Friday, July 1, 2016

Words of Faith: Davalynn's story about trust, thankfulness and two fists

Two-fisted Faith
A Words of Faith story written by Davalynn Spencer

TNT has been on my mind a lot lately—not Turner Network Television or trinitrotoluene, that explosive material with “convenient handling properties.”

I’m referring to a recent personal directive I received from the Lord with this handy acronym attached to aid in my short-term memory loss where spiritual life is concerned.

TNT = Trust and Thankfulness. Two-fisted marching orders.

I’m to walk through each day with Trust in one hand and Thankfulness in the other, regardless of what the day may bring. If I keep one in each hand, I can’t pick up worry or doubt or fear. It’s a simple decree that takes a load off my heart if I let it, much like a similar realization I had years ago in a hospital.

Evening slipped down the pale green walls of the room where our son lay following a motorcycle accident. I shifted in the stiff, plastic chair and watched Jake’s eighteen-year-old body fight to heal itself. And I was furious.

A week earlier Jake had wrecked a friend’s motorcycle on a gravel road near our home in southern Colorado. The friend never came to see him; neither did the boy’s parents. No phone calls, no cards. The disregard cut deeply and I clung to my anger as tenaciously as Jake clung to his life.

In the emergency room the night of the accident, Jake had cried out to his father and me to lift his head. “Just for a minute, Mom. Please, lift my head!” EMTs at the scene had taped him to a body board to stabilize his neck. Unknown to the ER doctors who refused to medicate him for fear of masking injuries or symptoms, the tape around Jake’s head pressed an open wound to the board. I longed to cut the tape and relieve his agony, but I knew it could result in paralysis. Due to summer thunderstorms that downed the Flight for Life helicopter, we waited three hours for a mobile trauma unit to arrive from the Pueblo, Colorado, hospital thirty-five miles away.

Gravel pitted Jake’s back, hips, and face. The accident had cost him his right eyebrow, fractured his skull, and shut down his kidneys. He was nauseous, delirious, and hateful—all common symptoms with a head injury, doctors said.

My husband and I took turns staying with him. We couldn’t leave him alone, and my anger festered. As I tried to sleep in the chair that night, Jesus spoke to me—not audibly, but undoubtedly.

“You have only two hands,” He said. “You cannot hang on to Jake and your anger and Me. Of which will you let go?”

God knew I was angry; He knew I hurt more than I had ever hurt. But He also knew that if I clung to the anger it would destroy me and maybe even my son.

Letting go of Jake was not an option, and I knew I’d never make it through the ordeal without God’s help. As I opened my fingers and symbolically reached for the Lord’s hand, the words of an old worship chorus from Psalm 3 became my unending prayer:


“Thou, O Lord, are a shield about me; 
you’re my glory, you’re the lifter of my head.”

Only God could keep Jake alive and heal his injuries, and He did exactly that. Jake recovered quickly, earlier than the neurosurgeon expected. The Lord indeed lifted his head—and mine from the death-like grip of anger.

Today as an author, I am intrigued by the poetic power of “three,” the trinity-like beauty of three images, metaphors, or examples. But God knows I need a two-fisted faith—something I can hold in each hand—and I praise Him for showing me the power of TNT.


Be anxious for nothing, 
but in everything by prayer and supplication, 
with thanksgiving, 
let your requests be made known to God; 
~Phil. 4:6 (NKJV)

~*~
Author bio: 

Award-winning author Davalynn Spencer writes bestselling inspirational Western romance and teaches writing at Pueblo Community College. 

Her novel, Romancing the Widow, won the 2015 Will Rogers Gold Medallion Award for inspirational Western fiction, and her recent release, The Cowboy's Bride, was an ECPA and Publisher's Weekly bestseller. 

Davalynn makes her home on Colorado's Front Range with a Queensland heeler named Blue and two mouse detectors, Annie and Oakley. 

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