Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 19
January 9, 2022
Live at the Speed of Life
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
A new year. A new month. A new week.
Do you ever get the feeling that you have to gear up and get a jump on things? Get a head start?
But a head start on what? Anxiety, stress, over-achieving? Completing that to-do list at the speed of light?
Our lives are fast paced, weighed down, and packed with expectations, demands, and duties. Yet God says, “Be still.”
Why does He say that?
And how can we do it?
I find help when I look at nature. The birds aren’t in a hurry. Neither is the buck that lingers around my home because a certain doe beds down here at night.
The sun doesn’t race across the sky. The stars and moon hang still against the inky night. Yes, they appear to move as our earth spins and orbits, but at a nearly imperceptible speed.
Consider the common phrases “slow down” and “speed up.” Do we subconsciously prefer the metaphorical up over down?
Lately I have heard the Lord’s whisper, “Live at the speed of life.”
That concept appeals to me. Hurry has become a habit. I wasn’t created to live at the speed of light, which is what I habitually try to do.
When I ask, the Lord helps me gear down and draw a calm breath. He helps me find the pace that keeps me in step with Him.
Even if that step is one upon which I sit and wait.
Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.
Psalm 46:10
~
Live at the speed of life.
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By midafternoon they were home, Ara’s arms full of bundled fabric and ribbon as she stepped through the front door of the sprawling log house.
“Back here.” Lilly called from her room—a room Ara had never entered. She stopped at the threshold, awed by the paintings. In one, a woman and child stood in a meadow, and in another a small dark-haired girl sat in a swing beneath a large tree. Ara’s heart broke with sudden memories of hushed words and shadowed smiles. Swallowing an ache, she stepped into the room.
Lilly looked up from her treadle sewing machine and caught Ara’s expression. “Her name was Emily. Such a delicate thing.” She set aside her sewing. “These paintings are how I imagine she would have looked had she survived that first hard winter.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ara whispered.
Lilly pressed her palm to her heart. “We loved Emily for the time she was with us, and I love her still.” She rose and went to her bedside table and picked up a small, fabric-covered box. “Like so many parents who have buried their children in this vast land, I’ve entrusted her to the Lord’s care.”
Ara set her purchases aside and shrugged out of the heavy coat. Lilly reached for her hand and wrapped Ara’s fingers around the box. “This is for you. I can’t wait.” ~The Snowbound Bride
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January 2, 2022
More Than Those Who Watch for the Morning
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I like to walk just before dawn. I don’t always make it, but when I do, I am awed each time by the moment night becomes day.
Many verses in the Bible speak of it, and one of my favorites is Psalm 130:5-6.
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in His word I do hope.
My soul waits for the Lord more than those
who watch for the morning–
Different versions of this verse suggest that the watchers were guards on night duty or ancient priestly servants who signaled the dawn for those making the daily sacrifice.
However, I have found other watchers in that early in-between hour. They sit quietly tucked among branches, voices silent beneath their wings, waiting for the exact moment.
And I wonder – do I wait like that? Do I watch for the Lord in confident expectancy of His intervention? Do I hope in His word with the same certainty of knowing the sun will rise?
I want to.
May this new year, regardless of what comes with it, be one of prayer and faith and expectancy. I want to watch for the Lord’s involvement in my life, for I know He will be working, healing, revealing, liberating.
I don’t want to miss it.
So I watch.
~
More than those who watch for the morning.
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The wind shifted, ruffled through the ridge-top grass, and trailed Cale’s face like a woman’s fingers. His saddle creaked beneath him, and he tilted his hat brim to the lip of land where the sky burned gold.
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.
Doc tossed his head and nickered, and the rumble traveled through Cale’s legs and up into his gut. Morning’s breath licked around behind him and whispered against his neck – she’s close. ~A Change of Scenery
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December 26, 2021
Three Simple Resolutions for a Changed Life
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
How often do our New Year’s Resolutions involve denying ourselves something in order to improve our life?
