21 Days of Grace E-Book

Kathy Ide

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 201

Beschreibung

Christians have long loved devotionals, but today's Christians are also developing a strong love for fiction. They want to read stories about characters they can relate to, who experience situations similar to their own, and learn from those examples how to live out their faith. For them, life lessons are more easily absorbed this way.  21 Days of Grace fits all of these needs. It is a collection of engaging, inspirational short fiction stories written by new, intermediate, and well-known authors including Angela Hunt, Deborah Raney, Cindy Woodsmall, Cecil Murphey, Robin Bayne, and more.  Like Jesus' parables, these stories deal with important life issues in a subtle, unpressured manner. And, as Jesus did, the authors follow up with life applications based on the stories, suggesting how the inherent lessons can be applied to the reader's daily life.

Leseprobe

Published by BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC Racine, Wisconsin, USAwww.broadstreetpublishing.com

21 Days of Grace

Stories that Celebrate God’s Unconditional Love

Copyright © 2015 Kathy Ide

ISBN: 978-1-4245-5023-4 (hardcover)ISBN: 978-1-4245-5026-5 (e-book)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version, which is in the public domain.

Stock or custom editions of BroadStreet Publishing titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, ministry, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

Printed in China

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Contents

Forewordby Rene Gutteridge

1Through a Dark Glassby Cindy Woodsmall

2The Smallest Giftby Robin Bayne

3True Confessionby Angela Elwell Hunt

4Promptly at Sevenby Barbara Curtis

5We Called Him Happy Faceby Cecil Murphey

6Rag Dollby Kathy Ide

7Prairie Lessonsby Deborah Raney

8The Pain Redemptionby Roxanne Anderson

9The Guilty Partyby Nancy Arant Williams

10A House with Pillowsby Kathi Macias

11Be Grateful in All Thingsby Diane Simmons Dill

12A Waffle Stop Story of Love and Pistolsby Buck Storm

13The Least of Theseby Dona Watson

14Rower’s Wisdom for an Empty Tankby Jeanette Morris

15The Setting … The Pruning … The Fruitby Amarilys Gacio Rassler

16Among the Shades of Grayby Carolyn Bennett Fraiser

17Afraid to Askby Jeanette Hanscome

18Fall from Graceby Tracy Higley

19Thornsby Nanette Thorsen-Snipes

20The Maskby DiAnn Mills

21There and Backby Lori Freeland

Closing

Foreword

by Rene Gutteridge

I’ve always believed that fiction stories are living, breathing things. They are created, and once they are set loose, they seem to take on lives of their own. Sometimes they transfix on a soul that is willing to let them in, and it seems that every word on the page was written uniquely for the person reading it.

A story’s ability to weave itself into even the hardest of hearts awes me. And as a storyteller, I’m constantly amazed at the transforming power of words. How can a simple story change the course of a human’s journey? How do stories present new perspectives to people who are set in their ways?

I’ve witnessed one story do many things to many people. I write a story, intending on its theme and message to be this or that, and then to my surprise it has multiple veins flowing with its own life-giving supplies, some of which I never dreamed up and, as its creator, never imagined could be.

I certainly play it cool when I hear about various readers’ adventures with my stories. I nod and pretend I knew all along that this work of art would do what they’ve told me it has done. I smile and thank them and wish them well. But as I walk away, I marvel at what my little story did after it left my care, grew up, and made its way into the world.

In my own life, I’ve been taken captive by many stories, but none more than the parables told by Jesus. I’ve read them many times over the years. Sometimes they will leap off the page, as suddenly and beautifully as a deer. The story that I thought I knew inside and out grabs my attention with ideas I never even realized were there. It plants truths and perspectives in my mind and heart that I didn’t understand before. What once was ordinary becomes extraordinary. A story I’ve known since childhood is all at once dancing in front of me, a spectacle so astonishing that I dare not blink. I make my heart listen intently. I don’t want to miss even the tiniest detail. Just minutes ago these were just tales told long ago. Now they are answers to questions that I had resolved would never be unlocked.

