By Kimberla Lawson Roby
“Kimberla Lawson Roby is a real author, a storyteller on the most sensible of her game.”
—Eric Jerome Dickey Alicia Black is again! The pampered, privileged daughter of the irrepressible scoundrel Rev. Curtis Black and protagonist of Kimberla Lawson Roby’s New York instances bestseller The better of every little thing, Alicia makes her successful go back in Be cautious What You Pray For. Alicia is newly remarried, to a guy of the material who regrettably mirrors far-too-closely her rascally dad. The Reverend Black himself, superstar of Sin not more, an excessive amount of of an excellent factor, and different well known Roby novels, co-stars in Be cautious What You Pray For—a story of affection and ambition that after back offers with very important concerns because it tells a witty, relocating, page-turning tale, a bestselling mixture that may be a Kimberla Lawson Roby hallmark.
Read or Download Be Careful What You Pray For (Reverend Curtis Black, Book 7) PDF
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Additional resources for Be Careful What You Pray For (Reverend Curtis Black, Book 7)
Let me try it over again. Is it rational to believe in a bad God? Anyway, in a God so bad as all that? The Cosmic Sadist, the spiteful imbecile? I think it is, if nothing else, too anthropomorphic. When you come to think of it, it is far more anthropomorphic than picturing Him as a grave old king with a long beard. That image is a Jungian archetype. It links God with all the wise old kings in the fairy-tales, with prophets, sages, magicians. Though it is (formally) the picture of a man, it suggests something more than humanity.
I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination. Yes; but should it, for a sane man, make quite such a difference as this? No. And it wouldn’t for a man whose faith had been real faith and whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern. The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which ‘took these things into account’ was not faith but imagination.
British boys don’t cry. But I knew that if Jack talked to me about Mother, I would weep uncontrollably and, worse still, so would he. This was the source of my embarrassment. It took me almost thirty years to learn how to cry without feeling ashamed. This book is a man emotionally naked in his own Gethsemane. It tells of the agony and the emptiness of a grief such as few of us have to bear, for the greater the love the greater the grief, and the stronger the faith the more savagely will Satan storm its fortress.