bravery

Talking About Georgia

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

Last night he asked, "I took you from your home, didn't I?"

And I waited for my words to form.

Answered, a soft sigh, "Yeah."

But, my answer was slow in coming because I thought of all the good in this place.

And I was happy to be asked, to have Georgia remembered.

Driving home from boot camp, I'd stretched myself even more, things like planks, crunches and mostly the people around watching me try had worn me out.

The sun was setting as I turned up the hill that meets sharp curve and the sky a mixture of dark and light after a rain.

I decided, the sky was God to me and God, the sky.

I glance upwards often, it has become my place to remember where I began.

I begin each morning in the same spot. My journal in my lap, pretty pencil in my hand.

Everyday, the prayer of Jabez, the one I've seen answered. That God would bless me indeed, enlarge my borders and keep His hand on me so that I not be in pain.

Then, I read and I think and add penciled prayers to pages.

Today,

Father, thank you for mornings.

For not giving up on me.

For making me fearfully and wonderfully and for calling me towards you so that I every day I'm beginning to know surely and more fully and more well the way you made me for this time

This place.

Thank you for Georgia, the place that made me and thank you for mornings and my morning place in this place.

“He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up for Five Minute Friday and thankful God made me to love words and gives opportunity to write and read and grow.

Surprise on Purpose

bravery, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I stepped outside, the feel of change in the air, only slight.

Rain for several days, so much that I'd go from one place to another unconcerned over umbrella and my hair sort of wilted.

But, I stood for a bit, listening and heard faintly only one bird or two. I wondered where they'd gone. I wish I'd been coming out to listen more, my days taken up by other than quiet.

I stood and allowed my mind to empty.

Had a morning talk with me.

If you think about the times whatever "it" was came through, came to be, happened when least expected, you'd understand more the wait.

 

lost jewelry found

 

the voice you so long to hear, try hard to hide the excitement in your hello

 

the lifting up your feet, the lightness in your step, floating more, dragging  less

 

love light that faded surprising you sweet and strong

 

finding what you're looking for once you stop searching, you'd surrendered

But, you may step out into the wide open and try to grasp the day, grab hold of some sense of deep peace and wait to feel its embrace. No one around, you might close your eyes and tilt your face up towards the morning and breathe deeply a slow and seeking prayer.

You may open your eyes, expectantly to see or sense the intervention you've conjured and so, you wonder where the moments may have gone, to return back to you void.

You might turn to go back in your house, groaning in your acceptance of the same, prepare yourself for day and duty and begin to understand.

You've tried to make it happen.

Again.

Tried to manufacture hope, attempting to do things, pushing, looking, straining ears and eyes and heart and soul.

Your striving made you weary and you remembered then how it happens, how it happened before.

So, you say "yes."

Yes, I know. I remember.

The light came in, the rescue came through, the sweet things no longer delayed.

They came on their own.

On time, and maybe on purpose, to surprise me by surprise.

 

"…At the right time, I, the Lord, will make it happen.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭60:22‬ ‭NLT‬‬

 

No Copy Now

bravery, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I have no idea why I'd been glancing towards its spine.

Or why I'd kept it there.

A book from a rummage sale, I think I must have found it pretty, substantial pages, edges rough and worn tinged slightly brown.

The hard cover, a note from the giver to another inside and then, another note below, inquiring who'd been the original receiver of the "get better soon" gift.

I wondered if the book had been exchanged and now settled long with me.

The signatures dated the year I was born and then the year I turned thirteen.

To write of the way I'd been glancing towards its place on the shelf, considering whether I'd actually ever read, is so very insufficient to hope another might understand simply in my telling here.

But, this morning, I did reach for the thin book, a collection of poems.

I reached just before gathering things and going to work and just after I'd journaled.

Intrigued and increasingly drawn into new thoughts on prayer, I'd decided I'd begin a 40 day fast, something I'd never done.

I'd decided the time, counted the days to mark the end once deciding the beginning.

Decided I'd abstain from three things that distract, a vignette I decided, always choosing three.

I thought of what may happen and decided I'm anxious to see, what might change, where my time might grow.

And I held the book, Sonnets from the Portuguse, Elizabeth Barrett Browning in my hand, let it fall open and my eyes fell on the familiar, "How do I love thee?"

I thought, oh, I know this one, the sonnet counting ways of love.

Then, my eyes moved to the page on the left and well, I couldn't for a second believe it. But, I've no reason not to believe.

