Linda Brooks Davis's Blog, page 2
December 22, 2021
Linda Brooks Davis | Let’s Chat | Days of Christmas
Christmas Day marks the first of
Twelve Days of Christmas
. As a child I wondered whose Christmas was twelve days long. Mine was only one. How could I snag a dozen of the grand days?
I Googled it, and here’s what I learned:
Supposedly, the Twelve Days of Christmas refers to the days between Christmas and Epiphany on January 6, the traditional date on which the Wise Men arrived to welcome the Christ Child.
The first known print version of the song appeared in England in 1780 in a children’s book entitled Mirth and Mischief. It was intended as a cumulative memory game.
The subtitle: “Sung at King Pepin’s ball.” Since the only known King Pepin, father of Charlemagne, ruled France 752-768, this suggests it originated in France a millennium prior to 1780.
Considering the antiquity of the song, it’s no wonder I scratch my head at a twelve days-long Christmas. And at the assorted birds and strange personages considered plum presents way back yonder.
Day 1: Partridge in a Pear Tree
On the First of Twelve Days of Christmas, my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree. Hmm. Pear trees don’t grow in my back yard. Furthermore, I wouldn’t know what to do with a partridge perched in a pear tree anyway.
But I’ve set up a Christmas tree or two in 75 years of life. The earliest tree in my memory wore a frock of silver icicles. Beneath her petticoats lay treasures for a 3-yr-old: a china tea set, a dolly in a carriage, and a rocker of my own.
Bright ornaments galore dangled in her boughs like partridges in pear trees. I recall their shapes. Colors. And textures. Here are a few ornaments from my childhood:
Day 2: Two Turtle Doves
What I love about these featured friends is they generally bond for life. Isn’t that sweet?
This reminds me of my parents on all those Christmas mornings growing up. Often holding hands, they had way more fun sitting to the side watching us than we did opening packages. Their s
Day 3: Three French HensWhen asked what comes in 3s at Christmastime, who doesn’t think Wise Men? Or the three Christian virtues–faith, hope, and love–or the Holy Trinity? But if you peek into Mirth and Mischief, you’ll find another threesome: three French hens.
What’s so great about French hens? Well, the term crève-cœur refers to a broken heart. So maybe the poet figured a trio of Crèvecœur fowls, one of the oldest French breeds, could mend a maid’s broken heart thrice over. Besides, they’re known for their excellent egg production, meat quality, and friendliness.
Day 4: Four Colly Birds
On the fourth day our famous giver presents his true love four colly birds. (We now say calling birds, but the original is colly, which means black as coal–-the common blackbird.)
Check out Wikipedia’s recordings of blackbirds’ songs. They’re actually quite nice, which surprises me. The black birds that hung around our farm when I was girl produced a “caw” like crows. Not something you’d give someone you love.
Day 5: Five Gold RingsThus far the singer’s true love has presented her a flock of fowls to tend. So why the departure into jewelry? Your guess is as good as mine. 
Perhaps the giver of gifts knew he’d pushed his luck as far as he could. Better come up with something grand. Like a golden ring for each finger of his love’s left hand.
Works for me.
Day 6: Six Laying Geese
A half-dozen geese arrive on our singer’s front doorstep on day six. Not ordinary geese, mind you. These geese are a-laying.
Now, if these six girls have been swimming with dandy suitors, they can produce a flock in less than a month.But if they’re bachelorettes, six geese can produce more eggs than the lady of the house cares to prepare. Their eggs can be two to four times the size of a chicken egg. That’s a lot of scrambled eggs, folks.
Geese are better watchdogs than … well, watchdogs. They’re supposedly credited with saving Rome from a total sack by the Gauls a couple thousand years ago. The dogs slept through the enemy invasion, but the geese created a racket that woke up the Romans and kept the house from coming down completely.
A word to the wise: Don’t ruffle the feathers of a gander. He’s one tough critter. Which reminds me of my mother. You didn’t mess with her kids.
Day 7: Seven Swimming Swans
I love swans.
Are there more graceful creatures in the world? Or more romantic? Sigh …
But what would I do with seven birds with a wingspan of ten feet each? I can’t imagine all seven trying to take off and land from the bird bath out back.
I love that swans are monogamous. And fierce protectors of their young. Something tells me that’s exactly why the suitor in this old song gave his loved one seven swans a-swimming. He was promising to be true to her not once but seven times seven! A sign of good things to come.
Day 8: Eight Milking Maids
Now I ask you … Why would a man woo his lady with eight unmarried women, milking or otherwise?
Apparently when the phrase “let’s go a-milking” was common, it communicated something akin to “let’s go spooning” or “let’s get hitched.” In that case, a maid and her milk cow could represent a marriage proposal. Eight maids and eight cows would knock off the recipient’s stockings. Why?Milk wasn’t just a nutritious drink, but from it came butter, cheese, buttermilk, yogurt, custards, etc. But it wasn’t as conveniently available in the 15th-19th centuries as in the 21st. No mechanized dairy farms. Plastic gallon jugs. Waxed cardboard half-gallons. Or refrigerated grocery shelves. Milk was only available to those who could afford to graze at least one cow or goat and a little patch of grass to feed them. Add many more, and they’d need a barn to house them, a large family or staff to milk them, and acreage to feed them.
To Milk or Not To MilkBack when this song was created, a girl had to be born to–or married into–the wealth required for a stable of cows and milk maids. What girl wouldn’t want to marry an amorous fellow who could afford to give away eight cows and the girls to milk them?
This spooning dude possessed more than a single gold coin or two. Change jingled in every pocket as he hooked his thumb at his chest and declared, “Stick with me. I’ll take you a-milking.”
