By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

“Transition” is not one of my favorite words. It implies hard work, change, letting go of the familiar, and heading into the unknown. It takes a person from what was to what will be and often involves pain. Biological mothers everywhere know exactly what I’m talking about.

So do daddies watching daughters glide down the aisle in white dresses, and employees leaving the nest of comfort on the wings of promotion.

As a novelist, I face transition in nearly every scene. How does Fernando get from his Ford and into his front room? How does Paula get from dinners for one to picnics in the park for two? Transition.

And how do winter cookie-eaters get from their sweatpants into their summer swimsuits? They call a personal trainer.

My son worked as a personal trainer for several years. He helped people change. He taught them how to go from pudgy to perfect, and he even used special exercises called—you guessed it—transitional exercises.

For example, if a client was working muscle set A, and wanted to move to muscle set B, my son took them from an exercise for set A, into an exercise that used both set A and B, and then into one that used only set B. Sounds logical, but it’s hard work

Transition is everywhere. We can’t get away from it, and we shouldn’t want to. The push from here to there keeps us moving forward. It squeezes life from boney winter branches into new spring buds and strengthens the flabby muscles of inactive dessert lovers.

Spiritual transition isn’t easy either, but we have Someone who promises to get us through it. As we take those first steps toward peace and balance, we can look to the God who knows what’s coming and trust Him to take care of us along the way.

It’s never too late for a new you.

Behold, I make all things new.
Rev. 21:5

~

She peeked around the horse’s muzzle. Perceptive, this earthy rancher. Unexpectedly so, in light of their first frenzied meeting. Hope and doubt nibbled two corners of her heart. In this setting, with this gentle horse, dare she reach again for what had once been a passion? She could certainly testify to the animal’s faithfulness. And to its owner’s.

She drew her hand back and folded her arms. It’d been nearly a year and a half since she’d ridden. And fifteen long, frustrating months of fighting pain and sorrow in equal portions. She’d endured countless doctor’s visits and recuperative exercises, yet her strength had not returned to its former proportions. She’d be a fool to try.

More than her thigh muscle had torn. More than her femur had broken. She’d lost a great portion of her heart as well. The dread of losing her bearings if she remained an invalid in her father’s home had driven her to this job with Selig Polyscope. The bold move was her bid for freedom and forgetfulness.

But a third, uninvited element quashed her hope. Stark fear shot to her throat with a twist. She couldn’t take such a chance in spite of this cowboy’s proven ability and offer to help her ride. Regardless of his sky-blue promise to—again—keep her from harm, how could she trust him? ~A Change of Scenery

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