Wednesday, May 31, 2023

When God Made You - by Matthew Paul Turner; Illustrated by David Catrow - Simply Beautiful Words and Pictures!


Children's Books are fun to read...and to give. I have a new great-great-nephew, Avery, for whom I'm
thinking about building a small library, so when he comes to visit me, we'll be able to share and read one of those books that I've added, based upon the storyline. So, it was an easy choice to select When God Made You!

For surely, God gave this little boy to our family! And if you feel that same way about your children or other children who have come into your life through family, neighbors, perhaps church, or some other way, and want to select a book as a gift, then I do want to call your attention to this story.

In the first book of Genesis, we learn that God created us in His image. What does that mean? Well, Matthew Paul Turner has written beautiful poetic words that will explain how and why God made each of us in a special image that only God could do!

Do you favor the words or the pictures when you look at a book. For a picture book, I look at both, but when it's a children's book, I think your eye just naturally turns to the pictures first, don't you?

The author talks about having been a reader when he was young and when he now had children, he knew he wanted to promote the same love of reading to his children...

First of all, the author could not have selected a more wonderful illustrator! Kudos to David Catrow for really amazing pictures that have so much for the child to explore that she won't be able to stop looking, trying to find the child who is pictured on the cover.

You, you, when God made YOU,
God made you all shiny and new.

An incredible you, a you all your own,
a you unlike anyone else ever known.

An exclusive design, one God refined,
you're a perfectly crafted one of a kind.

Cause when God made you.
somehow God knew
that the world needed someone
exactly like you.

You know, folks, one of the things that comes through in the words of Matthew Turner in this book and others, is that, indeed God designed each of us. He designed some to be one color and some another, but He surely knew what he was doing when he made me...and you... and you... and you, didn't He?

This is a happy book to share with your child, learning about God's part in creating him-- especially when you spend the time to read along. I remember when Avi was visiting and we looked through a book about cats that even had a button to press to hear a meow! It's a special time that we all can share, no matter what age your child might be. And, if you're smart, you'll keep adding books to that home library to ensure that the joy of reading--one of God's gifts to us-- will continue throughout their lives!

Watch for more children's books as I build Avi's library over the years. He's not yet talking much and certainly not reading, but if you have a book to recommend, let me know!

God Bless


Monday, May 29, 2023

2023 Memorial Day - Folks, Let Us Always Remember! - . Let Poetry, "Cats" by Regis Auffray Be Another Way to - Remember These Beloved Family Members Too!


May we Always Remember the Fallen 

Who Gave Their Lives for US!

Folks, My father was killed before I was born and none of my close family was taken during a war... Thankfully...

Cats have always been beside me since early in my life. I like to think that God sent that first kitten through a neighborhood boy to give me comfort and love. I hope you all take this joyful celebration of the lives of our cats in the way that many of our older citizens love their cats...and dogs... We, too, remember... God Bless Us All, Gabbie


There is much to say

About the feline species

Ad infinitum

One thing is for sure

Cats have personality

And a sense of self

Cats are capricious

They have a mind of their own

They do as they please

Some are pugnacious

Rather territorial

In a catty way

Some are finicky

But can be very cuddly

When they feel like it

 Kittens are so cute

Playful and energetic

Stars of any show

 Feline breeds abound

Colours and sizes vary


Persian or Maine Coon

Abyssinian or Manx

Just to name a few

It is my belief

All cats should be indoor cats

Unless on a leash 

Cats and birds don’t mix

Far too many feral cats

Lead to less birdsongs

Love them or hate them

Cats are not going away

At any time soon


© Regis Auffray

Regis Auffray is an ongoing contributor here at Book Readers Heaven

Thank you so much, Regis, for sharing your wonderful words!
Hope you all enjoy the Cats Musical 
Selections As Well!

Friday, May 26, 2023

J. D. Robb's Latest, Golden in Death - Great Twist on the Golden Egg Fable


Dr. Kent Abner began the day of his death comfortable and content. Following the habit of his day off, he kissed his husband of thirty-seven years off to work, then settled down in his robe with another cup of coffee, a crossword challenge on his PPC, and Mozart’s The Magic Flute on his entertainment unit. His plans for later included a run through Hudson River Park, as April 2061 proved balmy and blooming. After, he could hit the gym and some weights, grab a shower, have a bite in the cafĂ©. On the way home, he thought he’d pick up fresh flowers, wander through the market, and get the olives Martin so enjoyed, maybe a nice selection of cheeses. Then he’d meander to the bakery for a baguette and whatever else appealed. When Martin came home, they’d open a bottle of wine, sit and talk and have some bread and cheese. He’d leave the choice of eat in or eat out to Martin, with, hopefully, a romantic ending to the day—if Martin wasn’t worn out. They often joked Kent as a pediatrician handled the adorable babies and charming kids, while Martin as headmaster for a K–12 private academy juggled charming kids with hormonal and broody teens. Still, it worked for them, Kent thought as he filled in 21-Down. Toxic. He spent an entertaining hour with the puzzle, tidied up the kitchen while music filled the air of their townhome in the West Village. Kent changed into his running clothes, added a light hoodie. He packed his gym bag, deciding he’d drop it off in his locker before his run. As he zipped it, the doorbell rang. Humming to himself, he carried his bag out to the living room, set it on the coral sofa he and Martin had chosen when they’d redecorated six months before. Out of habit, he checked the door monitor, saw the delivery girl he recognized with a small package. He disengaged the locks, opened the door. 