Day 9: Nine Dancing Ladies
Our groom has spared no expense. He’s gifted his loved one in abundance. The geese are laying. The swans are swimming. The birds are calling.
It’s party time!
The guests arrive–starting with nine lovely ladies, all of them, dancing.
Imagine what a colorful sight this medieval event must have been. I visualize brocade and silk gowns and a rainbow of bright veils and scarves.
Day 10: Ten Leaping Lords
Source: https://www.quora.com/What-does-lords...As if the gifts thus far didn’t raise the roof sufficiently, on the tenth day of Christmas our suitor gives his loved one ten leaping lords.
Now the courtly men join the ladies in a not-so-ordinary display of dancing.
Men danced with swords or antlers prior to battle and at grand celebrations in the Middle Ages. Their accompaniment: drums and fifes. Their dances involved great leaps that signified power and fertility–the higher the leap, the greater the victor or harvest.
I must admit I haven’t a single memory of anything that comes in tens. Do you?
Day 11: Eleven Piping Pipers
Pipes (fifes) and drums were a part of the merriment music at medieval celebrations.
Not only is this groom affluent enough to purchase a bevy of fowls, he possesses enough property to house and maintain the birds and eight cows in barnyard, forest, and lake.
This guy has the means to throw a party his guests won’t forget. Our maid should prepare herself for some serious merrymaking.
Day 12: Twelve Drumming Drummers
Twelve drummers appear as the final act.
Imagine the display of wealth. Fowls and cows with their maids. Pipes and pipers. And ladies dancing with leaping lords. And now come the drums–twelve of them.
Imagine the racket!
A dozen drummers or days brings to mind … A child’s song from church when I was growing up went something like this: “There were twelve apostles Jesus called to help Him. Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and his brother John, Philip, Thomas, Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas, and Bartholomew.”
It’s a Wrap—the Christmas KindSo there you have it, the Twelve Days of Christmas. A dozen days of feasting, music, and dancing. Twelve fantastic gifts. An ecstatic bride and groom. And a bunch of over-stuffed, partied-out guests staggering home.
What have I learned I must do to manage twelve days of Christmas? Take on the identity of a Middle Ages young woman. Catch me a wealthy man who can give me a ring for every finger of my left hand, a party worthy of song, and a grand estate with everything that goes with it.
Or …
I can accept a free gift from a lowly suitor – a Carpenter who loved me enough to die for me on a criminal’s cross. He’s preparing a world of rapture beyond my imagination, one that will last not twelve days but forever. He offers me perfect love with no strings attached. A wedding gown of purest white. Joy unending. Peace that surpasses understanding. And the name I love to hear, the one the angels will declare over and over forever: Jesus. Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.
P.S. Here are a few of the “days” featured on the Christmas tree skirt I made forty-five years ago:
~ ~ ~
Dear Lord, we acknowledge You as the reason for this season of celebrations. We celebrate not our own wealth by Yours—the gift of Your son. We offer You our praise and adoration and pray we’ll live the coming year in constant awareness of Your gifts of grace, love, joy, and peace.
~ For Jesus’ sake
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December 14, 2021
Linda B Davis | Let’s Chat | A Funeral and Boots
A funeral and boots. What in the world do they have in common? Let’s see if we can unwrap that package.
Ever heard this joke?
Two brothers in a certain town had earned horrible reputations. They were known as the worst of the worst.
When one of them died, his brother went to the preacher with instructions for his brother’s funeral service. He ended by declaring. “Whatever you do, preacher, I expect you to tell this town once and for all that my brother was a saint.”
The preacher worried over this for the coming days. How could he declare the goodness of the man when he knew nothing good about him? He couldn’t lie before the whole town and maintain a speck of credibility.
Finally, he figured it out. When the preacher stood in the pulpit before a packed house, he cleared his throat and declared, “This man was a drunk, a wife abuser, a liar, a thief, and a blasphemer on top of it, but compared to his brother, he was a saint.”
I say funerals bring out the best in people.Unlike the audien
ce at the above funeral, have you ever heard someone point out the deceased’s faults at such an event? Even on TV, family members and friends emphasize (and no doubt sometimes exaggerate a bit) the deceased’s good qualities. Here are a few such examples I’ve heard recently:
“He never met a stranger.”
“She was always smiling. Her smile lit up the room.”
“He made others happy.”
“She would do anything for anyone.”
“She was an angel on Earth.”
Who wants to focus on the other side of the coin at a funeral? The slammed doors in strangers’ faces. Frowns and grumbles. Wet blankets at family reunions. Excuses, delays, and broken promises. Cheating on taxes. “Little” affairs. And the alarmingly short fuses? Or could it be when a person no longer lives, the only part of them worth remembering is the good?
What in my life is worth remembering? And in yours?I wondered this at my brother-in-law Linvel Baker’s funeral a few weeks ago. A recently retired country preacher of over 40 years, Linvel seemingly sought the Lord with each breath. Like the rest of us, he was flawed, but the goodness in him so outshone his faults and so impacted folks’ lives that his shortcomings just didn’t matter.
Linvel’s death is worth remembering. Even after his funeral.He and his brother Lauris had spent the day on Linvel’s recently acquired 150 acres of undeveloped land “out in the boonies.” They had done some of what they’d done as boys. Talked over things. Pitched rocks. Shot at watermelons. At the end of the day when the sun was lowering on the horizon, Lauris headed toward home. The brothers waved to one another as Lauris drove away, but Linvel lingered.
