Art

Being Taught

Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, happy, heaven, Homeless, memoir, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

There’s just something about God’s ways that cause the constant return to quiet.

“Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭25:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

When you’ve had and have so many irons in the fire and you’re persisting, persisting, persisting because you believe not persisting would be giving up and well giving up might be quitting altogether once and for all.

And then you’d have to fake being fine with the oh, well I tried and it wasn’t meant to be for me facade.

I’ve been creating like crazy, so much that there’s no more space for my pieces and a crazy little children’s table I’m determined I’m gonna be stuck with because, no one thinks it’s worth what I’ve put into it and oh,

Well, you’re not really an artist, Lisa. You have talent but you don’t have what it takes to take you anywhere.

And you’re not really a writer except that people actually like your words and you like sharing them and a few people take something with them from their reading. And they tell you and you smile, thinking oh that’s kind of you but I wish I could be more, more, more.

Because you’ve got five or six possible places and ideas and they’re absolutely all over the place and all overdue soon.

You fathom a community changing idea for suicide prevention but you’re naive to believe you can do it your own and you know that so that knowledge joins in the conversation and question of them all.

Give up or try?

Then you realize, just stop.

Just stop for a day or maybe two.

Stop and remember your why that got crowded out by your what if and why not me or the big one for me, “How can I, How should I and mostly How could I not?

Because there’s always the place inside that won’t let you forget God told you these things are your purpose, He made you for these.

Landscapes were painted because the angels seemed less charming, amateurish, I discerned.

Others wanted color, I adjusted my technique and my brushes.

I wrote bravely and hurriedly to comply with a deadline and four days later reread the folded and put away copy and found a sentence that made no sense, a whole paragraph that had no flow.

Obsessively checking emails to see if they chose to publish it anyway. Crazy!

Crazy ever seeking more for me.

Too much, Lisa. Too much Lisa.

Grace upon Grace

You lost your why again.

Art had become a chore, my quiet space an obligation, counting down time ’til I was done with one and then finish three more to be complete, a series I called “Spirit”.

I suppose such is life when you’re teetering over deciding your worth from what you create instead of from your creator.

The things that have always been your sweet spot of comfort become a frantic and frazzled focus, an ever futile challenge.

It is miserable when you veer off the path of what had become your peaceable and pretty place.

So, you take a break, maybe just an hour, a day or two and you ask God to speak before you close your eyes.

You wake and there’s barely light outside, the soft and gradual I’m not gonna overwhelm you revelation of day.

Feels like God saying,

Come now, let’s begin again.

This time be disciplined. Be disciplined not in your doing.

But, be disciplined in your believing.

Make things of beauty because I’ve given you the ability, the hands, the thoughts, the words.

Make them for me, allow me to take them where they belong.

I’ve begun a new piece, returned to my beginning place, the quiet pieces resting on lyrics from old hymnal pages. The works I call “my girls” and some have called my ministry.

I’m at peace again.

Back to my soul.

I’m linking up with the Tell His Story community along with Mary Geisen and this beautiful story: https://marygeisen.com/there-goes-my-heart/

Happy Way of Life #16 To Try

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, freedom, grace, happy, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

There is a persuasion in the soul of man that he is here for a cause, that he was put down in this place by the Creator to do the work for which He inspires him, that he is an overmatch for all antagonists that could combine against him. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have you considered the deep down joy of trying?

It is possible that trying might be more fantastic than you’ve ever known.

If we’d not discount it based on whether we finished satisfactorily or how everything may have to fall apart to come back together.

Last night, I painted for an hour, the same the night before. The surface waits for me now, paint tubes not closed properly, canvases stacked with halfway pieces and half-hearted attempts.

I’ve been here before. Seeking something big and of notice.

Seeking to be known by the work of my hands.

Instead of my heart.

Self-awareness, oh what a blessed gift you are!

Encouraging my beginning again.

Telling me to try.

I’ve just done a new thing this morning.

An idea I’ve had for a long time, a story and the deadline, oh shoot!

It’s today.

So instead, I pitched my idea…just proposed the heart of the story to see if the publisher might think the reader may like to read more.

This is not a phenomenal feat, it is simply a try and it is new for me.

So, now I move farther into my Saturday.

I’ll run while the air is still cool, make the bed, do some laundry, maybe return to the mess I made and try again and again.

Maybe, again. I will try.

