Davalynn Spencer's Blog, page 9
January 14, 2024
Circle of Service
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
I prefer to shop for groceries early in the morning. That doesn’t mean I always make it. I just prefer it. There are fewer people and more available shopping carts. Shelves are recently stocked, and the nerves of checkers and staff are not yet worn down to the nubbins.
One morning as I stood in line for the “fast” lane, I took more than just a cursory notice of the woman at the bank of self-checkout machines.
She hovered there to help do-it-yourselfers like me who often don’t do it the way the machine thinks we should. I learned that she has worked 22 years for that store—ever since she first landed the job as an 18-year-old high school graduate.
I saw her in a different light that day. She, and others like her, faithfully served the community. Her job mattered to me. It mattered to a lot of people.
And then I realized that my job does too. It’s my job to give people something to relax with when they come home in the evening from a hard day on their feet.
It’s my job to write an entertaining but encouraging story into which they can escape for a while and then return to their world uplifted.
It’s my job to write a good book they will enjoy.
Observing readers in their real world helped me realize I could be a blessing to them doing my job as they are a blessing to me doing theirs.
It is a circle of service, one to another.
We all fit somewhere in that circle. Your job matters, whether you are working in the grocery store, teaching school, or caring for the aged and ill.
Even retirement is a job. Where are you helping and what are you doing that you didn’t have time for before? Who are you listening to or praying with?
Some of us may have unexpected callings we don’t see as important. Like elbows. Have you ever considered how people would eat without them?*
If you’re not sure where you fit in the circle of service, ask God to show you. He will.
There are different kinds of service,
but we serve the same Lord.
God works in different ways,
but it is the same God
who does the work in all of us.
1 Corinthians 12:5-6
~
*For further study, see 1 Corinthians 12:12-27
Where do you fit?
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“Ranger Graham says his father may have known one of your relations.” Helen set a plate of gingersnaps in the center of the table and took her place at the end.
“Pop was a ranger too,” Graham offered. “Worked with Haskell Jacobs up in Denver before Jacobs retired down here in Cañon City. He said Haskell married a gal from around here—Martha Stanton. You heard of her?”
Hugh thumbed through family history. It’d been a while since he’d thought of his pa’s sister, Martha Hutton Stanton. “That’s right. Martha had been widowed and later married a ranger by the name of Jacobs.”
“Did she have a brother?”
“That she did. Whit Hutton, my pa.” Hugh held the ranger’s regard, amazed at the tight circle sometimes found in unexpected connections.
“Well, I’ll be.” Helen shook her head and sipped her coffee.
“You’re almost family,” Mary said.
Hugh took her hand and also his first risk with his bride-to-be. But if he knew her like he thought he did, she’d agree to what he was about to tell the ranger.
“Maybe you can stay for the wedding.”
Helen choked on her coffee and grabbed her apron.
Graham grinned.
And Mary turned her hand over and linked her fingers with Hugh’s.
“She’s gonna do it!”
Every head turned for the screen door, where Kip and his brothers stood with their faces pressed against it.
“She’s gonna marry us!” ~Hope Is Built
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January 7, 2024
Power and Authority
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
My husband and I watch a lot of football and I enjoy it. I think it’s because I am goal-oriented (no pun intended). I like to see an objective and make plans to reach it, giving attention to process and detail along the way.
I also have found football games to be a type of narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, a protagonist, antagonist, and a plot line.
Sounds a lot like a novel, doesn’t it? Absolutely. Another reason I was never into television’s unending soap operas, whether daytime dramas or episodic evening series.
A fun sideline in football (again, no pun) is its perfect portrayal of a spiritual observation: the difference between power and authority. Both are elements of good football. Both are elements in life.
For example, it is the rare game during which obstacles, interceptions, or fumbles occur without a player or coach ranting in the face of the referee who—in the player or coach’s opinion—did not properly flag some sort of infraction.
I have watched giant men bounce up and down and back and forth, dwarfing the calm, stripe-shirted official who merely holds to his ruling and walks away.
