easing up on my throws and maybe not swinging as hard as I could when I was taking batting practice.



"I don't want to hurt anybody," I told them.



They shook their heads. "You play the way you know how to play," Daddy said. "Those other boys need to get used to catching balls that are thrown hard, and if you start trying to hit the ball so it won't hurt anybody, you're going to get into bad habits that'll be hard to break. You need to be a leader and they'll catch up."



When I thought about it, I realized that Jason didn't let up on me when we were playing together, and he was four years older. These guys were my age, so maybe they would get better and learn to react the way I did.



The next practice I threw as hard as I could, and it resulted in some missed throws and some tears. I got up there and hit the way I would if I was playing in the cemetery with Bro, and my teammates kept moving back till there was nobody in the infield. The parents watching shook their heads and started talking and laughing among themselves. They'd never seen such a little person do the things I could do.



As we got closer to the start of the coach- pitch season, the parents started to wonder whether I could be moved up to a more advanced level. There was nothing malicious about their concern; a move would help everybody involved. They were equal parts amazed and afraid — amazed at the speed at which I could throw the ball and the power with which I could hit it, afraid that their lessadvanced sons might find themselves unprepared and in the way of one of my throws or hits.



I could hear them up there, telling grandparents and friends, "That kid's going to hurt somebody." By the time I was six, I could throw the ball about 50 mph, probably twice as fast as most of the kids my age. The parents' concerns were legitimate, and they were never malicious or angry. In fact, they were very supportive of my quest to leave the team sponsored by Hamilton Machine — a business owned by my dad's cousin — and move up to play with my brother. The sooner the better, as far as they were concerned, since they believed it was just a matter of time before one of their boys lost a few teeth or got a concussion.



Their fears became real in our first game, when I fielded a ball at shortstop and threw it across the infield as hard as I could to get the runner. There was a problem, though — the first baseman either never saw the ball or didn't react fast enough to catch it. He stood there with his glove turned the wrong way as the ball smacked into his chest. He went down like a sniper got him, and I think he started crying before he hit the ground. I felt terrible.



* * *



The mystery man in the concrete bleachers stayed till the end of practice. Afterward, he came down and talked to my daddy. They walked off to where no one could hear them and spoke for a few minutes. There was some talk among the older kids in the dugout that he was there to see me, but I couldn't tell whether they were fooling with me.



When the discussion was over, my daddy and the man shook hands and the man walked to his car. We carried the equipment to the truck and waited. When Daddy climbed into the cab he looked straight ahead and said, "Well, Josh, that man I was talking to is the president of the whole Tar Heel League. He drove all the way from Charlotte to watch you play. He heard about you and needed to see for himself. And, well, you're on Jason's team now."



I guess you could say that was the first time I'd been scouted. I was six years old, closing in on seven, and Bro was eleven. In the Tar Heel League, his team was the equivalent of majors in Little League, and everyone on Bro's team was somewhere between fifth and seventh grade.



Until I showed up. When that happened, the team had acquired a first- grader.



I later learned the Tar Heel League had never done something like this before. The local board couldn't decide to do something that drastic, and the parents' complaints had traveled all the way to the top. The president decided he needed to see me before he made a ruling, and his decision made everyone in our pickup truck happy. I got to play on the same team with my Bro, and my daddy had to coach only one team.



I think it made everyone on my old Hamilton Machine team happy, too. They thought it was cool someone from their team got moved up, and they didn't have to worry about catching one in the teeth.



It wasn't all perfect, as my daddy found out soon enough. At our first game, after the lineup was posted in the dugout, I had a question.



"Daddy, why you battin' me last?" I asked in my sixyear- old southern accent.



"'Cuz you're the youngest one, that's why."



I didn't like that answer, and every game I said something when I saw my name in the ninth spot in the order. "Come on, Daddy, what are you batting me last for?" He never budged, though. That nine spot always had the same name: J. Hamilton.



In my mind, the team's worst hitter hits last, and I wasn't the worst hitter on the team. I turned seven in May and two weeks later, I hit my first real home run. A twelve-year-old named Larry Trantham was pitching, and he threw me a fat one over the middle of the plate. The ball hit the bat square, right on the sweet spot of the barrel, and I drove it over the fence in left- center. It's hard to explain, but on contact, I felt nothing. It's one of the best feelings in the world.