And all of this comes from the imagination. Even Jesus had an imagination. In fact, He is the creator of imagination, being the first creator of all things. To read a story as a human being is certainly an event, but to read a story, any story, with the Holy Spirit in our hearts gives power to thoughts that we can’t reach on our own. When we open that door, there is no limit to the impact a single story can make.

Watch out for these tiny words, for those unremarkable sentences, sitting innocently and quietly on the pages of this book. Today they are just that. But in a blink of an eye, these stories may change the course of your entire life.

Rene Gutteridge is the award-winning and best-selling author of twenty-four novels in the suspense and comedy genres. She has novelized six screenplays and movies. She is a creative consultant on Boo, a script based on her novel series, which is in development at Sodium Entertainment. Find more about Rene at her website, renegutteridge.com.

1

Through a Dark Glass

by Cindy Woodsmall

Iva’s heart pounded as she read the notice in The Budget about her little sister’s upcoming wedding. Maybe Josiah was right. She shouldn’t have the weekly Amish newspaper mailed to her. Fighting tears, she closed the paper and tucked it away in a side table.

Focus on today and on the ministry God has given this family.

Autumn sunlight stretched across the tiny living room, showcasing every bit of dust in the air above the open boxes scattered around the carpeted floor. Iva had been going through the cardboard boxes, and organizing their contents by category, all morning. So many people from various churches in other states had donated to the cause of helping the poor in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky. As Iva wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist, she whispered a prayer of thankfulness. For the donations and for the distraction.

The work was tedious, but Iva was desperate to stay preoccupied. Anything to help her avoid dwelling on the high price she and Josiah had paid for doing what they felt God leading them to do.

As she removed toys from a box, sorting them by age and gender, the differences between these toys and those treasured by the Amish tugged at her heart. Barbie dolls had faces … and sparkly dresses with matching high heels … and curves. So unlike the cloth doll she’d played with as a little girl: faceless, with a solid pale-blue dress and a white prayer kapp covering yellow yarn pulled back in a bun.

Disco Barbie seemed to scowl at her. You broke your vow. You did it thoughtfully and intentionally. You’ve betrayed your people.

When Iva and Josiah were barely twenty-one, they’d gone through the weeks of instructions to join the Amish church. Then they’d taken their vows and were baptized according to the Ordnung—the rules by which the Old Order Amish lived. That autumn they were married in her parents’ home. Fourteen months later, she gave birth to their first child.

A year after Mark was born, the pastor of a nearby non-Plain church invited her and Josiah to join them for an in-home Bible study. As they began to read the Word on their own, their hearts were stirred as if they’d been set on fire, and a desire to follow wherever God called them took root.

“Gut job, boys.” Her husband’s voice jolted Iva from her self-condemnation as he came through their front door.

Josiah walked into the house, carrying an armful of coats and blankets. Two adorable shadows followed in his footsteps, similarly laden. He dropped the items onto the couch, and his sons mimicked the same move. Then they each wrapped their arms around one of Josiah’s legs, and he marched around, toting them across the carpeted floor. The boys laughed almost as much as their dad.

Josiah glanced up, spotting the doll in Iva’s hands—and, no doubt, the unshed tears in her eyes. He put his sons’ feet on the floor, aimed them toward the back door, and gave them each a light pat on the backside. “Now, go out and enjoy this beautiful fall day.”

They ran outside, giggling and shouting. “Hey, you.” Josiah lumbered to her, a gentle smile lifting his lips.

“Hi.” She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the doll’s sequined jacket.

He hooked a finger under her chin and eased her face upward. “We weren’t wrong to leave, Iva.” How many times did he need to encourage her in an attempt to prevent the heartache from swallowing her?

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I know.” And she did. But it didn’t matter who was right or wrong. Her heart was crushed. She hadn’t seen or heard from any member of her family in two years.

