Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 16

Those Who Wait

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

Isaiah 40:31 is a familiar verse to me, beautifully poetic about soaring on wings like eagles. It was an underlying theme in one of my novels, The Miracle Tree, and I’ve also written about it for Guideposts publications.

But last week I saw the verse with fresh eyes. I love how that happens—seeing something familiar from a new perspective.

The words that jumped into my heart and wiggled their toes into the mud were the first ten:

Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.

Stop right there.

Forget about flying like an eagle, running a marathon, or walking a mile or four.

I rarely need adrenaline, but I often need strength to take the next breath and press on in the mundane.

God is telling me through this verse that I’ll find that strength when I wait on Him. However, wait is a four-letter word I’d rather not have in my vocabulary.

Can’t I pop an energy pill or guzzle a caffeine-laced beverage? I could eat energy-packed fruit like berries or pound protein-rich drinks. Surely there’s a quicker way to be renewed, rejuvenated, and revitalized.

Not really. Most of the approaches mentioned above wear off and leave us needing more. We can land in a slump, worse off than we were to begin with.

I am not knocking healthy eating. It is definitely a boost we can use. But when it comes to emotional and spiritual strength, food and drink can’t give me what I need.

So I have to take Him at His word. Wait on/for Him. Not drumming my fingers, bouncing my foot, or checking the time every thirty seconds. But waiting, as in looking to the Lord, expecting Him to answer

He says my strength will be renewed.

I’m going to trust Him.

~

He says my strength will be renewed.
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A hawk screed above them in a spiraling rise. Once it reached its flight point, it tilted off toward higher ground, its broad wings spread wide against a blue backdrop.

Laura relaxed, her head back as she watched the bird. “They ride the thermals, you know.”

“Hmm.” Eli ran his hand over her shoulder, enjoying the softness of her, breathing in her sweet scent. They’d never sat like this as kids. They’d never touched, other than him giving her a hand up or her slugging his arm.

“The heat carries them as it rises.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“All they do is spread their wings,” he said.

She stiffened and sat up, wonder washing her face. “That’s it!”

“That’s what?” He was quickly losing track of the conversation.

“That’s what I couldn’t figure out.”

“You couldn’t figure out that they spread their wings?”

Something in her retreated, and the mood between them shifted. What had he said? “Tell me what you mean.”

“It’s nothing.” She tugged her ponytail over her shoulder and combed through it with her fingers. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a few days, that’s all.”

“I’ll listen.”

A door closed in her beautiful brown eyes, and the stoicism returned. “Maybe when I understand it better myself.” ~The Miracle Tree

 

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Grief: The Healing Place – Part 3 of 3

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

Grief breaks into our lives whether we are ready or not. Usually, we are not. But with God’s help, the broken pieces can be fit back together and made stronger. For Part 1 and Part 2 of this series on grief, see July 17, 2022, and July 24, 2022.

Part 3

I love the fact that mourning and morning sound just alike. One expresses sorrow and the other represents a new beginning. Together, they pretty much sum up my condition as I face the future.

Before my husband’s funeral, my pastor told me that mourning is one of the ways we show our love.

I liked that. It gave me permission to let go of my grief.

“Blessed are those who mourn,” Jesus said, “for they will be comforted.”

He was right.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss or love my husband; it means I am comforted.

Over the years, I’ve been asked countless times, “How are you doing?”

What does one say to that?

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

“So-so.”

“All right.”

“Wretched.”

“Wonderful.”

“Dying on the inside.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Do you truly want to know?”

The real answer came to me one … morning:

“I’m in His hands.”

My reply set some people on their heels. A few agreed, and several looked puzzled. But everyone heard me.

There was nothing better to say and there is no place I’d rather be.

When I’m in His hands, I don’t have to be fine. I don’t have to understand. I don’t have to have answers. I can, like a child, lean back against Him and let go. “Your will be done, not mine.”

“Your will.” Two very powerful words. They ring with surrender.

