Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 20
October 31, 2021
He Restores My Soul
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I’m still in the twenty-third Psalm, wondering why the Shepherd has to make me lie down in green (or golden) pastures.
I think it’s because I don’t stop and rest on my own.
I’m too busy.
I have so much to do.
I don’t have time to rest, so He makes sure I do. And by doing so, He restores me.
The Hebrew word for restore has a lengthy definition including “to turn back again.” To retreat. To build, dig, do something again. Give, call, carry again. The definition gives several examples, but the word again is used 18 times.
See a pattern?
I need more than one time of restoration. I need more than one moment of stillness and calm. I need rest again and again and again.
And He fixes me again and again and again.
He loves us that much.
~
He restores my soul.
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Sophie drew in the sweet breath of evening—her favorite time of day when earth and animal settled and night birds laced their lonely songs through scrub oak and cedar. A coyote called not far away, answered by another, and soon was joined by a yipping crowd, no doubt celebrating the demise of a hapless rabbit or two.
And the deeper the sun slid into the western peaks, the deeper her conviction grew that the stranger at the depot was Clay Ferguson.
She shook her head to clear his image. He should be the least of her concerns, the one that deserved the least of her attention. But he hovered above all other thoughts like an insistent hummingbird refusing to sink into the shadows where it belonged.
She reined the mare clear of rock outcroppings where snakes sunned themselves by day and cougars ambushed at dusk. But she also kept one eye on the old girl’s ears, for the horse would tell her if danger lurked nearby.
The country was never predictable. Gentle grasslands on one hand, a predator’s lair on the other. Everything around her seemed to sigh in expectation of rest, and she relaxed in her seat. ~An Impossible Price ***Winner of the Will Rogers Silver Medallion for Western Romance
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October 24, 2021
He Leads Me
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Would you follow someone you didn’t know down the path in this photo?
Why not?
My guess is that it’s all about trust.
Lately, I can’t shake the twenty-third Psalm. It pops up in music from the radio. It’s referenced in social media or books I’m reading. But most of all, I sense the constant rhythm of its promises in my heart. As if God is whispering to me personally.
Have you ever heard a breeze whisper through an aspen tree? That’s what it’s like – gentle, wooing, soothing.
I trust Him. He leads me.
This week, take a few minutes and write out your version of the twenty-third Psalm. Share below if you’d like, or just keep it to yourself in your wallet or purse. Tape it to your bathroom mirror but make it your own.
Because He is your own. You can trust Him.
My Shepherd leads me in the right way.
He takes me to His living water and bread of life.
He shows me where to rest and is blessed when I trust Him enough to do so.
Sometimes it’s so dark I can’t see anything, but He’s there.
I feel the brush of His arm against mine,
His breath on my hair when He leans close.
Even when I sit with those who hate me,
He feeds me His favor;
He always provides more than enough.
His mercy trails me like a faithful dog;
When I stop and look over my shoulder,
it stops and looks me in the eye.
And the Shepherd promises that I am His,
that I will be His forever.
~
He leads me.
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Listen here to Casting Crown’s version of Psalm 23, “Home”
An Improper ProposalCade took his hat off and slapped it against his leg. It was time to say words over Henry.
“We’re finished.”
“Oh.” Mae Ann paled a bit and smoothed her skirt, looking everywhere but at him. “Thank you.”
“We picked a high spot with a good view of the place.” Somehow that mattered.
She followed him to the small rise behind the barn where Deacon stood mopping his face and neck. He squared himself as Mae Ann stopped next to the dark mound of fresh dirt and folded her hands. A breeze danced around her skirt and played with her hair that had worked loose.
Deacon held his hat against his chest. “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He beds me down in green pastures with sweet water.”
Cade cut a look at Mae Ann, but she showed no reaction to Deacon’s loose interpretation of Scripture.
“He leads me on a good trail and stays with me in the tight places.”
She raised her eyes to Deacon, taking in his cattleman’s words that weren’t exactly what the parson would say but sure enough painted a picture of these high mountain parks.
“And the Lord’s spread will be my home forever.” Deacon jerked a nod to punctuate the end of his piece and shoved his hat on. “Amen.”
