Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 12

Cords of Love

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

Robert Fulghum’s 1988 New York Times bestseller, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten was on that prestigious list for nearly two years. He made valid points and stirred most of us to consider the kindnesses and stress busters we were introduced to in our first year in public school away from Mom.

However, most of the important things in my life I learned from my mother. Her cords of love have survived the years, and four stand out clearly this Mother’s Day—two don’ts and two do’s:

Don’t …

push your hair behind your ears—it makes them stick out.

put your hands in your sweater pockets—it makes them sag.

Do …

moisturize your neck as well as your face.

love Jesus more than anyone, even me.

Mother’s advice scored much higher than that of other wisdom merchants from my school years, earning a three out of four for accuracy. Not bad.

Number one was probably something she had heard from her mother. The women in our family all have very thick hair, but today we all know that hair isn’t what pushes ears in or out.

Number two is factual, proven by the old, comfortable sweater I wear around the house but never in public.

Number three is a bit of prophetic perception that is better followed than ignored. For as any woman over the age of thirty has discovered, there is no undoing of neglect.

And number four is the most precious of all gems Mother could have given me. It is the North Star of her guidance, the essence of what I hope I have instilled in my own children.

Mother was not perfect. We did not see eye-to-eye on many things. But over the years her words have comforted me—as have God’s.

The Lord and I first met through her tender nurturing, and for that introduction I will be forever grateful. For as she taught me to love Him more than anyone else, so I have learned that He loves me more than anyone else ever could.

~

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.
Isaiah 49:15,16

Cords of love
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A rancher like Hugh Hutton across the parlor from her, and all Mary could do was doze in a long unused sewing rocker, wearing a dress four times too big and her hair hanging in a lose braid. Mama would be horrified.

Her brother Lewis would be outraged, and her mouth pulled toward a smile at the thought.

The old chair carried her to her mother’s knee, where she’d learned to thread a needle and tie off a knot with one hand by rolling the thread between her thumb and forefinger. Aunt Bertie knew the same trick.

Heart pain spread to Mary’s face as her sore brows knotted. Again she wondered how she must look. Appearances had not been so important when she could see them for herself. She longed to ask her guard if he’d found her carpet bag and what had happened to the motorcar she’d rented. But propriety insisted she not mention the bag.

“Did you happen to see a green automobile at my aunt and uncle’s farm?”

“Yes ma’—. Yes. It’s here now, in the pasture across from the house where the flicker crew parked their rattle—their cars last year. I’ll drive it to Pueblo tomorrow.” 

So he had found her bag. And looked inside. Gratitude warred with embarrassment but won the duel. “Thank you.” Hope Is Built

Finalist in the 2023 Colorado Book AwardsInspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Cool of the Day

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

What would it sound like to hear God’s presence?

Would it be the whirlwind mentioned by Job, the rushing wind of Pentecost, the whisper Moses detected?

Genesis 3:8 tells us that Adam and Eve heard God walking in the garden and hid themselves from His presence. As if they could.

Were they that naïve?

Or that guilty?

What had it been like before they did exactly what He said not to?

They had one job.

“Eat from any tree you like,” God had said, “except one.”

What had it been like when they were obedient and He came to their habitat, walking in the cool of the day, brushing against the trees, breathing out the incomparable breath the filled their very lungs with life?

How do we hide ourselves from the presence of Creator God who sees through stone, years, and pretense? He who sees the prisoner bound by bars of steel and the captive bound by ropes of remorse.

In His incomprehensible love, He took care of Adam and Eve’s guilt and disobedience, covered their nakedness with the hides of innocent animals, and sent them away from the beautiful garden. But even today we benefit from His payment plan through Christ.

However, I want to look at the God-walking part. Different versions of the Bible use different wording for Genesis 3:8, though the essence is the same.

I get the impression that God strolled through His marvelous creation to simply enjoy it. Maybe He did this every evening—we don’t know because scripture doesn’t say.

Maybe He often looked for Adam to just “hang out,” but we don’t know that either.

What we do know, is that something happens in the cool of the day. Something intentional that draws us out of our busy-ness to experience peace.

Why didn’t God come looking for Adam at high noon? Is there something special about those few moments when day slips into night and the earth seems to exhale in preparation for rest?

