WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING
about
STEFNE MILLER’S BOOKS
Salvaged and Rise are the most amazing books I’ve ever read; I’m obsessed! You laugh, cry, and even laugh while you cry. I’ve gotten many people to read them and they all say the same thing, “This is brilliant!
—EMILEE
16 years old, Edmond, OK
Stefne Miller has the ability to throw me in the front seat of a roller coaster, grip a hold of my heart, and take me on a ride full of emotions, filled with highs and lows. Her novels make me laugh and cry and leave me thinking about the story and their characters long after I’ve turned the final page. Young or old, no matter your age, her stories will inspire you and you’ll want to pass them on to your friends and family or strangers because they deserve to be shared with everyone. With stellar writing and believable stories, Stefne continues to inspire me with her work, and I’ll forever be a fan of her novels for the rest of my life.
—LONI FLOWERS
Book Blogger/Reviewer, www.acasualreader.com
Stefne Miller is one of my favorite authors. I simply count down the days until the next of her books will be out! Salvaged and Rise are among the books I press into the hands of everyone I know, as I know they will enjoy them too.
—ERICA HAGLUND
Young Adult Book Blogger/Reviewer, www.thebookcellarx.com
Salvaged and Rise were so relatable. When Attie cried, laughed, or fell in love, I was right there with her. The messages in these books truly encouraged me in my walk with Jesus and gave me a refreshed thankfulness for His overwhelming love.
—WHITNEY HAND
Guard, University of Oklahoma Women’s Basketball 2008–2012
Our teenagers are hurting. They are constantly bombarded with how culture tells them to live their life contrary to the gospel of Jesus Christ. They many times lack godly guidance and practical teachings. Stefne has put in story form the biblical lessons we would want our teenagers to grasp and radically live in their life. She unashamedly has her characters embark on journeys through pain, disappointments, sexuality, social pressures, and boundaries. She tunes into the emotions and desires of a teenager, making it an easy and enjoyable read. As a counselor to teens and their parents and wife to a student pastor, I am glad to have these books to use as a resource to influence the next generation toward truth and freedom. God is making all things new!
—AMY BUTLER
Director of Counseling Services at Cross Church, Springdale, AR, Student Pastor Wife, Mom of 3
As a Lead Pastor, Youth Director, and a guy, I can truly say that these books have captivated me. They are not just stories, but a clear and relevant insight into the mind and hearts of what our young people deal with. Stefne’s way of weaving the struggle between pain and triumph through the eyes of the reader, plus the image of a relational, jeans-and-t-shirt Jesus, is incredible! I wish more of us could see Jesus in such a real and intimate way! I recommend all her books to any of our students (and to anyone else)!
—PASTOR T, REV. THOMAS BUCKLEY
Lead Pastor, Judah Worship Center,
Youth Director, Independent Assemblies
Being in full-time ministry, I see the identity crisis facing our teenage girls. They are being pulled in so many directions as a daughter, student, athlete, friend, girlfriend, sister, etc. Stefne Miller’s books give girls a glimpse into their own world as a teenager but show how they can balance it all by finding their first love, Jesus. These books are real! They show the realness of parental struggles, friendship struggles, boyfriend struggles, and above all, how Jesus can help in every single one of them. I am blown away by her books and you will be too!”
—SARAH ROBERTS
Director of Women’s Ministries, Fellowship of Christian Athletes
It’s hard to find someone who can create engaging, true-to-life characters like Stefne Miller did in Salvaged and Rise. Her passion for the topics she explores is clearly communicated in a comfortable, conversational way that makes it really hard to put the book down! I love sharing Stefne’s books with my family and friends!
—CARI KELLEY
Next Gen Team, OKC Campus, www.LifeChurch.tv
Stefne Miller is a gifted writer with a unique voice who loves teens and speaks their language. I am so blessed to have her as a co-laborer in loving this generation.
—CATHERINE MOSIER
M.MFT, LPC, Christian Counselor of 25 years, Heartland Christian Counseling, Inc.
DEDICATION
TO THE PEOPLE OF NORTHERN UGANDA: Walking amongst you changed my life in a way I could never express in words. Your love for each other, forgiveness of all, and heart for God in the midst of trial is the greatest picture of hope through Christ that I’ve ever witnessed. You inspire me to seek after God with all my might and pray for a heart like his.
TO THE INVISIBLE CHILDREN ORGANIZATION: Your documentary started me on a path of discovery. It opened my eyes to the plight of the children of Uganda and my heart to love a people half a world away. If it weren’t for your organization, I wouldn’t have walked the streets of Gulu, the IDP Camps of Northern Uganda, adopted our son, Yohannes, or written this story. You started it all, and I am eternally grateful.
TO FAVOR OF GOD MINISTRIES: I’ve never witnessed the Lord move like I did in your mission house. I’ve never felt a heart connection with anyone like I did with your staff or been touched by anyone like the children in your House of Hope. The work you do for the kingdom is awe inspiring. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms. I’ve never forgotten my time amongst you and never will.
