PRAISE FOR
KAREN KINGSBURY’S BOOKS
When Joy Came to Stay
“Kingsbury confronts hard issues with truth and sensitivity.”
FRANCINE RIVERS, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF LEOTA’S GARDEN
“Kingsbury’s poignant tale of a lost and broken family and how they experience God’s miraculous healing is a sure guarantee to bring hope and joy to her readers.”
MELODY CARLSON, AUTHOR OF DIARY OF A TEENAGE GIRL
“A thought-provoking account of the battle of depression in a believer’s life. It leaves no doubt that God is loving, merciful, and faithful.”
NANCY MOSER, AUTHOR OF THE SEAT BESIDE ME
A Moment of Weakness
“With the careful pacing of a seasoned storyteller, Karen Kingsbury spins a tale of love and loss, lies and betrayal, that sent me breathlessly turning pages to discover what might become of Jade and Tanner. These flawed characters are easy to sympathize with…and celebrate with by the story’s end! Contemporary issues of faith and the First Amendment add to the timely message in A Moment of Weakness.”
LIZ CURTIS HIGGS, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF BOOKENDS AND BAD GIRLS OF THE BIBLE
“Karen Kingsbury has written a heart-gripping love story A Moment of Weakness demonstrates the devastating consequences of wrong choices and the long shadows deception casts over the lives of God’s children. It also shows the even longer reach of God’s providence, grace, and forgiveness.”
RANDY ALCORN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF SAFELY HOME AND THE ISHBANE CONSPIRACY
“One message shines clear and strong through Karen Kingsbury’s A Moment of Weakness: Our loving God is a God of second chances.”
ANGELA ELWELL HUNT, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE JUSTICE
Waiting for Morning
“What a talent! I love her work.”
GARY SMALLEY, BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“Kingsbury not only entertains but goes a step further and confronts readers with situations that are all too common, even for Christians. At the same time, Waiting for Morning will remind believers of God’s mercy and challenge them to pray for America. The book…reveals God’s awesome love and His amazing ability to turn moments of weakness into times of strengthening.”
CHRISTAIN RETAILING, SPOTLIGHT REVIEW
From Readers
“Your books are like cheesecake…. One is never enough.”
—C. W.
“I have never had novels affect me as deeply as yours have.”
—L. B.
“I’ve been on a Karen Kingsbury reading binge…I can’t stop reading them!”
—P.B.
“No other author has made me cry and laugh so much in one book.”
—L. L.
“I have never enjoyed reading quite so much. My friends ask me, ‘What are you reading that moves you like that?’”
—B. H.
“I am amazed at how addicted I have become to your books.”
—A. S.
“What a marvelous and huge talent God has given you.”
—L. V.
“You are my favorite author, and I do a lot of reading.”
—L. J.
“If there were more Christian novels like yours, this world would be a better place.”
—A. D.
“You are unbelievably gifted. In my mind, you are to inspirational fiction what Charlie Parker was to the saxophone, what Mark McGwire is to the home run, what Michael Jordan is to basketball, what Tiger Woods is to golf. You are that good.”
—M. A.
“Thank you so much for writing such wonderful books…. They are hazardous to my housework!”
—L. B.
“When I think you can’t top your last book, you go and do it again.”
—D. R.
Dedicated to
Donald, who is and has been my very best friend regardless of the storms of life. Thank you for believing in me, loving me, and praying for me as if your life depended on it. Persecution is a promise in the kingdom of God, but with you by my side the lessons we have learned this past year are both vivid and welcomed. My greatest joy is knowing you are by my side, now and forever.
Kelsey, caught somewhere between the oh-so-cute little girl and the tenderly precious young woman whose image grows clearer with each passing season. Whether kicking a soccer ball, mastering a math test, or seeking God’s heart on the daily dilemmas of growing up, you are proving yourself to be intensely committed, deeply devoted, sincere, genuine, and true. I am the most blessed mom in the world to have the privilege of calling you my daughter, my little Norm, my song.
Tyler, tall, strong, and handsome—in the days of becoming, it is clear the type of man you’ll be. And yet now, for a short while, you’re still a little boy, remembering to pick a dandelion for me on family walks. Kind and compassionate, always ready to share, thinking of others. When I look at you, so often I see your daddy. And on many wonderful moments I see your Father, too. If I could bottle your zest for life, your sincerity, and share them with others, the world would be a different place.
