Maybe Something Other

Abuse Survivor, courage, Faith, Redemption, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’m beginning to consider other than what I’ve decided always.

Starting to let go my old responses to come what may, my old way.

Who does that? Brings a dandelion inside and places it next to the delicate dogwood bloom, adds it to the water in the little bulbous jelly jar?

I’ve never seen such a pretty arrangement. The contrast of the sticklike stem beside the velvet leaf of other.

The grass had been freshly mown and my day, not long into. The Lab and I returning inside and I paused to see the sun through the pines land on the solitary weed.

I picked it and blew towards the sky, the stem strong in my grasp; but, the feathery frond like fluff would not let go, held tight to the middle.

So, I’ve decided now, in my morning spot, that it was meant for other. It wasn’t meant to be blown away by my forceful breath and it dodged the destruction of the sharp blade of mower.

It was meant for more.

It was meant for other.

I have a task today and another tomorrow.

Tomorrow’s, I’ve asked God to help me reconsider what I’ve decided it’s purpose will be.

To cause me to let go my preconception and to be open to other.

To be accepting of what I will see, hear, feel, knowing I’m made by God, His plans for me planted and not fully seen.

I cover my eyes and my heart with other often, handicapping the growth, deciding my part.

“You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭19:21‬ ‭NLT‬‬

His desire is that I not be blown away.

To carry what comes my way in a different way, to do maybe something other than before. To not fade away nor be destroyed.

This morning I’m linking up with Five Minute Friday, prompted by the word and thoughts of “other” .

Trees and Me

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I’ve a friend who invites conversation by asking, “Where did you see God today?”

And I’ve loved it so, the thought of it.

But, even more, my own thoughts and ponder,

“And what did He say?”

I find God in places happened upon, causing my pause.

A puff of moss amongst high weeds, a purple flower on a single stem, I consider it there for me, burst forth, break through it seems to say.

Morning was a compilation today of happenstance and truth.

The sameness of my journal, the place where thoughts land and the habitual sometimes same old requests I pencil in carefully, thoughtfully certain.

This one’s a slate grey blue and has a delicate copper colored lettering “notes” in its center.

I’ve many journals, pages full, I bet you can only imagine.

This morning I read via Anita Ojeda that journaling is medicine. It wasn’t news to me, still, I felt it new.

This one, “I know this much is true” kinda truth came a little more alive today and so it’s included in my journal.

Memoir means you intentionally write about your past events in order to understand them better. In the process, you’ll find healing. Anita Ojeda

It occurred to me this is the reason I’m only able to write a paragraph here and there when it comes to memoir.

Other places and subjects, even here I can let flow a thousand words or more.

With memoir, I’m tentative.

Maybe it’s because the content is so precious, so precariously cusp teetering like as far my healing, that its power must be approached gingerly, intentionally and not at all hurriedly.

And sometimes I think time might be running out and my season might be winter forever, that my story might never burst forth.

Others, I think I’m just lazy.

This morning, I prayed a prayer for me. The words were not typical, the request new and softer, different.

The place where I’d been asking for strength or courage or forgiveness, clarity or ability to obey,

I asked for love. Love, instead.

Lord, order my day I pray and help me to do the right things in light of your love for me.

Amen

I especially love this one old tree. When we walk, I can’t turn my eyes from its frame. We turn back and I pause every time because I find its twisted trunk and aging limbs so sublime.

I don’t think it has another season, yet I see small buds on leafless limbs. I’m waiting to see, is it just not time?

Will the fruit of pecans cover the ground come August?

Will its branches continue to reach towards the sky regardless?

The tree, this beautiful old tree it tells me there is time and purpose and plenty of it still.

I almost skipped my Bible this morning, knowing I must get my butt in gear. My passage for April 10, Psalm 92, “How Great are Your Works” it begins.

And I am amazed again at the never accidental nature of my God.

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green,”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭92:12-14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And mostly that there’s always time to grow, to bear the fruit of hope, so that others may hope as well.

And that perhaps, some things held onto for very, very long must die before new will fully live.

Like being okay with not finding four leaf clovers in a cluster of clover.

