bravery

Hope of Glory

bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, heaven, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

If you google “glory” there’s not a word, synonym, noun or verb that would be close to heaven.

Maybe it’s the mystery, the mystery of it all that we can’t quite grasp.

Even when we believe, heaven is our hope.

It is our glory. For me and I pray, you.

It’s our eternity.

A long time ago, I began a support group for people who lost loved ones to their choice of dying, suicide.

The initiation of the group coincided with a piece I was asked to write, a Community betterment series, my choice of a topic and I called it, “The Tragedy of Speculation”.

I had been changed, many times over now, by those who sat around my table recalling the death of someone close.

My piece essentially said “Let’s stop talking about the suicide in a way that’s not helpful. Let’s stop faking our sympathy when we simply want to point fingers and say who missed the signs, how far the person had swayed off course or how the family, the parents must not have been doing what they should have.”

My commentary was a little softer back then; but, the thing is, people want to dissect something they don’t understand in hopes they can be certain “never me”.

Thus, the tragedy of speculation

Suicide, a tragic mystery.

About the same time, I got a phone call.

An older man with gravel in his voice, assertive and impatient it seemed with this task he was tasked to do.

To call me and give his input.

I answered, confirmed I was the author of the article and he announced:

If you want to prevent suicide you need to start telling people if they do that they will go straight to Hell!

A tad but unsettled; but, prepared because of my childhood exposure to preachers spittin’ orders and threats all over the pews,

I replied, calmly, I would never tell someone that because I don’t believe it.

Silence on the other end, I sensed his surprise by my candor.

Several years later, the numbers in our county and our country keep growing.

Could such a declaration change that? Possibly, no, probably not.

Would you tell someone about a sure place called Hell over Heaven and compromise the character grace and mercy of Jesus to save a life?

I’m thinking this is not what God means by salvation.

No, not I.

I wonder what Bourdain thought of God. Kate Spade, as well.

If momentarily in the deep place of a resignation not to go on they simply could no longer sense the wonder.

Much conversation is occurring now about depression, about suicide.

I’m no licensed professional. I’m just a noticer.

And I suppose if my sometimes seemingly naive approach could add anything to the discussion.

I’d say, let’s think empirically.

Let’s come forth for that person from all perspectives, friend, family, faith, medicine, aspirations, accomplishments, addictions recovery and reminders of possibility.

Let’s do better at coming alongside in whatever our way and staying beside.

It’s a battle they most likely are waging war against and became weary with all the shots coming at them from every imaginable direction, internal and external.

Wounds not fully healed, maybe they’d grown tired of the reoccurring reminders.

And depression, a deep hole, maybe it becomes a safe bunker and maybe the choice to surrender, to finally, finally retreat.

Their decision.

This is why I continue.

I continue to try to understand it, suicide.

Why I say faith in God is not the cure for depression or the saver of those suicidal.

What it is is a certain and steadfast complement to healing, to have a reason to live.

“For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:13-14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

To believing new things are possible.

A hopeful complement in this crazy, horrible and often hindered world.

Paul and Timothy told the Colossian believers, you’ve come so far, I know it seems mysterious; but, it is what God created you for, the riches of a glorious mystery.

“To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The hope of glory.

Most everything about God’s word feels mysterious to me at times.

Like, how I pray and because I believe in Jesus, he intercedes for me.

It’s a mystery to me, a glorious mystery I’ve seen to be true in the simplest and grandest of ways.

A chubby freckle faced little girl grows up and begins to believe God is for her and she prays for opportunities every single day and they come and she continues boldly even when afraid.

Because she believes now, finally that her hope is Christ and He sees her settled, finally surrendered and new things, new things keep springin’ up!

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. 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 ‭43:18-19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ll not talk so much about glory with one considering suicide or one trying hard to prevent it.

But, hope, oh I’ll surely tell them of hope.

Lord, help me to never hinder, always to remind of hope!

To use all you’ve given me the opportunity to know and to complement my knowledge with your grace and mercy and my strength only through you, my hope.

Because of mercy, Amen

Our county has a Coalition to Prevent Suicide, yours may as well. We are all concerned about the increase in numbers and continuously increase our efforts.

Visit here: Coalition for Suicide Prevention of Aiken County

Or the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

Know the signs, intervene and if Hope is a thing for you, a sure and steady God thing, pray with those who are sad and suicidal.

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/

img_5038

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

Moon and Sun Together with Message

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

It’s a pivot is all, the motion of the body choosing one way over the other.

