The Hidden Sun by J. Lloyd Morgan

The Hidden Sun by J Lloyd Morgan is an enjoyable story of a woman facing her destiny for being queen with a difficult decision. As the new queen, she is required to enter into an arranged marriage and the person who has been chosen for her leaves her nervous and uncomfortable. Things have been slightly off in his corner of the kingdom for many years but it is unclear what is really happening. She’s worried for her kingdom and worried for her heart. It’s not bad enough that she is supposed to enter into a marriage she does not want but doing so would require her to put aside the love she feels for a man who has proven himself good and true.

It’s an interesting and compelling journey to take with the characters. I enjoyed my time within The Hidden Sun’s pages very much. And bonus: I loved the naming conventions of many characters. Some people might find them a little cheesy but for me they were plain fun.
So, what did I find to grumble about? The editing could have been better; the copy errors were a bit distracting. And, the story was told from many different perspectives. It was sometimes hard to tell whose head I was in and why. I think I would have preferred a few less characters telling the story.

I could easily recognize that this was a first novel. J. Lloyd Morgan is no stranger to good storytelling, but writing a novel was a new venue for him. It does show a little, but I expect a little of that from most new authors. Mostly, I judge a story on its ability to engross me as opposed to whether or not the author has mastered all the rules of the craft. Heck, I can’t place a comma correctly to save my life, so who am I to judge the polish of another storyteller’s craft? It’s a journey for all of us. I’ll definitely be interested to see what comes of the sequel Mr. Morgan is working on.

I actually think that The Hidden Sun’s best quality comes in the form of the moral message woven into the story, mainly: the differences between right and wrong and the long-term consequences of both. While the logical choices of right and wrong may be clear enough, in every situation you’ll find multiple shades of grey that make it hard to see where such choices could lead. Morgan’s approach is to take the stand that wrong choices, even when you feel they have been justified by good reasons, will have far reaching consequences which are rarely good.

The story is engaging and enjoyable, with the added layer of a “moral of the story”, this might be a good choice if you happen to have a teenage child on the verge of life and finding themselves getting a little lost in the mists of life. The truly rebellious element will probably see right through it and recognize the story as an extended lecture. But, those who have a good understanding of the gospel or just find themselves struggling a little will find a great story that lets them see the consequences of someone’s actions from a safe distance. It allows them to look at their own choices with a different perspective.

For this aspect alone, I would recommend The Hidden Sun find a place on your family’s bookshelf. Pick up a copy and see what little messages you can find hidden in it that seem to speak directly to you and your life’s journey.

Getting Rid of My Stuff

Okay, so I’m reading one of those “get your life together” books. I read a lot of those and none of them seem to stick, btw. As the book pontificates on stepping back to see how you really perceive and feel about all the stuff in your life, physical, emotional, activities, everything, I think I’ve realized something about myself. Well, it really is something I’m well aware of but I haven’t thought much about it in several years.

It seems that the main reason I get bogged down is because I’m still placing more value on what others think I should value than what I actually do. Does that make sense?

Since it’s the Christmas season, take Christmas card giving as an example. It’s a tradition, it’s a nice thought. But what happens when you sit down to decide who you want to send cards to? You write down all the names that come to mind, then you sit and stare at the list for days, adding names frantically as you think of other people you should acknowledge. You haven’t actually thought about that neighbor that lived by you 12 years ago in ages, but you don’t want her to know that because she sent you a card last year. What about the post man? What about his weekend substitute? What about the garbage men, they certainly deserve your gratitude. See where I’m going with this? Something that started out as a simple way to let people around you know they are loved turns into a bigger nightmare than going to six different stores to find that one special toy. Of course, everyone’s world would be forever shattered if they didn’t get a card from you this year and you don’t want that on your shoulders!

Thus it is with me and my stuff in all its forms.

Case in point #1: I have a large picture of a temple in my basement. It hasn’t matched anything in my décor for the last two houses (I’ve been in this one 8 years if that tells you anything). But I hang on to it. Why? Well, yes there is the standard, “It might match again some day” thought, but more importantly there is a huge amount of guilt that goes with imagining throwing it out. I mean, it’s the temple! If I throw it away that means I don’t value the temple, right? If I take it to church and try to give it away, will somebody recognize which temple it is and know it’s mine? Then they’ll think I don’t value the temple either! And, heaven forbid the person who gave it to me should ever ask why it isn’t on my wall! (Yes, she does thing like that- frequently)

Case in point #2: I have a sweet friend who is constantly inviting me to do things with her. She knows I don’t get out much and worries about me. What she doesn’t understand is I don’t get out much by choice. My life is very full with the things I will do for my children. My own ideal is a hot bubble bath, a good book, and total silence. I don’t want to go out and play nice, that’s just not me. I turn her down repeatedly, then begin to feel guilty-- thinking she is going to think I don’t like her and I’m rejecting her. So I go and come home with a headache and more tired than when I left. Because I went, she invites me more often. . . . Wouldn’t it be easier if I could explain that I’m not lacking anything and just don’t like socializing, that I won’t think any less of her for not inviting me? Wouldn’t it be easier if she could accept that and not fear that something is terribly wrong with me?

