John felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with working around constant disaster. It had been years since he'd worked an ER shift, but the rush was quick and familiar.

He could hear sirens blaring across Bloomington. "What happened?"

The nurse shook her head. "No one's sure. They're still working the blaze. I heard they lost track of three firefighters, and everyone's fearing the worst."

John's heart sank to his waist. Firemen? What if .. .

He followed her into the back, where a flurry of medical personnel were preparing for the first victims. "Did you get the names of the firefighters? the missing men?"

The nurse stopped and turned around. "It was Company 211. That's all we've got so far."

John could feel the blood draining from his face, and immediately he launched into silent, fervent prayer. He prayed 352 for the people fighting the fire and for the families trapped inside.

And for the men of Company 211.

He pictured them lost in an inferno, risking their lives to save mothers and fathers and children. He imagined them buried beneath burning rubble or cut off from all communications with their chief.

Then he prayed for one of Company 21 l's men in particular. A strapping young Christian who'd loved John Baxter's middle daughter, Ashley, since the two of them were kids.

The money was running out.

That was the main reason Ashley Baxter was out looking for a job on this beautiful summer morning-the type of blue-skied, flower-bursting day that was perfect for creating art. Ashley sighed and ran her hand through her dark, short-cropped hair.

She studied the ad in the paper once more. "Care worker for adult group home.

Some medical training preferred. Will provide cla.s.ses for certification. Salary and benefits."

As mundane as it sounded, it might be just the job she needed. She'd checked with her father and found out the pay was decent. She'd be working mostly with Alzheimer's patients, oldtimers, she liked to call them. People with dementia or other age-related illnesses, unable to survive on their own.

There would be wrinkled bodies to tend, hairy chins to wipe, and most likely diapers to change. There was no question the job wasn't glamorous.

But there was a reason Ashley wanted the position.

She was only twenty-five, but since returning from her sojourn in Paris, everything about her life had changed overnight. She felt jaded and cynical most of the time, and she rarely ever laughed. Despite the way she turned heads, the truth was she felt downright ugly.

353 Paris was partly responsible, but much of who she'd become was caused by a lifetime of running from Landon Blake's attempts to marry her and her family's attempts to mold her into a woman she could never be.

Whatever the reason, she was aware that something tragic had happened to her heart. It had grown cold. Colder than the wind that whipped across Bloomington, Indiana, in a typical mid January.

And that, in turn, was affecting her only true pa.s.sion-her ability to paint.

Ashley turned off Main Street and searched for the address of the group home. In addition to bringing in a paycheck, working with old people might ward off the cold all around her. Might even melt the ice that had built up over the years.

She felt a kind of empathy for old folks, an understanding. Somehow they stirred a place in her heart that nothing else could touch.

She remembered driving through town a week ago and seeing two ancient women-hunched-over, gnarled old girls in their eighties or nineties-walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. They took careful, measured steps, and when one started to slip the other held her up.

Ashley had pulled over that afternoon and studied them from a distance, thinking they'd make a good subject for her next painting. But instead of a composition idea, a dozen questions were born of the moment. Who were the women, and what had they seen in their lifetimes? Did they remember the tragedy of the t.i.tanic?

Did they lose sons in World War II-or had they themselves served somehow? Were any of the people they loved still alive or close enough to visit them?

Had they been beautiful once, flitting from one social event to another with a handful of handsome boys calling after them? And did they grieve the way they'd become invisible, now that society no longer noticed them?

Ashley watched the women shuffle carefully across the street and freeze when the light turned, catching them halfway into 354 the intersection. An impatient driver laid on his horn, honking in sharp staccato patterns as the expression on the women's faces became nervous and then frantic. They hurried their feet, stumbling, nearly falling. When they reached the other side, they stopped to catch their breath, and again Ashley wondered.

Was this all that was left for these women-angry drivers impatient with their slow steps and physical challenges? Was that all the attention they'd receive on a given day?