Sonnet XLII

'My future will not copy fair my past'—

I wrote that once; and thinking at my side

My ministering life-angel justified

The word by his appealing look upcast

To the white throne of God, I turned at last,

And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied

To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried

By natural ills, received the comfort fast,

While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff

Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.

I seek no copy now of life's first half:

Leave here the pages with long musing curled,

And write me new my future's epigraph,

New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!

And I was astounded.

The mention of angels, new future unseen.

The book that now rests in my lap.

I'm past the point of youth and closer to the place and time where my parents died too soon.

But, farther, yes, farther than the half called before.

The me reading poetry, calling herself artist and smiling when another notices the shift.

I seek no copy now, of life's first half. Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Write, Lisa

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder

People from other sides of fences.

Two of them this week, same matter of factly without hesitation

Said, "Write, Lisa".

One added, her words disputing my feeling as if needing to hide away.

She said.

"Some will wonder why, many could care less.

Others wish they were brave enough.

The few who respond are the many who matter."

So, I'll share again the honesty with hints of hard things again, the post selected by another.

Gently Found

And I'm sitting alone after long day, a smile no one else can see.

It's grace, grace, grace. Here's an Instagram post below…is it possible to be humble and happy all at once. I do believe so when it's a nudge in your tummy, a slight catching of our breath in realization combined with awe.

To see the words that so very clearly express your heart, surreal to see, amazing to recall.

So, for August, I'm the featured post on a blog. The reality is, it's the baring of my soul about just how clearly I feel I could have stood alongside the Samaritan woman and we'd have said to one another, "Me too."

I think we only have hard stuff to be able to look back and share the grace that came in the hard places and the hard times. Visit Kelly Basham's blog and if so inclined say thank you for mercy along with me and thank you for grace.

Link in profile to my blog.

#blossominfaith #gentlesavior #quietconfidence

Not Unaware

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized

I jotted it down in my black journal.

A ribbon and black elastic band to hold my place, the pages, buff and subtle are its lines.

Might be my favorite.

The one I discovered had a pocket in the binding on back cover.

Discovered it just as I’d folded the seven or so pages written in long hand when I had the time and before it faded away into the place of maybe.

Thoughts that made up Chapter Two.

But, three days, might be four, I walked in the middle of the day, thinking it was fall; but, not yet.

And I’d not considered the Chapter Three.

Melancholy, mind weary, pressed for time.

I walked at a time I felt unsure why, I should.

A hawk was steady and settled, led me to keep on, concerned over the asphalt, we found opportunity to walk in the grass of empty lots.

I decided he deserved it, picked up a stick, I’ll let him cool off in the pond.

It was a plan.

Then, the pecan tree I’d never noticed and the treat of walking down towards the pond; but, Colt, the big brown Lab was disinterested, lazy and uncertain of the plunge.

I waited and watched, a butterfly allowing my time.

To understand, to cherish what was waiting to burst forth, to flutter.

And the dog waited on the bank while I watched and decided,

jotted in the center, nothing else in the space around,

“I refuse to believe that

God is

unaware.”

Work of Hands

Art, bravery, grace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

This thing I do, getting lost in words and paint, is not at all the work of my hands, but of His.

“And yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭64:8‬ ‭NLT‬

I can barely move this morning, huge canvas laid out on the floor last night, I set aside the angel commissions, set my sights on something I thought might be quite special.

Painting and repainting, my knees sore from kneeling, my back aching from reaching, my hands covered in blue grey beige brown paint, thick.

I will begin again today. Have already, spent unhurried time in my Bible and in the book I'm reading, Draw the Circle 40 Day Prayer Challenge, a book I've decided won't be set aside come Day 40.

Draw the Circle

I'll paint today. This time I'll tie my apron, I'll be less hurried. I will let it be or not yet, perhaps I'll finish the angels I've promised before getting upset over the landscape or maybe it will be today, I finish, hang it on the waiting wall.

Day 23 of Draw the Circle prayer challenge is about God saying No to prayers, then answering with a Yes that came from a Not Yet. I am horrible at waiting when it comes to anything that requires I do my part. I painted for five hours straight last night. It was miserable, there was no joy, there was aggravation, frustration and refusing to stop until it was done. Stubborn determination. Then it was done and was nothing at all like I'd hoped. I was disappointed. I had an idea, a perfect place for landscape, rearranged one whole wall and now it's waiting for me, the sun coming in and giving me a new idea.

I'll try again today, but this time with an easy hand, an accepting brushstroke and I'll wait again before I get all wrapped up and forget to eat, forget to rest. I'll not make it an idol, the measure or not of my worth.

