21 Days of Love E-Book

Kathy Ide

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 179

Beschreibung

Love can be found in many treasured relationships: boyfriend-girlfriend, husband-wife, parent-child … with a special friend, teacher, or pet … in the kindness of a stranger. We even have a national holiday to celebrate love. The greatest love ever known is God's abundant love for us, His children. And He often demonstrates that perfect love through imperfect people. These stories represent all kinds of love. Woven through each story is the sustaining hand of our loving heavenly Father. On Valentine's Day—and every day—whether your life is chocolates and flowers or loneliness and pain … let these stories fill your heart with hope, peace, and most important, love.

Leseprobe

Published by BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLCRacine, Wisconsin, USAwww.broadstreetpublishing.com

21 Days of Love

Stories that Celebrate Treasured Relationships

Copyright © 2016 Kathy Ide

ISBN: 978-1-4245-5154-5 (hard cover)ISBN: 978-1-4245-5155-2 (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, 2011by 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 ESV are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright © 2000, 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NLT are from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible, which is in the public domain.

Cover design by Chris Garborg at www.garborgdesign.comInterior by Katherine Lloyd at www.TheDESKonline.com

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Printed in China

Contents

Foreword

1

Ballerina Girl

by Lori Freeland

2

A Valentine for Teacher

by Renae Brumbaugh

3

Secondhand Life

by Cindy Woodsmall

4

More than Dates and Flowers

by Jeanette Hanscome

5

Outspoken Love

by Janet Sketchley

6

Silk Roses

by Kathy Ide

7

My Hero

by Marci Seither

8

God Spelled Backwards

by Rachel Barrett

9

Desert Crossing

by Dona Watson

10

For the Lover of Peter

by Marsha Hubler

11

Multiplying Love

by Kelly Wilson Mize

12

A Time to Remember

by Terri Todd

13

On the Mountaintop

by Nanette Thorsen-Snipes

14

Call It

by Rachael Landis

15

Love Deeply

by Sherry Kyle

16

A Finger and a Big Toe

by Nancy Ellen Hird

17

The Candy Bowl

by Christine Henderson

18

Full Pursuit

by Julie DeEtte Williams

19

An American Valentine’s Day

by Roxanne Anderson

20

Rose in Bloom

by Jennifer Sienes

21

Bring Him Home

by Susan May Warren

Closing

Other Books in This Series

Alphabetical List of Contributing Authors

Foreword

What are your favorite Valentine’s Day memories? Cherry-flavored lollipops from childhood? Sweethearts candies with love-inspired messages like Be Mine and Let’s Kiss that sent your heart soaring in junior high? The cute red teddy bear holding a heart-shaped pillow trimmed in lace with I Love You stitched across the satin, given to you by your first love from high school?

How about as you grew older? Whitman’s chocolates? Love-themed dances? Hallmark cards scrawled with forever promises? Does Valentine’s Day mark an anniversary of a first dance, first kiss, first date … or the day you said, “I do”?

When we are in love, we look forward to February 14. Sometimes we even dress up for it—in red and pink and maybe a touch of black. We exchange gifts and greeting cards, candies and trinkets on this special day.

Yet for some, Valentine’s Day is a reminder that “no one loves me.” Painful memories spring to the surface, those that have been kept inside for so long, the anguish they cause feels “normal.”

I’ve been in all of those situations. My memories of grade school are both whimsical and hurtful. The pretty little girl in the desk next to mine received the cute card that said, “Will You Be Mine?” and a heart-shaped lollipop, while I received the generic card with a picture of an owl asking, “Whoooo will be my Valentine?”

Apparently the little girl in the seat next to mine was special and I was ordinary.

I enjoyed some high school Valentine’s Day dances. But there were other times when I stood against the wall, wondering why no one wanted to boogie with me. And as a single young woman, I had years when the holiday meant long-stemmed roses and candlelight dinners and others that saw me playing Solitaire until bedtime.

For many, Valentine’s Day correlates with wedding anniversaries … which can be romantic, but also frustrating. Just try getting a dinner reservation for your anniversary on the busiest date night of in the year.

Over the course of my life, I have learned one all-important thing: I am loved. Whether there’s a “certain someone” to celebrate the day with or not, God loves me. Jesus is my eternal Bridegroom. And even though He doesn’t send out sentimental Hallmark cards, He has given an entire book with one central theme: His love for me (and for you too). He has also given me dear family members and friends. Treasured relationships.

