{"id":4595,"date":"2010-04-14T12:26:55","date_gmt":"2010-04-14T17:26:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=4595"},"modified":"2010-04-14T14:20:48","modified_gmt":"2010-04-14T19:20:48","slug":"a-strangers-wish-by-gayle-roper","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=4595","title":{"rendered":"A Stranger’s Wish by Gayle Roper"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n


<\/p>\n

Gayle Roper<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n


<\/p>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

A Stranger’s Wish (The Amish Farm Trilogy)<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)<\/p>\n

***Special thanks to David P. Bartlett – Print & Internet Publicist – Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nGayle Roper is the award-winning author of more than forty books and has been a Christy finalist three times. Gayle enjoys speaking at women\u2019s events across the nation and loves sharing the powerful truths of Scripture with humor and practicality. She lives with her husband in southeastern Pennsylvania where Gayle enjoys reading, gardening, and her family.<\/p>\n

\nVisit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

<\/embed><\/object><\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $10.99
\nPaperback: 224 pages
\nPublisher: Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)
\nLanguage: English
\nISBN-10: 0736925864
\nISBN-13: 978-0736925860 <\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

By the time Jon Clarke What\u2019s-his-name drove me to the hospital, my terrible inner trembling had stopped. My hands were still cold, and the towel pressed to my cheek was still sopping up blood, but I was almost in control again. If I could only stop shaking, I\u2019d be fine.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d been so sure I\u2019d lost my face. My stomach still curdled at the memory. All I\u2019d done was bend down to pet Hawk, the sable-and-tan German shepherd sleeping contentedly in the mid-August sun. How was I to know he had a nasty cut hiding under that sleek hot fur?<\/p>\n

I was horrified when he lashed out, startled by the pain I had inadvertently caused him. He got me in the cheek with a fang, but despite the blood, the wound was mostly superficial. The thought of what would have happened if he\u2019d closed his mouth made me break out in a fine sweat.<\/p>\n

How dumb to touch a sleeping dog. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I knew better. Everyone knew better.<\/p>\n

As we entered the emergency room, I rearranged my towel to find an area not stained with blood. I went to the desk and signed in with a woman whose jet black hair stuck out in spikes to rival a hedgehog. When she had my life\u2019s history, she patted my paperwork with a proprietary air that made me wonder if she was willing to share the information with the people I\u2019d come to see.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave a seat.\u201d She gave me a warm smile. \u201cThey\u2019ll be with you shortly.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoping shortly really meant shortly, I took my seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to wait,\u201d I told Jon Clarke as he took the bright orange plastic chair beside me in the otherwise empty emergency room. He smiled slightly and stretched his long legs out before him, the picture of long-suffering
\nand quiet accommodation. His posture said it didn\u2019t matter how long things took. He was prepared to be gallant and wait it out.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll be all right. You can go.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was embarrassed to have inflicted myself upon this man I didn\u2019t know, this man whose last name I couldn\u2019t even remember. He\u2019d pulled into the drive at the Zooks\u2019 Amish farm just as I bent over Hawk. While Mary Zook plied me with towels and bemoaned my possible disfigurement when she wasn\u2019t yelling at the innocent Hawk, John Clarke Whoever climbed out of his car, took me by the elbow, put me in his passenger seat, and drove me here.<\/p>\n

What would I have done if he hadn\u2019t come along at just the right moment? Gone to the hospital in a buggy? Certainly that wouldn\u2019t have worked if I\u2019d had a life-threatening injury. I guess if that were the case, someone would run to the phone down on the road and dial 911 or run to a neighbor with a car. Hmm. Peace and serenity of the Amish variety had a definite downside.<\/p>\n

Jon Clarke smiled at me now, looking comfortable in his very uncomfortable chair. \u201cOf course I\u2019ll wait for you. I\u2019d never run out on a lady in distress. Besides, you need a way home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI could call a cab.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBird-in-Hand is too far from Lancaster for that. It would cost a fortune.\u201d He smiled at me again, politely patient.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only fifteen minutes max.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a lot when the fare indicator goes ca-ching, ca-ching. It\u2019s better if I just wait.\u201d<\/p>\n