He collapsed, convulsing as Mozart’s Queen hit high F.

“Good morning!” “Morning, Dr. Abner. Got a package for you.” “So I see. You just caught me.” He took the package, offered her a smile as the Queen of the Night’s vengeful second-act aria poured out to Bedford Street. “Beautiful day!” “It sure is. You have a good one,” she added before she walked down the steps to the sidewalk. “You, too.” Kent closed the door, studying the package as he carried it back to the kitchen. Since it was addressed to him, he opened the drawer for the box cutter. The return label had a Midtown address and a shop name—All That Glitters—he didn’t recognize. A gift? he wondered as he cut the box. Inside the box, under the packing, another box. Small, simple, he thought, smooth, dark faux wood closed with a small lock, the key attached with a thin chain. Baffled, he set it down, unlocked the clasp. Inside the box, nestled in thick black padding, sat a small—undeniably cheap—golden egg, closed tight with a tiny hook. “All That Glitters,” he muttered, flipped the hook. The lid stuck a bit as he started to lift it. He gave it a harder tug. He didn’t see the vapor, didn’t taste it. But he felt the effects instantly as his throat seemed to snap shut, his lungs clog. His eyes burned, and his well-toned muscles began to tremble. The egg dropped from his fingers as he stumbled blindly toward the window. Air, he needed air. He tripped, fell, tried to crawl away. His system revolted, expelling the light breakfast he’d had with his husband. Fighting through the tearing pain, he tried to drag himself across the floor.


It's been years since I've read J.D.Robb, who is actually my very favorite author. So when I recently saw an email showing her latest was now out, I decided to take the opportunity to at least renew my interest, and, hopefully, try to catch up with the backlog of books by this prolific writer that I haven't yet read...

So it was a little surprising that, after learning of the first death as soon as I opened the book, that, as the investigation started, I felt the story begin to drag a little. Yes, I'm aware that this is normal in police cases, but I was also anxious to once again feel my own connection with the main character, Eve Dallas, and her spouse, Roarke...

It didn't take long to find the first very important clue, which exploded into lies, deceit, drugs, death and more. The only thing was that a second victim was found which moved the investigation back in time to a private school...

“We believe the package contained an as-yet-unidentified toxic substance.” Lydia’s blue eyes went momentarily blank, then filled with alarm. “You mean like poison or something? Like terrorism or something?”

“We’ll do it. He’s a lit professor at Columbia.” Eve sat back. “Maybe it’s a big stretch to connect that to the headmaster of a private academy, but it’s the only link we have. We’ll come back for the rest of the house,” she decided as she rose. “He’s in class now, according to his schedule. We’ll go to him.”

As soon as I entered the halls (metaphorically learning of the school through the book) of the Theresa A. Gold (TAG) Academy, my mind started to think about the state of our schools today and how children can be manipulated, bullied, assaulted, all under the supervision of those to whom we've placed trust. Teachers, or the Headmaster, as was found at TAG who were involved in allowing these things to occur. Specifically, it was the headmaster who was more concerned about bringing money into the school and cultivating relationships with the parents of the rich students, while those who were there by scholarships were often harassed, one even beaten badly...

And, of course, when some teachers started to complain, that headmaster quickly found another position in a similar school and started her routine activities there...

So that when a new headmaster was named and things began to greatly change, there were many students who soon, for one reason or another, gone from TAG... The atmosphere had been functioning satisfactorily for many years.

Following the money...following the headmaster and students was not easy after eight years. Yet, when a change occurs in the present, then earlier facts of bad behavior of all kinds come to the surface, it doesn't take long to discover the Truth! No matter how long and how deep the earlier transgressions had been hidden only to be found with sufficient evidence to prove the criminal laws that had been broken.

During the investigation, as many rich people became involved, there were, unfortunately, what we have come to expect in America. Those who checked the background of Dallas and Eve and saw no educational backgrounds that could possibly make them peers with those under investigation. As in all of Robb's books, she enjoys (and readers benefit) spotlighting the fact that their backgrounds have brought them both to the success where they are. 