* * *



Life in the Hamilton household revolved around family and baseball. You couldn't tell where one started and the other stopped — not on a dare.



I wasn't a bad student, but given the choice between playing ball and memorizing parts of speech, I wanted the ball.



It was a family tradition. My parents, Linda and Tony, met at a ballpark. My daddy was warming up for a softball game on one diamond while my momma was playing a game on a field next to him. He looked over once and saw her hit a ball about fifty feet beyond the left-field fence, and everyone on his team just shook their heads and pointed to the spot where the ball landed. The next time up, the same thing happened, except the ball went even farther.



At this point, my daddy had seen enough. He walked over to her field and told someone, "I've got to meet that girl." He did, and within weeks they were dating and before long they were married.



My father grew up on his family's hog and chicken farm in Oxford, North Carolina, about forty miles north of our house in a rural area west of Raleigh. Momma grew up in the house next door to us, on the same piece of property about fifty yards away from our front door.



Like everyone in this part of the world, we were surrounded by pine forests. To this day, I know I'm home more by the smell of those trees than anything else. Across the street there's an old, small cemetery where we used to run around and hit baseballs or golf balls, maybe shoot our BB guns. Five or six years ago someone was buried in an old family plot, but when I was growing up there wasn't much action there. Down the road a huge piece of land is owned by North Carolina State University, and our favorite fishing hole was on it, not more than a threeminute walk from the house.



We were never more than a mile from a good fishing hole.



It was a good childhood. We weren't rich, but I don't think we knew that. I don't think Jason and I knew what rich was. We played ball and went to school and pretty much had the run of the place. We hung out as a family and didn't see much need to go out, even as we reached high school age. We were pretty content in our little corner of the world. We had everything we needed.



My grandmother on my mother's side lived right next door to us, in the same house my momma grew up in. This was the place Bro and I went to be spoiled with cookies and ice cream and grilled- cheese sandwiches. Mary Holt is an old- fashioned southern lady, more of a friend than an authority figure. My nickname from the time I started playing baseball was "Hambone" and I called Granny "Grambone." If we got in trouble at home, we'd always find our way over to Granny's house to escape. Whatever we had done to get in trouble didn't seem like such a big deal to her. She was the safe haven, and it was a role she enjoyed. I think she had a soft spot for me because I was the youngest and I shared her name — Joshua Holt Hamilton.



Granny never missed a ballgame. We didn't make a conscious effort to invite her to the games; it was just understood that she would be ready to come with us when it was time to go. My games, Jason's games — it didn't matter. She was there. Before every game, for good luck, I would walk over to where Granny and my momma were sitting and give each of them a kiss on the cheek.



From the time we started playing baseball, one of the major lessons we learned in our family was to respect the game. And a big part of respecting the game was respecting the people you play with and against. My daddy went out of his way to make sure he wasn't favoring his sons on the baseball field, and since I always wanted to please him and my teammates, I usually packed up all the gear after practices and cleaned the dugout after games.



My ability drew more attention to me, but I always put pressure on myself to go beyond people's expectations. I didn't want to be treated differently because I was a good player; I loved to play the game, but it didn't mean anything beyond that.



My parents taught us to be humble. My mom was an awesome slow- pitch softball player, one of the best in the area. She played first base and pitched, and the tales of her hitting exploits are repeated to this day. People around Raleigh who watched her play swear she could hit a softball four hundred feet.



Our parents raised us on the idea that a ballfield was the best place to be. They believed that sports keep kids out of trouble and headed in the right direction, whether they pick up a ball after high school or not. My daddy loved sports and played baseball, but he grew up in a family that felt it was much more important to work on the farm than to do something frivolous like playing ball. The demands of work limited his opportunities to play sports, but he played whatever he could whenever he could — baseball, softball, football, martial arts.



My daddy is big and strong, country strong, with forearms like pillars and shoulders wide as a doorway. He never had any formal strength training, but he set the unofficial YMCA bench press record in Raleigh with a lift of 540 pounds.



His limited opportunity to play sports made him determined to make sure we were able to take advantage of every possible opportunity.