He was alone, so no one knows for certain, but by piecing together the evidence like the doctor’s report and the death scene, Lauris is convinced it went something like this. Not long after Lauris drove away, while there was still some daylight, Linvel experienced what he knew to be a heart attack. He had had close calls in the past and heart valve replacement. And he had recovered from Covid a few weeks prior.
When this pain gripped Linvel, he knew his time had come. There wasn’t time for first responders to reach him out in the wild, so Linvel set down his cell phone and—no doubt, clutching his chest—stumbled to the top of the rise where he had planned to build his wife Shirley’s retirement home. He sat down near oak trees. Took off his boots. Lay back with his face toward the heavens and his arms outstretched. And died. With peace written all over his face.
Those of us who knew him well are convinced that like Moses at the burning bush, Linvel knew he was stepping onto holy ground.
So, he took off his boots and welcomed the Lord. That’s how a good man dies.
What about you and me?
Will we be clutching to life with whitened knuckles at our moments of death? Begging God for one more day? Shaking a fist at Him for the injustice of our having so much good yet to accomplish?
Will we focus on God? Or the things of Earth?
When Shirley returned to the house that tragic day, she found Linvel’s usual companions at the kitchen table. A Bible, two different versions. A Greek Bible. A commentary or two. And notes.
I wrote the following prayer on the Acknowledgments page of my novella, A Christmas Tale for Little Women:
Above all, thank you, Lord Jesus. You curled beside me like a friend and whispered the one and only tale fit for eternity—Yours. I bow on my knees and cry, “Holy.”
Today I ask myself: At the moment of my death, will I cry, “Holy”? I believe Linvel did.
What will they find in the place where I last sat? Lead me to where Linvel sat, Lord.
What will be said at my funeral? Where will they find my boots?
Then God [sic] said to Moses [sic], “Do not draw near this place. Take your sandals off your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground.”
Exodus 3:5 NKJV
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December 5, 2021
Linda Brooks Davis | A Sojourner Christmas
As I wrote my novella, A Sojourner Christmas, the folk song “I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” as performed by Jos Slovick in the film 1917 played in my mind on Loop. The movie is stunning in several ways and so is the music video at https://youtu.be/fp7mdSMNQB0.
Dictionary.com defines sojourn as a temporary stay, but often over time it has taken on a melancholy aura. Perhaps that’s due to the melancholy and/or dangerous nature of the sojourns recorded in the Bible. First, there’s Abram in Genesis 12:
The Lord had said to Abram,
“Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you.
I will make you into a great nation,
and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you,
and whoever curses you I will curse;
and all peoples on earth
will be blessed through you.”
Abraham’s grandson Jacob’s sojourn began in Genesis 29 and ended in Genesis 33 with frantic flights for his life. First, to his Uncle Laban in “the land of the eastern peoples” and then to meet his brother Esau with murder in his eyes. And we can’t forget Jacob’s son Joseph, the famous, forced-against-his-will sojourner in Genesis 37 and Genesis 39:1. The Apostle Paul’s life was one continuous sojourn in the Book of Acts, Romans, and his epistles, but the most famous, of course, is Jesus’ family in Matthew 2:13-15:
When they had gone, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream.
https://amzn.to/2TbHqdD“Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.”
So, he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt,
where he stayed until the death of Herod.
And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.”
The sojourners who inspired A Sojourner Christmas were characters our family claims as our “Pyle clan.”In December of 1923, my maternal great-grandparents, Gove and Louisa Pyle, began their migration to the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas in a train of covered wagons with their teenage son Oluf and their six married children. By the 1920s, covered wagons were a rarity in the United States, so the Pyles drew many a curious eye over those nine hundred miles from central Oklahoma to the southernmost tip of Texas.
Anecdotes about the trip have been thrown around the family over the six generations who have followed. But the one about Christmas Eve in Winters, Texas, where they were seen as “gypsies,” has always captured my imagination. Hence, A Sojourner Christmas.
As I wrote this little Christmas story, I stepped back in time to put myself in their sojourner shoes.
I carried “I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” with me along with the Bible passages, all of which communicated that sense of melancholy or danger. Not only is this story a sequel to another novella, Soon the Dawn, but it also follows Blossom, a character in the seven-year-prior story, The Mending of Lillian Cathleen, as she stretches her wings as a newspaper reporter/photographer in Texas.
What our family would give for snapshots of our ancestors’ sojourn along that trail. What would all of us give for snapshots of Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, and Jesus on their sojourns of biblical proportions? Priceless.
One sojourn yet to be noted is the one each of us is traveling even as we read these words.Remember the definition of sojourn? A temporary stay. The New Testament writer James refers to it as a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes in James 4:14.
What’s more fleeting than a mist? At my age, that question threatens to spark chills up and down my spine, but when I remember Jesus’ promise about my destination in John 14, peace returns. How buoying the realization that the brokenness of life on planet Earth is only a temporary stay.
When the Pyles arrived in the Valley in February 1924, they were forced to bed down at Red Fish Bay and live off the land and sea. They had heard tales about Rio Grandee Valley creatures—like tarantulas as big around as dinner plates—so I can only imagine their delight if they had found a mansion with tables loaded with a constant supply of the finest fare. They had sold everything they owned to make the trip and set up a new life down south, but their sacrifice can’t compare to the one Jesus made to purchase us and our mansions not made with human hands (Revelation 5:9).
Generations of Pyle descendants remember the clan’s journey, but no one else has heard it.
In contrast, Jesus’ story is available to everyone in the best-selling book in history—the Holy Bible. Jesus sojourned among us, but His sojourn ended in an ignominious death that is the hinge upon which history swings. He claimed no home or bed, but he promised us an eternal home not in a land that demands a lifetime of labor but one devoid of toil, melancholy, or danger. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for providing us, your brothers and sisters, a free-and-clear inheritance at the end of our sojourns.