Roarke, of course, although probably known by the intellectuals involved, is soooo rich that he's often building off-planet... He's soooo rich that, often, when Eve has to enter a building on a case, the building is owned by Roarke and she has total access, which often upsets building occupants...

And, yet, Roarke is so in love with Eve, that he ensures her life style is indeed on the same level of class as those who she sometimes...jails! In this novel, knowing that Eve would be talking to those that consider themselves the rich and famous, he purposely pulled together an outfit, along with a long leather coat that would ensure that everybody would understand...

Eve Dallas is somebody you'd better treat right...or you may find yourself next facing Roarke. Not a man to have on the wrong side of your meeting, if you get my meaning!

For me, the characters make the story. So, if you enjoy police procedures, set in the future...don't forget to search for J. D. Robb, Aka Nora Roberts! I applaud her for effectively illustrating what a life of lying can lead to... 

Robb has taken a major issue direct from headlines and presented a wonderful novel, spotlighting the growth of lying as a routine part of daily life. Given the title, I felt led to share a little more directly from the book. If you recognize the words as what you've heard, then you may want to think hard about your family and friends and their communication with you.

Eve shifted when the elevator stopped to let more people on. “The lying’s autopilot with him, and not very skilled. He lies about the obvious and inconsequential, so by the time he gets to the big stuff it’s just red-faced blather.” A woman in a business suit and sunshades glanced at Eve. “Sounds like my ex-husband. Some people plan a lie. Others?” she continued as the doors opened to let yet more people on. “It’s involuntary instinct, like breathing.” “Tell me about it,” someone else piped up. “I dated this guy once who’d lie if you asked him his name. He just couldn’t help himself.” One of the new passengers let out a snort. “It’s worse when they believe the lie—convince themselves it’s true, keep beating you over the head with it until you start wondering if you’re the one who’s crazy.” “They all sound like my ex,” the first woman commented as the doors opened on the lobby level. “He gets around,” Eve said, and heard the woman laugh as she and Peabody strode to the doors. “That was interesting,” Peabody decided as they walked back to the car. “Lying liars unite strangers in elevator. Dateline New York.” “Everyone knows at least one lying sack.” “That’s really true. I’ll check his alibis to see if they were a crock, too. Being such a crappy liar, he’s never going to be even...halfway decent...  “Add deeply stupid. A lying sack who can’t lie worth crap, and a complete schmuck.” “His lies aren’t holding.” Mira glanced toward the interview room door. “So he’ll shift them. I suspect he’ll shift any blame.... “Yeah, I’m with you there.” “He feels entitled to lie, as he was entitled to punish those who offended or betrayed him—or who simply became inconvenient. He doesn’t fully recognize, certainly doesn’t respect, your authority over him. And it infuriates him. He has no feelings of guilt or remorse, even doubt, to trip him up. It’s his anger that will.”

Folks, I know from time to time we might purposely choose to tell a "white lie" so that we don't hurt somebody's feelings. But when it is being shown that politicians as well as judges within our government have cultivated a climate of lies, we need to act to call them out whenever possible! 

One question: Do you mind if your children and/or family members lie to you?

Think and Choose 

Hold Liars Accountable

God Bless


Wednesday, May 24, 2023

Latest C. S. McDonald Cozy Mystery, Felonius Finale, Features The Operetta, The Merry Widow!


Felonious Finale 

The Carnegie Library and Music Hall, Carnegie, Pennsylvania 1965… 

Joy filled Katherine Starr’s heart when her small troop, Onstage Operetta Company, decided to produce The Merry Widow. She’d spent a lifetime dreaming of playing the role of Hanna Glawari, a beautiful, wealthy, young widow from the small and impoverished Balkan province of Pontevedro. 

Ambassador Baron Zeta is eager for Hanna to re-marry. Except, to keep her fortune in the country and save them all from ruin, he insists she marry a Pontevedrian and not a Frenchman. The clear choice is Count Danilo. However, there is a snag, Hanna and Danilo are old flames, and the Count is far too vain to marry her for her money. Mix-ups and humorous intrigue abound when it comes to light that the Baron’s wife, Valencienne, is having an affair with Frenchman Camille, Count de Rosillon! Hanna steps in to rescue the married woman’s reputation. Much to the Pontevedrains’ despair, Hanna declares it is she who plans to marry Camille, and that is when Danilo is forced to acknowledge his true feelings for Hanna.

Ah, Katherine never grew weary of the audience’s anticipation at the finale…will they, or won’t they? Now, Katherine sat in her dressing room at the music hall, before her lighted mirror, smoothing on red lipstick, while her dear, bright yellow canary, Zippy, swung two and fro on its perch in the gilded cage nearby, twittering and singing her sweet song. Katherine had no sooner set the lipstick aside when there was a knock at the door. 