My daddy coached Jason and me until we got to high school, and he wasn't the type of dad/coach who let us do whatever we wanted. His teams were disciplined. He made us keep our shirts tucked in, and he preached accountability, making sure we never left our bats or any other equipment for someone else to pick up.



We rarely crossed him, but once when I was eleven I didn't run hard enough to first base on a popup and he got all over me. We were playing some kind of championship game, and he told me I embarrassed him on the field. He never stayed mad, but I knew better than to do it again. From then on, I ran out every ground ball and every popup like my hair was on fire.



I was never pressured to play ball. The perception of my parents as hard-driving stage parents was never accurate. I played because I loved to play, and because I was good at it. If I had told my parents that I didn't want to play baseball, I honestly think they would have been fine with that. They would have been surprised, but they would have thrown themselves into whatever activity I chose to replace it.



They made sacrifices for us. Jason and I knew it at the time, but I don't think we completely understood the level of sacrifice until we got older. Daddy was, and is, a hard worker who got up early in the morning to go to his job as a supervisor for the Wonder Bread factory in town. Momma worked for the North Carolina Department of Transportation. She washed our clothes after dark, when the utility rates were lowest, so we could save money to spend on gas and food for our baseball trips.



My daddy always made sure he had a flexible enough schedule to work around my baseball games. To do this, sometimes he had to go to work at some ungodly hour so he could get his work finished in time to leave for the game. I would hear him leaving the house at three or four in the morning during the summer after we had gotten home after midnight from an AAU baseball tournament somewhere in the state. His bosses, in general, were understanding and appreciated his devotion to both his job and his family.



He got a new boss when I was twelve, the summer after I finished playing in the Tar Heel League and started playing traveling AAU ball in the summer for a team in Raleigh. One Friday my daddy did what he always did when the schedule got tight: He got to work at 2:00 a.m. so he could leave by noon and drive me three hours to a game.



As he walked to the time clock to clock out for the day, this boss stopped him.



"Tony, where are you going?"



"Got a ballgame," my daddy said. "I'm done for the day."



"You know, I need you here this afternoon. You need to stick around."



My daddy explained the arrangement he had with the bosses at the factory. As long as he completed his work for the day and it didn't cause any disruption — and it wouldn't have in this case — then he was free to go. He was a dedicated worker and went out of his way not to cheat anybody.



The new boss wouldn't hear any of it. He repeated his desire to have my daddy stick around for the rest of the afternoon. At this point, my daddy felt he was being tested, challenged just to see how he would react. This was not always a smart move for the person doing the challenging. My daddy just stood there with his timecard in his hand, waiting for his boss to make the next move.



"Tony, I've got a question for you: What's more important, the ballgame or your job?"



My daddy didn't hesitate at all. He didn't answer him directly, but he looked this new boss right in the eye and slid his timecard into the clock until it clicked. He put the card back in the slot, calmly walked out of the factory and never worked another day for Wonder Bread.



* * *



We went to Rocky Mount, North Carolina, one year for an all-star tournament, and I pitched the first game. Early in the game I threw a pitch behind a little kid on the other team. When it was his turn to hit the next time through the batting order, he dragged his bat to the batter's box with tears running down his cheeks. He stood outside the box, crying and looking at the third- base coach to see if he might spare him this moment and send him back to the dugout.



Instead, the third- base coach walked toward him and said, "It's okay, get up there and hit. He's not going to hit you. Be a big boy."



He looked at the coach and sobbed, "It's too fast." By now everyone in the stands was trying not to laugh at this poor kid, who probably should have been allowed to walk back to the dugout and put his bat down rather than be scarred for life by his behavior in a Tar Heel League game.



Finally, he agreed to get in the box. Everyone cheered and told him he could do it. He stood as far from the plate as possible and looked ready to bail at any moment. He held his bat on his shoulder, showing no intention of even thinking of swinging.



And so I wound up, and threw.



I was eleven years old, and I threw the ball about seventy miles per hour. The problem was, I didn't always have any idea where it was going. Pinpoint control was not part of my game. I don't know whether hearing the coach promise that I wasn't going to hit him messed with my head, but I wound up and threw a fastball that thumped into the kid's back, right between his shoulder blades.



