In April, when blackthorn blossom clothes the hedgerows like a wedding veil, there sometimes comes a spell of frost or snow so severe that it seems as if spring and summer will never return. This is what country people call a blackthorn winter. For Claudia Barron, the blackthorn winter of that particular April is like a metaphor for her whole life: for the end of glamour, financial security and marriage. Her rich and powerful husband has been sent to prison, leaving her homeless and virtually penniless. Hopeless to cling to the remnants of her old life, pointless to stand by a man who has betrayed her in almost every way a man can betray a woman. Instead she goes into hiding, buys the only house she can afford in the Dorset village of Court Barton - a hideous bungalow built in an old kitchen garden - and changes her name. Under a cloak of anonymity she sets out to get herself a job in the local school. But villages don't much like anonymity and before very long Claudia finds herself drawn into the gossip and the grumbling, the lives and loves and quarrels of Court Barton in a way that she had never expected. In the end, Sarah Challis deftly shows that Blackthorn winters always give way to hopeful springs.

Filled with practical ideas and self-evaluation tools, Father Hunger both encourages and challenges men to "embrace the high calling of fatherhood," becoming the dads that their families and our culture so desperately need them to be.

As Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, Gashmu and the enemies of Israel mocked him: "It is reported among the heathen, and Gashmu saith it, that thou and the Jews think to rebel..." (Neh. 6:6). Too many Christians building communities today take the taunts of every modern-day Gashmu seriously. Community is a buzzword, and it turns out there's a lot of bad advice about how to build one. In Gashmu Saith It, Douglas Wilson includes forty years of experience for Christians wanting to build robust communities without retreat or compromise on the foundation of the Gospel. This book is full of wisdom: Get calluses. Be loyal. Fight sin. Build walls on the outside and a church in the middle.

What is this World? What kind of place is it? "The round kind. The spinning kind. The moist kind. The inhabited kind. The kind with flamingos (real and artificial). The kind where water in the sky turns into beautifully symmetrical crystal flakes sculpted by artists unable to stop themselves (in both design and quantity). The kind of place with tiny, powerfully jawed mites assigned to the carpets to eat my dead skin as it flakes off. The kind with people who kill and people who love and people who do both... "This world is beautiful but badly broken." "I love it as it is, because it is a story, and it isn't stuck in one place. It is full of conflict and darkness like every good story, a world of surprises and questions to explore. And there's someone behind it; there are uncomfortable answers to the how's and whys and what's. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through Him were all things made... Welcome to His poem. His play. His novel. Let the pages flick your thumbs."