“Katherine, may I come in?” Royce Hathaway, a talented baritone who played the role of Danilo, called from the hallway. His deep voice was on the edge of frantic. “Yes, come in.” Her expectant gaze clung to the mirror as Royce rushed through the door to stand behind her. Even through makeup, Katherine could see his handsome face was flushed. “What’s wrong?” “Bert Mateer won’t be coming. He’s very ill. Piers didn’t feel the need to cover him with an understudy. He has no solo or lines, but he serves all the drinks for the party scenes and for the toasts. He’s still quite important, and we’ve got no one to cover him. Everyone is on stage when he is, for the big scenes. Except…” Royce raised his eyebrows and cocked his chin to one side. “Except, who?” 

“Your husband.” “Bobby? But he just sets up the props. Makes sure the correct things are on stage at the correct time, fills the trays with drinks for Bert to serve. I’m not sure he knows what Bert actually does while he’s on stage.” “I think Bobby knows. He’s been to enough rehearsals. Sure, Bert hams it up as the waiter. It’s his way to make up for being such a weak tenor and to be included in the show.” Royce shrugged. “He does a good job. He gets laughs from the audience, but Bobby doesn’t have to do that. I’ve seen the two of them talking backstage. I’m sure Bert has told him all about it. All Bobby has to do is serve the drinks. He doesn’t even have to pretend to sing.” “Have you talked this over with Piers? He is the director,” Katherine put in. Royce’s face pinched with guilt. “No, I haven’t. He’s very busy with last minute sound and light checks. I don’t want to bother him with this.” He gently laid his hands on her shoulders. “Please, Katherine, come with me to convince Bobby to do it and get him into costume. He looks to be about Bert’s size. Don’t you think?” Katherine studied Royce’s reflection in the mirror. He was right. The part of the waiter was small, yet significant, and this was something they could solve without bothering Piers. Lifting her lips into a demure curl, she patted his right hand. “Okay, I’ll go with you, but no guarantees.” Considering the blue, wide-brimmed hat festooned with mounds of white ostrich feathers on the brushed gold hat stand, but deciding to leave it behind, Katherine pushed up from her bench. She swept the long, ivory, and blue, brocade gown away from her legs. Her rhinestone choker and dangling earrings glinted in the lights outlining the mirror, as she stepped toward the bird cage to check the door. The last thing she wanted was for her darling Zippy to escape and fly through the auditorium during the performance. “Hurry Katherine, we haven’t much time,” Royce agonized.


I really enjoyed the latest novel by C. S. McDonald. Yes, the setting within the activities of performing an operetta was fun, but, more, it was because there were two--yes, two--angels now working to earn their spots in St. Peter's Guardian Angel Squad. Detective Cliff Slater has joined PI Bobbie Starr... And, no, this Cliff Slater is not the present Cliff Slater who is our main character, Alexa Owl's lover, who, was, at that very moment, sleeping along with Alexa in her bedroom...

So Bobbie Starr and Detective Slater, popping in, was not the best time to start on the new angel's mission--to find out just who murdered Bobbie Starr!

And if that wasn't enough confusion, Bobbie Starr also has another problem to solve and it involves our lovely and fun assistant to Alexa in her tailor shop, formerly Winnie's home, now converted to the "The Owl’s Nest Couturier Shoppe."

And when St. Peter calls...

This time, Alexa and Detective Slater were the ones thrown back into time! And it was during that time when Bobbie Starr was murdered! During The Merry Widow's performance!

Entire operetta provided for those interested...

Bobby wasn't one of the performers, but when one of them did not show up, Bobby was called into taking the small part that merely was to cross the stage from one side to the other, serving drinks. And when he left the stage on the other wing, he was later found dead. And the original performer, Bert, was also found dead at this home! Murdered!

Don't bother asking why and how Alexa is being called as the human to help St. Peter! He's not talking and Alexa and the angels don't know. But in this case, Alexa's skills as a seamstress gets her into the middle of the set as Bert's wife didn't want to come back after Bert's death. And so, Alexa worked inside while Detective Slater worked outside.

And wouldn't you know it, this new angel, without too much experience, and with Alexa not being with him constantly, proved to be a fatal problem when the very much alive Detective Cliff Slater was assigned to the two murder cases! Can you think Keystone Cops?!

For surely the officers under the live Detective Slater (who had not yet been killed) are going crazy when the angel Detective Slater meets up with them and even solves the case... Hilarious scenes of perplexion are enjoyed by readers as those actually working the two murder cases try to figure out why their boss is acting so strange and weird! Not to mention the confusion of the real Cliff Slater... 