I felt terrible. This was the last thing I wanted to do, and maybe I tried so hard not to do it that I guaranteed that I would. I don't know, but if you thought he was crying before he got into the box, you can't imagine what he was doing now.



He was lying there perfectly still and screaming at the top of his lungs. "He hit me! He hit me!" It was like the ball stunned him or something, hit him right in the spine. The coaches and the umpire ran out to him, trying to convince him to get up and take his base, and he kept screaming: "I can't move! I can't move!" The only body part undamaged, it seemed, was his mouth.



In the course of all this screaming and crying, someone decided it would be a good idea to call an ambulance. I stayed on the mound, flipping the ball to myself repeatedly. It was a habit I had, part of my inability to be still, and also something I did when I was nervous or embarrassed. I didn't go down to the plate and get involved with the kid, though, because I was always taught to just throw the ball and not worry about hitting someone. I felt bad for him, but at the same time, it was his job to get out of the way of a bad pitch.



He stayed on the ground for what seemed like forever, long enough for the ambulance to arrive and the paramedics to get out to the batter's box. When they lifted up his shirt they saw the stitch marks from the baseball on his back. Eventually the paramedics and coaches convinced him that he could stand up and go on living, that he had indeed survived his encounter with this left- handed freak of nature and his wild fastball.



Years later, when I had been out of baseball and somewhat forgotten, my daddy was on a jobsite and he got to talking with some of the men there about baseball. He mentioned that he coached in West Raleigh, and this one guy said, "Do you remember that kid named Josh Hamilton who threw the ball a hundred miles an hour when he was eleven?"



My daddy said, "Yes, I do."



"Is that guy still around?"



"Yeah, he's still around. Somewhere."



"Well, one time I was playing against him and I didn't want to bat but they made me anyway, and he hit me right in the back. That hurt worse than anything in the world. I'll never forget that."



"Nope," my daddy said. "Neither will I."



"What do you mean? You were there?"



"Josh is my son."



The guy started laughing and shaking his head.



"You tell your son I never played past Little League after he hit me. That boy scared me to death."



* * *



There was a game in my last year in the Tar Heel League, when I was twelve years old, that I came to the plate five times and hit five home runs. I think after the third one the coaches and pitchers for the other team kept pitching to me just to see what would happen.



People saw me as different, something special, but they wanted me to succeed. I was always encouraged by other parents and coaches, and I attribute this to the way my parents taught us to behave. I never pimped a home run, not then or now, and I always went out of my way to praise my teammates for their achievements. I understood my talent for what it was — the ability to excel on the baseball field. It didn't deserve special treatment or a different set of rules.



During that summer, when I was twelve, I made my parents a promise. I said, "If I get drafted and get some money, I want you guys to retire. We'll use the money to pay off all your bills and you guys can come with me."



At twelve years old, I was good enough to dream. I could look around at the kids I was playing against and see that it wasn't a ridiculous leap to think that I could someday make money playing this game. My idea — to free my parents from all their hard work and repay them for their devotion — was a fantasy life as expressed by a twelveyear- old. Playing baseball for a living was the greatest thing I could ever imagine. My parents were always happiest when they were watching me play ball, so this seemed like the perfect solution for all three of us.



My parents tried to dismiss my comment.



"That sure is a nice thought, Josh," my momma said. "We'll see about that when the time comes."



I played basketball, too, and some soccer. When I was twelve, I played on a basketball team with Johnny Narron Jr., whose father was a major-league scout and a former minor-league ballplayer. Johnny Narron Sr.'s brother, Jerry, was a former big-league backup catcher who played eight seasons for the Yankees, Mariners, and Angels. At the time I started playing basketball with his nephew, Jerry was the third-base coach for the Texas Rangers.



The Narrons were a famous baseball family from Goldsboro, North Carolina, not far from Raleigh. Jerry and Johnny had an uncle named Sam who played in the major leagues for only twenty-four games —four in 1935 and ten each in 1942 and 1943. One of their cousins, also named Sam, pitched in one game for the Rangers in 2004. There were Narrons all over baseball.



The first time Johnny came to watch me play basketball with his son, he told someone in the stands he couldn't believe what a good athlete I was. As someone who was trained to evaluate athletic ability, his eye was drawn to me immediately.



