Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 12

Acceptance and Security

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

“Daddy prays with me at night before I go to sleep. It makes me feel welcome and safe.”

“Welcome” seems like an unusual word choice but think about it. The child who said this feels welcome at home. How many do not?

This child has a place to belong – a safe place to be. This child knows Dad is there and that he’s glad his 9-year-old is too.

Dad may not realize it, but he’s living out an important biblical promise:

“In My Father’s house are many dwelling places.
If it were not so, I would have told you,
because I am going there to prepare a place for you.”
John 14:2 (AMP)

God knows how important a sense of place is. He planted that need within us so He could give us the perfect location.

Acceptance and security are two of the most important things fathers can give their children.

If your dad made you feel accepted and secure, thank him this Father’s Day. If you missed out on that blessing from an earthly dad, ask your Good, Good Father to be that Dad.

Come to Him. He’s waiting for you.

~

He's a good, good Father.
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Bern walked into the garden and stopped at a bloody spot on the ground not three feet from Gracie. Holding his gun on it, he watched for a moment, then kicked away the headless snake and holstered his weapon.

Gracie jumped up and leaped into his arms. “I was so afraid Buster was going to get bit, Papa. I was so afraid.”

The puppy hunkered back in the corner, trembling. Etta picked it up, her ears ringing from the gunshot and her heart racing as she followed Bern and Gracie to the house.

In the kitchen, he righted his chair and sat down with Gracie on his lap, her arms tight around his neck. She laid her golden head against his chest, clearly her father’s daughter.

Etta set the puppy on an old towel behind the stove and gave it a bowl of milk, then warmed Bern’s coffee and filled a plate for Gracie.

“I’m not hungry,” the child mumbled into Bern’s shirt.

Understandably, Etta thought. Neither was she. The puppy would eat well this evening.

Bern picked up his coffee. “You want to help me bury the rattler’s head?” ~Mail-Order Misfire, prequel to the international award-winning series, “The Front Range Brides”

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Out of the Storm

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

Early afternoon light dims beneath the gray underbelly of an approaching storm and thunder rolls from one side of the river valley to the other.

Twenty minutes later, “… the rains are over and gone….the cooing of doves is heard in our land” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12). 

I love these sudden and powerful Colorado storms and have included them in several of my novels set along the Front Range.

They remind me of God in His strength and majesty. In His provision and love.

He is greater than anything I face.

Greater than any fear or foe.

Great enough to set the doves cooing in the drip, drip, dripping trees after the rain.

Out of the Storm – from Always Before Me , story-devotions for women

Out of the storm
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Congratulations to Barb Sanford, winner of last week’s drawing!

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Like a Tree Planted … and a giveaway!

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

Do you have a favorite tree?

Countless varieties flourish on the earth, but Psalm 92 mentions three with a descriptive promise attached:

The godly will flourish like palm trees,

grow strong like the cedars of Lebanon,

and still bear fruit in their old age ( vs 12-15).

I like trees such as pine and spruce that catch an evening breeze in their branches, regardless of the season.

Each fall I marvel at the golden leaves of aspen glimmering along the slopes of Colorado’s mountains.

Apple, pear, peach, cherry, and nectarine trees blossomed this spring in our orchard, promising a fruitful reward.

And giant cottonwoods grow nearby, the poorer cousins of the glittering aspen and a member of the poplar family. Now full with mature summer leaves, the cottonwoods sing, even in a light breeze. Each leaf responds, and the combined murmurs raise a chorus akin to a “rushing, mighty wind.”

An interesting verse in 2 Samuel records what God told David about his upcoming battle plans. “When you hear a sound like marching feet in the tops of the poplar trees …the Lord is moving ahead of you to strike down the Philistine army” (5:24). Some translations list the trees as mulberry trees, others as balsam, or aspen, but their exact identity is unknown. 

Trees seem to have made an impression on the poet-king, David, for he writes that the person who seeks God’s way is like a tree planted by rivers of water.

Blessed is the man
Who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly,
    Nor stands in the path of sinners,
    Nor sits in the seat of the scornful;
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
    And in His law he meditates day and night.
He shall be like a tree
    Planted by the rivers of water,
    That brings forth its fruit in its season,
    Whose leaf also shall not wither;
And whatever he does shall prosper.
Psalm 1:1-3

The tree described by David is not a silent winter tree. Not even a spring or fall tree, but a full-leafed tree of summer with leaves that do not wither.

It offers wind song, shade, and comfort, but those benefits are conditional.

This tree is planted by the river—one of God’s metaphors for life.

The men or women like this tree don’t seek guidance from ungodly people.

They don’t hang around with people who deliberately do wrong things,

And they avoid sceptics and scoffers (not sincere seekers).

Instead, blessings come to the people who read and know God’s word, spend time thinking about it, and endeavor to do what it says.

We can be like this tree if we choose. Our roots can reach down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love, anchoring us near that water of life. We can be a summer tree, full of life and song if we drink in His words, His ways, and His promises.