McDonald's sense of humor has certainly come to the front with this latest Alexa Owl Mystery. And I'm loving it... Special kudos for the humor in this one!

If you haven't started this series, but it sounds
interesting, I recommend you start at the beginning (this is the fourth novel)... Get to know the characters so that when this one is read, you are more prepared... Although I must also add that this and others can also be free-standing reads--but what's the fun in that when an entire time-travel series led by St. Peter himself awaits!

Cozy Mystery Lovers, especially - Enjoy!



Monday, May 22, 2023

It's Monday, and Robert Sells, Author and Political Commentator Points Out - It's Really Very Simple - Social Soapbox


Anniversary of January 6th Insurrection
Against America

It's really very simple.

A person who calls reputable news sources FAKE NEWS when such organizations call him out on his lies or mistakes should not be president.
A person who asks the leader of another country to investigate a potential political opponent should not be president.
A person who calls a fair and accurate presidential vote ELECTION RIGGING nearly every day for over two years should not be president.
A person who uses inflammatory language to stoke the fires of anger and fear in his followers should not be president.
A person who watches violence perpetrated on our Capitol for over two hours and refuses to protect and preserve the sanctity and safety of the Capitol should not be president.
A person who promises to pardon most of the sentenced criminals who broke into a federal building and battled with police should not be president.
A person who deliberately purloined classified documents from the White House and refused to return such documents should not be president.
Any of the above actions should disqualify any individual from being president. Donald Trump has committed all of them. It's really very simple.


Donald's Truth Social soapbox will have to be upgraded. As with Facebook (Donald was kicked off of this platform due to his excessive lies and inflammatory language) right now users can only choose between lower-case and upper-case letters. The Great Deceiver of small minds often uses upper-case letters to emphasize some statement... it's tantamount to him yelling. In the past, he reserved his “yelling” for different phrases: DEEP STATE... FAKE NEWS... ELECTION RIGGING. Recently, the poor man has been worried about a number of possible upcoming indictments: one from Georgia, at least one from New York, and a couple from the DOJ.
No, he was not “FRAMED BY THE FBI AND THE DOJ”. Rather he was investigated by both since he had so many questionable connections with our arch enemy Russia.
BOXES HOAX? Really, Donald? You deliberately refused to hand over the purloined documents to the National Archives. You even bragged about how it was your RIGHT to take any materials with you. PERFECT PHONE CALL? You were pushing a state official to find just enough votes to carry the state for you. It's called election fraud and you were trying to get that official to commit that crime.
I have no idea what you mean by ELECTION INTERFERENCE IN 2024. You might be genius enough to see into the future but I'm not. You end with “WE WILL WIN”.
Of course, if you don't, you are already setting the stage for ELECTION FRAUD in that upcoming election with your ELECTION INTERFERENCE IN 2024. Finally, the country is not going to Hell. Actually on the day you wrote this illegal immigration was falling, the debt crisis was positively moving toward a bipartisan resolution, and President Biden gave awards to police who went above and beyond the call of duty to quell mass shootings.
So, why exactly does Donald need to upgrade Truth Social? Well, since he's yelling ALL THE TIME, he needs to somehow emphasize various incendiary phrases again. I suggest that he adds a bold-face option to his Truth Social. That way he could have CAPITALIZED and bold-faced “OUR COUNTRY IS GOING TO HELL!”. Ahh, that would have been REALLY LOUD SHOUTING.

When it's Appropriate, which this was,
I love a little sarcasm...
But I'd also like to claim that phrase...
Going to a Lie
God has promised us So Much More!

L is for Liar.

In 1997, Bill Clinton said, “I did not have sex with that woman,” which, of course, was a lie. What he should have said was, “I did not provide dry-cleaning services for that woman.”

Perhaps the most famous (infamous?) lie of all came in 2003, when George W. Bush started the war in Iraq because “there were weapons of mass destruction” there. There weren’t; it was a lie. (Unless, of course, he believed it and, fifteen years later, he’s still looking for them, in much the same way O.J. is still looking for Nicole’s real killer).

