Siblings, dogs and love

Children, family, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized
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Brothers and sisters

 

6:00 a.m. sounds wake me.

No alarms necessary.

Our house is noisy and scheduled.

It won’t be like this for long.

Abbie’s up ’cause Heather’s up.

Routine,  Abbie likes routine.

Her house, her bowl, her place on the couch.

I get that.

I hear her fancy little beagle steps (we call it trickling) making her way to  check her food bowl then on to her soft place in the den.

Bed to couch, what a life!

Then little, big brother wakes.

Low moan growl heard from my end of the house becomes….”Oh, time to get up…Yay…come get me”  bark!

Good pup, outside to pee, checks his bowl, then back inside slips into the kitchen slinking around to check sister’s bowl.

Not time for food yet, okay.

Grandma’s doing her quiet thing…. I’ll wait.

Colt, Austin named him…somehow not knowing a colt is in fact a small horse.

Name fits, trust me.

A Christmas request…last Christmas before college from Austin.

Craziness, yes.

Doing crazy, unnecessary things for my quite self-sufficient children is a choice for me, a choice I call demonstrating love.  What better send-off I say, into their own little nests , than to plant   remembrances of  intentional love my priority ?  Creating little things that upon recall might elicit a response of

“Mama didn’t have to do that, but she did.” 

Things like getting Colt, the big Brown dog much like that red one he loved named Clifford.

Sweet, goofy, yet obedient to treats, chocolate lab flopping into the kitchen on big feet spread bigger every day.

Abbie, frustrated with her new brother, takes his place on soft, old quilt I have  added to protect my mama’s old chair.

Fresh, clean and crisp.

I smile and

Cover her with quilt. She likes safe, close cover. Rub her back as she answers with a little sweet beagle Abbie sigh.

Abbie decides this place, this chair,  “It’s mine”.

Sweet Abbie. She’s adjusting. She’s keeping up.

She’s trying to understand.

Barking in rhythm protecting me last night when a big black cat was spotted by Colt.

Loud, strong, get our of our yard barking, both warning the stoic and stubborn cat  “Get out of our yard!  My grandma’s home alone!”

Abbie barking louder and longer as if to say, “Hey, I was here first.”

Abbie waiting in the window for Heather, taking turns sitting for treats and demanding soft head rubs from Austin or reassurances from Greg.

Abbie is adjusting. We all are.

Colt is a lesson in transition…in love

and tolerance

and acceptance

and grace

and patience….

Colt looks towards his chair, head tilted, careful not to upset Abbie…just curious about why she’s moved to the chair.

And then he meanders over to her spot, settles there as if to say   ” Oh, okay, this works.”

Dogs and siblings…Siblings and dogs.

Love and transitions

 Most important of all, continue to show deep love for each other, for love covers a multitude of sins.  I Peter 4:8

Mercy prayers and stories

Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

Lord, have mercy...

Lord, have mercy…

What makes some of us anxious, even excited to share our days before coming to Christ while others keep their stories hidden? My grandmother, “Bama”, the daughter of a Methodist minister would start up conversations wherever she found opportunity.

A petite woman, dressed in crisp blouses and slacks, she found joy in engaging with others.  She always found a way to listen and make others believe she completely understood.

She was merciful.  She gave mercy.  Had received mercy.

She was an interested listener, so people shared. She didn’t have to be in church to talk about Jesus, about her faith and sometimes about us, struggles she was praying about or had made it through.

The favor she’d been shown, inherited, carried her through to a place of unashamed sharing her story of redemption and drawing out the stories of those she met.

Some said she shared too much information; was nosy and annoying but, she kept right on connecting in the beauty shop, the dime store or the fellowship hall. She was telling and listening to testimonies, stories of Jesus.

One morning last week, praying before the workday, I thanked God for my salvation through His Son, Jesus Christ.  And then, thoughts becoming prayers, I prayed “God, thank you for saving me long before I asked.”

Isn’t this the prayer of every person who has finally come to Jesus?