The most striking thing about the memory was that as the questions came, Ashley's cheeks had grown wet. She popped down the visor and stared at her reflection. Something was happening that hadn't in months. Years, even.

She was crying.

And that was when she realized the depth of her problem. The fact was, her experiences had made her cynical, and if she was ever going to create unforgettable artwork, she needed something more than a canvas and a brush.

She needed a tender heart.

After seeing the two old women together, she realized that if she truly wanted a softer heart, she need only to spend time with the aged.

That's why the ad in this morning's paper was so appealing. She drove slowly, scanning the addresses on the houses until she found the one she was looking for. Her interview was in five minutes. She pulled into the driveway, taking time to study the outside of the building. It was mostly brick, with a few small sections of beige siding and a roof both worn and somewhat sagging. The patch of gra.s.s in front was neatly manicured. A row of red and yellow tulips struggled proudly out of the ground in front of a full-size picture window to the right of the door. A wiry gray-haired woman with loose skin stared out at her through the dusty gla.s.s.

Ashley drew a deep breath and surveyed the place once more. It was nice enough, the type of place that drew little or no attention 355 and served its purpose well. What was it her father called homes like this one? She thought for a moment, and it came to her. Heaven's waiting rooms.

There were sirens in the distance, lots of them. Sirens usually meant one thing; it'd be a busy day for her father. And maybe Landon Blake. Ashley blocked out the sound and checked the car mirror. Even she could see the twinlike resemblance between herself and Kari, her older sister. Other than the fact that Kari had brown eyes and Ashley blue, they were nearly identical. The resemblance between them, however, stopped with the physical.

Kari was good and pure and stoic, and even now-five months after the death of her husband, two months after the birth of their baby-Kari could find a reason to smile, to believe the best about life and love.

Of course, Kari had Ryan Taylor waiting in the wings for her, whether she wanted to believe that or not. He might live a thousand miles away, but he was waiting, Ashley had no doubt. And even in the midst of all that had happened to Kari, the knowledge that Ryan was there for her was bound to make things easier. At least it would once Kari figured out how to get on with her life.

Because Ryan Taylor was definitely a man worth moving on for. Ashley thought of the day she and Ryan had spent together before Christmas. As good as that afternoon had seemed at the time, it had been wrong. Ryan didn't love her; he loved Kari.

That much was obvious from how the day had ended. Ashley sucked in a deep breath. Those hours with Ryan had dropped the temperature of her heart another ten degrees. She'd never told anyone about what happened, and that only added to the distance between her and the only one of her three sisters who still cared for her at all.

The other Baxter girls-Brooke and Erin-might have been on another planet for all they shared with Ashley. And their brother, Luke, was worse. No matter how close they'd been as children, Ashley's time in Paris had changed everything between 356 them. These days Luke, too, was little more than a stranger-an angry, judgmental stranger.

In fact, though her parents were wonderful baby-sitters, caring for her little Cole on days like this, and though her world had once revolved around the family who grew up with her in their sprawling home outside of town, Ashley felt little connection to any of them these days. She needed them, needed their help with Cole, but she no longer felt a part of the highly respected, deeply faithful family of Dr. John Baxter and his lovely wife, Elizabeth.

To a person they wanted her to be like Kari, even if they never said as much.

They wanted her to stop painting and get on with their definition of life. To find satisfaction in marriage and homemaking. To settle down with Landon Blake.

The truth was, they wanted her to think of Landon the way the rest of them did: a firefighter with the deepest sense of integrity and commitment, a man who might be a father to little Cole if only she'd allow it. A man who was no doubt sought after by every single woman in Bloomington, but who had eyes only for Ashley Baxter.

They just couldn't see that Landon Blake wasn't right for her. He was too safe, too predictable. The very thought of spending her whole life with him-or any other man, for that Matter was enough to make her heart race with anxiety.

