The Lines Have Fallen to Me in Pleasant Places
ALT="fence, pasture, mountains"

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer When we bump up against life’s fences, do we greet them with acceptance, or do we cry out at their hindrance and resent their delays? Sometimes those fences are raised for our comfort or protection. Without boundaries, bridge-walkers could fall, cattle would stray,

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On my own?

I watch my 1-year-old granddaughter one day a week. She slows me down, thank God. She draws my focus to tiny hands, the floor I thought was clean, the lower shelves of my book case. She forces me to look at things from a different perspective. And

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Warmth, comfort, and potbelly biscuits

My dad had an old cast iron stove in his “office” – a building out back of our house that women today would call a man cave. The stove sat right in the middle of the room surrounded by desks, chairs, book shelves, and a drafting table.

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