The space may be vacant until it is right for what's good to be finished.

My circle today has multiple thick lines circling my thing I'm committed to continue.

Another circle has tiny words, names, needs and prayers for incomprehensible peace. I've taken to praying this way, filling one with others and one with a solitary request for me: things like peace, courage, clarity, and revelations.

Asking God, "Show me the way, make clear your desires for these things you've graced me with the ability to do."

The Circle with others, well I may never know, but I'm praying mighty things for people, things undeniably from God.

Waiting for the promises, trusting in the Father. Being okay with No and at peace with Not yet.

Letting the work of my hands be led by the maker of them.

Singing my Redemption Song

Abuse Survivor, bravery, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability

For a while I lingered there, the story of the woman from Samaria who had an encounter with Jesus at the well.

I understood the way he sought her, it's the way He sought me, the way He still does.

He made no demands, He knew she'd had enough demands made of her, knew all about her. He understood.

This morning, I read my words on another's blog. I was moved by my own redemption song, my story so beautifully raw and evidence of a gentle Savior.

I am praising God for this opportunity, this enlarging of my border.

Visit Kelly Basham's blog and join her series on the fruits of the spirit. Last month, it was joy, for August it is gentleness and she chose my words as the expression.

Here's an excerpt with the link to the post following. I am praying for the places these words will go, praying for the hearts that will come to know or be reminded of a gentle Jesus who invites us all in.

Do you ever feel like hiding your sins, even your doubts or sorrows? Are there times you know your heart has drifted back to who you were before redemption? It’s a dangerous place, deciding to be who we were for fear of never being enough for Jesus.

Blossom in Faith – Gently Found

I Believe, Soon

bravery, courage, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I had a thought this week, or maybe last.
It stopped me for a minute, made me anxious, made me wish for different, made me long for more.

Made me forget for a bit the more than enough that is mine.

I won't call it an epiphany because I consider epiphany good, of value and I suppose I find epiphany forward in thought.

No, not forward, my worries, they've been more backward.

I thought my thought, "What if the words stop coming? The so clear clarity needed to be recorded, what if I can't recall, if I can't record, if I for fear and time not free, become unable to write?"

My cousin told me it's coming.

She said she believes it is soon.

She's deliberate and decisive in her declaration. She speaks truth, cuts no corners, adds what makes better and leaves out what's not necessary.

She speaks the truth like she serves up dishes, plates it up, puts it in front of you, joins you there in the joy of her hands and then takes your plate away, leaves you full, content, lets you rest.

She knows I've been struggling. Tells me it's soon, the writing, the angels, not sure which or both; but, it's soon.

"God is going to give you freedom, Lisa and I believe, soon." she said.

But, I've been afraid although I know fear leads to nowhere.

Afraid I'm not enough, nor are my words or canvas.

Craziness.

Yes, crazy thing is I've written more and with more authenticity than ever before.

I've painted more often and more freely, more me and okay with me than ever in my life.

There's the fear of not enough, the insatiable emptiness caused by what if coupled with the pitiful thought of why not more.

I ramble.

I have been blessed. I assure you. I have.

Commissions for angels.

Another opportunity, chosen to be a guest writer on a well read blog.

Goes live tomorrow, my thoughts on gentleness.

I pray they turn minds, hearts and thoughts to good places, to God.

They are my words, my understanding, my relating to the story of Jesus and the time he initiated relationship with a woman at a well who'd decided herself unworthy.

A story of a gentle turning towards peace.

Yet, I've been afraid.

This week, last as well. I've been afraid of what may not be.

My days, the past two have been discombobulated. I'm going from thing to thing, told I could speak as long as needed, then someone else gets my attention by pointing frantically at their watch.

I get off track, room filled with faces, I struggle to know what should be said next, what to do, how to act, my chest aches, I'm afraid I've not done well, continue or stop abruptly?

Apologized for rambling then a self-proclaimed toastmaster tells me I should never apologize…no one knows you faltered…okay, yes, I know. I know.

Evening reading that's usually morning, Lord, set me free from the need to control, to be so very hesitant for fear of not being persistent!

So, I prayed. I circled round the word, Peace. I wrote it on my paper taped to my wall, the door closed, making dark my closet, the place I sometimes pray.

We walked, Colt and I. Approached the tall pines all clustered together.

The birds all frenzied it seemed, asking What? Where? Who?

When?

I longed to see them, such a frantic chorus, the melody of not sure.

Could they know I understood?

We walked on towards the open, the sky a steely blue, sunset coming, changing our scene.

