Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 18
April 24, 2022
For the Journey – Always Before Me
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
The psalmist wrote:
“I have set the Lord always before me;
because He is at my right hand, I will not be moved”
(Psalm 16:8).
With God as his focus and companion, the psalm-singer knew he would not be shaken off his path.
This scripture has been a life verse for me, and it titled a thirty-day devotional book that released ten years ago. Since then, many readers have asked for more of the story-devotions that I love writing in this blog, for The Upper Room, The Quiet Hour, Guideposts publications, and elsewhere.
At last, the second edition of Always Before Me is available with ninety devotions – three months’ worth of brief, daily inspiration that includes the original thirty.
We each walk a path. God knows the many things we do and He is willing to meet us in every situation. Always Before Me is a simple observance of how He does that, and how He speaks to us through our daily circumstances and ordinary surroundings.
The book’s subtitle addresses women, but men have also enjoyed the writings. However, with Mother’s Day approaching, this devotional could offer encouragement to a mother, grandmother, aunt, or daughter. Think about the women in your life who have given you motherly treasures. They may not be your mom, but you can thank them for their encouragement, council, and direction by giving them a timely companion for the journey.
Always Before Me is perfect for personal quiet time. If you are interested in securing a copy, do so now while it is offered at a special release discount. The price increases May 1.
I pray that you will set the Lord always before you. And may all that you read be uplifting.
~
For the Journey
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Always Before Me – 90 Story Devotions for WomenWhen my husband and I were first married, we had a two-in-one flashlight. It was equipped with the standard high-beam light that shone from one end like most models, but it also had a softer, more radiant light that spread from a second bulb along the top.
One evening I took the flashlight outside for a trek to the barn. The standard beam lit the path ahead, punching through the dark toward my destination. I switched to the second light and it illuminated my steps and the area right around me, spreading into the shadows on either side. But I couldn’t have both lights on at the same time. I had to choose one or the other.
As I walked, a familiar verse from the Psalms came to mind: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105). Suddenly, I understood the metaphor.
God’s wisdom shows me the path ahead as well as the ground beneath my feet. It is not limited like my hand-held flashlight that required an either-or choice. His Word sheds the light of understanding in both ways at the same time. His Word is indeed a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
The Psalms also tell us, “You, LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light” (Psalm 18:28 NIV).
That’s exactly what I need in this life of unforeseen obstacles and sudden shadows—a never-failing power source that faithfully shows me the way to go and how to get there.
The Lord’s light cuts through my darkness, and the lamp of His love envelops me with the comfort of His presence.
Thank You, Lord, that there is no darkness in You, that Your light directs our steps. Amen.
From Always Before Me, Day Six
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April 17, 2022
WANTED: Jesus of Nazareth
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Slip out of time with me—more than 2,000 years back—and consider:
Jesus was dead. Crucifixion will do that to a person.
But all things are possible, right? Isn’t that what the angel told Jesus’ mother thirty-three years earlier? Clearly, she believed and proved it to be true when she conceived the Word and bore a child.
So imagine how thrilled she must have been when her boy made wine spill from water jars, and blind men blink at the light, and crippled children dance. She must have thought, Yes! when he rode into town through cheering crowds spreading cloaks and palm branches in his path.
All things really are possible!
Yet, what did she think a week later on a hill outside Jerusalem where a Roman cross bore her babe, and his hands spilled blood, and demons danced?
Oh God, this can’t be happening!
Was his death the finale of her faith?
What of the promise?
What of the miracles?
What of that great, cheering crowd?
So now—today, in this century—will we accuse this woman of weak and trembling faith while we raise the same complaint during our darkest days of entombment?
“Everything was going so well.”
“I was so close to victory!”
“Did I miss God?”
For his mother, the third day dawned. Morning, men, and Mary Magdalene found the tomb empty. Jesus’s body was gone—walking gone. Instilled anew with breathing life.
Those who saw him would not have risked their reputations to promote a hoax.
They would not have risked their lives for a fable.
They would not have risked the faith of their Jewish forefathers for anything less than the promised Messiah—the risen Savior of all who believe.
Neither would his mother, the one who believed before his birth. Before his conception.
Jesus lives and because of that, so can we. Death is not the final word. Death does not win.
Indeed, all things are possible.
And we, like his mother and others across the ages, cry, “Jesus is alive!”
Crucifixion will do that.
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Like every sunrise before, it drew him. They always had, though he didn’t know why. He dipped his head until his hat brim cut the line where sky met land. And at the moment white light broke the edge, the blister in his soul split open with the sound of his mother’s voice.
