As I was working at Step Into Africa last week a couple of days, I had the opportunity to talk to quite a few people, including the ones I was working with. The first night that I worked, we got to talking about how it's so sad that more people won't open up and listen and really see and hear what is going on in the world....as if ignorance truly is their bliss. Through that, we got to talking about passion, and my co-volunteer was mentioning how different people have different passions about certain places of ministry/opportunities/places to serve. Through that, my brain automatically started thinking of post material. LOL I'm such a blogger.....good grief. Anyway.....my question to you today is, "What is your passion? What moves you? What truly makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up? What is it that moves you to action? What is it that truly makes you wonder and question and draws you in like a magnet?"
Discovering our passion is something that, a lot of times, we can push to the back of our minds, sort of procrastinate on. We think that we just don't have time for it; there are too many other things going on around us. Whether we have children at home all day and are focusing on them, or whether we're trying to hold down a job and serve the people we come in contact with each and every day....discovering our passion can take a place on the back burner. As Helen said the other night, though, if we all acted on our passions, just think of what a different world we would have....just think of how much different this world would be, possibly a better world because of it. If we stopped arguing useless and senseless arguments and focused and acted on our passions....oh, I just can't imagine what kind of work would be done and how God could use us.
Some people feel passionately about serving here in the United States....some people feel strongly about ministries overseas....some feel strongly about both. Some people feel moved by children starving or struggling and suffering through life; some are moved at the thought of human trafficking. Some people are moved by the homeless lady pushing her cart down the street. Some people are moved by the act of abortion. Some people are moved by the lady at the grocery store who has to put that gallon of milk back because she can't afford to buy it this week. Some people are moved by music and the well of joy and blessings it brings forth in their life, as well as the lives of countless others. Some people are passionate about teaching their children.
What is your passion today? What is your moving force....something that drives you? What is that one thing that, when you think about it, you say to yourself, "Man, I wish I could do something about that....I want to do something about that.....please use me, God, to make a difference in that area." What is it that you love to do that could be turned into an opportunity for service? God doesn't want us to lead a passionless life. In fact, I really believe He wants our lives to be full of passion and fervor for Him. He gives us all unique and different gifts to be used for His glory and His glory alone. He has created us with those unique gifts, so that our passion may drive those gifts to be used to make a difference in the life He has chosen for us. I encourage you to read 1 Corinthians 12 sometime this week. Break it up into manageable chunks, just so that you drink in every word. Think about what God has placed on your heart lately. Don't think about what your neighbor's gifts are; think about how God can use you....about what passion and desires and gifts He has given you. Discover your passion....again, in the paraphrased words of Helen, "If we all acted on our individual passions, think of what a world of difference that would make in the world today."
Five Star Publications recently sent me an autographed copy of the book, Potluck Survival Guide, by Cherie Kimmons. This book is such a handy resource for anyone who needs meal ideas for their kids' soccer team or football team or for a church function. The book is meant to help those who are frazzled by the thought of providing just the right food for a potluck meal, especially when it comes to kids. The author tries to help us make healthy choices when it comes to preparing those meals by educating her readers throughout the book. There are tips for feeding athletes before a game and after a game. There are menus and recipes included in this book. There are even snippets on feeding larger crowds. Here are some of the recipes included in Potluck Survival Guide:
Roasted Chicken Thighs
Divine Deviled Eggs
Guacamole With Tomatillos
Sweet and Hot Bacon
Layered Hamburger Casserole
Texas Shepherd's Pie
Cheesy Meatballs
Baked Hot Wings
Pizza Sandwiches
Overnight Company Potatoes
Easy Italian Spinach
Pink Lady Frozen Salad
Bok Choy Salad
Creamy New York Cheesecake
Congo Brownies
....and many more. I love how the author covers certain aspects to cooking certain things and tries to educate the reader or brainstorm with the reader on the best choices and options. She gives information on ingredients and her favorite sites for finding some of those ingredients. This book also gives decorating tips for those occasions for which you are cooking.
If you'd like to win this book, you can enter in one or more ways listed below. Be sure to enter a separate comment for each way that you enter. I will draw the winner using Random.org on Friday, November 27. Here are the following ways you can enter:
1) Leave me a comment on this post, telling me how you would use this cookbook.
2) Head over to Five Star Publications, and check out their bookstore; then come back, and let me know which item you found that was your favorite.