The big guys have all the power in the world to flatten the much smaller one. But the official has all the authority.
I love that.
It reminds me of what Jesus told His disciples when he sent them out on a faith test-drive: “I give you the authority … over all the power of the enemy” (Luke 10:19).
Those disciples came back stoked.
In another reference, Jesus says, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth” (Matthew 28:18).
But there’s more.
“The Son radiates God’s own glory and expresses the very character of God, and he sustains everything by the mighty power of his command…” (Hebrew 1:3).
Many places in Scripture speak of God’s power. Here are a few references:
Revelation 4:11
Jude 1:25
2 Peter 1:3
Colossians 1:11
Phil 3:10
Ephesians 6:10 (10-18)
Hebrews 2:14-15
Romans 1:16, 20
The next time the enemy gets in your face, flexes his muscles, and rants and raves at you—
Tell Jesus. He also wore a striped shirt. (See Isaiah 53:5 NKJV.)
~
He also wore a striped shirt.
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Mary fought to hold in the sobs.
Helen stood over her and smoothed her hair. “Sleep, child. Give yourself a chance to rest. Everything will be all right. It always is.”
The bedroom door clicked shut, and Mary let the tears have their way. How could anything be all right ever again? Her barn was gone—the barn her aunt and uncle had given her. She’d endangered Sassy by not opening her stall door, and now she was in the Hutton home once again, unable to even stand. How much more could she take? How many more obstacles would she meet?
She had barely enough money to pay the taxes on the farm and must also pay the mortgage. But if she couldn’t prove who she was and the farm went to auction, that could drive the price even higher.
And her breeding stock. Now she had no place for them even if she got the farm.
Do not despair. The words rose from a deep place in her soul, but the image of the burning barn flared against them. Hope for a fresh start, for her own home and farm, was fading, overpowered by glaring destruction. ~ Hope Is Built.
*Image by Torsten Bolten, AFpix.de – Self-photographed, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index...
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December 31, 2023
Hard Times & Good Advice
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
An empty calendar and the first page of a blank journal mark my juncture of Known and Unknown. Behind me lie personal mountains of success and failure, as well as the mistakes, warnings, and recommendations of others along the way. But ahead of me?
In this new year, I want to make smart choices, most importantly when it comes to facing hard times. Good times are easy to handle, right? Especially when everything is going our way.
Hard times, not so much, but they are certain to come. We’re all smart (and old) enough to know that.
A couple thousand years ago, a man named James gave us a heads-up: “When [not if] troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow” (James 1: 2-3).
I’m not so good at connecting trouble with joy, but I do take great comfort in learning that faith and endurance are part of the deal. Faith comes from God, and endurance is the result of that faith.
Endurance means I’m going to have the strength to make it through the hard times, just like others I read about in the Bible.
In the freshening wind of warfare, the leader, Joshua, is told: “Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).Jesus tells His close followers, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).And the author of the book of Hebrews counsels his readers to live in contentment, not greed, “… because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you’” (Hebrews 13:5).I see a pattern here: God doesn’t abandon us.
However, if I had not been reading what He has to say, I wouldn’t know this.
Therefore, the most important advice I have received in my life is to read God’s word.
I am still amazed when comfort, encouragement, or strength result from the reading. Getting into the words of God and getting them into me is like soaking in a tub of warm water. Peace and relaxation follow.
The eternal words of the Creator sooth me as much as balm to aching muscles and heat to weary bones.
But some people argue, “The Bible is old-fashioned. It doesn’t address what I’m going through right now.” Or they ask, “Where are my problems mentioned? Where do I start reading?”
Often in Psalms I hear the cry of my heart echoed in the songs of the shepherd-king, David. However, it’s simply the act of going to the source of hope that assures I find hope.
In the aftermath of a recent negative situation, I discovered that God’s word was once again exactly what I needed.
Waking disgruntled in the mornings, repeatedly laying out arguments and retorts, left me agitated and distracted. But when I quieted myself first thing and settled in to read a chapter of Genesis, Psalms, or one of the gospels, the tension eased and drained away.