I’ve thought about writing a book called The Willow God. It’s the story of a little girl who grows up wondering about the Willow God because she hears her mother praying to him in the night. She doesn’t realize until she is much older that Mama was saying, “Your will, O God.”

The first night I was alone, eight winters ago, I curled up on the floor in front of the woodstove. Six inches of snow skirted my house and temperatures hid beneath a 20-degree blanket.

The woodstove was a safe and quiet place.

Fire danced behind the glass of the door and, in time, became a companion of sorts—something warm and alive that I could sit near and watch each evening. Something from which I drew comfort.

I slept and ate and prayed and wrote before that fire.

I also sang and played my guitar.

One evening I sensed the Lord there, listening. I moved my chair over to make room for Him to join me.

Sound silly?

I didn’t see Him, didn’t hear Him, but I knew He was there.

How many times in my life have I moved something out of the way to make room for Jesus?

How many times in my life should I have done so when I didn’t?

That night in front of the woodstove with the fire glowing through the glass, I sang to Him. Old songs, new songs, most of them quiet and gentle because that was how I felt. It seemed I’d spent only a little while in His presence, yet when I looked at the clock, two hours had passed.

Is that what eternity will be like?

The space in front of the woodstove became a healing place, and I think that matters to God.

Long before my life was a possibility, He told Moses, “Here is a place by Me” (Exodus 33:21). 

He went on to say that He would cover Moses there with His hand. So Moses waited in that place.

No substitute can be found for waiting on the Lord, but it requires trust.

Trust is often just doing the next thing – like the dishes. The laundry. Mowing the yard or stacking firewood. The next thing can be my salvation, taking a step forward, trusting He will sweep up the pieces if I fall.

There are triggers. Pain sneaks up on me when I’m not looking. But God is the Great Recycler of human wreckage. He knows how to fit the pieces together and make them stronger.

Life goes on, they say, and it does. It just goes on differently.

Jesus goes on with us as we move ahead.

He is beside us each day—if we allow Him to get that close—walking with us through the triggers and the pain, whispering His peace as we lie down at night.

And He is there in the morning, waiting for us.

Just like He was in the valley.

~

Life goes on...it just goes on differently.
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Grief: Sorrow Shared – Part 2 of 3

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

We all meet grief at some point in our lives. There is no right, better, or perfect way to grieve, but sharing our experiences with others can help us in our own journey. For Part 1 of this 3-part series, click here.

Part 2 

During the years of my husband’s paralysis and traumatic-brain-injury issues, it became more and more difficult for me to attend funerals, so I stopped.

I stopped because I knew if I fell apart I wouldn’t be able to carry all of me to the car without dropping something.

It wasn’t the grief of other families that bothered me at funerals. It was the freedom of their loved one who had passed into the presence of Jesus. It was the liberation that person had finally experienced. The severing of painful and unbearable earthly shackles that I …

resented.

That’s hard to confess. It took me a long time to even realize what it was.

I grieved because the husband I’d known was gone, yet wasn’t. I grieved when I visited his facility and he didn’t know me. I grieved anew when COVID quarantines took even the visits away.

Isolation dominated my grief, because there were only certain people I wanted to share it with, and G. Public was not one of them.

Fellow members of a small-group Bible study had come to the out-of-town hospital on the (very late) night of my husband’s accident. They were there, and that was what I needed—their presence.

They knew I didn’t need answers, explanations, or platitudes.

Those who were close to me carried my pain. They didn’t give me advice, try to explain why, or tell me what I should do … though a retired nurse and mother of many told me to rest because I was going to need it. She was right.

As days rolled into months and years, another friend often called from out-of-state, let me cry the ugly cry, and then prayed for me over the phone.

One of the most comforting things spoken to me was, “I understand.” I rarely needed more than that. It somehow helped redistribute the burden without requiring me to respond graciously.

I merely wanted to melt into the floor unnoticed. Disappear into a pew at church and not talk. Not share. Not have to smile and nod. I wanted the music to carry me on the voices of other worshippers as I offered my own sacrifice. A broken heart.