Stop over-eating.Stop smoking.Give up sugar.Don’t criticize my spouse/siblings/in-laws.These are admirable aspirations and well worth our efforts. But typically, such resolutions fall by the wayside after a few days or weeks. Okay, hours.
Maybe if we added something to our routines rather than taking something away, we’d see better results. Some people might add things like:
Learn a foreign language.Learn to paint (not just my fingernails)Take up crocheting, knitting, golf.Go to the gym.Get up earlier to go to the gym.Scratch the gym – walk instead.Buy a cool outfit so I look good walking.Fun ideas, but most likely short-lived, except for number 7.
This year I have three recommendations that I guarantee will impact your life.
Read a verse, passage, or chapter of the Bible every day. I prefer mornings, before the world comes knocking at my door.Pray every day. Pray throughout the day. You don’t have to bow your head or close your eyes (especially if you’re driving or pushing a shopping cart), just talk to God. The more we talk (and listen) to Him, the better we get to know Him.Listen to worship music every day. Have it playing in the background in your home. Tune in when you’re driving. There is something soothing and filling about worship music, and our technologically advanced society provides access to various avenues of listening. Many people have music going non-stop to fill the empty spaces in their lives. Why not fill those spaces with music that uplifts and sets the mind on positive attitudes rather than on discouragement, agitation, or frustration?These three simple practices have made a huge difference in my life when it comes to peace, strength for difficult times, and the calmness of mind to think through a challenge.
I worry less, I am reminded of what our God can do, and my faith grows. My focus shifts from what is going wrong in the world around me to what God is doing.
Troubled times are nothing new, but my response to them can be.
These three simple steps will change you from the inside out, and in turn, change your life and your outlook.
~
Your word is a lamp to my feet
and a light to my path.
Psalm 119:105
Three simple steps will change you.
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Read. Pray. Listen.
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Troubled times are nothing new, but my response to them can be.
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Once over the ridge that bordered the Rafter-H on the southwest, the high park opened up like a mountain prairie, and Doc took easy to the level, grassy land. Cale’s mind opened as well. His thoughts didn’t crowd each other but spread out like grazing cattle with room to roam. And the Lord Himself seemed to ride herd on those thoughts, turning one this way and another that.
A heavy sigh rolled out, and Cale’s gaze ran along the distant line of jagged peaks. “I could sure use some help, Lord.”
Doc swiveled his ears at the low prayer.
“With my brother and his hard-edged ways. The cattle and whatever’s gettin’ after them.
“With Ella.” Her name slipped out on a whisper with a rope attached and dallied to his heart. ~ A Change of Scenery
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December 19, 2021
Christmas and the Brokenhearted
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I have never thought of Christmas as a time of gratitude for those who grieve.
However, I’ve had a closer look lately.
Long ago, the prophet Isaiah foretold that God would send One to bind up the brokenhearted and comfort those who mourned.
That doesn’t sound much like the messages we hear blaring from print and social media this time of year, yet it is a priceless promise.
Jesus was the One sent, the One Isaiah spoke of, and whether He arrived two thousand years ago in the spring, fall, or winter isn’t as important as the fact that He came. This is the season we celebrate His arrival – and we call it Christmas.
In recent months, many have lost loved ones, or know friends who have. This will be the first Christmas without that special person.
Those of us who walk around broken and bleeding on the inside need that One Isaiah spoke of to bind our wounds. The rest of us may want to gather those mourning friends into our home during the holiday season, but let’s first seek the Lord’s guidance in our invitations.
Everyone grieves differently, and some may not want to join a cheerful crowd of people they don’t know well. They may want to spend a quiet Christmas remembering.
There is nothing wrong with remembering and being away from the noise and clamor makes it easier. It’s one of the ways people grieve, and according to my pastor, grieving is one of the ways we show our love.
Holidays, by their very nature, often magnify the grief. When that is the case, we can still bring comfort. If an invitation to dinner or festivities is what our friend would enjoy, then by all means, extend it. Feeling included and loved is a boundless blessing.