As you read these stories, think of the people who have poured love into your life. Think too about the treasure of the ultimate love, the love of God and of His Son, Jesus.

Eva Marie Everson is the multiple-award-winning author of both fiction and nonfiction works, including Reflections of God’s Holy Land and Waiting for Sunrise. She is president of Word Weavers International, director of the Florida Christian Writers Conference, vice president of BelieversTrust, and acquisitions editor of Firefly Southern Fiction. Eva Marie is a wife, mother, and grandmother. She and her husband make their home along Lake Kathryn in Florida, where they are owned by their dog, Poods.

1

Ballerina Girl

by Lori Freeland

Savannah’s Sunday evening prayer vigil had been a bust. God didn’t love her. If He did, He wouldn’t have taken everything away. And He wouldn’t have let today come and drag her back to Brighton High’s dim and depressing hallways.

Returning to school was a cruel joke. Who cared if she finished senior year? Dance was out. Julliard was out. Her future was out. All crushed in a single stupid moment.

Savannah slumped in the back of senior English Lit, but her wilted pose didn’t stop the rubbernecking or mute the whispers. Her first day back, after two months of being MIA, was awkwardly agonizing. Tomorrow she’d wrap herself in her black hoodie with the earbuds. Or get the flu until graduation.

Logan entered just as the bell rang, bypassing his regular seat to claim the empty spot beside her. His swoon-worthy smile hit her like a triple espresso. She’d been addicted to that smile since seventh grade.

He ran a hand through his sleep-styled hair. “Morning, Swan Lake.” His voice was still early-morning deep.

“Don’t call me that.” She was done with dance. Now she needed to be done with her covert crush. Unfortunately, the we-love-Logan butterflies swirling in her stomach didn’t agree. Why couldn’t Logan be arrogant? Or mean? Or ugly?

“So …” His blue eyes pinned her in place. “I came by your house … right after … you know.” He didn’t seem to notice the dark circles living underneath her eyes. He didn’t act like anything about her had changed. He just grinned like he’d looked forward to her return as much as she’d dreaded it. “Why wouldn’t you see me?”

She shifted in her chair. “A lot of people came by.” At first.

“Doesn’t matter.” Her nonanswer rolled off him in typical Logan fashion. “You’re back now.”

“Not by choice.” After Matt ditched her, everyone else did too. She’d become social Siberia. So why did Logan sit next to her?

He leaned close, so close all she could smell was his woodsy shower gel, and those clueless belly butterflies threw him a pep rally. For two wonderful seconds he made her feel almost normal. Almost like the old Savannah.

Then Matt swaggered through the door. His gaze hit on every girl—except her—before he picked the redhead on the drill team. He sat beside her and ran a finger down her bare arm. All player. Zero class.

“Jealous looks bad on your ex.” Logan scooted his chair so his shoulder brushed hers.

“Yeah. Because that’s what jealousy looks like.” There was no way she could compete with the redhead. Not anymore. “Pretty sure Matt knows what he gave up.”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t.” Logan nudged her shoulder. “Let’s go to the Valentine’s dance.”

“You’re hilarious.” If he were anyone else, she’d shield herself for the punch line. But Logan had never been cruel. And he didn’t seem to care that she’d come back to school … different.

Up front, Mrs. Gates started class, leaving no more time to talk.

When the lecture ended, Logan leaned over and whispered, “Can’t wait for Friday night.” And then he left. As if his cut-and-run could somehow cancel out the Mount-Everest reason she’d have to say no.

By Tuesday, Savannah convinced herself Logan had a momentary break with reality when he asked her to the dance. But during anatomy lab, he dropped onto Matt’s abandoned stool wearing an even bigger grin than yesterday. “I poached my brother’s black suit and red tie. You’d look hot in red.”

She wouldn’t look hot in anything. “Not going.”

He grabbed a dissection tray and stared at the poor baby shark up next for mutilation. “I’ll pick you up Friday at eight.”

Hoping he wouldn’t see the almost-tears in her eyes, she handed him a pair of gloves. “I’ll be in bed at eight.”

“You’re seventeen.” He laughed. “Not seventy.”

Was there a difference anymore?

She reached for a scalpel, but he grabbed it first. “I’ll butcher. You scribe.” He dangled a spiral notebook in front of her.

Writing up the lab report used to be Matt’s job. She glanced at her ex, who was busy working conquest number two—a brunette from JV Cheer.

Holding the scalpel like a dart, Logan aimed it at Matt. “You’re bailing on life because of him?”

“You know why I’m bailing.”