Know that wisdom is such to your soul; if you find it, there will be a future, and your hope will not be cut off. – Proverbs 24:14

Black Crow Mercies

Art, birds, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. – Zephaniah 3:17

I told him, “Our troubles are minuscule” as we rode together bemoaning things that were trivial trials in our life.

We are well. Our children are well. We have what we need.

But last week, a crow flew just in front of my car as I turned in to the lot and as I’m prone to do, I took it to mean dismay.

I was early for work, not my norm.

Timely, I thought, just perfect for this pessimistic air all around me, my living and breathing blah apprehension.

Pity, full.

I open the door to step into the day and they all begin, a few of them now, to make the “caw” call of mockery seeking my notice.

I had a deadline, I resisted the idea, struggled to put together the right “ask” begrudgingly came to work to begin.

A minute into the task, an application for grant funds, I was interrupted and I huffed.

Corrected myself, listened and then explained my deadline.

The one who interrupted my day told me he would pray.

Later, I would be able to share with him the ease of completing the application.

More interruptions, people stopping by to help. I told them I couldn’t talk and they said rather curtly, knowing me…”okay don’t talk”.

Sometimes I’m so “unpeople”.

Left alone with my work, I completed the task, I asked the grantor for what we truly needed rather than something new and contrived, I was honest.

Then, I joined the ones who came to help me with another task they’d volunteered for, my husband, daughter, and grandson, giving up their Thursday to help lighten my load.

I walked in and they were working so very well together, hanging drapes, hanging pictures, it was unnecessary for me to be there.

I quickly chastised my husband as he hung the large painting off kilter. My daughter cut her eyes, cocked her head and said: “Mama, stop barking orders.”

Oh yes, I can be demanding.

I can forget to be grateful. Sitting on the beach, we heard of sudden serious illness and added this father to our dinner blessing.

My husband asked, “Do you think God does things to get our attention? Do you think God wants to humble people through tragic unexpected things?”

Immediately, I replied, “Well, I don’t know how I’ve dodged the bullet then.”

No further discussion.

Almost a week later, a young father has died in an accident and the one on life support has been healed.

Who are we to know? Who are we to comprehend?

God is able. Able to know all.

We are not.

On Saturday, I was grouchy again.

Stubborn and lazy. I was uncertain of putting myself out there again. My art and I would be on display, a new opportunity, a new place to hopefully make a profit. If my aunt and uncle hadn’t traveled two hours for the market, I had decided already to back out.

I sold three paintings, minimal profit.

I answered three people when they asked about Isaiah 30:15 and I told them why this verse is the one I call my life, how I’m better when I’m quietly confident in God.

What I didn’t say was how around 7:00 a.m I had to get myself in check and let my knees find the floor beside my bed to ask God to help me radiate this verse, this “quiet confidence”.

He did.

Conversations about comfort occurred, comparisons of struggles and needs were brought to my attention and I listened, I really listened.

A photographer I admire commissioned a piece and she told me that I should, yes …” You should write the book.”

Kind words were offered about my paintings. I accepted them.

The sweetest thing ever, my aunt, an ever observant one said: “I feel so good about you living here, I see how many people need and care about you..”

I said sincerely, thank you to onlookers without a tone of pity or pleading for purchase.

I asked God for the day I needed and He answered by showing me the beauty of contentment and of His being with me.

Now it’s Monday and the birds have begun to show up slowly after an overnight rain. Gradually, they are moving limb to limb, testing the branches and cavorting about.

My prayers are for the hurting, the very sick, both sickness of the heart and the body. For the hard hardness of unforeseen grief and tragic too early death. For those whose role assigned by You is one of bringing comfort and wisdom to all, I pray you equip and embrace them.

My prayers are of gratitude for what I was taught by God this weekend, what I was taught to recognize, consider and not forget,

Your presence, here.

My “art room” is back in order now, my writing space awaits. I’ll get back to it soon, not be hampered by the pressures of my pride, pitifully pitting me against myself.

Such an exhausting battle, unnecessary.

I will wait and I will ask again, how can I write in a way that is quietly confident, that emanates your grace, your mercy, my faith?

How can I see the birds overhead and remember my worth, not be woeful?

How can I glorify you as I continue in intentional surrender?

I can’t wait to see, to sense and to follow in this way, the way of grace and peace.

Show us your glory.

We know you are able.

Help us to recall our hardship only in terms of remembering your healing.

My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. – Lamentations 3:20-23

Looking for my red birds and robins today.

I know they are near.

Crows maybe too, the noisy crows sent to remind me of deliverance, of mercy.

God, we know you are with us. We know you are able, we are listening for you.

