Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 17
July 3, 2022
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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June 26, 2022
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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June 19, 2022
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.”
~
In tribute to Jake’s father, Mike Spencer: Dec. 1942 – June 2021
Tend to your herd.
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June 12, 2022
Hunger and Thirst No More – Guest post by Donna Schlachter
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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June 5, 2022
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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May 29, 2022
How to Handle Faltering Faith
Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I am happy to welcome author Susan G. Mathis to my blog on this Memorial Day weekend. She survives her husband, Lt. Col. Dale Mathis who served in the United States Air Force 21 years and was a true officer and gentleman.
Susan is sharing a glimpse of her latest novel, Peyton’s Promise, from her award-winning Thousand Islands series – a collection of books that carries the reader back to the Gilded Age of wealthy island owners and the lives of their servants. Move over Downton Abbey.
Sometimes we find answers to our real-life questions while reading inspirational fiction. It’s the power of story. See what Susan has to say about one such problem.
~
In my latest novel, Peyton’s Promise, faltering faith is a main theme. Here’s an excerpt. I hope you’ll pick up a copy and enjoy the rest of the story.
Rachel smirked. “Back to Patrick. Just because he warns you about things and has opinions different from yours doesn’t mean you’re not a match. Proverbs tells us that iron sharpens iron. That’s what friends—and good marriages—are all about.”
Peyton tossed her a kind smile. “You appear to be too wise for your age, my friend.”
Rachel shrugged, and a comfortable silence filled the room.
Might she broach another topic? Why not? “Are you a person of faith, Rachel?”
Rachel beamed. “I am. It’s what carries me through even the darkest days and toughest times.”
Peyton’s heart raced, and tiny beads of perspiration formed on her brow. She swept them away with her sleeve. “My faith has faltered of late. I still believe, and I love God. But He seems so distant and silent.”
“But He’s always here, as close as your very breath—if you love Him and have given your heart and life to Him. The question is, have you stepped away from Him?”
Yes, she’d distanced herself from the Almighty, but how far? Too far? “When I was in Watertown, I was so busy, and all my friends and acquaintances there were not people of faith, so it just … slipped away. I stopped reading my Bible and only went to church on Christmas and Easter. But now, I’m wondering if that wasn’t folly.”
Rachel slipped out of bed and sat next to her. “We all have our seasons. When Papa died, I was so mad at God that I refused to touch the Bible and pasted my lips shut during church. I wouldn’t talk to Him for over a year. Even when Mother made us go to church, I recited poems in my head rather than hear about the God who took Papa from me. But then, I realized that was also folly. I told Him I was sorry, and He filled me with so much love and peace that I haven’t been the same since. He can do that for you too. You just have to ask.”
Peyton’s throat constricted. Her eyes pooled with sorrowful tears. Could Rachel be right? Could it be that simple?
~
ABOUT PEYTON’S PROMISE:
Summer 1902
Peyton Quinn is tasked with preparing the grand Calumet Castle ballroom for a spectacular two-hundred-guest summer gala. As she works in a male-dominated position of upholsterer and fights for women’s equality, she’s persecuted for her unorthodox ways. But when her pyrotechnics-engineer father is seriously hurt, she takes over the plans for the fireworks display despite being socially ostracized.
Patrick Taylor, Calumet’s carpenter and Peyton’s childhood chum, hopes to win her heart, but her unconventional undertakings cause a rift. Peyton has to ignore the prejudices and persevere or she could lose her job, forfeit Patrick’s love and respect, and forever become the talk of local gossips.
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. She has been published more than twenty times in full-length novels, novellas, and non-fiction books. Susan has seven in her fiction line including, The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy, Christmas Charity, Katelyn’s Choice, Devyn’s Dilemma, Sara’s Surprise, Reagan’s Reward, and her newest, Colleen’s Confession. Peyton’s Promise and Rachel’s Reunion release in 2022 and she’s working on book ten. Her book awards include two Illumination Book Awards, three American Fiction Awards, two Indie Excellence Book Awards, and two 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. Susan 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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May 22, 2022
One Letter Can Make All the Difference
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
As a writer, I spend a lot of time looking at words and how similar one can be to another, such as rapid and rabid. One letter can make all the difference.
In my novels, do characters whimper or whisper?
Do they pick up a glove or a globe?
In our daily lives, are we uniformed or uninformed?
Do we inhibit or inhabit?
Words are wiggly little things. The arrangement of letters can create quite a stir:
Compliant, complaint. Untied or united.
You may cringe at the middle school reminder of the “parts of speech,” but if you use a word as a verb (action word) it might also work as a noun (thing) in a different setting:
Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
Those little marks between the letters also have the ability to change the meaning of a sentence:
What do I have left to write? What do I have, left to right?
Woman without her man is nothing.
Woman: without her, man is nothing.
So often, it is the small, seemingly insignificant thing that makes a huge difference in our world.
Do you ever feel that you are small and insignificant in God’s view? Do you see yourself as unimportant in the scheme of life? You may feel inconsequential, but you’re not. You make more of a difference than you think.
How would someone lift food to his mouth without an elbow? How would someone run a race without a knee? Balance without toes?
Never underestimate the call of God on your life. He has a purpose for each and every one of us. Get close enough to Him to find out what it is, quiet enough to hear His voice.