"Those boys better be ready when he throws them a pass," Johnny said to some of the other parents. "I've never seen a twelve- year- old with that kind of strength."



One of the other dads told Johnny, "Well, if you think he's good at basketball, you ought to see him play baseball. He just plays this sport for fun. He plays baseball for keeps."



The parents proceeded to tell Johnny the stories about the Tar Heel League putting me on a majors team when I was six years old. They told him about my no- hitters on the mound and my four-and five-homer games at the plate. As a professional, he was used to hearing exaggerated stories from parents and friends, but these people had no reason to make bloated claims. He didn't let on that he was an associate scout for the Atlanta Braves at the time, but he filed it away and made a note to take the time to watch this Josh Hamilton kid play baseball before everybody knew who he was.



* * *



I played football my freshman year in high school, but after that my parents and I made the decision to concentrate on baseball. I was becoming strong, and the skills I picked up playing soccer (footwork) and running track (speed) would serve me well on the baseball field. My daddy started working with me on strength, buying a ten-pound medicine ball and giving me exercises to beef up my wrists and forearms to increase my bat speed.



Jason was out of the house by now, off at UNC Greensboro going to college and playing baseball. Jason was a power-hitting catcher who was a heck of a ballplayer — and a tough high school quarterback — but never quite good enough to be considered a pro prospect.



With Jason out of the house, my parents were free to direct all their attention toward me and my baseball career. I played varsity as a freshman at Athens Drive High School, and during that summer I started using a wood bat along with the standard aluminum high school bats. Without saying it, my daddy and I were pretty sure I was going to have the opportunity to play professional baseball directly following high school — that was the goal, anyway — and anything that helped me get there faster was worth the effort. And since professional scouts said their toughest job was projecting how well an amateur player could make the transition from metal to wood bats, we decided we would remove the mystery as best we could.



We thought of everything, or at least tried to. And if it sounds like pressure, it really wasn't. We were preparing for pro ball by the time I was fifteen, but the only pressure I felt was the pressure I put on myself. Baseball is a game of failure. You can't expect to succeed every time you go to the plate, or strike out every hitter, or throw out every baserunner. Accepting failure was the toughest lesson I had to learn. I was so hard on myself I had to fight the urge to expect perfection.



Johnny Narron returned to my life when I was fifteen years old. He asked me to play for a fall prospect team he was coaching. Johnny, who was still scouting for the Braves at the time, hand- picked the team based on ability. Johnny's son was on the team, and so was Matt Robertson, whose father, Jax, is an assistant general manager with the Pittsburgh Pirates.



Johnny couldn't wait for his brother Jerry to come home after the big- league season so he could watch me play. He told Jerry, "You've got to come see this kid; you're not going to believe him." I was playing anywhere — pitcher, first base, outfield, catcher, shortstop. I didn't care, as long as I was in the lineup and having fun. I loved to catch. Johnny would tell me, "You know, Josh, there aren't any left- handed catchers," and I would say, "I don't care, it's a lot of fun."



I don't know whether Jerry Narron got sick of hearing about this fifteen- year- old kid in Raleigh, but Johnny didn't get sick of telling him about me. The big- league season ended, and Johnny got right back to telling Jerry that he needed to come see me play.



"I'm coming out to see your son Johnny play," Jerry insisted.



"Oh, yeah, come see Johnny play," Big Johnny said. "But you've got to see this kid Josh Hamilton."



Johnny tells stories about what I did when I played on that team. Once we were running first-and-third plays in practice while I was catching and Matt Robertson was playing shortstop. I came up and threw the ball to Matt, who was cutting the ball off behind the mound, and it got on him so fast he either never saw it or couldn't react in time. It hit him right in the neck, and he went down like he might never get back up.



Another time I threw a ball from first to the shortstop to start a double play during infield practice and the ball tailed off just as it reached Johnny Narron. I threw it hard — probably too hard — and he couldn't stay with it. It caught him square in the ankle, and he walked with a limp for about a week.