But everyone is not like me. Grief is too personal for generalities.

For some people, it is easier to share with strangers. They find help in grief counseling or in groups at Hospice, nursing homes, or churches.

As time passed, I discovered the double edge of a familiar scripture. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ,” says Galatians 6:2. It cuts both ways. 

That mandate also applies to those who are suffering. Even as we grieve, we can look outside ourselves and find others we can help. People all around us are in need and in pain, but we may never know it unless we ask God to show us.

We don’t have to bombard them (please don’t). Be sensitive. Find out what they need by asking someone else if necessary. Pour into their lives anonymously. Pray for them.

That is sorrow shared.

One message I received from a friend was signed, “Lifting you up.” She had no idea what those words meant to me.

It turned out that I was not forgotten after all. Even in spite of my self-inflicted solitude.

~

If you are someone who finds healing in groups, check with your local church, hospital, Hospice, and nursing homes. You may also find comfort through the following links:

https://www.griefrecoverymethod.com/our-programs/support-groups

https://www.griefshare.org/

https://hospicefoundation.org/Grief-(1)/Support-Groups

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Grief: The Intimacy of Suffering – Part 1 of 3

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

Everyone faces grief at some point in their life. There is no right, better, or perfect way to deal with it. We just deal with it. In our own way.

But there are many little broken bits we have in common with others, and we often find comfort in sharing those fragments.

In this past year since my husband’s lingering disability and death, I have been asked about grieving. Starting with today’s blog, I will share in a three-part series what I have learned along the way. Much of it may be familiar to you. Some of it you may find unusual or unbelievable. But hopefully, in the fragments—the pieces of brokenness—you’ll find comfort.

Part 1 

I wanted it to be over.

Let me rephrase that:

I REALLY wanted it to be OVER!

I was tired of hurting and just plain tired.

But –  (Don’t you love the buts in life?) –

the painful, lonely days were days I had to go through. Part of the process.

I remember falling to my knees in my living room one evening, my heart bleeding from my eyes and dripping into my hands.

And in that surreal moment of knowing Jesus was near – so near, I felt His breath on my hair.

“Really?” someone asked me later. “Did you really feel His breath on your hair?”

Yes.

Which is more real – the physical, limited world in which I exist or the realm of His soul-peace in which I live?

During those earliest days of suffering, I experienced His nearness in ways I had not known before I was alone.

It is the aloneness we kick against, that valley I didn’t want to walk—no, wait—I didn’t walk it. I crawled.

There is no shortcut. I had to go through the valley of shadow without the flesh-and-blood companion I’d once had.

I know, I know—I wasn’t really alone, you say. But in the valley, I felt alone … except for that staff of the Shepherd I kept bumping up against in the dark, that breath on my hair.

Everything was so different, and I didn’t like it. But still the Shepherd set a place for me at the table. He fed me when I didn’t want to eat. Especially not with my enemies lurking nearby—

Fear
Longing
Depression
Craving for human touch
The ugly cry that wrecks your voice 

Yet the valley was where I discovered the intimacy of suffering—that precious gift found only there.

So I waited.

I wait for the Lord,
My soul waits,
And in His word do I hope.
My soul waits for the Lord
More than those who watch for the morning –
Psalm 130:5 

Grief isn’t something you get over; it’s something you get through.

Like a valley.

~

Grief isn’t something we get over; it’s something we get through.
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It’s Easy to Get Sidetracked

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

Life speaks to us metaphorically all the time. Consider the word “sidetracked.”

The Online Etymology Dictionary (not the bug book) says the word is from the old railroad days (1874) when a “side-track” or railway siding allowed train cars to move onto a sidetrack.

The figurative sense as in “to divert from the main purpose” is referenced from around 1881, says OED.

I know for a fact that it’s easy to get sidetracked. No engineers or switches required.

The Bible tells us to carefully choose the path or road we take in life.