Case in point #3: My home is not full of nice things. It is not immaculate and beautiful. It is over-run with children and the evidence of those children. The clutter books all tell you to get rid of things, have a garage sale, sell them on ebay! I look around my home and fully realize that I’m pushing it by thinking someone at Goodwill would want my stuff. I feel bad. I long for something pretty. Something nice that will stay that way. Logically, I know it won’t. But I want to perceive myself as being worthy and capable of having something nice. I want those who see me, and those I actually let into my home, to think I’ve got it together and I’m a better person because of the way I live my life. So I put my foot down and go in search of that one thing I think I need. In the end I can’t bare to part with the money that “nice” requires, so I compromise. I have a baby grand piano in my living room that is the epitome of this compromise. I got it for $50 and some manual labor moving it. Sounds like a great deal, right? Well, it needed to be refinished, the key tops had been removed in preparation for the previous owner to get new ones, ditto for the peddles. No problem. When we put our minds to it, my husband and I can accomplish almost anything. For $50 we’d finish refinishing it and have something beautiful that both of us value, right? It’s been a year. It’s partly tuned, the rest is still as we got it. Now, instead of something beautiful I have another physical testimony to the fact that I’m a flighty, scatterbrained gal who can’t get it together. I feel bad. . . I get mad. . . I attack something, determined to make it into something I can be proud of. . . it backfires big time. . . I feel bad. Get the picture?

Have you figured out my “ah-hah!” moment yet? I think I’ve discovered the core problem with me and my stuff. My life is ruled by perceptions. Not what I think of myself and my things, but what I think everybody else thinks. Realistically, I may know darn good and well that my child’s Primary teacher isn’t spending all her time wondering why I haven’t taught my child to read better (though I bet she’s still wondering about his proclamation that his parents were married in a jail- which is true, btw). But all it takes is one passing thought like that or even worse, one innocent comment and my mind is in turmoil trying to figure out how to fix other people’s perception of me.

Do I want to get rid of the things that are weighing me down? Yes, but it begins much deeper than whether or not I have a picture of the temple that I haven’t used in years.

How to Build a House by Dana Reinhardt

This is a little different from most book reviews I do. How to Build a House by Dana Reinhardt doesn’t earn a universal recommendation from me. I’ll explain later. But, it did give me something very valuable to think about amidst a good story.

How to Build a House introduces us to Harper (love that name, btw) who has signed up to spend her summer in Tennessee building a home for a family who was displaced by a tornado. She’s a sweet girl who really is interested in helping, but she’s also a sad and bitter girl who is doing everything in her power to escape her own home life. In the process of learning to build an actual home, Harper learns a lot about what it takes to build a family. It’s an interesting journey that I was glad to take with her.

So, why the warning rather than my usual recommendation? I try very hard to only discuss books that I could recommend to my own mother. Trust me; she’s the biggest prude you’ll ever meet. In other words, if I’m gong to endorse it I want it to be squeaky clean. While How to Build a House is not exactly promiscuous, there may be some who are offended by the casual inclusion of teenage sexual activity and underage drinking.

Personally, I was not offended. I found it to be a pretty accurate portrayal of today’s youth without glamorization. There were characters who engaged in more casual sexual relationships, those that were more serious, and those that chose abstinence. There was a very satisfying aspect in which Harper begins to understand that there is a big difference between having sex and being in a relationship where you feel secure and beautiful for just being who you are. Well done, or not, be aware that these aspects are present and you might want to preview the title before recommending it to your own teenager.

Now, what about How to Build a House won it a place in my book reviews? It gave me a few beautiful moments of contemplation. One statement, in combination with the story context made me think about something that hadn’t been on my mind very much lately. It was a reminder I sorely needed.

The statement: Take off your shoes.

Not much, but think biblically for a moment. Moses was asked to take off his shoes before approaching the burning bush. He was entering a sacred space and needed to be reminded of that. Though How to Build a House does not mention Moses it leaves a very clear message:

A home is a sacred space. It is build with love and relationships and should be honored as such. Take off your shoes.

Now, I’ve heard of a lot of different reasons for taking off your shoes before entering someone’s home. This is by far my favorite. My family is not the take off your shoes at the door type. Sure, we run around barefoot most of the time but we kick off those shoes where ever we feel like it. (And hope we remember where that was the next day.) Still, it was nice to spend a few moments contemplating the sacred space of my home. Was I honoring that? Do I bring my best self whenever I enter into my home? Do I leave as much of the world outside as I can? More often than not, the answer is no.

So, that’s why How to Build a Home makes my “Worth the Read” list. I needed to be reminded to pause just a little more often on the threshold of my home, and take off my “shoes”. I need my house to be that kind of sanctuary and I’m the one who can build that kind of home.

Under a Lakota Moon by Deborah L. Weikel

I just had the pleasure of reading Deborah Weikel’s first novel, Under a Lakota Moon. This is a book you want on hand when you need a good feeling and a little bit of an escape, but not so much that you don’t notice when the kids are out for each other’s blood. I could read, keep the plot in my head, and yell at my kids all at the same time. Trust me. That’s easier said and done.