It didn’t matter if the passage echoed my situation or not, and that was the beauty of my discovery. As I read, I was somehow freed from the need to retaliate, justify, and defend.
When I settled into His word, His peace settled into me.
No buts about it. When I let go of “But God, she … But God, he … But God, they …” my heart relaxed and the barb—the hook in the bait I had bitten—fell out and slipped away.
I could have caught it as it fell and clutched it in my hand, but this time I didn’t, and it resulted in freedom. I could think again. Create again. Live again without the distracting, nagging irritation of throwing my own words at the problem and swallowing their bitter aftertaste.
In our world today, there is a lot being said. There is a lot to hear. Theories abound, many of them empty and useless, fragile shells with nothing on the inside.
Direction and peace are priceless commodities found nowhere but in God.
So I pass on to you what has been passed down to me: Familiarize yourself with what God has to say. Choose His ways, and like the psalmist, you’ll be able to declare,
Your word is a lamp for my feet,
a light on my path.
Psalm 119:105
~
When I settled into His word, His peace settled into me.
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My son, pay attention to what I say;
turn your ear to my words.
Do not let them out of your sight,
keep them within your heart;
for they are life to those who find them
and health to one’s whole body.
Proverbs 4:20-22
You have the words of eternal life.
John 6:68
On Monday morning, June 10, every scrap of peace Mary had cobbled together scattered like crumbs. Up well before dawn, dressed and ready, she trimmed the bedside lamp and sat with Aunt Bertie’s Bible clutched hard against her chest.
“I know You hear my prayer, Lord. Please, help me today.”
Turning to Psalm 37, she lifted the thin chain, fastened it around her neck, and read the now-familiar words: Do not fret.
The wicked would be stopped, the psalm said.
“Trust in the Lord and do good,” she whispered as she fingered the locket, willing the words to sink down into her very core. “Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.”
God had certainly been faithful, delivering her from violent death and ensconcing her in the generosity of the Hutton family. Continuing in silence, she read to verse 34, where she closed the Bible. The verse was imprinted on her soul, and she prayed it would apply to the ordeal she faced today at the auction.
Wait on the Lord, and keep His way, and He shall exalt you to inherit the land. ~Colorado Book Award, Hope Is Built
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December 24, 2023
The Two Josephs
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
When we think of the first Christmas (which was not called that at the time), we usually think of Mary and the infant Jesus huddled somewhere on the outskirts of an over-crowded Bethlehem during the first century.
No light other than oil or candle. No bedding other than straw and cloak. No heat other than the body and breath of animals.
But what of Mary’s husband, the carpenter? Joseph. A man clearly not in control of the situation.
Joseph was poor. Forced by the government to appear in his hometown for a census, he traveled there with his fiancé who was carrying someone else’s baby, and now he was sleeping in a barn.
However, he’d been hand-picked for the job.
He could have said, “Not my baby, not my problem.” But he didn’t.
Thirty–three years later another man named Joseph showed up on the scene. Important and wealthy, he was stirred by the words of a carpenter-turned-teacher who died because of those words. The teacher had no home, much less a burial place, so Joseph provided one and covered the cost of the burial.
He could have said, “Not my relative, not my responsibility.” But he didn’t.
In this story of the two Josephs, we see men who were listening. Men who were paying attention. Men who were doing the best they could with what they had but were willing to bookend the entry and exit of God’s son on earth.
They were the kind of men God chose to care for His only begotten at birth and death. One sheltered a helpless infant, one cared for a lifeless body.
Both held Messiah in their arms.
As we consider the two Josephs, may we ask ourselves how we will care for the Creator. Will He have the best that we can give? Is He welcome in the best we have to offer – our very own hearts?
Or is He not our baby this Christmas season? Not our problem.
The Two Josephs:
Matthew 1:18-2:23; Luke 2:1-24
Matthew 27:57-60; John 19:38-42
Not my problem.
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December 17, 2023
Simplify the Season
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Remember when Christmas was simple?
