Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 26

You Are What You Eat

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

When I was growing up, my mother used to tell me, “You are what you eat.” The phrase seemed silly to me at the time, but I learned that when I ate healthy foods, I became healthier and stronger. When I ate junk food, I was lethargic and listless.

Over the years I found the same “transfer” to occur in the entertainment foods I ingested, whether books, movies, or television programs. I tended to think, speak, and act like what I steadily consumed.

In computer-speak, I believe the phrase is, “garbage in – garbage out.”

If this concept is indeed true, then what I “feed” my mind and spirit is as important a choice as what I feed my body.

A short New Testament book called Philippians gives me a pretty good grocery list. I especially like The Message version:

Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by

filling your minds and meditating on things

true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—

the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly;

things to praise, not things to curse. … Do that, and God,

who makes everything work together, will work you into

his most excellent harmonies

(Phil. 4:8,9 MSG).

We have quite a social smorgasbord from which to choose these days. Let’s choose wisely.

~

You are what you eat.
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Etta returned her attention to the tables along the wall, looking for spots to place what she’d brought. On either side of the colorful arrangement, women had set the food in specific groupings. Platters of sliced turkey, ham, duck, chicken, and quail anchored one end, with side dishes and breads leading the way toward pies, cakes, puddings, and cookies at the opposite end. The bounty was overwhelming in light of the small community from which it sprang.

After squeezing her pies, bread, and dressing into appropriate sections, she noticed Bern visiting with a new couple near the door. She didn’t recognize them, but as they spoke, Bern glanced her way and then back again quickly, as if he didn’t want her to see him. The curious act gave her pause, but she tucked her baskets beneath the long cloths of the food tables and went in search of Gracie. ~Mail-order Misfire

 

Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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By Handling the Truth You Catch the Lie

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

In a recent Bible-study discussion on the inward change of a person’s nature, the participants were directed to 2 Corinthians 3:18 – 

“But we all, with unveiled face,

beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord,

are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory,

just as by the Spirit of the Lord.”

This passage from 2 Corinthians seems to tell me that I am transformed by looking at the Lord, focusing on Him. As I do my part of “beholding” Jesus, God’s spirit works the miracle of change in me.

So how do I know if I’m looking at the real “image” rather than a knock-off copy, painting, or counterfeit? By learning the truth of who Christ is as presented in the Word of God.

Years ago I learned that bank tellers were trained to detect counterfeit bills by handling real money. They looked at and handled only the real deal. Thus, their familiarity with the authentic alerted them to the counterfeit.

This illustration came full circle for me when one of the recent Bible-study participants turned out to be a former bank teller who confirmed what I had heard.

“By handling the truth, you catch the lie,” she said. “You don’t even have to look at the counterfeit. You can feel it.”

Can we say then, that on a spiritual level, we become like that upon which we focus?

When we become so familiar with our Lord by spending time in His word and in prayer, listening for His voice, we will more easily detect counterfeit “truths” offered by the world. Our part is to make the effort to learn the Lord. His part is to make the change in us by His spirit.

~

For more references on God’s image see: Col. 3:10; Romans 8:29; 2 Cor. 4:4; Gen. 1:26, 27 

By handling the truth you catch the lie.
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Taking one of his rough, sun-browned hands, she held it to her lips, then pressed it against her heart, and looked into his dear face. “Everything is perfectly all right,” she said, watching as he read her eyes, finding truth within them, and finally relaxing.

“Then why are you crying?”

Of course a man would not understand a woman’s emotions at all times, especially when they appeared to contradict and fluctuate as hers did so frequently these recent days. But she would try to help him. She would always try.

“Because, my dear husband, His mercies are new every morning.” ~An Impossible Price

 

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Who Are You Trusting?

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

It was late July and the land of the Nez Perce beckoned from across the Bitterroot Range.

Following a string of Montana rodeos, we charted our way across northern Idaho and into Washington. At Clarkston, two routes led to our destination: a long way around through Pendleton with a backtrack on Interstate 84, or a thin highway that shot straight south to Joseph, Oregon—home of the Chief Joseph Days Rodeo.

Loggers and locals called the shorter way “Rattlesnake Grade.” Not to be intimidated by its reptilian reputation, we turned left.

Our rig at the time was an 11½-foot camper on a 1-ton pickup, and a two-horse trailer. In those days before seatbelts, we filled the backseat with a padded bed for Jake who would celebrate his first birthday in Joseph.