3) Follow my blog (only if you want to); or subscribe to my posts.
4) Follow me on Twitter; tweet about this giveaway.
Thank you to everyone who participated in this giveaway! It was a lot of fun, and I so appreciated all of your wonderful comments. It's time to announce the winner of the stationery, gift bag, and mini scrapbook.....(drumroll please)....
The winner is Marie from Virginia! Congratulations, Marie. I'll be in touch with you, so that I can send out your prizes tomorrow.
Stay tuned for more great giveaways here on Real Heart Prints.
Today is my birthday! For me, it's just another day in our crazy busy life....I would so love an hour at the spa (never been before, but just sounds relaxing right now), but just being with my boys is seriously enough for me. In fact, I hear tell they're making me a cherry chip cake (Yeah, I know, I bought the cake mix and the two cans of cream cheese icing, but I'm trying to act surprised here.)LOL Besides, this year I got the best present I could ever receive. Although it wasn't meant as a present, to me it is something I have wanted for a very long time, and I'm so excited.
When Dan and I first visited Step Into Africa on Sunday with our small group, we picked up two folders that had info on two different children in Zambia. Knowing that we could only sponsor one right now at this time, we had to put one back, heartbreaking though it was. These children's faces just reminded me of my own children and how blessed we truly are. I tell you, I wanted to pick up the whole basket and take them all....but we had to pick just one. As I put mine back, praying that someone else would come along and pick him up, I began to look at the one my husband held. I can't explain the love in my heart that just welled up in that moment.
The picture was of a little girl in Zambia, about Jacob's age. Her name is Anetty. Anetty is blessed to live with both parents, as so many children and families in her community have been affected by the AIDS virus. She has several siblings, and her parents struggle, as do so many families. She helps by carrying water for the family. I love the fact that Anetty loves to play house, and she enjoys learning foreign language. Just little things like this helped us to get to know just a small part of Anetty's life right away.
I'm so excited to be able to sponsor Anetty and have the privilege of watching her grow up. As one of the World Vision staff members told me, we'll be able to watch her grow from a little girl into a young woman. Our family will be able to write her letters and receive letters from her. We can send her little gifts too. From what we have learned, World Vision is very good about keeping communication lines open between sponsor and child. I just couldn't be happier. My heart is leaning more and more towards adoption, and to us, this is the first step. Now I will finally be able to buy little barrettes and things that a little girl might enjoy.:) This is honestly the best birthday gift I could ever receive.
To be able to help in this small way with providing basic needs for Anetty, well, it's just a blessing. I just had to share....maybe sponsoring a child is something you are considering. You can learn how with World Vision. I'll never forget one couple's response as they carried two folders out with them. They too were going to choose just one, but as they discussed it over, they decided to take both children; they just couldn't bear to put one back. The wife was crying because she just couldn't choose, and the husband spoke up and said, "It's just cable tv, right?" Wow! That was powerful. It seems like such a trite thing, giving up something like that, but it's so not....now two children have the security of knowing that they are going to be provided for, in way of food, education, clothing, shelter, etc. In leiu of eternity, just consider how this could change not only the child's life (whom you might sponsor), but your life....your family's life. Even if you can't sponsor a child right now, you can always pray....
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Amy Lathrop of the LitFUSE Publicity Group for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHORS:
Tricia Goyer is the author of several books, including Night Song and Dawn of a Thousand Nights, both past winners of the ACFW's Book of the Year Award for Long Historical Romance. Goyer lives with her family in Montana.
Mike Yorkey is the author or coauthor of dozens of books, including the bestselling Every Man's Battle series. Married to a Swiss native, Yorkey lived in Switzerland for 18 months. He and his family currently reside in California.
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Revell (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0800733363
ISBN-13: 978-0800733360
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
To the Reader
In the early afternoon of July 20, 1944, Colonel Claus Graf von Stauffenberg confidently lugged a sturdy briefcase into Wolfsschanze—Wolf’s Lair—the East Prussian redoubt of Adolf Hitler. Inside the black briefcase, a small but powerful bomb ticked away, counting down the minutes to der Führer’s demise.