I believe there is. I believe it can be a time of deep communion with our Maker, in spite of the fact that it is the second most hectic time of our modern day-to-day lives.

Commuter traffic.

Homework.

Rushed dinners.

The six o’clock news (usually bad).

Exhaustion.

Have we fallen into these societal traps and missed an important time of meeting with our Maker during a time when He longs to restore our souls?

Some people walk their dogs in the evenings, go for bike rides, or sit on the patio and enjoy the sunset. It depends on where we live, the time of year, and family responsibilities.

I included a “cool-of-the-day” moment in one of my books, “The Columbine Bride.” It is available free only to my newsletter subscribers.

But the cool of the day is available free to each of us who chooses to experience it. I hope you’ll try it – take a few moments in the evenings, set aside the demands and frustrations of your day, and breathe in the presence of the Lord.

~

What would it sound like to hear God’s presence?
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Dusk dropped down with a sigh, and shadows tucked themselves beneath rocks and roots as Lucy surveyed the small meadow. Crickets took up their chorus, doves joined with their melancholy song, and Mr. Wellington’s words rolled over the grass. The Lord surely had taken care of her and the children through the long winter. And it had taken most of those months to loosen her grip on resentment.

God had not chosen to keep William alive—a fact with which Lucy was weary of wrestling. Death was not an uncommon visitor in this rugged land, but she’d not expected its sudden and brutal call at her home. Hugging her waist, she closed her eyes and let the evening breeze tug loosened hair and familiar words across her shoulders. Thou wilt shew me the path of life. William had often repeated those words in their evening prayers, and for nine long months she had clung to them in his absence. Had he uttered them with his last breath—perhaps not for himself, but for her and the children? Was it his dying prayer she felt cooling her cheek?

Her job was to live, and to do so, she must accept that God knew what He was doing. She did not have to like it or agree with it. She just had to trust His love. If her children learned nothing else from her, they must learn that.

“Oh Lord, I am willing, but I need Your help.” The breeze freshened and she turned at the familiar caress. William had often touched her just as gently, and habit pulled her heart into her throat. She clenched her jaw. Too easily she could melt into a pool of self-pity. But such indulgence drained her strength and left her weak, and she dare not risk weakness if she and the children were to survive. ~The Columbine Bride

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Life wins!

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

One morning last week, an ethereal veil hung over our small orchard, shrouding the budding trees with mist. I wondered, could that be what it looked like in God’s garden that we read of in Genesis?

“… but a mist went up from the earth and watered the whole face of the ground” (2:6).

The account of God’s creation amazes me. It was foundational and well-orchestrated. He created the sustenance of life before He created life: light, water, and soil for the plants, plants for the animals, and then the animals. He provided food for what was coming next.

I also marvel in the seasonal cycles, and I enjoy their visual display here in Colorado. However,  the weather often carries an important life lesson: Be ready for a surprise!

Last week our peach, apple, plum, and pear trees were in bountiful bloom. Five days later snow cloaked their delicate petals, yet they didn’t stop growing.

Life doesn’t just “go on” in the face of unexpected turns, it does much more than that. Life wins!

This two-word phrase is an ongoing mantra for me because I see it over and over in the beauties of nature around me. From killing frost to devastating fires, life breaks out anew.

I also know that our loving Father allows those natural reminders to show us His great faithfulness. In spite of disappointments and setbacks, life wins.

If circumstances drop a heavy spring-like storm of discouragement on you this week, look around and remember His surging, supportive, and comforting presence.

His life within us wins.

~

Life wins!
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Mary lay atop the bed, still wearing her riding clothes, and staring at the ceiling. She might never sleep again.

By her count, she had been in Colorado four weeks, and her life had been threatened four times. Was God trying to tell her something? Was this whole trip a foolish mistake? Should she have stayed in Pennsylvania and married the next dairyman her brother invited to Sunday dinner?

The worst thing that had happened to her there was being kicked into the wall by a cow. She’d never been shot at, burned out, or snared.

Yet if she hadn’t come west, she would not have known about her aunt and uncle’s passing, their farm going up for auction, or the oil seep that could possibly be productive.