Drawn in by the vibrance, caught off guard by the possibility, stymied by the enormous beauty, I look but am satisfied despite finding the one “lucky one”.

I’m seeing God everywhere and I’m noticing, noting clearly and contentedly my need to continue on.

Who’s to say how we grow, when we’ll burst forth unforced.

When the bud might open or the branches stay barren

Only God can make trees. Only God can make me.

Quiet Voila’

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, doubt, grace, Peace, praise, Prayer, Stillness, Vulnerability

Last week or maybe last year, sporadic in my notice and recognition, I decided “child’s pose” was very much like prayer.

The prayer pose in the dark of early morning beside my bed or in the middle of a day when my pacing feet and pounding heart had left me with no place to go but to

Go there.

To hide away on my side of the bed.

You’d have to walk around to find me.

To hit my knees and find my soul beckoning me rest and my shoulders, lower, lower until they too are closer to the bottom and to wait, my muscles groaning in extension, I’m reaching, now gently.

As far as I can and I wait for God to cause my hands to open towards heaven.

Like a quiet “voila!”.

Saying, this is yours God, not mine.

Like a child, my outstretched hands are both released from my heavy thing and opened for the pure embrace of God.

Lean a little deeper into the prayer like a languished stretch and then ease back upright to maybe a sort of sun salutation.

I rise. I’m better, Son of God, I salute you, your Spirit, now.

I’m better today.

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up for FMF prompted by “release”.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/04/05/fmf-link-up-release/

Oh, and by the way, my book review of Kate Motaung’s recently released memoir, “A Place to Land” is in a draft right now, I’ll be posting tomorrow and giving away a couple of copies!

or you can order here: https://www.amazon.com/Place-Land-Story-Longing-Belonging/dp/162707662X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&linkCode=sl1&tag=headhome-20&linkId=3e098af8efaaaff2f28a716b3f563944

What Privilege

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Motherhood, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

Prompted to write for five minutes on the word “Privilege”, I remembered last night the privilege to understand other women, them to understand me. I was one of four who spoke of being a victim of abuse.

Then, I recalled a mama joining in our discussion on bullying at our suicide prevention meeting earlier in the day. I was moved by her memories. Her daughter, now a professional and an adult, was intelligent, beautiful, the top in her class; yet, she did not walk onto the football field in an extravagant dress to be given her crown.

She quickly changed into her cheerleader uniform to carry out her part on the team. She was, afterwards met by vulgar comments about how “special she thought she was.”

Her mama said to this day she never talks about her Senior year of high school. So, I asked and her reply made me understand more clearly how I might be privileged when, honestly I’d struggled before to understand.

I asked, “So, your daughter was bullied by girls because she was beautiful and smart and because of race?”

“Yes.” she replied.

I understand more clearly what I’ll never understand fully.

But, this morning I’m thinking about another the privilege.

The privilege to take it to the Lord in prayer, the verse in the old hymn that talks about what a friend Jesus is and what a privilege to “carry everything to the Lord in prayer.”

Jesus, my friend seated right next to the Father is advocating for me, interceding on my behalf, surely I felt His presence last night as I took the stage before the sharing of “my story”.

I felt His presence, what a privilege,

The reason I add a little extra before my “in Jesus name”, a little extra closing to keep me ever humbly grateful.

“Because of mercy….”

Linking this post up on this blessed Friday morning with others who are considering “privilege”. Join us here: http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/02/08/fmf-link-up-privilege/

My Saturday’s Share

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, Homeless, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Serving, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

Reading your words from another “space” is hard to describe. Sometimes there’s anxiety. Sometimes there’s awe. Always, there’s the yearning to pick them up, hold them, bring them to my chest to say, “it’s alright, you were brave, you are you”.

I was awakened by this message and unintentionally did a screen shot. Yet, there are no coincidences with God, his desire is that my joy may be full.

“Until now you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.”

‭‭John‬ ‭16:24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I read my post early this morning and it caused new thoughts, new understanding of “asking for help”.

