Praise for A Light in Dark Places I just finished reading "A Light in Dark Places" By Jennifer Graves and Emily Gray Clawson. I was impressed with how well written the book was. The descriptions are such that I felt I was part of the story. I was grateful that the message was one of hope and peace in tragedy. The book does tell the tale of Susan Powell, her boys and their demise but doesn't dwell on it. It was nice to see inside the life experiences of someone so close to them and to see things from Jennifer's perspective rather than what you see on the media. I highly recommend this book. It doesn't disappoint! – T. Hyde I love true accounts of people overcoming challenges and helping others with the lessons learned from them. This story of Jennifer's experiences throughout her abusive childhood, and later the disappearance of Susan and the murder of her two sweet nephews is just that. She shares how she felt God's hand in her life, guiding her to make better choices than the rest of her family did. Though the book had so many sad details, it ended with hope, courage and love. ~D. Raymond I had followed the story of Susan Powell very closely so I wasn't sure if the book was going to tell me something I didn't already know...but it sure did. Jennifer was very brave in writing this book and all she had done in support for Susan. I highly recommend the book it sheds a light on the whole situation that helps make things more clear. ~ Carolyn This was a very informative read. I lived in Utah at the time of Susan's disappearance and followed the news every day. This book answered many questions that the news did not. Although it was very sad and I already knew the outcome it was a good read. I admire Jennifer for her part in the whole story and I am glad she had the fortitude to write this book to honor her sister in law. ~Katie O. To finally read about details that were never shared brought closure for me about this insidious crime. While the book was an easy read, the message shared about breaking the cycle of abusive relationships is invaluable. It truly does take someone removing themselves from their abusive family's presence to stop the cycle. Praises to the author for sharing her perspectives. ~Arlene
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Emily Clawson is an author, a mother and a mentor. She traditionally writes inspirational fiction. This book has been a life changing experience for her and she is grateful to have been a part of telling this story. She resides in Taylorsville with her husband and four children where they run their leadership mentoring programs for youth.
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EXCERPT:
As a father, he was a boiling
teapot and would blow his lid every once in a while. He would be calm for a
time, and then all hell would break loose. We never knew which dad we were
going to get: the dad who sang songs and told stories or the ranting, terrifying
one.
In a supplemental statement during the divorce proceedings,
Mom described this behavior:
“Steve also had a
pronounced habit of ignoring behaviors in the children that bothered him,
sometimes over a period of days or weeks. Of course, they [took] his silence as
permission; after all, he was observing them. Then, suddenly, he would become
outraged and react far more violently than was necessary or fair. He would yell
at them and call them names, and be too physically rough with them, such as spanking
them with too much force and far too long, or shaking them or dragging them
around.”
This happened frequently with me,
Josh, and John. Josh was the most targeted, though. According to Mom, there
were years that my dad pointedly attacked Josh on a regular basis, nearly every
day. It’s true that Josh was a strong-willed boy, but wasn’t there any positive
way to handle him?
My dad didn’t appear interested in
trying the softer approach in any area of parenting, though. This was clear in
the way that he handled one specific area.
The three of us oldest children all
had troubles with wetting the bed. Dad decided he was going to “cure” us of our
problems. He would come into my room every morning, early, while I was still
sleeping, to check my bed. If it was wet, I would be awakened by my dad picking
me up to carry me to the bathroom, where he would fill the tub with icy-cold
water.
I remember cowering on the floor
while the tub filled, the linoleum cold against my legs. I pulled my damp
nightgown down over my legs, trying to stay warm.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it
again,” I whimpered. He ignored me, bending down to shut off the water. I
clutched the nightgown more closely as he turned back to face me.
“Please.” Then my words were gone,
and I cried out as he pulled my nightgown over my head. He tossed it aside,
then scooped me up in his arms. The water took my breath away, and I fought
him.
But no matter how much I would cry
and beg and fight, he wouldn’t relent until I had lain down and let the frigid
water cover me up to my neck. Only then could I get out. It was horrid and
completely ineffective as a cure for bedwetting. I know he did the same thing
to my brothers.
Later, I overheard Mom arguing with
him. “It’s not working. And it’s so harsh,” she said. But he didn’t care what
she thought. The torment went on for months.
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