By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
When the lights go out – and they will – who or what will be your power source?
The power went out last week in my neck of the woods, but thankfully, the outside temp had warmed up to a balmy 30 degrees.
I was already wrapped up in my rocker by the wood stove, writing on my laptop, so it wasn’t the end of my make-believe world or my real one either. I had plenty of wood, a camp coffee pot of water on the wood stove for hot cocoa if the mood struck me, and a substantial stack of wood on the hearth.
If the outage lasted through the night, I had kerosene lamps and plenty of quilts for sleeping by the fire so I could keep it going.
“I can do this,” I thought. “I write books about people who live without electricity—I know how this works.”
An odd sense of adventure set in.
A whole 45 minutes later when the power kicked on, I was almost disappointed. Almost.
But just in case it kicked off again, I started a big kettle of soup and made a batch of biscuits. I could heat up both on the wood stove if necessary. And I know a lady who lived in Alaska almost forever, so I could always ask her a few questions.
Oh, how dependent we are on our power sources, whether they are electricity, gas, propane, solar, or good ol’ firelight.
What would we do without the light?
The situation made me consider my true power source. The One who keeps the light on in my soul. He doesn’t go out. He doesn’t even flicker with rolling blackouts or cut back on energy to save money.
He’s always there. Always faithful. Always watching out for me.
Anxiety pales in the glow of such all-powerful faithfulness.
God’s got this.
Be anxious for nothing,
but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving,
let your requests be made known to God
Cade set his plate on the hearth, then laid a fire from wood stacked by the fireplace. Shielding the match, he nursed the feeble glow until yellow flames licked up into the split logs. He pulled the other chair near the hearth to face her and balanced the plate on his leg. Heat from his mug warmed the tin and seeped through his trousers.
Mae Ann relaxed, leaning toward the fire as she’d leaned into him on the ride home.
His chest burned with the memory of her pulled close against him, and he gulped the bitter tea. Another task for tomorrow while he was in town—more stores. More tea. ~An Improper Proposal
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Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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