Under a Lakota Moon fits solidly in the historical romance genre. I don’t consider myself an expert in the genre but it seemed to fit in the niche some call “formula romance”. It follows a very simple, predictable pattern. It’s straight forward, and easy to predict. There is no doubt from page one who is supposed to end up together and why, there are no real obstacles thrown in their way outside of their own self-doubts. It’s just a clean, sweet love story. Some may not like that, but billions of book buying women do. I think that’s part of their appeal, actually. This one is doubly appealing because it’s also squeaky clean. Intimacy is explored as something sacred and wonderful but the bedroom door is still firmly shut. Yippee!

I loved the strong sense of right and wrong that Rosalyn possessed and every woman deserves a little bit of Lone Wolf in their life. That said, I did get a little annoyed with Rosalyn for making assumptions early on that things would always go her way. And, Lone Wolf seemed to lack depth for me, or maybe I just prefer my men flawed. ;)

Me, personally, I’m not a straight romance person. So, my favorite part came after Lone Wolf got shot (in the last quarter of the book). I liked the last little glitch Deborah threw in the best. That had me thoroughly engaged and interested in figuring out the short who-dunnit element.

My other favorite piece? Lone Wolf’s first oral prayer. It was something I really needed to be reminded of at the moment I read it. Thanks, Lone Wolf, for reminding me what really makes my world complete.

What will you find in Under a Lakota Moon? Romance, faith, lessons in living without prejudice, family values, and more romance under a Sweetheart’s moon in the 1870’s version of Minnesota. If those things are up your alley and you need a book that doesn’t make you think too hard during this last stretch of summer, it’s probably worth getting your hands on a copy of Under a Lakota Moon.

Why Books Matter To Me

A few days ago my husband looked over at me as we were preparing for bed and declared, “I’ve figured out what the difference is between you and me.”

I’m thinking. Hmmm, took you long enough. But I politely inquired what he was talking about anyway. Apparently, he’d just figured out what the main difference is in the way he and I feel about books.

We both love to read, so that wasn’t it. But, we have very different reading styles. I’ll tell you about his conclusions in a minute. First, let me set the stage. I was laying there with a book open in front of me, a couple of books on my chest, another on the floor where I’d discarded it when finished. There was an additional stack of books on the nightstand peeking out from under the cold medicine I’d had to pull out the night before for a sick child, my water bottle, the cup of tea I was sipping on, a bag of cough drops, my sweats and fuzzy socks I pull on in the morning to take my teenager to seminary, and a bunch of other miscellaneous things. He, on the other hand, had just gone over to the bookshelf in our room, taken down one hard back, carefully removed the dust cover and set it aside before joining me in bed to read.

Think you’ve got it figured out yet? If you’re thinking I’m a perpetual slob and he’s Mr. anal retentive you’d be right, but that’s not it.

Here’s another hint. He re-reads. Though my husband reads as much as he can, the number of new titles he’s read since we married many years ago is probably less than a dozen. Maybe two. Definitely not much more than that. Most of those have probably been at my insistence. He has his favorite authors and books by those authors. That’s it.

The number of books currently on my list to read the first time around is 648 (I constantly update an excel file on my computer). My library record shows I currently have 43 items checked out. (Okay, about half of that is material for my children as well- still.)

Okay, we’ve added another piece to the puzzle: I’m a flake with ADHD tendencies, he’s a collector. He keeps books that are near and dear to him. We’d go bankrupt if I purchased every book that caught my fancy.

Are you ready for his answer yet? My husband declares our basic difference lies in what we value. We both value reading, but:
He values the actual book.
I value the experience I have inside its pages more than the actual book.

This is evidenced in the way we read the scriptures as well. My husband’s scriptures are in almost pristine condition, the only markings are the scripture masteries from his high school days, carefully color coded, etc. I’ve gone through several sets to his one. My seminary scriptures are actually in several pieces, some of those pieces are even missing (gasp!). I have colorings and markings everywhere. He once asked me why I colored a particular verse. I had no idea. I guess at some point in time it was exactly what I needed. . .

I read while I eat. I toss books in my purse. I pile them in precarious stacks around my house. My husband lovingly catalogs his books. There are several titles that he has a “shelf” copy and a “reading” copy of so he doesn’t mess up the good one. He’s careful with his books. I lone them out precariously. We are very different when it comes to books, but we hope the message we send to our children is the same: Books matter.

Yes, there are actual books that I value. These sit on a separate shelf in my living room. Why do I value them? Because they are my friends—very literally. They’re written in by my friends. My most prized collection of books have signatures and notes from the people that have written them. I don’t stand in line to get Mr. or Mrs. New York Times Best Seller’s signature in my books-- who cares. I stand in line to get my friend’s signatures because I love what they have accomplished and I love them.

So, there you have it. More than you ever wanted to know about my marriage and some tidbits about the different ways people express their appreciation for things they value. What is it about books that you value? How is this value expressed? If you were to ask a loved one if you like to read, why, or how you read what would they observe about you and the written word?

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