Iva wiped the tears from her face. “If only they could find it in themselves to listen, to at least hear our hearts in the matter …” They should be preparing for her sister’s wedding with the rest of the family, not apart from them. So very far apart.

“Maybe one day they will.” His soft voice was barely above a whisper. “And if that day comes, we’ll embrace them. But right now, all they have for us are unyielding opinions, fears that God will punish us, and judgments for us based on the Ordnung.”

Josiah had put tremendous effort into being a peacemaker with their families. But nothing short of him and Iva remaining Amish, and repenting for even thinking about leaving, would satisfy their families.

She and Josiah had talked through all of this multiple times, and she understood it. They had seasons when peace and laughter overflowed in their hearts, but mostly she fought the pain of missing her family—and every friend she’d grown up with. She continually wanted to scream at them, It didn’t have to end this way!

Josiah wasn’t allowed to have any contact with his family either. Whenever he dealt with bouts of anger due to the harsh words and the weight of isolation, she’d been the voice of reason for him, just like he was doing for her now.

Would they ever find lasting peace over what they’d done in God’s name … and what had been done to them in His name? Her parents and siblings and Josiah’s family were good, God-fearing folk. But in the worst of the battle, neither side had shown much tenderness or humility.

She eased from her husband’s arms, opened the door to the side table, and pulled out the Amish newspaper. “Amanda Rose is getting married in three days.” A lump formed in Iva’s throat at the thought of her little sister, ten years younger than she, the baby of the family. Iva used to tote the tiny thing on her hip and cuddle with her at night to soothe her to sleep. Now she was getting married—and Iva would not be allowed to attend the wedding.

Josiah took the paper and set it on the sofa. “I’m sorry.” He engulfed Iva in a warm embrace. “So very sorry.”

She was sorry the Ordnung demanded excommunication for anyone who left. But she didn’t regret the decision they’d made. They had longed to help the less fortunate both in the US and abroad. But the Ordnung didn’t allow them to own a vehicle or drive, or to fly on a plane—all of which was needed in order to serve as missionaries.

A bishop had the authority to make some allowances despite the Ordnung. But the bishop they were under refused to compromise. And in the Amish culture, there was no leaving one church to attend another—not even a different Amish church.

So God’s calling for Josiah and Iva had to fit inside their church and community, or they had to leave the Amish altogether. That’s when they began to question the rules of the Ordnung.

After much prayer, they decided to leave the Amish—not out of anger or rebellion, but because they wanted to be free to do whatever they felt God leading them to.

Iva touched her husband’s stubbly cheek. “I love our lives. I just wish the pain would ease.”

“It will. Be patient.” He grazed her fingers with his lips. “Now …” He glanced around the room, looking at the stacks of boxes. “What can I do to help?”

She took in a long breath and rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s go through all the boxes in this room first. Then we’ll drag in the others from the garage.”

The hours melted like snow in late spring, and soon sunlight waned as shadows lengthened. Josiah brought in the boxes from the garage, then left to pick up dinner from the Hometown Café.

On her knees, Iva slid a knife across the sealed tape of another box. Under layers of bubble wrap lay something wrapped in newspaper. She tore the paper along the top and discovered a thick wooden frame.

As she eased the frame loose of its wrappings, she saw blue and white brush strokes forming a beautiful sky. Beneath it was a depiction of Christ returning to heaven, His back to the onlooker. Layers of white robes draped His body, contrasting with His dark, shoulder-length hair. Sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing Him in a peaceful glow.

Iva’s heart palpitated and chills covered her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. The thoughts that filled her mind felt as if Christ were talking personally to her.

Love sacrifices for obedience. At times it appears to lose the battle. But I am love, and love never fails.

“But God, we failed. Josiah and I only wanted to follow You, but we said things we shouldn’t have. Ended up arguing instead of being gentle and encouraging. I’m sorry we didn’t handle leaving better than we did. But now I’m so angry with the Amish faith.” How many times had she confessed that?