But if they don’t want or need that, try a simple gift as a reminder that you are there for them and aware of their pain. It could be:
A
good book.
Homemade fudge.
A small bag of cookies.
A hand-written letter or card.
A loaf of pumpkin or banana bread.
A wreath for their door (and the hanger).
Colorful handmade cards from your children.
A simple note sharing what you like about them.
A Christmas mug stuffed with packets of hot cocoa.
A sampling of what you enjoyed at your celebration feast,
enough to make two meals.
Mittens, gloves, or a scarf.
A hug, a carol, a prayer.
Too many people neglect prayer because they think it doesn’t do any good. What a tragic loss.
Prayer wraps a loved one’s heart in the richest of robes and lifts it to the Father’s attention. It also has a way of touching our own harried soul, for when we listen as well as speak, we place ourselves close enough to hear His whisper.
In your celebrations this year, look around and see who needs a simple gift, a tender touch, or a heartfelt prayer.
And may the Peace of Jesus and His radiant Joy permeate your own home this Christmas and beyond.
~
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me because the Lord has
anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the
brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness
for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance
of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in
Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness
instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
Christmas and the brokenhearted.
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E-book and AudioWil considered the mysterious package for a moment, then offered it to Lena. “This is your Christmas gift. Now might not be the right time, but I didn’t see any other opportunity.”
She gently pulled free of him and immediately felt the loss, the absence of his warmth and strength, his silent promise of protection.
The crude wrapping bore evidence of a man’s attempt, quite unlike the wonderfully crafted cookie cutter he had made. She loosed the mercantile twine and unfolded the brown paper to reveal a delicate pair of embroidery scissors, decorated with tiny blossoms and perfect for snipping yarn.
Amazed once more by his keen perception of what was important to her, she pressed them against her heart. “Thank you.”
A dog barked.
Wil stiffened and looked over his shoulder.
Lena rose from her chair and went to the window. Daylight was fading, but she caught a figure crossing the field in front of the cabin.
The dog barked a second time.
And she knew. “It’s him.” ~Snow Angel
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December 12, 2021
Favorite Christmas Carols – and a giveaway!
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Christmas carols – I love them. That’s because I don’t sing them year-round or even in November. I wait until December and then savor them at church, in my home, and in the car on the radio.
Many of the carols have roots in very old traditions, and their background stories are interesting to read. But it’s the words, the phrases that reach down into my heart.
One of my favorite carols is “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” (Latin hymn, 12th century). I sang it as a child, in high school choirs, at church, and at home by myself – just me and my piano.
The chorus of this song captures my heart as it shifts from minor chords of mourning into major chords of joy and declaration:
“Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!”
Some hymns tell stories, recounting biblical accounts of the birth of Christ, such as “The First Noel” (1833) and “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” (1849).
“Joy to the World” declares the good news that “the Lord is come” (1719).
Another of my favorites, “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” calls us to adore (worship and praise) Christ the Lord.
And the classic “O Holy Night” (1800s) reminds us that “He knows our need – to our weakness is no stranger.” It also encourages us to “praise His name forever! His power and glory ever more proclaim!”
I’d love to hear what your favorite Christmas Carol is – there are so many. Include a line or phrase from the song that speaks to your heart.
Comment below with your answer, and I will add your name to a random drawing for an e-book copy of The Snowbound Bride.
~
I will sing to the LORD as long as I live.
I will praise my God to my last breath!
Psalm 104:33
Giveaway - What is your favorite Christmas Carol?
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The Snowbound Bride by Davalynn Spencer giveawayThe dog clamped upon the handle of Ara’s carpetbag and dragged it to the center of the wagon bed, sitting protectively beside it.
“Well, I never!” Narrowing her eyes, Ara drew herself up. “I’ll not be had by a dog.”
A slight woof puffed from the pointed snout.
