{"product_id":"slightly-bad-girls-of-the-bible-isbn-9780735291706","title":"Slightly Bad Girls of the Bible","description":"Good Women Behaving Badly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA spiteful boss, a defiant employee, a manipulative mother, a desperate housewife, an envious sister…honey, we \u003ci\u003eknow \u003c\/i\u003ethese women. We’ve lived with them, worked with them, or caught a glimpse of them in our mirrors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow let’s take a look at their ancient counterparts in Scripture: \u003cb\u003eSarah\u003c\/b\u003e mistreated her maidservant, \u003cb\u003eHagar\u003c\/b\u003e despised her mistress, \u003cb\u003eRebekah\u003c\/b\u003e manipulated her son, \u003cb\u003eLeah\u003c\/b\u003e claimed her sister’s husband, and \u003cb\u003eRachel\u003c\/b\u003e envied her fertile sister. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were far from evil, but hardly perfect. Mostly good, yet slightly bad. In other words, these matriarchal mamas look a lot like us. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“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.”\u003c\/i\u003e —from \u003ci\u003eSlightly Bad Girls of the Bible\u003c\/i\u003e“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.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Francine Rivers, best-selling author of Redeeming Love\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eLiz Curtis Higgs is the author of 26 books, with more than 3 million copies in print, including her best-selling nonfiction series, \u003ci\u003eBad Girls of the Bible, Really Bad Girls of the Bible, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eUnveiling Mary Magdalene, \u003c\/i\u003eand her Christy Award—winning historical novel, \u003ci\u003eWhence Came a Prince\u003c\/i\u003e. A columnist for \u003ci\u003eToday’s Christian Woman \u003c\/i\u003eand an accomplished speaker, Liz makes her home in Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, Bill.\u003cb\u003eIntroduction: \u003c\/b\u003eControlling Interest\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLet but the puppets move,\u003cbr\u003eI’ve my desire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e- CHARLES CHURCHILL\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonna 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe handed over the day’s bounty from their mailbox. “See for yourself.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonna quickly sorted through the belated Christmas cards, made thicker by family brag letters. Next year \u003ci\u003eshe \u003c\/i\u003emight 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, \u003ci\u003eif…\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eWith 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. \u003ci\u003eYes. \u003c\/i\u003eThe school had promised a decision by December 31, still two days away. Surely a good sign.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonna 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?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer husband looked over her shoulder. “So we’ve heard from The College of Your Choice.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonna 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 \u003ci\u003ethis \u003c\/i\u003ewas the one that counted. The admission policy was far more stringent and the list of alumni far more impressive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the campus…oh, the \u003ci\u003ecampus\u003c\/i\u003e! 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 \u003ci\u003eshe \u003c\/i\u003ewas 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the long drive home, Max had chided her, “Why don’t \u003ci\u003eyou \u003c\/i\u003eapply, 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?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer husband disturbed her reverie as he slipped his damp coat over the back of a kitchen chair. “You \u003ci\u003eare \u003c\/i\u003egoing to wait until Max gets home to open that.” His firm words chafed against her conscience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“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.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Here you go, Mom.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonna scanned the first three words–\u003ci\u003eCongratulations! Your application\u003c\/i\u003e– before letting out a huge whoop. “Max, I’m so proud of you!” Noticing her husband and daughter on the sidelines, she quickly added, “We all are.” He bobbed his head, then wandered off in the direction of his computer. Max’s lack of enthusiasm didn’ t concern her. That was just his way. He’d warm up to the idea soon enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he didn’t. All through January he waffled between one school and another, finding excuses not to make a decision. At least that’s how it seemed to Donna, who’d sent enrollment deposits to four schools, asking them to hold his place. “Eight hundred dollars’ worth of deposits,” she reminded Max whenever the subject came up. Donna made sure it came up daily.