Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 29
January 13, 2020
I Carried You on Eagle’s Wings
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
One of my favorite promises in the Bible is found in Isaiah 40:31 where new or renewed strength is assured for those who wait on the Lord.
“They shall soar high on wings like eagles,” says the New Living Translation.
I’ve written quite a bit about this encouragement, and one of the daily devotions appearing in the 2020 Guideposts, All God’s Creatures, features my thoughts on this verse.
It’s easy to imagine myself soaring on wings of faith, buoyed by the rising breath of God’s Spirit, but …
What if I can’t?
What if I can’t even hold my arms out?
What if my faith-feathers are puny and undeveloped?
Recently I read a passage in Exodus of God reminding the Hebrews that He brought them out of Egypt after years of captivity. In His reminder to them, I gained a new perspective on the eagle metaphor. A new appreciation of the lengths to which our Father will go.
“You have seen what I did to the Egyptians. You know how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself” (Exodus 19:4 NLT).
Again, in Deut. 32:11, I read, “Like an eagle that rouses her chicks and hovers over her young, so he spread his wings to take them up and carried them safely on his pinions” (NLT).
These two images tell a completely different story than the one I frequently envision. They show a God who carries us. One who lifts us on His wings when we can’t fly on our own. One who knows what we’re made of and loves us even in our frailty.
The next time I feel myself soaring on a rising thermal, I’ll be sure to check beneath my feet for the smooth-feathered surface of His wide-spread wings.
~
What if my faith-feathers are puny and undeveloped?
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Now an audio book.
At Hawthorne Ranch, sprinklers vaulted over the paddocks, and cow-calf pairs grazed in the upper pastures. A red-tailed hawk soared across Laura’s view and drew her eyes with its effortless climb. As a child she’d watched the regal birds for hours. She knew where they nested and had learned how they rode the thermals.
Why couldn’t she glide through life like that?
Frustrated, she went inside, and an answer trailed her to the shower. You’re not rising on the heat.
Heat she understood.
~The Miracle Tree, now available on audio.
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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January 6, 2020
Look Straight Ahead
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Last week I shared my life verse – Psalm 16:8 – and how it encourages me in the New Year as well as in every new endeavor.
Recently I discovered what I consider to be a companion verse. As is often the case when reading scripture, this companion verse is one I’ve read many times. But on one particular day near the end of 2019, it spoke to me personally.
Look straight ahead,
and fix your eyes on what lies before you.
Mark out a straight path
for your feet.
Stay on the safe path.
Don’t get sidetracked.
Proverbs 4:25-27 NLT
When I saw the phrase “what lies before you,” it connected to me with my life verse that says, “I have set the Lord always before me.”
This passage from Proverbs seemed to be giving me specific encouragement, and I copied it into my journal in the following form:
Look straight ahead,
and fix your eyes on what lies before you.
Mark out [plan] a straight path
for your feet [writing].
Stay [keep] on the safe path [plan].
Don’t get sidetracked.
Proverbs 4:25-27 NLT
This is my “amplified” version of the passage. The words in brackets are how I personalize the scripture and apply it to my life.
It’s easy to get distracted by things other than our purpose – even when we’ve heard from the Lord about what that purpose is.
So often we respond to the lure of “I see it, therefore I want it.”
Or we fall prey to, “I can do that.”
This passage from Proverbs helps me ask key questions:
Just because I want something, does that mean I need it?
Just because I can do something, does that mean I should?
Good friend, sculptor, and horsewoman Lynne Schricker once told me in reference to the “sword of the Spirit” which is the word of God, “Find a handle and hang on.”
These two passages, Psalm 16:8 and Proverbs 4:25-27 are my handles. I have one for each hand and I’ll be holding on to these this year as I keep moving forward with what the Lord has directed me to do.
I encourage you in the next few days, find your handle for the word of God and hang on. There are things on the road ahead that will serve as distractions. Grip your handle(s), and don’t get sidetracked.
Write the scriptures that speak to you on 3-by-5 cards and tape them to the bathroom mirror, the kitchen window, the refrigerator, wherever your eye frequently travels. Reinforce yourself with words that brings life. The words of the world around us are so often empty. Take hold of what will last and …
look straight ahead.
~
Find a handle and hang on.
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Just because I can, should I?
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Now available in audio.
