bravery

Just Mercy

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, Forgiveness, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, wisdom

Many years ago an itinerant preacher advised me to “just pray for mercy” and I did.

I didn’t fully understand mercy as a new single mama to my children. I did pray for it though and my life has been and is the evidence my prayers were heard.

Consider mercy.

The punishment or consequence that you actually deserve being stopped from occurring.

I think of that quiet preacher man who stopped by and the brevity of his words, his wisdom. I imagine if he’d said to me, “Well, this is a mess and I don’t know how on earth you’ll be okay, but young lady…pray for mercy, maybe, just maybe you’ll get it.”

He’d have walked away and I’d have been more hopeless.

I thank God for the unexpected visit and the simple words He gave the country preacher. Also, for the grandma and grandpa in the black station wagon who pulled in the yard every Sunday morning to take my children to the white church on the hill pastored by this quietly wise man.

“Just pray for mercy”, the gentle man said.

Today I read again about the woman who sat at Jesus’s feet, her tears falling and her hair used to wash the feet of Jesus along with expensive ointment she’d poured out for him.

Her actions were questioned.

Had she been so bold to invite herself there or was it bold determination, bravery and humble hope for better?

I remember those feelings.

Jesus told the critics, yes her sins are many and her choice, to come here uninvited is a choice I welcome. His mercy met her extravagant gesture, her known sin.

“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” And he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭7:47-48‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Consider the mercy you’ve known, will be given again and again. Mercy, unmerited favor, good things when bad made more sense.

Mercy that sees you fully, but never says no.

Today, when you encounter someone in need of mercy, I pray that you give it and that in exchange you sense in equal measure, extravagant love!

Slow To Sing

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, doubt, Faith, grace, hope, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, wisdom, wonder, writing

I fear the fog is heavy so I refuse to look.

With my back to the day, I fix my gaze on blanket wrapped feet,

toes circling, curling, clinching.

Habitual.

The birds are slow to sing.

I wonder why.

I had feared it was already morning at 2:00.

Frantic I’d forgotten my days, Thursday? No, it’s Friday, sleep a little bit, Lisa.

Sleep, please sleep.

I want to try.

I gathered my coffee, my bag, books and new fresh paint for Elizabeth, opened the door and saw it.

Whispered, wow

the moon.

Drove slowly.

Soft songs, no close followers.

Plenty of time.

“I want to try.”

“The morning that follows the night of our lonely trial would, if we be faithful, find us new…” Henry Scott Holland

Even Fear

anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

You are able, God, to redeem every fear, the unspoken ones, the ones that include mystery, the ones we say we don’t have, but we surely do. The ones that threaten you at the depth of your core, the ones thought of silently that suddenly make sense. The ones we should sit with for a bit and write our Father a note.

Maybe you just say “Help.” or even say “Help me here, now the reason for this fear makes sense.”

The ones you decide to have the courage to believe are redeemable based on how much your loving Father has already redeemed, the ones that lead to the extending of your heart and hand to ask “Lift me up again, Father.”

What are you afraid of? Don’t believe it can’t be understood and then for your good.

“Unless the Lord had given me help, I would soon have dwelt in the silence of death. When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your unfailing love, Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭94:17-19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Stay With It

Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, patience, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Last week, I added paint to the largest canvas I own and then added more only to cover it all in a veil of watery white. The original didn’t say what I wanted. I don’t yet know what I want it to exude, suggest or be a place for that story to be displayed.

I set it aside. No hurry, it will be there. I’ll not regret my decision that the first felt wrong, I’ll stay with it, in time it will come.

“Nothing good comes by force.”

This three page practice of writing is subtly changing me deep within, with my faithfulness to it.

“Most of the time when we are blocked in an area of our life, it is because we feel safer that way.” Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way

I’m late to this book. That’s okay, I’m sticking with it.

Every morning, I write the names of my children, circle them individually and then loop them together, encircled. There’s no magic in this practice, only a commitment to continue.

There’s not a greater sense of assurance of God’s provision towards them, of goodness beyond my control. No, it’s really simple.

It’s an act of service, an act of love, my choosing to stay with it, this act of subtle intention.

By choosing this unspoken and barely articulated prayer, a comfort has come.

Love is not selfish. Stay with it.

The kitchen counter was covered with every cookbook my daughter owns with a little girl dressed like Cinderella plopped in the middle.

There was no recipe for cake for which the pantry had all the ingredients. So, we decide together with a bit of exuberance,

Chocolate meringue pie!

Cocoa powder, sugar, flour, milk, butter and egg whites all imperfectly measured were stirring together in the mixer sans vanilla extract and cream of tartar for little mountains of meringue.

