I often say, “I am just what I am…warts, carbuncles, blemishes, and all.” It has always bothered me how I was perceived by other people. I grew up in a fishbowl atmosphere as a “preacher’s kid,” but as of today, I have resolved to try to be just me. I’ve decided that I cannot please everyone. I’m weary from trying. I’ve spent my entire life trying to please people, when the only one I’ve needed to worry about is my Creator. God formed me in my mother’s womb and created me in His own image, and that’s good enough for me. My desire is that the radiance of Jesus will always reflect on my face.
I’ve never proclaimed to be perfect and I never will be. That night on May 22, 1946, for one instant I was perfect, a creation of the Heavenly Father. As soon as I hit the air in the delivery room at Cabarrus County Hospital in Concord, North Carolina, I entered a world of disease, sin, and decay (warts, carbuncles, and blemishes). So, no! I’m not perfect. Even though I entered this old sinful world as a perfect little creation, my life over the years has become a conglomeration of warts, carbuncles, and blemishes. But there will be a day when this life will be over, and I will obtain that perfect body again. It will be a glorious body…just like His. I like to refer to my failures and sins as warts, carbuncles, and blemishes, but God will make me perfect again someday and take all of that away.
When I was born that warm night in 1946, obstetric medicine had not progressed to the point it is today. In fact, Cabarrus County Hospital was still in its infancy. The hospital was only about ten years old. According to my birth record signed by Lance T. Monroe, M.D, I entered the world at 8:35 p.m. Prior to my birth, Doctor Monroe had come to the waiting room and informed my father that something had gone wrong during the delivery procedure. Daddy was informed that I would probably not survive. I was born frank breech and the delivery had progressed too far to do a caesarian, which they rarely did in 1946. Daddy was devastated when Doctor Monroe also told him that there was no way I could survive and probably not my mother. He then gave my father a choice, “Preacher Digh, do you want me to try to save your wife or the baby? We may have to take the baby (and these were his words relayed to me by my father) piece by piece” Daddy’s reply was loud and clear, “That’s not my choice to make. I want them both.” So, my father turned to God through prayer. He went out behind the hospital and fell on his knees, and when he returned to the waiting room, I had arrived…screaming my lungs out, I’m sure. I haven’t hushed since that day.
Yes, I came into this world sitting down and I think that makes a strong statement regarding my character and personality. I have remained seated in my faith and beliefs. I will not be moved. I’ve experienced times when I’ve failed God and created many warts, carbuncles, and blemishes on my testimony, because I’m not perfect. But…God has remained faithful.
So, here I am…seated as usual at my computer…warts, carbuncles, blemishes, and all…just typing away. I haven’t hushed yet. As long as I live, I will share Christ and what he has done in my life. I’ve always known that God has had a purpose for my living, therefore, I plan to fulfill that purpose.
Can you imagine the pain I would have felt if Dr. Monroe had taken me from my mother’s body…piece by piece. My brain was already formed, as was my nervous system. So I guess you can understand why I don’t believe in abortion. A child is a gift from God…created in his image, and we are commanded to value that life as my father did.
“ I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:14
I’m reminded of some of the lyrics of that great old hymn by Horatio Spafford…It is Well With My Soul
My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Throughout the month of January, all my books will be available on amazon.com or $0.99 (Kindle Version).
If you enjoy clean, southern, faith-based fiction, I urge you to dive into them. Each book is a mystery mingled with romance and history. In my writing, I attempt to portray life in the south through each plot and every characters. I include some dialect in the stories and even include a few pictures and recipes. But above all, Christ and His redemptive work on the cross is presented as a source of strength for each character.
The titles are Hope Returns, Terror on Waxhaw Creek, Fireflies on Waxhaw Creek, Family Secrets, and Unfailing Love.H was first published in 2008 and again in 2015. The storyline takes place in Rutherford County nestled in the foothills of the mountains of North Carolina. Hope Logan, the protagonist, returns to her grandparent’s old homeplace and finds a baffling mystery that had haunted her family for nearly sixty-five years. Anger, bitterness, and unforgiveness toward God consume her when she sets out to tackle the mystery. Because of three senior citizens and a handsome young pastor, her anger begins to fade as she discovers the meaning of faith and hope in Christ in the midst of adversity.