Suddenly, she saw herself and Josiah kneeling before God’s throne, His hand of protection stretched out, covering them as the Enemy hurled accusations concerning them.

It is all covered by My grace. The voice was powerful and authoritative, yet it soothed her to the depths of her heartache.

Was it possible that the arguments between her and Josiah and their families were covered under God’s grace? She and her husband had been right to follow what they believed was God’s leading. Yet they’d done so in an imperfect way, lacking in wisdom and patience, causing tremendous strife. It didn’t matter who was more wrong. God’s grace covered them all.

Iva still had many questions about why God would call them to leave, why the Amish needed to excommunicate those who left, and what the future held. But even without answers, peace began to heal her aching heart.

As Iva stood, a note fell from the frame. She picked it up and read her youngest sister’s handwriting.

The moment I saw this picture at a yard sale, I knew it was meant for you. Be patient. God is working here to soften hearts. I am sure you will be able to visit soon.

Love you and miss you!

Mandy

Iva clutched the note to her chest, breathing deeply as tears welled. Even though God’s children could only see through a dark glass until they entered eternity, His love never failed. Never.

Life Application

Many good people have been hurt by those within their church. Even when we are trying our best to do what we believe God wants, our brothers and sisters in Christ may disagree with our goals and viewpoints, fighting us. And we lash out in response.

Those situations are grievous beyond measure. When they happen, we need to be patient with ourselves, with those who oppose us, and with the heartache and anger of the situation. This is only possible through a combination of prayer and intentional self-control.

First Corinthians 13:12 says, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known” (KJV).

About the Author

Cindy Woodsmall is a New York Times and CBA best-selling author who has written fifteen works of fiction. Her connection with the Amish community has been widely featured in national media outlets. In 2013, the Wall Street Journal listed Cindy as one of the top three most popular authors of Amish fiction. Cindy and her husband reside near the foothills of the North Georgia Mountains.

2

The Smallest Gift

by Robin Bayne

Ceci watched a stream of deliveries flow into the cramped hospital room, the scent of flowers overwhelming the smell of disinfectant. It seemed every florist and courier in town had brought an arrangement, basket, or plant to Mike’s room.

And Mike, poor guy, lay completely oblivious to it all. Despite monitors beeping, hoses dripping, and nurses constantly prodding him, he remained blissfully unaware of the ever-growing greenhouse that room 346B was becoming. Ceci worried whether her best friend’s brother—and her childhood crush—would ever wake up and see all the gifts.

She reached over and stroked the back of his hand, making sure not to disturb any tubes. His skin felt cool. Could he hear anything? Was he aware?

Only three days earlier, Mike had been the active guy at the children’s center where he worked, coordinating activities for disabled kids. He’d also been the youth group leader for his church.

No wonder so many people had sent signs of affection.

Ceci felt a slight pull in her gut. She couldn’t afford to buy him anything. Well, maybe a card. But she’d have to leave the room to do that, and she didn’t think Mike should be alone right now. Nurses weren’t much comfort. They didn’t have time to be, rushed and spread thin among so many patients. Ceci sighed and stroked Mike’s forehead. It was cool too.

Mike snorted and Ceci jumped. But he settled again quickly.

She wondered what he would make of her staying by his bed all this time.

The wall clock ticked off loud moments, reminding Ceci she’d been sitting for too long. She stretched and paced the room. At the foot of the hospital bed, an electronic panel registered all kinds of data, including the patient’s weight: 175 pounds. For a six-foot-one-inch guy, he was lean. She shuddered at the thought of herself possibly being in a bed like this someday, with her own weight on display for everyone to see.

She noticed Mike’s high school ring on his finger, the bright blue stone sparkling from the fluorescent lighting. How strange that he lay there, broken and pale, while the jewelry looked perfect.