And it was gradual, so much so I noticed.

We got back to where we began and the birds, more settled or scattered, not sure.

But, less an obstruction to my quiet, we stopped to rest in the place we had always paused before but had not in a long time.

Not for awhile and I realized then I'd been rushing towards someplace, my steps more like darting chances or longing lunges.

Tired and afraid or afraid to be tired
and unable, incapable.

We turned towards home unleashed, the moon hazy above, just past dusk.

The Rose of Sharon, the rare one, my husband told me.

I noticed the bloom, open and resting, the glory of its color and it was the answer I felt, I saw…I was reminded of rest, wait, faith.

"Come, Colt." I said and he came and I was better, more at peace.

What I have begun, I know because of faith, which is more, so much more than feeling, I will continue.

Now finish the work, so that your eager willingness to do it may be matched by your completion of it, according to your means. For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what one does not have.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭8:11-12‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story and a post I love so much…living a life that lines up with my talk.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/happen-let-lives-preach-louder-lips/

Angels and Listeners

bravery, Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Prompted by the word, “Inspired” this morning and reminded of a conversation about the angels, an unexpected listener, his ear inclined to my story of the angels.

Five Minute Friday, an opportunity for free flow of thought to here.

“How did the angels begin, what inspired you? he asked.

So, I told again, the simplicity of beginning to create again and to paint angels.

“I began sketching them in the margin of my Bible and they became my thing for me and now, occasionally, for others. ” I said.

A civic meeting, lunch time discussion, professionals and friends.

And, I am asked about the angels.

Same way, same question, new listener.

This one, he listens intently. I tell of the process.

He is not pretending to care.

His interest and ear inclined.

I continue with the latest angst over a piece I can’t get right, “martha, mary” I call it.

Keep beginning again, setting aside, coming back to stand over and wonder what is not true.

I tell him of those who’ve commissioned pieces, still feeling slightly ill at ease over what sounds pompous and prideful in the artistic.

He says, leaning back and clearly decisive, “I’d like to commission a piece.”

Continues with the painting he envisions being unprompted, only slightly directed by the desire of himself and his wife for their home.

Confident in his expression, in mine, that the painting will be representative of what he’s seen of them, and of me in the angels.

I smile now over the possibility of an angel in our midst yesterday during our
noontime conversation.

Angels and Other: The Art of Quiet Confidence can be found on my page here.

Linking up with others here: Inspire

More-FMF-Square-Images-3

Impatient for the Bloom

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

We have tomatoes this year.

Past two years, nary a plump fruit on the vine.

They'd make a showing of possible and then wither up all rich and red, fall to the ground in a plop of smushed up soft and no good at all.

But, this year we bring them in, let them rest on the windowsill and the ochre colored places on thinly stretched skin change from soft orange to rich red.

The place on the top where the vine let it go, caved in, the top we slice off, toss aside like big straw hat.

Happy with the good growth, pleasantly surprised by what we've made.

I've been troubled by an idea, an aspiration, a hope brought to light that has yet to yield its bloom.

I'd like to blame it on time, responsibility, aging body and mind, career and/or doubt, inability, not skilled enough or not good enough or as good as…

But, I know it's doubt and discipline and the teeter totter of one more weighty than the other that likely has tangled the roots up unable to grow.

I noticed the bloom, the one left to linger and the one with roots deep down and growing deeper.

The one that was trusted to grow on its own.

Massive blooms.

Surprisingly new growth.

Perhaps, the soil finally grabbed hold the root and the vine.

Or maybe, the not yet ready decided ready and the roots held on tight while the growth reached out and opened in bloom.

I heard someone talk about cultivation. What before, sounded like work began to sound like trust combined with discipline and with surrender to knowing my part and my part only and

then waiting, all the while longing for the opening of the bloom.

I read about seeds and big faith and I believed a story told by another of a longing fulfilled.

I listened as she told of waiting, of not manipulating, like not breaking up the soil, over watering or moving from sunny spot to sunnier.

I asked myself, am I doing my part, am I quiet in my ambition, will whatever I produce bring respect, cause others to see were it not for grace I'd not have grown so strong, or to be honest, not at all?

The humble and healthy tomatoes line the windowsill and there are more waiting on the vine.

The summer has surprised us.

We planted again, left them to grow, let them be and they grew,

quietly and unexpectedly, they grew.

My ambition, before to be noticed, now waiting, planting, anticipating bloom.

Quiet Confidence, the place I grow.

“and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you,”
‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭NIV‬‬