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Many of you have asked for book recommendations, so I wanted to compile a list of my top ten historical fiction books. Historical fiction is my favorite genre to read because I love to learn about the way that people lived during other time periods. And to be honest, historical fiction has helped me in times of sorrow and hardship in my own life. When I read about the bravery and courage of others in the past—even fictional composites of real-life heroes and heroines—it inspires me to be grateful to live when I do and to live my life in light of eternity.
“If I have to live in a house I don’t like because it makes me more like Christ, I’m ok with that.” An older, much wiser friend of mine told me this after her dream house suffered a fire that rendered the home uninhabitable. The words stuck with me and are something I have pondered over the last several months.
In our culture, more is better, and we are constantly buying things we don’t need to impress people we may or may not like. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?
When we first moved into our home, we were grateful to have found a place to live in the craziness of the housing market in 2021. I gave thanks for our incredible backyard and our sweet cul-de-sac. But over time, I began to loathe our kitchen. Much to my disgust, the previous owners painted wood cabinets brown, which I will never understand.
2021 was a gut-wrenching year for our family, but it didn’t start that way. On a late January evening, my husband and I went on a much-needed date, talking over tacos and margaritas. I remember thinking that my period was late, and when we got home from our date, I took a pregnancy test “just to check.” We had been trying for our second baby, and I wanted so badly to be pregnant.
I took the test, and to my utter delight, it was positive. My husband was incredulous, as it had taken nearly two years to conceive my son. We were completely thrilled and grateful that it only took a few months for this little girl to make her home in my womb. We called our daughter, who was 17 at the time, into the room, and she was overjoyed—she had been praying for a little sister.
I live in Georgia, where the summer heat is real and the humidity is plentiful. On any given day, I can find myself grinning with gratitude at the sunny skies or cursing them with frustration when the heat just won’t relent. We have all been home much more than normal, and our routines are just different (or nonexistent). It’s easy to make time for the Word when the circumstances of life are simple. But when things are complicated and there are seemingly one too many curveballs thrown at you, the discipline of opening God’s Word can seem like just one more thing to do instead of a delight.
At its best, summer can bring with it a carefree sense of wonder. At its worst, it can feel long and unorganized. After a week of brutal July heat, I was relieved to see that the weather forecast held rain—and lots of it. Rain refreshes and replenishes what has been dried up by drought. Our time in the Word can feel stale when we approach it with a sense of duty or obligation. But when we see the Word for what it truly is—the God-breathed and inspired message of hope and deliverance for our souls—we are changed and refreshed.
When I entered my freshman year at the University of Georgia, I more or less thought, “Where are all the boys? Bring them to me!” I expected that because I had given up dating in high school (I didn't really have to scare the men off), college was my fresh start to meet Mr. Right. I had the perfect plan prepared in my mind. Somehow, some way, somewhere, I would meet him, and we'd date all through the college years, get married, and start having some babies.