On a whim, she turned off the path and headed for the waterfall, hoping it was as beautiful as she remembered in winter. Frozen solid in an everlasting descent.
Only the horse crunching through snow broke the stillness, for the dog followed behind now, finding it easier on his old bones, she supposed. An occasional jay or squirrel scolded as they passed, and the pristine beauty of the land soothed Abigale’s sense of loss.
People came and went, but the land—the land was forever. ~Just in Time for Christmas
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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December 30, 2019
Always Before Me
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
New beginnings. Technically, that’s a redundant phrase – like tuna fish.
If something is a beginning, then it’s new. And if it’s new, then it’s the beginning of something different.
However, our ears seem to like the sound of “new beginnings.” It rings with hope.
In two days, we’ll see the beginning of a new calendar year – 2020. For some people, the arrival of a new year stirs anticipation and excitement. Yet for others, it generates fear and uncertainty. After all, the unknown is closer than we think, right?
As I trade 2019 for 2020 in my desktop planner and change the calendar on my wall, my life verse rises to the occasion:
I have set the Lord always before me;
because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Psalm 16:8
At first glance, this verse appears to be a contradiction. How can God be ahead of me and right beside me at the same time?
He can because He’s God.
Since He lives outside of time, unconstrained by clock and calendar, God is already around the bend. He’s already in the New Year. He’s already where I’m going, and He knows what I’ll need when I get there.
But He’s also beside me every step of the way.
Only God can pull that off.
Where do we meet God – in the past? No, because we can’t get there.
Do we meet Him in the future? No, we can’t get there either.
Only in the moment – the present – do we connect with Him. Maybe that’s why the Apostle Paul quoted Isaiah when he wrote, “Now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2).
Because of God’s unfettered existence, He can be “always before me,” already around the bend before I get there, yet also “at my right hand,” with me every step of the way.
What better promise with which to enter a new decade? Could 2020 be the metaphorical year of clearer vision?
Only with the Lord beside us and before us will we be able to find out.
Let’s give Him the chance to change our lives and clear our view.
~
Do we meet God in the past?
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Wil Bergman wakes in a stranger’s house with a busted leg, a bullet-creased scalp, and no horse. Trail-weary, robbed, and penniless, his dreams and plans for a future are suddenly unattainable. Forced to recuperate in the home of a country doctor, he finds himself at the mercy of a surgeon whose sister’s healing touch has power to stitch up his lonely heart and open his eyes to the impossible. ~Snow Angel, part of A High-Country Christmas: Romance Collection
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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December 23, 2019
Shadows of the Season
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Shadows of the Season
My baby’s hands
so fine
so perfectly formed
hiding crease and fold
within their tiny grasp
as though from years of bending.
What shadow do I see
across his palm
as he lies gently sleeping?
My baby’s face
so pure
and smooth
holding life and love
behind his eyes
as though from years of living.
What shadow do I see
upon his brow
as he lies sweetly smiling?
My baby’s work
so fine
and good
revealing skill
with plane and saw
as though from years of building.
What shadow do I see
upon the wood
as he stands waiting, watching?
My baby’s words
so timeless
wise and true
chosen well
to mend the wound
as though from years of healing.
What shadow do I see
upon his lips
as he speaks of his leaving?
My baby’s life
so fragile
yet so strong
blending sacrifice and mercy
together on one cross
as though from years of giving.
What shadow do I see
upon my heart
as he hangs bruised and bleeding?
My baby’s grave
so empty
so absent of his flesh
entombing nothing
of his life
as though from years of knowing.
What shadow do I see
dispelled in light
as He comes to me, risen!
~
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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December 16, 2019
Occupational Hazard
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Repetitive action at keyboards has cost me a couple of wrist surgeries. Occupational hazard, some would say.
Worth it, I would say.
The piano came alive to me in kindergarten, a typewriter in high school. Dancing my fingers over a keyboard in emotive expression just made sense, whether I played music or words. I’ve continued in both activities for a lifetime and will soon return to a surgical professional for “maintenance.”
Fifteen years ago, my first carpal tunnel surgery left an inch-long scar on the heel of my right hand. In public, I held the tender area flat against my body, offering instead my left hand in greeting.
As the wound healed, I cautiously ventured back to my everyday life of writing, teaching, computing, and playing the piano. But I tended to hide the ugly, pink scar that cut across from wrist to palm. Exposing it made me feel vulnerable to pain or injury, even rejection from others.