Hope Returns was first published in 2008 and again in 2015. The storyline takes place in Rutherford County nestled in the foothills of the mountains of North Carolina. Hope Logan, the protagonist, returns to her grandparent’s old homeplace and finds a mystery that had haunted her family for nearly sixty-five years. Anger, bitterness and unforgiveness toward God consume her when she sets out to solve the mystery that had surrounded her family for over sixty-five years. Because of three senior citizens and a handsome young pastor, her anger begins to fade as she discovers the meaning of faith and hope in Christ in the midst of adversity.
The Waxhaw Creek Trilogy includes Terror on Waxhaw Creek, Fireflies on Waxhaw Creek, and Unfailing Love. These stories revolve around a family, a church, and a group of Christian friends. A mystery and a puzzling crime unfolds in each of the books as the characters learn the meaning of true friendship and Christian love. In the series, each character encounters many daunting issues. A police chief and his family, a Native American teacher, a self-made business woman, and a pastor live their lives to the fullest in the Land of the Waxhaw, birthplace of Andrew Jackson.
Family Secrets takes place in the Charlotte, North Carolina area, in the little villages of Mint Hill and Wilgrove. The protagonist, Faith Simpson, returns from New York City to the place of her roots for the reading of her great-aunt’s will. Because of the stipulations of the will, she has to move into her great-aunt’s huge O’Gallagher mansion where she encounters a secret that is mind boggling. Since Faith had been a detective with the New York Police Department, she puts her skills to work as she sets out to solve the mystery surrounding the old house. Her quest for the truth takes her to Ireland to unravel it. Because of a handsome young Native American man and other friends, she is able to attack her problems. All the while, her faith in God is renewed and strengthened.
I have had a great life and am so grateful that God has blessed me in so many ways, yet throughout my life I have suffered disappointments. As a child I was never disappointed by my parents…they were the ones who were always there for me. I’m sure I disappointed them many times, but they always stood by me, no matter what. As a teenager, I was excluded from certain events because of who my father was…the pastor. I learned early in life to grit my teeth and deal with it. As I think back over my life, my first major disappointment was when my father took a different church in a neighboring county. I felt like my heart was being ripped out when we pulled up stakes and moved from one town to another. That first year at my high school was torture. I didn’t fit in anywhere. Then the next year a new school opened, and I seemed to carve out a place for myself and somewhat found happiness. My high school years were not a happy time for me. The year after I graduated I started dating my husband. Little did I see the hand of God on my life when we moved to that little community, but that handsome young man I was dating was my neighbor. It was a whirlwind romance, and soon we were married. The major disappointment that surpassed anything I had every experienced was what happened not long after the wedding…he was drafted and sent to Vietnam. Still, I failed to recognize the hand of God during that time. God protected him and he returned home safe after a year from that war-torn country.
After being married for 53 years, we have experienced many disappointments as a family over the years. With the help of the Heavenly Father, we have managed to press on. Yet through it all, my husband has never disappointed me, nor have my children. When dealing with hurt caused by disappointment, Jesus always steps in and heals our broken hearts. I’m reminded of this scripture, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5″ No matter what our disappointment is, Jesus is always there for us…that constant abiding friend who never lets us down.
Staying in God’s Word helps us overcome anything.
Fall has left us and winter is here. The blanket of leaves in my yard have been blown, piled up, and burned. No longer do they cover the earth as if to keep the ground warm for the coming cold weather. I watched my husband as he diligently piled the dead leaves in heaps and prepared to burn them a few weeks ago. Isn’t that just like our lives? Yes, things that were once beautiful in our lives become less important and fall away just like those autumn leaves. Before we know it, those really important things in our lives are things of the past and are tucked away in our memory bank forever.
As I have grown older, I have come to realize just what’s important in life…Jesus, family, and friends. I spent my entire young adult life wrapped up in the organizations of the church…music, mission organizations, and Sunday School teaching. Now my life has slowed down, and most of those things are only distant memories. As I ponder those things my life was so controlled by, I realize I didn’t do all of those activities for the right reasons. I have to admit that many times I did them because it was expected of me, and much of it was done for self-gratification and not for the Lord. It’s taken me a lifetime to come to grips with that realization. I can’t go back and change things, so I will press on in the name of Jesus doing what He wants me to do. Age has slowed me down so much, but I know in my heart that God’s not finished with me. I have self-published five faith-based novels and am working on the sixth book. All of my writing centers around Christ and His unfailing love for mankind. Scripture tells us in “Little Is Much When God Is In It.” So, I will continue to bloom where I’m planted…writing and blogging.
Brothers, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things that are behind, and reaching forth to those things that are before…Philippians 3:13.
