A New Beginning

By Brian Glover

When a father suffers the loss of his parents, and a devastating drought leads to the auction of their family farm, he must find the strength, faith, and courage to help his wife, and children overcome adversity against all odds. A New Beginning is a story based on true events that touches the heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Glover
• Release date: Oct 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310906411

Brian Glover

My name is Brian Glover, and I'm the author of the book A New Beginning. My wife Sandra and I have been married for fourteen years, and we have six beautiful children together. The inspiration behind my book was born through many trials, and adversity we faced after the loss of my parents, "which both passed only seven months apart," and the ensuing auction of our family farm. I was born, and raised in a small rural farming community in northern Middle Tennessee, only a few miles from the Kentucky line, and to this day, I still treasure the hills, and valleys of Central Tennessee. I hope my book will provide some inspiration for those who have experienced the loss of loved ones, and encourage those suffering through adversity, to never give up faith in the Almighty. God is truly awesome, and he loves, and desires, all of us to lean on him. I hope you will enjoy my book, God Bless! Brian Glover

Book preview

A NEW BEGINNING

By Brian Glover

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 Sunrise over the farm

Chapter 2 Remembering Mama

Chapter 3 Early harvest

Chapter 4 Humble beginnings

Chapter 5 Strange experiences

Chapter 6 Our final moments

Chapter 7 Returning to the farm

Chapter 8 Saying goodbye

Chapter 9 Growing concerns

Chapter 10 Message of faith

Chapter 11 the Auction

Chapter 12 Struggling

Chapter 13 Following faith

Chapter 14 a New Beginning

This book is dedicated to my parents,

Billy and Barbara Glover. Thanks for all the

Loving memories you left me with.

Copyright © 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews, or any other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright

Introduction

On a hot mid-June afternoon, with the sun glaring brightly in the late spring sky, I made my way beneath a weather worn canopy covering the place where the service was to be performed. As the gathering was filed in and seated one by one, I was directed to a line of cloth covered metal chairs in the front row. With my wife by my side, along with our children, we quietly made our way to the designated seats. Displayed in front of me, was a flag draped casket positioned upon straps intended to lower it into the grave. Inside, my father and best friend, Billy Glover.

It was Monday, June 18th 2012, and just two days earlier my father had died unexpectedly. My day had started on the 16th like many other late spring mornings in my lifetime, watching a beautiful sunrise over our rural Tennessee farm, with the task of another years planting finally completed. That spring day held something painful though; there was much grief, and heartache present after the loss of my mother who had passed away the previous fall. My father suffered great despair after Mama's death, constantly fighting back tears, while keeping himself busy on our family farm to occupy his mind. After forty-four years of marriage, my father now found himself alone in the old farm house where I was raised. The home that had been filled with so much joy, and happiness for many decades, now echoed with a deafening silence.

My father, or Pop as I have always called him, spent many nights with us over the winter months after Mama's passing. Spending time with my wife and I, and his five grandchildren, seemed to be a distraction from his persistent hurt. As hard as I tried though, I just couldn't fill the tremendous void in his heart. It’s hard to watch someone who has always loved life, suddenly only exist in a physical presence. I missed the contagious smile my father had once possessed. If I had only known when I woke that Saturday morning, that this would be our last hours together, I would have told him that he was my one true hero.

That day would mark the beginning of many trials, and challenges, we would soon face. After the loss of my father, we would find our farm in jeopardy after an ensuing drought, and embark on a journey that would lead our family to find the faith, courage, and strength for A New Beginning!

CHAPTER 1

SUNRISE OVER THE FARM

I watched in awe, as the first hint of light began to break through the darkness, just beyond the eastern horizon. With a purple hue beginning to emerge in the distance, slivers of pink and orange began to brighten the dim morning sky. It was a promise of a new day, and what a beautiful site it was. The same promise breaking the skies with pink and orange, then gold and yellow since the dawn of time. Sun rising, and a new day beginning, time marching fourth in both darkness and light.

From the back porch of our farm house, I began my day on the 16th of June 2012, with a cup of coffee, a chair, and the sunrise, just like many other days in my lifetime. As I sat there patiently waiting for the first light of day, I was captivated by the many different species of birds, while listening to their beautiful morning songs. I enjoy watching the sunlight slowly blanket the earth, while in the far distance; dark silhouettes’ began to emerge into vibrant colors.

There’s something magical in the way a late spring sky can turn a field of wheat into an ocean of gold, while making the bright grain stand in deep contrast, to the dark green corn in the background. Anyone who has ever experienced doubt over the existence of God need not look any further than the beautiful sunrise, or sunset, for evidence that Gods hand created the heavens and the earth.

The 16th was a Saturday, and I had awaken around four-thirty that morning, with my wife Sandra peacefully sleeping beside me in our bed. She had been laying on her side, while our two month old baby boy Elijah was attached to her breast feeding. Isaac, our three year old, had also found his way into the bed during the night, along with his younger brother Malachi. I love capturing a glimpse of my wife's natural beauty while she sleeps. The way her long sandy blonde hair gently caresses her face, as the delicate curves of her body are slightly revealed beneath the thin covering of her gown. The soft tones of her skin seem to glow like the light of an angel. Laying there nurturing our infant, added a special touch of a mothers love, and made me consider the undying bond that was growing between mother and child.

Careful not to wake my beautiful wife, and our three handsome boys, I had gently maneuvered my way out from beneath the warm covers, and the confines of our comfortable bed, managing not to disturb anyone while getting up. I then quietly slipped into a pair of old dark blue work pants, and a white tee-shirt, before putting on my leather work boots. As I left the bedroom, making my way to the kitchen to start my coffee, something caught my eye. It was a picture of Sandra and me, along with my parents, and all of our children. The picture had been taken around Christmas time in 2010 and in the background of the photo stood a beautiful Christmas tree. While looking at the picture, feelings of both joy, and sadness, filled my heart. Seeing the smiles on everyone's face, reminded me of what a great day that was, and all the joy our family shared during the holidays, but knowing it was the last picture that would be taken of our whole family together, also filled me with sorrow.

Leaving the hallway, I entered the kitchen, turned my coffee maker on, and waited for it to brew, then made my way to an old wooden chair on the back porch, where I could enjoy the peacefulness of the morning. As I sat on the back porch, watching the wildlife play in the cool grassy fields, I realized how much the old farm meant to me. Farming is in my blood, it's all I've ever known, and all I've ever wanted to do. My great grandfather was a farmer, and his son, then my father, and now me. There's something to be said about working with the soil, and the feeling of purity and accomplishment that it brings.

I have always been amazed by the similarities that are shared between farming, and Gods creation of mankind. Much like the bible story told in the book of Genesis, where man was created from the dust of the earth, plants also follow this same process. You plant a seed into the ground, and new life springs fourth. It grows to maturity, and then returns to the very dust from which it came. I never grow tired of Gods miracle revealed through the creation of life.

After witnessing the miracle of another Tennessee sunrise, and a couple more cups of coffee, I put on my faded crop services hat, and began the quarter mile walk across a wheat field to the equipment barn that stood between my house and my parent’s home. As I walked through the field thinking about the day and what work lie ahead, the sweet smell of spring surrounded me with fragrant scents of fresh morning dew, beautiful wildflowers, and the earth bringing fourth new life once again.

I had awakened earlier than normal this particular day in an attempt to beat my father to the barn, or Pop as I have always called him. I was thirty seven years old and for nearly all of those thirty seven years Pop had given me grief about sleeping in too late. In my father’s opinion, if you were not up by 5:15am every morning, you were burning daylight and sleeping the day away.