bravery

Blessing and Beauty Divine

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I saw a canvas, the happiest tone of pink with what I believe may be poppies strewn across the surface. The paint, thick and creamy and a sporadic peppering of words like joy and in the corner was the page torn from a song book. 

This, I saw when visiting my sister after a long time, this canvas at the top of her stairs. I paused in the moment of gentle surprise of forgotten inspiration for my art.

I’ve got what my friend calls an “angel ministry”. I sit in my girl’s old bedroom and I sing in an empty house, lyrics of grace and peace, of gardens and of mercy and trust. 

I paint for hours. I am lost in the process of paint covered fingers and layering of color and expression. My angels are without facial features, I pray their figure brings a pleasing pause, a contemplation or comfort.

Like the pink canvas and I in my sister’s Savannah home. 

Little pages torn from old hymnals are the starting point to my pieces, just one of the many reasons lately I find myself singing praise.

I’m singing “praise God from whom all blessings flow.” a whole lot more, acknowledging His gift of grace. 

For he has heard my purposeful morning and intermittent recitation of the ancient prayer of a young man who felt he’d do well just to not be a burden. 

Every day, I pray in different form or fashion sometimes, thinking of  his expectation of nothing more than a life of hardship. 

I pray the words of Jabez “Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my border, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not bring me pain!” 

And God granted what he asked.  

I Chronicles 4: 10

And I have blessed, I have been given opportunities I never expected. God has enlarged my border, extended opportunities.

I decided not to be afraid and I surrendered it to Him. 

This is why I sing a song from pre-Pandora or Spotify days, a CD my daughter made for me and my son and I sang along to sometimes…” Does it ever catch your eye…beauty divine? 

Believe, life will surprise you. Believe.”

Brandon Heath 

Through the Woods: the Place where They are at Rest

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

The only way I’d ever know would be to take off through the woods, haphazard but determined. 

There’s an open field between two county lines and I slow down and submit to its calling. 

Every single time. 

There are not many cars, I press the button, lower the window and randomly, but with intention, I hope to capture this place. 

There are photos on my phone.

Today, I decided the sky more magnificent here, the red tipped wild spreading weeds that convince me of flower, they are more special here too. 

This place that sits in the middle of two county lines, Bulloch and Jenkins and Screven, a border, I realized on the other side of the field that turns my head. 

Because I drove on towards the turn towards Rocky Ford, thinking I should go, travel about seven or so minutes then turn right then another right and then a left to the place at the bottom of the clay slick road. 

The Hendrix Cemetary, where my mama and my daddy lay and rest. 

I don’t turn. I don’t know why or I do know; but, I feel horrible to say I don’t. 

They are not there. To visit the stones marked by name and date, I suppose feels obligatory, an act expected.

So, I consider the turn, plenty of time; yet, I decide it is better to go home. 

So, I go on, for only a bit feeling disloyal or unfit and hours later, I’ve decided, the field that causes me to look, I believe it leads to that place. 

If I might set out one day, I believe it would be true. The open field that slows my travel is the one that sits in the shadow of the high hill and the tall cedars that shade the graves of the ones who made me, me. 

Yes, this is why the sky seems more ready to meet me, the field more inviting and the road less long and never ending. 

Because of the nearness, the nearness of them. 

I prefer to notice the clouds, full to the point of bursting and the wide open field beneath that beckons me every single time I travel on my path from Georgia back to Carolina 

And underneath what  I’ve decided now is just a walk through the woods that makes and has made sense all along. 

I felt them; yes, I felt them near and I paused to be sure. 

To be sure. 

Knowing Grace

bravery, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

I wasn’t looking for this book, went in search of another, one more purposefully instructive.  I found grace though in the pages and if it weren’t the library’s there’d be little gray asterisks throughout. 

When we go from rashly and clenched to grateful, we sometimes get to note the experience of grace, in knowing that we could not have gotten ourselves from where we were stuck, in haste or self-righteousness or self-loathing (which are the same thing), to freedom. The movement of grace in our lives toward freedom is the mystery. So we simply say “Thanks.” 

Something had to give, and I don’t have a clue how to get things to do that. But they did, or grace did. 

Anne Lamont 

Help Thanks Wow – The Three Essential Prayers

Yes, grace thus far, but fit grace. 

Grace, grace, grace. 

May 

Mercy, peace and love

Be Multiplied. 

To you. (Jude 1:2)

 

Imagined Lives and Enough

bravery, Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized

I saw the prompt first thing, Five Minute Friday’s link up/join in on the spontaneously impulsive writing.  I always go over the time limit, still I like the idea of free flow.