Those political lies stand out because they were aberrations, not the norm. Donald Trump lies so often and so frequently that the truth stands out—or at least it will, if he ever tells it. Donald Trump tells all kinds of lies.
He tells lies of defamation (that Ted Cruz’s father was involved in the JFK assassination, for example); lies of dissembling, which is lying by posing as someone you’re not (Trump used to call journalists and pretend he was his own publicist); lies of deception (he fired Comey because of the “way he handled the Hillary email investigation”; even Trump didn’t believe that one!); lies of fabrication (he said Muslims in New Jersey were cheering on 9/11); and my favorite, bald-faced lies (for example, about the size of the crowd at his inauguration, in spite of aerial photos proving that what he was saying was patently false).
The truly fascinating thing is that Trump lies when it’s unnecessary and for no apparent reason. To this day, he carries on about how he was at the top of his class at Wharton Business School, a lie that (a) is not true, (b) was about something from fifty years ago, and (c) nobody cares about. If I said I was the Queen of Sweden from 1963 to 1964, it would clearly be a lie, but would you give a flying fuck? No. You’d just wonder why I would lie about something like that. Which brings us to the real problem with Trump’s lying: credibility.
If he’s lying about inconsequential things, how will we know if he’s telling the truth about big things, like a nuclear attack or a health pandemic or whether he’s hung like a horse, as he claims? It’s hard to trust someone who lies constantly. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said it best: “I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you.” (He was deep.)
Donald Trump is like an adult version of the character in Aesop’s fable “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” The boy lied and lied and lied about the wolf coming for his sheep, and then, one day, the wolf really did come, but nobody helped the boy fight the wolf off because they no longer believed him. In the end, the boy was eaten by the wolf. I think that if Trump keeps on compulsively lying, sooner or later no one will believe him, and he’ll get eaten by the wolf. And so will we, even though we have not been the ones doing all the lying. And that pisses me off.

Frankly, Folks, I believe Robert Sells when he states that It's Really Very Simple. But you don't have to believe Sells, Joy Behar...or Me...All you have to do is do your research. Nothing we've said can be proved...false... Now it's up to you to find out why the republican party continues to support a proven liar... And now has adopted his philosophy of not telling the truth. Sometimes we all need to reflect on the truth of it all... and how the violence was downplayed, ignored, or lied about... When the MAGA followers attacked our Nation...

Sunday, May 21, 2023

I've Been To a Revival With Reverend Benjamin L. Corey's Book, Unafraid, And God's Joy Flooded My Soul...When I Needed a Boost!


It's been many years since I've actually attended a revival...Yet, I've been at a week-long wonderful experience with Benjamin L. Corey, in which Reverend Corey provides readers with his own testimony about his own revival experience, in which he now shares that he...and I...and not need to be afraid!


This is one we always sang "after" part of the reval service so that we could stand up and stretch... It brought us joy and fun just as these people had!

I love singing harmony with this song...I'll sing the high part and you sing melody! OK?

For surely, I have been blessed by the book Unafraid and at the end of the first day of reading, I was grinning, thanking God for sending me this book, for surely it was the one that all others had been building up least until the next one! LOL

For surely, God wants to never stop sharing with us, His children... His Love is so wonderful, so powerful that there is absolutely NO limits to it!
Praise His Name!

This is one that I also chose often to sing solo...

Corey starts his story when he was young and was always doing something to gain being the best scripture memorizer and winning awards for that and then moves on to talk about his growing up in a conservative home and learning all that he must do to be accepted as one of God's children...

And, of course, along the way, he learned from the hell and damnation preachers who threatened the fires of hell if he didn't...whatever...was on the mind of the preacher that day...

And how he met with problems in his home life, losing his children that he loved... Of course, each one of us may have a similar background, perhaps? But each of us has our own personal story that reflects our own early home environment and church life. I was moving along with the Reverend, thinking about how his life compared with mine--something we all do, don't we? Well, the main thing I was thinking was that I really had no fear of God...

Or did I?

Folks, in over 60 years of reading book after book about God and Jesus--both nonfiction and fiction, I have never had My Personal Questions addressed as I found in this book--I've already ordered another book by this same author. For, you know, folks, I know that I know that I know that God has touched this man and he has a story to tell you that has been given to him by The Holy Spirit. It was a hard story for him to write. For some, it will be a hard story to read. Me, I was so excited that in some way, through what I call a God Incident, I had been led to this book!

Perhaps it was because of the title! For surely, with what is happening in America, so many of us are afraid. And most of that fear, in my opinion, is based upon the political climate that now exists today! 

There is no way I can tell whether this book will touch you like it did me. All that I can tell you is that Corey has brought a revival to my spirit and I feel so Alive! And, of course, I call this a must-read if you are indeed afraid... Because, today, I say, I have no fear except from those individuals living in America. Who do not know that God is The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit! Once again I have no fear for I know that God is Alive...and Watching...and In Control!

And what happens may not be what many Americans will expect...

My first revival was a Billy Graham crusade revival and, though, he personally wasn't there, I was thrilled to meet George Beverly Shea as he sang and I was part of the choir that had been created prior to the crusade. Many years ago...

May His Spirit Touch YOU This Day!

God Bless,

Wednesday, May 17, 2023

James Patterson, with Maxine Paetro - Latest in Women's Murder Club - Club Members Threatened!