You were probably a child.
Gifts
Pine trees
Lights
Music
As adults we complicate things.
Parties
Pre-lit trees
Shopping without end
Credit
Can we simplify the season—enjoy it without getting caught up in the hoopla? Celebrate the Child?
This year, a couple of one-year-olds in our family celebrated their birthdays. Actually, they didn’t celebrate at all. They merely watched wide-eyed as moms, dads, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins made a big deal out of the small darlings.
It reminded me of wealthy strangers showing up with very grown-up gifts a couple thousand years ago at the home of a toddler* named Yeshua**.
No Fischer-Price toys in those camel-bags. No cute onesies with a favorite football team logo on the front. No stuffies to snuggle with at night.
Instead, the men from the east brought hard-coin cash, high-dollar perfume, and burial oil. Ever wonder what mom and dad thought of that?
When I look at our little ones, I imagine Jesus at their age and it’s hard to see him with a halo and folded hands, sitting meekly at Mary’s feet. Dirty diapers and scuffed knees come to mind instead.
Undignified? Not really.
I see him tumbling and squealing and crying, just like our youngsters.
He took the hard way into our humanness—childhood. There is no phase of our growing and living with which he cannot relate.
Mary wiped his nose, bandaged his scrapes, and kissed those pudgy palms that would one day hold the nails.
This year, let’s simplify our Christmas. Let’s recognize, remember, and rejoice over the Gift God gave us.
~
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government
will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6
Simplify the season
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** Hebrew for Jesus
The mare grazed in the center of a small pasture but came to the fence when they dismounted.
“Looking for a handout?” Dave rubbed beneath her forelock.
“What’s her name?” Georgia asked.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“You didn’t just roll your eyes.” She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Yes, I did. Can’t help it. Craziest name I’ve ever heard for a horse.”
“So are you going to tell me or make me guess?”
“You’d never guess.”
“I am a writer, you know. I name all the horses in my books.”
He slid her a side glance, daring her to try.
“Come on, give me a hint.”
“It’s connected to Christmas and it’s biblical.”
She’d not expected that turn. This might be harder than she thought. “All right, how about Bethlehem?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“Manger?”
“No.”
“I’m sure it isn’t Magi.”
He threw her an odd look.
“Is it? Is it Magi? Wouldn’t that be a better name for a gelding?”
“No, it’s not Magi.”
It wasn’t Shepherd, Angel, Hosanna, or Gloria either.
“I give up. Tell me.”
Dave faced her and leaned an elbow on the top rail. “What’ll you give me in exchange?” ~A Mistletoe Christmas
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December 10, 2023
When God Interrupts
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Mary was once a common name for Jewish girls. It’s been a common name for other girls as well, primarily because of the first Mary mentioned in the Bible who was, in my opinion, quite uncommon.
Uncommon because of the way she handled interruptions.
Like most of us, Mary had plans for her life. Probably in her mid-teens, she was engaged and planning for a wedding, a husband, and life as a Jewish wife and homemaker when God interrupted.
Who knows what Mary was in the middle of when a stranger showed up and said, “Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you!” (Luke 1:28 NLT).
She could have been folding laundry. She could have been frying pan bread. She could have been mending clothes and counting the days until the big event. It’s like God to show up in the mundane when we’re not expecting him.
But she listened to the messenger, asked a question, considered his explanation, and said, “Okay.”
That’s the part that amazes me about this Mary. She didn’t once say, “But I’ve made plans …” or “I have a life …” or “Now’s not a good time.”
She said okay (rough translation – see Luke 1:38).
That’s not exactly how I respond when my plans are interrupted.
Author and literary scholar, C.S. Lewis, says we should not regard unpleasant things as interruptions of our “own” or “real” life:
“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day.”
This season brings frequent references to Mary, so it may be the perfect time to transform our own reactions into responses—an exercise that involves choice.
Mary didn’t have to comply. She wasn’t forced to go along with the change of plans. She chose to.