Mae Ann bowed her head. A sudden gust kicked over the rise and snagged her skirt like a flag. Cade eyed a thick gray band edging the horizon. They’d have just enough time to get home before the rain hit. ~An Improper Proposal
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October 10, 2021
Rivers of Living Water
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I belong to a group of women who pray.
Collectively, I see them as a river that surges out from our midst, coursing through our community, swirling around boulders of sickness, spreading through exposed tree roots, and washing over sun-drenched sandbars in praise.
The river carries life to wherever its water is needed.
Jesus told a crowd of people one day that whoever believed in Him, out of his heart would flow rivers of living water (John 7:37-38).
Imagine – rivers of water flowing out of us because we believe in Jesus.
It’s true, I’ve seen it. I’ve felt the life-giving force.
The water is ever new though the river is ever the same. Much like the Arkansas River that flows not far from my home, the River of Life from Jesus always carries new, fresh water, yet it is always the same river.
One of those mysteries of God.
These are trying times in which we live. If you don’t have a river to which you can go for nourishment, refreshing, and comfort, find one. If you don’t have a group of people who pray, start one. There is more life-force than we may have realized in the power of pure and surging corporate prayer.
~
Rivers of Living Water
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October 3, 2021
The Truth Behind Fiction
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Several years ago in one of my digs through the past, courtesy of the Royal Gorge Regional Museum & History Center, I found an article about Texas Creek, Colorado. It wasn’t called Texas Creek in 1881, but rather, Ford Junction, a stage stop, where the road (and later a railroad branch) to Westcliffe intersected with the Arkansas River and the Denver & Rio Grande Western. I also read a little about the history of the creek that was named by a couple of cattlemen driving a herd of Texas longhorns up to the mining camps.
That was all I needed.
Ford Junction became the setting for the novella, “The Wrangler’s Woman,” which first appeared in Barbour’s 2016 bestselling collection, The Cowboy’s Bride. My novella re-releases October 7 as a standalone e-book.
Of course I’m not going to tell you what happens in the story, but you might find yourself witness to a small herd of longhorns clacking their dusty way down the main street of Ford Junction, headed to an area ranch. All fiction, of course. But there’s a lot of truth behind fiction. Especially historical fiction.
~
The truth behind fiction.
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“That was Josiah Hanacker and his two children,” Letty said of the three riders trailing the herd through town. “A rancher up Texas Creek. The canyon cuts south to the Wet Mountain Valley, and the stage road runs right through his property. He was real regular in church, even living so far out, before his wife passed two years ago, poor man.”
Letty rolled her lips and wagged her head again, a sure sign of sympathy. “He’s raising those children alone, with his crippled father’s help.” She caught Corra’s eye. “If you can call that help.”
Corra spent the remainder of the morning contriving details around Letty’s explanation. A keen-eyed widower raising two boys alone on a ranch in the mountains sounded like the perfect scenario for a hero in the novels tucked securely beneath her unmentionables. Her paper beaus, Letty called them.
Though Corra knew her sister meant no ill in the teasing, it stung. Corra’s suitors had always come under cover of book bindings and daydreams. They still did. ~The Wrangler’s Woman
Congratulations, Peggy Clayton, you won a signed copy of An Impossible Price from last week’s drawing.
Original image of Texas Creek by Jeffrey Beall, 2018, Wikimedia Commons.
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September 26, 2021
Don’t Worry, I’ve Got This …
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Most of us have heard someone say right before the disaster, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this …”
How NOT to worry?
Not doing something is often a non-event. Like dieting. NOT eating the wrong food leaves a vacuum that I want to fill with all the things I shouldn’t eat.
That may be why diet companies that provide meals are so successful: they fill the vacuum and give clients something to DO.
“Instead of that, eat this.” When you fork over good money for the alternate “this,” you tend to follow directions.
So how do we NOT worry and fret?
It depends on who we’re trusting.
When God inspired Paul’s letter to the Philippians, He understood the human tendency to agonize over situations.
“Do not be anxious about anything,” Paul wrote (4:6).
But he didn’t stop there. He showed us something to DO:
“… in everything by prayer and petition with thanksgiving,
present your requests to God.”