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy February she’d run out of patience. “We’ll start from the bottom. Which school \u003ci\u003edon’t \u003c\/i\u003eyou want to attend?” With some difficulty he picked one–the same one she would have chosen as least likely. “Good,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Next week we’ll eliminate another one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe helped him make that decision too, though she could tell it was harder. Why Max didn’t just make a final choice, the \u003ci\u003ebest \u003c\/i\u003echoice, was a mystery to her. When they finally narrowed it down to two schools–her favorite one or her husband’ s alma mater–she breathed a sigh of relief. A nationally known, prestigious institution versus a low-profile liberal arts college close to home. No contest, really.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMax had promised to give them his decision after dinner. Donna cooked his favorite pasta dish and watched him devour it, proud of herself for not bringing up the subject of college all through the meal. As she served her son a slice of chocolate cake, she leaned down to smile at him. “You’ve made your decision, haven’t you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMax met her gaze for the first time that evening. “Yes, I have, Mom.” When he blurted out the name of the school–the \u003ci\u003ewrong \u003c\/i\u003eschool– Donna fell back a step, as if she’d been slapped. “You can’t be serious.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I \u003ci\u003eam \u003c\/i\u003eserious,” Max assured her, exchanging glances with his dad. “They offered me a bigger scholarship–”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Never mind the \u003ci\u003emoney.\u003c\/i\u003e” A spark of anger heated her face, sharpened her words. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re throwing away your life, Max.”\u003ci\u003eDoesn’t he see? Doesn’t he\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eunderstand? \u003c\/i\u003e“If my parents had given me that kind of chance…” She choked on the words, tears tightening her throat. “If they’d been willing to pay for my education, to send me anywhere I wanted to go, that’s the \u003ci\u003elast \u003c\/i\u003ecollege I would have picked.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But, Mom–”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t \u003ci\u003ecare \u003c\/i\u003eif your father graduated from there.” Donna was almost shouting now, ignoring her son’s gentle protests, her daughter’s shocked expression, and the hurt in her husband’s eyes. “You’ve chosen a second-rate college in a backwater town in a state I’m ashamed to call home.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Donna!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer husband’s low voice silenced her, yet the storm inside continued to rage, even as shame and guilt began their dual attack… \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA piece of work, Donna. Mistaking motherhood for puppetry, she was determined to pull everyone’s strings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome of us have a friend like Donna.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome of us work with a Donna.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd some of us (let’s be honest) \u003ci\u003eare \u003c\/i\u003eDonnas. Insisting on having our way. Thinking we know what’ s best. Controlling whom and what we can, whenever we can. Pretending not to notice if we squash a few toes in the process. We don’t want to rule the universe–just our corner of the world. We don’t mind slight delays, as long as a positive outcome is guaranteed. When God pours his blessings on us, we’re truly grateful and more than willing to give him all the glory. But when he tells us “no” or “wait” or “soon but not yet,” we start thinking of ways to expedite the process. \u003ci\u003eReally, Lord. I can help.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf I didn’t know better, I’d think an impatient Bad Girl wrote the phrase “God helps those who help themselves.” Instead, it’s a line from one of Aesop’s fables: “The gods help them that help themselves.” Maybe those man-made Greek gods required human effort, but \u003ci\u003ethe \u003c\/i\u003eGod, the Lord Almighty, doesn’t need our help to accomplish his divine plan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy definition of 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. And so we quietly (or not so quietly) try to take back the reins again and again. \u003ci\u003eLet me handle things, Lord. I know what’s best.\u003c\/i\u003eWe pray, then move forward without waiting for an answer. We do all the right, Good Girl things and hope no one notices our desperate need to control every aspect of our lives. We read “She does not trust in the LORD, she does not draw near to her God”2 and shudder at the thought, never seeing ourselves in those words.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf you’ve read the other books in my Bad Girls of the Bible series, you know how willing I am to open the pages of my diary, if only to encourage my sisters that God’s forgiveness covers the whole of our lives, not only the years before we knew him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd so, Donna’s story is my story, and recent history at that. What kind of Christian mother manipulates her child, belittles her husband, and throws temper tantrums at the dinner table?