I open the door and pause, I’ll either go right or go left.

Either answer the bird call, the sky going blue or I’ll walk steady, coffee sat down on coaster and settle into the cushions, sort of sinking in and stuck.

Today, I chose the right and I remembered I love the morning and why.

Morning, most of all is to me without judgement.

Time briefly uncrowded, alone and without conversation.

It seems morning is worthy.

Worthy of such respect.

Morning, I believe the time most devoid of fear and fullest of perhaps.

The bordered sky, pink buffering to blueish violet hue.

Never a harsh beckon to come see, instead a call to step outside and to stand still,

To turn one side then the other and then discover before stepping through the door back in.

The moon still hanging,

the moon and the sun the same this morning, their calling of me.

Convincing me, be still, be still.

In this morning time, the moon, the sun they say.

Be still and know that He is God.

Momentarily, I turn to go inside then look back and see.

The two of them, together like goose and duckling or buck and a doe.

Two of them catch my eye, not typically together, usually one bright, the other with feathers tinted brown, they fly by, a couple.

Two females this morning, a cardinal pair catch my gaze and I’m astounded it has happened again.

Yesterday a friend shared something she’d been told.

…a cardinal’s presence represents a time to renew vitality through developing and accepting a new sense of our own true self.

Birds, red in color appearing almost always now. It’s extraordinary if you must know.

Back inside, I sit and write. I turn to read the guided passage in Timothy and in the Psalms.

The Labrador drops his tennis ball and waits at my feet. Morning, he knows.

He waits while I read.

Quiet every morning.

And the Psalm talks of birds and escape and how my hope is in the name of the Lord, how I’d once been held captive.

Now I’m free. So much more free.

“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 ‭124:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And I know for sure this much is true. The maker of every sunrise and moon waiting to fade away and the red birds perched and parading are for me, not against.

The maker of heaven and earth, of morning and night, the maker of me

and of you.

I am so very certain.

Certain of his knowing my name.

Yours too.

God is everywhere.

Don’t forget to notice.

For I’m not sure how long, I’ve linked my posts up on other writers’ blogs. In the beginning, I felt uncertain, felt “Community” was beyond my place as a writer. I decided to join, a hard thing for me and my insecurities, my measure of me.

What began as a hopeful chance to be seen has now become, dare I say it, a community. Reading the words of likeminded writers and reading the words of those with different expression, I’ve been educated, am now certain that I’m the only one with my voice, my experiences and my tone even.

Last week, we were in Genesis in Sunday school, the very beginning of the book. The question for discussion was about how God’s plan of creation made us feel about Him. Some said that we should honor Him, others said He’s in control.

I kept my response to myself, shared later with some women. I realized just how intricately I am made and how purposeful God was in creation. This means no need for competing, no cause for comparison.

As if God has said all along “Lisa Anne, You be you!”

The Tell His Story Community is a place to see this truth, to honor it, to honor God.

I’m so happy it is continuing and I know I’m not the only one!

You’ll be great, Mary! You be you.

Linking this post with others here:

Tell His Story

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.

My Ungrowing

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

The tiny houseplant was a gift to my daughter as a teacher. Its little pot barely containing the roots, yet I pull it from the pretty little pot, give it water and its leaves lift up and persist, my home, its home now.

Not sure why it’s taken so long to decide, to decide it needed room to grow and lifted it from the flimsy black pot and dig deep down the soil already waiting in a container that contained something planted before that would not for the life of me grow.

Moved the tender tiny clinging still plants to the border and I placed the philodendron (maybe) in the center and just because, I put the ceramic sparrow there, to rest and to watch with me, the new place the plant will grow.

“Revive me according to Your lovingkindness, So that I may keep the testimony of Your mouth.”

Psalms‬ ‭119:88‬ ‭NASB‬‬

I changed my morning spot, baffled over why I’d not thought to do so before.

Uncrowded now, the succulents are next to the others, two fat containers of thick odd things that grow best left alone. I’ll nourish this new planting, watch it flourish, see how it will go.

What a proud reply I’d been quick to give, popping back like an annoyingly cute little toddler pulling on the fabric of someone’s shirt, insisting on attention.

Interrupting all other conversation, anxious to be addressed, noticed, allowed to be the star of her own show.

“Me, me, Me!”

I was determined to be sure others knew I was there.

My confident reply even if no one asked, “I’m just gonna take every single opportunity I get to write.”

Their faces, sometimes awkward smiles and oh, okay, go you kinda responses.