AS HE DROVE at the residential speed limit of twenty miles an hour, Blackout’s immediate plan had been to get off Taylor as fast as he reasonably could. He had taken the first left at Filbert, then turned up onto Leavenworth, passing the house where Catherine and Josie Fleet had lived. A man he recognized as Catherine’s husband, Brad Fleet, had been coming down the front steps. He’d looked both ways and, not seeing his wife and daughter, had no doubt assumed that Catherine and Josie were still in the park. Poor bastard. 

As police cars, sirens screaming, could be heard on the street below, Blackout proceeded to the location for his most important scene. Now, hours later, safe at home, he thought how long that drive had seemed with the woman and baby tucked away inside the trunk. And he’d had a few thoughts about the senior citizen who’d seen too much, lying dead on Taylor between two parked vehicles. 

He’d charged up his video glasses in the car as he drove and later, filmed the perfect ceremony for his victims—without interference. He’d felt peaceful. Reverent. That part, the end of their story, was one long four-minute shot that might be even more bittersweet with music. Something classical, he thought. Albinoni’s “Adagio in G Minor.” Better yet, Ravel’s Pavane for a Dead Princess. 

Yes, that was more appropriate, a fitting homage to a killer he’d often thought of as a teacher, almost a friend. He was sure his mentor would like the results of the day’s work and pictured him now: a superior executioner confined to a cell at San Quentin. A man named Evan Burke.


The main thought that continues in my mind at the ending of this new book was that here was a group of women, and men, who truly cared for others... And truly were committed to ensure their lives continue in this world where evil is constantly striving to win... The caring, sharing, ongoing contact within this team of those committed to various parts related to the legal system is written so well that we readers also feel empathically what is taking place in one of the most extraordinary novels for this series. Which is already a best seller.

I remember I read the first book or two of the series, but was so busy with requested reviews that I stopped reviewing for major authors... In fact, most of those major authors have been side-lined given the wealth of writers that are out there today, who, however, may have not yet won name identity... You will find many of those talked about, though, here at Book Readers Heaven. Just a thought! Take a risk, try some of the new writers out there as well... You will be pleasantly surprised with the quality of their writing!

Serial killers exist in reality; however, even more in novels... One of the reasons I spotlight the writers' spotlighting emotional involvement of the characters is because, the level of violence in the world is rising and, suddenly, we are more aware of how the level of violence, itself, is intensifying.

Patterson and Paetro have garnered both my appreciation for, and compliments for softening the novel through the characters fighting evil. For, surely, as we see two separate serial killers spotlighted, we find the callous disregard for human life... Too much of a "bad thing" is not necessarily good. To illustrate what I mean, I refuse to read true crime books, I have stopped watching Criminal Minds on television. The competition to see which writer can create the most heinous crimes has gone, in my opinion, too far. Too far in exploring the details that really don't need to be exposed as viewers root for the good guy over the bad buy, don't you think?

One of the members of the Women's Murder Club, has just released her book which is an authorized biography of a convicted serial killer, You Never Knew Me. It was Evan Burke who contacted Cindy Thomas, a local crime reporter, to write his story. Thomas was proud of her book; however, the actual interaction with Burke had been a traumatic experience for her, as she had to listen to all that he had done--and felt about it. Crime fiction is something I won't read, nor watch on TV... Cindy was repeatedly shocked by Burke’s ruthlessness, the pleasure he took in killing. Unable to wall herself off from the sickening details of his crimes, Cindy had come to know Evan Burke too well. And that knowledge had changed her. In fact, this is the very reason I won't expose myself to this type of writing.

Nevertheless, Cindy had taken on the project and needed to follow through with it, through the normal book tour process. At the first signing, there was a woman who began by questioning Cindy's position on the book.

