On-site


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On Site~ISBN 0-87070-499-0 U.S. $45.00 / Paperback, 9 x 10.5 in. / 280 pgs / 295 color and 165 b&w. ~Item / February / Architecture Featuring 36 buildings that have made Spain a center for architectural innovation and excellence.




Littell's Living Age


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Littell's Living Age


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The Living Age


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Hardware Age


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It's Not Supposed to Be This Way


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#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER What do you do when God’s timing seems questionable, his lack of intervention hurtful, and his promises doubtful? Lysa TerKeurst unveils her heart amid shattering circumstances, inviting you to live assured when life doesn't turn out like you expected. Life often looks so very different than we hoped or expected. Some events may simply catch us off guard for a season, but others shatter us completely. We feel disappointed and disillusioned at best and overwhelmed and hopeless at worst. We quietly start to wonder about the reality of God’s goodness and why he allows us to suffer and experience grief and loss. Lysa TerKeurst understands this deeply. But after many tears, godly counseling, and prayerful seeking, she's also discovered that our disappointments can be the divine appointments our souls need to radically encounter God. In It's Not Supposed to Be This Way, Lysa invites us into her own journey of faith and, with grit, vulnerability, and honest humor, helps us to: Stop being pulled into the anxiety of disappointment by discovering how to better process unmet expectations and other painful situations. Train ourselves to recognize the three strategies of the enemy, so we can stand strong and persevere through unsettling relationships and uncertain outcomes. Discover the secret of being steadfast and not panicking when God actually does give us more than we can handle. Shift our suspicion that God is cruel or unfair to the biblical assurance that God is protecting and preparing us. Know how to encourage a friend and help her navigate hard realities with real help from God's truth, the Bible. Look for additional biblically based resources and devotionals from Lysa: Good Boundaries and Goodbyes Forgiving What You Can't Forget Uninvited You're Going to Make It Embraced Seeing Beautiful Again




The Living Age


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A Crystal Age


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I do not quite know how it happened, my recollection of the whole matter ebbing in a somewhat clouded condition. I fancy I had gone somewhere on a botanizing expedition, but whether at home or abroad I don't know. At all events, I remember that I had taken up the study of plants with a good deal of enthusiasm, and that while hunting for some variety in the mountains I sat down to rest on the edge of a ravine. Perhaps it was on the ledge of an overhanging rock; anyhow, if I remember rightly, the ground gave way all about me, precipitating me below. The fall was a very considerable one—probably thirty or forty feet, or more, and I was rendered unconscious. How long I lay there under the heap of earth and stones carried down in my fall it is impossible to say: perhaps a long time; but at last I came to myself and struggled up from the debris, like a mole coming to the surface of the earth to feel the genial sunshine on his dim eyeballs. I found myself standing (oddly enough, on all fours) in an immense pit created by the overthrow of a gigantic dead tree with a girth of about thirty or forty feet. The tree itself had rolled down to the bottom of the ravine; but the pit in which it had left the huge stumps of severed roots was, I found, situated in a gentle slope at the top of the bank! How, then, I could have fallen seemingly so far from no height at all, puzzled me greatly: it looked as if the solid earth had been indulging in some curious transformation pranks during those moments or minutes of insensibility. Another singular circumstance was that I had a great mass of small fibrous rootlets tightly woven about my whole person, so that I was like a colossal basket-worm in its case, or a big man-shaped bottle covered with wicker-work. It appeared as if the roots had grown round me! Luckily they were quite sapless and brittle, and without bothering my brains too much about the matter, I set to work to rid myself of them. After stripping the woody covering off, I found that my tourist suit of rough Scotch homespun had not suffered much harm, although the cloth exuded a damp, moldy smell; also that my thick-soled climbing boots had assumed a cracked rusty appearance as if I had been engaged in some brick-field operations; while my felt hat was in such a discolored and battered condition that I felt almost ashamed to put it on my head. My watch was gone; perhaps I had not been wearing it, but my pocket-book in which I had my money was safe in my breast pocket.




Iron Age


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Motor Age


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