Lois Richer - Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby

“Mother’s Day Miracle by Lois Richer is quite possibly her finest book!…The only problem with this heartwarming story about blossoming love is that it ends too soon.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Blessed Baby, another keeper by Lois Richer, will bless you.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Lois Richer’s His Answered Prayer is another winner and will please readers who love traditional story lines with new twists and terrific characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Baby on the Way by Lois Richer is a delightful gem that sparkles with tender poignancy…. The interaction between the characters and the emotional appeal of this story make it a must-read for romance fans.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

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likes variety. From her time in human resources management to entrepreneurship, life has held plenty of surprises.

She says: “Having given up on fairy tales, I was happily involved in building a restaurant when a handsome prince walked into my life and upset all my career plans with a wedding ring. Motherhood quickly followed. I guess the seeds of my storytelling took root because of two small boys who kept demanding, ‘Then what, Mom?’”

The miracle of God’s love for His children, the blessing of true love, the joy of sharing Him with others—that is a story that can be told a thousand ways and yet still be brand-new. Lois Richer intends to go right on telling it.

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God.

—Romans 8:38–39

To my friend and fellow writer Lyn Cote, who is

ever and always willing to help out, coerce, cajole,

push, encourage and generally mother or bully me,

as the situation requires, into getting the job done.

From one rebel to another, thanks, chum.

“Dear God, I wish You’d send me a husband—”

Clarissa Cartwright chewed on her lower lip as the words echoed around the empty library. The patrons were gone now, trickling away one by one, hurrying toward family and home. She could imagine them gathered around the dinner table, laughing as they shared the day’s events with their dear ones, making plans to sample the sweet-scented spring evening with that one special person who made your heart thump in anticipation.

Clarissa sat alone, her heart longing to be included, to be part of something. To be needed.

She tried to formulate the petition in her mind, to choose just the right words so God would understand how deeply the ache went. It wasn’t hard to say it out loud. She’d been turning the words around in her heart in a silent prayer for ages, even more frequently since her cousin’s Hawaiian wedding two weeks ago.

But here in the Waseka, Missouri, town library, alone among the books she’d cared for these past ten years, Clarissa felt strangely comfortable about voicing her request to the One who’d promised to answer.

“I didn’t want to be a burden, Lord, as I was growing up. But I’m an adult now, and I’d really like to be a wife.” She hesitated, then breathed out the rest of it. “I want to be a mother.”

It sounded like such a big request, so demanding. She hurried on to quantify it, make it easier for God to fulfil. “He doesn’t have to be rich. Or even handsome.”

That sounded desperate. And she wasn’t. Just lonely.

“But not just any husband,” she modified, staring at the stained and peeling plaster ceiling as she spoke. “A man I can love with all my heart. A man who doesn’t care that I’m not young and gorgeous with lots of money, or smart, and upwardly mobile. What I really want is a man who wants to settle down and have a family. I’m so tired of being alone.”

Was that everything?

Clarissa tried to get her mind off chubby babies with rosy cheeks and fisted hands. It wasn’t easy. Lately she dreamed of babies all the time. She thrust the bundles of joy out of her mind. But her replacement vision of glistening white tulle over satin and lace didn’t help matters in the least. Clarissa twisted her homemade flowered cotton skirt between her fingers, scrunching her eyes up as tightly as she dared.

“Could You please send a man who will love me?” she whispered, whooshing the words out on a wish and a prayer.

“Excuse me?”

Clarissa opened her eyes so fast she saw stars. A man stood at her counter. A big man. He had the kind of straight black glossy hair that hung over his collar as if he hadn’t had time to get it cut. His eyes burned a deep rich chocolate in a face full of angles and planes. His lashes were—

“Excuse me, miss?” He cleared his throat and frowned at her. “Can you help me?”

Could God answer this fast? Clarissa dismissed the question almost as quickly as it entered her brain. Of course He could. He was God!

She swallowed down her surprise and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” He looked as if he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. But when a quick glance around assured him there was no one else lurking nearby he shrugged. “I’m looking for some books on birds. They’re for my ne—son.”

He had a son. He was married. Her hopes dashed to the worn marble floor. It was all a mistake. A silly, childish mistake. This man wasn’t for her.

“Miss?”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you. I’m just thinking.” She pretended she needed time to recall that section eight held most of her books on bird-watching. “What kind of birds?”

His eyebrows rose. “What kind? I don’t know.” His brow furrowed, then he shrugged defensively. “The kind that fly, I guess. Just birds, that’s all.”

Clarissa smiled, rose from her perch behind the big oak desk and clambered awkwardly down stairs that normally gave her no problem whatsoever. “I’ll show you,” she offered and led the way.

The nature section was only two rows over. Clarissa stopped in front of it, considered the contents, then pulled out several of the largest picture books.

“Depending on how old he is, he might like these. They have wonderful illustrations.” She opened it to show him the gorgeous colors of a parrot, and then flushed with embarrassment as the hardcover tumbled to the floor.

It was a good thing the kindergarten class wasn’t here to see this. Her cast-iron rule about respecting books would be open to criticism by those curious five-year-olds.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured when he handed it back.

“It’s okay. Actually, I should have been clearer. I’m looking for something that would show some birds native to the area. Pierce is doing a project for school.”

He tossed back his hair, raking through it with one hand. Clarissa caught the fresh clean scent of soap and smiled. She liked a man who didn’t pour overpowering cologne all over himself.