Logan put down the knife and rested his gloved fingers on her arm. “You don’t have to give up everything, you know.”

“Drop it.” The warmth of his touch heated her face. She looked away.

“Dropped.” He squeezed her hand. “But just for today.” He picked up the scalpel and positioned it to make the first cut.

Wednesday, Logan swung by art club, the only creative outlet Savannah hadn’t yet quit. “I was thinking dinner before the dance.”

“Seriously.” Her brush fell into her lap and red paint spattered her favorite jeans. “Why are you doing this?”

“Team Savannah had a vacancy.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it. “I want the spot.”

“You want to date me?” Her voice mirrored her disbelief. “Now?” She glanced at her paint-spattered lap. He felt sorry for her. That had to be it.

He shrugged. “You’ve always been with Matt. I don’t date other guys’ girls.”

“You don’t date at all.” She grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at the wet paint.

“You weren’t available.”

“I don’t want your pity date.”

“That’s too bad.” He hopped off the stool and leaned down to look into her eyes. “I’d take your pity date any day.”

Thursday, Savannah sat in the lunchroom alone, not eating the burrito special.

Logan sat across from her. “Why aren’t you over there?” He motioned to the drill team girls, who’d been stealing glances since she entered the cafeteria.

The last routine they’d done together played through her head in 3D, making her legs ache for release. Watching her ex-friends, her dance friends, killed something inside her. She’d give anything to be over there. But Logan didn’t get it. “They don’t want me.” Matt didn’t want her. Why would anyone else? She was useless now. “They’re busy. And …”

“And what?”

The sincerity in his eyes made her crave things she’d never have. “And I don’t dance anymore.”

“We’ll see.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek and then pulled his disappearing act again.

Friday night, Savannah still felt the warmth of Logan’s touch on her face. Every time she pictured that moment, those traitorous butterflies did the one thing she couldn’t—a perfect pirouette.

At seven o’clock, she got comfy on the family room sectional, threw a blanket over her pink flannel pajamas, and turned on a movie. Whatever had been going on between her and Logan this week was over. If she cared about him, she wouldn’t saddle him with her impossible issues. Issues that wouldn’t end at graduation.

At eight on the dot, she heard the doorbell. Before she could protest, her mom led Logan into the room and left.

Dressed in a black suit, gray shirt, and red tie, he looked good. Way too good for someone like her.

“I hadn’t pictured you in pink flannel.” He ran his gaze over her. “But I can make it work.” With a goofy grin, he touched his belt buckle. “Boxers with hearts okay with you?”

“I think my mom would say no.” A small laugh came out of her throat, even though she wanted to cry. “Why are you here?” She shook her head. “You should go to the dance with someone who deserves you.”

“Why do you push everyone away?” He took a few steps toward her.

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. You act like you’re damaged goods.”

“I am!” She flipped off the blanket and pointed to her legs. The legs that used to bend and stretch and plié. The legs that got her into Julliard. The legs that no longer worked.

Logan sat on the wheelchair next to the ottoman. Like the chair meant nothing.

“I lost everything. My boyfriend. My future. Myself.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “All because I let Matt drive when I knew he’d been drinking.”

“You got in the car to stop him.” Logan’s voice was soft. “You—”

“I screwed up! Matt’s fine and I’m … never going to be fine again.” She slapped her stupid, useless legs.

Logan got off the wheelchair and sat on the ottoman facing her. He took her hands. “Your legs aren’t who you are.” He pulled her against his chest and held her close. “And I really like who you are.”

His arms were warm, safe, strong. She cried out the hurt and anger and frustration she’d buried since that night. She wept until his shirt stuck to her cheek.

“I ruined your shirt.” She sniffed against his damp chest.

“Nah. You made my night.” He framed her face with his palms and looked into her eyes. “I got to save a damsel in distress. Top of my bucket list all along.” He gave her his special Logan smile.

This time when the butterflies swooned, she encouraged them. “Saving Savannah was on your bucket list, huh?” She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Yep.” Logan pressed his lips against her forehead. “Along with something else.” He brushed his thumbs down her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her. “Two thousand eighteen,” he whispered. “That’s the number of days I’ve wanted to do that. Since seventh grade.” He hugged her tight.

“Maybe we should go to the dance.” And maybe God loved her after all. He’d sent her Logan. And Logan made her feel as if she could do anything.

Life Application

Sometimes bad things happen and we don’t understand why. It wasn’t Savannah’s choice to break up with Matt or to stop dancing. But God wanted to do something new in her life.