Comfort us as comforters and ease the hurt of grieving hearts.

Because of mercy,

Amen, me

Not Too Old To Try

Art, confidence, courage, grace, praise, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

In the beginning I only took off amongst the secluded spaces. The neighbors most likely I decided would raise their eyebrows or gawk at the thickness of my girth.

Now I’m in a rhythm and there’s no need to pause, no concern over possible crossing paths or shimmying thighs.

A year ago I learned what a plank was and I held it a minute and a month ago I decided I could run.

It’s not much at all to do with a number, the scale or the age.

It’s more about time to try because trying is timely.

I happened upon words drawing me in closely via twitter.

Modern publication, online and I imagined modern spaces with wide, high narrowly sleek windows with views.

Maybe teleworkers technically expert and polished

Young men and women committed to this publication and their enthusiasm to enthuse others towards Christianity using brave and open perspective…

I was intrigued.

I dropped down the “Submissions” page and I decided to try.

I introduced the editors to my art and to my words.

There was interest in my art, possibly maybe if I’d like to try, one day my words.

The best of all, besides the again, decision to try?

The best thing is that I said precisely what I felt God wanted me to say in response to the questions and I know there’s no way I will ever know how someone or some ones might decide to try as well.

Might become immersed in creativity of their own regardless of time or age or fear.

If you’re curious in nature and especially drawn to truths, you’ll want to read the articles gathered in a place called “Fathom”.

Overwhelmed, I’m overwhelmed.

Visit here if you’d like to see grace, all grace towards me, nothing but grace.

Fathom Mag

Beautiful in Time

Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

I prayed and then I answered the questions of me, the ones that would be an introduction of me.

I’d been chosen as a featured artist.

But, on Wednesday, I’d decided it wasn’t to be and eventually settled into accepting that “It wasn’t time”.

And my stretch of running was longer, the trail bordered by new and unoccupied houses. The roots trying to burst through concrete making it necessary that I lift my feet in little jumps.

Down the last hill and I kept my pace, choosing the cul-de-sac lane farthest from eyes and running past the sprinklers misting my calves.

Frustration mixed with apathy, my fuel to press on.

Eventually, shifted to walking and the song in my ears said creation sings God’s praises and so should I.

The sky fat with puffs of gray and black shapes of birds darting across my path.

I said to myself what I felt in the sky.

“It’s not time.” I accepted this as truth. Simply, “It’s not time.”

Later, I recalled the conversation,  her reply to my inquiry over my art not selling “It comes in spells.”

The clamor over my creations had faded.

I considered it becoming just a hobby, cover the walls with bright or subtle, simple or not. Or just stack ’em in the corners, have people say “Oh” when they stop by and I could say, “Here, take it, it’s yours.”

Joyless bartering for validation, the way I’d become.

I looked closely at the newest piece, still oily and moist, her expression was mine and yet, she was patient, more serene.

Aspirations and need for notice had begun to taint my treasure.

It was good to finally hear God and know there are still plans for my future.

“It’s not time.” I heard it again.

Then came Thursday and still waiting to hear from something still.

I walked around all day with a heavy sense of lost hope.

I was honest and told God first thing, I don’t know how to do the thing I thought I was made to do, how to do everything for your glory, not mine.

I was clear, I mean who really knows how to do these things, to surrender to His plan, to wait and not grow weary all the while feeling useless and filled with doubt?

It’s hard for me, I realized and I owned up to my not knowing how or if.

Then, I left that there with Him and I carried on still carrying my load a little.

Then I named it later, my apathy.

It was my “sense of possibility” I had lost.

Lying on the gym floor, staring at ceiling tiles and I figured it out, the loss of “possibility” thinking.

Round two, same thing, same tiles and this time a but…”you can do everything through Christ” and “everything is possible if you believe”.

How had I forgotten that promise and the one about all things through Him?

And Jesus said to him,

“‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” – Mark 9:23

Worn and sweaty, we stretch and we’re done.

I settle in to my car and checking my phone for messages, none.

I go to my mail and my thumb moves quickly to swipe and delete junk and same old same ol’ and there it is…the reply,

the next step.

“…got your artwork and we’re excited to have you featured in the next edition. Just need you to answer these questions.”

It is time.

I said Thank you, Lord, no more, no less.

Prayed about my replies and replied.

Now it’s Friday and like every other evening, I unclasp my bracelet and remove my ring, take my earrings out and let them rest safely.

I reach for my watch and loosen the leather from the loop.