Several generals involved in the assassination plot arranged to have Stauffenberg invited to a routine staff meeting with Hitler and two dozen officers. The one o’clock conference was held in the map room of Wolfsschanze’s cement-lined underground bunker. Stauffenberg quietly entered the conference a bit tardy and managed to get close to Hitler by claiming he was hard of hearing. While poring over detailed topological maps of the Eastern Front’s war theater, the colonel unobtrusively set the briefcase underneath the heavy oak table near Hitler’s legs. After waiting for an appropriate amount of time, Stauffenberg excused himself and quietly exited the claustrophobic bunker, saying he had to place an urgent call to Berlin. When a Wehrmacht officer noticed the bulky briefcase was in his way, he inconspicuously moved it away from Hitler, placing it behind the other substantial oak support. That simple event turned the tide of history.
Moments later, a terrific explosion catapulted one officer to the ceiling, ripped off the legs of others, and killed four soldiers instantly. Although the main force of the blast was directed away from Hitler, the German leader nonetheless suffered burst eardrums, burned hair, and a wounded arm. He was in shock but still alive—and unhinged for revenge.
Stauffenberg, believing Hitler was dead, leaped into a staff car with his aide Werner von Haeften. They talked their way out of the Wolfsschanze compound and made a dash for a nearby airfield, where they flew back to Berlin in a Heinkel He 111. When news got out that Hitler had survived, Stauffenberg and three other conspirators were quickly tracked down, captured, and executed at midnight by a makeshift firing squad.
An enraged Hitler did not stop there to satisfy his bloodlust. For the next month and a half, he instigated a bloody purge, resulting in the execution of dozens of plotters and hundreds of others remotely involved in the assassination coup. The Gestapo, no doubt acting under Hitler’s orders, treated the failed attempt on the Führer’s life as a pretext for arresting 5,000 opponents of the Third Reich, many of whom were imprisoned and tortured.
What many people do not know is that Hitler’s manhunt would dramatically alter the development of a secret weapon that could turn the tide of the war for Nazi Germany—the atomic bomb.
This is that story . . .
1
Waldshut, Germany
Saturday, July 29, 1944
4 p.m.
He hoped his accent wouldn’t give him away. The young Swiss kept his head down as he sauntered beneath the frescoed archways that ringed the town square of Waldshut, an attractive border town in the foothills of the southern Schwarzwald. He hopped over a foot-wide, waterfilled trench that ran through the middle of the cobblestone square and furtively glanced behind to see if anyone had detected his presence.
Even though Switzerland lay just a kilometer or two away across the Rhine River, the youthful operative realized he no longer breathed free air. Though he felt horribly exposed—as if he were marching down Berlin’s Kurfürstendamm screaming anti-Nazi slogans—he willed himself to remain confident.
His part was a small but vital piece of the larger war effort. Yes, he risked his life, but he was not alone in his passion. A day’s drive away, American tanks drove for the heart of
Earlier that morning, he’d introduced himself as Jean- Pierre to members of an underground cell. The French Resistance had recently stepped up their acts of sabotage after the Allies broke out of the Normandy beachhead two weeks earlier, and they’d all taken nom de guerres in their honor.
Inside the pocket of his leather jacket, Jean-Pierre’s right hand formed a claw around a Mauser C96 semiautomatic pistol. His grip tightened, as if squeezing the gun’s metallic profile would reduce the tension building in his chest. The last few minutes before an operation always came to this.
His senses peaked as he took in the sights and sounds around him. At one end of the town square, a pair of disheveled older women complained to a local farmer about the fingerling size of the potato crop. A horse-drawn carriage, transporting four galvanized tin milk containers, rumbled by while a young newsboy screamed out, “Nachrichten!” The boy’s right hand waved day-old copies of the Badische Zeitung from Freiburg, eighty kilometers to the northwest.
Jean-Pierre didn’t need to read the newspaper to know that more men and women were losing their lives by the minute due to the reprisals of a madman.
Though the planned mission had been analyzed from every angle, there were always uncertain factors that would affect not only the outcome of the mission but who among them would live. Or die.
Their task was to rescue a half-dozen men arrested by local authorities following the assassination attempt on Reichskanzler Adolf Hitler. If things went as Jean-Pierre hoped,
the men would soon be free from the Nazis’ clutches. If not, the captives’ fate included an overnight trip to Berlin, via a cattle car, where they would be transported to Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8. The men would be questioned—tortured if they weren’t immediately forthcoming— until names, dates, and places gushed as freely as the blood spilling upon the cold, unyielding concrete floor.
