me feel safe, protected by the Father who created me. Trivia bit—if you read Erin and Jason’s story in Fatal Response, you can see how Psalm 139 plays into that one, too.
This is what I want you to know, what I’m desperate for you to know if you don’t already—God loves you. He loves you so big that He has even counted the number of hairs on your head—also Matthew 10. You might feel alone. You might feel like Jenna does—wholly unlovable. But that is never true. It has never been true. Whether you know Him or not, God loves you and He has already set up a way for you to know Him. I’d love it if you took a minute to ponder those verses in Matthew or if you went to Psalm 139 and saw His love for you firsthand.
Truly, my prayer is that this book and others like it will not only entertain you, but will also lead you to the truth of how fully you are loved.
Stop by and visit me at www.jodiebailey.com and let me know how you’re doing. I’d love to hear your God story!
Jodie Bailey
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
—Matthew 10:29–31
To Christina...
More than my accountability partner, you’re my truth speaker, my encourager, my sounding board, my shoulder...my sister.
Contents
Jenna Clark untied her bright blue paint-spattered apron, dragged it over her head and tossed it onto the heavy wood counter. The shop was finally quiet after a full day of parents and children and other would-be artists selecting their canvases and colors in order to paint their own take-home art after their visits to the tiny town of Mountain Springs.
Normally, the hustle and bustle of the day energized her, made her feel like she was infusing a love of art in her customers, but not today.
Today, she was simply worn-out, keyed up, a little bit on edge. It could be from all of the additional tourists in town for the bluegrass festival. More eyes meant the need for more vigilance. In her life, strangers truly meant danger.
“Jenna?” Liza Carpenter, the sole employee at The Color Café, leaned against a bright purple wooden chair in front of a teal blue table across the room. “I asked if you were okay. You’ve been spacey all day. Flu season’s kicking in to high gear. You’re not about to fall out on me, are you?”
“Girl, I hope not.” Maybe the flu was it, though. Her brain could be wonky because she was running a fever, not because she was on high alert, praying no one from El Paso would wander into town and recognize her.
Because someone recognizing her would mean she had to turn her back on everything. Again.
She’d worked too hard to make sure being found never
