Tales From My Back Porch
In the evening, the back porch of the country home took on an aura of enchantment. As dusk settled and the lamp was lit, the children wandered in from their play to sit on the floor or snuggle in their parents' laps. Glasses of iced tea were refilled and someone would settle back, look up at the stars and say, "I remember when..." Thus began one of many tales, often embellished with some distant imagining. Each one taught a lesson of life. Once they were tucked in bed, the children would drift off with visions of the story in their heads. Years later, they would tell these tales of life to their own children, and so on through the generations. Welcome to my back porch. Please make yourself at home. By the way, I remember when...
Darrell has hit a grand slam with this book. Ten stories that will keep you turning pages with one hand and a hanky in the other. I did not want to lay it down.
Chapter One, The Best Day, brought back many memories of Larry and I's honeymoon trip. This chapter should be required reading for any couple who that is facing a cooling off in their marriage. Each chapter is a page turner.
The third chapter, Reverend Dillard's Dilemma, is a moving tale that could be the biography of any preacher in a small church, especially if he had experienced great success in a former pastorate. Larry said, "Darrell needs to put this chapter into a pamphlet for every pastor of a small church to read." I agree, this chapter is one of the most inspiring stories of coping that I have read.
Jeff Dillard learned that God loved him, despite the lack of unction on display at Wayside Baptist. That God loves us despite appearance is a lesson worth learning at the heart level. Tales From My Back Porch is on sale this month! GET IT. JDL.
Editor's Note: Joyce is not over stating the power in this book. It's the best from the experienced pen Darrell uses to let the gift of God given to him spring forth blessings for all who will read Tales From My Back Porch.
I was contacted by the author to check this book out and give my honest humble opinion ... if you know anything about Beth ...you will know, she is one who loved sitting and just being one with outdoors. I find myself outdoors. Being quiet and getting away from the internet and just all the noise. I don't understand the folks who do enjoy all the noise. I know life can not carry on without it all ...but being away is much entertaining and fun. I wish we could all give back to the sit on your porch, talking with friends and family. This was such a heartfelt read. I love it when you find an author who can pull you into a book and you just fell head over heels in love with their great well written characters, a quick read for me, and it was just such a fun read for me. I love rocking in a rocking chair ... have they stopped that for babies? ... I was one who was rocked in a rocking chair as a kid. Thanks, Mom & Dad! Let's get back to that. Find the past, pull on the olden days and enjoy this read. Loved it! ( ;
The Best Day
It was raining. A slow, chilly, miserable drizzle soaked the trees, the beach, everything. Droplets ran down the window like tears.
Her face downcast, her eyes moist, Dora stood staring at the gray-green ocean’s waves lapping at the shore. She longed to dig her toes into the sand to feel its gritty roughness and the coolness below the hot surface. Her sigh was like a soft sob. The sound tore through Paul like a knife in his heart.
How he loved this woman. He had since the first time he saw her in the student union at Earlham College in eastern Indiana, where the two of them both studied and worked. Dora wore no make-up; her hands were enclosed in latex gloves, her dark blonde hair was tied in a low ponytail under her hairnet. Petite and willowy, she looked even younger than her 18 years. Sensing Paul’s eyes on her as she served up meat loaf and mac and cheese to the chattering students, she looked up and smiled. Paul’s breath caught in his throat. He managed a foolish grin, hoping she couldn’t tell how awkward he felt. It had taken him three weeks to muster the courage to ask her out. He stammered his invitation, the words tumbling out as she gazed quizzically at him. He couldn’t believe she said yes. That night after taking her home, he knew she would be his wife.
Through the thick fog, the shore was a hazy, vague outline beyond the hotel parking lot. Watching his bride at the window made Paul want to cry. His heart broke as he slowly flipped the pages of the novel while peering at her over the book’s top edge. Giddy with anticipation and excitement, he had sprung his surprise on her as they drove away from the reception. The string of cans the best man had attached to its back bumper clattered behind Paul’s 20-year-old Chevy. The limo he had hoped to hire for their trip was impossibly beyond his means. No matter. Dora said she was just as happy as if he were a millionaire. He knew she was telling the truth but still longed to give her the best.
Turning in the passenger seat, Dora stared at him, her mouth agape. “Hilton Head? Really?” Her eyes widened. “How did you know I always wanted to go there? I never thought it would happen.”
Paul grinned. “It’s my wedding gift to you, Mrs. Davis.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. Mrs. Dora Davis. He loved the sound of it. Now she belonged to him. His wife, his love, his world.
“I love you, Paul,” Dora said. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek, causing them both to gasp as he swerved precariously toward the ditch. “Sorry, dear,” Dora murmured. Fumbling with the radio until it yielded some soft music, she leaned back in her seat, a dreamy smile crossing her face. “I want to run barefoot on the beach and feel the warm sand between my toes and the sun on my back.”
Since the day Paul proposed, Dora had dreamed of the elaborate honeymoon trip she would take with her new husband. Despite Paul’s keeping their destination a secret, throughout their brief engagement she spoke of little else. Her enthusiasm was contagious, making him all but forget the sacrifice it had cost him to make her dream come true.
The wind-driven rain started when they crossed the line into South Carolina. “It’s just a quick band,” he said hopefully, touching her hand. Not speaking, she leaned forward and stared through the windshield. By the time they reached the hotel at Hilton Head, it had slowed to a cold drizzle.
Sometime in the night, Paul felt his bride arise. He watched through half-closed eyes as she pulled back the heavy drapes. In the light from the bathroom, he saw her sad expression.