The other driver had just suffered bruises, Merry had said as she cried on Ceci’s shoulder while they drove to St. Joseph’s emergency room with Mike’s parents. It had been the other guy’s fault, but that was little consolation.

“Ceci!” Merry came in, then swallowed her up in a warm hug.

“There’s no change.”

“I know. I stopped at the nurse’s station. She said you were still here. You have to go home and get some rest.”

Ceci looked at Mike. She couldn’t tear herself away from him for something as unimportant as sleep.

“Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Let me take you to the cafeteria. Mom and Dad are on their way. They’ll sit with him.”

Ceci nodded, bowed her head, and asked God to watch over her friend. Then she let Merry lead her into the noisy, bright hallway. They followed yellow arrow signs to the eating area. Nothing like a school cafeteria, this place was fancy and had lots of food choices. Even dinner entrees.

Ceci selected a tuna sandwich and Merry grabbed a huge slice of pepperoni pizza. They found a small table by the window, overlooking a courtyard.

“It’s so sweet of you to stay with him, but I have to insist you go home for some rest. And a shower.” Merry winked and took a big bite, holding her slice with both hands.

Ceci felt her cheeks warming. Did she stink? Yikes! “I will, I promise. I just can’t imagine how he would feel if he woke up and no one was there.”

Merry nodded. “We appreciate that you’ve been picking up the slack for when my family can’t be here, and we love you for it. But the hospital will call us. And he’ll see all those flowers and know that people were thinking of him.”

“True. But—”

“No buts. I’m serious. You need some sleep.”

Ceci appreciated her friend’s concern. “Okay. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I know you will.”

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that at least this had happened in summer, while she was on break from her job as a teacher.

On their way back to Mike’s room, they were nearly run over by a delivery guy bearing flowers and silver helium balloons.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pushing into 346B. “Looks like a hothouse exploded in here.”

Merry and Ceci exchanged glances. They would have laughed if the situation weren’t so grim.

But Mike still slept.

After three days, Ceci and Mike’s family had settled into a routine. Ceci stayed with him during the day while the others worked. Merry and her parents came and went as they could. The beeps of the monitors became part of Ceci’s very thought patterns, and the smell of disinfectant took up permanent residence in her nose.

She held Mike’s hand, talked to him, and read to him from the Bible and other books and magazines, just in case he was able to listen. She was glad he didn’t have a roommate.

The nurses brought her water and meals when they could. The flower deliveries slowed but kept arriving. Ceci added her own get-well card to the narrow dresser in the room.

After she finished a supper of bland chicken, green beans, and some sort of mystery soup, Ceci prayed over Mike and then settled in for a read-aloud session with a new suspense novel. She tried to use different voices for the various characters, and gradually found herself getting involved in the story.

“Ceci!” Merry’s mother’s shrill voice made her jump. “Sweetheart, that’s so wonderful of you to read to him!” The woman pulled Ceci into a hug, then turned her toward a lady she hadn’t met. “This is Mike’s aunt Eleanor, my husband’s sister. Eleanor, this is Ceci Carrollton, Merry’s dearest friend.” She leaned close to Ceci and whispered, “I have to run to the store for some personal items. Could you please entertain her for a little while?”

When they were alone, the gray-haired woman gave Ceci a harsh stare that made her squirm. “So, you were reading to my nephew?”

Ceci explained her theory that he might be able to hear and process what was going on.

“Nonsense,” Eleanor snapped. “You’re wasting your time.” She glanced around the room. “So many flowers! Which ones are from you?”

Ceci looked down, even though she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. “I brought a card.” She lamely pointed. Why did she feel so defensive?

“But you’re Merry’s best friend, right?”

She stood straighter. “Yes, I am.”

“Hmm.” Eleanor brushed past her and leaned over the bed, stroking Mike’s cheek and forehead. “May we have a private moment?”

“Sure. I’ll be in the hall if you need me.”

“I won’t.”