The Stories of Our Lives (Part Three)

This is part three in an ongoing series.
Part One: As The Story Turns
Part Two: I Don’t Have A Hallelujah

“And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper.”
~ 1 Kings 19:12

Have you ever been in a place—a meeting or gathering—where there was a lot of shouting or even anger?

You couldn’t hear clearly enough to make out what anyone was saying. But then, out of the bedlam, came a soft voice with such authority it caught the attention of everyone in the room.

That was the powerful moment I experienced while trying to process the loss of my husband to pancreatic cancer. Locked in my walk-in closet where I pray and study, God whispered.

The Stories of Our Lives (Part Two)

This is part two in an ongoing series.
Part One Here: As The Story Turns

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death …
Psalm 23: 4

The death of someone you love is devastating. It doesn’t matter if you know the disease is incurable, or how long they have fought against it. It makes no difference whether it is sudden. The loss shakes you to the core of your being.

The days following my husband’s passing from pancreatic cancer is and was, a blur. I remember bits of those days, but most of them remain locked away somewhere in the hollow fogginess of loss. It’s fear I remember most. Confusion and doubt were fear’s closest companions.

As The Story Turns …

The Stories of Our Lives (Part One)

This is part one in an ongoing series.

Picture it … Somewhere in the mountains of East Tennessee, January, 2026.

Those living in the South (and I’m talking about the United States, of course) may remember the unusual weather we had early that year. My story takes place a few weeks before ice and snow basically shut down the South.

Bear in mind that we of the South are never truly prepared for major winter weather. We hang on to the hope of our normal mild winters, refusing to accept even the hint of snow, or more accurately, ice. Okay, yeah, there’s always those few prepared for whatever. It is the South after all, and we have our share of preppers.

Anyway, back to the story …

This particular morning was COLD. Twelve degrees cold. My mom and I were heading back to the great Peach State of Georgia from the great Volunteer State of Tennessee. I’m a Tennessee girl to my bones, but I’ve learned to love Georgia after living here almost thirty years.

Love With A Capital V

Ahhh … love sweet love.

What the world needs now.

I want to know what love is.

Can’t help falling in love.

What’s love got to do with it?

Love hurts.

The dichotomy between the bliss and despair of love has persevered since the dawn of time. Love songs have surely been around that long as well. I imagine Adam might have felt like singing when God created Eve.

“Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib,
and He brought her to the man.
‘At last!’ the man exclaimed.”

-Genesis 2:22,23 (NLT)

“At last, my love has come along”.
I think it’s safe to say Adam was pleased.

You may look at my title and assume at this time of year, that the capital “V” is for Valentine’s Day. But, if you did, you would be wrong. My “V” is for “Vulnerable”.

	Step Into The Water… on Get Up, Girl!
	Step Into The Water… on Can You Hear What I Hear?
	Step Into The Water… on I Don’t Have A Hall…
	Step Into The Water… on As The Story Turns …
	Get Up, Girl!… on Can You Hear What I Hear?