Authors: Deborah Bedford
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
© 2002 by Deborah Bedford
Reading Group Guide Copyright © 2009 by Hachette Book Group
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Scripture quotations except those noted below are taken from the HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION
. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights
Scripture quotations on pages ix, 21, and 117 are taken from the
, New Living Translation, © copyright 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Wheaton, Illinois 60189.
All rights reserved.
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PRAISE FOR DEBORAH BEDFORD’S
A MORNING LIKE THIS
“I finished A MORNING LIKE THIS with tears in my eyes and hope in my heart. Deborah Bedford reminds us that nothing is too
hard for God, no heartache is beyond the reach of His comforting, healing hand.”
—Deborah Raney, author of
“Deborah Bedford once again shines light into hidden corners of the human heart and shows us how God wants to heal our hurts—even
hurts caused by our own sin.”
—Robin Lee Hatcher, author of
“Real problems… real faith… and a God who gives songs in the night. A MORNING LIKE THIS reminds us all that we can do more
than just ‘grin and bear it.’ We can overwhelmingly conquer.”
—Stephanie Grace Whitson, author of
“Gracefully written, compelling and thoughtful, A MORNING LIKE THIS is a true testimony to God’s grace and forgiveness. With
compassion and insight, Bedford deals with sin and its consequences and gives us another glimpse of God’s love and mercy.”
—Lisa Samson, author of
A ROSE BY THE DOOR
“A story of relinquishment, reconciliation, and grace… grabs the reader by the heart and doesn’t let go.”
—Debbie Macomber, bestselling author of
“A compelling page-turner and a surefire winner from Deborah Bedford.”
—Karen Kingsbury, bestselling author of
This Side of Heaven
“If you love having your heart touched and you delight in surprise,
A Rose by the Door
is for you.”
—Gayle Roper, author of
“A poignant novel that is impossible to put down.”
—Carolyn Zane, author of
“Heartwarming… Bedford’s poignant tale will find a home in all collections.” —
“It takes a special kind of author who can pen words such as the ones found within
A Rose by the Door
…. You won’t be able to put this one down.”
To all whose marriages have run aground,
who search for treasure amidst the rubble.
To those who search for safety and shelter
but do not know it by name.
To Bill Bunting and Amy Bunting Storrie, my two cousins who shared bone marrow and the gift of life. I’m so sorry, Bill, that
you are a boy and couldn’t be inducted into The Cousin Club. I love you dearly anyway.
To Katharine Conover, Executive Director of the Community Safety Network in Jackson Hole, for all the time you’ve given, the
questions you’ve been willing to answer, the stories you’ve been able to share, and your passion for sheltering women who
have nowhere else to turn.
To Sherrie Lord and to Barbara Campbell, whose days of fun and escape have become precious gifts from the Lord. This book
would never be what it is without your thoughtful editorial comments, your laughter and, above all, your prayers. You have
lifted me up as your sister in Christ, and have held me high. I can never repay what I owe you.
To my family at Hachette Book Group, Rolf Zettersten, Jamie Raab, Leslie Peterson, Elizabeth Marshall, Andrea Davis, Preston
Cannon, and Kathie Johnson, for your enthusiasm and your belief in me. Thank you for running the race beside me. I count it
all joy! Together, we offer up this work of our hearts and our hands to the Lord.
To Peter and Natalie Stewart, Megan and Eddie, for letting me borrow Brewster.
To Margaruitte and Bob Cornell, for your fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration, even though you
threaten to terrorize us on our wedding night.
To Judy Basye, Director of Oncology at St. John’s Hospital, for your willing heart and for all the lives you’ve touched here
in Jackson Hole. This book would not be what it is without your research, insight, and advice. This town would not be what
it is without your healing touch.
To my beloved family at the Jackson Hole Christian Center, to whom I am accountable and whom I love dearly, with sincere apologies
to members of the presbytery committee, who work diligently.
To Kathryn Helmers, Agent 007, who stands beside me and makes me brave. You are proof that good things, when relinquished
into the hand of the Master, reappear as rich treasure in our lives. Thank you for helping me cross into safety.
To Pam Micca, friend and counselor, for making me float Flat Creek with you, and for making me walk barefoot across the thistle
pasture when my tube got sucked underwater.
To Joyce Bunting, my aunt, who was willing to share her heart.
To Lisa, who first made The Bunnery a wonderful place to write.
Finally, to K. and S., for your unfailing, honest faith in the Father, for standing on truth when everything else wobbled
around you. It is because of your lives, because I’ve seen the miracle, that I can write this story with great boldness.
is a shelter for the oppressed,
a refuge in times of trouble.
Those who know your name trust in you,
for you, O L
, have never abandoned
anyone who searches for you.
We all agree that forgiveness
is a beautiful idea until we have
to practice it.
—C. S. Lewis
hey sat together at their favorite corner table, two of them alone, absorbed in the candlelight and in each other. He toyed
with the dinner knife that lay beside his hand, his eyebrows raised, gazing at her face. She leaned toward him and smiled,
her elbow on the table, her chin propped inside the chalice of her palm. Her dainty gold bracelet caught high on her wrist
and dangled there.
“I don’t know why they won’t let Braden pitch,” she said. “All he needs is a little confidence. If the coach would just be
willing to work with him a little more.”
“What? Why are you laughing at me?”
“Abby. Braden can hit, but he’s probably never going to be a pitcher. He throws about as straight as a jackrabbit runs.”
David Treasure reached across the table and laid his fingers across his wife’s wrist, giving her his habitual, half-amused
grin. “I thought we agreed that tonight we wouldn’t talk about kids.”
“I can’t help it, David. I’m his mother. What do you think? I see everything he
to be able to do, and I don’t know why he’s not doing it.”
“I think you’re beautiful when you’re all wrapped up in being a mother. That’s what I think.”
She laughed at him then, and felt her earrings dancing like two tiny birdcages against her earlobes. She sighed and shook
her arm and her bracelet toppled from her wrist to her forearm. “Okay. You’re right. We
promise each other, didn’t we?”
“So we’ll talk about something else. Anything else.” She paused. “Something.” She cast about to change the subject. “How about
my new little black dress?”
“I like your new little black dress just fine.” He shot her a learing look, raised his eyebrows at her. “I’d like you even
He grinned at her, the expression in his eyes as unguarded and as open as a schoolboy’s. “You wanted to know what I was thinking,