Our temporary stays here on Earth vary as certainly as each of us differs from one another. And they terminate in a common location that’s called the grave. Thankfully, that’s not the end of The Story. A sojourn with Jesus ends in a beautiful Promised Land called Heaven.
Anybody want to come along?
P. S. Next stop on the Scavenger Hunt is author Melanie Dobson, author The Christmas Bride: A Legacy of Love Novel. Follow this link to continue the hunt. https://melaniedobson.com/2021-christmas-scavenger-hunt-the-christmas-bride/
~ ~ ~
Dear Lord, please bless each person who reads this blog.
For Jesus’ sake
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December 1, 2021
Linda B Davis | Let’s Chat | Welcome, December
How well do you know the month of December? Who would know better than Farmer’s Almanac?
The Month of DecemberDecember is the 12th month (and last month) in our modern-day Gregorian calendar (as it was in the preceding Julian calendar).
However, it was originally the 10th month of the Roman calendar (until 153 BC). Hence, “December” comes from the Latin word decem, meaning “ten.”
Back in Roman times, the calendar only had ten months and began with March! The winter period was not even assigned months because it was not an active time for military, agriculture, or civil life.
The month of December originally consisted of 30 days. When January and February were added to the calendar (around 700 BCE), December was shortened to 29 days. Then, in the subsequent Julian calendar, two days were added to December, making it 31 days long.
Tanzanite is the December birthstone.
December Calendar
*Did you know that December is National Pear Month? Celebrate these fun holidays this month:
Dec. 11: International Mountain DayDec. 13: National Violin DayDec. 13: National Day of the HorseDec. 20: Underdog DayDec. 26: National Candy Cane DayOn the last evening of the year,December 31,: On the last day of the year, kiss the person you hope to keep kissing! Discover New Years traditions from around the world.Winter SolsticeThe month of December brings the winter solstice in the Northern Hemisphere. This is the shortest day of the year (the day with the least amount of daylight).
In 2021, the solstice occurs on Tuesday, December 21. See our Winter Solstice page to learn more about the first day of winter.
December’s full Moon, the full Cold Moon, appears on Saturday, December 18, reaching peak illumination at 11:37 P.M. EST. Read more about the Full Cold Moon.
Look skyward on the night of December 13 after 9 P.M. for a chance to catch a glimpse of the Geminid meteors. The Geminid meteor shower is the most active shower of the year.
This year, the peak of the meteor shower lands just one day after the new Moon, meaning that the sky will be nice and dark—perfect for stargazing! If the sky is clear and temperatures aren’t too chilly, it’s worth venturing outside to try to see the Geminids.
December is the month for lots of our favorite things.However, as cargo ships line up in ports around the nation … As gas prices inch ever-more-surely upward … As the Christmas dinner menu loses another favorite … it’s time to think cutting costs.
How about thinking DIY?
DIY Hot ListI found these ideas on the web:
DIY Christmas Cone Trees by Steph: A Grande Life
DIY Italian Anise Christmas Cookies by Steph:
A Grande Life
Does the flavor of anise not ring your Christmas bell? A Grande Life offers a variety of recipes for every occasion.
BONUS: Check out these December recipes from Farmer’s Almanac. (Complete with George Washington’s Eggnog!)
Recipes for the Season from Farmer’s AlmanacChristmas is coming, the geese are getting fat,
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat;
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do,
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you!
—Beggar’s rhyme.
Christmas always falls in December. To help you prepare for this holiday season, check out our excellent recipe collections below.
See our Christmas Dinner Recipe page for all kinds of delicious Christmas recipes—from drinks to dessert.Speaking of dessert, see our Christmas Dessert Recipes page to satisfy your sweet tooth. Going to a party? You may enjoy our Christmas Appetizer Recipes and Christmas Party Recipes.Baking cookies for friends and family? Visit our 12 Days of Cookies page for our favorite cookie recipes—and wash them down with George Washington’s Christmas Eggnog! Baking with kids? Check out our list of Christmas Cookie Recipes for Kids.Beyond DIY to Stocking Stuffer Ideas Under $10 (maybe $20) Beer Savers (This is the first time I’ve used the word beer alongside Christmas, but—hey—it’s a cool product for soft drinks too.)
A Beard for Your Favorite Kid
Fun Erasers
~ ~ ~Dear Lord, please bless us with an extra measure of grace and gratitude this December.For Jesus’ sake
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November 24, 2021
Carol James | Let’s Chat | No Longer a Captive
Carol James joins our circle this week. Welcome, Carol.
As an Air Force brat, the longest Carol James ever lived in one place was a year and a half. Maybe that’s why, when she and her husband bought their first home forty-two years ago, they stayed put. She lives in a town outside of Atlanta, GA with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell Terrier, Zoe.
Loving intriguing stories with happy endings, she writes Redemptive Romance. Her debut novel, Rescuing Faith, was a number one Amazon best-seller. Visit her website to sign up for her newsletter and learn about new releases: www.carol-james.com
Recently, Carol allowed Zoe to establish Instagram and Facebook pages with two of her dog friends, Sandy and Brody. Follow them at 3 Dogs and Their Authors to discover the behind 
the scenes info about being a writer’s dog.
When she’s not walking Zoe, Carol enjoys spending time with her husband, children, and grandchildren, as well as traveling. On Sundays, she loves serving in the production department at her church. And most days, in the late hours of the night, you’ll find her bringing her newest novel to life.