With the summertime optimism of a rodeo family, we pointed the pickup south and for a few scenery-rich miles, hugged the Snake River Canyon between Idaho and Washington. Just past Asotin the Snake slithered away and we drove on through gentle fields of golden wheat. On the atlas, the next town, Anatone, lay only 17 miles from the Oregon state line, but the little highway rippled before the border, once on each side of the Grande Ronde River. And I began to wonder.

By the time we realized what lay ahead (or below) it was too late. Few turnouts swelled from the twisting, two-lane roadway, none safe enough to turn our rig around. Accepting the cost of commitment, Mike geared down, babied the brakes and I started praying like I’d never prayed before.

Every oncoming log truck and RV took my breath away as we slid down the mountain on the back of the asphalt sidewinder. No railings—just a sheer drop to the river below.

Halfway down I looked away from the canyon on my right to the men I held dear. Jake was leaning up against the seatback with his head on Mike’s shoulder and his thumb in his mouth—the perfect little picture of peace. He was totally confident that his daddy would get us safely down the road and on to the next rodeo. Jake wasn’t looking over the edge like his mother; he was simply enjoying the ride, unaware of the danger and relying on his dad to do the job at hand.

I envied my son at that moment. He was totally clueless and unafraid. Ignorance really is bliss, I thought. Or was it?

Jake demonstrated child-like faith, not ignorance. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand the dangers, because he trusted his father. He trusted Mike the way my heavenly father wanted me to trust Him: completely.

We cranked our way up and out of the river valley and pulled into the Joseph fairgrounds later that day. A rodeo committeeman met us and welcomed us to Chief Joseph Days, happy that the rodeo clown and his family had made it, not only on time, but early. Was there anything he could get for us, he asked.

“Yes, there is,” my husband said stoically. “A helicopter out of here after the rodeo.”

The man laughed, guessing correctly that we had just come in over Rattlesnake Grade. He assured us that even though the road to Pendleton was longer, it was a quicker way out of the area.

And he was right.

Thank you, Father, for getting me where I need to be—even when the road is frightful.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses,

but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.

Psalm 20:7 NIV

~

     Main Street gave Clay cause to look to the sides of the road when he was really looking at Sophie. She’d done her hair up with a ribbon, and it was all soft around her face. If she were a filly or a heifer, he’d know just what to say about her fine appearance. As it was, uncertainty kept him lock-jawed for fear of saying the wrong thing. She hadn’t been too pleased earlier when he said she looked different. Even beautiful had driven doubt through her eyes.

     He could handle a cantankerous old pig farmer but didn’t know what to say to the woman he’d set his hopes on.

     The road out of town stretched lazily until they reached the turn off that ribboned over grass-covered hills. Recognizing the low saddle ahead, he slowed the gray.

     Sophie took it all in, turning on the bench and scouting the land like she was looking for something. When he stopped short of the saddle, her brow wrinkled.

     “Is this it?”

     “Not quite.”

     “Then why did you stop?”

     Because I want to kiss you and ask if you’ll marry me. “I want you to get the full effect of what’s on the other side.”

     She snugged her shawl tighter and fingered the neckline of her dress. A very becoming neckline. “I’m ready.”

     He lifted the reins. The gray took the cue and eased over the dip between two hills.

     Sophie gasped, and Clay stopped again, relieved that it all hadn’t been a fanciful dream. ~An Impossible Price

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Enlarge My Heart

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

“I will run in the course of Your commandments,

for You shall enlarge my heart”

(Psalm 119:32).

This verse was listed in my morning reading one day last week and left me wondering what it meant for God to enlarge my heart.

I know people often complement a generous or compassionate person by saying he or she has a “big heart.” But that is a metaphorical phrase directed toward someone’s character.

Is that what the Psalmist meant when he wrote of the Lord, “You shall enlarge my heart”?

I suspected there was more to it than that.

Because of my exposure to the thoroughbred racing industry through my husband’s chaplaincy tenure at Arkansas’s Oak Lawn Park in the late 1980s, I’d learned a little about race horses and the tendency of many to have enlarged hearts. Famed 1973 Triple Crown winner, Secretariat, came to mind.

Those in the know say he had an exceptionally large heart.

The average weight of a horse’s heart is about 8.5 pounds, but race horses often carry a larger muscle that propels them down the raceway. Centuries of tradition have dictated that only the head, heart, and hooves of great race horses are buried, but upon Secretariat’s death in 1989, he was buried whole and intact with honor at Kentucky’s Claiborne Farm.