“We’ll just see about that.” She marched around to the wheel, yanked her skirts above her knees, and climbed the spokes. The dog looked away as if scandalized.
Ara stepped into the wagon bed and froze as mangled strains of a Christmas carol rose from the alley, coming her way. She glared at the dog, who again seized the handle in its jaws. With no other recourse but to leave her belongings and risk running into the man who was following her, she dove to the rough boards, flattened against the outer edge, and jerked a loose tarp over her feet and head.
“God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay—”
She clapped her hands over her ears. Dismay, indeed. Have mercy!
The dog howled then shook the wagon as it bounded to the edge.
“That bad, ol’ boy? I don’t sing any worse than you.”
A muffled woof and exuberant wiggling indicated its master had returned. A decided tilt as the man climbed to the seat threatened to roll Ara like a Yule log from her hiding place. Whoever he was, he was either rotund or robust. At least he wasn’t the man in the brown bowler.
With a light slap and a hearty “giddyap, ol’ girl,” the mare took to the road. Ara sucked in a dusty breath. Should she rise and call out? Demand the driver take her to the hotel—where there may be no rooms? What if the stranger was watching?
With a drawn-out groan, the dog settled its warm body against her.
O Lord, what had she gotten herself into? ~The Snowbound Bride
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December 5, 2021
Christmas Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt!
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Merry Christmas!
This week I’ve joined Hallee Bridgeman and twenty-three other Christian authors in Hallee’s annual Christmas Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt. The prizes are spectacular: $250 first-place, $150 second-place or $100 third-place Amazon gift cards. I hope you’ll visit all the authors’ blogs so you can participate for a chance to win. Remember to find the answer to each author’s question by checking out the free preview for their book on Amazon.
At the end of my post is a link to the next blog, so be sure to keep reading (and answering on the Google form). You must answer every author’s question for a chance to win the Grand Prize.
In my Christmas novella collection, A High Country Christmas: Romance Collection, two novellas are found under one cover: Just in Time for Christmas and Snow Angel. Each is a historical stand-alone story about those finding love and a future in the high-country peaks and parks of Colorado. Cowboys, anyone?
In Snow Angel, Lena Carver works as her physician brother’s medical assistant, housekeeper, and cook. Each year, the Christmas holidays come with contradictions—cherished memories of a mysterious encounter and painful recollections of a great childhood loss. She lives with the belief that she is beyond love’s reach, until a dark-eyed cowboy arrives broken, bruised, and bent on changing her mind.
Now for your entry in the scavenger hunt: Go to A High-Country Christmas on Amazon at this link What precious thing is Lena about to lose now? When you have the answer, fill out this form and head on to the next blog!
Thank you so much for visiting. The next author on the tour is Karen Witemeyer, who will tell you about her book, Under the Texas Mistletoe. You can find her blog post at this link. Remember that the round-robin will end on December 12th at 11:59 PM EST.
PS – If you comment below, I’ll enter you in a random drawing for an e-copy of my ever-popular Mail-Order Misfire!
Have a blessed Merry Christmas and may all that you read be uplifting!
Christmas Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt
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November 28, 2021
The Guide: Walk Where I Walk
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
The guide and I walked a rutted dirt road used by Forest Service vehicles. Pine, scrub oak, and aspen bordered the road on each side. All was quiet – blissfully absent of people, their machines, and their devices.
As we moved deeper into the forest, the guide stepped off the road and struck out through the thick of things.
“Walk where I walk,” he said. “Don’t step on logs – they can roll and throw you off balance.”
Every year he took his son hunting, and he said the boy was beginning to listen and step in his dad’s footprints when they trekked through the woods.
I did the same, for I was hunting too, but not for deer, elk, or bear. No gun for me, but rather my Nikon camera. I was hunting aspen, and we had driven to the high country to find the best shots of the yellow trees in their natural habitat.
We were successful.
A few weeks later during elk season, a preacher/hunting guide recounted what he always told his hunters.
“Step where I step. You don’t want to walk into cactus or slip on a wet rock. Walk in my footsteps.”