And for what it’s worth, there is no scripture reference that the expectant Mary rode a donkey on her 90-mile trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem. It is a kindness we infer upon Joseph, her betrothed – the man entrusted by the Creator to care for the Savior of the world and His mother.
Clearly, Joseph was as uncommon and willingly obedient as Mary when God interrupted his life.
In the coming days and weeks, how will we handle things (like our temper and mood) when God interrupts our lives?
The Christmas Story:
~
When God Interrupts
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December 3, 2023
The Imagery of Christmas
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
One man’s idea of born-in-a-barn is the forerunner of some of our contemporary Christmas décor. Tradition says this man was so disturbed by the secular materialism around Christmas, that he staged a living nativity scene or crèche to draw attention to the birth of Christ. No glitz, no glitter. Just a couple of animals, some hay, and a baby in a feed trough set up in a cave near Greccio, Italy.
That was 800 years ago, and Friar Francis of Assisi was on to something. However, secular materialism didn’t go away. I wonder what Francis would think today of our inflatable snowmen, Santas, and reindeer?
Different cultures celebrate the birth of Christ in different ways. I enjoy the feel-good memories stirred by the aroma of freshly cut pine trees, hot eggnog, and just-baked sugar cookies. And like Francis of Assisi, I cherish the nativity scenes I’ve collected over the years.
One is a Christmas tree ornament of Mary riding a donkey led by Joseph. One is a set of wooden nesting boxes called Matryoshka in Russian, or babushka dolls elsewhere. Another is comprised of beautifully life-like statues, but my favorite is made up of old plaster figurines now chipped and faded that my mother let me set up each Christmas on the coffee table.
However, none of my manger scenes is as realistic as the first one in Greccio, Italy. Likely, no mother volunteered her new-born that Christmas to depict Christ in Francis’s living nativity, but neither do my scenes accurately portray a newborn babe. Each child’s head is covered with wavy hair or golden curls, arms lifted as if in blessing, and an angelic smile kissing his features.
Those of us who have seen newborns know this is not an accurate portrayal.
Of baby Jesus, Scripture says that Mary “wrapped him in swaddling clothes …” (Luke 2:7), which means she wrapped her child snuggly in cloths, a technique still used around the world today to comfort a newborn.
But we want beautiful imagery, not realism, right? In birth as well as death.
My jewelry collection contains several cross earrings and necklaces. This imagery reminds me of Jesus, but it certainly doesn’t portray his suffering or the ugliness of the death-tree upon which he hung.
The picturesque crown of thorns I display at Easter brings to mind the twisted brambles shoved upon the Savior’s brow in mockery.
Over the years, the imagery has all come together in my home. Baby Jesus was born to die.
For me. For all of us.
Despite the lack of visual authenticity, Christmas is my favorite holiday—not because of the beautiful lights, trees, and nativity scenes, but because it flaunts the defeat of our enemy by a newborn.
Jesus at His most vulnerable point could not be bested by Satan.
This fact reminds me that in spite of what the enemy or circumstances hurl at me, God is still in control. He’s got this and, therefore, Joy To the World!
Joy to you this Christmas!
For unto to you
is born this day
in the city of David
a Savior,
which is Christ the Lord.
Luke 2:11
~
Joy to you this Christmas!
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Anticipation hung in Ara’s heart like diamond icicles, sparkling and pure. Cradled as they were on the breast of the mountain, glitter and glamour didn’t fill the house. Instead, the special care given to selected recipes and homemade gifts graced this home. The scent of cider and cinnamon and cloves curtained the kitchen, and star-shaped cookies winked from red yarn on the popcorn-and cranberry-laced spruce.
Another snowfall had chased her out of her calico dress. She shrugged into a sheepskin coat and tucked the borrowed denims into her boot tops before making her way to the barn with the scrap can.
Just inside the barn’s wide door, she paused by a new wooden manger filled with fresh hay as if awaiting a heavenly guest. Bending to breathe in the grassy perfume, she closed her eyes and marveled at the simple pleasure. A scuffling step said Buck was near.