Head pathologist at the University of Kentucky, Dr. Thomas Swerszek, performed the necropsy.

“We just stood there in stunned silence,” Swerszek said. “We couldn’t believe it. The heart was perfect. There were no problems with it. It was just this huge engine.”

Swerszek did not weigh Secretariat’s heart, but in 1993 he weighed the heart of another great race horse, Sham, and found it to weigh 18 pounds. It was smaller than Secretariat’s, and Swerszek, who had worked on both horses, then estimated Secretariat’s heart to have been close to 22 pounds.

“The heart was what made him able to do what he did,” Swerczek said of Secretariat. 

As with great race horses and their physical hearts, could our metaphorical spiritual hearts play a role in our efforts at “running the course” of God’s commands? Walking – or running – in His ways is not something we can do on our own strength, so we need God to enlarge our hearts.

The Apostle Paul alluded to the endurance necessary to live a Christian life when he said, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

Racing isn’t easy, whether we are running, swimming, or riding. It requires training, strength, and tenacity – all traits equally necessary for our spiritual race as well. 

I’m grateful to know that I’m not in this race of life on my own, with merely my own skill to rely on. I wouldn’t make it. But with God enlarging my heart by His Holy Spirit, the finish line is reachable.

~

Watch Secretariat secure the 1973 Triple Crown title as he wins the mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes by at least 25 lengths.

Photo: Unidentified horse and rider in a foggy morning workout at Oaklawn Park Race Track, Hot Springs, AR, 1984.

You will enlarge my heart.
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The lathered stallion blew and struck, head high, eyes wide and wild. Fear and pain were a volatile mix, Clay well knew. Who in their right mind would send a hot-blooded horse like this on a train without a handler?

A crewman came up the ramp and quickly led two horses out. Clay untied a half dozen more, looped their leads around their necks, and slapped them toward the door. After pulling his hat off, he dragged his sleeve across his forehead, then screwed the hat down hard. He had to come at the horse from the side—not unseen, but not straight on either. Setting his voice at a low, easy tone, he stepped away from the wall and eased toward the stallion.

If he survived, he might be the worse for wear. If he didn’t, at least he’d die doing what he loved. ~An Impossible Price

 

Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Drawing Blood on Social Media

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

“Inspirational romance—isn’t that an oxymoron?” A secular, general-market author fired the question at me during a family-related social gathering.

“No, you moron. It isn’t.”

I’d like to say the above response to the question is from a salty character in one of my novels, but it’s not. It’s from a pile of words in the back of my brain that didn’t make it past my teeth because I was biting my tongue for the sake of my daughter who was the reason for the gathering.

Thankfully, the assault on my chosen occupation of inspirational romance novelist did not come across social media, but rather, face to face. It’s easier to bite my tongue than my fingers when they’re flying over a keyboard.

Restraint is a common courtesy that is no longer common. It has fallen out of favor and given way to virtual blood-letting. The courtesy shortage appears to be most prevalent on social media where vitriolic viruses run rampant.

Have you noticed?

The other author’s mockery over a plate of hors d’oeuvres that evening stirred me to defend myself and my work. However, defensiveness is not attractive. And isn’t my job as a Christian fiction writer to attract people to the gospel?

How I accomplish that attraction varies from situation to situation. In the company of my family, a quick and simple explanation proved more appropriate than a tirade or sermonette.

But what if the conversation had taken place via the anonymity of social media? The other author on that important evening assumed that inspirational or godly ideas and morals cannot coexist with romance—that the two concepts oppose one another, as in sharp and dull in accordance with the Greek definition of oxymoron. His assumption revealed what he thought he knew about romance and what he didn’t know about God.

Had we been online discussing the merits of Christian fiction, how easy it would have been to post a personal potshot rather than de-escalate the mounting tension.

There will always be people who disagree with my chosen career field, moral opinions, and life-style ideas. A better writer than I encouraged believers to live wisely among nonbelievers, and to keep conversations gracious and well-seasoned.

God help me stand for what I believe without tripping over my own cutting comebacks. Hopefully, I will leave a good taste in people’s mouths after they visit with me—whether online or face-to-face—and leave the biting replies with my molars.

Let your conversation be gracious and attractive

so that you will have the right response for everyone.