And she wouldn’t have fallen in love with a gruff, blue-eyed cowboy who took her breath away. Not to mention three lovable little boys who had stolen her affections at first sight.

“Oh, Lord, you’re all I really have.  All I’ve ever had. Everything else can be taken away.” Grief spilled from the corners of her eyes and into her ears, and she sat up, irritated by such a ridiculous sensation in the midst of her self-pity. ~Hope Is Built

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Of Birthdays and Other Interuptions

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

My perspective of age has changed over the years. Perhaps that’s because I’m on a different side of it than I once was.

I still look ahead in anticipation, but now I look back with more gratitude for where the Lord has brought me and how. The how is very important, because it wasn’t always a pleasant trip. Quite often, the road was rough and the soles of my shoes wore thin. But it was the soul of myself that grew and strengthened and learned to rest in the Lord’s embrace along the way.

Author and literary scholar, C.S. Lewis, says we should not regard all those difficult or unpleasant times as interruptions of our “own” or “real” life.

“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day: what one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination.”

Rather than choose such a radical acceptance, I suppose I could use the vernacular of the day and say “I identify” as a much younger woman. But I’d not give back one year the Lord has allowed.

Besides, what I truly want is to “identify” with Him.

By now I’ve learned that the important things are not what the media and human mentality tell us we should aspire to. Oh, what discontent I could have shed along the way if I had not bought into the hype that I should look, be, follow, or behave a certain way.

I hope my children and grandchildren do better than I.

For my recent birthday, my family planned a wonderful surprise – a gathering of friends, memories, and blessings – priceless treasures indeed. Thank God that my times are in His hand.

~

My times are in Your hand.
Psalm 31:15

My times are in Your hand
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“What is it?” A wasted question, but if Hugh Hutton knew, Mary wanted to hear it from him. Somehow it made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone.

“It’s a will,” he said. “Old-fashioned, hand-written, but it looks legal to me. Names you as heir to this property.”

Her breath caught. She fingered a decorative button on her blouse, staring at the ribboned paper and stalling. Was it good news or bad to be named an heir? She could be in crushing debt, depending on the mortgage.

As she slid the ribbon from the parchment and unrolled the document, Hugh let out a long breath. He was right about it being old fashioned—even her parents’ wills had been processed by typists. This looked old. And it was, dated the day of her fifteenth birthday, April 11, 1903.

The year her aunt and uncle had homesteaded in Colorado.

Rebellious tears fell, robbing her vision and clarity of thought. She pushed the parchment toward him. “Would you read it to me, please.”

His blue eyes went soft, but his jaw tightened. Compassion seemed a painful conflict for Hugh Hutton. ~Hope Is Built

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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We Run Out of Time

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Time.

We run out of time faster than we run out of money and milk.

But we can always get more money and milk. We can’t go get more time.

When I was growing up and my mother didn’t want to accept an invitation, she always said,  “We’re too busy. We don’t have time.” It was a common mantra, bless her, but I never understood what we were otherwise busy doing.

A couple of years ago, I took one of my books to a woman I’d met in a local nursing home after she mentioned she’d like to read it. Weeks later when I saw her again, she said, “I haven’t read your book yet. I haven’t had the time.”

I thought of my mother. Was it just an excuse? Or did the woman have difficulty holding the book, or seeing clearly? Perhaps she just wanted to have it since she had no visitors.

Recently, I saw yet another, unfamiliar facet of time. Rather than running out of it – the little blocks into which we chop it like minutes, hours, and years – the idea hit me that one day there would be no time. Not in the sense of “time’s up,” or “you’re past the time limit,” but in the sense that time will no longer exist.

It will be over.

Done.

Not a thing.

This realization was a bit chilling. I thought of family members who have not chosen to follow Jesus. Someday, they will not have that choice because Time will be gone.

When God gave us free choice, He gave us time in which to exercise it. When time as we know it ceases to be, so will our ability to choose where we want to spend Forever. The phrase, “too late” will become a bottomless reality.

To some people’s horror, that day (another way we measure time) will come before they are ready. Hence the importance of choosing Jesus now.

Last week we celebrated Easter. For believers, it marks the resurrection of Jesus from the dead – the pinnacle of the Christian faith. Death is the great fear that haunts people, yet Jesus beat it. He crushed it for us because we couldn’t.