On Sundays I was self-conscious about raising my hand during worship – a common practice for many who attended my church. What if someone turned and looked at that imperfect hand? How could I lift it up to a perfect God? I was embarrassed.
And then one Sunday morning, the worship music touched my heart so deeply, that I had to raise my hand. I felt bare, exposed, as if I were lifting my whole imperfect, scarred life to God. Would He accept me?
In that moment I sensed Him reaching out through the hands of Jesus – as if He were revealing His own wounds, opening His arms to me, unhesitatingly, unembarrassed. No, I was not the only one with scars in her hands. Nor was I the only one with scars on her soul. Isn’t that all we really have to offer God anyway – our torn, ruined lives?
The Apostle Paul said, “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus” (Galatians 6:17). I always wondered what he meant by that. Was he referring to the physical beatings he suffered for the sake of his faith, or was he speaking metaphorically about spiritual scars? Either way, my minor surgery was not to be compared with Christ’s torturous suffering, yet I couldn’t help but think of His scars when I looked at my own. His wounds had not been stitched neatly closed like mine. They gaped, no doubt, from the weight of His body hanging on the cross and the weight of my sins on His heart.
After the Resurrection, Jesus offered His scar-torn hands to a doubting man named Thomas and told him to put his finger in the holes and see that they were real. Could I say that to someone, perhaps not in a physical sense, but emotionally?
Am I willing to share my hidden wounds and shame with others so they too can believe and find healing?
~
Occupational hazard, some would say.
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Snow Angel – available in audio, e-book, and print collection of
A High-Country Christmas
.As delayed as a child’s anticipated Christmas, her hands began to tremble and she swaddled them in her shawl, annoyed at her lack of self-control. For twenty years she’d lived and managed. For the last five, she’d helped her brother Tay, relinquishing dreams of her own home, a loving husband, children.
The older she grew, the more clearly she saw the way men averted their gazes. Polite, but uninterested. Who wanted a maimed wife? One who didn’t even have the finger on which to place a wedding band? ~ Snow Angel
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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December 9, 2019
Multi-Author Christmas Scavenger Hunt!
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Welcome! This week I’m part of a multi-author Christmas scavenger hunt and I’d love it if you’d join us in the fun.
At each author’s blog, you will find a question that can be answered by checking out the free preview for their book on Amazon. Each blog will also direct you to the next blog in line. Answer each question by using this Google form. Be sure to answer every author’s question to be entered for a chance to win our fabulous Grand Prize.
At the end of my post is a link to the next author’s blog, so keep reading. If I’m the first author you happen to see, no worries. The Google form gives you links to all twenty-seven authors.
In my Christmas novella set, A High Country Christmas: Romance Collection, two novellas are found under one cover: my brand new Just in Time for Christmas and last year’s Snow Angel. Each is a historical stand-alone story about those looking for love in the high-country parks and peaks of Colorado. Cowboys, anyone?
In Just in Time for Christmas, Abigale Millerton’s grandfather dies while she’s away at a Denver girls’ school. Alone now for the second time in her young life, she leaves school and returns to her adoptive grandparents’ ranch in the Catamounts near Divide. At seventeen, she’s faced with a floundering ranch, a timber thief pinching her lodgepole pine, and a cowboy intent on stealing her heart.
And locals don’t call the area the Catamounts for nothing. Catamount is another word for mountain lion.
Now for your entry in my part of the scavenger hunt: Go to A High-Country Christmas: Romance Collection on Amazon at this link. What is the phenomenon that Abigale mentions, saying it needs “precise conditions” before it can happen? Find the answer by looking in the free “look inside” feature, then fill out this Google form and head on to the next blog!
Thank you so much for visiting. The next author on the tour is Sarah Hamaker, who will tell you about her Christmas book Mistletoe & Murder. You can find her blog at this link. Remember – the round-robin will end on December 16th at 11:59 PM EST.
Have a blessed Merry Christmas, and may all that you read be uplifting!
~
multi-author #Christmas scavenger hunt
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Maegan Morin – you are the randomly selected winner of last week’s “Make A Joyful Noise” book giveaway. Congrautlations! I will be in touch.
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December 2, 2019
Make A Joyful Noise – and enter for a giveaway!