I’ve often wondered about different paths and have been diverted by interesting looking frontage roads. Sometimes I’ve looked to the horizon when what I needed was right in front of me.

My pastor says if we’re looking for direction or some place to serve, check out what is “right here.” Then he waves his hand in front of his face.

Yes, that’s a pretty good way of putting it.

God doesn’t hide His will for us in a deep dark cave and dare us to find it. I believe he makes it clear—if we’re paying attention.

A group of my favorite verses is found in Proverbs 4:25-27, NLT – “Look straight ahead, and fix your eyes on what lies before you. Mark out a straight path for your feet; stay on the safe path. Don’t get sidetracked; keep your feet from following evil.”

So why is it that I’m sometimes tempted to jump onto one of those “side-tracks?”

It may be the human condition which is why I was so encouraged last week when I read Psalm 25:4-5 in the New Living Translation:

Show me the right path, O LORD;
Point out the road for me to follow.
Lead me by your truth and teach me,
For you are the God who saves me.
All day long I put my hope in you.

I typed this verse out and taped copies in key places around the house. Like on the bathroom mirror where I’ll see it first thing in the morning. It’s a great reminder.

Do you have a favorite verse that speaks to your heart? Try printing it out (or writing it if you have legible handwriting) and taping it in places you’ll see it.

Life is full of diversions. We need all the reminders we can get.

~

It’s easy to get sidetracked.
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Turning away from the barn, Cale struck out on a southerly trail that led up to the ridge. Ella followed close behind. He’d prefer to have her beside him, where he could look at her, see her smart little chin and dark eyes. But unfamiliar with the country, she belonged behind him in the dark.

Reflexively, he reassured himself by touching the rifle sheathed beneath his right leg. His revolver rested against his thigh. Not that he expected trouble, but neither would he be unprepared.

Doc took to the loose shale like a big horn sheep, Barlow just as sure-footed behind him. The night slid by degree toward the western mountain peaks, stars winking out to gray in its wake.

At the top, he reined in and Ella came up beside him. Doc blew a triumphant snort and bobbed his head. Barlow pricked her ears to the east as if listening for the sun’s footsteps.

Ella remained silent, her face trained toward the horizon where a russet thread pulled along its edge.

A wren sang out. Its cousins joined, and soon a chorus filled the cedars and pines around them.

A slow, fiery orange split the seam between earth and sky, and Ella’s breathy oh cinched him again. A hot stain burned into his chest, and grateful that she couldn’t see him clearly, he slid his right hand beneath his vest and rubbed the spot.

The fire bled to gold that bled to pink, and light broke through a low band of clouds throwing spires into the sky.

“If I take the wings of the morning …” ~A Change of Scenery, Book 5 of The Cañon City Chronicles

 

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Celebrate Freedom

Davalynn Spencer  @davalynnspencer

It is right to celebrate freedom.

It is right to celebrate independence from tyranny.

And it is right to remember those who paid the greatest price for that freedom and independence.

Therefore, on this Independence Day for our nation, let us also remember the freedom for which Christ paid. Freedom from …

Abandonment

Addiction

Anger

Anxiety

Blame

Depression

Doubt

Death

Fear

Jealousy

Loneliness

Separation

Sin

Unforgiveness

Jesus is the great Freedom-Giver.

In the comments below, add to my list of things from which Christ has set us free.

~

Stand fast therefore in the liberty
by which Christ has made us free,
and do not be entangled again
with a yoke of bondage.
Galatians 5:1 NKJV

Celebrate freedom
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Always Before Me – 90 Story Devotions for Women

 

Because of Jesus and His power, I’m no longer a prisoner fretting my life away. When I fix my mind on Christ, and remind myself of what He has said and done, I find freedom. – Always Before Me

 

 

 

 

 

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A Sense of Place

Have you ever felt out of place, as if you didn’t belong?

Have you ever thought a comment, piece of artwork, or something else was out of place? It just didn’t fit.