Don’t let time run out on you. Choose Him while time is still a thing.

Today is the day of salvation.
2 Corinthians 6:2

~

Run out of time.
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With a heavy hand, Mary seasoned a beef roast, taking her frustration out on the slab of meat. She added potatoes and carrots to the pot, set the lid on, and slid it in the oven. Then she hurried upstairs to change into her green wool coatdress. The suit was a bit outdated, for she hadn’t gone anywhere in ages, but Mama used to say green set off her eyes in a lovely way. The memory pricked, but she did not have time to be pathetic. Not if she was to be at the train station on time. She tucked her black spool-heel shoes into the bag and went downstairs in her stocking feet.

Mornings were still chilly, and she fastened every button on her overcoat. At the bottom of the front steps, she pulled on her Wellingtons, then went to the barn, where she’d left her bag beneath the buggy seat, and harnessed Lettie.

“Another drive to town, you sweet thing. Are you up for it?” She combed the mare’s forelock as if were important that she look her very best. “I’ll be right back, ol’ girl.”

Mary held her skirt high as she climbed the small rise, stepping carefully lest she slip and muddy her suit and overcoat. But as always, the view from the family plot was worth the effort with farmland rolling green and fresh around her. A premonition settled within her that this would be her last time for a long time, and she stood between her parent’s headstones, as straight as her father’s. Her mother’s had tilted and grayed over the years and collected moss.

Of course Mama’s and Papa’s loving spirits were not entombed in the cold earth, yet she felt a closeness with them as she whispered her goodbyes. Kissing the palms of her hands, she laid one atop each stone. A familiar tune hummed through her—Mama’s favorite hymn—and she sang in hushed tones.

“On Christ, the Solid Rock, I stand … All other ground is sinking sand.”

Atop the hill she felt as if she were on that solid rock, the foundation of her parents’ faith.

“I love you both so much, and I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.” Her throat tightened, thick with tears. “Not only in land and livestock, but in faith and honor.” She closed her eyes against the sting of sadness and drew a stuttered breath. “I’m on my way to Aunt Bertie’s farm. Wish me well.”

A silly thing to say, but she knew they would do so if they were there. ~Hope Is Built

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Everything Changed

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Everything changed at dawn.

Light revealed the emptiness left behind

when Life got up and walked out of the tomb.

He does that, you know. Jesus does the unexpected.

Even though He told His friends (and enemies)

He wouldn’t stay dead,

they were surprised.

From this side of that morning

we scowl at their disbelief.

So why,

when He tells us that He is with us,

do we stutter and doubt?

He keeps His word.

He loves us.

He lives!

~

Luke 24

“Easter Song” (Hear the Bells Ringing)Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Would He Ever Forget?

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

A.D. 33   
Bethany, a village near Jerusalem
Six days before Passover

Asher pulled his cloak tighter, wishing he’d worn his heavier wool garment this evening. The short walk to his neighbor’s house warmed him some, but the air nipped around his ears.

Much remained to be done before Passover. It seemed an odd time to send for guests, but his neighbor insisted, and it would be good to share a meal and relax. The teacher would be there with his associates.

As expected, Asher found the table laden with dates and olives, honey, nuts, and figs, bread, and cheese. A fragrant wine filled each cup, and expectation shivered in the flames of the lamps. The teacher had visited often and the last time, had created quite a stir. Asher shifted on his cushion at the low table, wondering what the evening might yet bring.

He reclined near the guest of honor at the head of the table, their host at the opposite end. One sister served, as expected, but the other sister—well, one never knew what she might do, and the sharp crack of pottery against a table leg confirmed Asher’s suspicions.

There she was, kneeling near the teacher. Or prophet. Some called him a king, and Asher dare not laugh at their earnest beliefs. Yet, look at this bunch. An itinerate Galilean and his motley followers. Such a mix—from wealthy tax collector to smelly fishermen.

Soon the pungent odor of sweet nard rose among them, no doubt the most expensive thing in this home. Asher shook his head, surprised there was any left at all after what happened the last time he was there.

Perfume thickened the air, and Asher leaned back to see the reason. The woman poured the nard on the teacher’s feet. If that were not enough to unsettle everyone there, she uncovered her hair in their presence and rubbed the oil into his feet with it, cradling them in her hands as if they were holy.