As I think about growing up in the south during the 1950s, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart. The home I grew up in was somewhat different from other homes. My younger years, until I was married, were always in the shadow of a church. Everyone was watching the preacher’s kids. Therefore, I couldn’t get away with a lot of mischief.
We had no television, so my main source of entertainment was playing the piano, riding my bicycle, playing with the neighborhood kids, and sliding down the red hills behind the church. And you could always find my little buddy, Socks, alongside me. He was a black cocker spaniel that loved to run with me. It was a sad day when Socks ran the wrong way into the path of a car. I didn’t have another pet that meant anything to me after that.
Another thing I loved doing was hunting with my daddy. We would turn his beagles out of the dog pen and head for the woods. Oftentimes, I would ride my pony, Sandy, and follow Daddy as he went into the woods. I went bird hunting with him often, but I never shot a gun. Daddy wouldn’t let me do that. I was the retriever. Daddy would dress the birds and Mother would cook them up and make bird stew. That was a real treat.
My best friend Ruth lived about five or six miles from me, and I only saw her on Sundays. I always loved going home with her after church. She had no television either, so we created things to do. Paper dolls were our main source of entertainment. Our imaginations would run wild as we created stories, and those little dolls would come alive as we spread them out on the rug in Ruth’s living room.
Another childhood memory I have is the Charlotte Transportation System. In those days, a big city bus would come out to where we lived in Mint Hill. A lady who lived near us took me to the Christmas parade when I was about eight-years-old in downtown Charlotte. What a joyous adventure it was to ride that big bus. As soon as we found our seats, I noticed a sign at the front of the bus hanging over the drivers head…”Coloreds to the Rear.” I leaned over as any curious little girl would do and ask, “What does that mean?” She explained that colored people had to sit at the back of the bus. That was my first introduction to the “Jim Crow” system. Under the “Jim Crow” system, African-Americans were relegated to a status of second class citizens. It was a horrible caste system in the south, that was so wrong. That kind of thinking was prevalent throughout the south during that era. Remember, it was the 1950s. I recall shopping in downtown Charlotte with my mother and seeing separate water fountains for blacks and whites. Those images were indelibly stamped in my mind and are still there to this day. As a child, I never understood any of that, because I grew up in a home where it was taught that blacks and whites were created equal. My father even preached in one of the African-American churches near our home.
Much has happened over the years in this great country we call America. I have seen many changes during my 72 years of living. My generation, “The Baby Boomers” or “War Babies” has come a long way since then. We never dreamed of carrying a phone in our pocket. We didn’t wear jeans or pants to school. We wore dressed made from flour or feed sacks and were proud of them. We never dreamed of a calculator to help with math problems, and a computer was unheard of during that era. 99% of our clothes were homemade and my mother didn’t even have an electric sewing machine…her’s was the old-timey pedal type. But, we were happy and those were truly the “good old days.”
Life is too easy today. As I sit here at my computer, I’m reminded that this blog is a creation of today’s society. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all the conveniences I have at my disposal today, but sometimes I long for that simpler time. People were less stressed and took the time to visit a neighbor. Now that’s what I’m talking about!
Charlotte Bus Station in the 1950s
Brief synopsis of my faith-based Novel, Family Secrets
Faith Simpson, a New York Police Department detective, grew up in North Carolina and was summoned back to her little hometown of Mint Hill for the reading of her great-aunt’s will and to settle her estate. Faith’s parents were tragically killed in a car accident when she was a child. Because there were no living relatives other than her great-aunt, she went to live with her at O’Gallagher Estate in the little town of Mint Hill. There she experienced isolation, mental abuse, and loneliness. Her only contact with the outside world was her friends at school. Because of the stipulations and demands of the will, Faith was forced to resign her position as a police officer and remain at her Aunt Irma’s huge estate. The entire storyline revolves around a secret her parents and her great-aunt hid from her. That skeleton in Faith’s closet involved her true parentage, a murder, and years of deceit and greed. Her quest for the truth took her across the Atlantic Ocean to Ireland to unravel the mystery of her life. Through Forrest Strongbow, a handsome young Native American man, and other friends, she was able to confront her problems. As a result, her faith in God was renewed and strengthened.
I’ll never forget the terror I felt as a child when I heard adults talk about “mad dogs.” Certain times of the year, especially summertime, as children we would be told, “You be careful outside! There might be a “mad dog” out there. He will bite you!” If you don’t know what a “mad dog” is, it’s a dog that has rabies. During my growing up years in North Carolina, people let their dogs run wild and didn’t have them vaccinated. That word, “mad dog” conjured up fear in the hearts of every child throughout the south.