“It’s an offering.” He stopped beside her and fluffed the hay with his large, rough hands. “He came to stockmen, you know. Like us. And His ma made His bed in a barn.”
Ara’s heart warmed at Buck’s uncharacteristic tenderness. “It’s a wonderful gift. Exactly what the Christ child would need.”
His thick brows rose with hope. “You really think so?”
“Of course. Warmth and shelter and love. The same things we all need. I’m sure He would have been most comfortable in this crib you’ve made.”
A smile puffed out his whiskers, and Ara swallowed a laugh. Such pleasure in a modest gift made from what one had at hand. ~The Snowbound Bride
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November 26, 2023
Share a Christmas Tradition for a chance to win a novella of your choice!
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Christmas memories rise around me each year like yeast rolls in a warm kitchen. Some are tender and sweet, and some carry a dash of heartache. I can choose which of them to carry with me and which to let go. No sense cluttering my heart with pain when I can fill it with goodness.
Christmas traditions are the same. I choose to repeat the good and discard the not-so-good. And this year I’m beginning a new one. Since there are twenty-four chapters in the Gospel of Luke, I’ll read one chapter each evening beginning Dec. 1. By Christmas Eve, I will have a fresh look at the life of Christ – our Reason for this amazing season.
What are some of your most cherished Christmas memories or traditions? Share one in the comments below and be entered for a chance to win a Christmas novella of your choice.
… and you are to call him Jesus.
Luke 1:31
~
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Congratulations, Dawn! You are the randomly chosen winner of last week’s giveaway novella, Mail-Order Misfire.
When the family finally gathered at the table, Abigale noted that each person had dressed for the occasion. The men were freshly shaved and wearing clean shirts, and Emmy and Ida wore pinafore aprons over their dresses and high color in their cheeks. The meal was as delicious as anticipated, and by the time everyone had finished dessert and moved to sit by the fire, Abigale felt as giddy as young Emmy. Her gaze strayed repeatedly to Seth, who seemed to watch her nearly as much as she watched him. She chose a chair easily moved and scooted it as far from the fire as possible without appearing rude to the people who had so generously welcomed her into their home.
Ben Holt took his place near the hearth and opened his Bible. Emmy propped her dolls around her where she sat on the floor, and Ida folded her hands in her aproned lap. Seth could have been standing on his head for all Abigale knew, because she refused to look at his handsome face.
Ben cleared his throat. “‘And it came to pass in those days …’”
Pop’s tradition had been similar, reading from the second chapter of Luke, though he did so on Christmas morning. Bittersweet memories laced through Abigale, and she looked at each one before tying them off and tucking them away.
“‘And so it was, that while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered …’”
Abigale considered, perhaps for the first time, the double meaning of the word delivered. As a woman, and a ranching woman at that, she had a clear understanding of what the Scripture was saying. Birth. New life. A fresh start with a high-priced risk. But this year the word struck her differently, for she had been delivered from deep sadness, loneliness, and fear. – Just in Time for Christmas
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November 19, 2023
Give Thanks … and a Giveaway
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
We hear it a lot, don’t we? The cloaked condemnation that demands we “Be grateful,” for “things could be worse,” and we “have it better than most.”
Some of us find it hard to swallow this Thanksgiving side-dish because we’ve filled ourselves on “But Why” pie and “It’s Not Fair” fillet.
However, I’ve discovered over the years that thankful-thinking really does work. Especially if I don’t start with—or wait for—my emotions to jump on the plate.
It’s not about feeling grateful, it’s about being grateful. And aren’t we, after all, human beings ?
Not that we should look heavenward and snipe, “Yeah, God, thanks a lot.” No. Save the sarcasm sauce for the cranberries.
Rather, realize we have a choice. And since our responses are probably the only things over which we truly have control, why not choose gratitude?
It’s easier if we start with small bites.
Give thanks for the hot coffee in your cup. Give thanks for the cup.
How about that person who smiled at you in the market? (If no one smiled, maybe you could start the process.)
What about the glorious reboot of seasonal change? Remember, it’s not sweltering summer or withering winter forever.