And I love, loved it, a word already settled in my heart. I’ve finally found the place of enough, goodness, I hope I stay longer.

 


The word is “Enough”.  I thought, Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, even made a proclamation of its value and convincingly told myself that enough is well and good and is well, enough.

Like the little corner in the room I call “writing”, I had lofty ideas for its design; but the Labrador has taken over the bed and I’ve yet to order the gallery pictures for the walls. Still, I made a little corner more special and I believe it’s enough.

Enough is a mindset easily tainted by comparison and imagined lives causing me to feel less than enough or mostly, lately…”How on earth would I find enough time to do the things they do so very well and smoothly?  Every place I gaze upon, I see helpful hint overload, guidance, encouragement like coursework on a syllabus to be followed. Do this, that, keep going, keep trying, keep writing. ”

Steals the joy of it really, sometimes, the joy of pretty sentences looked back over to cause my nod slightly when no ones around.

Yes, this is me, this is brave, these words match my thoughts. I imagine the lives of others having seamlessly designed days of basking in the satisfaction of completeness.

I imagine them more joyful because of it.

So, I’ve decided this and will do my best to stick to its conviction.

I will write a few words, eventually chapters and upon sending the words into the world, I will say to self and listen to self as I offer up prayer:

Lord, let this land in the face of one looking down, looking for connection, for reason and relating. Let me not reach to grab back for show or measure what I’ve given to you for you to give to another.

Lord, remind me of the joy of enough.

Linking up with Kate Motaug for Five Minute Friday.

http://katemotaung.com/2017/04/06/five-minute-friday-enough-plus-a-giveaway/

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Everything, Fine and Surrendered

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Vulnerability


Every little place, an intersection, crossing of path, if we pay attention.  A piece on prayer featured my simple words on content. 

A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.

Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind. 

I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace. 

Yesterday, I prayed.  

I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move.  I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known. 

And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move. 

It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to. 

Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary. 

This is not a thing  I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand.  I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault. 

Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow. 

But,  I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder. 

I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.” 

“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together. 

But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate. 

He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”

And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine. 

It’s going to be fine.  My eyes are moist upon remembering. 

Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment. 

I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.

In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15

Lovely Word

bravery, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder


I may not do justice to the idea of this thing, the “Lovely Blog Award” thing.

I’m afraid I don’t read nearly enough.  I have five or so books bedside usually and I discipline myself to return the love when a blogger likes something I write.

Tammy at faithhopefoodlove a writer who has blessed me by thanking me for being calm and honest. She nominated me for this award called “lovely”.

Last week this time, I’d heard about a book and pushed myself through the Saturday things my mama left me, her legacy to see fit I do them.

Clean smelling house, floors and linens good and tubs and toilets scrubbed. This was our Saturday morning.

I honor her.  My daughter does too.

Striving towards being done and hoping the library has longer hours than before when we’d go on Saturday, my children and I.

I made it in plenty of time, our library now a refuge for those needing to come in and sit, peruse or just be inside.  The librarian smiled when I had no idea they’d updated the card catalog system and then took me over to show off the upgrade.

Together, we found the books, one fiction, one poetry, one non-fiction.

Later, I made my place on the couch, intentional in leaving my phone down the hall and I began to read the words of Anne Lamott. A skinny little book with only three chapters, her summation of prayer, “Help, Thanks, Wow”.

It wasn’t the book I’d gone in search of, I’d gone to find a book to help my writing, a book called “Bird by Bird”. It wasn’t there, so I considered the book on prayer.

I almost set it aside, decided to go no further. The roots of my “independent Baptist” raising clinging tightly, angry and resistant to opening.  She likes to call God “her” and she is a storyteller of stories that include things not allowed in the church of my raising. She says out loud how hard it is to get our hands on the knowledge of God and words and thoughts that get heard and things then happen. Her words are lovely, honest and true.

I do not know much about prayer, but I have come to believe, over the last twenty-five years, that there’s something to be said about keeping prayer simple. Help. Thanks. Wow.

We can pray, “Am I too far gone, or can you help me out of my isolated self obsession?”  We can say anything to God. It’s all prayer.

So, I almost rejected the value of this book for the sake of being shamed by old memories of who I wasn’t and who I could never be.

Man, those childhood things stick, don’t they?

Back to the ” lovely blog award”.  I’m told I should say a few things about myself:

1. I’m often caught between hiding and shining my light, recognition is a tad bit complex for me, being noticed while staying humble seems a contradiction. My daughter said recently, “Just say Thank you, God and be happy.”