Their reactions puzzled a little as if “This is different, who is this person?”

What began as an answer to prayer sort of sneakily meandered it’s way to obsession and half-hearted and hurried completion.

Let me tell you, Jesus was merciful in not allowing me to make a bigger mess of it. Clearly, a couple of columns, a few pieces were written two hours before deadline and what I know for sure.

It was only grace driven by God’s design of my days that He not me made sense, brought it all together.

None of it my creation alone, still God allowed me such grace in the midst.

Cause my heart was not in it. Thank you, Lord,

Yours was.

Were it not for me telling you so, you might never know. might think there’s no need for you to know.

The answer came one morning, the understanding of and making right this time.

“dormant”

I thought that is it. I’m in the dormant stage. It’s not so lovely a word and not ever say or think with regularity.

I checked to see if I had it right. Did it mean doing nothing, did it mean an on purpose lack of plowing and cultivating of my writing soil?

Yes, dormant. Yes, latent. Letting things lie, all the while knowing I’d be back, they as well.

Yes, stepping away and letting the roots grow in their own.

Dormancy, a season of inactivity because opportunities had somehow become contradictory to opportunity and were heartless obligation.

Counterintuitive, my “ungrowing” season.

I believe it will be.

The minds that are alive to every word from God, give constant opportunity for His divine interference with a suggestion that may alter the courses of their lives…Richard H. Hutton, Joy and Strength

Next week I’ll write my final “Faith” column for the small town paper. I’ll say thank you to all who’ve read and I’ll welcome the new one, the one who’s waiting already for simply a time to grow.

Now, my hope feels unhindered and my pathway one of peace. I’ve not forgotten the morning God, that you told me of my treasure, the one you planted there to grow.

Meanwhile, my hope is in my ungrowing, my revival in my rest.

I believe, Lord. I believe.

“Uphold me according to your promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope!” Psalms‬ ‭119:116‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This post by Holly Gerth confirmed my assurance that it’s okay, okay to wait and see what God has for me.

https://holleygerth.com/blog/

Hold Fast to Good

bravery, Children, courage, grief, love, Peace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Mostly people are talking today about the wedding, the biracial American actress not walked down the aisle by her father.

The Bishop who shouted out imagine love changing our world and the bride’s mother sitting alone amongst the spectacle and the spectacular.

Oh, I love a wedding! Gonna miss a bridal tea tomorrow but hope we get an invite to the wedding.

I’m trying to catch up now. I didn’t set my alarm and wake up in the dark for the nuptials. I’m catching up and I’m so sorry, but it only took a minute or two.

So, I scroll and I’m reminded of the ten students. Oddly, I thought how difficult it is to fathom, how impossible to relate.

The front page of our small town paper’s headline said, “Its real!” referencing the shouts of a teacher towards children, not a false alarm, a prank or a threat.

It’s real.

I had the strangest revelation today. Facebook has become the instigator, the shallow sharer, the ” Enquirer”.

Satisfied and informed over the Bishop’s exhortation, I turn away, searching for writing instruction and example.

I scroll Twitter and retweet, finally feeling to some extent how they must be feeling, parents

teachers

friends, grandmas, grandpas, custodians, coaches

boyfriends and girlfriends.

A student comes to America, to Texas from Pakistan and she’s soon to return home.

But, she’s been shot. Her life is over, I stared at the picture, a beautiful girl and I felt closer to feeling the thing that makes no sense.

Because the 17 year old with the hair in his eyes made me sad, made me wonder, made me unable to believe.

He could be a killer and how no one had noticed.

But I believe and I grieve only a hint of what they are grieving.

I see the face of a child thinking life was only beginning and yet it has ended.

Everybody woke to watch the royals and it had been less than a day passing when 10 people were shot to death by a boy who himself wanted to die.

And I, not normally political was changed and I’m grateful for it finally, by the face of a pretty girl in a country foreign to her.

Quite possibly believed to be safe, secure, American-ish home.

While everyone was watching a wedding, families in Texas were just trying to breathe.

And some were numb and ceremonially engaged in the plans to bury their babies, their daughters, sons, wives.

I cannot even.

I don’t know the answer; but, it may in fact start with love. May start with intentional notice and knowing.

Everyone is taking about the dress and the choir.

The outspoken spoken word, the lyric, the call to love.

If you don’t believe me, just stop and think and imagine, think and imagine, well, think and imagine a world where love is the way.

Bishop Michael Curry

What an odd contrast, a high school massacre and a royal wedding.