Do you have a Bible to read – pixel or paper? Do you have clothes and shoes to wear? Breath in your lungs?
The fact that we’re on this side of the grass and not under it is worthy of appreciation.
“Yes, but life is so unfair,” you may argue. And you’d be right. Life is unfair.
Maybe you see things differently, but as for me, I am extremely grateful that I don’t get what I deserve.
May the Giver of every good and perfect gift warm your soul and fill your heart this Thanksgiving season.
~
List at least one thing for which you are grateful in the comments below. I’ll enter your name in a drawing for a free copy of my e-book, Mail-Order Misfire, a tender Thanksgiving tale of hope and second chances.
~
In everything give thanks,
for this is the will of God
in Christ Jesus concerning you.
I Thessalonians 5:18
A tender Thanksgiving tale.Etta had collected several yellow leaves and pressed them between the pages of her Bible as keepsakes from her time in Lockton. A precious reminder of the afternoon she’d spent alone with Bern. Full of surprises he’d been, first with his invitation and then his open-hearted sharing, and she still ached at the story of his uncle and father. In his own way, he embodied what they each stood for. No wonder he’d agreed to serve Lockton in both professions, though she sensed it was taking a toll on him.
She sensed something else as well, yet she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Every now and then she caught him watching her, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to speak. Then he’d clamp his jaw and turn away.
But with preparation for the Thanksgiving feast in just three weeks, she had little time to dwell on what might be troubling Bern. Thanks to Dottie Dalton, she had a fairly good idea what to expect—food and more food. As the little woman had said when Etta first arrived in Lockton, she’d heard others mention that the Thanksgiving feast was the biggest event of the year.
The school children planned to present poems and songs, and evenings found Etta helping Gracie memorize her parts.
However, one tradition had Etta in a fix, for each person present at the meal was to share their greatest blessings from the year. Gracie had been practicing for months, and Etta learned that her list was what she had been secretly writing in her room.
Etta knew exactly what she wanted to say, but feared she’d not be able to get it past her lips. ~Mail-Order Misfire
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November 12, 2023
Be Still and Know
By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
There is a lot of clamoring right now. Have you heard it?
A lot of noise. A lot of posturing and pointing, criticism and chaos.
None of it is new. It’s all happened before, many times, in fact. And God’s antidote is the same:
Be still …
When the mountains of man’s scheming tumble into the sea,
God is there.
When the faulty foundations of our plans crack and crumble,
God is there.
And when we quiet ourselves before our Maker and cease our incessant shrieking,
God is there.
He is bigger than all the noise around us.
It could be that when we are still, we not only hear His voice more clearly, we also become a reflection of His peace.
Take heart, be still, and know that the Lord of Heaven’s Armies is God …
and He is there.
Be still
and know that
I am God.
I will
be exalted
among the nations,
I will
be exalted
in the earth.
Psalm 46:10
Be still and know.
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A tender Thanksgiving tale.An old pain throbbed to life behind his ribs, and he shoved it back in the shadows and opened the ledger book. Black and white was easier to deal with. Facts, figures. He flipped to the last page where he’d started an account of Etta’s wages, such as they were. She did things that money couldn’t touch, like taking to Gracie as if the girl were her own. Teaching her more than just chores in the kitchen and helping her with her sewing. They’d sit with him in the evenings, stitching and whispering while he read. What they didn’t know was that he watched them as much as he read. Maybe more.
With warmer weather, they’d all moved from the parlor to the front porch after supper. Etta and Gracie in the swing, him in a kitchen chair until dusk swallowed the daylight. He’d never felt so peaceful as he did at those times, and he knew it was all on account of Etta Collier. Her sharp wit and tender ways. Her quick humor. Sometimes it felt as if she’d always been there, and more often than not, when he looked in her eyes, he saw Gracie.
He slapped the ledger closed, stuck his hat on, and left his accounts unsettled. ~Mail-Order Misfire – a tender Thanksgiving tale.
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(c) 2023 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.
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