The Journey from Idea to Publication: No Longer a Captive by Carol JamesOne question people always ask me is, “Where do you get the ideas for your books?” Oh, ideas hover all around us. We need only open our eyes and see the common and everyday through the lenses of our faith. Oftentimes I’ll hear a song, read a Bible verse, or listen to a sermon. And one small phrase will reach out and grab my imagination. Thus was the case with No Longer a Captive.
Several years ago, my husband and I began attending a large church near our home. We’d heard people talk about the inspiring sermons their pastor, Buddy Hoffman, preached. So when the time came for us to change churches, we knew exactly where we wanted to go.
Buddy was unlike any preacher I had ever heard. He had a folksy manner, and he absolutely delighted in tripping all over the English language. Once he told us about a recent mission trip to Asia where he saw Kubotas (i.e. pagodas) dotting the landscape. A picture of a hill covered with riding mowers and tractors popped into my mind.
One Sunday morning, he preached about forgiveness.Ten years later, I don’t remember the major points of the sermon. I remember only one statement he made. “Unforgiveness is a prison.” My English-major self tensed, knowing unforgiveness wasn’t even a word. My husband would have called it a Buddy-ism. But it didn’t matter that unforgiveness wasn’t listed in the dictionary or that spell-check would underline it. That brief statement carried a depth of meaning that entire books might not. Later, in the same service, our worship pastor led us in the song “No Longer Slaves.” And from this service, the idea for No Longer a Captive was born.
I truly believe one of the hardest things God asks Christians to do is to forgive. Anyone who’s ever parented children knows forgiveness doesn’t come naturally. It’s often easier to forgive the penitent, but forgiving someone who’s not sorry, who doesn’t care? That can be tough. It’s sometimes easier to sweep the wrong aside. Try to forget it and go on with life. But forgiveness is active. It’s not enough to simply push the wrong down into your heart rather than dealing with it.
As humans we often seek justice instead of grace.If someone has hurt us, our carnal selves can want them to be hurt––to feel the pain we felt. But the unwillingness to forgive actually makes us prisoners of our own pain.
In No Longer a Captive, Ethne is trapped in a prison of “unforgiveness.” She’s spent most of her life running away from the pain her father’s behavior caused. She searches for peace through forgetting. But the only way she can find it is to come to terms with the hurt her father caused. For her to find freedom, she must forgive him as she has been forgiven. And true freedom comes from only one place.
“
So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”
John 8:36
When Ethne O’Connor’s brother, Sean, tells her of their father’s unexpected death, he asks her to do something she promised herself she’d never do. Come back home.
A victim of childhood abuse, Ethne left her father and the small Texas town of Crescent Bluff ten years earlier on the night of her high school graduation. She’s determined to end the cycle of abuse and believes the only way to do that is remain single. If she has no husband, she’ll never have children that can be abused.
Then she meets Daniel Spenser, a handsome doctor with chocolate-kiss eyes. Daniel understands her past in a way no one else she knows does. He’s lived it.
Will Daniel be able to help Ethne break the chains of captivity around her heart?
And will God release her from her past, to be free to trust the man she comes to love?
Purchase Links for No Longer a CaptiveAmazon: No Longer a Captive Amazon
Pelican: No Longer a Captive Pelican
KOBO: No Longer a Captive KOBO
A Covert Cowboy Christmas
If you’re looking for something uplifting for the Christmas season, check out this year’s Christmas novella, A Covert Cowboy Christmas. It will be available December 1, but preorder now: Amazon.
A December ice storm destroys Rebekah Kingston’s Christmas plans. The power is out and the West Texas roads are closed indefinitely. So, she’s forced to spend Christmas at her brother Braden’s ranch instead of at home with her parents.
But Rebekah and Braden are not alone. Also stranded is an annoyingly chatty ranch hand, Dirk Sims. While Rebekah is certain she’s met him before, Dirk insists she’s mistaken.
However when Rebekah inadvertently eavesdrops on one of Dirk’s phone conversations, she discovers his lie. Dirk is not who he seems. This Christmas just got interesting.
Purchase links for A Covert Cowboy Christmas by Carol JamesAmazon: A Covert Cowboy Christmas Amazon
Pelican: A Covert Cowboy Christmas Pelican
B&N: A Covert Cowboy Christmas B&N
KOBO: A Covert Cowboy Christmas KOBO
Social Media Links
~ ~ ~
Dear Lord, please bless each word Carol writes for You.
For Jesus’ sake
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November 17, 2021
Linda Brooks Davis | Let’s Chat | Christmas Tales-2
Welcome, everyone.
Christmas Tales. Everyone enjoys them. Right?
Everyone worked around my home on a South Texas farm near the Mexican border. I helped Mother in the house. My brothers helped Daddy with the stock and crops. And laborers worked the fields.
My playmates were children of those Mexican laborers. Language never hindered playing la casa, making mud pies, or rocking los bebés. Frijoles and tamales served from stewpots over open fires tasted delicioso in either language. I learned outside their homes a broom works great on hardened soil.
Daddy paid workers on Saturdays, some by the hour, others by production. Lining up, they extended their hands, and he laid cash across their open palms. They checked the figures they had scribbled on paper scraps, trusting el patrón to correct discrepancies. Humble, grateful people, they showed respect.
Daddy verified immigration paperwork for those whom he housed. Others lived in the shadows, arriving around sunup and disappearing before sundown. Each evening a car or truck would rattle alongside the field, and the shadow worker would slip inside. Then the vehicle would clatter toward the horizon. And returned another day.
Occasionally, an alarm shouted in Spanish would sound across the field.
Dropping his cotton sack, a worker would dash toward the cotton trailer in the turn row. Like hounds burrowing under a house, he and a compadre would leap over the trailer’s sides and dig a hole in the freshly picked cotton. The first crawled in, and the other covered him.