I gritted my teeth. Just what I needed, a shining knight when I was in no condition to play the lady. I smiled ungraciously and winced.<\/p>\n

\u201cHurt much?\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course it hurt. What did he think? \u201cThe strange thing is that my tongue can push into the wound from the inside of my mouth. Only a thin piece of skin on my inner cheek keeps the puncture from going all the way through.\u201d I pushed against my cheek with my tongue. It was a creepy sensation to feel the hole, but I couldn\u2019t resist the need to fiddle.<\/p>\n

He looked suitably impressed and apparently decided to keep talking to distract me from my pain and injury. I must say he shouldered the burden with stoic determination and great charm.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you lived in the Lancaster area long?\u201d he asked, and I could have sworn he actually cared.<\/p>\n

\u201cThree years. I love it here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you at the Zooks\u2019 to visit Jake too?\u201d<\/p>\n

Too. So he had come to see Jake. I shook my head. \u201cI live there.\u201d<\/p>\n

That stopped him. \u201cReally? On the farm?\u201d He raised an eyebrow at me, an improbably dark eyebrow considering the light brown of his hair. \u201cHave you been living there long?\u201d<\/p>\n

I glanced at the clock on the wall. \u201cAbout four hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

The eyebrow rose once again. \u201cYou\u2019re kidding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope. Great beginning, isn\u2019t it? Todd spent the morning and early afternoon helping me move, and he\u2019d just left. I was on my way into the house when I stopped to pet Hawk.\u201d I sighed. \u201cThey\u2019ll probably decide I\u2019m too much trouble to have around.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pulled the towel from my cheek and studied the bloody patterns on the white terry cloth. They looked like abstract art. I was an artist myself, but I never painted compositions like these. I liked more realism\u2014which meant my work would probably never hang in important galleries.<\/p>\n

Uptight and unimaginative, according to certain professors and fellow students from my college days. \u201cFlex,\u201d they said. \u201cSoar! Paint where your spirit leads.\u201d<\/p>\n

I flexed and soared with the best of them, but the finished work still looked like what it was.<\/p>\n

I refolded the towel, burying the modern art, reapplied a clean area, and pressed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s Todd?\u201d Jon Clarke asked.<\/p>\n

I shrugged. Good question. \u201cTodd Reasoner. A friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh.\u201d<\/p>\n

Would that Todd were as easily explained as the conclusion Jon Clarke had apparently leaped to.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t do that,\u201d Jon Clarke said.<\/p>\n

I blinked. \u201cDo what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t push against your cheek like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t even realized I was doing it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if that thin piece of skin ruptures? Scarring. Infection. MRSA. Who knows?\u201d<\/p>\n

I frowned. Talk about Worst Case Scenario Man. I wanted to tell him I\u2019d play with the inside of my cheek if I felt like it, but he was probably right about all the dire possibilities. I didn\u2019t want to rupture that thin membrane so delicately protecting the inside of my mouth. And I certainly didn\u2019t want to do anything to encourage the possibility of scarring. I looked in the mirror enough to know my face didn\u2019t need that kind of help.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot many people get to stay on an Amish farm.\u201d He paused. \u201cBecause of their closed society,\u201d he added as if I wouldn\u2019t understand his point. \u201cYou\u2019re very fortunate to get the opportunity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. I consider this chance a gift straight from God. One day my principal mentioned that he had Amish friends who were willing to take in a boarder. I got the Zooks\u2019 name and contacted them immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t tell him that when I first went to the farm, I wore one of my conservative suits, a gift from my parents when they were still hoping to quell my tendency toward bright colors and what they considered the instability of the art community, not that they actually knew any artists but me.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019re too artsy, Kristina,\u201d they said almost daily, as if being \u201cartsy\u201d was the equivalent of having a single digit IQ, \u201cpeople won\u2019t take you seriously.\u201d<\/p>\n

What they meant was that their people, all high-powered corporate lawyers who earned high six figures or even seven annually, wouldn\u2019t take me seriously. They were a group that had no time for business casual, let alone colorful artsy.<\/p>\n