This was a fifteen-year-old prospect team, and everybody on the team was identified as a potential star player in high school. I was part of the first wave of the specialized baseball teams — the travel teams, prospect teams, AAU teams — that are now a huge part of youth baseball. There weren't many rules; coaches or local scouts put together teams and then tried to find similar teams in the area to build a schedule. I probably could have been playing with the eighteen- year- old prospect team, but I was with my friends and besides, it was another example of people not wanting to set a precedent by advancing a player beyond his age group.



As Johnny Narron Sr., said, "A lot of times you see a twelve- year- old who is physically advanced, and eventually the other kids catch up to them. The strong kid matures earlier and is stronger, but he tops out. Things even out by the time he reaches high school. But in Josh's case, nobody ever caught up with him."



* * *



Ever since I was twelve, when I dreamed out loud about signing for enough money to pay off my parents' debts and bring them to the pros with me, I had my sights set on being a professional baseball player. I wanted to make sure I took care of the details, and decisions such as hitting with a wood bat were calculated to maximize my chances.



This was a family thing. Everything I did was a family thing, baseball foremost among them. My daddy was part of the decisions I made, from using a wood bat to choosing the right summer team. But what some people perceived as pushing was simply supporting. The issue of hard- driving parents pushing their kids to earn a scholarship or get a contract is a serious one, but that wasn't what Tony and Linda Hamilton were all about.



Yes, we were preparing for the day when I could reach the level I wanted to reach. And yes, they were part of it. But they weren't stage parents, or helicopter parents, or whatever other negative descriptions you want to use. My parents never berated a coach or forced me to do anything I didn't want to do. I honestly think I could have decided to quit baseball and they would have been fine with it. They would have been disappointed, and they would have reminded me that I was wasting my God-given talent, but in the end they would have said, "Well, if that's what you want to do," and that would have been it.



That wasn't a factor, though, since my whole life revolved around the game. I developed routines the way big- leaguers did. I would park my '89 Camaro in the tree- lined parking lot behind the baseball field at Athens Drive and get dressed out of the trunk. I always blasted the same two songs: "Double Trouble" by Lynyrd Skynyrd and "Brand New Key" by Melanie. They were my baseball songs, and I never got sick of them. And I continued to kiss my momma and my granny before every game.



My daddy stopped coaching me before high school, and I brought the values he instilled in me to high school baseball. I always made sure to be respectful to the other team and the umpires. I always made sure to clean up the dugout after the game.



There were a lot of people who helped me improve, by giving me either instruction or opportunity. One of the men I always admired was Clay Council, who helped run the American Legion program in Cary. My brother played Cary Legion, and Coach Council was an assistant coach on that team. Whenever I didn't have practice or a game, I would go to Jason's practices and shag balls and hope to get in a few swings at the end of practice. That's how I met Clay — he would always have time to throw a few to the thirteen-year-old who was hanging around with his older brother. And he'd always smile and talk to me at the games when I was chasing down foul balls so I could get the free hot dog that came with every ball you returned to the concession stand.



Coach Council was a quiet, friendly man with a deep North Carolina drawl. He was about sixty years old when I met him, and he had already devoted a good part of his life to helping local teenagers become better ballplayers. He was a great batting- practice pitcher, and it seemed he could throw for hours and hours. As long as someone wanted to hit, Coach Council was there to throw.



He became part of the landscape of amateur baseball around Raleigh, and even though I played on the Fuquay- Varina Legion team, I would occasionally see Coach Council at the various high school fields, always throwing to whoever wanted to hit. Because my daddy was someone who volunteered his time to coach youth baseball, I was always aware of the sacrifices other coaches were making for me and my teammates. I noticed that ballplayers didn't always thank him for his time, and it made me more conscious of thanking him or any other coach.



Clay was one of those men who get forgotten when the boys pass through high school and move on to college or the pros. He worked at the Raleigh- Durham airport and spent much of his free time helping kids. He kind of blended in, never demanding anything, giving only instruction and encouragement. He and I both loved baseball more than anything in the world. I never felt as happy as I did when I was on the ballfield, and he looked like he felt the same way.



After I got drafted, I saw Clay at one of the fields during a Legion game and I told him right there, "If I ever get asked to be in the Home Run Derby, I'm going to ask you to throw to me."



I told him that every time I saw him after that, and he always had the same answer, "That's nice, Josh. I'd sure like that."





Copyright © 2008 by Josh Hamilton