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I’m a Christmas-carol fan.
The music takes me back to my childhood and all those candlelight Christmas Eve services we attended.
From there I went on to high school choir and church choir and – okay, I admit it – I know all the verses to several of these seasonal songs.
Melodically, my favorite is “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” Perhaps it is “captive Israel” I’ve always heard mourning in the distinctly Jewish flavor that breaks into hopeful promise on the chorus with “Rejoice!” That one word of the 1854 Plainsong melody adapted by Thomas Helmore could have split the night sky above Bethlehem’s shepherds.
Lyrically, I like “Joy to the World.” The words of 18th-century hymn writer Isaac Watts so aptly convey that joy, and are mirrored in the lively tune by New Englander Lowell Mason, inspired by two passages from George Frederick Handel’s Messiah.
Do you have a favorite Christmas carol? If so, share it below, and I’ll toss your name in the mix for a random drawing this week. The winner will receive a free e-book of my recently released Christmas-novella set, A High-Country Christmas.
Merry musical Christmas to you all!
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord!
Psalm 98:4
~
Make a joyful noise!
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If you don’t already receive my quarterly newsletter, you can sign up here. All my subscribers receive a free e-book when they sign up, plus a free desktop download four times a year.
The next newsletter goes out tomorrow, Dec. 3. Don’t miss it!
~
Find a cowboy for Christmas in this heartwarming holiday collection.
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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November 25, 2019
Gratitude
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I have a time machine in my home. When I run my fingers over the smooth wooden doors, I’m transported to the turn of the century. Not this century, but 1900.
It’s a primitive piece, one of three hutches that belonged to my grandmother. Simplistic in design and function, it is a piece for which some people would pay a good deal of money, but I received it as an afterthought, a token given to the youngest grandchild of a woman old enough to be her great grandmother.
When Grandma departed without any of her worldly possessions, the generation previous to mine doled them out. I got the leftovers, the sturdy ugly duckling, forgotten behind the parlor door.
But really, I got the prize.
Each of Grandma’s three hutches represented a segment of her life’s journey. The most modern was a curved-glass china cabinet filled with curios and photographs and fancy dishes she rarely used. The middle-age hutch boasted intricate gingerbread curlicues and special compartments. But the hutch hidden behind the parlor door to the kitchen had been built by my carpenter grandfather for his old-maid bride.
Grandma laughed when she told me about that moniker. She’d been determined not to marry until her eighteenth birthday, and she stuck to her guns.
I like to think I have a little of her tenacity.
After helping fight fires spawned by the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, my grandfather went south with his bride and bought farmland in the San Joaquin Valley. Their first home had three walls with blankets enclosing the fourth side, according to stories my father told. I never questioned those stories. Just listened, amazed that people lived that way so recently in American history.
But poverty constrains many to be creative, so the Benjamin Chamberlain family made do with what they had.
The cabin was eventually replaced with a clapboard house, then replaced again when sons built a nicer home for their parents. The third house is the one I remember from my early childhood, where I walked barefoot in uncut grass cooled by sentinel shade trees. Violets grew freely in the grass, perfuming the air as I played.
Years later I realized the truth of the oft-quoted phrase: Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
Perhaps that was why Grandma’s grass was uncut.
My children never saw that home and its fragrant violets, but they grew up with the old hutch. Someday they may sell it and take the money instead of the memories.
But for now, I look at it and see my grandfather’s lack of wealth and abundance of love. I see the hope that drove him from destruction in San Francisco to a fresh start in the fertile central valley. I see the piece of forgotten furniture that my grandmother never got rid of even though she eventually had nicer things to replace it.
And I am grateful for the heritage, hardship, and hope that led to me and where I am today.
I have only one thing in this life that I have not been given by someone else – my attitude. Today – and most days, I pray – I choose gratitude.
~
Give thanks to the Lord
for He is good.
For His mercy endures forever.
Psalm 136:1 NKJV
I have only one thing in this life that I have not been given.
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Grateful to be on her way, Etta watched familiar countryside rush past the window. Anxiety vied with that gratitude—anxiety over the unknown into which she hurtled with each repetitious clack of wheels on the rail. She was leaving behind all she had ever known, heading for what she’d never imagined. Still couldn’t imagine. Had this been a foolish decision? ~Mail-Order Misfire
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November 18, 2019
Author Susan G. Mathis Addresses Workplace Abuse
In her new Christmas novella, Sara’s Surprise, part of the historical Thousand Islands series, author Susan G. Mathis looks at a modern issue that is not at all modern. It’s been around for a long time.