Standing at the stove, an excited little chef beside me, I realized my wrong. I mixed everything together when I was supposed to add the eggs later.

I kept stirring the watery muddy mixture. She asked “Is it ready?”

Not yet. I kept stirring and glancing over at her and the mess we’d made, multiple bowls, measuring cups, egg carton and sprinkled flour.

I kept stirring, making up how I’d make it up, “Sorry, grandma did it wrong.” I’d tell her and then we’d either paint or play or I’d climb into the “jumpy house” with her.

But, it thickened. I’d lowered the flame and kept stirring and slowly, slowly and by surprise, I achieved filling for a chocolate pie!

Chilled and poured into the waiting crust, we added the translucent mixture for meringue.

Later, we shared a slice and celebrated.

Delightful, pure delight it was.

What if what you’re afraid won’t come true actually might? What if doubt takes up so much space in your mind that when delight comes gently knocking, you barely believe it.

You don’t let it in?

May His abundance never scare you, the possibility of it, the thought that it just can’t be true.

May you know its truth.

May you fathom what you decide is too beautiful to fathom.

May the peace you see in others allow you to never lose the same wonderful peace inside of you.

May others see peace in you that you don’t always see yourself.

It’s not of your making, but it’s every second there.

Stay with it, the way of love, peace and waiting. The way of enduring hope.

Of even more grace.

The way of continuing and believing.

“You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus,”
‭‭2 Timothy‬ ‭2:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ll return to the large canvas when it is ready for my peaceful intention. I have an idea.

It’s fresh and new, its perspective

There’s no rush. Only that I choose to stay with it, to not fear the size of canvas or the abundance of its story.

Never lose your wonder, my prayer for you.

God is good, still very good.

The Broken Bowl

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, happy, hope, memoir, Redemption, Stillness, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

Over several weeks, I sat at the desk in my art room and pieced together a broken bowl. It had fallen to the counter as I put dishes away at my daughter’s home, a loud crash and pieces and chunks of pretty white with raised polka dots was destroyed.

Instantly, I thought “Here’s your chance, try kintsugi.” (the ancient art of repairing broken pottery with gold)

I laid out the pieces, gathered gorilla glue and thick gold paint and began. It couldn’t be rushed.

It was a thing of patience and phases, requiring me to allow the repair of one section before beginning the next.

Covered in a cloth in case my daughter stopped by, I continued imperfectly because of missing pieces, adding blue from a broken intentionally cup for fill ins and well, just because it was pretty.

Finished, it became a gift to her for Valentine’s Day.

Last week, I heard words that were not new,

“We live in a broken world.”

The pastor added with emphasis in his message on “expectations” and I received the familiar phrase differently.

It was time.

Have you considered yourself broken by life? Maybe you do now. I began to think of other catchy phrases like “broken and beautiful or beautifully broken” and pondered how we can be both.

I sat in the sanctuary between my strong son-in-law and a very large, burly man who sang every word to every song and sighed like a little boy at the passages about God’s love, no condemnation anymore and other promises because of God’s spirit in us.

I thought, “I’m not broken, after all, all along it’s been this world and what it caused others to do to me.”

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Journaled on Monday:

This world is broken and so, things that happen or happened may determine you to be broken. But remember, you are whole, made whole fully and even more whole and unbroken as you allow yourself to understand the difference. You are not broken. The world still is; but no, you are not broken, not you. Not broken made beautiful as much as simply beautiful, redemptively beautiful, completely so.

To say I’m in need of my Heavenly Father, my Savior, His Spirit in me is not saying I’m broken, it’s more of a humble recognition of my identity now, in light of then.

God caused me to consider self-condemnation in my sleep last night. I’d been thinking of the practice of Lent and intentional changes. God had a better idea, told me what I really needed to let go of is self-condemnation.

The thought danced in my mind all night and I woke to consider it and journaled.

Self-condemnation turns me inward, causes me to fixate on my failures. Self-condemnation is not a healthy or even godly self-assessment. Instead, it’s an obsession with myself in a way that’s tricky, makes you think it’s a companion to humility.

Humility acknowledges with reverence the repaired places you were broken, made new, places you were unable and now have courageous abilities. Humility shines a soft light on the places you were weakened by wrong, but now are allowing yourself to grow strong.

Humility says “thank you”. Self-condemnation says you’ll always be “too far gone”.

Happy Place (detail)

I gifted the bowl and later sent my daughter a note I’d saved in “Notes”.