A sense of place – belonging – is highly valued, and that’s why community is so important. People feel they have a place to go, people to whom they can turn with common ideals and beliefs.

My church is such a place for me, where I feel as if I fit. In truth, the church is not the building but the people gathered in it. We sometimes meet in a local park and, even there, it’s still church that we experience.

Some people try to imagine their “happy place” when faced with stressful situations – usually a peaceful mountain, beach, or country setting where they “go” in their thoughts.

Wikipedia defines “sense of place” as: “… a multidimensional, complex construct used to characterize the relationship between people and spatial settings. It is a characteristic that some geographic places have and some do not, while to others it is a feeling or perception.”

Some of us visit the cemetery, stopping at the grave of a loved one, or we return to the site where ashes were spread, knowing full well that the person is not there. Only his “earth suit” is there. But either spot is a place where we somehow feel connected to that loved one.

God has always known how important a sense of place could be and in His word we find several references to place, many more than I have listed here:

You are my hiding place; You shall preserve me from trouble; You shall surround me with songs of deliverance (Psalm 32:7).He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty (Psalm 91:1). I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also (John 14:2-3). 

Jesus has a place for me specifically, just as He has one for you if you ask Him.

For most of my life, I’ve not consciously considered the importance of place, other than the 17th-century mantra for orderliness: A place for everything and everything in its place.

But now the truism applies to much more than I once thought, and I find great comfort in knowing I have one.

~

A sense of place.
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Mae Ann changed into her split skirt and tall boots, slid Cade’s handgun into the saddlebag, and called the dog to accompany her. She hadn’t returned to the farm since burying Henry, and now that it was to be part of the ranch, she wanted to take stock of what could be salvaged and what could not.

She cut north for Pine Hill and reined in near the crosses, pleased by the prospering rose. She felt as vigorous in her own way, sensing fully the Lord’s blessing. His face did indeed shine upon her. He had given her a home, a husband, and great peace.

Continuing north with the meadowlarks’ encouragement, she drank in the earth’s sweet perfume after the storm. Everything was fresh and clean, and she reveled in the sense of new beginnings. She clucked Ginger into a lope, marveling at the cerulean sky and rolling grassland that spread unfettered between mountain ridges. She felt exactly the same—unfettered. Free yet belonging to someplace, to someone. ~An Improper Proposal – winner of The Reader’s Choice Award (Multiple purchase options on the book’s page.)

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Tend to Your Herd: Tribute to a Dad

By Jake Spencer

Tend to Your Herd

The sun comes up and the moon goes down,

I roll outta bed, my feet hit the ground.

I pull on my pants, ’n slide on my boots,

The cowboy inside me comes from my roots.

 

Three kids in pajamas run to the door

With kisses and hugs, and yes, just one more.

“We love you, Daddy, please come home soon.”

“I love you too, now go clean your room.”

 

That rusted ol’ truck still runs mighty fine,

It once was my dad’s but now it’s mine.

I twist the key and punch the gas,

Turn on some tunes and listen to Cash.

 

A tear in my eye and a lump in my throat,

Psalm 91:11 was Dad’s favorite quote.

“He’ll give His angels charge over you,”

To guard and protect in everything that you do.

 

I’m tryin’ my hardest to make you proud,

Be the man that you were, stand out in the crowd.

Serve and protect everyone you’re around,

–  From cop to teacher to rodeo clown. –

 

As the days go on, I’ll remember your words,

“Read your Bible, love your family, and tend to your herd.”

~

Psalm 91:11

In tribute to Jake’s father, Mike Spencer: Dec. 1942 – June 2021

Tend to your herd.
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Hunger and Thirst No More – Guest post by Donna Schlachter

 @davalynnspencer

Please welcome author Donna Schlachter today as she shares unusual insight into hunger and gives us a peak at her historical, romantic-mystery novel, Calli.