I’d be naive to believe it.

But, believe it still.

Jesus

and love,

the answers.

Hold fast. Love is still at least a part of the answer.

Contentment, a Choice

bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Peace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Towards the end of my walk sans Labrador and with instruction in my ears,

I took the trail instead of the cul de sac.

I gave up one thing already, an obligation accepted because someone thought I’d be good at its demands.

I didn’t paint a pretty or pitiful reason why I’d be quitting, simply said not for me anymore. Here’s what I accomplished, it was small, happy I could help meet a need. Now, you’ll need to find someone else.

I was truthful, confident in my choice of no.

Done. Accepted promptly and the reply was with gratitude.

I’d waited a month to tell them, Lord knows why.

Podcast almost done, one about the secret to contentment.

The voice in my ears started with a story of seasons in our lives when we’re so focused on the attainment of something to complete us, striving towards what we decide will be satisfying and then realizing why on earth did I push so stubbornly and steady towards what I know now didn’t shine so brightly after all.

Did that, done, what now, what next?

What can I do that might finally feel well done?

I’ve heard it before. The secret to a full life is learning to live in the moment, to be satisfied where you’re standing, to be content no matter the circumstances.

I listened as the podcast voice reminded of Paul’s teaching to those in Corinth and in Philippi.

His life, the fodder of many a memory verse, he learned to be content.

He learned. He learned through his mistakes. He paid attention to his times better, not worse.

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:11-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I approached the place where the anonymous dog barks incessantly, longing to know the footfall on the trail encroaching on his property.

I barely hear it; yet, I know he’s growling, struggling to break down the fence. I know he’ll keep barking, following me til I’m far from his fence.

I don’t hear him the same. The words in my ear, wisdom and better.

I turned just in time to see the way the sun was laying down its shadow on the open field, deciding it was good for me to walk this way today.

The right thing to choose long walk with a chance of a storm over a crosstown drive for a night of boot camp with the trainer.

It was good that I paid attention and I chose the other.

Later, I sent an email, informing an editor that June would be my last monthly contribution, explained to her I was trying to free up some space so that I could hear God’s plan more clearly, trying to make sure my focus is His.

Many will miss my column, the sweet ladies will wonder why. They’d grown accustomed to anticipating my picture in the paper and found it somehow celebrity like.

I realized I did too.

So, the secret to contentment is less me more Jesus.

Less believing that achievement and recognition will equal satisfaction. More realization of the thing that feeds my soul and enlightens my mind.

More quiet, being content no matter the notice of others, knowing so much more surely and unending I’m noticed by God.

Contentment, I’m reminded does not come naturally. It’s something we come back to because we remember how it feels.

We remember to be satisfied in so very little of what we say, do, aspire towards or even are recognized for.

We learn it’s not about us and we stay as surely as this crazy world allows in that place where the light came in, the place where God was illumined quite beautifully and clearly.

We give up being responsible for creating it.

We stop striving, cease controlling and we shield our ears from critical, chaotic or demanding requests like the bark of angry dog.

We learn to hear,

to fix our focus, the secret to being content, our choosing.

I’m prompted by the Five Minute Friday word, “Secret” and I always hope I can stop at five minutes, but never do: full disclosure.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/05/17/fmf-link-up-secret/

Still I couldn’t help but think of contentment and the secret to keeping it.

Bird on a Limb

bravery, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

There’s a bird on the branch of the old pine tree. At first it sat sideways on the fencepost. I turned from my coffee and it caught my eye, it’s belly so full and white,

I could see from the window. It waited it seems for my turning.

I stared.

It sat.

I walked outside and naturally it flew away and then it crossed my path to perch in the crepe myrtle. Again, until I got too close and it took up to the sky to rest on the thick limb of pine.

I just read what I know in my morning devotional, a confirmation that my contemplation over seemingly insignificance is never as I’m described “too deep”.

Nothing in our life is random or meaningless. Even when we don’t understand…

In Touch, Dr. Charles Stanley

The strangest thing it seemed occurred on Sunday. I’m traveling the interstate and notice what appears to be cloth of some sort, a red ribbon I decide.

I continue on expecting to see the breeze created by speeding cars lift it up and away.

Instead, I see a “red bird”, the bright red male of the couple, lifting itself frantic and fiercely hoping to avoid the white monstrosity of metal, my bumper.

With a loud bump the bird, failing to fly quickly enough meets my car and from there I presume lands someplace else most likely not surviving.