Kintsugi is the ancient art of fixing broken pottery with gold. … Kintsugi reminds us that something can break and yet still be beautiful, and that, once repaired, it is stronger at the broken places. This is an incredible metaphor for healing and recovery from adversity

Strange gifts from me don’t surprise my children and they know the unspoken truth of most of my gifts being gifts with a deeper meaning. No need for spoken explanations, just hope for little contributions to my legacy of love always.

And hope that I see this bowl, others who pass by or stand in her kitchen pause and maybe take a deep breath and rest assured.

We’re not broken anymore. We are beautiful and slightly imperfect, yet made new.

“For he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭107:9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Understand Me

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability
Almost There

Here’s a real life story about anxiety for so many who don’t “get it” and a revelation that that’s okay because “you understand me, God. You understand me.” (Passion Music, “Bigger Than I Thought You Were”.)

Early morning darkness only illuminated the garage and I wondered what made the motion that led to the light. An animal, a person, a man?

I tapped the wrong button and I locked the truck three times before I heard the open click. My husband’s prized truck, my transportation for the day. Hoisted myself up to the seat and saw the light flashing “oil change needed” which reminded me to take off the brake.

Couldn’t find the pedal on the floorboard and instead found the lever to “pop” the hood, then turned to jump from the truck and felt my left side move with a tease of vertigo.

Carefully, quietly as I could, I opened and then closed the hood. Then, I sat in the driver’s seat wondering where the brake release was located. Switched on every light and guessed on the one beneath the steering wheel. Success!

I left the driveway for the empty road and determined myself to not be angry, stressed or feel stupid.

But, the highway was busy, cars and trucks headed to industry or interstate flashed their brightly lit eyes at me in a hovering and then sweeping by me stare.

The windshield had fogged, continued to fog as I found defrost and then, panic again and a weight on my chest as I couldn’t figure out the wipers.

But, I continued. I drove on.

I took my deep faith in fear out breaths and it got better, the panic in my chest, the anxiety locking up my breath.

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy. Psalm 94: 19

I thought to tell my daughter, but didn’t. No need to have her busy morning challenged by the perplexity of her mama.

Rehearsed telling my husband later, but decided no use.

He doesn’t understand anxiety, hates it for me, but doesn’t understand it really.

The windshield cleared, I had the country road to myself, quiet because the radio was another challenge, and I got there in plenty of time to see a toddler already smiling on her mama’s bed.

Peace was there.

“It’s foggy, but so beautiful this morning.” I told my daughter.

Peace of all is and was okay.

Will be always.

Peace was with me all day yesterday and will be today.

“Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

You understand me, God.

Linking up with other writers here:

Five Minute Friday

About To Bloom

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Holy Spirit, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

Everything’s about to bloom except my orchid. But, I’ll not give up. The leaves are bright green cushions comforting the base of the stalks. The soil is laced with the thin fallen blooms of before. I know the morning is soon. The morning I turn towards the sun striped wall and I see the buds fat with flora.

Blooming

Prayer and patience, I think.

The tiny grocery store hyacinth I bought to think of my Grandmother will be transplanted to the front yard. Spring, not this, but the next, I’ll look out my morning window and see the green breaking soil. I’ll wait then for delicate dainty hyacinths to bless the space around my “Angel girl”.

I’ll remind myself. I will remember. I waited and it was good to be hopeful, to be patient prayerfully.

The Valentine’s Day bouquet is refilled with fresh water. A day lily amongst the pink and purple will soon open, soft tangerine.

I’ll wait, not like snapping my fingers for things. I’ll wait and keep watering what God has planted in me. This is my contribution.

I’ll look towards the orchid and I’ll see its dust colored branches stretching and curving towards the window. I’ll see it going after what it can’t live without. I’ll know what is needed for growth and I’ll keep watering, keep writing, painting, praying and I will rest quietly because quiet waiting is always best.

I’ll be willing to trust, simply planted and willing. I’ll remain rooted and I’ll not doubt the nourishment I’m given from My Father. I’ll allow it to change me from the roots to the branches to the sharing my story.

I’ll not doubt possible blooming. I know it will come and not just for me.

For others too, weakness made strong, broken made unbreakable, redeemed with a story worth sharing.

I pray it’s the same with you.

Continue and believe.

“For there is hope of a tree, If it be cut down, that it will sprout again, And that the tender branch thereof will not cease.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭14:7‬ ‭ASV‬‬

I’m linking up with others, prompted by the word “Stretch”. What an interesting prompt,

FMF link up.

Signs of Hope

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder
Hope is Near

Yesterday, on a fence by the country road, a white dove rested. I paused, but kept driving. I questioned my vision, was it really a dove or was I just hoping?

If I turned back would it still be sitting quietly, would the plump bird with the settled stance be waiting just for me?