Not that revealing any secrets would save their lives. When the last bit of information had been wrung from their minds, they’d be marched against a blood-spattered wall or to the gallows equipped with well-stretched hemp rope. May God have mercy on their souls.
Jean-Pierre willed himself to stop thinking pessimistically. He glanced at his watch—a pricey Hanhart favored by Luftwaffe pilots. His own Swiss-made Breitling had been tucked inside a wooden box on his nightstand back home, where he had also left a handwritten letter. A love note, actually, to a woman who had captured his heart—just in case he never returned. But this was a time for war, not love. And he had
to keep reminding himself of that.
Jean-Pierre slowed his gait as he left the town square and approached the town’s major intersection. As he had been advised, a uniformed woman—her left arm ringed with a red
armband and black swastika—directed traffic with a whistle and an attitude.
She was like no traffic cop he’d ever seen. Her full lips were colored with red lipstick. Black hair tumbled upon the shoulder epaulettes of the Verkehrskontrolle’s gray-green
uniform. She wielded a silver-toned baton, directing a rambling assortment of horse-drawn carriages, battered sedans, and hulking military vehicles jockeying for the right of way.
She looked no older than twenty-five, yet acted like she owned the real estate beneath her feet. Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but let his lips curl up in a slight grin, knowing what was
to come. “Entschuldigung, wo ist das Gemeindehaus?” a voice said beside him. Jean-Pierre turned to the rotund businessman in the fedora and summer business suit asking for directions to City Hall.
“Ich bin nicht sicher.” He shrugged and was about to fashion another excuse when a military transport truck turned a corner two blocks away, approaching in their direction.
“Es tut mir Leid.” With a wave, Jean-Pierre excused himself and sprinted toward the uniformed traffic officer. In one quick motion, his Mauser was drawn.
He didn’t break stride as he tackled the uniformed woman to the ground. Her scream blasted his ear, and more cries from onlookers chimed in.
Jean-Pierre straddled the frightened traffic officer and pressed the barrel of his pistol into her forehead. Her shrieking immediately ceased.
“Don’t move, and nothing will happen to you.”
Jean-Pierre glanced up as he heard the mud-caked transport truck skid to a stop fifty meters from them.
A Wehrmacht soldier hopped out. “Halt!” He clumsily drew his rifle to his right shoulder.
Jean-Pierre met the soldier’s eyes and rolled off the female traffic officer.
A shot rang out. The German soldier’s body jerked, and a cry of pain erupted from his lips. He clutched his left chest as a rivulet of blood stained his uniform.
“Nice shot, Suzanne.” Jean-Pierre jumped to his feet, glancing at the traffic cop, her stomach against the asphalt with her pistol drawn.
Suzanne rose from the ground, crouched, and aimed.
Her pistol, which had been hidden in an ankle holster, was now pointed at the driver behind the windshield. The determined look in her gaze was one Jean-Pierre had come to
know well.
One, two, three shots found their mark, shattering the truck’s glass into shards. The driver slumped behind the wheel.
As expected, two Wehrmacht soldiers jumped out of the back of the truck and took cover behind the rear wheels.
Before Jean-Pierre had a chance to take aim, shots rang out from a second-story window overlooking the intersection.
The German soldiers crumbled to the cobblestone pavement in a heap.
“Los jetzt!” He clasped Suzanne’s hand, and they sprinted to the rear of the truck. Two black-leather-coated members of their resistance group had already beaten them there.
Jean- Pierre couldn’t remember their names, but it didn’t matter.
What mattered was the safety of the prisoners in the truck. Jean-Pierre only hoped the contact’s information had been correct.
With a deep breath, he lifted the curtain and peered into the truck. A half-dozen frightened men sat on wooden benches with hands raised. Their wide eyes and dropped jaws displayed their fear.
“Don’t shoot!” one cried.
The sound of a police siren split the air.
“Everyone out!” Jean-Pierre shouted. “I’ll take this one. The rest of you, go with them.” He pointed the tip of his Mauser at the men in leather jackets.
The sirens increased in volume as the speeding car gobbled up distance along the Hauptstrasse, weaving through the autos and pedestrians. An officer in the passenger’s seat leaned out, rifle pointed.
Jean-Pierre leaned into the truck and yanked the prisoner’s arm. Suzanne grabbed the other. “Move it, come on!”