He will tell you.
And remember, it’s a very small mark on the paper that makes the difference between a lie and a life.
He told them another parable:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed,
which a man took and planted in his field.
Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows,
it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree,
so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”
Matthew 13:31-32
Make all the difference.
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“Please forgive my forwardness in light of William’s recent home-going,” the parson said, “but this enquiry came to me early last fall, and ever since William’s service, you have come to mind each time I’ve run across it in my desk.”
He held out the folded paper.
Etta stared at it as if it were a snake coiled to strike. Another debt of William’s?
He inched it closer. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to read it while I wait so we can discuss it.”
More money lenders or creditors? She could not bear another burden, regardless how small or insignificant. Mindful of the slight tremor in her hand, she took the letter and quickly pressed it against her lap. “If this is another of William’s financial indiscretions, I simply—”
“Please, Mrs. Collier.” The parson leaned forward in his chair, compassion softening his features. “Just read it.” ~Mail-order Misfire
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May 15, 2022
The Seeds of Creation
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
It’s so easy to take certain things for granted when we’ve never known anything else. Like creation.
Everything God started “in the beginning” continues today.
The seed from the first tree and flower has reproduced kind after its kind over the millennia.
The light that radiated into the darkness continues to hold back that darkness.
And the breath that first passed from God to man finds its way to the lungs of each newborn child.
As eternal as God’s handiwork, so too are the seeds of His word. Perhaps as children we first heard of Jesus, yet years later, that truth can stir in our heart, springing up with hope, direction, and comfort.
The light of creation still shines.
The seeds of creation still grow.
The breath of God still breathes.
The blood of Jesus still cleanses.
I take great comfort in knowing that God is not changeable, that what He began goes on.
All things continue
just as they were from
the beginning of creation.
2 Peter 3:4
~
The seeds of creation still grow.
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Since boyhood, he’d had a need to see the sun break over the hills, watch it bleed fire across the mountains and leak down into the valleys and parks. But this morning, a flame curled in his chest, flickering stronger as dawn chased the shadows. He rubbed a spot beneath his vest, a familiar burn, the longing he thought he’d broke with for good. ~A Change of Scenery
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May 8, 2022
Mom-Care
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
What is it about a mother that makes her do things for her children all the time? Even when no one knows—especially her children.
I believe it’s the God-gene in her—not in a scientific, physiological sense, but in a spiritual sense. God’s fingerprint is on His creation. He breathed the breath of life into Adam from whom He created a woman. Adam named her Eve because she was the mother of all living.
Of course it’s a God thing.
Who else would go through pain for our deliverance? Who else would give without thanks and then give again anyway? Who else would say, “I’ll take care of you,” and then do it even when we’re not looking?
There’s a little crossover between Mom-care and God-care. Psalm 121:7 tells me the Lord will keep me safe and watch over me, and He does it all the time. Even when I don’t know it.
The day an auto-service technician called me out to my car to show me the split rubber on the inside of the left front tire, I remembered that verse. The left front tire is the closest to oncoming traffic. All the other tires on my car were in good shape. There was an imbalance somewhere, a misalignment that I didn’t know about.
The fix was easy, but the damages could have been horrific.
This was not the first time the Lord had watched over my life, nor will it be the last. I often see Mom-care in His protection, just as I saw God-care in the mother I remember.
“Love Jesus more than anyone, even me,” she often said.
That’s the best advice I’ve ever been given.
Thanks, Mom.
Thank You, Lord, for a mother who loved You and taught me about Your faithfulness. Help me teach it to my own children and to others with whom I come in contact. Amen.
“The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in
from this time forth, and even forevermore.”
Psalm 121:8
*From Day Forty-Five, MOM-CARE, in Always Before Me – 90 Story-Devotions for Women
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May 1, 2022
On My Own
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
When my youngest granddaughter was a toddler, I watched her one day each week. She slowed me down, thank God.
She drew my focus to tiny hands, the floor I thought was clean, the lower shelves of my bookcase. She forced me to look at things from a different perspective. And she demonstrated a reckless determination.
As a new walker, she fell on her padded bottom countless times. Toddling around the house much faster than she should have, she would trip over a loose throw rug or a toy she didn’t see. And she repeatedly snagged her chubby feet on the corner of the blanket she insisted on dragging, much like the Peanuts’ character, Linus.
But she never gave up. She just kept getting up.
I am a lot like my granddaughter.
How often do I charge straight ahead without looking where I’m going? How many times have I tripped over an unnoticed obstacle and fallen spiritually or emotionally?
I don’t get up as quickly as she did. Sometimes I just lie there for a minute and moan. After all, my landing spot is a little farther away for me than it was for her.
However, I too have someone watching over me, checking things out from my perspective, understanding exactly what it’s like to be in my shoes—or bare feet. And He loves me even more than I love my granddaughter. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?
When I’d pick up that little bundle of wiggles to comfort her or listen to her frustrated, evolving language, I was reminded that the Lord does the same for me. I’m not really *on my own.
Oh God, how faithful You are to pick me up and comfort me, no matter how many times I stumble. Help me always remember to run to You when I fall. Amen.
“As one whom his mother comforts,
so I will comfort you.”
Isaiah 66:13
*From Day Sixty-Nine in Always Before Me – 90 Story-Devotions for Women
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