How sweet a gift that would be.

Or not?

Later sparrows scattered away from the oak as my steps must’ve startled and a velvet red cardinal danced in a one, two…three trees step.

Bluebirds flew too, in the place on the path that’s most private.

“Blue’s your favorite color, Grandma.” Elizabeth, only 2.

Is God really near or am I just hoping?

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me. Emily Dickinson

I hope so.

Continue and believe.

The Desert Place

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, Redemption, Trust, waiting, writing

“Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
‭‭John‬ ‭11:21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She had been waiting four days.

She kept waiting. Jesus came. Her brother woke up.

Mornings Clarify

My faith has felt shallow lately in the vast place of waiting. I have zero sense of direction naturally. I depend on landmarks like trees and yellow doors on white houses and such.

I find my way by remembering. Crisis of faith is not an accurate assessment, more just a waiting in the unknown to remember.

I’m just waiting for a way forward, a clear answer, a settled decision whether to continue.

It’s not life or death. I’m seeking direction in where my writing life goes, set it on the shelf, write for personal pleasure and growth or to share with others.

I’m wondering why there are so many hoops to jump through and whether I’m up to all the jumping.

I wonder why to write a book I have to first be famous. I wonder why this type question feels taboo.

Overthinking it all? Maybe, likely to be honest.

Peace

I’m okay in the wilderness of desert waiting, just wonder how long I’ll need to linger to know.

How long uncertainty, a loss of intuition, of seeing, sensing, hearing God will evade me.

When Martha wondered what took Jesus so long to see about her brother, I imagine the waiting was heavy. I believe her senses were elevated. She listened for his arrival, she trusted her belief.

But, why didn’t he come sooner, after all Jesus loved her brother she thought.

Her sister, Mary sat at home. Martha set out to understand “why so long”.

I imagine me in the middle of not knowing, of counting on recollection to determine my direction. I’ll listen for a sense of flowing, I’ll walk towards the water rippling clearly, caressing amber stones. I’ll remember then.

This is the way to walk. I’ll remember, by faith that may not make sense to others

Sometimes to myself.

By faith, I walk.

By faith, I’ll find my footing and my steps will be certain then.

By faith, I wait.

Martha

Soon, my Savior will respond. I’ll see which way to go and understand whether the dream will die or be resurrected.

Continue and believe.

Yes, Lord; I believe…John 11:27

We wait for what we believe,

For what believes fully in us.

We find our footing, sense a certain direction and we breathe steady instead of shallow breaths.

We believe again in our hopes.

We wait as we trust.

Stepping Back In

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

A ladybug landed next to my boot camp exercise mat. The heavy bar for chest lifts and the wayward yoga ball were waiting for the next series of reps.

I should’ve stayed home.

I should have skipped this class. Vague queasiness threatens as I move from crunches to cardio. I feel my neck tighten and I fear the later headache.

Slowly, then kindly to myself I say, “Breathe, breathe.” The little ladybug still sitting near as I speak kindly again, “Breathe again, slowly and intentionally. Soon you will see, the fearful feelings are fading. You will see. It is good to be here.”

Isolation never suggests we challenge ourselves.

Isolation loves the lingering in the same place, same way of being. We convince ourselves it’s the safe place, even the stoic choice more than seeing it as a settled stagnation.

We fear change.

We stay.

Early yesterday, the rain began with a whoosh of wave, heavy early as I woke, no need for my alarm for an 8:00 meeting for breakfast.

In a very gentle way, God has been telling me to be with others, to step back into life, towards even greater healing and to love others, unafraid.

It began with breakfast on Thursday and again on Friday. Later today, a third time to be with a friend among other women, lots of them.

I’m not naturally social. Still, I knew I’d been becoming way too alone.

Even for me.

It was God who told me to be with others again, to embrace what is theirs to give, to give some parts of myself in exchange.

I feel God beside me.

On my left wrist I’ve been marking a Sharpie’d cross, I sense a strong hand holding, a with-ness as I go, a never letting go.

I sense God with me as I go although I don’t know quite where I am going or how my going will change me.

I sense a rising up in my soul, to greet the greater things, leave the lesser things already learned behind.

There is more. There are greater things.

I believe.

Thank you for helping me, God, for being my helper.

Thank you, Lord.

My resistance to a life lived fully has lessened. The moving from isolation is an invitation I’m responding to, a sweet and invigorating choice.

Now, the Saturday sunshine dances on the weave of my blanket. There’s an energy uplifting.

A dance that says “join me”, it’s safe to step in.

Life’s a dance, right? At least according to Garth Brooks

Learn as you go, just please keep going.

“fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭41:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