Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 21

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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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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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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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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*The Furious Longing of God

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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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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As Far As the East is From the West

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Tuesday mornings I can hear the garbage truck as it makes the corner down the road from my house. I’m on an every-other-week pick-up schedule, and this last “other week” was a doozy. Every time I walked past the big blue roller bin behind the house, I gagged on fear that the garbageman wouldn’t pick it up.

I put the remains of a roasted chicken in there early in the first week. You know, those seasoned chickens you get from the market’s deli section that cost twice as much as roasting one yourself but smell sooooo good.

But after the fact, that chicken carcass did not smell good. Neither does dead turkey. Remind me to tell you a story sometime about a dead turkey and the city police.

Anyway, last Tuesday morning I watched from the window as the garbageman set the roller bin in electronic arms that lifted it above the truck’s cavernous belly and dumped it.

God bless him.

God bless all those men and women for the job they do. Can you imagine what our homes and property would look (and smell) like without those faithful workers? And yes, I know. There was a time when we did not have the luxury or need for trash collectors, and if we weren’t so wasteful, etc., etc. A blog for another time.

However, the garbageman made me think of Jesus.

Before you light the fire at my feet, think about it for a second: sin stinks. It’s rank, and over time it gets worse. We can’t take care of our sin ourselves. All the religious perfume and spiritual air freshener in the world will not cover the odor of unrepented sin. It rots. We need it removed.

Jesus does that and more for us. He doesn’t just take it away like the garbage man took my dead chicken. He paid for it with His life. He didn’t have any dead rotting sin of His own, but he took mine on Himself and paid my penalty of death.

And when he took it away, He removed it a lot farther than just across the county to the landfill.

It’s possible to go to the landfill and see the piles, be reminded that my trash is in there.

When God removes our sin, he separates it from us as far as the east is from the west. And that’s a lot farther than north from south.

Look at a globe. With your finger, start at the top or north-pole point of the globe and move your finger down. You’re moving in a southerly direction and eventually, you will hit the south-pole area. If you don’t stop, but keep going, your direction will change, and you’ll be moving in a northly direction. South and north meet at the poles.

Now try the same thing again by choosing a point on the equator, but move your finger around the globe heading east or west. Either will do.

If you’re moving in an easterly direction, do you ever run into west? If you’re moving west, do you ever run into east?

South and north meet. They turn back on each other again and again even though you keep moving straight ahead. 

East and west never meet.

When God separates me from my sin, I’m not going to run into it someday – unless I deliberately turn around and go back to it. If I keep going straight ahead with Him, I’m not going to stumble into that rotting, decomposing pile of poor choices.

Thank God for His incredible power to forgive, clean me up, and separate me from my sin.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
Psalm 103:11-12

~

The garbageman made me think of Jesus.
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For a fabulous song about our sin being carried away, listen to Casting Crowns’ rendition of Glorious Day. 

 

“Blue was my father’s dog,” Parker said.

The graveled comment came low and quiet, more of a thought than spoken words.

“It took some time before I stopped hating him. Same with my father.”

Shock roused Clay from fatigue as well as his assumptions. He’d figured Parker Land and Cattle hadn’t had much trouble, at least among the people. No operation ran smoothly when cattle were involved, but a family spread—well, that always gave him a homesick feeling for what he’d never known and wished he had.

“You didn’t know that, did you?” Parker tore his weary eyes from the dog and looked at Clay.

“No, sir.” Deacon had mentioned Parker’s pa being hard to get on with, but he hadn’t mentioned the dog.

Parker huffed and turned back to the fire. “My father and I rarely saw eye to eye. Then he and my mother died in a blizzard and I blamed him. Hated him. For years. Took a while before I didn’t see or think of him every time I looked at Blue.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Not until Mae Ann came along was I able to forgive him.”

Unsettled by the confession that hit too close to home, Clay sensed Parker wasn’t finished.

“Hate will kill a man. Eat him alive from the inside out.”

The skin on Clay’s back twitched.

“Forgiveness carries a high price, but it’s worth it.”

No words came. Clay had nothing to say or give. Only an ache in his leg, a burning in his chest, and what he thought he hadn’t heard Bittman say last Sunday.  ~An Impossible Price

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National Book Lovers Day

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Today is National Book Lover’s Day! I hope you will find opportunity to turn off the television, silence your smartphone, and escape into a good book. You could read a biography, a how-to, a mystery, or an action-packed adventure. And if you enjoy Western romance, well I can help you out with that. Many of my books are listed below and linked to their own page that will tell you more about each one and offer buy links as well.

I also want to show you some of the books I’ve enjoyed reading in the last year or so. Some are “old,” but maybe you’ll find a new-to-you author. 

Happy reading!

Books I’ve read and enjoyed:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once.” ~ C.S. Lewis

 

If you like Inspirational Western Romance, you might enjoy one of my books. There are a couple of contemporary titles listed as well, but they all have a cowboy to love.

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Is There an Antidote?

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

At my last annual checkup, I told the doctor I thought I had a spider bite.

The doctor told me spiders don’t bite.

Clearly, he’d never seen the movie Spiderman.

I’d been working in the yard a few days earlier and bore what I considered evidence, but I listened as Doc observed and explained. After all, he was the one with M.D. behind his name.

Spiders don’t bite in the way we think of bite, he said. Rather, they inject venom into their prey, let it do its work, then suck out the liquified insides.

Eww.

It’s the venom from a black widow or brown recluse that causes problems, not their teeny tiny  “bite.”

Doc gave me a prescription for a mild skin infection, told me I was healthy as a horse, and sent me on my way.

It just so happened that during this time of the physical “spider bite,” I was also suffering emotional stings of resentment and self-pity. Pretty noxious attacks, those, and it didn’t take an arachnologist to make the metaphorical connection.

