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* Writer * * Speaker * * Editor * |
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Ramona Richards |
| Below are a few samples
of my more recent publications. Just click on the cover to get there
quickly.
Love. When she first met Fletcher five years ago, she and Aaron had been in the blush of love. They hadn’t seen each other since. Does Fletcher think I killed Aaron because he didn’t love me anymore? Maggie sank down in her office chair, her manager’s brain kicking into gear. It was a motive. And not a bad one. And it might keep Fletcher off guard long enough— That’s illegal, girlfriend. It’s called obstruction of justice. And immoral. Maggie sighed at the nagging inner voice. God’s finger. But it’s not evidence, she insisted to herself. Not really. “And aren’t some risks worth it?” she asked aloud. A knock on her door brought her attention back around, and she called out for her visitor to enter. Fletcher opened the door and was followed into the office by Korie. They sat in the chairs on the front side of the desk. “I want Fletcher to stay here, in one of the cabins,” Korie announced, expertly swinging her blonde tresses back over her shoulder. “Surely you have one that’s empty. It doesn’t look right for him to keep staying with me, and I want him to get to the bottom of this. And I want you to call Chief Madison and tell him you’re behind it as well. He cooperated with Fletcher about the reports, but he’s acting like you’re queen of the estate and he’s deferring to you.” Silence. Maggie looked from one to the other, and she knew they were waiting for her to protest. After a moment, she opened her center desk drawer and pulled out a key with a numbered key chain on it. She tossed it lightly at Fletcher, who caught it with no effort. “Number four,” she said, handing him a map and a brochure. “You might have to clean it. The previous occupant left this weekend after a fight with Aaron, and I haven’t had a chance to get the cleaning service down there yet. The map will help you get around the estate, and the brochure will familiarize you with our routine.” She paused and looked at Korie. “I’ll call Tyler as soon as you two are out of the office. I’m sure he’ll be more deferential to you, Korie, when he realizes how much you’ll inherit.” Korie froze and Fletcher’s eyebrows arched. Maggie started her mental list. A mad writer who left in a huff and a wife who will inherit. No lies, but a bit of mud on the picture. Maggie felt a tightening in her gut, and she glanced briefly at the Bible on the corner of her desk. It’s worth it, she thought insistently, her faith at war with her loyalty. Korie stood, muttering under her breath, and turned to leave. “Come on, Fletcher, I’ll help you get settled.” Fletcher got to his feet, watching Maggie. He said quietly, “You go ahead, Korie. I’ll be there in a minute.” Korie slammed the door behind her, but neither of them jumped. Fletcher turned and went to the window near her desk, staring out. Maggie turned in her chair to watch him. There was mud on his pants that he had not bothered to brush off and a leaf stuck to the back of his coat. But there was nothing sloppy about his movements or his intentions. Maggie blinked first. “What do you want?” “What risk is worth it?” Maggie stood and went to his side. “Is eavesdropping part of your job?” He was still looking out the window. “When necessary.” “So do you just expect me to blithely confess that I know something about Aaron’s accident that I’m not telling you?” Fletcher turned to face her, and Maggie was surprised by the intensity in his eyes. He stepped closer, and Maggie wanted to look away, but she didn’t dare. He loomed over her, his height and closeness overwhelming her. She took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm and only succeeded in inhaling a scent that was purely masculine, acrid and intense, like freshly tanned leather. She trembled as he leaned forward and whispered at the side of her face. “Don’t do this, Maggie. We both know he was killed. We both know that someone moved his body so it would look like an accident. And I promise you I will find out who and why. Whatever—or whoever—you’re hiding is not worth it. Understand?” Maggie let out her breath, her voice shaking. “Perfectly,” she whispered back. He stepped back and smiled. “Fine,” he said, his voice light. “Then we’ll get along famously.” He turned and went to the door. “Dinner’s at six,” Maggie said firmly. He stopped and looked at her, puzzled. She tilted her head back, regaining as much pride as she could. “Since you’ve been staying with Korie, I thought you might not know. Everyone at the Retreat eats dinner in the lodge. Every night. It’s required. One of Aaron’s little dictates. Everyone who’s on the property, no matter who, eats at the lodge at six. He thought it reflected small town life. You can meet everyone then. But I hope you’ll be gracious enough to talk to them about Aaron in private.” He looked her over, nodding in agreement. “I will,” he said, and he shut the door behind him. Maggie let all the air out of her lungs and sat back down in her chair, her legs unable to hold her any longer. She reached out and stroked the edge of her Bible. Is deception always wrong? Isn’t it allowed, she thought, to protect one of your own? She wanted to believe she was right, but every fiber of her body seemed to twitch. Leaning her head on her desk, she let the tears flow, one more time. * * * Fletcher ignored Korie’s protests and went out the back door to stand on the deck. He needed to be alone and he needed fresh air. He inhaled deeply, relishing the late afternoon chill that stung his nostrils. She had smelled like sandalwood, all spicy and sweet. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the way her auburn hair had clung in small curls to her shoulders and the gentle curve of her neck. He was also struck by her almost unnoticeable glances at the Bible on her desk. Clearly, her morals, her faith, were playing hard on her heart, which tugged at something deep in the back of Fletcher’s mind, a sensation he had ignored for a very long time. Fletcher opened his eyes and leaned heavily against the deck rail, gazing out over the November landscape, wondering if he should bow out now. His gut still ached from knowing his best friend lay on a morgue slab, and he never expected the impact Maggie’s emotion would have on him. Her strength, her grief drew his attention right away, and now he fought the idea that she was involved in Aaron’s murder. But her anger hid something that ran deep, and all of his experience, all of his instincts, told him that she knew who the murderer was. Or she thought she did. Fletcher knew he had to get his own grief back under control if he was going to find any answers at all. Because Maggie Weston was grieving not just for Aaron but for the person who had killed him. Fletcher just hoped that it wasn’t her.