Back in those days, children could be found playing in the woods, in the neighbor’s backyard, and I often played on the red hills and gullies with my little friends behind the church. There were no computers, iPads, cellphones, etc…just plan old ingenuity and imagination. We played cowboys and Indians and rode brooms for horses. If we weren’t riding out bicycles ’round and ’round the church, we could be found sliding down the red hills and into the gullies behind the church. Sometimes we would slip off and ride on the paved road in front of the church. Wow! What a thrill! What a good time we had. And we always managed to get into some kind of mischief…from terrorizing the neighbor’s watermelon patch, lighting up an illicit smoke of “rabbit tobacco,” or chewing pine needles to cover the smell of smoke on our breath. I, along with the neighborhood young’uns, would roll up notebook paper and try to smoke “rabbit tobacco” just like all other country kids in North Carolina. During that time in the south, many children could be found behind the woodshed or barn smoking “rabbit tobacco.” I never truly succeeded in getting it done successfully. The paper would catch on fire and almost burn my face and hair. It’s a miracle we didn’t burn ourselves and the woods behind Wilson Grove Baptist Church. The neighborhood boys introduced me to Pseudognaphalium obtusifolium (rabbit tobacco.) Since I was the pastor’s daughter and had no brothers at that time, I had never heard of such a thing. Momma and Daddy saw to it that my life was sheltered.
As the hot, sultry dog days of summer turn to fall here in North Carolina, the dried leaves of the mysterious plant, “rabbit tobacco,” can be found growing plentiful in rural areas all over the south. Believe it or not, it truly has medicinal purposes…it will open up a sinus in a heartbeat. Native Americans used it for many things…asthma, mumps, vomiting, arthritis, and I could go on and on.
The infamous watermelon patch…now that’s another thing. We got adventurous one day and decided to burst all of the neighbor’s watermelons. Unbeknown to me, one half of the watermelons in that garden belonged to my father. Watermelon juice was flowing freely that day, and I have to tell you..it caused a major bruhaha. The trial began. I was called in for questioning in the living room of the parsonage. My daddy was the sheriff, the judge, the jury and the executioner. Punishment followed immediately with no hesitation!!! I was given a whipping with a hickory switch that he gathered from a bush in the front yard, and as far as I know those other kids were never punished. All that was important was that I paid for the consequences of my sin.
Today, I’m thankful for Godly parents who loved me, disciplined me, and led me to a personal relationship with Jesus as a young girl. They taught me how to love just like Jesus loved, and most importantly they taught me about forgiveness.
Julius and Pauline Digh – My Precious Momma and Daddy
You can surmise from this post that I was a mischievous little girl. Had it not been for their strong discipline and God’s tender mercies and protection, there is no telling where I would be today. They were always there for me and punished me with love and forgiveness. I learned that disobedience and sin brings about punishment, and they believed in delivering it swiftly with no questions asked…always with love.
As believers, we are faced with many frightening things. They are not always rabid dogs and temptations to smoke rabbit tobacco or to terrorize a watermelon patch. Satan comes in many forms. That’s why the disciple who denied our Lord, Simon Peter, tells us in 1 Peter 5:8…Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour. If Satan can’t have your soul, he will try to destroy and devour your testimony. I am reminded of these word also found in 1 Peter 2:24…Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed.
Because of the sacrificial death of Jesus…we can LIVE!
Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift!
Living in the south has truly been a blessing. Life’s a little slower, the air is a little cleaner, and the folks are jist plumb friendly. I must admit I’m southern through and through. I use southern dialect in my speech and expressions. I definitely use it in my writing. It used to be a well kept secret that the south is often called “heaven on earth.” So many people have moved here from the north, the west, and the mid-west…so the secret’s out. My husband and I have one friend from New York who wants to be one of the good ol’ southern boys so bad he can’t stand it and will blatantly insist that he is southern. But his strong New York accent gives him away every time. He can live here a lifetime, but he’ll never talk like us.”
Why do folks love the south so much? Duh!—Just look around! We have beautiful mountains, enchanting coastlines, beautiful rivers and streams, clean air, rolling farmlands, beautiful people…I could go on and on. We tend to get our water polluted sometimes, but it gets taken care of eventually. It’s the “Bible Belt.” What else can I say. As a matter of fact, you might say North Carolina is the buckle of the “Bible Belt.” We have churches on every corner. At any given time on Sunday morning in my little town, you can walk into a service and see entire families worshiping together. It thrills my soul to walk in at Waxhaw Baptist Church and see the Parker family. You will see the great-grandmother tending to her great-grandchildren while the grandmothers and parents participate in the worship service. Now ain’t ‘at jist som’um else!