If I had been the victim of a black widow, antivenom (antivenin) would possibly have been ordered and administered.

As the victim of resentment and self-pity, I knew these initially minor irritations could grow and spread if I left them unchecked. I knew they could poison me on several levels and eventually paralyze me emotionally and spiritually. The choice was mine: cling to these reactions and let them infect me or find help.

Was there an antidote?

Praise and gratitude are incredibly effective against the venom of resentment, self-pity, and envy. Thanking God for His mercy and goodness takes my eyes off me and my situation and locks my focus on the Lord.

In the book of Job we read, “Resentment kills a fool, and envy slays the simple” (Job 5:2 NIV).

Psalm 37 tells us three times in the first eight verses not to fret. That word forms an acronym I learned years ago: Fear, Resentment and Envy = Turmoil.

Lord, thank you for providing the antidote that cancels the poison of my enemy, and help me administer it every day.

Therefore by Him let us continually
offer the sacrifice of praise to God,
that is, the fruit of our lips,
giving thanks to His name.
Hebrews 13:15

Is there an antidote?
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Nearly finished with her midwife duties, Sophie brushed her fingers against the newborn’s downy head. “Have you chosen a name?”

“Madeline,” the mother replied. “Cade and I discussed it before he left. I felt certain she was a girl and Cade argued that it was a boy. But he agreed on the name just in case.” Gentle laughter brushed Madeline’s head as she suckled.

“It’s a beautiful name and well chosen.” Carved into one of the crosses atop the hill—Cade’s mother’s name. Sophie recalled his parents’ funeral, the same day Betsy eloped with her beau. Such pain all the way around for this family, yet now new life bore a beloved name and offered another go at things.

Self-pity pinched behind Sophie’s eyes, and when Madeline broke away in sated slumber, Sophie scooped her up. “Enjoy your breakfast now that she’s had hers. I’ll bring the cradle in from Willy’s nursery and then take care of that little man.” ~An Impossible Price

 

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God of One

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Do you believe God is the God of one?

Some may say that’s a self-centered way of looking at things, focusing on what God has done for you or me alone.

Maybe not.

In a women’s Bible study I attend, we recently worked through the book, MATCHLESS, by Angie Smith. She points out that in a crowd, Jesus always managed to find the one.

Consider those He healed or comforted:

the woman who touched his garment in the press of many people

the lame man at the pool among others there

the thief on the cross next to Him, where onlookers mocked or wept

Think about some of the one-on-one conversations Jesus had:

Nicodemus

the woman at the well

Pontius Pilate

Jesus did what His Father did when He reached out to the one.

God spoke to

Abraham

Hagar

Moses

He answered the prayer of

a shepherd

a king

a barren woman

How often we think we are too unimportant for God to notice, yet Jesus said a single sparrow cannot fall without God’s awareness of it.

“So don’t be afraid, “ He added. “you are worth more than many sparrows.” 

When we call out to Him, He hears our solitary voice, even in the roar of a crowd.

“Whoever believes in Him …” 

Whoever.

That means you.

~

God of one
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Cheering broke through Ronnie’s reverie as booted bridesmaids in sassy gowns and groomsmen wearing starched jeans and sunflower boutonnieres lined up for dancing. Guests made their way to the food, and Ronnie worked relay between the braised ribs table and the sweet tea and lemonade. Her mother held down the appetizer fort, and Felicity stood guard at the three-tiered waterfall of sunflowers on the wedding cake.

Perfection reigned. And Ronnie had never felt more alone in her life. ~”Taste and See” from Always a Wedding Planner

 

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We See Light

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you may have guessed that I like to take pictures of the sunrise. Have you noticed that each one is unique?

Most mornings when I walk, I strike out toward the east, so I’m greeted with a new beginning each day.

English professors will tell you that “new beginning” is redundant.

I disagree.

Starting something is a beginning. Starting all over again is a new beginning. But starting with something unique and fresh over which you have no control is an amazing experience.

It’s a gift.

Like the dawn.

His compassions fail not.
they are new every morning:
Great is Thy faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:22-23

I also like to take pictures of striking sunsets. These two times of day speak to me more than any other and draw me to scriptures like Psalm 65:8. 

“You make the outgoings of the morning and evening rejoice.”

Years ago I read a fanciful children’s book by Gary D. Schmidt, Straw into Gold. One of the characters is blind, but he can hear the dawn. “… the dawn gives reason to hope,” he tells his sighted companions.

Can you imagine how quiet one must be to hear the sun rise?

Another scripture that comes to me regarding sunrise and sunset is repeated in six variations in the first chapter of Genesis:

“And the evening and the morning were the first day.”

Biblical scholars argue about this – of course – for how could there be “evening” and “morning” on the first three days of creation when the sun wasn’t created until the fourth day (though light was the very first thing spoken into existence)?

Well, I don’t know.

Neither do I know how God made all that is from nothing. Or how the rotation and orbit of our earth doesn’t fling us into space. Or how anyone could possibly love me, like God Himself.

But each morning when I see the dawn breaking at the end of my lane, I see that He does love me. I see that He is faithful, even more so than the rising of that glowing star that gives me warmth and light.

He gives me life, for with Him is its very fountain (Psalm 36:9).

And it is enough to know that in His light we see light.

~

We see light.
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Clay pulled his gloves on and tromped across the yard, around the barn, and away from the world where he could stand out in the open and watch the sun rise.

Like every sunrise before, it drew him. They always had, though he didn’t know—there it was again—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 her voice.

He’s faithful, Clay. Look at that sunrise, so fresh and perfect. It’s His mercy, brand new every morning.

The pain sent him to his knees, and he clutched at his chest. Lanced by forgotten words, the blister drained through his 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. ~An Impossible Price

 

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