The thing is, it’s Mothers Day and my heart was looking for birds and feathers and such already, thinking of my mama long passed.

Melancholy over the void, determined to not be miserable.

However, I’m met with a bird’s tragic intersecting of my car.

“Ohhh no.” I moaned low and longing. My son’s reply, a knowing chuckle over my reaction, what other response could he give? Must be tough to be 20 with a mama who can be so thought-filled. Who knows, maybe he’s the same, my daughter too.

Deep thinkers us all, perhaps.

Surely knowing I’d not be able to let it go, this not at all happenstance happening to me on Mother’s Day, noticing.

Initially, I thought the worse, the vibrant male cardinal telling me disaster is near, someone’s passing is to be expected.

What a dreadful thought, an immediate conclusion, that “this is your sign” get ready for the taking away of someone you love.

Momentarily, we arrived and I entered the big sanctuary with my daughter and son having prayed prior, “Father, help me to be attentive to your presence, open my mind and heart to the Holy Spirit.”

The music was moving, the sermon meaningful. My eyes filled with warm tears to be reminded that I matter, when the statuesque young woman, oblivious to all the congregants opened her hands in rhythm with her soul and voice and sang and I cried quietly, understanding.

No one needed to know.

But me.

All these pieces

Broken and scattered

In mercy gathered

Mended and whole

Empty-handed

But not forsaken

I’ve been set free

I’ve been set free
Amazing grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me, oh

I once was lost

But now I’m found

Was blind but now I see

Oh, I can see it now

Oh, I can see the love in Your eyes.

Broken Vessels, Hillsong

I can see it now.

“Pay attention.” I’ve decided the red bird was sent to say, from my Father.

“There are things you’ve stopped noticing as profound, the sightings of the birds and the sounds of their song, you’ve allowed them to be common, you’ve lost your keen longing to notice and be still in that notice.

You’ve considered like most, that it’s silly to believe this way.”

This morning, the bird with the fluff of fat white feathers for her belly and I had a staring contest. She sat, I watched. She moved and then returned and it’s not the bird who knows my need, nor anticipated my steps, impossible for that to be so.

It’s God who knew and knows.

Who reminded me to notice and made my pitiful and woesome imagining of the worst possible story into a reminder of what I’d lost, what I’d forsaken for other pursuits, distractions and decidedly doubtful dances with the devil.

A bird positioned in the middle of my interstate lane, mistaken for a ribbon, otherwise I’d have swerved to avoid and met God knows what.

Instead, it’s message so unavoidable and attention seeking…notice.

Pay attention.

Notice, again.

You forgot for a bit, needed to see.

God is everywhere.

The red birds and the fat mama birds and the voice of a woman who reminded me that He makes beautiful things of us.

God is everywhere.

Don’t forget to notice

His ways.

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭55:9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Happy Way of Life #8

Angels, bravery, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, heaven, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, rest, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I was outside literally two minutes or less, finally finished, I made my way to the spot I sit and watch the blue cool pool water paint patterns on my feet.

I’d been cleaning like crazy, Friday night instead of Saturday morning.

I was raised that way.

On Saturday morning, nothing happened until we cleaned.

My mama handed out assignments and by noon you’d have thought our house on the poor side of town was tucked away behind stately gates.

I adhere to her pattern, my daughter and son do too. We like things straight.

We like our places put together and pretty.

Now, it’s morning and I have Saturday’s day about to unfold. I’ve been awakened by a text, “You up?”

“In bed, awake”, my reply.

“Get ready.” her instruction.

Last night I tried to remember my mama’s particular words and I couldn’t. I tried to bring to mind her philosophical response, fashioned in blunt reply.

What I miss most of all are Saturday morning calls, coaxing me not worry…to let these two be, to know that they are good.

I can’t recall what it was, the thing I said just like her. I wanted to remember, tried so very hard.

I had to let it go hoping it comes back when I least expect.

Because last night, I sat in my spot, magazine by my side with a splash of wine in pretty glass. Relax, Lisa Anne.

Relax now.

Don’t stress. Let it be. Pick your battles. It’ll be fine. The truth always comes out and again, stress’ll kill you.

Momentarily, I heard the sound.

The arrival, I was ready.

Closer to me, at just the right time, I tilt my eyes towards heaven, and there are three.

The geese, the geese.

Mama always said, “Here they come.”

And yes, they did.

Again.

Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow in heaven. I’ll keep looking for you, mama, in my every single thing.

I’ll be listening for your reply.