Book Review Emotionally Wounded Spiritually Strong

Jan 08, 2012

Kasia Hubbard rated, author Tarran Carter’s book,


Kasia won a copy of the book through

Kasia says, “I won this on Goodreads. Carter shows the reader a very straightforward approach to letting go of the chains of abuse that holds one down by backing up her information with scripture verses (a lot of scripture, and for me, that’s important).

Though this book speaks more of sexual abuse, I would say that any type of abuse can be addressed by following her seven healing prescriptions within. I really liked the section “Give me back my Pearls”, where it says that “damaged goods – speckled prey has value” really speaks volumes to those who have been abused.

The only bad thing that I can say, which has nothing to do with the book, is that healing takes time. This book isn’t meant to be read in one sitting, but rather taken in steps, so that the healing process can begin. Just like a deep cut doesn’t heal fully overnight, one cannot look to be healed overnight.

Overall, I think her process is straightforward and simple enough to follow, and I would definitely recommend this book to any person who has suffered any type of abuse.”

Another contest is running throughout you can enter there or click on the book icon to your right.



Below is a sample of Chapter “Give Me Back My Pears”

For years, Leah and Rachel feuded over Jacob for love and legacy. Dinah grew up witnessing the feud, and this explains why Dinah went looking for women—she was looking for friendship and love outside of the house. Instead, she met a man who showed her what she never received or witnessed at home. Though Shechem—the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country—lay with her and defiled her, he tried to make it right. He told her father that he had to have her as his wife. To make it right, he offered pieces of silver (Genesis 30: 1–21).

Women today who are hurt and abused are still looking for love in people and things. I have spiritually counseled many women, and they are consumed with emotion: living with men who will not marry them, will not serve God, or treat them as the pearls they are. In this day, there are still women who are having babies to secure relationships with men. My sisters, babies will not keep him. A man cannot be put in a box. If he feels restraints, he will run. He will hide, especially if he is not ready for responsibility. Maybe he never had a good example of family or a father.

Sometimes, we watch too many movies or soap operas and try to scheme and plan a way to keep a man. If he doesn’t love you, he can’t be kept. You must know that you are a pearl; do not give your pearls to swine—there are those who have no idea of the value and beauty of the pearl. Irritation of the oyster—your past—has developed you into who you are today, and anyone who refuses to examine the pearl to see the beauty does not have the ability to hold the pearl with care. If it is placed in the wrong hands, with ignorance, they will throw it away. If they don’t immediately throw it away, they are parasites—leeches, freeloaders, and sponges who do not care. They only came to use you up and then throw you away as damaged goods.

Women who are abused are often called “damaged goods,” and can usually be spotted by those who prey on women. If you have not healed, then the last thing you need at this time is a relationship. You first must be healed, or you are bringing your baggage with you. When a man loves you, he holds the pearl (you), he examines its worth and beauty (that cannot be purchased by man) and he cherishes and protects it—it is then sealed in the palm of his hand. I mentioned damaged goods in this book a couple of times. Damage goods—speckled prey has value. If you read the story of Jacob, you can better understand the meaning of “speckled prey.” Genesis 30:32–43 tells us that speckled and spotted animals were rare. Jacob wanted a new starting point with Laban, a boss who was unjust, covetous, and shameful. Laban was a boss and father-in-law who deceived Jacob, changing his wages ten times………..

First Chapter “The Ambush”

I am now an adult with a family of my own, living in my own home, but this took place at the house where I grew up—a house that my parents sold years ago. I have not been in this house since some of my sisters were adolescents, and I was in college. I have had many dreams of the house, and I vividly remember each room—the colored wallpaper; the blue linoleum floor; the sky blue vinyl seat cushions; and the white, catty-cornered, custom-built glass-front kitchen cupboard. The dream begins with me in the den, which was in the basement. It was approximately 11:00 p.m., and I was making my way to the white door that led to the pantry. I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned the knob to open the door. I walked past the white washer and dryer; everything was still in its place. I passed the table we used for homework, board games, and folding clothes. Then, while passing the old wooden workbench, where the tools were so organized on the wall, I remembered my father using many of these tools—vice grip, saw, etc. Some of these tools, I had also learned to use. The images were so clear.

As I slowly walked toward the pantry and cedar closet, I saw my sister, Loretta. She was born after me, and we were close in age. Loretta and I both knew something was wrong. We were under attack, and our adrenaline started pumping. We needed to make an escape, and the window just above our heads was our only way out. Loretta pulled the ladder down to reach the window. Red flag, we both noted. We were just below the window, and the light was shining bright. We were in view of whoever was in pursuit of us. Quickly, Loretta reached up to pull the long, white string that hung from the oval light bulb. When she pulled the string, the light mystifyingly turned from a bright white to a dim red. We could only see our silhouettes.

Loretta climbed up a couple of steps on the ladder and reached for the window. She grabbed the latch and pulled the glass pane open, which left the window screen still in place. We looked out of the window. Though it was dark, we could see a male figure bent over with his face pressed to the screen. He asked, “Where can I find Maple Avenue?” Immediately, I backed up. My forehead and eyebrows crinkled as I drew my head back. I knew without a doubt something was wrong. All of my senses were heightened as though I had gulped down a pot of espresso. Why would a stranger be at our basement window with his face pressed against the screen, asking a question about a street? I thought. This is not cool. While my mind was trying to sort things out, I heard a creaking sound. It was the floor above us. I looked up at the old ceiling, with its wooden beams and pipes, and I knew it was coming from the kitchen upstairs. I left my sister and went through the door, and slowly, with my back pressed against the wall, both hands holding the rail—I walked up the stairs toward the kitchen. I scanned the kitchen from the open doorway—there he was. I grabbed him, and after tussling for a minute, I had him in a headlock and was ready to snap his neck. It is not clear where or how I obtained it, but I had a broomstick in my hand. With much pressure and strength, I pressed the broomstick against his throat. He gasped for air, and before I snapped his neck, he said, “And you never knew what I was.” I proceeded to press the stick against his neck. His neck snapped, and he dropped to the floor. “Loretta!” I yelled. I took off down the stairs, missing a couple and jumping past the rest, to the den floor. I ran through the door, around to the pantry to find her. She was still on the ladder, slumped over, with an unusual ring around a large bullet hole in her throat.

“A sniper—I never heard the attack! How many are there?” I yelled. I ran up the stairs, through the kitchen, into the living room, and toward my parents’ old bedroom. I looked toward the hallway. My eyes honed in on an image. I didn’t know if he was real or a figment of my imagination. He had the appearance of a man—tall and fit. He looked as though he had come out of a jungle, but I knew this was not a scene in a cartoon or comic book. He was dressed with nothing but a leaf-like skirt from waist to knees. He was one of the snipers, and he was exposed and in motion for his next victim. This hideous character knew I saw him, and he stopped. He turned his head to look at me. Robotically, he turned his head back toward his target and proceeded toward my sister’s room. He didn’t come after me! I thought. Quickly, I went into my parents’ room, but my mom was gone. Though I never saw her, I knew it was too late. What do I do now? I thought. Should I go through the window, I was running out of options. Instantly, I heard the voice of the Lord say, “Do not go through the window.” I stopped and looked at the closet to see if I could hide—I didn’t have a plan of attack. In the midst of this confusion and uncertainty, I stopped. I needed a strategy to move forward … then, I woke up. This was a dream. The snipers symbolize a demonic force—agents in mission to destroy each family member. The sniper spoke directly to me. He wanted me to know that while he and his cohorts were in position to destroy the fabric of my family, we never knew who or what they were………….

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