Abused by your Boss?
By Susan G. Mathis
A Canadian survey found that over seventy per cent of abusers are bosses. Such abusive behavior can have serious psychological and physical effects on individuals. I know. I’ve been there. And my protagonist, Sara, in my newest novella, Sara’s Surprise, does too.
Workplace abuse is a pattern of behaviors that are meant to intimidate, offend, exclude and humiliate a person. It might be displayed by verbal abuse, gossip, malicious rumors, offensive behavior, mistreatment and even sabotage. So is making offensive jokes and gestures.
Victims of abuse may experience stress, anxiety, depression, disrupted sleep and changes in appetite. Workplace stress can literally make people sick, and chronic stress is a known contributor to chronic disease.
So if you face such difficulties, what do you do?
Pray
Praying gives you the inner strength to stand up for yourself without losing your cool or your dignity. When abusers realize you have the strength and courage to not play their game, they’ll usually back down. Psalms 18:3 says, “I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy, to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies.”
Report
Talk to someone you trust and use Matthew 18 as your guide. Report the actions to your human resources department, your supervisor, or your boss’s boss if your boss is the abuser.
Be strong but kind
God judges and disciplines, and He’s called us to serve even our enemies. Romans 12:20 says, “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.” Show the abuser God’s love, but don’t allow the abuse to continue.
Trust God
Even if you’ve gone through an abusive situation, God can redeem your life, heal you, and get glory from your pain. He did it with me, and He can do it with you!
~
Susan G Mathis is a multi-published author of stories set in the beautiful Thousand Islands, her childhood stomping ground in upstate New York. Katelyn’s Choice, the first in The Thousand Islands Gilded Age series, is available now, and book two, Devyn’s Dilemma, releases in April, 2020. The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy, Christmas Charity, and Sara’s Surprise are available now. Visit www.SusanGMathis.com for more.
Susan is also a published author of two premarital books with her husband, Dale, two children’s picture books, stories in a dozen compilations, and hundreds of published articles. Susan makes her home in Colorado Springs, enjoys traveling globally with her wonderful husband, Dale, and relishes each time she gets to see or Skype with her four granddaughters.
Sara O’Neill works as an assistant pastry chef at the magnificent Thousand Islands Crossmon Hotel where she meets precocious, lovable, seven-year-old Madison and her charming father and hotel manager, Sean Graham. But Jacque LaFleur, the pastry chef Sara works under, makes her dream job a nightmare.
Sean Graham has trouble keeping his mind off Sara and his daughter Madison out of mischief. Though he finds Sara captivating, he despises LaFleur and misreads Sara’s desire to learn from the pastry chef as affection. Can Sean learn to trust Sara and can she trust herself to be an instant mother?
Connect with Susan:
Website: www.SusanGMathis.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SusanGMathis
Twitter: https://twitter.com/@SusanGMathis
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susangmathis
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/susangmathisaut
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6044608.Susan_G_Mathis
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November 11, 2019
Veteran Dreams
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
When I taught sixth-grade world history, I grew accustomed to adolescent boys who dreamed of becoming soldiers and warriors like the ancient kings they studied.
Later, when I taught English composition at the college, several of my students were young marines who bore unseen scars of battles less glamorous than those portrayed in middle-school history books.
Honed and hardened by superior officers and surreal experiences, they sat politely in plastic chairs and let me tell them how to write cohesive paragraphs for persuasive essays.
Most of those young men had grown up faster than they wanted. They’d fought to right the wrongs of others and, like their fathers, prevent the encroachment of tyrants who would rule the world at any cost.
I’ve always been proud of these 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 leaked from their fingers, nightmares on the page, 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.
Now those veterans are my children, and they will someday be my grandchildren, fighting to protect those who cannot defend themselves.
May their dreams be restful, their battles quickly 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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*Image: “We took 32 hits but the Lord spared us. We did a mayday hard landing back at Khe Sanh [Vietnam].” J Pat Branch, April 1971, in 48th AHC, B model Huey gunship north of Dong Ha. Photo courtesy J Pat Branch.
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