TO SHAUN: I’ll never forget watching you stand in a little hut in Opit, preaching the gospel, playing with the children at House of Hope, or being followed by hundreds of children as you walked through the IDP camps, or the little ones who climbed into the tree to hear you talk about Jesus. What an amazing experience, and how blessed I was to get to experience it all with you! I hope we get to go back again… and often.
TO MY BOYS, JACOB, CALEB, AND YOHANNES: What can I say? I have the most incredible children ever born! Each one of you is a true joy and blessing to my life. I can’t wait to see what God does in each of your lives.
TO MY MOM: Thanks for your constant support—and free editing! I love you and appreciate you more than you know.
—STEFNE MILLER
C H A P T E R
1
Seven minutes inside a hotel room with a total stranger; that’s become my life. A friendly greeting where we pretend to be great friends who are genuinely happy to see each other, and then straight to business. None of it meaningful. None of it real.
All of it rehearsed, choreographed, and expected. But of course, we try to act like it’s not.
Then, as fast as it starts, it’s over. Polite good-byes, a quick handshake, and the visitor is rushed out the door, passing the next appointment as they arrive for their seven minutes of allotted time. Once this new body enters the room, the entire process starts again.
Yesterday, there were fifty interludes because my life is not actually lived; it’s performed. And yesterday, each performance lasted about seven minutes.
I don’t know yet what kind of performance will be expected out of me today. My life is not my own anymore. I pretty much go wherever I’m told and put on the show. It’s my life, and whether I chose it or not, it’s the life I’ve got.
That’s probably why I have the dreams I do. They aren’t ever nice, pleasant dreams. I’m always either chasing after something or looking for something. Last night, in the few hours of sleep I managed to get, I dreamed that I was searching for a car in a large parking lot. I had to be somewhere, but I couldn’t find the car, so I wasn’t going to make it.
I’m searching in my dreams and in
my life, always searching. I just don’t know what for.
My cell phone rang. I tried to ignore it but couldn’t. The reality of a new day was impossible to ignore, and I didn’t have much choice but to go ahead and face it head on.
I opened my eyes, but the room was too dark to see anything. The heavily lined curtains were doing a great job of hiding the fact that the sun was up outside and a new day had started, but I felt like I’d just finished the night before and desperately needed more sleep.
My hand fumbled around the nightstand until it finally landed on my cell phone.
“What?” I asked as I put it to my ear.
“This is your wake-up call,” James said. His voice was just as groggy and angry sounding as mine. “Plane leaves in three hours.”
“Yeah.”
I jammed another pillow under my neck and slapped myself in the face several times. Early mornings and I hated each other. We were mortal enemies, and they somehow managed to kick my tail every time we went into battle.
“Where am I going today? I’ve lost track,” I asked.
“Come on, Cab. Get with it. You’re done promoting. No more press junkets for a while. You’re heading to Asheville to hide out at Oliver’s. Remember?”
“Oliver?”
“That movie producer I’ve been trying to get you to meet
with.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Are you hung over?”
“No. I told you I wasn’t doing all-nighters anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since almost two months ago.”
I rubbed my eyes, but it was more from irritation than sleepiness. My manager drove me crazy at normal hours of the day, and having to listen to him first thing in the morning was worse.
“You sound hung over.”
“I’m not. I’m worn out. I sat and did interviews for nine hours yesterday, interviews you set guys up, by the way. So don’t give me grief if I sound bad.”
“Hey, I was just checking.”
“Whatever. What time is the car coming?”
“Ten.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I slammed the phone shut and threw the comforter off the bed. The cold air on my skin helped wake me up to the point that I could finally swing my legs over the side of the bed, sit, and try to form a complete thought.
I was in Australia, had been for two days or something like that. In three hours, I would be on another plane, and in twenty-four hours, I would be on another continent. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I looked over at the empty space next to me. Sofie must have left after I fell asleep. We never actually spent the night in each other’s room. More than likely, I wouldn’t even see her before my plane left. I was relieved.
I rushed to get dressed before finally opening the curtains to let the sunlight explode into the room. I was blinded until my eyes adjusted to the brightness.
Even before opening the balcony door, I heard cars honking and traffic roaring on the street below the hotel suite I’d been hiding away in for the last thirty-six hours. There was nothing peaceful about the paradise I was located in. As a matter of fact, there was nothing peaceful about anything. Not anymore anyway.
I unlocked the door, slid it open, and walked to the edge of the balcony.
Instant screaming.
Noise—it was everywhere I went and never ending.
The bright sunlight made it difficult to see, but I didn’t really need to be able to see. I knew exactly what was on the sidewalk below me. A throng of young girls and women mixed in with several photographers. I gave them a quick wave (which brought out more screaming) and then dashed back into the room, locked the door behind me, and threw the curtains shut.
I knew better than to walk outside, but in my grogginess—and to the delight of those waiting below—I hadn’t thought things through. Pictures of my messy morning look would be zipping around the Internet before I could count to ten. Worse, I was shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. My mother would be horrified, my agent thrilled.
“Room service,” a voice outside the hotel door announced.