Colossians 4:6 NLT

~

Common courtesy is no longer common.
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Clay wanted nothing more than to feed Clarence Thatcher his teeth—julienned—but the man had been conveniently absent from the hotel when Clay went back for his clothes and saddle bags. The desk clerk returned half his money, more than expected, and Clay took the road east for the Hickman farm and a maiden mare.

This was where his and Sophie’s work overlapped—assisting life into the world. His fingers tightened on the reins. He’d like to assist a certain hotel owner out, but taking life was not what he did. In spite of what his father had told him. ~An Impossible Price

 

 
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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The Right Words Matter

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Years ago, after landing a job at our local newspaper as a crime-beat reporter, I attended a journalism workshop that stressed the importance of tight writing.

“The Lord’s prayer has 66 words,” one handout said. “The Gettysburg address, 286.”

The point: less is more.

The pointed example: “Mother’s dead.”

As a novelist today, I still apply many rules I learned as a journalist.

Of course journalism is not fiction. At least it didn’t use to be. But in the pursuit of tight writing, authors—like journalists—spend quite a bit of time searching for just the right words.

The comment about the Lord’s Prayer led me to realize how concise the scriptures are while brimming with metaphor, simile, and story.

Each word matters. No deadwood floats upon the waters of wisdom. No fluff fills the pages. Each word is specifically and carefully chosen, as in, “Let there be light.”

God started the whole show with just four syllables.

When the Word became flesh in Jesus, people began to understand even more about the Creator who spoke light from darkness.

As an author, I strive every day to say the right thing the right way, and often it’s that very striving that straps me to a literary treadmill. Lots of work, lots of words, no forward movement.

Therefore, in the quiet hours of most mornings, before the world crashes in, I take time apart, often penning my prayers in a small journal. Recently I asked for direction regarding a current work in progress and I wrote, “Show me, Jesus.”

Pausing, I looked at the sentence, then copied it again without the comma.

“Show me Jesus.”

The absence of that little squiggle made a big difference and created questions in my mind.

Which of my two written requests was more important? Which did I need more than the other?

The answers were defining.

Rather than mere direction, I needed the Director.

Rather than answers to the next storyline, I needed the Answer.

As I set myself aside that morning and sought the peace of His presence, my ears opened, my mind cleared, and my eyes saw—all because of three words without a comma: “Show me Jesus.”

An old gospel spiritual, said to have originated during the dark days of open slavery in this country, presents several stanzas that are answered by a simple three-word chorus: “Give me Jesus.”

The original singers of this song could have cried out, “Give me, Jesus.” Give me freedom. Give me liberty. Give me the help I so desperately need. But they sang that line without a comma, asking for the source of comfort Himself.

Today I hope to make my similar three-word prayer the song of my heart – Show me Jesus. For I know if I choose that concise and pointed phrase over all others, everything else will fall in line.

~

They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, with a request.

“Sir,” they said, “we would like to see Jesus.”

John 12:21 NIV

~

The right words matter.
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Just Because Something Is Good Doesn’t Mean It’s Easy

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

“It’s a difficult journey, to be sure,” my friend said. “But a good one.”

She was right.

She has been on the journey with me for several years and understands the dark places and sudden drop-offs. The unexpected bends or endless monotony. The oh so difficult times that always break out into God’s faithfulness.

My recently released book, An Impossible Price, was written during this journey and that made the writing difficult. In fact, I stopped halfway through and started over from the beginning.

Maybe the agony of those days came through in the finished story of two people with wounds and scars and doubts about God and forgiveness.

I wonder, because readers have shared bits of themselves when telling me how they responded to the book. They’ve pointed out moments in the story that touched their hearts or drew laughter and understanding—or how it made them cry or cheer. They have shared things that make me believe many of us are on the same journey even if we don’t realize it.

I continue to be amazed at how God works things out in my life – things that might not necessarily be pleasant or easy. But He works them out for good. Some way, somehow, He always does that. And it makes the suffering worth it.

(Did I really just say “makes the suffering worth it”?)

Yes. I did. It’s true

His faithfulness is unfailing.

His love is unending.

His presence and comfort are worth it all.

~

And we know that God causes everything to work together

for the good of those who love God

and are called according to his purpose for them.

Romans 8:28

~

July 3 I’ll be signing books at a local event in Canon City, Colorado. July 3 was my mother’s birthday, and now it is my granddaughter’s birthday. 

How tender of God to bookend my journey with these two precious lives.

