Elaine Marie Cooper Author

Historical Fiction That Grabs Your Heart and Feeds Your Soul

Grieving

Ten Years and One Day Later …

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Ten years and one day ago is a date I will not soon forget. It was the day I received an assignment that changed my life.

I realized this week that my family and I would be commemorating the 14th anniversary of my daughter Bethany’s home-going to heaven—always such a difficult anniversary to bear. Try as I might to be strong, the tears seem to ebb and flow like a turbulent tide during a hurricane.

Then I realized, the date of October 20, 2017, was significant for another reason: It was ten years to the day that I “heard” the call to write my first novel.

I wrote about this event in the memoir of my daughter’s battle with brain cancer, Bethany’s Calendar:

 

The story of my daughter's journey with cancer.
The story of my daughter’s journey with cancer.

On the fourth anniversary of Bethany’s death, I lay in bed without any intentions of getting up. I wanted to cover my head and hide from the world. I hated these dates of remembrance.

But God had other plans for me that day. With an inaudible voice speaking to my heart, I “heard” a very strange assignment. I was to write a novel about my ancestors during the American Revolution. The message was so clear to me yet so strange that I was embarrassed to tell Steve.

After all, although I had previously been a freelance writer for newspapers and magazines, I was now a fulltime nurse. Besides, the only time I had tried to write after Bethany’s death, I had melted into a pool of tears. I never wanted to write again.

And now I was being directed to write a historical novel. Okay, so I love history and family genealogy. But this made no sense.

Since our ways are not God’s ways, I decided to go to the used bookstore and start looking for books about American history. And the rest became part of my history as one novel turned into two, then two turned into three.

 

I wrote Bethany’s Calendar in 2014. Since then I’ve written three more historical novels and I am researching my next one.

Did I say that our ways are not God’s ways? See Isaiah 55:8-9. I cannot fathom His ways nor his purposes in all the plans he has for me. Yet I know that, if I am obedient to His Word and His sometimes bewildering beckonings, then I will find His purpose for my life. However strange His requests may sometimes seem.

Have you ever felt the Holy Spirit prompting you to do something unexpected? I’d love to hear your story.

Every Day is a Gift

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We buried my Mom yesterday. She was 99 years old.

Up until the last year of her life, her main difficulties were physical ones. But the last twelve months had seen an increase in loss of memory and comprehension—a tough battle for a lady as mentally sharp as Mom. Even when you’re nearing the century mark, no one wants to lose pieces of their life that become fragmented in the fog of growing dementia. That was her toughest struggle of all.

During the winter months of her battle, I was signing books at a Christian bookstore a distance away. During one of my breaks, I sauntered around the selection of gifts when my eyes were drawn toward a small ceramic bird. I focused on the inscription, which read, “Every Day is a gift from God.”

I picked up the precious reminder and brought it to the cash register. This was a gift worth purchasing for Mom.

 

Mom and I on Valentine's Day
Mom and I on Valentine’s Day

When I presented it to her on Valentine’s Day, her face lit up. “Thank you for the reminder,” she said with eyes that revealed so much. It’s difficult to consider the hours spent in discomfort, loneliness, and confusion as a gift. Yet even the moments of pain can become a blessing as our compassion for others in need is nurtured and our appreciation for heaven is heightened. These are the gifts of glorifying God that—while we do not understand the whole picture on this side of heaven—require our trust as our faith in Him is strengthened.

I often think of my crossstitch needlework when pondering life’s woes. While on the front is a beautifully wrought design, the underside is pocked with strands of tattered thread that look unattractive and frayed. God’s view is the finished piece of artwork while all we can see on this side of heaven is the battered and broken underside.

Yet God is creating His masterpiece.

After Mom’s funeral yesterday, I saw one of my mom’s dear friends—a precious lady with a keen mind and a crippled body from polio that she had years ago. My mom loved her and she cherished Mom in return. I had picked up Mom’s ceramic bird after she passed away and placed the gift in my purse. It was still nestled in my pocket book so I reached in and wrapped my fingers around the precious reminder that had ministered to my mom.

“Here, Carol.” I placed the bird in her hands. “I think my Mom would have wanted you to have this.”

Her eyes melted in appreciation. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for being her friend,” I said, my own eyes welling.

The gift of a friend—one of God’s many comforts as we face the trials of each day. As we each draw closer to Him, and our own eternity.