He’s faithful, Clay. Look at that sunrise, so fresh and perfect. It’s His mercy, brand new every morning.
The pain sent Clay to his knees, and he clutched at his chest. Lanced by forgotten words, the blister drained through every pore and ran down his face like acid.
All these years he’d hidden from the memory, the loss, the tenderness of his mother’s voice. It wasn’t worth the impossible price it cost him to remember. Yet she’d drawn him without his knowledge. He could no more break his connection to her than he could his connection to dawn.
“Oh, God.” His voice came strange, strangled. Breath burned his lungs as if it were his first and last. He suddenly understood the source of earlier thoughts—of the dog, the knoll.
The recognition of God’s presence in that storm shattered Clay to the core.
“You told me where to look.”
Another gasp, tight and searing. “You found the boy. Because You love him.”
He dropped back on his boot heels, squinting against the blinding light reflecting from every ice crystal for miles around, stunned by the beauty, but more so by a truth that far out-weighed all the unanswered whys of his life.
“You found me.”
~An Impossible Price Winner of 2021 American Fiction Award for Best Western Book
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April 10, 2022
Would Jesus Have Social Media Accounts?
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Would Jesus have social media accounts?
I believe He would.
In first-century Palestine, Jesus participated in the social medium of the day: itinerant teaching. From hillsides, roadsides, tables, and wells He met the people where they were, where they were looking, and where they needed Him—face to face.
Were there other traveling teachers doing the same thing with, perhaps, less than the purest of motives? Of course. There have always been counterfeits, knockoffs, and wannabes, but they have never kept the Real Deal from being the Real Deal.
From the Road to Emmaus to the Information Highway, Jesus has been there and still is. He has truth to give to those who are hungry, thirsty, and looking. He is that truth.
Log on. I’m sure He’d like to meet you.
And by the way, I’ve heard He thinks you’re to die for.
~
For more information about Jesus, who He is and who He could be to you, see a little book in the New Testament called John, chapter 8, verse 12.
Would Jesus have social media accounts?
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He thinks you're to die for.
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On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds,
“Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in me may come and drink!
For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.'” ~John 7:37-38 NLT
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April 3, 2022
Many Happy Returns – 10 Tips for A Happy Birthday
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I thought “returns” were things you took back to a store because they weren’t what you expected or because they were defective. Even online marketing mentions “free returns.”
But that’s not what “many happy returns” is talking about. The short phrase derives from a longer expression originating in the 1700s – “Many happy returns of the day.” Essentially it meant, “Hope this day comes around for you again and again.”
Modern usage of “many happy returns” has been reserved for birthdays – those mile markers you can’t return or exchange.
Along the way, I’ve picked up a few tips for enjoying a happy birthday, and since this is my month to celebrate, I’m sharing those tips with you. Here’s hoping your “many happy returns” will be truly happy, regardless of how many you’d like to return.
10 Tips for A Happy Birthday
1. Don’t weigh yourself on your birthday. It’s depressing and you shouldn’t be depressed on your birthday.
2. Do not shop for a swimsuit on your birthday. See number 1.
3. Do not diet. Never eat diet food on your birthday. Eat whatever you are hungry for, which is usually cake and ice cream.
4. Do not eat the candles on the cake (if you get one). Wax sticks between your teeth and makes it look like you ate the candles on your cake.
5. Do not expect people to remember your birthday. You are not Viggo Mortensen, a former first lady, or a prime minister. This means your spouse, children, parents, siblings, and co-workers may not remember. Yes, it is wonderful if they do, but don’t let their forgetfulness grab you by the throat, because when they forget (and some or all of them will) the unmet expectation will drag you down. Instead try one of the remaining five tips.
6. Send a card to someone you know with the same birth month.
7. Find someone with a need that you can meet and meet it – like a stay-at-home mother of small children who could use an afternoon off. Deliver groceries or do a chore for someone who has trouble getting around.
8. Donate your age in food by weight or dollar value to a local shelter.
9. Donate your age in money to the pregnancy center or other charitable organization.
10. Smile. Be grateful that you are under the sky and above the grass. Thank God for another year, day, hour, and breath. Some people would have given anything for just one more.
In everything give thanks;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
1 Thessalonians 5:18
10 tips for a happy birthday
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Her offer became more appealing as he tallied all the things he did himself besides work the ranch.
“Can you ride?”
She blinked up at him. Then again.