On that first visit to the Zooks, I hadn\u2019t been certain what cultural landmines I\u2019d have to navigate, so I determined to at least defuse the clothing issue, the one I knew about and could somewhat mitigate. I\u2019d straightened my navy lapels and smoothed my cream silk blouse before I got out of the car, another cultural difference that I wasn\u2019t willing to yield on, not if I wanted to get to work.<\/p>\n

To my delight, I found Mary and John Zook gracious, respectful, and kind. Mary sat there in her pinned-together dress and dark stockings, her organdy kapp crisp in spite of the humidity. John wore a white shirt and black broadfall trousers. His beard was full with only a hint of gray, and his straw hat hung on a peg by the door. They might demand the simple life of themselves and their family, but it was immediately obvious they would not demand the same of me.<\/p>\n

Wouldn\u2019t it be amazing if I had more freedom to be myself here in the midst of this highly structured society than in my own parents\u2019 home?<\/p>\n

\u201cYour principal?\u201d Jon Clarke asked from his seat beside me. \u201cYou teach?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cElementary art.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I first pulled into the drive, I thought you must be Jake\u2019s visiting nurse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot me. I\u2019d be a terrible nurse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut a good teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdequate, anyway. And I get the summers off to study and paint. How do you know the Zooks?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve known them forever. My aunt and uncle live down the road from them. But I haven\u2019t seen them in several years. In fact, I haven\u2019t been in Lancaster for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n

So I\u2019d bled all over his first visit in years. Great. \u201cWas it a job that kept you away?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes and no. Yes, when I was a youth pastor at a church in Michigan. No, when I went to seminary and graduate school. I just finished my doctorate in counseling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d I was impressed.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I confess. I\u2019m lying. I just thought it sounded like a wonderful way to astonish and amaze a pretty girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blinked at him, and he smiled impudently back. \u201cReally?\u201d he said in a dead-on imitation of me.<\/p>\n

Flustered, I looked away from his laughing eyes. \u201cI was just trying to make decent conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n

His smile deepened. It was, I couldn\u2019t help noticing, a most wonderful smile, crinkling his eyes almost shut and inviting me to smile along, which I was careful not to do because of my cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cKristina Matthews?\u201d called the woman at the desk. Her nameplate said she was Harriet. She scanned the empty room as though there might be several Kristinas lurking about, and I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder to see who might have sneaked in while I wasn\u2019t looking.<\/p>\n

When I stood, Harriet smiled brightly. \u201cThere you are. Right through here, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

As I entered the treatment area, I passed a teenage boy staggering out on crutches and a lady in a bathing suit with her arm in a bright pink cast. The walking wounded. I wondered what my battle scars would be.<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later I looked away as a nurse stabbed me efficiently with a needle.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis tetanus shot may cause your arm to swell or stiffen,\u201d she said, her voice filled with sorrow over my possible plight. I couldn\u2019t decide whether she was sorry I might swell or sorry I mightn\u2019t. \u201cIf it swells or stiffens, don\u2019t worry. Take aspirin or Tylenol and call your personal physician if the pain persists.\u201d She turned away with a great sigh and began cleaning up the treatment area.<\/p>\n

I slid off the examination table and looked at my wobbly reflection in the glass doors of the supply cabinet. The flesh-colored butterfly bandage stuck in the middle of my left cheek distorted my face slightly, but I didn\u2019t mind. There had been no need for stitches.<\/p>\n

\u201cAny scarring will be minimal,\u201d the doctor said absentmindedly as he wrote something on the forms Harriet had passed to him. He was a good match for the nurse. I doubted he even noticed her melancholia. \u201cJust keep the wound dry and check with your regular doctor next week to have it redressed.\u201d He ripped off the top copy of the paperwork and handed it to me. \u201cIt tells you here. And you\u2019re certain the dog had his shots?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded, took the paper, and hurried to the waiting room. At least Jon Clarke hadn\u2019t had to wait long once I was seen.<\/p>\n

But the waiting room was empty. My angel of mercy had flown the coop. I was standing there wondering what to do next when Harriet at the desk called to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry, honey. He\u2019ll be right back. He said he had to run a quick errand.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded with disproportionate relief.<\/p>\n