He even tells us HOW – with thanksgiving.
In fact, Paul sandwiched his DO NOT between two slices of DO:
“Rejoice in the Lord always” (4:4).
“present your requests to God” (4:6).
The results: We lose the excess weight of anxiety when “the peace of God … guard(s) our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (4:7).
There are a few more suggestions in the fourth chapter of Philippians on what to DO. In light of current events in our world, nation, county, town, neighborhood, home … we would do well to check them out.
In the meantime, share below in the comments one thing for which you are thankful, and I’ll enter your name in a random drawing for a signed print (US only) or e-book copy of my latest award-winner, An Impossible Price. Drawing closes Saturday, October 2, 2021.
~
Don't worry, I've got this!
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If she hadn’t spent so much time at the window
watching for Clay, she would already have supper warm
and waiting. She really needed to prioritize her duties.
Worrying over a grown man who knew how to take care
of other people’s livestock as well as himself should not
be a priority.
But oh, what a grown man he was. ~An Impossible Price
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September 19, 2021
Life In the Aftermath of Destruction
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
This week marks the official turn of the seasonal clock to autumn, my favorite time of year. Crisp air, beyond-blue skies, migrating geese. Bugling elk (if you’re lucky enough to hear them) and outlandish aspen-gold draping the mountains. What a palette of sensory detail!
In my effort to capture quintessential Colorado, I planted an aspen tree in my backyard several years ago and have nursed it along ever since. My elevation of 5,500 feet is a little low for the quaking leaves that twist and turn in the slightest breeze due to their unique stem.
But I love them.
So do the deer.
During last year’s terribly dry summer, they destroyed the tree and its struggling partners that came in the original clump. Stripping the bark will do that. Biting off the ends of branches or breaking them is also deadly. No golden leaves shimmered in my backyard. The once-beautiful tree stood skeletal, mute testimony that “here be deer.”
And then I saw the new arrivals in late spring. They had slipped unnoticed through the ground cover, several feet away from the deceased patriarch. As aspen will do, roots pushed through the surface in a new stand. A dozen little trees popped up, many more than my original planting.
By summertime, the leaves were much bigger, healthier than those on the parent tree, and they lifted themselves like hands waiting to catch the sunshine.
I thought of Job.
As I stood looking out my dining room window, I considered how he lost everything, and yet everything was restored and even more so. The aspens reminded me of what God can do and does. How faithful He is. How reliable His promises.
The Old Testament prophet Joel wrote:
So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten,
The crawling locust, the consuming locust, and the chewing locust,
My great army which I sent among you.
You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,
And praise the name of the Lord your God,
Who has dealt wondrously with you;
Joel 2:25-26
Yes, the Lord deals “wondrously” with us, whether our attackers are deer, or locust, or uncertain times. He is still God, and He restores us far beyond what we can imagine, down deep where it hurts most. “He restores my soul,” the Psalmist wrote (emphasis mine).
May we stand fast with our Lord in the aftermath of destruction, even if we don’t understand the timing or the reason. He is still faithful.
The Lord blessed the latter part of Job’s life
more than the first.
Job 42:12
~
Life in the aftermath of destruction.
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Ella 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 doctors’ 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, she couldn’t trust him. ~A Change of Scenery
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September 12, 2021
A Cup of Cold Water
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
How valuable is a cup of cold water to someone who is hot, dry, and thirsty?
Jesus told His disciples that when they gave so much as a cup of cold water to a child, their deed was worthy of reward (Matthew 10:42).
Cold water was a rare and precious commodity in the days of Christ on earth. It is not rare today in wealthier nations, but it is still precious when a person is parched and thirsty. Images of ice-cold water sell the bottled product worldwide. It refreshes, revitalizes, invigorates.
On the other hand, what person who is winter-weary and chilled to the bone reaches for anything but a hot cup of coffee or soup, something to warm his hands and body from the inside out?
Each has its place, hot and cold.
The same Jesus who encouraged the gift of cold water spoke to the apostle John as the latter penned the book of Revelation. In the message to the church of Laodicea (3:14-21) the people are called out for being neither cold nor hot, but lukewarm. They are warned to be one or the other, or risk being spit out of God’s mouth.
