Welcome to "Showers of Blessings" which is a blog for writers and their readers! It is my prayer you will find many blessings in these humble words as you open your heart to hear about my best friend, Jesus Christ. He has called me to write for Him and though I remain stunned by this, wondering how He could use someone like me in this competitive industry, I know He has equipped me to do the job or He would never have opened all the doors He has to a career in writing. He gets all the glory for such an awesome plan, believe me!

Below each post there is an indication of the number of comments for that post. If you click on that it will bring up the comments for you to read and allow you to leave a comment for me if you would like to do so. I look forward to hearing what you have to say and thank you for taking the time to step with me into the showers of blessings He shares with all of us through His Word!

Monday, December 20, 2010

Just to let you know I won't be posting until after the new year now. I am focused entirely on my family for the next couple of weeks--getting ready for Christmas with them, then resting up and getting organized for the coming year.

Hope you have a blessed and safe Christmas as you celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ! And, a peaceful New Year's with all the hope God has planned for you in it!

See you in 2011!!

Sunday, December 12, 2010


Part Seven
(Continued from 12/5/10 post)

“Not unless you can stop the hate, Cherokee. His abuse created the hate, not you. But you’ve chosen to live in it instead of to live in freedom from it. That’s very sad, you know. It was your choice, not his. What a waste.”

The tears silently streamed down her cheeks and she made no attempt to wipe them away, as if they could somehow wash clean the memories of all those years of hatred if she let them flow. He studied her eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions he’d managed to bring out of her, probably for the first time ever.

“Why? Just tell me why?”

“Why, what?” the Sheriff asked.

“Why did he pick on a child like he did? Why did he force himself on me when I was unable to fight him off? And why did he pass me around to all his friends like I was a toy? What did I do to deserve that?”

Gulping back his emotions at the admission that, as he had suspected, there was more to her nightmare than she had earlier revealed, he said, “You didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of treatment, Cherokee. You were a young child whose innocence threatened his ability to control you. He apparently couldn’t stand facing that innocence so he took it from you. His mind was sick. That doesn’t excuse what he did but it might help you understand him better.”

“I don’t want to understand him! I want to kill him! With every breath I take, I want to kill him, over and over and over . . .” Her voice trailed off as sobs shook her whole body.

The Sheriff desperately wanted to embrace her and soothe away the little girl’s hurt still so raw and deep, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to do. So he just sat there staring at her. Better to let her talk than say the wrong thing and lose this moment.

“But I don’t really. Not deep down. You know?”

He nodded. “Sit down, Cherokee. Let me tell you about Someone who can help you with this hatred. It won’t change things, because you are still going to hang for all those people you killed. But maybe you have time to change one thing before it’s too late, and that could make all the difference in the world—and in the next.”

”What’s that?”

“Your heart. You have a song of freedom to sing, Cherokee Star. And you’d better learn the words quickly because you don’t have much time left. My Friend can teach you how to sing those lullabies again and mean them. He can bring you the peace you have looked for all these years in whiskey and guns, a peace that will finally drown out those voices in your nightmares. You said a while ago you were born again that morning you killed your father. But you can truly be born again in a different way, if you would like. It’s all up to you. Please listen, will you?”


Note to Readers: Let me know if you enjoyed this serial version of the story. I don't believe any person is beyond redemption at any point until he or she takes that last breath on earth. Cherokee didn't have many choices in her life but without Christ they were limited even further. Even a hardened Sheriff could see beyond her tough exterior to the tender heart of a young and scared woman who didn't understand the hand life had dealt her. It is my sincere prayer that Cherokee listened to him as he shared about the One who could change her for eternity and learn to face death with more dignity than she'd ever known in life. Though a fictional tale, Cherokee came alive for me as her story unfolded in one setting at the computer, and by the time I finished I was in tears for the tragedy of her wasted life, yet also filled with hope for the one last choice she had to make before her hanging.

Blessings, Laura

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Part 6 (Continued From Post on 11/28/10)

He [the Sheriff] had opened his mouth to say something when she [Cherokee] suddenly whirled around and looked at him. He was startled not only by the unexpected move but also by what he saw. Tears streamed down her cheeks!

“That’s not true, what I just said about my mother. I remember now. She used to sing to me in the night after he got through with me and had fallen asleep on the floor in the lean-to. She’d creep in there and help me to her bed and lie there in the dark and sing softly in my ear until I feel asleep. Those same lullabies. I felt safe and warm there in her arms, listening to those soothing words I’d heard my Grandma sing. And I would dream of leaving there and becoming a famous singer.”

He wisely chose not to say a word, just let her talk it out. After another moment of silence, she continued.

“Why couldn’t I remember that? Why did I only remember that she never stopped him? I hated her for that.”

“Maybe this was all she felt strong enough to do for you, to comfort you afterward.”

“Maybe . . . but I was only a child. She was a grown woman. And she chose to live with that monster. Why didn’t she take my brother and me and just leave? Wouldn’t that have been better than forcing me to grow up like this—and to kill?”

“She never forced you to kill, Cherokee. That was your choice. She told you to take the money and get out, to go where you’d be safe. She had no way of knowing he’d come back and catch you before you could leave. She was trying to protect you the only way she knew how. Don’t be so harsh with her. You have made many of the same mistakes she did, you know.”

“What do you mean? I don’t have a little girl but if I did I certainly wouldn’t sit by and watch her being treated like I was without lifting a hand to help her. And I’m not living with a monster, you know.”

“Oh, yes, you are, young lady, most definitely! You live with the monster of your nightmares. Every time you close your eyes, he’s right there. And it fuels your hatred and bitterness so much that when you wake up you feel compelled to go out and try to kill him again and again. That’s your monster. And now he’s won.”

“Won? What are you talking about? I’m the one who ‘won’. I have had more money than I ever dreamed I could have owned in my whole life, enough to buy anything I want. Far more than he ever had in his miserable life. And the power to take more anytime I desire to do so. People are afraid of me when I walk down the street and if they forget for a moment, the posters will remind them of just how dangerous I am. He hasn’t won anything. He’s dead and I killed him.”

To Be Continued . . .