Of course, her family stayed clear of her these past few years for another reason. After her time in Paris, she had fallen away from the family's faith.

She couldn't swallow it, couldn't troop with them into church and pretend that everything was fine, couldn't gather with them in prayer circles and convince herself that their words changed anything. So now-more often than not-when she was at a Baxter gathering, she felt like an outsider.

Ashley blinked back the stinging in her eyes as she grabbed her purse and headed up the walkway toward an uncertain future in a profession she truly knew nothing about. One that required no 357 education, no training. Adult-care homes were desperate for people willing to change the diapers of octogenarians.

With each step toward the front door, thought again of the old ladies, how she had cried at the way they seemed lonely and isolated -and forgotten, and a thought dawned on her. The reason they had been able to warm the cold places in her heart was suddenly clear.

In all the ways that mattered, she was just like them.

A thousand miles away, Ryan Taylor tried everything in his power to focus.

He was one of seventeen coaches parked in a stuffy office room at the New York Giants' headquarters, listening to what had already been a three-hour dissertation on the importance of preventative stretching and correct form during spring training. , Head Coach Jared Brown had jotted a dozen key points on the board, but for the life of him Ryan could see only one thing. Kari Baxter Jacobs, the way she had looked two months ago, when he had said good-bye. When he had kissed her newborn daughter on the cheek, brushed a lock of hair off Kari's face, and gazed into her eyes one last time.

The way the tears had welled in her eyes as he brushed his lips against her forehead and walked away just as he'd done so many times before.

Ryan tightened his grip on the pencil and squinted hard at the chalkboard. He wanted to be here, after all. It had been his dream forever to coach in the National Football League. Besides, when he left it was because Kari had made her intentions clear. She intended to stay with her husband, forgive him for betraying her, and rebuild a life with him. And Ryan respected her for that, loved her for doing the right thing-even if it meant she had no room in her life for him. That they didn't dare even try to be 358 friends, not when they both knew her feelings for him were as strong as his were for her.

But all that was before the shooting. Before Kari's husband died and left her a widow, six months pregnant.

Ryan leaned back in his seat and tried to appear interested in the meeting.

Kari was grieving, no doubt. She needed time to work through the loss of Tim and all that they'd planned for their new daughter. But she needed a friend too.

These probably were very difficult days, after all, and it caused his heart physical pain to picture her and the baby back in Bloomington. Ryan bit his lip.

He could see Kari waking alone to a crying infant, or weary from a day of caring for her daughter and having no one there to help.

She had her family, of course. They would see that she didn't get overwhelmed.

But he'd had long talks with Kari the week the baby was born, and she was clear on one thing. She was going to raise the baby by herself. Her parents would be a welcome support, but she had no intention of staying with them forever, pa.s.sing off her responsibility the way Ashley had done with her son, Cole.

Coach Brown erased the board and began writing a new set of notes. The scribbled letters faded, and Kari's tearstained face appeared again. When Ryan looked back on the course of his life, despite the fun he'd had playing football, he didn't have a single worthwhile memory without her.

Tears nipped at the corners of Ryan's eyes, and he sat up straighter, knowing this wasn't the time or place for regrets. Still, if he could be anywhere in the world, he would be back in Bloomington, beside a girl he'd loved as long as he could remember. Praying with her, crying with her, and being her friend as long and as often as she needed.

His eyes fell on the NFL insignia notepad in front of him. He'd loved football since he was a little boy. The feel of the game, just him and the ball flying across a field like the wind itself. The fact that he had played it at the highest level and now 359.

was coaching at that same level usually made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

But here and now, aware that football was the only thing that had kept him from marrying Kari Baxter all those years ago, certain that it was the only thing keeping him from her even now, he knew he wasn't lucky at all.

He was flat-out crazy.

360.

360.

361.

For SEVERAL YEARS I've been dreaming about creating fiction, putting together a series of novels that would ill.u.s.trate what I believe G.o.d teaches about relationships. During the past thirty years, I've written many books about how to restore broken relationships. But nothing touches the heart, nothing fleshes out the truth quite like a good story.