“Open it,” she said. I clicked. The email was blank so I downloaded the video. Like the one Blackout had shot from the back seat of Hammer’s Camry, this was also as seen through the killer’s eyes. “Body cam?” I said. “Video glasses,” said Alvarez. “So says Rich’s tech.” “There,” I said, putting my finger on my computer screen just above a woman in a red tracksuit jogging toward the camera. There was sound: birds, wind through leaves, then, Blackout’s digitized voice, which was pulsing but clear. He said, “This is the kind of girl we like. Twenties. Limber. Strong.” 
I said, “We? Who is we?” Blackout called out to the runner, “Excuse me. I think I’m lost.” The young woman stopped running a few yards from Blackout, caught her breath, walked closer. She had chin-length, wavy brown hair, a pretty face. She asked Blackout, “Where do you want to go?” “Brooks Avenue,” said Blackout. “Where’d I go wrong?” Behind my shoulder Alvarez was watching as I reacted to the scene playing out on-screen. 
“Oh-my-God, oh-my-God,” I said. “This is last night’s victim.” The runner was looking at a map on Blackout’s phone, pointing out that he’d passed Brooks Avenue, tracing the correct direction on the screen. Our view changed. Blackout was looking up and around, as if he was visualizing the route, giving us a panoramic view of the Fuller Theological Seminary campus. There were lawns. Winding paths. Park benches. Sabal palms. But this was not a sightseeing tour for my benefit. Blackout was making sure the way was clear. His gloved hand dipped into the pocket of his black windbreaker and came out clenched around a small canister. The runner looked at it, puzzled. She didn’t know what it was. The gloved hand aimed the nozzle at her eyes and pressed the lever with his thumb. The woman shrieked, tried to clear her eyes with her hands and sleeves, but she had no chance against this man who reached for her. She backed up, stumbled, and dropped to the pavement. 
I gripped the edge of my desk as she cried out, but all I could see of the scuffle that followed was Blackout’s right hand clapped over her mouth, his left arm angling her into a carotid restraint hold. He formed a right angle with her neck in the crux between his forearm and biceps. He used his full weight to subdue her—and he squeezed. Alvarez and I watched in shock as the woman’s writhing and kicking stopped. The leather-gloved hand came off her mouth and she didn’t cry out. She was lifeless. Dead. Blackout stood, and again panned the campus before walking out the way he came. 
Sound came up, classical music I recognized as “Adagio for Strings.” Soft. Mournful. A dramatic bass line. Blackout’s view shifted upward as if he were looking through palm fronds overhead. In his digitized voice he said, “Dedicated to you, Mr. Burke.” The image of palm trees backlit by an indigo sky froze. Then faded to black.

While Cindy continued her tour, a second serial killer, calling himself Blackout, was responding to every book signing with a murder. Each action was caught on video, provided with sound and sent to Lindsay Boxer, homicide detective, who was lead on the case and who tells the story, first person.

It was very clear that Blackout was a fan of Evan Burke and was copying his life style, but with a clearly electronic upgrade... With each video that was sent, classical music apropo of that individual chosen was added as background.

This continued until the beginning of the ending... and Cindy herself was kidnapped! And Blackout's deal was that if Cindy started talking and telling him all that she knew about Burke, he would let her live...

And while all that was going on Yuki, the prosecutor of a domestic violence case was seeking attempted murder charges against the victim's husband. An appropriate twist, post the period beginning with Lolita, for example, of the inclusion of "being rough" during sex was explored, proved to create a gripping trial dialogue between the two lawyers, with Yuki of the Women's Murder club, getting the maximum decision from the jury...

Tension was getting higher, Lindsey even took time to visit with Dr. Greene, her psychiatrist. This discussion, actually more of a dialogue, allows us to see the personal turmoil, anger and rising temper as she's trying to deal with one of her best friends being captured and, undoubtedly, torture... And knowing the entire team was also sifting through every inch of information, trying to find out who the Hell was Blackout...

My line rang again. Bobby, manning the desk outside Brady’s office, called the radio room. He motioned to me, spinning a finger like a reel of tape on a spool. I understood. They’re on it. Blackout said, “Sergeant?” “Yes.” And I rephrased my last question to Blackout. “How’s Cindy?” 
“She’s not talking,” he said. It was an ambiguous answer, and I didn’t like it. I gave Conklin’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “She’ll talk to me if you let her,” I said. He didn’t reply. Instead, he talked about Cindy. “I read the book she wrote with Evan Burke. I read her first book, too. She was a remarkable writer.” Was? The past-tense usage was either deliberate or unconscious. Or both. 
“What are you saying?” I asked, as Conklin lunged toward the screen. “I envied her, you know,” he said. “I would have liked to be with Evan all those months she spent with him. What a lucky thing for her. Anyway. I’ve got to go.” There was the click of the phone hanging up, but the video still rolled. Blackout put on his glasses, looked at the shabby sofa. 
I caught a glimpse of Cindy but then she disappeared from the frame. Music came up, a dressed-up symphonic rendition of a pop song I remembered from childhood. My father sang it at odd times, in the car, around the house; singer Peggy Lee’s version of “Is That All There Is?” The lyrics were about disillusionment after important personal events. House fire. Circus. Falling in love. The second line of each chorus: “If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing.” 
I’m a literal person and I wanted a literal answer, not an enigma wrapped in an old-time tune. Was Blackout saying he’d killed Cindy and that it was a big disappointment? Or that every life is a disappointment and that included Cindy’s? 
I looked at Alvarez. She shrugged sadly as the video feed cut out. 
A title card appeared on-screen. It was in a large bold Arial font, white letters centered on a black ground. It read, 
“Blackout out.”