By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Transition – ugh. That space between one place and another.
Like a portal or threshold between what was and what will be.
Like dying.
I once heard a preacher say that death didn’t bother him. It was the “getting dead” part he didn’t like.
Amen.
But transition is also about living, and without it, everything comes to a standstill.
In this part of the country, spring signals a transition called calving, and the pastures bloom with gamboling newborns. Their bovine mamas came to a moment of transition when everything in them said push. That’s the hard, but essential, part of a new beginning.
Sometimes it’s the everyday push that makes me weary—the pressing on, the longing for change or the next phase in my writing career. And then I read Paul’s words to the Corinthians that “our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Corinthians. 4:17).
And I read about Jesus, our Author of Faith, “who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).
This spring as bulbs push into blooms and brown breaks out in green, may we remember that transition doesn’t last forever.
In God’s economy, what’s waiting on the other side of transition is always worth the effort.
~
The everyday push Share on X
“I just thought you might like to know what these flowers are called,” Whit said. “I’ve seen columbines all white like snow, higher up in the mountains.”
Livvy relaxed and looked again at the wildflowers. Each one bore a white face, yellow center, and long claw-like growths that tapered from the bottom of every lavender petal.
Whit picked one and twirled it slowly in front of her. “See these long tubes? They’re called spurs and they hold the nectar that draws humming birds and bees.”
How did a cowboy know about flowers? She shot a quick glance his way and caught him squinting at the ridge above them.
“Spurs, you say?”
Her remark brought his gaze back to her and his features softened. “Yes, ma’am. Kinda like us cowboys.” For a moment he looked exactly like she remembered him from her previous visits, before he worked for her grandfather. But now he was somehow more…handsome?
“Well, that’s very nice.” Enjoying the cool grass beneath her, she fussed with her skirt, making sure it covered her ankles.
He offered her the flower.
She took it and raised it to her nose. Perhaps the taste attracted the hummingbirds rather than the scent. “So you could call it a cowboy flower, I suppose.”
“You could call it anything you want.” ~Straight to My Heart, Book 2 of The Cañon City Chronicles
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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