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.
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
2 thoughts on “Believing the unseen, the untold”
Who said that Libby can’t share the same earthly tent with Lisa?
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Thank you so much for sharing your thoughtful piece with us at The High Calling.
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