Asher shivered, and the room stilled like a tomb—an unwelcome metaphor—and he regretted not choosing his heavier cloak.

What in God’s holy name had come upon this woman?

Never had he witnessed such a thing. A priest, prophet, or king was anointed, but on the head, never the feet. And this man was certainly no king. This woman’s behavior was most unusual.

Whispers broke out around the table, and one man raised his voice. “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? That is a year’s wages poured out!”

Asher wondered the same.

“Leave her alone.”

At the teacher’s rebuke, the accuser drew back and sank into himself. Asher cast his gaze to a plate of olives. Others retreated into silence.

“She saved the perfume for the day of my burial,” the honored one said, looking with deepest regard into the woman’s eyes.

Burial, indeed. Asher drew his cloak tighter as unbidden memory played out the recent scene of his neighbor lying in a nearby tomb, bound in burial cloths—until this man spoke his name and commanded he come out.

Commanded! How absurd. Yet—Asher had been there.

This prophet/teacher had predicted his own death, but at Passover? Many at the table planned to leave tomorrow and go to Jerusalem. Some believed this man was the Coming One, Messiah, and expected him to do anything but die. Surely he would ride into the city during the festival and set everyone free from Roman oppression.

Asher glanced around the table. Who among them could free the Jews from anything?

The sweet odor had seeped into his cloak and tunic. Others across the table were discovering the same. It hung heavy in the air of this closed room, and Asher wondered why they hadn’t eaten outside.

What could have driven this woman to such extravagance and pushed her into impropriety?

Again memory stirred. Yes, the tomb incident. That must be it. Her brother had died, and she and her sister wept for days. Indeed four days. Yet this one at the table with anointed feet called him back to life. Asher knew it to be true though the High Priest and his officials scoffed and called it trickery.

But Asher had helped others push the stone from the opening. He had taken the first cold, decaying breath of the tomb across his face. All his senses screamed that his neighbor was dead, and yet …

He glanced across the table, finding tears in his friend’s eyes as he considered the anointed one. This whole affair was most strange indeed.

Adoration – that must be it. Incomprehensible gratitude for the gift of life.

After the meal, some of the other guests stirred to leave. But there was no escaping the fragrance that lingered. It would cling to each of them tonight and invade their homes as well as their thoughts. For this woman’s sacrifice had enveloped everyone and bathed them all with the perfume of her offering, even Asher.

How would he ever forget?

~

A retelling of John 12:1-11

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Go In Peace

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Two weekends this month I have a small part in a play* about the life of Christ as well as the life of a wizened old judge whose dead friend pays him a visit.

It is the second production I have participated in over the years and in each of them I played the part of a woman who did not fit in with the crowd. In fact, both women were scorned. But to each one Jesus said the same thing: “Go in peace. Your faith has saved you/made you well.”

That simple phrase delivers a powerful message.

How many of us long to go in peace? Live in peace. Sleep in peace.

In my personal life, peace has become one of my most valuable possessions. It cannot be manufactured and it cannot be counterfeited. True peace has staying power in spite of my own ups and downs, and it cannot be taken from me by any outside force.

Such peace is ushered in by faith, and yet, I would not even know faith if it had not been tested during less than peaceful situations.

Most, if not all, of us place our faith in material things or our own abilities. It’s natural. We have faith that the lights will come on, the car will start, the weather will clear.

Yet if those things fail us, what remains?

For me, Christ remains, and He speaks peace to me when those things fail to meet my expectations. He offers peace in sorrow and in gladness. His presence in my life has brought me incomparable peace.

Recently I heard stories of people martyred for their faith in Christ. In the recounting of what they endured peace is the common denominator. Peace carried them through horrible suffering and torture. Peace sustained them in separation from their families, and it strengthened them to face death rather than deny the only God.

Yes, the only God. For only God can provide something so indestructible, unconquerable, and sustaining as true peace.

Remember hearing, “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt”?

How about changing that time-worn saying to, “because I’ve BEEN THERE, I can DO THIS, and I’ve GOT HIS PEACE”?