We love some good ol’ southern gospel music and the old hymns of the church here in the south. We are gradually learning to tolerate contemporary Christian music. It’s not that we don’t like it…we jist ain’t let it speak to our hearts, jist yet. Some contemporary singers don’t pronounce their words, and so us old folks can’t understand the lyrics. What can I say? We are plumb guilty of lovin’ that “ol’ time religion.”
I can’t say enough about my unique southern neighborhood and church. The little historic town of Waxhaw and the Land of the Waxhaws gave birth to the seventh President of the United States. Andrew Jackson was a true southerner through ‘n through. He grew up “the way the crow flies” might near five or six miles behind my house. He was here when the Native Americans roamed the woods behind my house.
Yes, you can tell I’m southern and proud of it. The Christian novels that I have written are filled with southern stories and phrases. (I’ve italicized some of the southern words and phrases.) The only place I’d rather be than to be here in Waxhaw is HEAVEN. I’m reminded of the old hymn, Until Then, written by Stuart Hamblen. I have reworded it somewhat.
So until then, my heart will go on singing.
Until then with joy I’ll carry on.
Until the day my eyes behold that city
I’ll keep on writing…’til God calls me home.
“Y’all Come Back Now”
In 2007, my entire life changed. I was going full speed ahead as a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and an employee of Union County Public Schools. That particular day was spent helping our new superintendent of schools get ready for his first school board meeting. Packets of information had to be prepared for each board member, food had to be picked up and arranged, and the room had to be in perfect order. As the conference room filled with people, I noticed I didn’t feel exactly right. I ignored the fact that I felt bad, but I attended to my duties. As the night progressed, I realized my throat felt strange. I continued to ignore my condition and greeted the public with a smile.
While taking the minutes during the business session, I continued to have that strange feeling…almost felt like I had a fur ball caught in my…
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We all leave footprints in the sand as we go through life. Little do we realize how much people are watching us. Have you ever tried to step in the same steps your father or mother stepped in? I did…I would follow my daddy and try to step into his footprints. My little legs wouldn’t reach far enough, so I simply ended up just following him. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized there have been some who may have followed in my footsteps. I have tried to walk in the footprints of my Lord, but I must admit, I’ve failed many times. My heart’s desire is that I walk in a manner that my two daughters and the rest of my family can follow.
My footsteps have become slower and less defined over the years. At times, I even drag my feet. My steps have led me through many trials, but I’ve always come out on the other side victorious. Why? I had Jesus walking with me. Not only Jesus, but my family…Hoyle, Lori, Julie, and George. My grandchildren and sons-in-law have always been there for me, as well…Mark, Brian, Sr., Leah, Brian, Jr., Andrew, and Seth. Along with my family, I have had one true, God-given friend walking with me…Ruth Winn, but she is no longer with me. Ruth went home to be with the Lord several years ago, but the prayers she prayed for me are still being answered today. While suffering from ovarian cancer, she would call just to check on me…NOW THAT’S A TRUE FRIEND. It was almost like she could sense when I was having a bad day. Our friendship started about 71 years ago when we were just babies. I can truthfully say, she was always there for me, anytime I needed her. She never forgot my birthday; even when she was so sick, she always sent me a card. Since her death, her husband, David Winn, still sends me a card on my birthday. There will never be another Ruth in my life…she was a gift. If we live our lives and have one true friend, we are blessed. I learned so much from her…her bold witness, her strong convictions, and her love for Christ. She inspired me to be a better person and to walk in the steps of the Savior.
Ruth Janet Williams Winn (August 28, 1946 – October 29, 2013)
We never know how our lives and our footprints affect those around us, so I will press on trying to walk in the steps of the Savior…just like Ruth did. The old hymn by Eliza E Hewitt resonates in my heart as I walk through this life. Even though this song was published in the late 1800s, it still speaks to my heart today.
Trying to walk in the steps of the Savior,
Trying to follow our Savior and King;
Shaping our lives by His blessed example,
Happy, how happy, the songs that we bring.
Pressing more closely to Him Who is leading,
When we are tempted to turn from the way;
Trusting the arm that is strong to defend us,
Happy, how happy, our praises each day.