The story of every person who like Zacchaeus, wanting to know Jesus; but, believing too much wrongdoing and greed made him unworthy.  Or maybe like the Samaritan woman, shamed by wrong choices, yet welcomed by Jesus in the presence of those who scorned her.  Or the leper, discarded and avoided, yet embraced by the love of Jesus.  Wouldn’t it be amazing to have testimony Sunday and hear Zacchaeus telling, excitedly about Jesus wanting to dine with him, wanting to save him!  Imagine the Samaritan woman standing behind the pulpit in your church, and tearfully describing the welcoming salvation of Jesus despite her sins. I can hear her telling of the love she felt when Jesus defended her against the comments of onlookers who labeled her unclean and even reported to Jesus her record of sin.  What a touching and beautiful time it would be to see the horribly disfigured and cast aside leper standing in your sanctuary, healthy and radiantly smiling describing the healing hand of God, through Jesus!

Every one of them could proclaim, the Psalmist’s words

Praise God, who did not ignore my prayer and did not withdraw His unfailing love from me!  Psalm 66:20

Jesus was saving them before he even encountered them, for His best, waiting to offer redemption in simple, yet intentional encounters.

I learned about the struggles of two friends in our church recently. Both shared, through tears, and shaky voices glimpses into their lives before they were walking with God.  Both caught me by surprise. Powerful testimonies and disclosures of damaging choices and paths wrongly taken, spoken as examples of grace.  It would make sense to wonder, “Why are they sharing so much?”  or “How can they admit their mistakes in front of a church full of people who really did not need to know?”

Because, they know what it means to Tell the Story of Jesus, the story of His truth, “Truth Telling”, I like to call it.

I sometimes think I have a bit of my grandma in me.  I am drawn to the stories of others.  I love to share stories of His place in my heart, my life.

And just like the redeemed in the pews or in the parking lot or waiting in line at the checkout, I’m comparing notes, comparing encounters with Jesus who saved me.

Answered my prayer, seeking mercy.

I’m remembering a time of failure and devastation when the preacher from the tiny little white church stopped by to visit…he’d heard my story…everyone had.

And when I asked,  “How can I get through this?”

His kind and gentle voice answered firmly,

“Just pray for mercy.”

I did. I still do.

And now,  like my grandma. I love to listen and tell.

Stories of Jesus and His mercy.

What’s your story of Jesus, your redemption story, your truth?

Your  “Lord, have mercy” story ?

Come and listen, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what He did for me. Psalm 66:16 

 

strong words

courage, Faith, Trust, Uncategorized
Even so

Even so

Patience is intentional.

It is effort.

Not ever effortless.

Faith is a solid, yet sweet statement.

Not meek;  Faith is quite courageous.

Intentional

Hope, a word offered up as buoy, as preservation.

A pleasant wish to ease the distressed

Devoid of much at all really to sustain, to hold up.

Until anchored in Sovereign strength of God,

Patience and hope are just poetry without faith in God.

Little pleasantries become confident stories.

Strong words

Not timid “hope so’s'”

Or, ” have faith’s”

Or  little “well wishes”

But, well souls.

Confident and unshaken wellness

It is Well. It is Well

with my soul, Strong words.

Strong souls.

The Lord is my strength and my song;  He has become my victory. Psalm 118:14

 

Believing the unseen, the untold

Children, family, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
Pine cones and blue feathers

Pine cones and blue feathers

I’m journaling still, the prayer of Jabez.

Seated next to my little vignette of things I love.

Intricacies of nature…a pine cone from a mountain trip and two bluebird feathers found on a heavy day.

Reflecting on the detail of God’s handiwork.

Of God’s hand.

Quiet mornings are my spiritual discipline.

My soul craves this abiding.

I rest in this refreshing, this refining.

I am on Day 17 of my yearning to pray like Jabez.

I have been blessed by the simplicity of belief.

Jabez, the son whose mother declared he was born in pain, the meaning of his name. Yet,  was found to be more honorable than his brothers. More honorable because he decided and declared to trust God to change the course of his life, asking God to bless him, put good people around him, stay near, and finally to make sure he caused no one pain.

I long to know when  exactlyJabez came to God with his request.

A request of show me your glory, God.

Show them your glory.

I read further, hoping to hear the story of a little boy unwanted by family, yet cherished by God.

I hoped to open my Bible to I Chronicles and discover verses descriptive of a confident, glorious transformation.

Taking my Jabez prayer journey a little deeper, maybe more like my little girl story, who late in life has come to believe she is worthy.

But, just three sentences. A prayer is all.

And I’m left wondering about Jabez, the child who had to believe what he did not see…what he was not told.

That he was called by name, by God and that God was with him. Isaiah 43:1  That nothing about him was unknown to God.

There’s a little girl in me who longs to know the difference a name could make.