Tell God what you need,
and thank him for all he has done.
Then you will experience
God’s peace
which exceeds anything we can understand.
His peace
will guard your hearts and minds
as you live in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7

~

*”The Witness and the Judge,” by Ray Linebaugh

Go In Peace
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The Refiner’s Fire

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Please welcome my guest blogger today, author Susan G. Mathis, as she talks about something we all experience …

The Refiner’s Fire

Have you ever gone through the refiner’s fire? I’m sure you have, and so did my characters in Mary’s Moment who had just survived a Great Fire that took more than one hundred businesses, cottages, and a hotel and nearly destroyed their community.

We may not face a fire that destroys our community, but we face fiery tests nearly every day. May God refine us in those seasons so we can become pure as gold.

Excerpt from Mary’s Moment:

Reverend Thompson addressed the congregation. “Our text for today is from the prophet Malachi. ‘Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me … for he is like a refiner’s fire, and like fullers’ soap: And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness.’”

Mary shifted in her seat, glancing at George and little Robbie, just across the aisle to her left. She sighed at the thought of what could have been.

The preacher interrupted her musings before they took a dark turn. “Most of us have watched Mr. Block blow glass and pound it into something beautiful. And many of you have seen a smithy heat metal to soften it so he can hammer and mold it into a useful product. Perhaps a few of you may have even seen a silversmith or goldsmith refine the precious metal to remove the impurities. Such a skilled metallurgist puts the silver or gold into a crucible—a container that won’t melt. Then he puts the crucible into a fire and heats it to nearly two thousand degrees until the silver or gold melts.” He let his words sink in. “After it cools, he scrapes off the impurities that have risen to the top. Then, he repeats the process again and again until there is nothing left that taints the precious metal. Only then is the silver or gold pure.

“Can you imagine how blistering two thousand degrees must be? Remember the fire a few weeks ago? That fire might have been a thousand, maybe even fifteen-hundred degrees. But to purify precious metals, the fire must be even hotter.”

Mary slipped her handkerchief from her reticule and swiped a stream of perspiration that ran down her cheek. What a topic for such a hot day.

Reverend Thompson continued. “In truth, the difficulties and battles we face in our lives refine and purify us. That spiritual purification process removes the sin and impurities of our lives so we can better reflect Him. And sometimes that involves suffering.

“We may have more refining fires ahead of us, and we must be on guard to never become bitter or unforgiving or hardened by those troubles. Our God is not a cruel God. Our troubles may be painful, but in the end, our experiences will purify us to reflect Him better—if we allow it. Is it easy? Certainly not. But nothing God allows is pointless. He will work within our most difficult times so we can reflect Him better. May we stand strong in the midst of troubles and come out of it all as gold. Amen.”

~

Nothing God allows is pointless.
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About Mary’s Moment:

Summer 1912

Thousand Island Park’s switchboard operator ​Mary Flynn is christened the community heroine for her quick action that saves dozens of homes from a terrible fire. Less than a month later, when another disastrous fire rages through the Park, Mary loses her memory as she risks her life in a neighbor’s burning cottage. Will she remember the truth of who she is or be deceived by a treacherous scoundrel?

Widowed fireman George Flannigan is enamored by the brave, raven-haired lass and takes every opportunity to connect with Mary. But he has hidden griefs of his own that cause him great heartache. When George can’t stop the destructive Columbian Hotel fire from eradicating more than a hundred businesses and homes, he is distraught. Yet George’s greater concern is Mary. Will she remember their budding relationship or be forever lost to him?      

~

Readers of Christian historical romance will enjoy this exciting tale set in 1912 Thousand Island Park, NY.

Reviewers are saying: “Mathis’s attention to detail and rich history is classic Mathis, and no one does it better.”—Margaret Brownley, N.Y. Times bestselling author.

ABOUT SUSAN:

Susan G Mathis is an international award-winning, multi-published author of stories set in the beautiful Thousand Islands, her childhood stomping ground in upstate NY. Susan has been published more than twenty-five times in full-length novels, novellas, and non-fiction books. She has ten in her fiction line including, The Fabric of Hope, Christmas Charity, Katelyn’s Choice, Devyn’s Dilemma, Peyton’s Promise, Sara’s Surprise, Reagan’s Reward, Colleen’s Confession, Rachel’s Reunion, and Mary’s Moment. Her book awards include two Illumination Book Awards, three American Fiction Awards, two Indie Excellence Book Awards, and four Literary Titan Book Awards. Reagan’s Reward is a Selah Awards finalist. Susan is also a published author of two premarital books, two children’s picture books, stories in a dozen compilations, and hundreds of published articles. She makes her home in Colorado Springs and enjoys traveling around the world but returns each summer to enjoy the Thousand Islands. Visit www.SusanGMathis.com/fiction for more.