The immigration officer making his rounds would walk into the field and occasionally stomp around inside the trailer, searching for man-sized lumps. I never witnessed the discovery of a shadow worker, but I heard about them on other farms. Worst of all, I heard about tragedies. With very little oxygen between tightly packed fluffs of cotton, a man could suffocate and occasionally would. I wondered what would lead a man to take such chances and how my law-abiding, God-loving father justified his complicity. So, I asked, and he answered, “Desperation, sugar. All they want is work. A man wants to provide for his family wherever or however he can. I can’t turn them away.”
Sounded like work was a gift, my ten-year-old brain asked itself.
Years later, I understood this principle. The second chapter of Genesis shows us that God created man not to laze around all day, but to work.
The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. Genesis 2:15
Therefore, not only in “the beginning,” but on our farm in 1956, a man’s strength to work was God’s gift. The opportunity to work was Daddy’s gift to the men. The fruit of each man’s labor was the gift he sent home each week and the fulfillment of his need to provide for his family.
At Christmas we enjoyed preparing bushel baskets of meats, fruits and vegetables, candy and nuts, and toys for each family. I wondered about those who stayed around for a single day. Would their children find fruits, nuts, or even a piece of candy on Christmas morning?
Answers evaded me then—-as they do now
But as a writer in my eighth decade of life, one truth I hold onto is that the strength for each day of writing and less pain in my arthritic hands and back are gifts from God. Each opportunity to write is an opportunity not only to entertain but to inspire readers to seek God in their everyday lives. Each word, unique turn of a phrase, or plot idea . . . is my gift to Him.
Protecting our safety is a far more complicated endeavor in 2021 than it was in 1956. Threats arise today like none presented five decades ago, but work is still a gift. God wired it into our DNA. Come to think of it, the ideas for A Christmas Tale for Little Women and a subsequent novel yet to be released—one set in the southern tip of Texas, a story including a loving, destitute man who wants only to provide for his family—are gifts.
Those diligent workers of 1956 and other years deserve a story that honors them. My gift to them and to Him is A Christmas Tale for Little Women.
Thank you, Lord.
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November 10, 2021
Linda Brooks Davis | Let’s Chat | Christmas Tales-1
Welcome, everyone.
I love good Christmas tales. Who doesn’t?
By the time I was a first grader in the 1950s, the only Christmas tale I had heard was the one we sang about in carols like “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” If there were any such stories in reading class, they made zero impression on me. A few other memories of books remain with me all these years later. Not that I can remember well enough to retell them in detail, mind you. Only scraps of the subject matter or settings, some images or characters, and the emotional impact they carried have stayed with me.
No, I must turn the pages of a Chinese short story—certainly not a Christmas tale—but with a Christmas message all the same.
The Five Chinese Brothers
This story tells about five Chinese brothers who look exactly alike and live with their mother in a house near the sea. Call them the original superheroes if you like. It doesn’t pass today’s sensitivity standards by any means. In fact, it has been banned in school libraries. (https://libraryofcats.wordpress.com/2018/02/04/the-five-chinese-brothers/) But, if you’ll bear with me, it’ll make my point.) I was in first grade, so it was a read-aloud story, and it made a huge impression on my young brain.
The story claims to be based on an ancient Chinese proverb: A house divided against itself cannot stand. Although I was only six, something about the proverb rang a bell. I wouldn’t read the Gettysburg Address for several years, so that wasn’t it. But something told me I’d heard the truism before. Was it in a Christmas tale? We were a churchgoing, Bible-learning family, so Jesus’ teachings in the Gospels came to mind. Oh yeah. Matthew 12:25: Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand. Not part of the Christmas story, but never mind that now.
On to my Chinese proverb and a Christmas tale.
Each brother possessed a singular, magical ability, but none were the same. The first could hold all the water in the ocean in his mouth. The second had a neck of iron. The third could stretch his legs as far as he wanted. The fourth couldn’t be burned. And the fifth could hold his breath indefinitely.
I recall sitting in reading circle with my eyes stretched wide (somewhat like Brother #3’s legs) and latching onto each word and image. I even thought about the five brothers on the playground, of all things. They were all bald except for skinny ponytails stretched so tight their eyes were slits—exactly alike.
As the proverb would have it . . .
Brother #1 swallowed the sea. That’s when things got complicated. Soon the village’s fishing industry was turned on its head. He ended up in BIG trouble with the law and was condemned to die. As the story progressed, Brothers #2, #3, #4, and #5 came to the rescue by using their unique abilities. Each time one of them was condemned to die, I pictured the little house by the sea and their poor mother inside. How could she survive without her sons? Yikes.
Admittedly, the obstacles and the brothers’ punishments were violent in the extreme, certainly not Christmas fare or subject matter approved for first graders today, but the brothers’ united front did save the day—the village and their mother. The image of them locking arms in a circle, defying the world and that little house standing firm on the rocky cliff was powerful to my young mind. The story whetted my appetite for reading and—yeah—I came away understanding how a united house stands, but a divided one falls.
Fast forward several years to my reading of Little Women. With three brothers, I always longed for a sister. I found four in the Louisa May Alcott classic where I could smell and taste the baking. Hear the sisters’ voices. And feel their joy and sorrow. Even now, I remember its lessons about the importance of honesty, hard work, true love, and family unity.
Then I sat down to write my own Christmas tale.I asked myself how I might incorporate some of the values in “The Five Chinese Brothers” or Little Women into another story. A Christmas Tale for Little Women resulted.