A little girl, I remember on her sixth birthday, wearing stiff, white collared dress and patent leather shoes, lace edged socks on gently swinging feet.

Little girl, surrounded in a circle of lounge chair seated cousins, under the lavender dripping wisteria vines.

Bobbed hair, smiling sweetly, shyly.

The little girl whose mama wanted to name her Libby.

But, daddy said ” No, that’s a can of peaches.”

The only birthday I remember

That day, I felt like Libby.

That sweet child was Libby.

Little girl Lisa Anne, a different child.

Staying hidden, quiet and hyper observant,

The one to cause no pain, no problems.

Quiet, non-existent. Wanting to be noticed. But, not be noticed.

A long, long, doubtful journey to now.

Lisa, now prayerfully thanking God for good and seeking good.

No more days of a God and a love I could never measure up to.

A Lisa who walks with an understanding of what wasn’t seen, wasn’t spoken…an understanding of a God with me, strong hand upon me all of my life….guiding me, reminding me, leading me to Lisa here.

Fearing not.

Doubting not.

Shaming myself not.

Because, I have and have had everything I need, fearing no evil, no unknowns…Surely goodness and love will follow me for all the days of my life. Psalm 23

Blessings all along, I’ve finally opened hands to receive.

With me and for me all the while

 

 

 

 

Before I forget what I realized

Children, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized
My heart

My heart

I realized a parenting truth last week.

Time has not been kind to my writing joy.

I must record this truth. I must remind myself of its clarity.

The only writing this past week has been penciled in thoughts about prayer, faith, rewriting and remembering.

Busy times, baseball season, lingering, annoying cold and cough.

So, my writing has been non-existent.

Last week, I scripted a prayer that came to me with ease.

My prayer, Lord, help me to know what to say and when to say it.

Give Heather and Austin the clarity they need and make yourself known to them daily, because I know you are there…in their hearts.

It occurred to me that being mama at this point is so much more about availability than ability.

So much more about staying back, yet being there when called upon.

More like waiting to be inquired of, being in tune with Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak way of love, of mothering.

Waiting to advise, to direct…so unmotherly.

Just to be there… waiting on sidelines, in background

And ready to answer with love.

Holding closely, loving wholeheartedly, pointing towards Jesus.

So, I must remember this parenting epiphany

I must record this knowledge to carry through the approaching moving away.

Be available as needed.

Only as needed.

They are able.

They have been trained.

Be there…love with availability, as needed, requested.

Train up a child in the way he should go…when they are old, they will not depart from it.  Proverbs 22:6

Half-heartedly saving daylight

Children, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

 

A suggested response to Monday after time change

A suggested response to Monday after time change

Where is the daylight?

Abbie and Colt have both nestled back in.

Moved from sleeping place to lounging place.

Both loud sighs intermittent with snores as I journal God’s word.

Day 8 of Jabez. A challenge today.

Not embracing my morning, more like a lazy, slack rebellion of morn.

Requesting of God to be blessed, to be kept safe, be kept from the evil of bad things, choices, even bad thoughts, this is my prayer now.

Lethargic and zombie-like, I ache as I move towards the coffee for cup number 2.

Feeling 54 this morning, sounding 74 as I grunt upon rising.

Back to bed would be reasonable, not an option.

Heather suggested, I agreed. Still, we navigate the morning.

Her gathering to leave, Austin still in bed. Quiet house, dark and tucked in.

She murmurs “Bye” as she leaves in pitch black to teach precious minds, anxious to know things.

Yesterday, I looked towards the sky, wondering what mama would say…longing to know somehow.

Day is opening up now and I am slowly, unraveling blips of my colorful disconnected dreams, 3 scenes.

I woke, half-heartedly, the anesthesia of dreamwork…of hidden away pieces of mental ramblings on life on family.

Dreams of what-ifs and what might not.

Mama was there, in a dream about a big house overlooking fields.

Giving advice, talking up a storm. Being Bette. Colorful, loud, laughing.

Now, I see!

Wholeheartedly, I see.

The thoughts unwound, I can move to morning.

The sky has turned to a light grey-blue and birds have awakened, chirping sharply, rhythmically.

Austin rises. I reach for pen and journal and wait for bright sunlight.

Sunlight, like glory, like beginning again!

His mercies are new every morning. Lamentations 3:23

humble believer – the one believed to fail

Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

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Pretty soon, I’m taking a trip down country roads.

A neighboring county where the roads become pretty hills and valleys, oak trees and old barns, daffodils blooming freestyle.