I lay them all down and I discover something new I’ve never seen, the underside of my watch’s face, in the center engraved.

A gift for my birthday from my daughter and son in law almost a year ago now and the words I’m so surprised to see, I call her and she says, “Yes, I had it engraved.”

Everything is beautiful

In its time.

Soon, I’ll share the pages of the publication that will be sharing my art and I’ll share my reply to the question of why and when and

how to continue in this craft, this treasure, this thing God made yours,

the words that came at just the right time.

Maybe others might need to know again.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. – Ecclesiastes 3:11

I’ll thank God for not ever letting me go, and for lessons and grace and more, on time.

I’ll cherish this happening of something I never thought likely and I will pray.

I will pray, I get better at waiting.

Knowing our Names

Art, bravery, courage, Homeless, mercy, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

My husband just handed me the morning paper and I glanced over to see new coaches “named”, young people serving in summer projects and a line stretched across the middle about a “gunman” and five lost lives. No mention of the names, the story not yet complete.

As a child, my cousins and I all hurried into town because my granddaddy, “Dan Dan” might have seen a famous man. My granddaddy, was named Austin, my grandma was Doris followed by Evelyn,their last name, it was Peacock.

It was a big deal when they heard he was coming through and since everybody flocked to see him, I reckon we went too.

Or, I don’t know, maybe we just happened to be with our grandma and we waited on the sidewalk with the others in a town with just a caution light, one grocery store and eventually, my mama’s little cafe’.

My family might tell a different story than the one my memory cradles. I’m learning this happens to some of us, some of us with clarity buffered by old wounds.

But, I remember the excitement of him, the “Goat Man”

I first thought he’d be scary, a creature like man and goat, my little girl imagination found it not at all nonsensical to decide.

Instead, he was old and bearded and he sat up high on a seat with an even loftier pile of his belongings, a handwritten sign telling the onlookers they should prepare to meet God.

All of his stuff and him, pulled slowly forward by a bunch of goats tethered and it seemed to me the little animals were confused and without other options.

Is it goats or sheep they say are not so intelligent? I believe it’s sheep, maybe goats too.

Random, I know, I thought about the Goat Man the other day, thought about his choice to live in such a way. I wanted to know more, were there photos, was there more to explore about his way of wandering?

My initial fascination was over the load he carried, his burdensome travel and I’d planned to correlate it to thoughts on our burdens and worrisome load. Instead, I began to be fascinated by his life, his name, his chosen way.

I googled “The Goat Man” and was happy that I’d remembered him correctly, found photos in counties surrounding my county of childhood, peered closely at his load and tried to see exactly what all he carried.

I looked closely for signs of vocation, curious over how he made his way.

I saw his name, the name his mama gave him and the one that came from the father.

It was Charles.

What a solid name I thought, Charles.

I bet not many of us knew it. I read of his life as an itinerant preacher and how he’d been mugged a couple of times; but, was trying to make it to California. There was a certain actress his heart was set on meeting.

Eventually, he gave up and his mind and heart must’ve acknowledged there was no more preaching for him to do and no more ground to cover.

I thought of a man named John, actually two that have crossed my path more than once.

One, refusing help because of his need for inebriation. He continues sleeping in an old abandoned place. The other walks the streets and the back roads or I’ve seen him resting on the tables the Publix employees use for breaks.

Both of them have beautiful names, John.

I’m remembering Amanda…the one I’ve heard is so thin I’d not recognize now. If I saw her, I’d try to welcome her back in. Can’t help but think of the beauty of her name and the sweet lilting melody of Waylon Jennings…”Amanda…light of my life…”

Now I’m wondering if she’s ever heard the song, I’m trying to figure out how I might be sure she listens, how I’d rush to greet her, hold her in a hug and say her name, “Amanda” she’d be sure to know I was so glad to find her.

Yesterday, we were talking, our shelter staff and I, a former volunteer is coming to work. An answer to a prayer that God send staff who want more than just a job, people who understand why we help, someone with compassion.

And He has. He sent two by surprise.

She mentioned some names and we lingered long over the ones who were in good places, were wordless over the ones who’d again lost their way.

We can’t fully understand what we don’t know.

We can only respond with the kindness, kindness like calling them by name not by circumstance.

Not homeless, not drunk or druggie, not lazy or entitled, not “Goat Man” and not crazy, gunman or victim.

Charles chose to travel with God and goats and all of his belongings, it seems he was oblivious to the gawking eyes and spectacle of himself. He left his legacy, a big sign pointing out God.