Keep your eyes on the goal, son; God has great plans for you. I love you always.
Austin, no longer making baby steps but running through our house and our hearts. It’s marvelous to see the way God has made you focused—gifted with the ability to master an action regardless of the time and energy involved. Even more amazing are the glimpses of a tender heart beneath the toughness—“Daddy, I’m going to kiss your wife…”
Mingled with your three-year-old laughter are words that will ring through the decades. I remain always in awe of the miracle of your life.
And to my loving Lord and Savior, who has, for now, blessed me with these.
Acknowledgments
As with all my books, this one was written with the help of many friends and professionals who made it ring true literally and sing true spiritually. Writing about depression is not something I’ve done before; although I’ve wrestled with testing and persecutions, battling depression has never been one of my trials. For that reason I did extensive research on what I came to understand as an illness and drew heavily from the results God brought my way.
In this light I especially want to thank my dear friend, Sylvia Wallgren—a Christian counselor and licensed psychiatrist—for giving me understanding. In a way that was both miraculous and timely, the Lord ordained that Sylvia and I meet. She also is a prayer warrior and lifted me up to heaven’s throne daily as I wrote this book. I strongly suspect Sylvia will be a treasured friend—part of my close, close circle—throughout our journey here and on into eternity. Sylvia, I can’t tell you strongly enough how much your daily encouragement and e-mailed prayers meant to me, still mean to me. I thank God for you.
Again, thanks go to my amazing editor, Karen Ball, who takes my work and fine-tunes it so that the music you hear is truly a thing of beauty Karen, you’re a gifted editor, and I am blessed for knowing you, working with you.
To the Multnomah family, from my dear friends in sales to those in publicity, marketing, editorial, management, cover design, endorsements, and everyone in between—you are the most amazing people to work for. Every now and then, in the quiet moments before dawn, I find myself in awe that this is my job and you are my coworkers. I believe God is taking our books someplace we’ve never imagined before! Thank you, a million times over.
Like last year, thanks to Kristy and Jeff Blake for taking care of my precious angel child during those hours when I absolutely needed a moment to write.
Also a special thanks to my niece Shannon Kane, to Jan Adams, and to Joan Westfall for always being the first in line to read my books and give me valuable feedback. Also to my other family and friends for your love, sup
port, and encouragement in every aspect of my writing. Especially my mom and dad, who have been there since my first stapled, colored-in book at age five.
With every book I write there are people who pray for me and lend an ear while I talk plots and character traits. These are my special, oh-so-close friends and sisters in Christ, the golden ones who will never change or leave regardless of the passing of days. You know who you are and how precious each of you are to me and my family May God continue to richly bless our friendships.
There are nights in the midst of writing a book when leftovers are the best thing going at dinnertime and the laundry is piled to the ceiling. For those times and any others when I might have been just a tad preoccupied, I thank my incredible husband and sweethearted children—I couldn’t do this without the combined efforts from each of you.
And thanks to the Skyview basketball team, for always giving me a reason to cheer, even on deadline.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Part 1 - The Descent
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part 2 - The Depths
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Other Books by This Author
About the Author…
Copyright
Prologue
SIX DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE LAURA THOMPSON’S JOB AS A MOTHER had officially ended.
The wedding had gone off without a hitch, and the last of Laura’s four babies was out of the house, ready—like his siblings—to build a life of his own. She would always be their mom, of course, and in time she and Larry would welcome grandbabies and opportunities to visit with their grown children.
But for all intents and purposes, Laura was out of a job—and that was the primary reason for today’s meeting.
She let her gaze fall on the circle of women gathered that Friday morning at Cleveland Community Church—women she’d known most of her life—and she was struck by the realization that they’d arrived at this place together. Houses quiet, children gone, grandchildren still years away…
Only their Friday morning Bible study remained the same.
The chattering among the women diminished and Emma Lou, women’s president for the past year cast a tender smile their way. “Pastor gave me the names this morning.”
A hush of expectancy settled over the group, and several of the women crossed their legs or tilted their heads, shifting their attention to the bowl in Emma Lou’s hand. Inside were the names of younger women, women who felt the need for prayer, women who were diapering babies and solving multiplication problems over dinner dishes and wondering how to make laughter and love last even in a Christian marriage.