\u201cMen,\u201d she said sympathetically. \u201cYou never know what they\u2019re going to do, do you? Sometimes they take off, and you never see them again.\u201d The edge that had crept into her voice made me think she was speaking from experience. She gave herself a little shake. \u201cBut yours looked nice enough to me. I think you can trust him, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her guess was as good as mine. We\u2019d both known him for about the same length of time.<\/p>\n

She got up from her desk. \u201cListen. I\u2019ve got to go to the ladies\u2019 room. I\u2019m talking emergency here, believe me. Stay by the desk and watch things for me, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Yikes. \u201cWhat if someone comes in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell them I\u2019ll be back in a minute. But don\u2019t worry,\u201d she called over her shoulder as she disappeared through a door. \u201cNothing big ever happens on Saturday afternoon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taking no comfort from those words, I looked at the quiet waiting room.<\/p>\n

No one, Lord, okay? Not till she gets back, okay?<\/p>\n

The prayer was barely formed when the waiting room door slid open and an older man in khaki work clothes entered. His face, damp with perspiration, matched the color of the white envelopes sticking out of his shirt pocket, and he was rubbing his left arm. He stopped beside me at the desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I\u2019m having a heart attack,\u201d he said as he might say he was going to sneeze.<\/p>\n

I felt my own heart stop beating and my mouth go dry.<\/p>\n

He staggered, and I reached out instinctively, taking his arm and lowering him into Harriet\u2019s chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t apologize!\u201d Now my heart was beating so loudly I could scarcely
\nhear myself talk. \u201cDon\u2019t worry. Someone will be here to help you in a moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly he stopped kneading his arm and pressed his hand against his chest. His face contorted and I froze. He was going to die right here while Harriet was in the ladies\u2019 room!<\/p>\n

After a minute he relaxed, and I began to breathe again. I ran to the door of the treatment area. \u201cHelp, somebody! Help!\u201d<\/p>\n

The sad-faced nurse leaned out of a cubicle. \u201cIs anyone bleeding?\u201d She was so intent on what was going on behind that curtain that she didn\u2019t even look at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we\u2019ll be there as soon as we can.\u201d And she disappeared.<\/p>\n

I could see several pairs of feet below the curtain and hear several voices,
\nincluding that of my doctor, who was barking orders with impressive authority. Through a door down the hall I could see an ambulance with its back doors still open.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he needs you now,\u201d I called desperately. \u201cHe really does! It\u2019s his\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll be there in a minute,\u201d she yelled as a great cascade of blood flowed onto the floor.<\/p>\n

Pushing down panic and not knowing what else to do, I went back to the man.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ll be here in a minute,\u201d I told him with all the confidence I could muster.<\/p>\n

\u201cHad one before,\u201d he whispered to me. \u201cDon\u2019t worry. It\u2019ll be all right. I\u2019m not ready to die yet. I\u2019ve got stuff to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to smile to encourage him, but between my punctured cheek and my fear, I think it was more of a grimace. The man seemed to appreciate my effort anyway.<\/p>\n

Dear God, I screamed in silent prayer, where\u2019s Harriet? Send her out here fast, Lord! Please!<\/p>\n

The man rested his head against the wall. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name? Are you Harriet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Kristie Matthews. Should you be talking?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI drove myself here. You don\u2019t think talking\u2019s any worse than that, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou drove yourself here? With a heart attack?\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled faintly. \u201cI had to get here somehow. And I didn\u2019t think you were Harriet. You don\u2019t look like a Harriet.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t look like this Harriet. Plain old straight brown hair cut to bend at my chin instead of too-black spikes and the electrified look. Five seven and slim instead of short and a fan of Dunkin\u2019 Donuts, if Harriet\u2019s figure and the box in the trash receptacle were any indication. A hole in my cheek instead of an abundance of blusher.<\/p>\n

Suddenly he raised his head and looked at me with an intensity that made me blink. \u201cWill you do me a favor, Kristie Matthews?\u201d<\/p>\n