His answer, but he asked again anyway. “Can you horseback?”
Her chin rose higher. “I can learn.”
He held in a snort. She’d not answered him directly, but she’d not lied either. “This business proposition—what’s in it for you?”
At that she stood, and he noticed for the first time that she had no lady’s handbag. No satchel. Her hands smoothed the sides of her suit, dark brown like his bay gelding tied near Reiker’s old wagon. A rip in her collar bore witness to the brooch she’d thrown at the gunman.
He saw it now—her desperation.
“A home and respectability. Safety.” Her color heightened and she lowered her gaze and her voice. “I have seen my twentieth birthday—plus a few—so if I do not appeal to you, we can live as man and wife in name only.”
Plus a few? He’d wager one, maybe two. Nearly a decade stood between them, a surprising discovery since her dead groom had been closer to forty.
“I have no expectations,” she added, “other than if you are not satisfied with my help and companionship, you send me away with enough funds for lodging until I can find employment elsewhere. You have my word that I shall repay you every penny.” ~An Improper Proposal
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March 27, 2022
Getting from Here to There
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
“Transition” is not one of my favorite words. It implies hard work, change, letting go of the familiar, and heading into the unknown. It takes a person from what was to what will be and often involves pain. Biological mothers everywhere know exactly what I’m talking about.
So do daddies watching daughters glide down the aisle in white dresses, and employees leaving the nest of comfort on the wings of promotion.
As a novelist, I face transition in nearly every scene. How does Fernando get from his Ford and into his front room? How does Paula get from dinners for one to picnics in the park for two? Transition.
And how do winter cookie-eaters get from their sweatpants into their summer swimsuits? They call a personal trainer.
My son worked as a personal trainer for several years. He helped people change. He taught them how to go from pudgy to perfect, and he even used special exercises called—you guessed it—transitional exercises.
For example, if a client was working muscle set A, and wanted to move to muscle set B, my son took them from an exercise for set A, into an exercise that used both set A and B, and then into one that used only set B. Sounds logical, but it’s hard work
Transition is everywhere. We can’t get away from it, and we shouldn’t want to. The push from here to there keeps us moving forward. It squeezes life from boney winter branches into new spring buds and strengthens the flabby muscles of inactive dessert lovers.
Spiritual transition isn’t easy either, but we have Someone who promises to get us through it. As we take those first steps toward peace and balance, we can look to the God who knows what’s coming and trust Him to take care of us along the way.
It’s never too late for a new you.
Behold, I make all things new.
Rev. 21:5
~
Getting from here to there.
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She peeked around the horse’s muzzle. Perceptive, this earthy rancher. Unexpectedly so, in light of their first frenzied meeting. Hope and doubt nibbled two corners of her heart. In this setting, with this gentle horse, dare she reach again for what had once been a passion? She could certainly testify to the animal’s faithfulness. And to its owner’s.
She drew her hand back and folded her arms. It’d been nearly a year and a half since she’d ridden. And fifteen long, frustrating months of fighting pain and sorrow in equal portions. She’d endured countless doctor’s visits and recuperative exercises, yet her strength had not returned to its former proportions. She’d be a fool to try.
More than her thigh muscle had torn. More than her femur had broken. She’d lost a great portion of her heart as well. The dread of losing her bearings if she remained an invalid in her father’s home had driven her to this job with Selig Polyscope. The bold move was her bid for freedom and forgetfulness.
But a third, uninvited element quashed her hope. Stark fear shot to her throat with a twist. She couldn’t take such a chance in spite of this cowboy’s proven ability and offer to help her ride. Regardless of his sky-blue promise to—again—keep her from harm, how could she trust him? ~A Change of Scenery
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March 20, 2022
What Do I Smell Like to God?
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
If someone came up to me and said I smelled, my reaction would depend upon what they said I smelled like. Cinnamon rolls? Fresh flowers? Bacon grease, dirty socks?
People care about how they smell, and because of that, smell is big business. Air fresheners, scented candles, perfumes, and even aroma therapy are proof.
As an author, I want to fill my stories with sensory detail, particularly smell, since it is the most connective of the senses. What memories surface when you read the following words?
Hospitals.
Bakery.
Tire shop.
School cafeteria.
The smell of diesel takes me back to our cross-country travels when we rodeoed all summer. And at the pungent scent of wet leaves, I’m a child again in my father’s California walnut orchard.