~

Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the Lord.
Psalm 96:12 NKJV

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Have your name entered for a chance to win an e-copy of Hope Is Built by commenting below about your favorite tree. What is it and why is it your favorite?

 

Mary skipped the noon meal, appeasing Helen’s motherly concern by accepting a slice of buttered bread. Ignoring the family’s—well, familiness—was something she simply could not do in the midst of them, and she was too torn to try.

The day was warm and the shaded swing in the big cottonwood tree beckoned, low enough to the ground that Mary could sit in it without holding to the ropes. She looked toward the ranch house, pleased that no westerly windows gave the occupants a view of her whereabouts. But she knew her position was clear to anyone watching from the parlor.

She wrapped her left arm around one rope, turning in time to see the thin parlor curtain fall into place. Surely the boys were peeking on her.

The back screen door slapped three times.

That meant three hungry little Huttons had bounded inside, popping her conjecture like a circus balloon. Perhaps it was Helen who had spied her through the curtain.

Mary fingered a dab of butter and stuck it in her mouth. Creamy and smooth, but not nearly as good as an Ayrshire could produce.

Heat climbed her neck as she licked her finger clean. Of course it wasn’t Helen behind the curtain.

She’d never felt more of an outsider than she did at that moment. Things had turned out so differently than she’d expected when she set a course for Colorado. She’d been emboldened by her aunt’s and uncle’s love, assured of their welcoming embraces and warm smiles, and she had relished the thought of being away from Lewis and his grumping.

Now she almost missed him.

Now she had no one and nothing. ~Hope Is Built, Colorado Book Award Finalist

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Remember the Fallen

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer 

For many people, Memorial Day signals the changing of the seasons.

Those of us who can’t wait any longer for summer declare that it’s time to bring out the lawn chairs and barbecue. Who wants to wait another four weeks? We’d rather start thinking about vacations, the end of school, and what to grill. Here in Colorado, we’re lucky if the backyard bash isn’t cancelled due to snow.

Of course Memorial Day is about much more than the barbecue and what the weather will be like.

Once known as Decoration Day, it was set aside to honor and remember the fallen from our nation’s Civil War by decorating their graves with flowers and flags.

After World War I, honors were extended to include those who were casualties in any of America’s wars.

Battlefield casualties were obviously on the founders’ minds, but the fallen have given their lives in various venues.

During World War II, many civilian women went to work outside their homes for the first time, picking up the slack left in the wake of their deploying husbands and fathers, gladly joining the war effort.

Some took to the shipyards in southern California and other coastal states, and many of them contracted tuberculosis. Those who served overseas often came home to funerals and motherless children.

Every year on Memorial Day, I think of those whose names I will never hear who gave all of what they had to give.

The giving goes on. May we who remain live our lives in ways that continue the example of hope and selflessness. And may we pause in our reveling and remember with gratitude the fallen upon whose sacrifices we stand.

~

There is no greater love than to
lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 
John 15:13

Of course Mama’s and Papa’s loving spirits were not entombed in the cold earth, yet Mary felt a closeness with them as she whispered her goodbyes. Kissing the palms of her hands, she laid one on 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 Finalist for 2023 Colorado Book Award 

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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You Against the World

Ever feel like it’s you against the world? Occupationally, relationally, or physically? If it’s not one thing, it’s another – right?

Just when we get our sea legs under us, a rogue wave hits, the deck rolls, and our stomachs follow. Why can’t our careers, relationships, and health be set on solid ground?

Why?

When I was a journalist, Why was one of the five Ws that dictated my question-asking:

Who – What – Where – When – Why

Sometimes “how” got in on the lineup, working its way in with one of the others. But Why was the last question.

Yet when faced with tragedies in my personal life, or even mere mishaps, the first question I often asked was Why?

“Why, God, did You let this happen?”

“Why did this have to happen now?”

Last week I joined a casual group of believers who shared prayer requests about recent events in their lives. Each person had serious challenges, including one who shared about an ill loved one.

“It is all good news because God is in it all,” that person said.

That’s what I call faith. Praising God even in the pain. It’s the kind of sacrifice of faith we can offer only here on earth because in heaven there will be no pain, no illness, no broken hearts or missing answers.

If I can just learn to bypass Why and go straight to the other four Ws for my questions, maybe they would look something like this:

          Who can I help with a similar problem?

          What can I do for that person?

          Where can I contribute time, encouragement, money?

          When can I pray with them or someone else who needs it?

And I could even throw in the How:

          How do I praise you more, Lord?

May we learn to let the Lord give us all the answers we need and to remember that it’s never us against the world.

Because He is with us.

~

“And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
Matthew 28:20

You against the world.
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Never had she felt so alone, so abandoned. Not even after her mother’s consumptive death at the rooming house. ~An Improper Proposal – Book 1 of the award winning series, Front Range Brides

Chanticleer International Book Awards – 1st Place Series, Romance

 

 

Listen here: I Am Not Alone

Inspirational  Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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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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