A DREAM COME TRUE.

A few years ago I came across a novel by Karen Kingsbury and read it on a long flight. Halfway through the flight, my son Greg elbowed me in the ribs. "Dad. .

." He looked nervously around to see if anyone was looking. "You're crying pretty loudly there. Everything okay?"

I had no words. I simply pointed to the book and kept weeping. Karen's books were the first ones that ever really made me cry. Since then I have read everything she has written. It is clear to me that G.o.d has given her a special gift, an ability to create stories that not only touch hearts but also change lives.

In no time at all Karen became my favorite fiction author. She also gave me an idea. As I came to know her, suddenly I could see my dream of collaborating with a fiction writer taking shape. My themes and lessons about relationships ... her storytelling. We had a meeting that summer, and G.o.d gave us the ideas for our Redemption series.

The series will follow the lives of John and Elizabeth Baxter and their five adult children, each of whom is trying to find his or her way in life-sometimes with G.o.d, sometimes without. The series will follow the paths of pain and pleasure, tragedy and tears that take place in the lives of Brooke, Kari, Ashley, Erin, and Luke. . .

The Baxters, their spouses, and friends experience the same struggles each of us faces-the longing for lasting love, the hurt 362 of broken relationships, the fear of the unknown, questions about the future, the sorrow of loss, and the joy of restored relationships. Over time you'll come to know the Baxter family as if they were your neighbors or members of your own family. My guess is you'll even see yourself in one or more of them.

At the end of each book Karen and I will provide questions that can be used for book clubs, small groups, or as a guide for your own personal reflection.

The bottom line is this: The Redemption series is my dream come true, fiction that will teach and touch our longing hearts. I am convinced these books will make you laugh and cry. I know they will leave you with a deeper understanding of how you can build rich relationships with the people in your life.

I hope you enjoy the ride.

REFLECTIONS ON RELATIONSHIPS.

Most of us are like the Baxters: We want intimate relationships, but we often go through life dazed-hurting and being hurt by those we love. In the process we end up with broken, fractured, distant relationships.

In Kari's case, her relationship with her husband-the man with whom she wanted the deepest, most intimate relationship-was battered and broken. She had a decision to make: Would she stay with him and love him no matter what, or would she do what most people thought she should do-give him the divorce he demanded?

Kari made a tough choice. She decided to love Tim unconditionally.

Love is a decision. Not always an easy one.

You may be facing a similar situation in your life. Maybe your marriage is distant or even broken, and you need to decide what to do. Maybe you are like several of the Baxter children and feel disconnected from family members. Maybe you've been hurt by a friend and have to decide whether or not you will stay in the relationship.

363 Whatever your situation, there is hope. G.o.d can redeem our broken relationships and restore them to wholeness. G.o.d can give us the strength and grace to love in the midst of difficult circ.u.mstances.

If you are struggling with a difficult marriage, I am concerned for you. I pray that G.o.d will redeem and restore that relationship. As you recall, one of the tools G.o.d used to restore Kari and Tim's marriage was something called a marriage intensive, an intensive counseling experience that helped Tim and Kari understand how they were hurting each other and how they could rebuild their marriage. That same help is available to you. If you would like to attend a marriage intensive or if you need other relational help, I urge you to contact us at: The Smalley Relationship Center.

1482 Lakesh.o.r.e Drive.

Branson, MO 65616 Phone: (800) 84-TODAY (848-6329).

FAX: (417) 336-3515.

E-mail: Web site: www.smalleyonline.com 364 364.

365.

When Gary Smalley.

contacted me about writing fiction with him, I was thrilled.

When he said, "Think series," I went blank.

For weeks I prayed about the series idea, asking G.o.d to show me a group of plots that would best exemplify relational truths taught by Gary Smalley and the staff at the Smalley Relationship Center.