Asking for Help

This comment below on Lisa’s blog describes how God has brought others into my life to grow me and to show me I am loved:

“This post is still teaching me about Jesus, about His humility and His ever present willingness to help me. This morning, it’s reminding me that none of this is about me, only Him through me…I just get the chances to let Him shine. It’s pretty amazing the things our soul tells us when we slow down and listen.

I complain about my “job” sometimes. It’s a field everyone mentions “burn out”, carrying the things I hear and see all day, mental illness, domestic violence, child neglect, homelessness, suicide. Here’s the thing, writing this piece has shown me…if God had not placed me in this position almost nine years ago, I’d never have just gone out on my own to help/to serve. So, praise Him and thank you, Lisa, for the space for all of this to clearly land strongly.”

Hope Not Harm

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Writing, prompted by the word “Overcome”

Last week, I prayed before getting out of my car for work, opened my eyes towards my open palm and was awakened to the truth of my life becoming too noisy, my telling of things to myself and others just a little too tender, too tough to know, to remember. I was reminded of my strength, my hope, my faith, my love, my peace, of what is true. I was reminded of the quiet me, the quiet confidence.

Delicate charms and a strong timepiece I wear, gifts given by those who know me well, I know this well, I am loved.

I was reminded.

I came to a place that made me see I’d not actually overcome some things and instead, I’m still prone to them overcoming me.

That harm, not keep me hoping.

It may change my course altogether of the plan of God I’ve called my treasure and I may actually be closer to living what I believe, to believing more consistently the little things I say, to hope not harm.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29:11‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I use little bits of wisdom here and there like “My story was just a story, then God became a part and he made it a testimony.” or “God’s not finished with me yet.” or one I have painted in softly colored capital letters covering the length of an old piece of wood, “Live What I Believe.”

Only pleasantries really, if all I do is say them, post them, share them.

My good intentions got tripped up I found myself falling backward, back into the place of misery and memories. Not for long, the warning was clear, clearer than ever and not a correction, a consolation now.

I spoke of overcoming trauma, hinted at freedom; yet, I became close to being overcome by it.

It hurt, not healed.

It hindered my faith, did not help my hope.

Father, thank you for making me attentive, for seeing the worth of me and my story. For showing me the way forward, the way of hope not harm. May I not be overcome by my own telling. May my words bring hope, not harm.

Because of your mercy, I pray.

Amen

me

Linking this post up here: http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/10/26/overcome-day-27/

img_0476

 

Weep No More

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, marriage, mercy, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I tweeted “me too”, not even close to the allowable character limit, my sentence vague and just a hint of reference to my past.

Others have declared loudly and clearly their memories of being ravaged, manipulated, tried and terrorized.

I tweeted how it’s with me still, how I’ll never not be bothered by the battering.

It’s the fabric of me, woven and sewn into my story, I use it to try and strengthen others on days I’m strong.#MeToo

I saw her yesterday, her jeans too big, I wanted to ask why. Her walk the same, determined and continuing forward, still just her. It has been lately.

She walks alone now.

I saw her the first time this year in early Spring. She walked looking down mostly, her face towards the sidewalk. There was the empty space of two or three people blank between her and a man.

The air was cool still, requiring a jacket or sweater and hers hung over her shoulders. Her body reminding me of a wire hanger and she’d not lined up the garment’s seams.

Her jeans were off kilter, they hung askew and I thought she must be bothered by being unable to keep them up; but, decided she’d learned to make the best of hard things, pants not fitting, the least of concerns. Her shoes barely showing from the drag of hem, their flat soles like a piece of old cardboard. I imagined the sound of denim touching concrete, seemed similar too a lull.

Yet, she walked on. I wondered where she goes. I saw her face only slightly in my mirror glance as I passed by on my way towards my day.

Her long hair, unattempted uncontrolled, I longed to approach her, to know her well enough to gently tuck the long strands of dark hair behind her ears. I longed to know her in a way that she’d welcome my gesture. I created a story in which I could tell her my story, one that would include “me too” as I’ve seen her now unaccompanied by the man.

But, I’d be wrong to assume, wrong to demand conversation, wrong to open a wound she may have begun to heal.