Preparing to speak about suicide on Monday, I updated my bio and I added some things I’d not mentioned before, a description of an artist, a writer. Not elaborate or showy in their mention, simply acknowledged in a new way.

Unafraid to believe in the possibility of both and that mine and other stories can be rewritten.

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. You have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet,

the birds of the heavens, and the fish of the sea, whatever passes along the paths of the seas.

O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Psalms 8:3-6, 8-9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God is mindful of us, of us all.

He knows our names.

In tragedy and triumph, He knows.

Dog and Pencil and Promise

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Homeless, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Like yesterday, I open my pretty journal. It’s the exact color of soft tangerine, like the chair from my husband’s mama’s home.

A list, oh, how I love and live by lists.

A new one every morning, today with new names and needs, two of them unexpectedly hard and two more most especially and welcomingly hopeful.

I thought the other day, is prayer the most simple of things, another of many we make laboriously complicated?

Even if I hadn’t carefully jotted down using my rose colored mechanical tool and strategically added a dot beside each need and name…

Wouldn’t God know, isn’t it true it’s not at all necessary that He see, read?

Practice, though, it’s a practice for me.

Today, my list includes

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING

Opportunities and assignments await, one a farewell piece to a monthly column, two others submissions for possibility, actually three and one, an in the works more probable than possible featured artist in a publication.

This one, a wow, the kind comments from an editor. I shared it with my son, surprised by the reply, as if to convey,

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Eleanor Roosevelt

I sit with my today list for a moment then suddenly, opening paragraphs are completed with pencil notations of subject and submission.

I have begun.

“My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I turn the page for empty spaces and discover a funny face of a child I began. I must’ve then handed the pencil over hoping to entertain her while her troubled mama and I met.

Lines all over my page, I’ll not tear it out or trash it, simply fill in the blank space and remember for a moment.

A little baby named Shyla, came home from hospital to our shelter, now a vivacious toddler with a smile that cannot be ignored.

A toddler with a passion and her mama with a purpose and me, us, our work a chance to be a part.

She called me last night, the mama. Things are going well, so very well. She’s a believer and she’s a bulldog to not give up or give in. She’s passionate about her progress, gives all the glory to God!

She’ll stop by, she said, with her daughters, one we got to help her bring into the world and the one we helped only a little with her reunification.

Then before goodbye she said “I love you.” first and it followed my reply, “I love you.”

Amazes me every time, drives me, compels my compassion.

So, I’ll not tear the scribbled all over page from my journal. I’ll remember on those days when I resent my work, when I’m grandiose in my ideas of being a painter and a writer only.

Lord, help me remember your equipping me for opportunities and your timing and your purpose. Help me remember I can do all of these things through you.

Forgive my resentment of what I see as obligation, work, and remind me again of my little spurts of writing that come all the more authentically when I sit and your spirit is evident becoming thoughts, words that flow.

Stop me when I justify my mood by reminding myself, my family, my friends, “I’ve been a helping professional almost 25 years!”

Remind me of days that flow like grace and days that are hard and filled with opposition and strife that all of a sudden settle and I’m met by the face of one whose countenance is now content.

Remind me again to wait, to wait for it to come. Make me passionate yet again about my work.

Flow so much all the more genuine, authentic and true.

Art and word, painting and writing, passions that feed and fuel me.

Thank you, Lord.

For a child’s scribbles in my journal, for opportunities and for potential in places that remind me to endure.

To be confident.

“So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭10:35-36‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Thank you for passion, enthusiasm that compels me to continue.

For

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING and
  • HELPING

Amen.

Linking up with TellHisStory writers.

http://marygeisen.com/tellhisstory/

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Happy Way of Life #9

Abuse Survivor, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Saturday morning waking on cool crisp sheets and happy, simply to have missed the sunlight, to have slept just right.

I wake with wondering why I dreamt that I couldn’t find my mama and a dream that had no conclusion only a question, “Should we check to see if she’s okay?”

I understand, thank the Lord I understand and so the dreamy state leaves me light, not burdened.

I am better now.

I understand.

There were conversations and observations, I scanned an article about women dying at hands of abusers. I had thoughts of what to do or what not to do for a family and their mama, the wife.

Decided, simply pray.

“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭6:24-26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yet, another consideration buried deep and came out to frolic, my friend in Georgia, I want to know more and I want her to know that I want that.

She’s not well.

Still, I wake renewed and I’ll not bore you with the thing that’s helping…the Day 9 Whole30 thing.