It sounded familiar.
These two guides were experienced in the wild. They knew what they were talking about. And listening to them gave me a new appreciation for what the Bible says about God as my guide.
If I let Him, the Lord will guide my steps. He makes that promise over and over. I can break out on my own – and often do – but with eventual regret. God knows more about this business called life than I do.
When I think of Him as my guide, I have an intimate picture of Him on the trail with me, in the forest with me. Psalm 16:8 says, “I have set the Lord always before me.”
Praise God, it’s never too late to submit to the Lord as our Guide.
Yet I am always with You.
You lead me by my right hand,
You guide me with Your counsel,
And afterward You will take me into glory.
Psalm 73:23
Walk where I walk.
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Additional scriptures on the Lord as our Guide:
Available in audio! “Seth!”
At the fear in her voice, he dug his heels in and raced up the trail. She wasn’t far.
“He’s gone. Chester’s gone. We have to go back.”
The snow fell heavier now, laying down a thick blanket. “You brought the dog with you?”
“I know. It was foolish of me.”
Seth snorted. That wasn’t the only foolish thing she’d done, but pointing that out wasn’t going to help matters. “When did you notice him missing?”
“Just now—a few seconds ago. I hadn’t paid attention until you met us on the trail. I just assumed he was following in my steps like he had been.”
“Stay here. I’ll ride back a ways, see if I can find him.”
No surprise when she gathered herself and turned her horse. “I’m going with you.”
Arguing with her was pointless and time consuming, and at the moment time was what they didn’t have.
Fresh snow nearly filled their trail that grew fainter the farther they rode. The old dog must have fallen, unable to make it in the cold. Seth felt the loss deep inside, but the dog wasn’t worth Abigale’s safety. He reined in.
“Abigale.”
She rode past him.
He heeled Coop into a lunge and the horse sprang around in front of her. “Abigale—I understand Chester is important to you. But he’s not worth your life.”
At a whimper, they both turned.
Seth swung the gun barrel forward and gave Coop his head, but the horse began to blow and quake, shied to the right.
A snowy mound on the trail uttered a weak growl. Seth raised the gun and aimed across his horse, into the brush on the left.
A blur sprang to the trail … ~Just in Time for Christmas
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November 21, 2021
Woman at the Well
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
She stood at the water dispenser in the market filling white one-gallon jugs and loading them into her shopping cart. A lot of them. Like fifteen or so.
Wearing a worn jacket and knit cap against the day’s chilly temperature, she kept looking over her shoulder as if nervous about being in the way of shoppers hurrying past.
“Don’t worry, you’re not in the way,” I said as I neared.
How Christian of me.
She smiled as I passed and continued filling her gallon containers. Alone.
No one helped her or spoke to her, and I thought little of it until I got home and started unloading my week’s groceries.
The woman rose in my memory like Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Past.
“Why am I thinking about her now, after the fact?”
I knew why, and it wasn’t pretty.
I hadn’t really seen her in the moment. I could have blessed her with a kind word, helped her fill her containers, or slipped a folded bill into her hand. I could have casually appeared with my cart at her vehicle and helped her unload. Maybe given something from my abundance and tucked it in next to her purchases.
Was I in too big of a hurry? Too self-focused?
What if she was an angel in disguise? (Don’t smirk.)
What if she was merely a lonely woman who needed someone to notice?
What if she was my woman at the well?
Oh God, I have prayed for eyes to see and ears to hear and a heart to understand. In today’s less picturesque language, one would ask to be observant, attentive, and perceptive.
Whatever it’s called, however it’s pictured, oh Lord, I need it.
How often I miss the moment due to an inward focus.
I have so much to be thankful for.
What have you got to be thankful for?
~
In everything give thanks;
for this is the will of God
in Christ Jesus for you.
1 Thessalonians 5:16
What have you got to be thankful for?