I’ll be looking for an old country cemetery that might have one headstone marked with the name belonging to an ancestor on my daddy’s side.

An ancient military man named Jabez Hendrix.

My brother, connecting and seeking, a habit of his.

A longing, perhaps to understand more, to fill in missing pieces and endings to stories that might be clearer, happier and hopeful.

Just so happens Jabez Hendrix is buried close by.

In the meantime, I am fascinated by Jabez of the Bible.

Just a few sentences about one son in a family of several sons.

Likened to the runt of a large breed of pups.

The one that caused mama dog pain, scrawny and most likely not the pick of the litter. The son whose name meant “bore in pain”.

Yet, he believed and trusted God for more.

Was bold enough to grasp the possibility of a God who created all.

Was confident enough to request more than just enough

Was humble enough to ask for God to stay close by, to ask for God to keep his hand ever present.

Yet, he knew of frailty and falling  asking God, “keep me from evil.”

Jabez, born to fail, believed in more.

Asked for more and received.

I’m praying like Jabez going on four days now.

Thinking of the blessings God has for me.

The blessings I never thought to ask for

The people he wants to place on my path

The broadening of my territory, my influence and influencers.

His hand, at my humble request kept securely close

Keeping me from evil.

Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil…So God granted him what he requested. I Chronicles 4: 9-10

The one who was most shy, most awkward, most likely to hide away.

The one searching for identity and getting lost in life, disconnected, disowned, discarded

I am the one who believes, finally in God.

His hand upon me.

His placing and planning of my territory.

His keeping me from evil.

Loved by God, the one with less than hopeful beginning and rebellious crazy, scary middle.

Fascinated and acquainted with God’s Jabez

The humble believer.

A courageous soldier, ancient uncle, laid to rest in a country cemetery a country ride away.

 

 

Surprises, Too Wonderful to Know

Uncategorized
Makes me happy when skies are grey

Makes me happy when skies are grey

I saw the burden of “not knowing”  in a brighter, happier light this week.

It may not stick.

I may agonize over futures, decisions, delays again.

Most likely, sooner than I’d like, within the next few hours even, prayers and thoughts before sleep.

Mind wandering, scheming, planning, writing scripts and watching them play like a movie.

Vivid, detailed, believable happenings. Things I’m hoping for, hoping not.

Crazy, super lifelike scenes from our lives are the make-up of my mind.

A movie with a wedding, a grandbaby, I picture bouncy blonde and blue-eyed little tomboy.

Or me driving up to a stately campus and unloading boxes into a tiny room where the little boy who loved holding hands with me will be saying goodbye.

He will be pretending to be unphased. I will hold him in hug and get quiet as I leave.

It might be the sight of my beautiful daughter in her wedding dress, hair in sweet simple bun and her boyfriend’s tender face when he sees her at last.

I may let my thoughts form stories of illness, of loss, of hardship. Of fears that accompany age.

They may come. Happy times, hard times.

God has made the one as well as the other. I think about both.

Things too wonderful for me to know.  Job 42: 3

This Christmas my daughter surprised me.

She knows what a challenge I can be. Don’t ask what I want.

I like to be surprised with gifts.

I imagine her shopping and seeing the sunshine mug and thinking of me…of our song. Maybe she let her heart and sweet smile go back to our tiny little place in the country…her little head on my shoulder as I swayed in a sing-song rhythm.

“You make me happy when skies are grey.”  She might remember that when I had sung for so long and her sweet eyes still popped open once I got silent that  I’d add a random little story to the song, making up our special “Sunshine Song”

So, on Christmas morning, I opened the mug, looked over and smiled at my daughter.  “I found it a long time ago, saved it for you.” she said.

I held it close to my chest, the little yellow mug that says “You are my Sunshine” with a sunshine to meet me at the bottom when upturned, emptied.

How sweet is it to wait expectantly for a gift?

What if we thought of “waiting for God” as waiting for a gift, a surprise?

Not knowing what we’ll get, just knowing it will be good?

Like expecting a surprise, contentedly knowing something good will be happening soon.

Think of your heart’s desires, your heart’s longing aches of waiting.

He knows.

He says, shows us  ” I saw this for you. I planned it this way. I have been saving this for you when I knew the time was right.”

I have been

Blessed and surprised by God.

Haven’t we all?

Take delight in the Lord and He will give you your heart’s desires. Psalm 37:4