Welcome

Cindy K. Sproles is an author and a speaker, whose dream is to do nothing more than craft words that speak from the heart. God's plan seems to be for her to write and teach the craft. With God’s guidance, Cindy is expanding her horizons. We'll see how He uses her.

Cindy is a mountain gal. Proud of her heritage, she was born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains where life is simple, words have a deep southern drawl, and colloquialisms like, "well slap my knee and call me corn pone" seem to take precedence over proper speech. Apple Butter, coal mining, the river, pink sunrises, and golden sunsets help you settle into a porch swing and relax. Family, the love of God, and strong morals are embedded into her life in the mountains. Teaching writers, spinning fiction tales about life in the mountains, history, and down-home ideas find their way into all she does. “I love to write devotions, to seek after the deeper side of Christ, and to share the lessons He teaches me from life in the hills of East Tennessee. I am a writer. A speaker. A lover of God's Word and friend to all.” This is Cindy Sproles. Welcome home to the mountains.

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Recent Posts

Chick, Chick, Chick

9/30/2023 8:35:00 PM BY Cindy K. Sproles

“Chick, chick, chick,” I called my chickens, and they ignored me. I’m spent. It would be nice to say that I’m spent because my money is gone – but it’s not that kind of spent. It’s a weariness. So, I felt this was a good time to address my imperfections and maybe those of my chickens.

For those of you who know me personally, you know that I am a very transparent person. I learned years ago trying to hide behind a poker face is a lie for a couple of reasons – 1) people can’t pray for you when you need their spiritual support, and 2) you can’t be who you really are if you are anything less than transparent. I do my best to be forthright and honest, even when it’s not a pretty picture.

I’ve had a pity party these last couple of weeks. I know – 30 minutes is usually the acceptable time for a pity party, but I sorta felt like I earned a time of Blue-ism. Shall I list the whys?

Well, the prince and bladder cancer. Surgery for that, a new life and adjustment to that new way of living, tons of travel (all these things aren’t bad, by the way), and the loss of three dear friends. My health issues. A kid (the baby) just got married, two books released this year (which is stressful), money is seeping out of our pocket on home repairs and a car, The Prince and Episode Two (The Hernia), seven days in the hospital at UT…and let’s top it off with turning 65. Then rejections start filing in on the next book my agent is trying to sell for me. Generally, rejections don’t bother me, but these are, and there’s a reason for that bother, but not something you’d care about. So, we skip that. I could go on, but I digress.

Anyway, there you have it. A three-year time frame that has either been extremely high or devastatingly low. As I said, everything hasn’t been bad, but it’s all been stressful. Apparently, I don’t handle stress like I used to handle it. Through this time, I’ve just not had an opportunity to take a breath and get my feet back under me.

This is why I am spent. We just returned home from a wonderful week in a beautiful mountain cabin as our son (my baby) married the sweetest gal ever. I’ve prayed for her, and it’s wonderful to know that God still answers a momma’s prayers for her babies. After all the wedding fun is over and my son and new daughter-in-law headed back to Orlando, I laid my head on the prince’s shoulder and, well…boo hoo’ed. It was so bittersweet. I even asked Tim how could you be elated and blue at the same time.

Anywho…I say all that to prove I felt like I’d earned more than a 30-minute pity party.

Still, here I sit at my desk, wondering what God has in store for me. I’ve been so blessed to have Him allow me to be a writer, trust me with a ministry, and bring wonderful friends into my life – yet I can’t get my feet on the ground. The moss is slick, and my shoes keep sliding off the rocks.

This is that spot where I feel sure the enemy wants me. Stuck in a pity party – so whether I feel like I’ve earned it or not, I’m inviting the enemy to an open banquet. I hear him telling me I’m not good enough. I’m weak. I’m unloved, and then, just as I am about to believe him, the mail comes. Yep, the mail. (Did you hear the record player arm screech across the LP just then?) When I start to feel this way, my best solution is physical labor. It gives me time to think, to say a prayer, to try and figure out what the heck I’m doing. So, holding true to form, I dragged out the new paint sprayer and painted the storage barn. It’s 10x12, not 1500 sq. feet! It took an awesome 15 minutes to paint with the sprayer and 1 ½ hours learning curve, plus 35 or so minutes to clean up the mess. This includes washing the paint off my hands and legs and maybe off my shorts, too.

Just as we were finishing up, eagle ears Tim said, “Mailman on the street behind us.” Now, seriously, who really hears the mailman a street away? The prince is who. I put away the paint sprayer and walked into the house, and there on my chair was a shipping envelope. The return address was a friend, Ane, who lives in Georgia.