Because, I’ve been drawn in to the stories of others who said “Me too”. I was pulled in, applauded braveries and became both captivated and courageously angry over others like me.

I thought of Hagar, the maid forced to give a barren woman a child. Hagar, manipulated and groomed for something someone else felt was their right. She was used for sex then shamed for giving in, for complying with the demands of those who hoarded over.

She did what they wanted and was quickly discarded.

But, God saw her. He met her and told her good will come from this, good towards you and from these abusive and harmful actions by one who used their control.

Good will come. Hagar believed God and it changed her course. Changed the course of mankind.

“So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭16:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I hope to see her again, the woman who walks every morning. But, I’ll not invite conversation or long to know I’m wrong or right about my assumptions.

I’d welcome the chance to know; but, I’d no longer force my way in, beg her to tell.

Last night, I woke my husband. I screamed out “No…..!” in my sleep. I was dreaming. I was in a room. I saw the shadow of ominous shoulders, so large and overpowering outside my window. I waited. I knew he’d be coming inside. I cowered into the corner. He raised both arms and pushed me hard into a corner.

I moaned, “No…..”

It scared him, my husband said, has said before.

He woke me, gently pulling me free,

Lisa, Lisa, Lisa.

I shifted under the covers.

Placed my hand on my chest and said no more me too, no more, and slept soundly and languished long, woke deciding I’ll not go back there, to the place of being damaged by men who made me a “Me Too”.

I’ll trust the God who has brought me through and my story will be as strong as God has promised, has made good on His promise.

But, it won’t be sorrowful and it will scare me no more.

I pray if my story is to be told it won’t cause remembrances that bring forth fear, fear from those places healed; that I’ll not cause the opening of old wounds.

I’ll keep walking forward in the way that brought healing.

I’ll walk like the woman I long to know, determined in her way, her shoulders more level, her face steadily more uplifted each morning I pass.

I’ll keep looking ahead and remember the wisdom of someone more than half my age, it doesn’t help to hold onto the bad things that happened before. They happened, move on.

Walking forward, never backward, lest I allow myself to be tripped again by fear.

“…you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:19-21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m linking up with other writers to Tell His Story here:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/control-think-free-printables/

When I Listened

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I found time to paint and with a chunk empty, I gave it to quiet distraction.

I took the apron from the nail on the wall and tied a loose bow around my waist.

Inundated with images of storms and ravaged places, I’d been hard on myself, “Is there something I could write, are there comforts I might provide here?”

But, I’ve nothing to add that might be worthy.

I’ve not weathered their storm.

For those who feel deeply, you’ll understand, how it was just so perplexing to me, to not connect with all the other “one anothers”.

I was systematic in my approach to canvas, tediously attentive to the grace I desired be displayed.

5 Angel Paintings, 5 hymns, one buyer of my art as Christmas gifts. I took my time, layering colors, blending over laid down with purpose lyrics.

And the girls, the slant of their shoulders, the sway of their gowns, the simplicity of their glances, I was resting with them, myself graced by the spreading of the paint and the perfecting of soft background.

Music playing, my Lauren Daigle station, all softness with a just a touch of James Taylor type folk.

It was a thoughtful time, my heart slowly responsive.

And then, a new song, and I decided quickly, oh…I know who needs this.

Listened to its telling the listener of her worth, of her value, her serenade…oh, realize you are loved.

Sat with this for a few, then sent it to a special someone.

Then, I second guessed my assumption of knowing her need and oh, my goodness why do I feel like it’s my job to lift the souls of everyone around me as if I of all people could possibly know the need of their own very soul?

But, the little bubble had the word “Delivered” underneath.

My head dropped to my lap and regret mixed with hope. Hope it’s taken as I meant.

Hope it’s okay.

Now, I’ll tell you what happened next if you promise you won’t think I’ve lost it, that I’m deeply and darkly sad or that I’m just way too deep.

Well, most likely you may already, oh well.

I’ll tell you because it was amazing.

I’ll tell you because I bet you’ve had extraordinary moments too, you just don’t share it with the world or a few curious and a few intrigued readers.