Considering the variety of smells in creation, God must appreciate the power of scent. Our olfactory nerves trigger memory quicker than visual reminders, so it is no wonder He gave specific instructions in the Old Testament for the mixing and burning of incense. Even today, frankincense and spices are used in some church services as a form of worship.
The psalmist David wrote: Let my prayer be set before You as incense, the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice (Psalm 141:2).
In Revelation 8:1-3 we read: “Then another angel, having a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. And he was given much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all the saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, ascended before God from the angel’s hand.”
In the same way we take on the smell of smoke from a campfire or a hint of fragrance from a heavy-handed perfume wearer, I wonder if we take on the scent of worship when we offer praise to God.
Do I ever smell like worship? Or do I give off a distasteful odor of complaint? I wonder – what do I smell like to God?
~
What do I smell like to God?
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The cheese wedges hadn’t looked bad, they just smelled like the inside of Ty’s boots after a long day gathering cattle.
And by the look on Ronnie Fare’s pretty face, that’s what she thought of his answer to her question about what to call them.
How was he supposed to know? He tried out another idea. “Fried-cheese chip?”
She rolled her eyes.
Guess not.
But he did know she hoped he’d like it. Her anticipation was a dead giveaway, and for a split second, he weighed the cost of a bald-faced lie to keep from hurting her feelings. A scary proposition no matter how he viewed it, and a whole lot like his aunt Gert’s friend insisting he try gefilte fish when he was ten years old. But this time the taste overrode the smell. No lie necessary.
The fancy cheese was good enough that he had three more and chased them with the pink juice. “Not what I was expecting, I admit, but it’s good.” ~”Taste and See” from the Barbour collection, Always a Wedding Planner.
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March 13, 2022
It’s Time for Daylight-Saving Time
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
This morning (Sunday) clocks were turned ahead from 1 a.m. to 2 a.m. for the commencement of Daylight-Saving Time. Personally, I wasn’t awake to spring ahead and lost those precious sixty minutes of sleep between 6 a.m. and 7 a.m.
I think this manual flipping of the clock’s hands or digital readout should be called Daylight-Losing Time. We’re not saving one single second, but we’re losing several spent resetting our clock radios, stove clocks, and watches that don’t flip automatically.
International travelers probably are used to this artificial measuring of time. When crossing the International Dateline from west to east, they lose an entire day.
When I was a child, my father told me if a person kept traveling long enough in that direction, he would disappear completely. Dad’s sense of humor, I suppose.
It matched his tale that marshmallows were made from horse slobber scraped from the animal’s lips and rolled into little flat-ended balls. And macaroni was made by forcing donut holes through dry spaghetti.
At least he never told me the Easter Bunny and America’s Santa Claus were real. I didn’t have to unbelieve such things when I grew up—other than the bit about marshmallows and macaroni.
But as far as Daylight-Saving Time goes, the best story I’ve heard about that phenomenon was allegedly told by a wise and ancient American Indian. Native American, we would say today. Regardless, he knew what he was talking about when he said,
“Only the government would believe
that you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket,
sew it to the bottom, and have a longer blanket.”
Hmm.
Happy Daylight-Saving time, everyone. I’m not sure where it’s being saved, but if you have a great story, I’d love to hear it in the comments below.
~
Daylight-Losing Time
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Morning slid over the ranch like warm butter. Josiah climbed to the wagon seat and flicked the reins. The mare tossed her head as if she disapproved of the errand, and the act drew a nervous chuckle from Josiah’s throat. Pop hadn’t quirked a whisker last night when he heard Josiah’s plan. Said he’d give up his room and sleep in the barn if it helped. A harebrained idea for sure, but Josiah was short on time and options, and every minute he delayed was a minute gone.
In full light of day, it seemed a fool’s errand. Less than a hundred people lived in Ford Junction, and precious few were women. How many of them looked to hire out as a ranch cook, housekeeper, and—? He snorted. Couldn’t say “mother,” but that was exactly what he needed for his children. Jess, in particular. But he’d not jump hog-blind into matrimony. Besides, he’d never convince any gal alive to marry him today. No, he had a better chance at hiring one for the summer. For room and board, of course. And, since he was short on funds now, a gentled three-year-old come fall. ~The Wrangler’s Woman
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March 6, 2022
The Lord Is Our Shelter
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
The morning I opened my Bible to Psalm 57, I had just read a social media post from a young woman in a war-torn country.
She recounted miracles and unexplained accounts of things happening that should not have – but for the power of prayer.
She thanked believers around the world who were praying for her countrymen and begged that they would continue. For God could do the impossible and save the weak and defenseless from the oppressor.