I leaned close to hear his weak voice. \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep this for me.\u201d He fumbled in his shirt pocket, reaching behind the envelopes. \u201cBut tell no one\u2014no one\u2014that you have it.\u201d He slipped a key into my cold hand and folded my fingers over it.<\/p>\n

I heard a gasp from behind me. Harriet was finally back.<\/p>\n

\u201cHeart attack,\u201d I said, but Harriet was three steps ahead of me.<\/p>\n

Her voice boomed over the PA. \u201cDr. Michaels, Dr, Michaels, stat. Dr. Michaels, code!\u201d Harriet disappeared back into the treatment area yelling, \u201cMarie! Charles! Where are you? Get yourselves out here fast!\u201d<\/p>\n

An arthritic finger tapped my closed fist. \u201cRemember, tell no one,\u201d the old man managed to whisper. \u201cPromise?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI promise.\u201d What else could I say?<\/p>\n

He stared at my face as if searching my soul. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because his hand relaxed on mine and his eyes closed. \u201cDon\u2019t forget. I\u2019m counting on you.\u201d He gave a deep sigh, and I froze. Was that his last breath? \u201cI\u2019m counting on you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room came alive with people. Medical personnel converged on the sick man, and I stepped back with relief.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you ever go to the bathroom again,\u201d I hissed at Harriet, who probably never would if she valued her job.<\/p>\n

When the doors to the treatment area slid shut and I could no longer see the man, I collapsed in one of the orange chairs, struggling with tears.<\/p>\n

This is ridiculous. Why am I crying? I don\u2019t even know the man.<\/p>\n

I gave myself a shake and stared at the small piece of metal in my hand. Why had he given his precious key to me, a total stranger? Why hadn\u2019t he let the hospital personnel keep it for him? Or asked them to hold it for a family member?<\/p>\n

What could it possibly open that no one\u2014no one\u2014must know of it?<\/p>\n

And what in the world should I do with it?<\/p>\n

It was a relief when Jon Clarke finally returned.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said with that winning smile. \u201cI got held up in traffic. I hope you didn\u2019t think I\u2019d deserted you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d I said as I slipped the key into my pocket. I hastened to correct my lie. \u201cAt least, not after Harriet told me you\u2019d be back.\u201d<\/p>\n

He cocked that dark, heavy brow at me again, saying as clearly as if I\u2019d spoken aloud that he knew all too well what I\u2019d thought.<\/p>\n

I flushed and began talking to cover my embarrassment. \u201cThis old man came in and had a heart attack. He scared me to death! I was the only one in the room\u2014Harriet had gone to the ladies\u2019 room. I had to be with him until help came. He gave me\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

I stopped abruptly. \u201cNo one,\u201d he\u2019d said, he\u2019d insisted. \u201cPromise.\u201d And I had.<\/p>\n

Did I owe him my silence? I didn\u2019t even know him.<\/p>\n

But I didn\u2019t know this sandy-haired, dark-browed man standing beside me, either. I only met him an hour or so ago. I couldn\u2019t bleed all over him anymore.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe gave me quite a scare,\u201d I said, decision made. I gave a short laugh. \u201cI\u2019m not used to anything more serious than the common cold or one of my students throwing up.\u201d<\/p>\n

But what would I do if he died?<\/p><\/div>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

A Stranger’s Wish<\/a> is a reprint\/update of The Key, originally published in 1998; however it was new to me. It is another entry into the ever popular “bonnet” fiction category; however it is written from the perspective of an outsider who is living in an Amish household. A quick and easy read, the story was interesting and made several significant points.<\/p>\n

Character development was excellent. Kristie, Jake, Jon Clarke, and Mr. Geohagan all had issues in their lives but dealt with them differently. Conversations were realistic and enlightening. Although Kristie’s reactions to the unusual number of attacks, robberies, and strange encounters directed at her were questionable, the story was nevertheless enjoyable. Filled with plenty of action, mystery, romance, and spiritual insight, A Stranger’s Wish<\/a> is perfect for the reader looking to escape into a book.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[38,8,60,67,41],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4595","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-amish","category-books","category-contemporary-fiction","category-mystery","category-romance"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4595","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4595"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4595\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4613,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4595\/revisions\/4613"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4595"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4595"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4595"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}