I’ll just say.

Consider the possibility that your body feeds your mind with what you feed your body. I’m just sayin’…

Me

So, Saturday,

I’m open and wiling and I’m better!

I have new canvases and new thoughts and just a few hampered obligations!

No wonder I told Him, my Heavenly Father up there with my mama,

first thing,

Thank you God, for another day!

Fly Now

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

This bird theme is continuous lately and this morning I’ll be either thinkin’ about the crazy continuity of my seeing the red birds and knowing for sure it’s for something or unable to get the words of a country song, every girl’s anthem back then out of my head.

The one called “Born to Fly” with Sara Evans asking us how on earth do we wait for heaven and how do we keep our feet on the ground when we know, we know, we know, we were born to fly?

We both noticed, the sharp thump against the window, the same window I’d told her I was thankful for the view, the one adorned with the wisteria reminiscent of my youth.

A pause in conversation and the sound, both our faces follow and a beautiful bird, bright red, knocked against the highest window to get our notice and then promptly flew away.

Not a word for a moment or two.

We let it sink in.

Later, I leave our conversation and my car, alone in the parking lot now waits in its daily place, my approach is lazy after long day and so I see it there, not hurried in my leaving.

The driver side mirror of my car, a perch for the cardinal, the same bird in the window I decide and here I am and here it is and there’s a message in this.

I believe for sure, more surely than before.

I know the message now.

Continue, I’ll keep an eye out, guide you to the places you should go. Continue to follow.

God

I’ve become accustomed now to seeing them and before I thought well, I’m just more attentive, more fascinated, more curious about their presence.

Yet, it has become continuous in my periphery or planted directly in my view requiring no search, no pause, the vivid red bird refuses any longer to elude.

Early morning barely lit two days ago, I wake and see the figure just outside the door. I turn away, too early I decide, surely not again, probably just an ordinary robin, sparrow, or even crow.

Fly Now

Then its body lifts and yes, again, again, good morning to you too,

the cardinal first thing saying still, “I’m here.”

We believe there’s something to it, my friend and I. Coincidentally, I’ve decided I was not made to cower, rather to create and I know now to fly.

We were not made for fear.

Turing to my day’s Psalm, a Song of Ascent, I read a Psalm of David, words recalling escape from danger, words written to strengthen and lead the followers forward with courage.

Reminding them where their help came from.

“If it had not been the Lord who was on our side— let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side when people rose up against us, then they would have swallowed us up alive, when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters. Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth!

We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:1-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Focused now on flying and not so much on the fowlers, the ones who were bent on my capture, the ones who held me captive in their snares, focused on flying free now, thrilled and hopeful, strong and certain in my Lord who aided in my escape.

Born to fly.

Linking up with other writers guides by Kate Motaung’s prompt. “Fly”. I’m grateful for the prompting.

Five Minute Friday

Practicing to Be Free

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, doubt, Faith, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I have a little pebble on which I wrote the word persist. It rests in the little dish shaped like an oak leaf, the color pale green, leaves marked with tender veins.

It has remained in this spot since I began.

Since I began to write.

This morning, I got specific with God.

After some names I list every morning, family, friends and some very ill suddenly others, I asked for help in my surrender to God’s control.

I added a few new phrases with marks of question…

  • Writing conference?
  • Writing memoir?
  • New site for art?
  • Incourage submission?
  • Piece on anxiety?

and a bold question.

Are any of these your will for me to pursue?

Added more names beside little bullets and finally, asked

Give me boldness, not fear.

Less than a few inches from one page of my journal to the other, I’ve added a verse I’d missed before, meant for me this morning.

In the first of the two Timothy books, chapter four, Timothy tells followers to persist.

I know the passage.

It’s underlined and has an angelic me in the margin, a scribbled note to self about persisting.

I continue through the passage and discover words new to me.

There for me to see.

An answer, already.

“Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.”

‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭4:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Practice, submit the piece, paint new pieces, organize them like portfolio on display, continue writing, persist in painting.

I read again, the answer to my prayer and then got up from my spot to feed the dog.

Then discovered a bird in a panic, afraid.

A tiny bird, trapped in the corner of our porch was frantic, feathered wings faltering then flapping.

The Lab tilted his head to the side, his expression matching mine.

I move to help it be free and in an instant I see, the bird has flown from the corner, flying, flying free.

No longer bumping against our screen, cornered, hemmed in and unsure.

It continued, continued, continued until it was free.

Free like me, for me

For all of me to see.