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With preparation for the Thanksgiving feast in just three weeks, Etta had little time to dwell on anything else. Thanks to Dottie Dalton, she had a fairly good idea what to expect—food and more food. As the little woman had said when Etta first arrived in Lockton, she’d heard others mention that the Thanksgiving feast was the biggest event of the year.
Of course, there’d be no flags and bunting draping Main Street as they had for the Fourth of July. No horseraces or market wares for sale. Horses would be harnessed to buggies and farm wagons, and jams and jellies, cakes and breads would all be free for partaking during the meal.
The school children planned to present poems and songs, and evenings found Etta helping Gracie memorize her parts.
However, one tradition had Etta in a fix, for each person present at the meal was to share their greatest blessings from the year. Gracie had been practicing for months, and Etta learned that her list was what she had been secretly writing in her room.
Etta knew exactly what she wanted to say, but feared she’d not be able to get it past her lips.
With a cup of coffee and two oatmeal cookies, she sat down at the kitchen table to plan what dishes she’d prepare for the meal. Bern’s approval of her mincemeat pie set that item at the top of her list, followed by sweet yams, three loaves of fresh bread, seasoned dressing, and pumpkin pies, thanks to the little sugar pumpkins she’d rescued from the garden before the freeze. However, she was running low on spices, a costly commodity but necessary. With what she’d saved from her earnings, she had enough to splurge on cinnamon and nutmeg with plenty left over for a … ~Mail-Order Misfire
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November 14, 2021
Stoning Unforgiveness
Today, friend and fellow author, Susan G. Mathis, shares a unique perspective on forgiveness that she may have picked up from the heroine in her latest release, *Colleen’s Confession.
Stoning Unforgiveness
By Susan G Mathis
Forgiving isn’t easy, but it’s the best way to be free. Proverbs 28: 13 says, “Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.”
I think that includes those terrible transgressions against us. In my latest novella, Colleen’s Confession, Colleen has many hurts that hold her back from being all God wants her to be. She knew she needed to let go of all the shame and hurts of her past. She had to forgive the physical, emotional, and spiritual abuse she’d endured. And like you and I, she wondered how she could forgive without continuing to feel the pain? Here’s how Colleen did it:
“Help me, Lord.”
She knelt, observing the small rocks and pebbles scattered along the beach. A sharp-edged stone dug into her knee, so she removed it and tossed it in the river.
The irritation gone. The pain eradicated.
Colleen stood and collected a handful of rocks and pebbles. She tossed a stone in the river, heaving it far from her. “I forgive Sister Gregory.” Then another. “I forgive Sister Bertha.”
On and on she went—Sister Anthony. Sister Patricia. Everyone she could remember. Everyone who’d hurt her.
And her heart felt lighter. Freer.
But there was more to release—the weapons of cruelty.
The paddles, hands, sticks, rulers, belts.
The closets, cellars, outhouses, laundry rooms.
The words, names, accusations, lies, and threats.
Marshall. To her right, she spotted a rock the size of her head. Could she lift it? Could she heave it—Marshall—into the river? She must. She dug down into the sand, working her fingers into nooks and crannies in the rock. Bending at the knees, she gripped as though she’d never let go. Using her arms and back, she wiggled the rock in its nest. Then she drew a deep breath, exhaled, and lifted the granite piece.
With one big splash, she let go of it all. She chose to forgive.
Perhaps we can learn from Colleen. What can you or I do to let go and forgive? Toss a stone? Write a letter? Trash a memento? Whatever it takes to help you forgive, do it today.
~
Thank you, Susan, for this thought-provoking post about a very important choice. And thank you for sharing the picture you took of the actual Comfort Island, the setting for Colleen’s Confession, the latest in your Thousand Islands Gilded Age collection.
*Comment below for a chance to win an e-book of Colleen’s Confession.