By Donna Schlacter

            Scripture tells us that God will use an animal to get a person’s attention. The donkey talked to Balaam (Numbers 22:28) and prevented him from being killed by an angel of the Lord. I believe God uses animals to speak to us today too, although not necessarily in word but in action.

            I feed my cats royally. I always top off their food dishes, and I give them treats almost every time they ask. They have me well-trained. I have never given them any bad food.

            Each time I feed them, they walk slowly up to the dish, sniffing and looking. To watch them, you’d think I’d set a trap, ready to spring up and grab them. And the hilarious thing is, sometimes they walk away, leaving it untouched for hours. I think maybe they don’t like it, or perhaps the food spoiled since yesterday. But when I get up the next morning, they invariably have licked the plate clean.

            They did this recently, and I said (yes, I admit it, I talk to my cats), “Why do you do that? Don’t I always give you good food?”

            God spoke to my spirit. “Don’t you act that way with Me sometimes too?”

            Busted. God was right, as usual. How many times have I prayed, received an answer, but because it looked different than I expected, I doubted it was from God. At other times, I claimed a blessing from God, but when things didn’t look so great, I recanted on my testimony, saying perhaps I was wrong, and it wasn’t from Him. 

            God always gives good things. Scripture says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows” (James 1:17 NIV). God knows how to give only good gifts because He has only good in Him.

            When I trust completely in God’s goodness, I know that I need never hunger or thirst again. His Word says so. He will fill my spirit so completely with His presence.

Hunger and thirst no more
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~

A hybrid author, Donna writes squeaky clean historical and contemporary suspense. She has been published more than 50 times in books; is a member of several writers’ groups; facilitates a critique group; teaches writing classes; ghostwrites; edits; and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, traveling extensively for both. Stay connected (www.DonnaSchlachter.com )so you learn about new releases, preorders, and presales, as well as check out featured authors, book reviews, and a little corner of peace. Plus: Receive a free ebook simply for signing up for our free newsletter!

~

Calli works as a nurse with the U.S. Army at Fort Bridger, Wyoming, in 1880. When a wagon train full of discouraged emigrants passes through on its way east, a pregnant widow delivers her baby then dies. The leader of the train, Bradley Wilson, has few options. He asks Calli to travel with them until they find a relative to take the child in St. Joe, Missouri. Calli, drawn to both this dark and quiet man and the child, resists. But when she disappears, he wonders if she’s run away or been kidnapped. Can these two put their pasts behind them and move into a new future together? Or will Calli insist on having things her own way? ~Calli

April 30th, 1870 – Twenty miles west of Fort Bridger, Wyoming Territory

Bradley Wilson shielded his eyes from the burning sun and surveyed the trail ahead, thankful to be out of the wagon and stretching his legs. Eastward. He’d traveled this same trail two years before, heading in the opposite direction. What took him back now? Failure? No, more like disappointment. A cloud of dust as big as Kansas, kicked up by the prairie schooners ahead of him, blotted out whatever lay in that direction. Sweat dribbled down the center of his back. He longed to scratch but knew the action wouldn’t satisfy. Instead, he yanked a wrinkled ball of calico from his shirt pocket and swiped at his face. How a body could sweat so much in a land so empty of water was beyond him.

He wished he could guzzle the rest of his day’s ration. Or pour it over his head to cool his fevered brain. But neither would satisfy more than a second and a half. Wasting the precious commodity would haunt him.

Maybe he was too good for his own good.

Isn’t that what those who abandoned the wagon train had said? Right before they broke off on their own, forging ahead instead of waiting for Joe Collins to die? Two weeks it took. Fourteen days of listening to the man keen and holler night and day. And no amount of laudanum eased the pain of his broken back or of his insides in knots, sewn back into place as best his wife could do.

Who knew a horse could drag a man for more’n three miles, and that person still survive? Even if for only a fortnight.

And Miz Collins, ready to drop her first young’un any minute.

Bradley shook his head and double-stepped ahead of his oxen. No, siree. Joe Collins was too good for this world. Along with his widow, Elspeth.

