Slightly Bad Girls of the Bible: Flawed Women Loved by a Flawless God($11.00Value)

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Good Women Behaving Badly A spiteful boss, a defiant employee, a manipulative mother, a desperate housewife, an envious sister…honey, we know these women. We’ve lived with them, worked with them, or caught a glimpse of them in our mirrors. Now let’s take a look at their ancient counterparts in Scripture: Sarah mistreated her maidservant, Hagar despised her mistress, Rebekah manipulated her son, Leah claimed her sister’s husband, and Rachel envied her fertile sister. They were far from evil, but hardly perfect. Mostly good, yet slightly bad. In other words, these matriarchal mamas look a lot like us. “A Slightly Bad Girl is simply this: a woman unwilling to fully submit to God. We love him, serve him, and worship him, yet we find it difficult to trust him completely, to accept his plan for our lives, to rest in his sovereignty.” —from Slightly Bad Girls of the Bible “I love Liz’s work! She entertains while teaching and leaves me with points to ponder long after. Her insights are fresh and exciting and will draw readers back into the Word.” —Francine Rivers, best-selling author of Redeeming Love Liz Curtis Higgs is the author of 26 books, with more than 3 million copies in print, including her best-selling nonfiction series, Bad Girls of the Bible, Really Bad Girls of the Bible, and Unveiling Mary Magdalene, and her Christy Award—winning historical novel, Whence Came a Prince . A columnist for Today’s Christian Woman and an accomplished speaker, Liz makes her home in Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, Bill. Introduction: Controlling Interest Let but the puppets move, I’ve my desire. - CHARLES CHURCHILL Donna gazed at the stack of mail in her husband’s gloved hands as he stomped the wet snow from his shoes. “Anything interesting?” she asked, keeping her tone light. He handed over the day’s bounty from their mailbox. “See for yourself.” Donna quickly sorted through the belated Christmas cards, made thicker by family brag letters. Next year she might have something to crow about. If all went well, their son, Max, would be a freshman at the finest Christian college in the country. That is, if… With a slight gasp she tossed the rest of the mail on the kitchen table, having found the one piece that mattered: a long, white envelope with the familiar blue logo in the corner. Yes. The school had promised a decision by December 31, still two days away. Surely a good sign. She hefted the envelope in her hands, trying to judge how many pieces of paper it might contain. The letter had some weight to it. More than a kindly worded rejection, then. Donna smiled, savoring the moment. Obviously her prayers had been answered. And months of hard work had paid off–visiting college campuses, completing online applications, gathering letters of reference, proofreading essays, forwarding transcripts. She’d drafted the cover letter herself. Made sure everything looked presentable. Max hadn’t seemed terribly interested, and she had a flair for such things, didn’t she? Her husband looked over her shoulder. “So we’ve heard from The College of Your Choice.” Donna shrugged, pretending his gentle teasing didn’t bother her. Wasn’t she allowed to have an opinion about where their son spent the next four years of his life? True, he’d been accepted at other schools, but this was the one that counted. The admission policy was far more stringent and the list of alumni far more impressive. And the campus…oh, the campus ! Handsome as any Ivy League school with its stately brick buildings and manicured lawns. Last October she’d strolled along the neatly paved walkways, imagining she was the incoming freshman: attending classes in well-appointed lecture halls, learning from the brightest and the best thinkers, meeting students from all over the world. On the long drive home, Max had chided her, “Why don’t you apply, Mom?” She’d heard the hint of frustration in his voice. Had she pushed too hard, praised the school too enthusiastically? Meeting one-on-one with the admissions counselor might have been overdoing it. But the young woman had offered to answer prospective students’ questions. Couldn’t a mother ask them just as well while her son perused the campus bookstore? Her husband disturbed her reverie as he slipped his damp coat over the back of a kitchen chair. “You are going to wait until Max gets home to open that.” His firm words chafed against her conscience. “Of course.” Donna propped the envelope against the napkin holder, where it couldn’t be missed. “I’m not in the habit of reading other people’s mail.” When Max finally strolled in an hour later, she grabbed the envelope from the table and waved it at him. “Look what’s here.” Her son opened it without comment, then sighed and handed it over. “Here you go, Mom.” Donna scanned the first three words– Congratulations! Your application – before letting out a huge whoop. “Max, I’m so proud of you!” Noticing her husband and dau