I sat down and opened the envelope only to find a cute box. Opened that and found a sweet note.

I saw this and chuckled. It made me think of you. – Love, Ane

Right that second, my blue started to turn yellow because Ane’s face popped into my mind, and her loving voice and joyful laugh echoed in my memory. I pulled the card close to my cheek, hoping to feel her tender hugs. I liftef the lid open to find a cloth bag with hearts, and after I untied the string, all I could do was laugh. A tiny chicken stapler.

It only took seconds for me to grab a sheet of paper and click a staple. From then on, I was all over the house trying to find things to staple. I felt like a three-year-old.

The point is three things brought me out of my pity party. 1) That Ane even thought of me, 2) a chicken stapler, 3) the warm love of a friend hours away from me.

God knew what my heart needed – a chicken stapler! Perhaps it was a bit deeper than that, but anything else runs a tight second place.

While being stuck, hung, and spent, God heard my heart cry. I didn’t ask for anything. Our Maker picked up on my stuckness (if that’s a word) and sent Ane to the rescue.

I’ve found that my heavenly Father doesn’t always need to hear me ask. He knows that sometimes, I don’t even know I need to call on Him. Yet in His infinite wisdom, He felt my despair and had no intention of letting it go unaddressed.

Here’s what He taught me (cuz you know I always look for the life lesson).

*I’ve done a good job raising the children He entrusted to my care.

*He’s pleased with the work I’ve done.

*Rejections in writing are just part of the swinging bridge authors balance on to cross.

*The prince is healed (again).

*Rest is found in Him. Sleep on the couch for a few nights so I can rest without yanking the covers.

*He always provides. Hasn’t failed us yet. It’s just money.

*Fear has no place in my heart and neither does the enemy.

*Watch an episode of The Curse of Oak Island and see if Rick and Marty give up when they hit adversity.

*Ane Mulligan is a saint.

* AND chickens always make me smile.

I can’t say I’m 100% yet. I’m still tired. But I can say my heart feels lighter, and there is no doubt my Father keeps His eye on me. One last thing made me laugh. At 6:45 p.m., all my chickens come marching down the run and into the coop WITHOUT ME CALLING THEM. STINKERS. My little army of feathers put themselves to bed. Who says chickens aren’t smart?

Finally, I have this great little chicken stapler and nothing to staple. You have anything I can peck – uh – click – er uh…staple?

Photos 1 and 2 from courtesy of www.pixabay.com Photo 3, personal Photo 4 from Ane’s Pintrest

In My Inperfections

8/27/2023 1:50:00 AM BY Cindy K. Sproles

It’s been a month.

If you’ve followed on Facebook, you’ve seen the latest disaster with the Prince. Long story short, ER visit. Emergency transfer in the middle of the night to UT Medical Center. Emergency surgery with their surgical trauma team. Seven days of hut-oh! Finally, home and recouping well.

Just an FYI, I told him I was tired of this. NO MORE SCARES!

All that to say, we are more than fortunate. This incident is the second time Tim has stood on the chasm looking in, and the Good Shepherd has hooked him with His staff and pulled him back. So, for those who saw and prayed, thank you. I believe that praying with the fire of the Holy Spirit moves mountains or repairs boo-boos.

I wish I were the person God really wants me to be. I’m not sure we can reach the standards set for the ideal relationship to Christ. We’re all excellent at faltering. But I will tell you that through this ordeal with the Prince, I spent many of those seven nights on the hospital floor on my knees.

Even in my imperfections, I felt God’s presence and His nudging me, whispering to my heart. “I AM. I can. I will. I already have. Because I AM.”

He spoke one of those five phrases each night, and the last two nights, He whispered. “I am sufficient because I AM. And then, I AM Who I AM.”

I often hear others talk about how God works in their lives and wonder if I’m a blockhead. Do I not see His activity in the mundane of my daily routine? Do I have to wait until disaster happens to recognize Him? Sadly, I had to answer yes.

I asked those same questions as I talked to others I admire for their faith. Believe it or not, they chuckled, then looked to the ground. “I do the same thing,” they’d say quietly.

“But you’re so strong in your faith,” I responded.

“Doesn’t mean I’m perfect in my faith. Like you, I’m human, and I sin. I fall. Aren’t we fortunate to have a God who understands humanity, feels our love even when we are weak, and allows us yet another do-over?”

Again, I had to answer yes.