But, how might the world know? How might another soul find a similar song?

I listened again to the song, “Wonderfully Made” by Ellie Holcomb, mainly checking myself, and my like a “soul reader”, conclusion of her need of it’s word…and God’s

I sat with my 5 angel paintings awaiting deeper detail. My hands messy from blending and the desk a wreck of scattered tubes, brushes, pastels, pencils, pages of old hymns.

I’m messy. I am, I thought.

I listened.

It started soon and it started slow. My cheeks grew warm and then rivulets of tears fell, puddling just a second in the laugh line on either side of my lips and then slowly, slowly, easily, eventually sliding into the place I think is called clavicle.

Then, the song ended and I sat. No concern for being found in such a state or of my husband asking “What’s wrong?”

I would have said “Nothing.” and I would have meant it.

Simply taken by being taken to the place I needed to go, the place I needed to feel.

The song, well it’s beautiful in its message. I hope you listen. I hope it makes you cry.

I hope it causes you to know how beautifully, fearfully, wonderfully made you are despite your years, your days, your choices, your harms uninvited.

I hope you listen.

Wonderfully Made

I hope you cry when you believe the words to God’s song.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Oh, and little word changed to “Read”‘and then a reply of gratitude for my reaching out.

 

Linking up with Quietly Through today.  http://quietlyreminded.com/2017/09/07/hold-fast-quietly-thursday-link-14/

Stronger for Trying

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder

I’ve committed to this. I told someone today, it’s more my soul than my body.

My body has changed, but it’s not that change that’s changed me.

It’s the change of after that causes me to anticipate the again.

My drive home, regardless of the sky, signals new and good and strong, stronger.

Every single time, I’m better from going. The challenge, the release of good and serene, the sense of building new from brought down, old and low.

At the end of a long day, the fourth day not Friday yet, a whole lot of unexpectedness coupled with not sure how to respond and missing information along with misinformed.

In the work of helping others, things come to light, gradually unexpected, we learn more as we go.

We press on. We know there are some chances to intervene and there are some doors slammed hard shut.

There are those who see we care, there are those who decide we don’t because it’s easier to blame us than look closely at themselves.

So, workday ends.

I change into workout clothes.

I walk in hesitant, small group of us, we laugh. We engage. I’m better gradually.

Stronger as I go, laughter over my strength from another.

Weights lifted, challenges met and gone through again, less afraid.

A small community I’ve been allowed to join.

And stronger now.

Have Mercy

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Today would have been Day 4 of my 40 day fast from social media, if I’d stuck with the grand plan, the idea to step up my game while freeing my mind and being able to say “Oh, I’m fasting from Facebook.”

Which I imagined would have been followed by, “Oh, wows” and wonder why’s and possibly edge of the seat waiting to hear how I’d come to this decision.

And I’d anticipated how some great and flowery after the fast enlightenment would result from 40 days without following and even more anticipated how people would be waiting to hear and consider a fast themselves.

Wow.

Lord, have mercy.

Oh, my goodness…”too much Lisa!”

Yeah, I did that, recognized it, thank you Lord, and then shifted my focus to how I might navigate the days and how they might make more narrow my wide and distracted path.

I’d not be seeing all the people selling all sorts of things to better me, convincing me to try something amazing.

I’d not be bogged down by information overload about the glasses I need to look at the sun and oh, I better make plans, everybody’s doing something somewhere.

I’d not feel different from most in that I’m not anticipating the eclipse; but, am more quietly considering spending the couple of moments in a quiet place at home.

I’d have been able to avoid the commentaries, people taking sides, analyzing, criticizing, sneering and opportunists seeking a place to expound their opinions.

But, I’d have missed out on the good words and goodness of people asking for goodness from others and for that I’d have been sorry.

Because I did that,

Said, “I’m sorry about Charlottesville.”

Acknowledged I could never fully understand and we embraced, both of us nodding, holding our hands up to heaven.

I believe she believes me because we’ve left it at that.

I digress, though.