~

Just because something is good doesn't mean it's easy.
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     Clay rode up the back of Pine Hill, past the ponderosa and the two crosses beneath it. There were no guarantees in this country that a man would make it home at night. If it wasn’t a blizzard, it was lightning. Bears or mountain lions. A hoof in a badger hole and a bad fall. He realized it more now than ever.

     He also realized he’d faced that bear without a second thought, eerily calm in the moment. But he couldn’t share his hidden scars with a woman he loved.  ~An Impossible Price

 
 
 
 
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National Chocolate Éclair Day

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Today is National Chocolate Éclair Day. It is also National Take Your Cat to Work Day, but let’s just leave that one alone.

Eclairs do not scratch, yowl, or shed, plus chocolate is involved. I’d much rather take a box of éclairs to work than my cat Oakley, and since I work at home, this is a win-win situation.

The word éclair comes from the French for “lightning” or “flash of light.” Not sure about the connection other than perhaps the first bite into a light and crispy crème-filled, chocolate-covered pastry could be as delightfully jolting as a lightning strike.

So start the week off right. Visit your local bakery and take home a chocolate éclair for dessert tonight. You can even choose between rich chocolate crème filling or decadent vanilla crème. I prefer vanilla.

And if you buy an extra one for the trip home in the car, who’s to know?

There is nothing particularly spiritual about chocolate eclairs – though some people might argue that point. But as it says in 1 Timothy 6:17, our good and beautiful God “gives us richly all things to enjoy!” 

No argument there.

~

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     Hoss Bozeman approached with his camp-sized coffee pot, and Clay offered his cup.

     “I got beans with side pork and hot buttered cornbread, Sheriff.” He nodded at Clay, then took a harder look.

     “You remember Clay Ferguson?” Garrett grinned like he and Clay were blood kin. In Clay’s book, they might as well be.

     The cookie’s face split with a wide grin. “I thought you looked familiar. Had me goin’ for a minute there. I pride myself on knowin’ everyone who eats here.”

     “It’s been a few years.”

     “I seem to recall how you cottoned to my bear sign, but I’m fresh out today. Come back tomorrow for breakfast and I’ll fill your gullet.”

     Clay nodded, spilling a smile. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

     After Hoss left, Garrett took a swig of hot coffee and winced. “His cookin’s passable, but his brew gets a might thick by dinner.”

 

 

Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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Happy Father’s Day, Dad

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

This coming Sunday is Father’s Day. It’s been a very long time since I wished my dad “Happy Father’s Day.” So here goes …

 

Daddy was a California farmer.

He wore long-sleeved shirts against the sun, regardless of the season.

He carried his wedding ring in his wallet where it impressed a permanent circle rather than catch on something and cost him a finger.

The right front pocket of his work pants held a pocketknife that he sharpened on a grinding stone, and he could do just about anything with that knife—

Peel an orange fresh from the tree.

Remove a splinter from the finger of a trembling little girl.

Make a whistle from a willow branch, notching it at just the right intervals.

He taught me to swim by throwing me in the pool, then kneeling at the edge with his arms out, shouting, “Swim over here to me!”

He taught me to drive by lifting me to the tractor seat and showing me how to stand on the brake when I wanted to stop.

He taught me how to shoot a gun, ride a horse, and work a shovel. Set irrigation pipe.

He tried to teach me how to dance, but that didn’t go so well.

He was a preacher and a building *contractor. A husband and a veteran.

He wasn’t perfect, but he loved me.

Thank you, Daddy.

Happy Father’s Day.

~

He wasn't perfect, but he loved me.
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     “Cash? You have enough cash to buy a small ranch?”

     The deep-chested laugh rolled out and Clay wrapped his arm around her, pulling her even closer. “Are you wonderin’ if I robbed a bank?”

     He was toying with her, and Sophie didn’t appreciate it. She stiffened slightly. “I know you wouldn’t do that, but it’s about all I know of you.”

     They came to a dip in the road, and he lifted his arm from her shoulders and took the reins in both hands. “It’s from sale of the family farm out east, past La Junta.”

     Silenced for a moment by the sudden influx of information, she began forming pictures of his childhood. He had a family after all. At least a mother and father. Siblings?

    “Do you—”

    “I don’t talk about ’em.”