I threw on some jeans while checking through the peephole to make sure it was actually a waiter and not a fan. I opened the door and let him wheel the cart into the room and neatly place the plates, silverware, and glasses on the dining room table. Once everything was in place, he pulled off the lids, revealing an egg white omelet, turkey bacon, and perfectly toasted wheat bread with no butter.
“Have you enjoyed your time in Australia?” he asked as he poured a cup of coffee.
“I don’t even think I left the hotel.”
“Oh.” He set the carafe down and then motioned toward the food. “Is this satisfactory?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed slightly before sneaking out the door and leaving me alone in the huge, overly decorated room.
I took one look at the food and put the cover back on. I was sick of hotels and hotel food. I wanted Lucky Charms with 2 percent milk, although if I did eat that particular meal and admitted it to my trainer, I’d end up spending an extra hour or two in the gym.
My exit from the hotel was as perfectly choreographed as a dance number in a hip-hop video. The limo driver called when he was less than three minutes out, at which time I threw on my ball cap and sunglasses, threw my sweatshirt hood over my head, left my room, and jumped onto the elevator, where Andrew, my bodyguard, and three other men were waiting so that they could come between me and whoever decided to throw themselves at me as I walked through the lobby.
Against the urging from my security detail, I detoured from the plan and walked to the reception desk as we made our way out. My appearance startled the small brunette standing behind the counter.
“Hello,” I said, leaning on the counter.
“Uh…uh…h-h-hello. How can I help you, Mr. Stone?”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the hotel and staff.”
“Well, thank you.”
“No. Thank you. I—”
Before I could finish my thought, Andrew shoved me toward the exit. We raced through the lobby, out the front door, and into the screaming masses. I scribbled my signature on the photos that people held in front of me, said a few hello’s and thank-you’s while avoiding returning any I love you’s. As crazy as some fans were, if I were to say the magical three words, they might actually believe I meant them.
The three words have zero effect on me. How many I love you’s can one person hear in their lifetime before every voice starts to sound the same and the words themselves become meaningless? I’ve often wondered if even hearing them from someone I wanted to hear them from would have any effect on me, if I’d be able to let it into my heart and into my mind while at the same time keeping all the other proclamations of the same thing from others outside. Could I believe it and accept it from one while ignoring it from the masses?
It was funny because the fans didn’t know me enough to really love me, and if they really knew me, they wouldn’t love me at all. They loved the idea of me or the characters I portrayed. Me, on the other hand, they didn’t know a thing about; and honestly, I’m not so sure I did either.
Andrew announced that I’d given enough autographs and had to leave before shoving me into the waiting limo. We drove off, leaving the screaming mob to run after us until the driver gained enough speed to leave them in our dust.
More screaming fans lined the airport entrance, and paparazzi stood and snapped picture after picture as I placed my bags on the conveyer belt at the security station. Again, I tried to ignore them as they yelled my name in hopes that I would look their direction. The sounds of camera shutters increased in speed when I triggered the alarm on the metal detector and had to pull everything out of my pockets, hold my arms up, and spread my legs so I could be searched by a civilian employee wielding a metal-detecting wand.
I’d seen my picture splashed across enough
magazines to know what type of shot they were looking for. These pictures would be a hit, and the paparazzi would be able to feed their families for months simply because I got stopped and wanded at the airport.
Finally through the security barrier, I was in the clear. If I lowered my cap over my eyes and kept my head down, I could remain relatively unknown until I was safely on the plane. In normal everyday clothes and with my head covered, I blended in with everyone around me. There was nothing extraordinary about me.
I waited for the plane to arrive by hiding out in the airline VIP lounge and waited until the final call before finally boarding the plane, strapping myself into my first-class seat, and stretching my legs out.
I couldn’t wait to escape the madness.
C H A P T E R
2
Oliver’s vacation home was hidden on several acres of tree-filled land far away from the city limits. After driving through the gate off the main road, it was still an extra quarter of a mile drive up to the house and away from the attention of others. Once the taxi dropped me off, it was just me. I was alone, and it was quiet. I liked it a lot.
I never used to like to be alone, but now, given the circumstances, I couldn’t wait to get away from people. Time to get away from the noise and the distraction, time to think clearly and contemplate life, something I hadn’t had time to do in over a year. Life was moving at such a fast pace that I didn’t have time to think about what I’d eat for breakfast, let alone what I wanted to do for the next five years of my life. I hadn’t chosen this life; it chose me, and now I was left with trying to get on board and enjoy the ride.
After giving myself a tour of the main house, I grabbed my luggage and carried it to the guesthouse, which would be my home for the next few months.
The front door and window off the main room looked on to the elaborate pool, and the bedroom, which was at the back of the small house, looked into the forest. There must have been good nature viewing, because an overstuffed chair was situated in front of the window and binoculars sat on the small side table, along with a book about birds and other animals that wandered the forests in this part of the country. I hoped the slower pace never became so underwhelming that I’d actually make use of the book or binoculars. I couldn’t imagine anything being more boring.
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