2.  I love dark chocolate with almonds and coffee flavored gelato, peanut butter crunchy.

3. I miss my parents; but, rarely bring it up.

4. I treasure in ways no one on earth can measure, the gift of a daughter and son. I’m settled finally, loving well and good and happy to grow old with my husband and a “happy way of life”.


5. I threw away an Art scholarship because my roommate, a feisty and funny girl from England taught me how to drink and how to stay skinny.

6. I now, as of yesterday have an Author page on Amazon. I’m a contributing author in a book called “I Heart Mom”. No books have I written. I am here, thus far.

I Heart Mom

7. I pray many times a day, some days and times in a way that might resemble ritual, others like Anne Lamott describes, “Wow and Thanks and please help me, Jesus.” I pray because I can recount specific times God answered. I believe, not because I have seen; but, because I know and notice what God has brought me to and through.

Because He sees me.


So, I have a few blogs I love for different reasons.

Here we go:

Living Our Days Biblical wisdom, grace and faith conveyed.

Relax cut to the chase truth and wisdom

Live & Learn because his posts are phenomenal, especially “Lightly, child lightly” and because I imagine him a big city success, still he regularly reads my words.

Ebs and Flows because from across the ocean he sends me waves of confidence.

faithhopelovefood because of her kindness and strength.

A Simple, Village Undertaker because he is a “prompter”.

Faith Adventures because she writes gently, faithfully.

Carolina Cisneros because she is brave.

Dawn Leopard  because I know and consider her faith a model.

Each of these, a diverse group, I “follow” and return the favor of grace, enlightenment and word.

Quiet confidence, my ongoing prayer request. Keep me Lord, quietly confident.

 

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

Mountains, moved 

bravery, Children, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

We had dinner downtown, she’d made reservations and we allowed ourselves indulgence for the sake of memory. 

We traveled with intent of finding treasures for the beginning of their first home. 

Nothing was found. Frustration mounted over sluglike people convening upon a metal building that was called a barn but was a warehouse of metal full of signs lettered, “Hey, ya’ll”. 

People moving slow, pushing us forward, their breath and bodies so close behind and in front, far be it we pause to consider purchase. 

We got out soon and never got to shop for antiques, our choice, we reconsidered the day, made it new. 

Had a yummy little lunch, napped sort of and had simple supper followed by coffee, cheesecake and chocolate in double decker bus. Fun. People, cats on a leash and couples, we decided on first dates.

Then, we slept in the pretty room with the pretty things. She, before me. I read a little and thought of what I’d decided before we left…”these will be days of small things.”

On Sunday morning, she woke early and I pretended to sleep. I’d thought of the man and wife from England, disappointed over the Blue Ridge up towards mountain blocked. 

I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were not to go further or maybe they were to ignore the warning and proceed. After all, there had been no ice, no snow, no storm. 

But, they heeded the warning and turned back…went no further, returned to be met by others for evening’s gathering.

I’d fallen asleep thinking of the mountain they longed to see, but had been turned back.  Had decided not for us to see, to know. 
And when I woke, lying in the quiet after my daughter had returned to her side, I remembered my thinking of mountains and of them being moved.

 I decided on Sunday morning on the trip with my daughter that I should keep going towards what I wonder may come true. 

I should continue taking steps, not giving up and that mountains are not only for circling ’round and mountains are not only for going through. 

Sometimes, yes, still mountains can be moved. 

Peeking behind the blind, the sun is rising. 

The mountain has been moved.  

I wear a gold bracelet with the silhouettes of daughter and son, an artist palette and a tiny mustard seed in a little bubble of a charm. 
What is this faith, Lisa, this little drop in the bucket that’s already there that will ripple the waters, maybe turn the tide? 

This faith, this tiny seed called your treasure is moving the mountain, the mountain of doubt, fear, or slinking back and of believing it’s all too much. 

No need to consider traveling through or circling around. 
The mountain, the thing I worry looms and dooms. 

It can be moved. 

I fold my hands and I pray in the tiny little room with the claw foot tub, for this understanding of mountain that can be moved. 

It is well with me. There is no need to worry over the climb,  the ascent, the scariness of hard and jagged places. 

For, if I am to travel to places that seem too high, just the thought of them, I may discover the ground has been leveled and I’m standing in fields of grassy green, my arms open wide and my face towards heaven, moist with joyful tears. 

It is well with me. 

 For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.””

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭17:20‬ ‭
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She too, wears a little piece of jewelry that contains a tiny but mighty reminder, the mustard seed. 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/amount-faith-need-handle-problems/

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Closer to Strong Walking

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/