Bullets from an approaching vehicle whizzed past Jean- Pierre’s ear. The clearly frightened prisoner suddenly found his legs, and the three sprinted away from the speedingcar.
Jean-Pierre’s feet pounded the pavement, and he tugged on the prisoner’s arm, urging him to run faster. He could hear the screech of the tires as the police car stopped just behind the truck. Jean-Pierre hadn’t expected the local Polizei to respond so rapidly.
They needed to find cover—
More gunfire erupted, and as if reading his thoughts, Suzanne turned the prisoner toward a weathered column. Jean-Pierre crumbled against the pillar, catching his breath.
The columns provided cover, but not enough. Soon the police would be upon them. They had to make a move. Only ten steps separated them from turning the street corner and sprinting into Helmut’s watch store. From there, a car waited outside the back door.
Another hail of gunfire struck the plaster. Jean-Pierre mouthed a prayer under his breath.
“Suzanne, we have to get out of here!”
She crouched into a trembling ball, all confidence gone. “They’re surrounding us!” The terror in her uncertain timbre was clear. “But what can we do? We can’t let them see us run into the store.”
“Forget that. We have no choice!” Jean-Pierre raised his pistol and returned several volleys, firing at the two policemen perched behind a parked car.
“Listen to me,” he said to Suzanne, taking his eyes momentarily off the police car. “You have to go. You take this guy, and I’ll cover you. Once you turn the corner, it’s just twenty more meters to Helmut’s store.” His hands moved as he spoke, slamming a new clip of ammunition into his pistol.
“But what if—”
“I’ll join you. Now go!”
Jean-Pierre jumped from behind the protection of the column and rapidly fired several shots. One cop dared expose himself to return fire—not at Jean-Pierre but at the pair running for the corner.
No!
Jean-Pierre turned just in time to see Suzanne’s body lurch. The clean hit ripped into her flesh between the shoulder blades. She staggered for a long second before dropping
with a thud. The gangly prisoner didn’t even look back as he disappeared around the corner.
I can’t lose him, Jean-Pierre thought, remembering again the importance of this mission.
Yet to chase after the prisoner meant he’d have to leave his partner behind.
Suzanne . . .
He emptied his Mauser at the hidden policemen, ducking as he scrambled toward his partner. Sweeping up her bloody form, he managed to drag her around the corner to safety.
“Go,” Suzanne whispered.
“I can’t leave you. Stay with me—”
Her eyelids fluttered. “You need to go . . .” A long breath escaped, and her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond him.
Jean-Pierre dropped to his knees and ripped open Suzanne’s bloodstained woolen jacket. Her soaked chest neither rose nor fell. He swore under his breath and brushed a lock of
black hair from her face.
Jean-Pierre cocked his head. Incessant gunfire filled the air. His colleagues were apparently keeping the German soldiers and local Polizei at bay, at least for the time being. He knew only a few valuable seconds remained to escape with
the prisoner.
He planted a soft kiss on Suzanne’s forehead. “Until we see each other in heaven,” he whispered.
Jean-Pierre darted to a trash can, where the shaken prisoner had hunkered down, covering his head. The resistance fighter clutched the man’s left arm and hustled him inside the watch store, pushing past two startled women. The rear door was propped open, and a black Opel four-door idled in the alley.
With a few quick steps, they were inside the vehicle.
Before the rear door was shut, the driver jerked the car into gear, and the Opel roared down the tight alley. The door slammed shut, and Jean-Pierre glanced back. No one followed.
The car merged onto a busier street, and only then did Jean-Pierre sink in his seat and close his eyes.
Soon they’d arrive at a safe house pitched on the Rhine River. And later, with the dark night sky as their protection, a skiff would sneak them into the warm arms of Mother
Switzerland—a skiff piloted by the mentor who’d recruited him. His nom de guerre: Pascal.
Jean-Pierre’s mission would soon be complete, but at what cost? Another agent—a good woman and a friend—had been sacrificed.
He had followed orders for the greater good, to save the life of a nameless prisoner. He only hoped this mission was worth it.
Tricia Goyer and Mike Yorkey, The Swiss Courier: A Novel,
Yesterday as we started school, we went through our normal routine of mentioning our prayer requests and praying together. As I said to Jacob, "Let's pray," Jaden bowed his little head and folded his hands. It was just so precious and melted my Mama's heart.
Oh, how I pray my boys will grow up to be prayer warriors and follow after God with all their hearts.