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis kind, I’m afraid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the apostle Paul said, “I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” 3 Amen, brother, and don’t I know it. When I finally calmed down, asked everyone’ s forgiveness–individually and collectively–confessed I truly \u003ci\u003edo \u003c\/i\u003elove my adopted state of Kentucky, and assured my dear son he’d chosen well, peace was restored in the Higgs household. But I don’t fool myself. Damage was done, and wounds were inflicted, requiring time to repair and heal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven two years later, when I sent these pages to my sophomore son for him to critique, he e-mailed me and admitted, “This brought tears to my eyes, Mother. I’m sorry I disappointed you so much.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGroan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wrote back at once. “The problem was all mine, sweet boy. You are exactly where God wanted you to be, which is wonderful. I love having you so close to home…”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s the trouble with sin: its influence lingers. My ten-minute tirade still has the power to hurt my precious son, years after the fact. No matter what I say or do now, he will remember what I said and did then. God forgives our sins completely, yet the consequences remain. Spoken words can never be unspoken. Even so, my son closed his comments with “Please don’t beat yourself up, Mom. You don’t deserve it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat I truly don’t deserve is a son who extends forgiveness so generously. Thank goodness the Lord knows what to do with Bad Girls (and Bad Boys, for that matter). He rescues us from ourselves. And showers us with grace. “He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all–how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the first page of his Word to the last, God reveals our badness and his goodness. Our neediness and his provision. Our brokenness and his healing touch. That’s the beauty of the Bible: “It shows us life and people as they really are, not as we wish them to be.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt shows us the truth about God and about ourselves. I, for one, am grateful to learn our biblical ancestors were flawed. Knowing God loved this imperfect patriarchal family, we can be sure there’s hope for us all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne reader shared with me, “I’m light-years away from the Good Girls of the Bible.” Here’s encouraging news on that score: even the Good Girls of the Bible had their Bad Girl moments. The five females we’ll be studying here are mostly good, yet slightly bad. Women of faith, but not without flaws. And all of them are seriously strong willed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSarah, our first Slightly Bad Girl, is touted in the New Testament as an example for us all: “For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to make themselves beautiful. They were submissive to their own husbands, like Sarah, who obeyed Abraham and called him her master.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe did indeed call her husband lord. But, honey, that’s not all she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWait until you hear the strident words that came out of Sarah’s mouth! Even so, God blessed her, entrusted her with a son, and loved her. So did Abraham. I’m breathing easier already. You too?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe other Slightly Bad Girls also may surprise you. Rebekah and Rachel: surely \u003ci\u003ethey \u003c\/i\u003ewere good. Well, like Sarah, they were beautiful. They were loved. And (oops) they were pushy, manipulative, willful, scheming…oh my. And while the stories of Hagar and Leah may be less familiar, they have much to teach us about the kindness and mercy God extends to women forced into bad situations. As a group, these women “grace the pages of Genesis with their laughter, their sorrows, their strength, and their power.” We’ll also consider the men in their lives and discover they made a few Bad Boy bloopers over the years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEach chapter begins with our Slightly Bad Girl’s fictional modern counterpart to help us avoid thinking, “Things were different then.” \u003ci\u003eAu contraire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFashions, food, and furnishings may alter over the centuries, but human nature hasn’t changed since the days of our first Bad Girl, Eve. Though historically these women spanned three generations and more than two hundred years, I’ve chosen to place each opening scene in the present day so we can more easily relate to their stories.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePrepare to have four thousand years swept away as Sarah, Hagar, Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel walk right into your living room. So glad you’re on hand to greet them, sis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.S. Wherever you went to college–or didn’t go to college–is fine with me. Really.","brand":"WaterBrook","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300721774821,"sku":"NP9780735291706","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780735291706.jpg?v=1767736767","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/slightly-bad-girls-of-the-bible-isbn-9780735291706","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}