Part 17 (1/2)

Let the redeemed of the LORD say this....

Let them give thanks to the LORD for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men. Psalm 107:2,8 Faith that's demonstrated is remembered.

James chose Rahab as a good example of someone who walked her talk, who put feet to her spoken faith. We can go to Bible studies, sing praise songs, and warm the pews of a church six times a week, but if no one ever says of us, ”You would not believe what this woman did because of her love for G.o.d!” then it's time for us to open the doors of our hearts and see what brave thing G.o.d might be asking us to do.

As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead. James 2:26

Good Girl Thoughts Worth Considering

1. Are there any Rahabs in your life, women with a past who need to know they are loved by G.o.d no matter what their history? Do you believe they are forgiven, completely? How might you communicate that to them?

2. Do you ever find yourself judging such women, avoiding their company, or viewing them as distasteful? What are some ways you can push past your prejudice?

3. If you identify with Rahab in some way, what names have you been called-or have you called yourself-because of your past? Do those labels still have the power to wound you? What steps do you need to take to be set free from your past? How might you ”hang out your red cord” and let others know the truth about your past-and your hope for the future?

4. Is it possible that Rahab didn't truly acknowledge G.o.d but instead told these men what they wanted to hear so they would spare her life? What clues in her behavior point to true faith-not falsehood-in action?

5. Why did the Lord destroy Jericho? And why, of the thousands of people who lived there, was Rahab the only one who heard the Lord's voice calling her out of sin?

6. One of the themes of this story in Joshua is obedience. Point out all the ways various people were obedient...and disobedient.

7. Of Rahab's many good qualities, which one impresses you most? Who in your circle of friends demonstrates that same virtue, and how has she done so?

8. What's the most important lesson you've learned from the ultimately redemptive story of Rahab the harlot?

8.

FRIENDS IN.

LOW PLACES.

The rooster may crow,

but the hen delivers the goods.

ANN RICHARDS.

Not again, Abe! Jasmine rolled her eyes for no one's benefit but her own. Her husband was up to his usual tricks, staring across Dumaine Street as if the pale blue stucco building, festooned in ironwork, would suddenly sprout letters spelling his name-instead of his neighbor's-over the arched doorway.

Booth, the carved tiles declared. Not Kingsbury, as Abe so fervently desired.

Jasmine snapped her magazine open to another page, then another, barely scanning the headlines. How long had her husband pined over that decrepit house and its overgrown courtyard garden anyway? As if it mattered whether he owned that particular property or not. As if he needed more real estate.

Abe Kingsbury already held the deeds to dozens of buildings in the Vieux Carre, including most of the historic houses on this block. Not to mention garden houses on Royal, Toulouse, Chartres, and the Bourbon Street properties, her personal favorites. Business was booming at every location-readings, herbs and oils, candles, gris-gris bags.

Why Nate's house? Jasmine tossed her head, sending her long earrings on a spirited jig. Did they really need another project?

She knew the truth of it: Every man has a weakness. For Abe, it was buildings, land developments, deals. For her father, it'd been power, control, and growing his empire to the glory of the Loa, the spirits of Vodun.

”Do whatever it takes,” her father had drilled into her. What it took was a wedding where love was incidental to the bargain. When she and Abe tied the knot years ago, it wasn't a marriage-it was a merger.

Jasmine rose from her perch on the desk chair and tossed her magazine aside to stretch her cramped arms. Her bracelets jangled toward her wrists as she studied her husband's inert form, his body draped in an awkward pose across the divan, his sullen expression wiping away any memories of his handsome youth. A once-luscious plate of sliced fruit sat near him, untouched, already starting to decay in the sultry August heat.

”Eat something, Abe.” Honestly, the man could be so childish. ”Why don't you tell me what the problem is?” She already knew; it was merely a habit they'd fallen into over the years. Abe found something to complain about; she found some way to fix it.

His words were a low-pitched whine. ”Nate Booth won't sell me his property.”

”Oh, Abe!” She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. Instead of the strong, decisive leader she longed for in a husband, she'd settled for pleasing her father and marrying the man of his dreams-a landowner with connections but no backbone. ”Why don't you march over there and make him an offer he wouldn't think of turning down?”

”Already did.” Abe rolled over to face her, propping his head on a meaty fist, his eyes full of misery. ”Offered him one of my nicest houses. Or a market basket full of cash. His choice.”

To think the man fancies himself a real-estate magnate! She pointed her eyebrows toward the ceiling. ”And what did Nate say?”

”He said no deal, not for any amount of money.” Abe's head collapsed on a pile of faded silk pillows. ”He insists the house has been in his family for generations. Nate won't budge.”

Jasmine felt the heat rising to her cheeks, felt her stomach knotting as she struggled to keep her anger in check instead of verbally slapping her weak-willed husband silly.

When had Abe become such a wimp?

When did you become such a witch?

The truth only sharpened her tongue and dulled her conscience further. ”I'll handle things from here, Abe.” Her strident tone filled the small study, dimly lit by a scattering of scented candles. ”You'll have your stucco house and vine-choked garden; I can promise you that.”

Nate Booth's place on Dumaine was just another ornate relic from another era. Except...except a new temple closer to home would be nice. Yes. A handy spot for greeting her adoring public, the ones who'd crowned her Queen of the Quarter two decades ago. A new hounfour, a place for wors.h.i.+p and ritual, mere feet from her doorstep. Yes!

Some of the less enlightened thought Vodun was all her idea, a religion of her own making, instead of an ancient practice she'd imported from her father's people. Who could have imagined how entertaining it would turn out to be, watching Hollywood fill the screen with scary images of voodoo dolls and stickpins and heads on stakes? All of which missed the point.

Gaining her father's approval, making him proud of her-that had been the point long ago. Gaining the favor of the spirits, the Loa-that was the point now. Her religion gave her power-over Abe, over everyone. Ceremonies, sacrifices, whatever was required, Mambo Jasmine knew how to manipulate the Loa and get what she wanted.

Once upon a time she'd tried to convince herself she wanted Abe Kingsbury. And she'd gotten him too, for better or for worse.