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Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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(c) 2023 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.

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Not Without Horses and Women

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

It has been said that the American West was “hell on horses and women.” Without either, the Wild West may never have been.

Fits right in with Women’s History Month, doesn’t it?

Alice Marriott, author of a book with the same colorful title, Hell on Horses and Women, quotes an unidentified cowman as saying cattle ranching was a “fine business for men and mules, but it’s hell on horses and women.”

Whichever it was, the West or ranching, the settings are pretty close.

Marriott’s book, which I have not read and, therefore, cannot recommend though I’m about to read it, traces the intriguing lives of ranch women in the United States from 1895 to the 1950s. I doubt, as others have noted, that much would have happened during that time period without horses and women, and in my opinion, the picture on the cover is worth the price of the book.

Marriott has done her research homework.

As an author of historical fiction, I spend a great deal of my life and time in research. I want to know what the real story is before I step into a certain era and make one up. My specific genre is inspirational romance – love stories that end well with an undercurrent of God’s love and grace.

I’ve often been asked which of my seventeen novels and novellas is my favorite. I have an answer that I can’t explain, reason out, or justify. I like all my stories—why would I write something I didn’t like?—but yes, there is one novel I’m drawn to more than the others and one novella that tugs on my heart. The novella is The Wrangler’s Woman.

I’m not here to pitch the book but the point of the book as noted by an Amazon reviewer. She liked (heroine) Corra Jameson’s influence on not just the daughter she was hired to help, but on the entire family.

“… the effect of her presence in their lives is heartwarming. The romance adds to the story, but for me the highlight was the change in the family after Corra had been there for a couple of months.”

Isn’t this what we want in our own lives? To have an influence on our family and see people change because of our presence and our beliefs?

Scripture has a lot to say about a woman who makes a difference, whether in the Wild West, on far-flung ranches, or in homes of today. Chapter 31 of Proverbs gives an entire list of such a woman’s characteristics and notes the following results:

Her children rise up and called her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her.
Proverbs 31:28

Is there a woman in your life who impacted you for the better? Women’s History Month might be the perfect time to *tell her. I’d love to read your answers in the comments below.

*And by the way, phone calls are lovely. Texts and emails are too. But a written note that requires pen to paper and a stamped, addressed envelope is forever cherished.

~

Hell on horses and women
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“Horses and cattle are all I know, ma’am.” The cowboy swallowed, and his jaw tightened around a rough whisper. “I cannot lose my baby girl.” He shoved his shoulders back. “So if you know a woman who’d come out to the ranch for the summer and help my Jess, I’d be much obliged. She’d have a private room in the house and a gentled horse of her own to take home in the fall.”

“A horse?”

“A horse.”

“What would this woman do with a horse?”

His mouth twitched. “Ride it. Sell it.”

Corra ran her index finger along the still-red quick torn yesterday, rehearsing again what Letty had told her and scrutinizing the odd sensation that thrust itself into her chest.

“What of a beef?”

His brows pinched momentarily until he realized what she was doing. “I could throw in a side.”

Her sister could use that beef come fall, with all the mouths she’d have to feed. Corra stilled her fingers and raised her chin. “Two sides would make the offer more appealing.”

The rancher studied her with a narrowed look then heaved a sigh that tugged on his shoulders. “Fair.”

“Well then.” She braced herself. “I will do it.” ~The Wrangler’s Woman

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

FREE book via quarterly Newsletter!

Amazon Author Page  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Pinterest  

Blog  |  Goodreads  l  Instagram |  Book  Bub

#lovingthecowboy

#WesternRomance #CowboyRomance #HistoricalFiction #ChristianFiction

(c) 2023 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.

The post Not Without Horses and Women appeared first on Davalynn Spencer.