I thought of the innocents who suffer not only from military attacks but from social conflicts and the brutal assaults of hunger, poverty, and human trafficking. The oppressor dons many different coats, some as deceptively plain as depression, discouragement, and hopelessness.
Regardless of our battle, the Lord is our shelter in uncertain times.
“I will cry out to God Most High,” Psalm 57:2 says. The words were originally penned by a man who fled from one that was an associate, close in family and profession. One who should have been an ally.
The psalmist then writes of God sending out His mercy and truth, and in the next breath, he bemoans his dangerous situation.
Again, praise follows, with more description of danger.
Back and forth the psalm goes, from praise to fear to praise. But it ends in exaltation of God: “Let Your glory be above all the earth.”
This psalm shows me the entwining of cries for help with cries of confidence, the braiding of praise and petition.
I see that it is not a faithless heart that expresses fear to God Almighty. I don’t have to couch my petitions in pretty language but can cry out my guts before my Creator.
This week, and in the weeks to come, may we lift our loved ones and the suffering ones we don’t know to our faithful God and King. The Lord of heaven’s armies sends His warriors where mere humans would fall.
Be merciful to me, O God,
be merciful to me!
For my soul trusts in You;
and in the shadow of Your wings
I will make my refuge,
until these calamities have passed by
Psalm 57:1
~
In the shadow of Your wings.
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Another crash rattled the windows. The hair on Laura’s arms tingled with electricity, and she glanced at the clock. The red 3:00 winked and disappeared. The refrigerator’s background hum cut out.
“Great. No power.”
She tugged on her tennis shoes. “That last one was close, Chica. No pause between the strike and the thunder.”
From the living room, she scanned the valley. A blue bolt struck the pasture, and she flinched. Momentarily blinded, she fell to her knees, certain the strike had split her house apart as well as her eardrums.
“Send Your angels to protect us, Lord!” Or calm them down if that’s what was dancing across the valley!
Another slash of light, but this time two seconds passed before the thunderclap. The storm was moving.
Shaken but in one piece, she went to the kitchen for the doggy treats she’d left on the counter, determined to extricate her new guard dog from its hiding place.
“Come on, Chica bonita.” On her knees beside the bed, she held the tidbit close to the puppy. “Want a treat?”
The quivering dog raised its ears and stuck its nose forward.
“Come on, honey. It’s okay. God’s rearranging his furniture.”
As unexpected as the lightning, her heart panged at the explanation. Mama’d always said that during the most frightening thunderstorms when Laura was a child. ~The Miracle Tree Available in audio!
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February 27, 2022
Could You Repeat the Question, Please?
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
If God asked you a question, what would it be?
“God doesn’t need to ask me a question,” you say. “He already knows everything about me.”
True, He does know everything about you, but God is relational. He asks questions of those He loves.
In the Garden of Eden when Adam didn’t show up for the evening stroll, God asked, “Where are you?” Could God not see the man He created hiding among the trees? (Genesis 3:9)
After the prophet Elijah fled to Mt. Horeb in suicidal desperation, God asked, “What are you doing here?” Was Elijah’s discouraged heart beyond God’s notice? (1Kings 19:9,13)
When a blind beggar cried out for mercy, Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do for you?” Was it not obvious to Jesus that the man wanted to be healed? (Mark 10:51)
I believe the Lord asks these same questions of us today because we are the ones who need to hear the answers.
Where are you? Is God waiting for you in the cool of the evening or the quiet pre-dawn to talk with you, listen to your concerns, warm you with His presence as you worship Him? Have you missed that appointment often enough that God is whispering, “Where are you?” What are you doing here? Have you run away from something the Lord called you to do? Have you thrown up your hands in disgust or discouragement and quit? Are you in the wrong place at the wrong time, wondering how you ended up in a cave, how you got so off track? What do you want me to do for you? Jesus said we miss out on a lot because we don’t ask. What is it exactly that you need from Him? Can you pinpoint it? Are you willing to ask, or are you afraid He won’t come through with an answer?An all-knowing God who asks us questions is a personal God who cares about relationship. The answers may seem obvious at first glance, but if we look deeper, do we really know where we are, what we’re doing, and what we want from God?
What is He asking you?
~
Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Job 38:4
Could you repeat the question, please?
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At the next block, Cale made a right turn. “My horse in the alley behind the barber shop. If you don’t want to walk down there, you can wait here, and I’ll bring your satchel.”
“I can walk,” Ella said tightly.