No superhero Chinese brothers make an appearance, but Christmas memories on our farm reappear, and a poor Mexican migrant family shows up. Four girls don’t visit destitute neighbors, but a couple of girls learn their wants don’t compare to others’ needs. And a childless spinster manages to unite a family with a community in a circle of love.
Isn’t that what Christmas tales should be about? Like the original.
And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn. (Luke 2:7 NKJV)
P.S. You can find The Five Brothers at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CX7k_QN29y8.
~ ~ ~
Dear Lord, please fill our homes with the message of Your love every day of the year.
~ For Jesus’ sake
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November 3, 2021
Amy Sylvestre | Let’s Chat | Wholehearted Devotion
Amy Sylvestre, author, coach, and speaker, loves to laugh with her handsome pilot husband, chases her little ones, quotes the show “Friends,” and constantly tries to break up with Diet Coke. Her family expanded through the beautiful and messy journey of adoption . . . twice in a year and a half. What a story!
She founded the WHOLEHEARTED Retreat in 2019. This event serves moms who have suffered child loss, miscarriage, or stillbirth. Also, she writes and speaks about walking and wrestling with our good God in every season of life through joys, deep despair, grief, and disappointment. She encourages vulnerability, expressing what you really feel, and clinging to God’s eternal words even when your faith is shaky.
As a mom to her oldest biological son, an adoptive mom, a mom of loss, and a heart mom, Amy tags herself as one tired mama.
She earned a master’s degree with a concentration in International Relations and a bachelor’s degree in Political Science and French (mais, oui!) from The University of North Carolina at Charlotte. She worked for over five years for Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Manhattan. Now she speaks regularly at Willow Creek Community Church in Chicagoland and teams with Nothing is Wasted Ministries.
Amy Sylvestre: From Her Heart
I always processed my emotions through writing. Even as a teenager, I poured my longings, dreams, and tears into a little pink journal. But when crisis hit our family, the words stopped flowing. And for almost two years, I avoided writing entirely.
However, when my heart was ready and I finally sat down at my computer, the words rushed out of me like a raging river.
As it turned out, letting my story live somewhere outside of my heart and mind required two years.
In 2015, I discovered I was pregnant with our second son.We were so excited to give our first son a little brother to grow up with. But about halfway through my pregnancy, we learned that our precious Hudson had a severe heart defect called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Our handsome, big cheeked boy fought for eight months and went through two open heart surgeries, liver surgery, and many other procedures. Many loved this strong, brave boy with his distinct personality. He honored me as his mama. When Hudson’s heart was made whole in heaven, my heart broke into a million pieces.
Consequently, I discovered in my grief journey that a broken or wounded heart is susceptible to powerful lies. And I forgot my own identity and who God proved Himself to be. Sadly, I lived as if the lies were true, and I became a captive to those lies.
As I wrote Hudson’s story and my wrestling with God through heartache, a devotional study emerged. But I knew other people experienced profound loss, trauma, abandonment, betrayal, and disappointment. They also questioned their identities and their relationships with God. So I searched for truth to replace the lies and to offer a place where others could be set free.
I hope to help those who feel buried under their pain to see a way out.So I share my story of outliving a child and invite readers to share theirs. In this way, I hope to encourage them to find healing, connection, and freedom.
Your healing is not just for you.
Join me in my journey to launch my first book, Wholehearted Truth: A Devotional for a Heart in Pieces. Sign up for the launch team on my website, https://amysylvestre.com, and receive a free eBook version. To qualify for giveaways, visit my Instagram (@amyasylvestre) during launch week in early 2023.
Pray with me that this devotional will reach those who need it most.
Thank you, Lord, for saving my soul
Thank you, Lord, for making me whole
Thank you, Lord, for giving to me
Thy great salvation so rich and free
Wholehearted Truth: A Devotional for a Heart in Pieces by Amy Sylvestre
Sylvestre’s devotional offers a lifeline for anyone whose heart has been broken in some way. She presents her story of wrestling with God and the lies that submerged her in darkness for too long. Also readers investigate their own stories of pain through questions and a journaling prompt.
Each devotion moves individual readers, church small groups, and book clubs through content that draws out those who are walking through seasons of pain. It also grounds the reader in God’s Word and includes a prayer.
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October 27, 2021
Leslie L. McKee | Let’s Chat | Hope Amid Pain
Leslie L. McKee stops by for a visit today. Leslie is an editor, author, and reviewer, but editing, writing, and reviewing are not merely jobs—they are her passions. She is an avid reader with an eye for detail.
Leslie has been a chronic pain warrior for more than twenty years, so she is familiar with the peaks and valleys associated with living with a chronic illness. She has felt God come alongside her through His Word and remind her that the battle is His and she’s not alone.
A member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and The Christian PEN, Leslie L. McKee has had devotionals published in Ellie Claire/Worthy Publishing compilation books. She’s also published flash fiction stories. In her spare time, Leslie enjoys reading, playing piano, crocheting, spending time with family and friends (and her turtle!), and rooting for the NY Giants.
Leslie is giving away an ebook to someone who joins our conversation below.
Leslie L. McKee: Her Story Behind Hope Amid the PainMy book is a 60-day devotional journal that will remind women it is possible to hang on to positive expectations and cling to the hope that can only be found in the Lord … even while living with chronic pain and illness.
Friends had told me for years how I should share my story, how it could encourage others, etc. I resisted, as I didn’t want others to view me differently because of my chronic pain/illness. However, a few years ago, I felt a nudge from the Lord. I tried to ignore it, but it didn’t work. In fact, it became a bit more insistent. I, reluctantly at first, began jotting down some notes and verses that were meaningful to me and helpful on the flare-up days. That later turned into the devotions in this book.