I know your deeds,
that you are neither cold nor hot.
I wish you were either one or the other!
So, because you are lukewarm
– neither hot nor cold –
I am about to spit you out of my mouth.
Rev. 3:15-16
Today we often miss the little word n/or distinguishing between hot and cold. We rush to the conclusion that we must be hot – on fire, burning with the good news of Christ.
But fiery speech is not the only method of reaching someone with the truth that Jesus loves them and died to pay for their sins. What about that cup of cold water the Lord mentioned to His disciples?
Shouldn’t we be sensitive to the need of the moment? Does a person need hot, deeply burning realization or cold refreshing relief?
I believe the message to believers is to be one or the other – hot or cold. Restore, heal, and comfort or refresh and invigorate.
Let’s not be blah and insensitive, unmoved by another’s suffering. Give them the Water of Life they need, whether it is cold or hot.
~
A cup of cold water.
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Cale screwed his hat down, blocking his view of anyone trying to catch his eye as he strode to the back porch and the wash tub. With absolutely no intention of looking through the kitchen window to see if Ella was inside.
He hung his hat on a peg, kept his head down, and rolled his sleeves up. Cold water had a way of clearing a fella’s brain, especially when splashed in his face over and over again. Eyes closed, he braced his hands on the edge of the tub for a minute, then reached for the towel. Log wall met his fingers, and he jabbed a splinter beneath a nail. Dadbla—
“Looking for this?”
His eyes popped open to the towel dangling from the fingers of one Miss Ella Canaday. Everything he could, should, or ought to say stampeded through his mind, but not one single word lined up proper behind another. He took the towel, pulled out the splinter, then wiped his neck and jaw.
Two words clicked into place. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“When did you—”
“Just now. I held the screen quiet.”
He rubbed the towel over his head. He was worse off than he thought if she could walk right out on the porch without him hearing her. ~A Change of Scenery
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September 6, 2021
Come to Me
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
This year, a national holiday celebrated in the United States and Canada, Labor Day, coincides with the Jewish New Year at sunset. Translated as the Head of the Year, Rosh Hashanah is the first of the high holy days, a day of considering the year gone by, repenting for sin, and asking God for a good year ahead.
No work is permitted on Rosh Hashanah.
Labor Day, a long-standing federal holiday, is set aside to recognize workers across our nation. It too was intended as a day of rest.
In the Old Testament, the prophet Isaiah calls the people to remember God.
I, the Lord, made you, and I will not forget you.
I have swept away your sins like a cloud,
I have scattered your offenses like the morning mist.
O, return to Me, for I have paid the price to set you free.
Isaiah 44:22
In the New Testament, Jesus calls those who are tired and work-worn:
Come to Me,
all you who labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and lowly in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls.
Matthew 11:28-29
I hear a consistent call in these verses penned thousands of years apart, yet both from the heart of God. He invites us, offering what we desperately need but cannot provide for ourselves.
What will our choice be during this holiday? Will we remember the God who paid the price to set us free, come at His call, and find rest in Him? Or will we keep striving, trying to do everything on our own?
We get to choose.
~
We get to choose.
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From the car, Ronnie leaned back in her seat and looked again at Ty Ellicott’s home, curious about what else he was hiding behind his warm smile and quiet laugh. She never dreamed that his carob-colored eyes masked such loss, pain, and . . . peaceful repose. ~”Taste and See” from Always a Wedding Planner
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August 29, 2021
Which Came First: the Answer or the Question?
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I believe some miracles lie in the timing of our prayer because God has already supplied the answer.
Maybe we just haven’t read far enough into the book.
Maybe we paused in our reading one morning at the breakfast table and told God we were willing to do a certain thing if He made it clear to us that it was His will.
Then maybe we took a sip of coffee, picked up the book*, and turned the page. And maybe the answer was there in black Times New Roman font on cream-colored paper. Words that were in the book all along but would not have been recognized as the answer unless the question had been asked.
The words were not read the day before or the day before that. God knew the seeker was not ready for the answer until the morning of the question.