Every woman alive has felt hesitant and nervous at some point. We worry intensely about a variety of things from our families to our jobs, and while it is human nature to want to succeed, achieve, and triumph over obstacles, we live in a culture that tells us we should be able to do this out of our own talents and abilities. So when we fail, when we can’t move forward on our own efforts, we feel defeated and hopeless. The devotions in this book are designed to show women that the true source of confidence lies only with God. While our own strength will fail us, He never will. When terror overwhelms us, He is there, letting us know that He is greater than anything the world can throw at us. There is an old hymn that tells us: I sing because I’m happy, The God who sees every sparrow, the God who sent His Son to die for us, will give us hope and confidence to face anything. Confidence in Action When Abigail saw David, she quickly got off her donkey and bowed
down before David with her face to the ground. She fell at his feet
and said: “My lord, let the blame be on me alone. Please let
your servant speak to you; hear what your servant has to say. How many women have the confidence to believe they could stop an army? Abigail of Maon, married to Nabal, lived in a culture in which women had little social or legal power. Her own talents would have been focused on her home, not the court or the battlefield. Yet, while Abigail would have been seen as little more than the wife of a fool by her society, she was far from powerless. Scripture describes her as intelligent and beautiful, and even her husband’s servants relied on her wisdom when Nabal put the household at risk with his foolish pride. The reason was that Abigail had a secret weapon: God. Faced with the news than an angry king was leading an equally enraged army toward her home, she didn’t hesitate. Trusting in God’s protection--and in her belief that David was indeed a man after God’s own heart--she confronted the king and begged him to hear her. She appealed to his own belief in God’s mercy and judgment, and she asked him to let God deal with Nabal. Abigail had the intelligence and wisdom to know what to do, but her confidence to put her knowledge into action had only one source--the same source every believing woman can draw on. Standing on a mountain path, with only food-laden donkeys at her back, Abigail was at the complete mercy of David’s rage. He could have killed her without question and gone on to slaughter her family and servants. As he most likely would have had she not had the courage to intervene. Her belief in God, however, gave her the confidence to stand up in front of four hundred men and declare that letting God lead was a better path to follow. The result must have astonished the king’s men. David listened to this humble woman, overwhelmed by her confidence and wisdom. His rage vanished; he called her blessed. After Nabal died, David further rewarded her by making Abigail his wife. No matter what our gifts and talents, they are made even more powerful when put into action under God’s guidance. Trusting Him, believing in His power within us, gives all believers the confidence to take action. Courage to Endure For examples of patience in suffering, dear brothers and sisters,
From a very early age, Shelley Hendrix felt a call to share the Lord with those around her. She realized that her true value comes from a deep and abiding relationship with Christ, and the love with which God had filled her heart made her ache to help others, especially women and young girls, understand how their worth is centered in Him. Shelley’s path toward this goal, however, has not been an easy one. The trials that she experienced--that most of us experience sooner or later--shook her to the core. In her own words, she explains how the agonies of life threatened to shake her confidence in God and her own ministry, and how the words of James helped her look to the Bible for guidance--and role models. “In my calling to be a woman of God, I often find myself struggling with the painful events that the Lord, in His goodness, allows to come into my life. There is so much temptation in those times to lose confidence in God and to turn to my own resources to make life unfold in a way that would be more pleasant for me. There are so many different forms of suffering in the life of a believer. “Through the painful events in my life—divorce, miscarriages, relationship struggles and simply living in a sin-cursed world—I have been able to maintain confidence in the Lord and in His working in my life as a result of the truths of who He is and who He says I am as His daughter. And because I am His child, all of His resources are available to me. “He is good and He does good (Psalm 119:68). I can trust in Him confidently because of His good character. And, looking back at Job and the other prophets, and even those believers whose names are not found in the pages of Scripture, I can see in their lives ‘the Lord’s plan finally ended in good,’ and take as truth for myself, that He has an end intended for my struggles and pain as well—that in my life He is ‘full of tenderness and mercy.’ “How could I not trust Him?”