Forgiving Isn't Easy
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About Colleen’s Confession:
Summer 1914
Colleen Sullivan conceals secrets when she joins her aunt on Comfort Island to work in the laundry and await her betrothed’s arrival. She loves to draw and dreams of growing in the craft. But tragedy strikes when her fiancé perishes in the sinking of the ocean liner RMS Empress of Ireland on his way to meet her. With her orphan dreams of finally belonging and becoming a wife and an artist gone, what will her future hold?
Austrian immigrant, Jack Weiss, enjoys being the island’s groundskeeper and is smitten by the lovely Irish lass. But Colleen dismisses him at every turn, no matter how much he admires her art, tries to keep her safe, and waters the blossoms of love. Perhaps introducing her to the famous impressionist, Alson Skinner Clark, will brighten her opinion of him. But rumors of war in Europe means Jack must choose between joining his homeland’s army or staying safe in the Thousand Islands as he makes a life with Colleen. If she will have him.
Susan G Mathis is an international award-winning, multi-published author of stories set in the beautiful Thousand Islands, her childhood stomping ground in upstate NY. Susan has been published more than twenty times in full-length novels, novellas, and non-fiction books.
Her first two books of The Thousand Islands Gilded Age series, Devyn’s Dilemma, and Katelyn’s Choice have each won multiple awards, and book three, Peyton’s Promise, comes out May 2022. Rachel’s Reunion is coming soon. The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy, Christmas Charity, and Sara’s Surprise, and Reagan’s Reward, are award winners, too. 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. Visit www.SusanGMathis.com/fiction for more.
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November 7, 2021
God Bless Them Every One
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
This post first appeared on Nov. 11, 2019. It appears edited today in honor of JPat Branch, *pictured above, Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross recipient, who reported to his last call of duty on Oct. 29, 2021.
When I taught sixth-grade world history, I became accustomed to the grandiose dreams of adolescent boys intent on becoming warriors like the ancient kings they studied.
When I taught English composition at the community college, many of my students were young marines who bore the unseen scars of battles less glamorous than those portrayed in middle-school history books.
Honed and hardened by superior officers and surreal experiences, the veterans sat politely in their plastic chairs and let me tell them how to write cohesive paragraphs for persuasive essays.
Many of those young men had grown up faster than they wanted. They had fought to right the wrongs of others and prevent the encroachment of tyrants who would rule the world at any cost.
I’ve always been proud of those boys-turned-men who listened to me drill the rules of punctuation. They were gentlemen, every one, hiding behind their attentive eyes what they’d seen in places I’d only heard of.
Often, their dreams became nightmares that leaked from their fingers and onto the page in personal essays, giving me a glimpse of the horrors, reminding me that veterans are not only the men and women of my parents’ generation or my own.
They are my children, and will someday be my grandchildren, fighting to protect those who cannot defend themselves.
May their dreams today be restful, their battles ended, their valor rewarded by peace.
God bless them every one.
~
There is no greater love than
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
John 15:13 NLT
God bless them every one.
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*Thank you, JPat, for sharing the photo from your days in Vietnam. You are loved and remembered by many.
~
If any man is in Me, he is a new creation.
E-book & AudioThe words settled inside Eli, pulsating like some living thing. And the voice – he hadn’t listened to it in a while.
The promise was more than a well-delivered sermon from a Sunday pulpit. It belonged to the God he had known before Laura moved away. Before the IED blew up the Humvee. Before Pop died.
“I really do want a fresh start.” Confession clawed its way up his throat. Saying it out loud made it real. Tangible. His stomach clenched, his hands fisted around nothing. He desperately wanted to slough off the old and start over.
“But I need a hand here.”
Lightning split the darkness, and pain slashed the right side of his face. He curled in on himself, clutching his head. The left foot he no longer had shattered and throbbed with every life-spilling pump of his heart. Thunder tore through him with an agonizing cry.
And then it was over.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps, anticipating the pain. But it was gone. Instead, peace bloomed like a silent, surreal grenade.
He leaned his head back against the corral, breathing hard. The night lay still, the land quiet. Nothing stirred. Nothing but a flickering hope deep in his chest. ~The Miracle Tree
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