God isn’t to be saved for Sunday, put in a box, or hidden by a veil. He is Sovereign Ruler, Creator, and Coming King. He is Lion and Lamb, first and last, and He knows our questions before we ask Him.
Trust Him for the answers.
He hears you.
I will answer them before they even call to me.
While they are still talking about their needs,
I will go ahead and answer their prayers!
Isaiah 65:24
~
The answer or the question?
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Ty turned in at his private drive and parked next to the rope barn. Living near the Sweetheart City hadn’t done him much good. With thirty-five staring at him from the rear-view mirror, his chances of finding a woman to share his life with were growing slimmer by the year, but he didn’t have what it took to date. Or see someone. Or whatever they called it these days.
The current girls in his life ran up, yapping at the truck, and Ty opened the door to Dally and Short-go. Best cattle-bunching dogs he’d ever seen, in spite of their short corgi legs.
He hand-signaled them out around his roping-dummy straw bale and tossed them each a treat on their return.
Taste and see …
He repeated the visual order, and the pair responded with amazing agility, stopping at his feet for their reward. He delivered.
… that the Lord is good.
Was He? Was God good the night his dad’s plane went down with every member of his family aboard?
The old question festered inside him like a deep rope burn. ~”Taste and See” from Always a Wedding Planner
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August 22, 2021
Time: a prequel to eternity
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I have often heard preachers and teachers describe our temporal existence as a blip on a radar screen compared to unending eternity. I believe they are correct, based on several scriptures that support their line of thinking.
Psalm 103:15-16 is one:
As for man, his days are like grass,
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
However, living in this flower of flesh and bone makes it hard to comprehend eternity beyond the “forever” it takes when I wait at the DMV, the post office, or the supermarket checkout line on the first of the month. I suspect the real forever can’t be measured because it is outside of time.
While recently considering the idea of timelessness compared to the instaworld in which we live, a thought slipped through my musings:
“This is just the prequel.”
Suddenly I understood.
Authors usually write *prequels to a series after they’ve written the series. The shorter novellas give the backstory for characters’ lives before major events. They also allow new readers a quick taste of what’s to come in the full-length books they haven’t read yet.
However, I believe God plans better than the rest of us. The life we live now is a very abbreviated introduction of grander things to come. And the choices we make now in this brief “moment” will impact how and where we spend eternity.
Viewing this life as a prequel helped settle some unanswered questions for me. It helped me see the continuity of my story – God’s story – and generated even more hope than I had before, based on “the big picture.”
Scripture tells us repeatedly that great things lie ahead when we choose God’s way now. Jesus himself said, “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
Because of Jesus and His sacrifice, we have a priceless inheritance, “an inheritance that is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay.” 1 Peter 1:4
“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.” 1 Cor. 2:9
Life just got a little more exciting, more filled with promise and expectancy.
If the flowers of the field look as good as they do now, imagine what they look like in eternity.
~
This is just the prequel.
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The first few days of Gracie’s return to school left Etta listless, as if part of her life were missing. Bern was always busy, either preparing a sermon or quelling a quarrel in town. The Eversons had settled considerably, and worked part time for the mercantile owner, making deliveries to outlying homes and ranches. Still, Bern was gone all day, from daylight to dusk. Occasionally, he came in at dinnertime but never stayed long.
Even when she baked or cleaned or worked outside, she missed him terribly. Missed the fledgling feelings that had been growing before she’d insisted he sign that ridiculous agreement. That piece of paper had driven a wedge between them, and she regretted letting Bern know she’d found it in the hearth. No doubt things would have been different if she’d left it there or fed it to the cook stove. Or not written it at all.
But one did not change the past, only the present, which had power to affect the future. Personal experience had taught her as much, and Reverend Fillmore had spoken on it more than once. ~Mail-order Misfire, prequel to The Front Range Brides
~
*Some memorable movie prequels are: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, Bumblebee, and a whole slew of Star Wars films – all written after the original series story.
*Some famous book prequels are: The Magician’s Nephew and The Family Corleone – also written after the original series story. There is heated, scholarly debate over whether The Hobbit is the prequel to The Lord of the Rings, in spite of the fact that it was written first.
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