He stopped and faced her determined chin. Her stiff shoulders.
“That’s not what I meant.” His neck itched. “I know you can walk. And a fine job you do of it too.”
She raised her head to look him in the eye and crossed her arms into a barricade.
“I mean, you’re hardly limping at all today.”
Her head tipped to the side, but her eyes never left his.
His collar band tightened. “Not that you limp, mind you.”
One small foot began to tap.
“You do real well for someone who . . . who . . .”
The paper sack crinkled in her hand. “For someone who’s a cripple?”
Tarnation, he was digging himself deep. “No. That’s not what I was going to say.” He pulled his hat off and ran his sleeve across his brow. “You know I don’t see you like that. I mean . . . what I’m trying to say is—”
“Yes?”
“Well, if you were a horse, I wouldn’t put you down.”
~
What did a lady say to a man who compared her to a horse? A lame horse, at that.
If Cale hadn’t said he had her camera, Ella would leave him there at the alley’s entrance and march straight back to the studio. After pushing him off the curb.
“On second thought, I’ll wait here,” she told him.
He moved toward her. She moved back. A perfect dance step if they were dancing. But the only fancy footwork at the moment was Cale Hutton attempting to remove his boot from his mouth.
“Ella, please.”
He’d used her given name. “Do you have my camera or don’t you, Mr. Hutton?”
His jaw locked and his eyes dulled.
She straightened her spine and held his gaze. She might be maimed, but she refused to be pathetic.
He finally turned and strode down the alley.
Tears threatened. She pressed her fists into her eyes, crumpling the paper bag in the process, and drew a deep breath. He hadn’t actually called her a cripple. That was Mabel’s line, so oft repeated that no one could forget it. Especially Ella.
Why had she planted the insidious barb into their conversation when he was simply attempting to be . . . what? Generous? Kind? Sympathetic? She didn’t want his sympathy. ~A Change of Scenery
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February 20, 2022
Under Construction: “Always Before Me” – devotions for women
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
In recent months, I’ve had a few requests for copies of my out-of-print devotional book for women, Always Before Me. So remodeling has begun. Additions are framed in, and an open house is set for this spring.
The original book had 30 daily devotional thoughts, scriptures, and prayers, but we’re looking at adding 70 more in the new release. Many of the new inspirations will be taken from this blog. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been writing it for 14 years.
If you read my blog and have a favorite post or two that you’d like to see in my updated devotional book, please let me know. Comment below or drop me an email via davalynn@davalynnspencer.com. If your favorite devotional is included in the new book, I’ll send you a signed copy.
And if these posts have been an encouragement to you, tell your friends and family. They can sign up to receive the blog every Sunday evening by using the sign-up box to the right of this post. (My newsletter and free-book option is just above it.)
Thank you for reading and sharing God’s faithfulness with those around you.
~
I have set the Lord always before me;
because He is at my right hand,
I shall not be moved.
Psalm 16:8
May all that you read be uplifting.
Always Before Me
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Elaine J. Keifer – Congratulations! Your name was selected in a random drawing from last week’s post commentors to win a signed copy of my novel, An Improper Proposal!
~
In answer to her growling stomach, Laura made a cheese, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, sliced an apple, and took the meal and her Bible out to the front swing. As she ate, she thumbed through Isaiah for a verse she’d once read about eagles and wings.
The falling sun spotlighted lesser hills with a bright yellow wash and sent long shadows across Hawthorne pastures. In minutes it slipped away, and the land lay down with a sigh, at rest in the shadowless dusk.
A breeze kicked up and a hushed, breathy sound rasped against the mulberry leaves. Soon the whisper swelled and spread to the roof. Heaven opened and rain fell over the house like a veil, soaking the pastures and trees. Her cows stood unbothered in the downpour.
Setting her Bible aside, she rose and leaned against the railing, then stretched her hands beyond the eaves. Lightning struck across the valley and thunder quickly followed. Two miles away, at most.
She peered through the grainy dusk, finding the spot where the ancient tree stood anchoring that corner of her land. Anchoring her soul. And with a hint of hope, she walked to the end of the porch and down the steps into the rain.
“I think I get it, God.”
Closing her eyes, she opened her arms wide like the hawk, lifted her face, and let her tears mingle with the rain. ~The Miracle Tree “Captivated from the first chapter.” -Goodreads review
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.FREE book and Newsletter!
#lovingthecowboy
(c) 2022 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.
#WesternRomance #ChristianFiction #FreeBook #HistoricalRomance #CowboyRomance
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