I guess none of us are the picture of perfection, are we? I feel God wishes we were more, but He accepts us in our efforts in His compassion and love. It doesn’t mean we accept being slackers. We don’t. We continually strive to improve, and I AM follows us, there to catch us. Pleased in our efforts.

Oh Lord, God, how grateful I am for Your faithfulness.

I don’t share these things with you, so you think I am some perfect Christian. Instead, I show you these things to publicly admit my sins and shortcomings. You are, in essence, my accountability. But, at the same time, I hope you are looking at me, saying, “Oh, my, I do the same thing. (Or something similar.) Perhaps together, we can strive harder, grab that rope toward being better followers, and pull ourselves out of the earthly mire.

Those words. The ones God impressed on my heart.

I AM – Oh, because He is.

I can – Because He is God, Creator of all things. He most definitely can.

I will – His promises are not idol thoughts. He will do what He says He will do.

I already have –He is a God who can step in any direction in time. Time is not a blockade for God. He skirts forward to do what He promises, then slips back to wait for us to trust.

Those words have hung in my heart.

I turned 65 this month. There’s officially more life behind me than in front of me, and perhaps that’s why these words hold so much more meaning. Age, wisdom, and life lived led me to see their value – pay more attention. Take heed.

Either way, I am grateful for friends like you who support me in my faith walk, writing career, and learning. Together, perhaps we grow a bit more.

By the Hair of my Chinny, Chin, Chin

7/21/2023 11:35:00 AM BY Cindy Sproles

I have a new understanding for “the hair on my chinny, chin, chin.

Let me begin by saying we are on a recovery path for the Prince without going into a redundant post. If you haven’t heard, Tim had bladder cancer in 2019. His bladder was removed, and an external urinary bag became part of his new normal. Great thing – Cancer free, but not without a price. In 2021 he developed a hernia around the internal stoma that was built to drain his urine into the bag. It has continued to grow. I’ve asked the doctors over and over…is this okay? It was getting bigger and bigger. Their words, “As long as there is no pain, we leave it alone.” I didn’t like that response, but it was all we seemed to get. So, two weeks ago, I rushed the Prince to the ER. That ended up in a shift from Johnson City to the University of Tennessee Medical Center and the trauma surgical team. The hernia ruptured, and surgery was necessary to save over half of his small intestines and repair the hernia. That said, you’re up to date. (Tim is doing well at this time.)

So, as I held vigil by his hospital bed, I grabbed a mirror from my night bag to check a rough spot on my eyelid. I guess it was the angle the light was coming in the window, but I caught a glimpse of a rogue hair. I’m really good at shedding my gray hair, so I didn’t think so much about it. I checked my eye and put the mirror away.

A bit later, I rubbed my face because of an itch and felt that little hair. “Oh, I forgot to wipe that rascal off.” So, I rubbed the edge of my jawline, assuming the hair was GONE! Later that day, I passed by the mirror in the Prince’s room, glanced at my face, and walked two steps past….then two steps backward to the mirror.

“What!” There it was again. The hair on my chinny, chin, chin. I think there was a gasp. I know my heart stopped for a minute as the reality of a silver hair curled on my chin waved at me.

Okay, so I turn 65 in August – just weeks away, but I did not expect the witch hair on my chin. NOOOOO! Impossible. It’s a figment of my imagination. It can’t be.

I practically crawled up on the sink to get closer to the mirror. I had to be dreaming. After all, I’d been 72 hours without a stitch of sleep. It must be a hallucination. I eyed my chin. Gasp again! It was. It. Was. A. Witch. Hair. Oh, my heart!

For the most part, I’ve found no issue with growing older. I mean, it’s a little odd knowing there is less ahead than what is behind, but overall, I don’t have an issue with growing older. What I didn’t expect was those little old lady things that crop up without notice – they’re so sneaky. They get you when you least expect it and punch you in the gut when you’re down for the count.

It only took seconds for me to relocate that witch hair to the trash. However, I will say that when I yanked it out, it hurt. Little Dickens didn’t want to let go. Obviously, I won the battle, but I realize this will be an ongoing fight.

I’m fortunate to have my health, my family, and somewhat of control over my sanity, but I have NO control over the witch hair. I can live with a few small wrinkles and the grey hair – as long as it’s on my head, not my chin. And I honestly can’t come up with a life lesson out of a witch hair. See…even the life lessons buck a witch hair – so I shall persevere, periodically checking the mirror for a “wild hair.” I’ve just found new meaning to the words wild hair. ??

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