Walking in footsteps of gentle forbearance,
Footsteps of faithfulness, mercy, and love,
Looking to Him for the grace freely promised,
Happy, how happy, our journey above.
Trying to walk in the steps of the Savior,
Upward, still upward, we follow our Guide;
When we shall see Him, “the King in His beauty,”
Happy, how happy, our place at His side.
How beautiful to walk in the steps of the Savior,
Stepping in the light, stepping in the light,
How beautiful to walk in the steps of the Savior,
Led in paths of light.
The photograph I have posted was made after I published my first novel. I think the date was in 2009 or 2010. I spoke to a group of over 200 ladies at the First Baptist Church in Salisbury. I was able to share my faith and my testimony and how I started this journey of writing.
Please note that I had to have a microphone, because my voice was very weak. I contracted whooping cough at 60 years of age, and to this day, my voice has not returned to normal due to permanent damage from persistent coughing which characterizes pertussis (whooping cough). My right vocal chord just doesn’t work properly. To put it bluntly…my entire life changed in “a moment in time.” After spending many months confined to bed, I was able to make this book signing event. As a result of the childhood disease, I now suffer from many things, including the right vocal chord injury. Before all of that happened, I was a soprano soloist, but God closed that door and graciously opened the window of writing. After that first manuscript was completed, my dear husband wanted to see that it was published; so, we chose the path of self publishing. I must admit Hope Returns was not perfect, but it was born out of suffering and drawing closer to God. That first publication was in 2008. I chose to republish it in 2015 with a few corrections. I worked for a group of educators, and I hated to see it out there with mistakes. I know that the second publication also bears the scars of what I was dealing with, but I don’t plan to make any additional changes. One will have to accept it as it is “warts and all.”
Today, I’m 72 years old and so thankful for God’s healing grace. It’s been twelve years since pertussis, and I still deal with many issues…especially a weak, raspy voice. But at least I’m able to write about true-to-life characters who need Jesus as their Savior. I cover many relevant issues that we as people deal with on a daily basis. I’ve always loved a good mystery, and of course I have to include those in my stories. They always have a touch of romance, and I usually have a pastor in the storyline (could that be because I’m a preacher’s kid?). My main goal in writing is not to get rich but to proclaim the Gospel in my own feeble way. My five novels have far surpassed what I thought they would, and my singing would never have reached as many people for Christ as my little books have. My writings are now being sold around the world…thanks to Amazon. God has blessed me in so many ways, and I can never thank Him enough. Last week I heard from a lady in Canada who has purchased my books and will be donating them to the public library in her town there. So you see…God’s not finished with me yet. He’s still on His throne, and I can never praise Him enough.
First and Second Publications of Hope Returns
Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift…2 Corinthians 9:15
My last novel, Unfailing Love, dealt with choices the protagonist made in her life and how they impacted her life. I am posting a portion of the epilogue regarding her choices. This book was written in first person, therefore, these are the words of Lucy…
“Because of my life’s experiences, I’ve concluded that everything has revolved around the choices I’ve made. Over the years many of my choices led me down a dark lonely path, but I’ve made many positive ones as well.
As I reviewed the multitude of choices I had made over the years, it was like I was looking into a kaleidoscope. The dark bold colors of the rainbow blended with softer hues and created an exquisite picture from every shade in the rainbow. Those dark mysterious colors represented my bad decisions, and the softer beautiful colors represented my God-driven decisions. But throughout my lifetime, I have learned to take “the road less traveled.”
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” Robert Frost (The Road Not Taken) — 1916)”
The choices we make in life determine our future…even in the small things…such as the food we choose to eat. For example, as I sit here writing I have chosen to eat candy corn…not such a good choice!!! So, after the next three pieces, I will not eat anymore.
I’ve made many choices in my life that were positive, but I’ve also made some negative ones as well. The most important one I’ve made so far in life has been to follow Christ. With his help, I’ve managed to walk through life for 72 years with God’s help. I can’t say I’ve always chosen the best path, but God has always been there to bring me to another fork in the road. Thank God for His guidance and His gift of salvation.
I would hate to see where I would be today without the Lord. I’m not sure what Robert Frost was having reference to when he wrote the poem, but he told a friend, “No matter which road you take, you’ll always sigh and wish you’d taken another.” As for me, I can honestly say I have no regrets concerning my choices in life. God’s word tells us in Matthew 7:14 – “narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”
I’m so thankful I have chosen that “narrow way.”
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