Laura swallowed hard, surprised to feel tears in her eyes. Women like she and her friends once had been.
“Before we open our Bibles, let’s everyone draw a name. And remember, these are women who want your prayer and support, possibly even your mentoring. We may be finished raising our families, but these young gals are just starting out.” Emma Lou’s eyes shone with the memories of days gone by “Draw a name, keep it confidential, and take the responsibility of praying for that one as seriously as you once took the job of mothering. I believe the Lord would find our work in this task every bit as important.”
Laura dabbed at a tear and sucked in a quick breath. She wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. She had a wonderful family and a million happy memories. There was nothing she could do to change the fact that her family was grown. But this—this role of praying for a young mother in their church fellowship—was something she could do today. Something that would give her life purpose, meaning, and direction.
Laura intended to carry out the assignment with all her heart.
The bowl was passed around the circle, and when it came to her she reached in, moving her fingers through the papers. Who, Lord? Who would You have me pray for?
She clasped a small slip and plucked it from the others. Would it be a mother overwrought with financial challenges? One burdened with the daily demands of mothering? Or perhaps a sweet daughter of the Lord whose husband didn’t share her faith? Whoever she was, Laura knew the power of lifting a sister directly to the throne room of God. She could hardly imagine the results of praying for such a one over time.
Laura waited until Emma Lou asked them to read the names they had drawn, then her eyes fell to her hands as she unfolded the piece of paper and saw the bold writing inside. For a moment, a sharp pang of disappointment stabbed at her. What’s this? I must have grabbed the wrong slip.
Maggie Stovall?
Of all the women in the church, God wanted her to pray for Maggie Stovall? What special needs could an exemplary woman like Maggie possibly have? How could she require daily prayer? Surely there was someone who needed her support more than Maggie Stovall.
Laura settled back in her chair, surprised Maggie had even gone to the trouble of requesting prayer. The young woman was a regular at church. Each week without exception, she and her husband volunteered in the Sunday school wing to lead the children in song. As far as Laura knew, Maggie was a successful newspaper columnist, her husband an established attorney. For the past few years, they’d even opened their home to foster children.
In need of prayer? The Stovalls were part of the blessed crowd—popular, well-liked people who cast a favorable impression on the entire church body, people the pastor and elders were proud to have in their midst.
Never, not even once, had Laura seen Maggie Stovall look anything but radiantly happy and perfectly put together.
Maggie Stovall? Am I hearing you right, Lord?
The answer was clear and quick: Pray, dear one. Maggie needs prayer.
Immediately an image filled Laura’s mind. The image of a woman wearing a mask.
Laura couldn’t make out the woman’s features, nor were the details of the mask clear. Still the image remained, and though Laura had no idea what to make of the mental picture she was instantly seized with remorse. I’m sorry, Lord. Really. I’ll pray…maybe there’s something I don’t know about Maggie.
Laura ran her finger gently over the young woman’s name, then folded the slip of paper and tucked it inside her Bible.
The vision of the masked woman came to mind again, and a sadness covered Laura’s heart. Was it Maggie? Was there something she was hiding? What is it, Lord? Tell me?
Silence.
Laura sighed and her resolve grew. She might no longer be needed in the daily tasks of mothering, but clearly she was needed in this. God had spoken that much to her months ago when she had first suggested the idea of praying for the young women in their midst. And if this woman was the one she was to pray for, so be it.
She would pray for Maggie Stovall as though it were the most important job in the world.
And maybe one day God wo
uld let her understand.
One
THE MOMENTS OF LUCIDITY WERE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN ANYMORE.
Thankfully, this was one of them. Aware of the fact, Maggie Stovall worked her fingers over the computer keyboard as though they might somehow propel her ahead of the darkness, keep her inches in front of whatever it was that hungered after her mind, her sanity.
Despite all that was uncertain that fall, Maggie was absolutely sure of one thing: She was losing it. And the little blond girl—whoever she might be—was only partly to blame.
Maggie’s desk in the newsroom of the Cleveland Gazette was one of the remaining places where, most of the time, she still felt normal. The twenty or forty minutes a day she spent there were an oasis of peace and clarity bordered by a desert of hours, all dark, barren, and borderline crazy. The newsroom deadlines and demands left no room for fear and trembling, no time for worrying whether the darkness was about to consume her.
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