Bradley’s oxen followed the team ahead as if he sat in the wagon and held the leads. He patted the muzzle of the one nearest him, Beau. The off-side lead, Bob, snorted.

“I know. You’re jealous. I’ll get you soon.”

The pair, purchased in St. Joseph two years prior, had carried him westward. Away from memories of the war. Hoping to find a better life. Away from his sweet Millicent. And their babe. Both now buried on a hill under a tree in east of the Missouri River. He should never have left them behind. Should have kept them safe. Away from the influenza.

But running wasn’t the answer, as he now understood. And so he returned east, passing wagon trains of the hopeful and the excited and the naïve going the opposite direction every day. Them heading west, toward the new life he’d sought but never found.

~~~

Calliope Jeffers—or Calli, as she preferred—leaned over her patient. “You’re going to be fine.”

The woman, a private’s wife, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, panted. “Don’t feel like it. Hurts a lot.”

Calli propped the woman’s legs up so her feet lay flat on the tick mattress. “It will be over soon.”

The door creaked open, and an anxious face appeared in the space. The husband. “Is it done yet?”

Calli shook her head. “No, it’s hardly started. Go outside and wait.” She sat on a stool at the end of the bed and tugged a sheet over her patient’s legs. Even in this, she’d afford her whatever privacy she could. “Now, when you feel the next contraction, breathe through it like I showed you. Quick breaths. Understood?”

“Until the pain gets so bad, and my brain stops working.”

The mother-to-be did well until, as predicted, she stopped thinking. Her toes curled, and she bore down.

Time to distract her.

Calli’s eyeglasses steamed up from her own effort and the heat that had built during the day. Whoever thought that married couples should live on the second floor of a barn-style barracks, with paper-thin walls and a one-layer roof should be taken out and shot. She cleaned her glasses with her apron, then donned them again. “That was good. Next time, when you want to push, scream instead. Sing. Holler. Whatever works.”

Even two short years of experience taught Calli it was difficult to bear down and scream at the same time.

Two years. Is that all it was since she moved here to Fort Bridger and taken on her dream job? After graduating from nursing college, most of her class sought positions in city hospitals, hoping to find a handsome doctor to marry.

Not her. At twenty-one, she already had the man she wanted. And his assignment to Fort Bridger afforded her the opportunity to work with one of the best doctors in the territory. Such plans she had. Work. Learn. Have babies.

But then it all ended. Snatched away by a supposed accident.

So she’d had to make a new plan.

And none of it included men, a second marriage, or babies of her own. She sighed and pushed her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose. Her own babes would be okay, but without the first two, there’d be none of the latter. No, she’d assuage any maternal instinct bubbling to the surface by delivering other women’s infants.

~

 

 

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Can’t Be Forgotten

Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Last Monday we commemorated those who died in the service of our country. We remembered their character, dedication, and sacrifice.

But we remember other people as well, living and deceased, because they just can’t be forgotten.

We all have them—individuals we remember who

       hurt us or helped us

       betrayed us or bettered us

       left us or loved us.

We rarely have a say in how people affect us, but we do have a say about our focus.

We can choose the good.

We can choose the redemptive.

We can choose the uplifting, even if we have to reach way down to find it.

Today I choose the man I chose, the one with whom I lived many rich and redeeming years.

This is my first year without him in many.

The last time I was without him I was seventeen.

Happy Anniversary, Cowboy.

You helped me, bettered me, and loved me.

~

I will not forget you.
Isaiah 49:15

Can't be forgotten.
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Mae Ann pulled her apron off and folded it over a chair back. Why hadn’t Cade told her he would not be at breakfast? His absence contradicted his feverish embrace after MacGrath’s visit. She would never forget it, regardless of what happened next. Henry had called her his beloved before he met her. But Cade Parker had rescued her and drawn her into his arms as if she really were. ~An Improper Proposal

 

 

 

 

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Note: Original artwork for Leanin’ Tree card copyright by Larry Fanning.

 

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