Jennifer Rogers Spinola
Jennifer Rogers Spinola has just relocated from Brasilia, Brazil to the U.S. with her Brazilian husband, Athos, and sons Ethan and Seth. Originally from the American South, Jenny is the author of Barbour Books' "Southern Fried Sushi" series (the first book earning a Christy Award nomination), a romance novella collection based on Yellowstone National Park, and a novella in the collection "Westward Brides" (also by Barbour Books).
Jenny is an advocate for adoption and loves the outdoors, photography, writing, and camping. She has previously served as an ESL teacher, missionary to Japan, middle- and high-school teacher, and National Park Service volunteer.
Jenny has a B.A. in English/journalism from Gardner-Webb University in North Carolina. She is a member of Association of Christian Fiction Writers and International Christian Fiction Writers.
“Becky fell unusually quiet as she smoothed Macy's overalls that had scrunched under her legs. A tender gesture probably nobody else had noticed. "I don't want to say this the wrong way, Shah-loh, but we're all gonna die.""Of course we are." A drop of water fell from the end of the snapdragon stem. "But I prefer not to kill my flowers before their time.""Well, cut er not cut, we're all goin'." Becky spoke so soberly that I turned my eyes to her. "Ain't no stoppin' it. You know that.""Sure I do, but isn't it a waste? All that beautiful bloom for what-an hour?""Mebbe in some ways, but..." She gathered a handful of roses and freesia, delicately perfumed, and pressed them in my hands. "Ya gotta remember though-this was their purpose all along. And they did it to their fullest. It's their gift."I felt strangely moved, standing there with shoppers laughing in the background. And me looking down at those beautiful doomed flowers in my hands, their glowing colors trembling with drops."But it's such a waste, Becky!""Or a sacrifice. Depends on how ya look at it. They lived and bloomed, jest like they were made to do. And when it was time to go, they gracefully said yes."She ran her hands over the petals, which gleamed like bits of satin. "We're seein' their last magnificent moments and enjoyin' 'em. If you was a flower, wouldn't that make ya happy to know you'd done what you was born ta do? Even if ya didn't get to do it very long?”
“Everybody's amputated in some way or another, Shiloh. We lose loved ones, cut off memories forever, end relationships. Go down paths we can't return from. We can't always have it back. I know, it might seem far out there, but I think there's some truth in it,"Rick continued. "We all experience loss. And that's what amputation is all about: irretrievable loss. A part of you that's no longer there.”
“I made a mental note to write starlings in my "Southern Speak" notebook. I'd already started the second page, thanks to Faye and Bobbie. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "I try. So, Churchville. Let me see the map."I followed his directions, asking questions, until he drew a big circle around the funeral home. "That's it right there, just off 42. Or Buffalo Gap Highway. But you might not see any road signs. Out there things are a little...well, less posted. People just sort of know where they are. So look for these things." He drew in some more notes and--I'm not making this up--something like bugs with stick legs."What are those?" I asked, not intending to sound rude. "Roaches?""Those are cows. There's a pasture here." "Oh.”