    End of conversation.      ~An Impossible Price

 

Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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*Photo courtesy of Facebook page Porterville Our Past. “Volunteer Work Team – Porterville Community Swimming Pool July 1953 Left to right standing: Joe Elliott (secty-mgr-Chamber of Commerce, Dave Chamberlain (contractor), Frank Sheldon (Modern Plumbing & Supply Co.), Bob Board (Tel.Co.), Lester Braly (Tel. Co.), Sid Wheeler (Modern Plumbing & Supply Co.), Carroll Simmons (Tel. Co.), Andy Anderson (Modern Plumbing), Ronnie Barnard (Tel. Co.), Jay Brewer (Tel. Co.), Rodney Wiens (Porterville College), Freeland Wilson (Tel Co.). Left to right kneeling: Hank Brovelli, Tom Landers, Cole Johnson, Bob Adams (all are Tel Co. employees)”

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From the Cockpit of My Author’s Desk …

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

She didn’t look like a pilot.

She looked like a woman who spent a lot of time on her hair and makeup and even more time selecting her clothes.

But not only was she a pilot, she was one of several authors at a multi-author book-signing event, and she was seated across the aisle from me. Clearly, the quip about not judging a book by its cover had its place.

As we visited that day, I learned that this woman had logged many hours in the cockpit as the PIC – Pilot in Command. However, her knowledge of aerodynamics and her skill at breaking gravity’s grip often caused her great fear when she flew on commercial airlines.

I expected just the opposite.

She explained.

As a frequent international flier, she always paid close attention to the pilots for her flights. The young ones made her nervous, she said. Not because they were less qualified to fly the massive commercial airliners, but because they were less likely to have experienced the many things that can go wrong several miles above terra firma.

She was most comfortable with pilots who had a military background. Their level of “been there, done that” usually involved surviving mechanical failures, life-threatening weather conditions, and split-second choices.

She drew comfort from their hard times.

I drew conclusions from her comments.

When we hear that people have experience in a particular field or endeavor, we often equate that experience with success and only success. However, if that were the case, their experience would not be genuine, for experience bleeds.

As believers in an omnipotent and loving God, we know that nothing is impossible when He is involved. We know that He is always with us, working everything out for our good. But we are less comfortable with reminders of the turbulence and trials that await us, even in His presence.

During our difficult times, we may not be aware of others observing our troubles, but when we’re slammed against the wall and Jesus squeezes out through the cracks in our lives, people see it. When we suffer as they suffer, yet survive—even thrive—they find hope that they can too.

Ironically, when I’m commanding situations from the cockpit of my author’s desk, I’m often reluctant to let my characters fail. I like them. I want to protect them, keep them from hurtling through emotionally turbulent air. However, that’s unrealistic and impractical.

It’s also boring.

Readers know failure is part of the deal, and they want to see the protagonist hit the wall and get up again. They want to observe characters overcoming challenges similar to their own.

Yes, those readers know they’re consuming fictional stories, but truth leaks from the cracks in characters’ lives the same way it does in our own.

Author and literary agent Donald Maass tells writers to find the worst thing that can happen to their protagonist and put it in the book.

That idea makes me shiver. It also makes for good story.

My characters must stumble, fall, and bleed along their developmental pathway. Authentic experience with any endeavor involves imperfection, failure, and growth. Abraham Lincoln and Michael Jordan are exceptional examples of this truth.

It’s the fall-down-get-up principal. 

We don’t think about Jesus falling down, but He did. We read in Matthew 26:37-39 that when he was “sorrowful and deeply distressed” over what was about to take place, He went to Gethsemane with His disciples and “fell on His face, and prayed.”

He who stilled the storm and walked on water, healed the blind, lame, and lepers, and fed thousands fell on His face and prayed.

The book of Luke continues with the following:

And being in great agony, He prayed more earnestly.

And His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

When He rose up from prayer, and had come to His disciples,

He found them sleeping from sorrow (Luke 22:44-45).

Jesus fell down before the One He trusted and got up again changed. Comforted. Strengthened to face a horrific event.

Both sides of the fall-down-get-up equation are necessary.

Success comes when the latter outnumbers the former.

~

Experience bleeds.
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   At a knock on the back door, she rose. Doc Weaver’s voice slipped through the opening, and Betsy stepped aside for him to enter.

   A wiser man Sophie had never met, and by the deep lines carved in his features, he’d experienced much loss himself. He took the chair Betsy had vacated and leaned forward, arms on his knees. “You did everything you could, Sophie.”

   At the kindness of his tone, she shook her head, refusing to accept absolution. ~An Impossible Price

 
 
 
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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