You yourself have done this plenty of times, spoken words “I don’t think I can do this.” Elaine sat in the car, refusing to get out. I struggled with what to say, saying a little prayer for guidance. “What are you afraid of?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s fear. More like the embarrassment that makes you clean the house before the maid comes.” She paused. “I feel like I should lose weight before joining a gym.” I almost laughed. Elaine had struggled with her weight for years, and here we were, about to go into a gym for the first time in more than twenty years. Elaine, however, now faced her fear of humiliation, in her words, “of being an old fat lady in front of all those young, hard bodies and skinny girls.” It seemed trivial to both of us, given the much larger issues in our lives. But Elaine’s fear was real, and it threatened to be crippling, preventing her from making a much-needed change in her life. She needed encouragement; I wanted to offer to her the same help she’d so often given me in the past. It was then that this passage from Job came to mind, when Eliphaz reminds Job that he had so often encouraged his friends in the past, when their doubts had led them away from God. His words had helped them stay on the right path. “Do you remember,” I asked Elaine, “telling me over and over that I’m beautiful in the eyes of God, no matter what people here think?” She cut her eyes toward me. She didn’t want to hear this. I grinned. “Your advice has always helped me, when I had problems thinking straight, especially about God. You are one of the most confident women I know, about everything but this. You told me that confidence lies in God. Yes?” Reluctantly, Elaine nodded. “So why is it you think He’ll support you with your hardest tasks, but not give you the confidence to do something as simple as walking into a gym?” We sat in the dark for a long time, as Elaine stared out over the parking lot clustered with cars. “I guess,” she said finally, “if he can help David and Job through their darkest times, he can help me face a few skinny girls.” We got out, thankful that God could give us the confidence to tackle any task, no matter how big . . . or small.
Within the space of four hours, I had been told that my daughter would die within two days, and I had received notice that a dear friend had been killed that morning. It was too much. I literally collapsed. When Phyllis, my daughter’s nurse, arrived a short time later, she found me sitting on the floor next to Rachel’s bed, unable to move. After making sure Rachel was comfortable, she sat down on the floor with me and persuaded me to talk. She listened as my tears poured out, along with the news. Phyllis, who has been Rachel’s caregiver for the past four years, has a special bond with my child. Even though Rachel cannot speak, she and Phyllis have developed their own way of communicating – even fighting. Her devotion to Rachel goes above and beyond, and Phyllis has become part of our family. As a single mother, I’m very dependent on Phyllis’s help with Rachel, and I knew losing her was going to hit Phyllis hard as well. As my tears dried, we talked about what to do next, and decided that the most important thing was to make Rachel as comfortable as possible. We gave her something for pain, hooked her up to her oxygen tank, then turned her on her side, even though it was not her favorite position. Rachel could no longer cough, so we just wanted to make sure that any fluids from her nose and throat wouldn’t choke her. Phyllis stood over the bed for a few moments, stroking her, then started looking around the room. “What do you need?” I asked. She stood still for a moment, then said, “Food.” Phyllis is strong woman, who works part time on a tobacco farm. She’s led a tough life, and it has made her both loving and practical. I was surprised, but she pushed me toward the door. “I have an idea,” she said, “and you need to get out of the house. Take a break, go get some fast food for us. The next few days aren’t going to be easy. Go.” I was still not functioning on all burners, so I went, letting the sun wash over me as I drove the three blocks to a restaurant. I ordered the take out and went home, my mind still very much on my friend, her family, and what I was about to face with Rachel. Then I walked in my front door, to find that my living room had been transformed. Phyllis had rolled up her sleeves, a sure sign that a lot of action was about to take place. She’d pushed the furniture out of the center of the room and had turned one of my straight-backed chairs upside down in the middle. Padding it with a comforter and cushions left over from the last adjustments to Rachel’s wheelchair, she’d created a steep A-frame support, with the back legs of the chair forming the peak. Rachel was lying face down across the frame, her hips braced between the legs of the chair and her head pointed toward the floor at a sharp angle. She looked up at me and grunted. “What’s going on?” I asked. Phyllis was in the process of starting our cool-air mister. “She can’t cough. So I thought that maybe gravity could give us a little help making her comfortable. It’s probably not medically advisable, but what exactly do we have to lose?” I walked over and looked down at my daughter. Her face and chest were on a towel, which was already showing signs of dampness. “How long can she stay like this?” Phyllis plugged in the mister, then started dragging Rachel’s aerosol machine over toward the chair. “We probably shouldn’t leave her for more than 30 minutes at a time. I thought we’d do her albuterol treatment here, then chest percussion. If we can suction some of that crap out of her, it might help her sleep.” I unwrapped the food as I watched Phyllis go to work on Rachel, not just with the professionalism of a nurse but the love of a caregiver – and a friend. The next three days became a blur…. |
Ramona Richards
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Ramona
Richards |