Last week, I  was captivated by the idea. I announced that I’d be fasting soon, had calculated the days and I’d abstain from social media and two other distractions that I’d decided were dulling my sense of God.

And I was right, five days later…I am able to do without those things, discipline and moderation are refreshing, almost

effortless.

But, social media, I’ve decided not to abandon or restrain.

The reason? Wise words from women.  One, my daughter, one, my cousin and the others, two sisters. One said, “Oh, that’s trendy, everybody does that!”  The other, surprised me. She paused, leaned back in her cushy armchair and said…”You need to pray about this, I’ve been reading your words every morning…you’ll have to figure this out.” So, I replied that I’d just limit myself, maybe just post my thoughts about faith and God and things I’m being shown in the mornings, nothing else all day, leave it alone.

She again said, “You are going to need to pray about this, I just don’t know.”

“Okay, I will.” I said, confused and two days later sat in my morning spot and as clarity does, it came slowly, rested with me there a bit, making sure I gathered up its message.

 

The thing is, I opened my Bible to the Book of Luke. The first day, I refreshed my memory of Luke and his take on the life of Jesus. I read the first chapter.  I noticed the tone, a more gentle approach, the opening lines more of a beckon to read than a command.

“It seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you…” Luke‬ ‭1:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

So, I continued to read and revisited again the two sisters, Martha and Mary.

Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:38-42 ESV

I read of Martha’s frustration and her pointing out her efforts, her preparation and her lack of help to Jesus.

I’ve been searching; but, can’t find an answer. Did they know that Jesus was coming and bringing along the disciples?

How much time did she have to get the house ready, maybe cook a meal?

The last time I had company coming, a first time ever I’m excited to have person, I took a day off from work. There were linens to wash, little flowers to put in tiny vases, carpets vacuumed, dusting done, options for meals and pillows fluffed.

Making the best of what I had to welcome someone. I was worried we might not have a home good enough to impress her, to hopefully have her return.

I had the whole house to myself, me and the dogs, I was a flurry of stress and striving, driven to perfection, to making an impression.

I believe Martha was feeling this way.

I imagine she lost her sense of composure, her efforts trying to impress this visitor everyone had been talking about and she demanded to know why she didn’t matter…why is it that you’ve not noticed me? I imagine her, hands on her hips, her sister oblivious.

She was a mixture of keeping tabs and keeping up. Everyone a measurement of her value, every effort an opportunity to be satisfied with self, a contrast in diligent servant and frustrated martyr. She was disappointed, but oh so very determined in her display.

She wanted to be enough.

I understand.

And while Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, listening, Martha made sure He knew, to be certain He noticed all she’d been doing.

So, I abandoned the grand plan of the 40 days without Facebook.

We’d talked about the giving up of things, my cousin and I, of striving in our focus, of being more disciplined, of denial of any and all in hopes we might be a little better.

I listened as she explained what she believes and is learning.

We punish ourselves hoping finally, deprivation will lead to acceptance, to acceptance of the love of Jesus.

Her words I stored up. I can’t remember exactly; oh, I wish I could, because it took root, the truth grew and changed my mind, her words, my thoughts of them.

What I do to make up for before does nothing more than validate my shame, my guilt, my doubt.

My efforts only keep me where I believe I must stay, never stronger, only shrinking back to the place I feel most comfortable and guilty.

Grace is not punitive, doesn’t sit waiting for a show, never demands evidence of its due.

 

Grace, the grace of Jesus just shows up and stays, hopes we will rest a while in its presence.

Mercy, the mercy of Jesus reminds us to choose the better and gives us time to see it as better.

Love, the love of Jesus accepts our anxious ways, beckons us to linger, cares little about perfection and looks beyond our imperfections, and notices even less our idea of perfection so that it can show us the way.

The one who told me to pray called today.  I told her, “Oh, I’m not doing the fast. I was looking for affirmation, attention, I was hoping to be a bright and shiny blogger girl who could boast of her accomplishment. I was hoping to be good enough not to go unnoticed.”

To which she replied, languishing in wise southern cousin Peacock way…”Good, good, Oh, that’s good, oh…”

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story…read about a beautiful mission here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/