God wants what’s best for us. He sees our future and He knows how to direct our paths. It’s easy to trust Him when those paths match up with what we want. It’s harder to trust when they don’t. That’s where faith steps in. That’s when trust is built.

God tells us, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:18–19).

Does God want to do something new in your life? Will you let Him?

About the Author

Lori Freeland is a writing teacher and coach for the North Texas Christian Writers and a contributor to Crosswalk.com and Believe.com. She’s addicted to flavored coffee and imaginary people. When she’s not writing inspirational articles, she’s working on several young-adult novels. Visit her website, www.lafreeland.com, or look for L. A. Freeland on Facebook.

2

A Valentine for Teacher

by Renae Brumbaugh

February 13, 1908

“Hurry, Miss Wilson. He might be there already!” “You go on ahead, Alexander. I’ll be along directly.”

“You sure, ma’am? Ma said to escort you home ever’ day, and we ain’t home yet.”

“We’re not home yet.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said … Never mind. We can see your house from here. I’m sure, under the circumstances, your mother won’t mind you running ahead. I’ll explain to her that I told you to do so.”

“Thanks, Miss Wilson. You’re swell!” Ten-year-old Alex Thompson called that last part of the sentence over his shoulder.

Kate watched her student practically grow wings and soar the rest of the way to his house, where some beloved cousin was scheduled to arrive. It was all the boy had spoken of for the last three weeks. And considering her room in the Thompson home was the only spare bedroom, she’d wondered if she’d be expected to move her things to the barn during the visit.

But no one had asked, and she hadn’t offered. After all, the school board was paying for her room and board at the Thompsons’ home. It was her room, at least for the next three months. Probably the rest of my life, the way things look.

Kate loved teaching school. She loved the smell of the books, the grit of chalk dust on her hands, the clang-clang of the big brass bell. She even loved the wet-puppy stench of her charges after coming in from recess.

What she didn’t love were the strict rules enforced by the local school board. Oh, they were the same as practically every other district. Early curfew. No loitering in town. No dilly-dallying at ice cream parlors. And absolutely no men.

Much as she loved her job, she didn’t want to be an old-maid schoolmarm forever. She would either have to refuse a contract for the following school year and take a job at a mercantile or dress shop, or resign herself to another year of no male prospects whatsoever.

Even if she did find other employment, there were no guarantees that Prince Charming would magically appear. And none of her other employment options would allow her the delight of books and learning, the thrill of discovery, every single day.

And it wasn’t like she could go home. After Papa died two springs ago and Mama moved in with Charlie and Beth and their six children … well, Kate knew her older brother would find space for her. But she didn’t want to be a burden.

So she taught. And prayed, every day, about whether or not she was really called to remain unmarried for the rest of her life, just so she could teach school.

She sure hoped not. Once again, she breathed the prayer she’d uttered every day for the last few months. “God, You know my heart. Show me what to do.”

At least a pleasant task lay in store this evening. In anticipation of the Thompsons’ guest, Kate had purchased bits of bright fabric, scraps of lace, and some old buttons from Mrs. Taylor. The seamstress was happy to sell her a whole box of odds and ends for a penny. Since Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, Kate would go straight to her room to make cards for her twelve students. That would give the Thompson family time with their cousin.

The wide wooden porch stairs creaked with each step. The mild February sun warmed her shoulders, and Kate considered resting a moment in one of the painted rocking chairs. She turned to take in the peaceful landscape of the Texas Piney Woods.

“You must be Miss Wilson.”

The voice was deep and sultry, like an August day had invaded the February landscape. Kate pulled her gaze from the pine trees to an even more brilliant sight.

Standing before her was the most handsome man she’d seen in all her days. Six foot four, at least, from the way he bent his head beneath the doorframe. Wide shoulders that rivaled Paul Bunyan’s, she was sure. Blond curls framed a sunbronzed face and white teeth. An easy grin split across his features, forcing a pair of dimples to wink at her.

She never knew dimples could go that deep.

His friendly, wide-set eyes were a color she couldn’t quite describe. Caramel, perhaps? With a hint of moss-green toward the centers. Tiny lines crinkled on either side of those eyes like shooting stars.

She stood there, mouth hanging open, peering out from beneath her hooded cloak like a stunned chicken. When he stepped aside to let her pass, she attempted to gather her spilled wits. It felt a bit like trying to spoon an egg back into its shell.

His brawn filled the space, and her shoulder brushed his arm as she entered the Thompson home.