Hope Amid the Pain by Leslie L. McKee
Why me? Is God punishing me? Is my faith not strong enough for God to heal me? How can I achieve my dreams? What’s my purpose?
If you’re someone living with a chronic illness or chronic pain, these are just a few of the questions you’ve likely asked on more than one occasion. You may feel overlooked or even resentful. You try to stay positive, but some days it’s hard. It’s natural to feel this way and grieve, but it’s still possible to have a hope-filled life. God has a purpose for the pain.
Christians aren’t immune from pain and illness, but we don’t have to go through it alone.
Jesus promised that He would “never leave you nor forsake you” (Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV).
Millions of women suffering from chronic pain and illness want the reassurance they’re not alone. The devotions in HOPE Amid the Pain are written by a chronic pain warrior with over twenty-five years’ experience will point them to hope and encouragement. It’s possible to Hang On to Positive Expectations (HOPE) even amid the pain.
We all want to know that we are seen, that we are heard, that we are not alone, and that we belong. I pray my book reminds women that God sees them. He is with them and hears them. He loves them and knows their pain.
I pray that my book will remind women living with chronic pain and illness that it’s possible to live a hope-filled life with Jesus by their side. Hope can always be found in Him, and He has a purpose for their life, even amid the pain.
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
Romans 8:37 NIV
Purple is related to fibromyalgia, as is the butterfly, which is one of the diagnoses I have. Butterflies are also key to the chronic pain/illness world, in general, as well as being linked to hope.
The turtle is for the slow and steady pace someone living this journey must have to navigate daily life. On a related note, I have a turtle, and he is mentioned a couple times in the book. And I’ve learned helpful lessons from him over the years. He may be slow, but he is determined. When he wants to do something, it may take him a few tries, but he keeps plugging away, and eventually, he succeeds. Slow and easy. Steady but cautious. I try to embrace my inner turtle. 
paperback: https://amzn.to/3Anl7SL
hardcover: https://amzn.to/3BVJ1Wd
Kindle: https://amzn.to/39fOlHlBarnes and Noble:
paperback: https://bit.ly/3pecPKr
hardcover: https://bit.ly/3peuvW7
Nook: https://bit.ly/3vE7JZfKobo: https://bit.ly/3lUeSkHBooktopia: https://bit.ly/3vpviVn
Social Media Links for Leslie L. McKee
Website: https://leslielmckee.com/
Facebook (@leslielmckee): https://www.facebook.com/leslielmckee
Instagram (@leslielmckee): https://www.instagram.com/leslielmckee/
Twitter (@leslielmckee): https://twitter.com/LeslieLMcKee
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7300724.Leslie_L_McKee
Amazon author page: https://amzn.to/3aXGTkU
~ ~ ~
Dear Lord, please bless each word Leslie writes for You.
For Jesus’ sake
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October 20, 2021
Linda Brooks Davis | Demons and a Certain Mother | Let’s Chat
Demons. My mother never waited until October’s Halloween to fight them. No, she brought up the subject whenever she saw the need. Mother was a hoot. No one enjoyed laughing as much as she. We butted heads at times in my teens, but we had a lot of fun too. One of her favorite sayings was “I’ll fight every ol’ demon in hell for my kids!” Goldie lived it out every day of her life but never more forcefully than one night in 1964. My brother Butch had suffered an all-but-deadly car crash in 1961. He had sustained severe injury to his head, was in a coma for a month, and spent another month being examined for brain damage. (None present, by God’s grace.) He left the hospital with his jaws wired together and instructions never to get another “blow” to the head. Fast forward to the night in 1964. Butch, a recent college graduate, attended a hometown high school basketball game with our crippled Daddy and our Mother. They sat on the opposing team’s side because there was more room. Butch cheered for “our” side in ways only Butch could, and the coach for the opposing team didn’t like it a bit. He kept looking back and frowning (demon-like according to Mother), but Butch ignored him. Suddenly the coach stood and climbed up the bleachers. 
Butch saw him coming and stood also. The coach grabbed Butch’s leg and pulled him down between the bottom two rows of bleachers. Butch was just getting up to defend himself when the whole place turned into a brawl. Mother saw one thing and one thing only: her son, who wasn’t to get another “blow” on the head, flying through the air and landing with a crash. Soon, the brawl moved to the gym floor where the game had come to a stand-still. One of the referees held onto Butch to keep him from punching out the coach. But all Mother saw was a horde of demons in hell.Without considering her actions, Mother flew down those bleachers and began beating the referee about the body with her purse and hammering him on the head with her fist. She had completely lost it.The man kept saying, “I’m trying to help your son, Ma’am,” but there was no way she was hearing him. She was “fighting every ol’ demon in hell for her son.”
Turned out she broke her little finger on that poor man’s head.
Fast forward again to years later.Mother visited cousins out of town because she needed to get away from some problem involving her family that was brewing at home. (In truth, she was probably preparing to wage war with “demons.”)
When the cou
sins got up one morning, they discovered Mother had packed. “Are you leaving? Have you gotten everything done?” they asked. “I’m ready to go, but I’m just getting started.” She held up her right pinkie. “You see this broken finger?” She raised all five fingers in the air. “Wait till you see what I can do with all five!” Mother was prepared to fight a horde of demons that day. I fought a 2 ½ year battle for my family not so long ago (while trying desperately to relax and let the Lord wage the war). One day in that heartbreaking journey, Al peeked into my office where I was furiously writing and said, “Have you used all five fingers yet?” I shook my head. “No sir-ee. I’m just getting started!”~ ~ ~Dear Lord, please bless your children’s families in the ways you know are best. And help us leave the demons to you.
~ For Jesus’ sake ~
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