Protected Child

birds, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, fear, grace, hope, love, marriage, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I watched the shifting sky, the colors filtered and spread wide.

I’m with my granddaughter on our morning walk, earlier this time.

The sky beckoning her gaze.

I capture her profile, her mama and daddy’s home in the background.

Her cheeks are full and full of joy and their blush is the same as what God has mixed in with the sky.

We walk.

I hold tight, shift her weight, careful not to have my arms press in to her tiny frame.

She welcomes my hold.

She regularly tilts her sweet face in awe of the trees, the sky.

I pray out loud, sing songs that include her name and other crazy things.

I love her. What a sweet thing.

Someone from the coast asked for my thoughts yesterday,

What do you say to your storms? DH

I answered.

I tell the storm, “I’m protected.”

This morning, I think of my children, my family and I have a moment of new and needed clarity.

If I’m protected, are not my children protected as well?

I journal my thoughts on a morning that God woke me at 4 and I decided, get up anyway.

I thought about God’s all encompassing immense and protective love.

How he loves them even more than I ever could be able.

God, you’re their protector just as you are mine.

I don’t have to “stay on top of things”.

I don’t have to anxiously remind you in my prayers to keep things under control.

Ha! Wow!

Me, reminding you of your role?!

I don’t have to watch from a distance so far that I squint to hope to see what’s going on, strain to hear, concentrate or calculate the endings of stories of their books when they are barely a chapter in.

And that you, not I, have already written.

I can set aside my book, my syllabus of reading between the lines, leaning toward tragic stories over beautiful and memorable autobiographies.

Like mine.

Yes.

I can know they are protected.

“No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us.”

‭‭1 John‬ ‭4:12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I can love more fully than I’ve ever loved.

Point more clearly towards hope.

Be strong so that my strength is what they admire.

Yes, love.

Love is the protection, mine to freely give.

Best I can offer.

Protection is yours.

Belief in Prayer

bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Some evenings I walk and I recall some instruction from some time ago reminding me to use the strength of my core, the power in my legs.

I may have turned a corner at the place on the path that my muscles are less tight and resistant and so, my walk becomes a flow, an easy assurance to go on.

Other times, the heavy weight of me goes uneased and I consider turning back for home but never do.

I walk on.

And I lean forward although it’s not the best look or posture, I bend my head towards the ground and I slump a little over into the heart of my fatigue, the core of my concern.

I walk on. Music or calming advisor in my ear, I’m absorbing information that is for naught now but always surfaces later.

I’m thinking about compassion today because someone and I talked about it a few days ago, the demonstration of it, the innate trait of knowing how to make it known.

Compassion, I read is “to suffer together” with others.

Like leaning into their distressing situation and through your presence you’re invited to listen or through your unknown prayers unrelenting.

It’s being in a tough season with someone knowing you can’t comprehend their seasonal distress, nor can you walk them through it, instruct them to walk forward in a certain way.

You’ve got no measurement for their trip, your only traction for their footing is your alignment through prayer.

John, Peter and James trekked up the mountain with Jesus. They’d been in His presence, had observed all of his healing, all of the furor over his being God’s Son, the speculative conversations disputing His purpose, Redeemer.

They’d seen Jesus walk on water, they saw Him have compassion on the hungry, the deaf, the ones brave and desperate enough to draw near.

They climbed up to the mountain aligned with Jesus and there they saw Him transfigured in the presence of Elijah and Moses, with God. Peter didn’t really understand. They were terrified by the ghostly presence. At the same time, Peter’s heart was settled. God was near.

“And Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:5‬ ‭ESV

My children are entering new phases. They are stepping into new challenges, emotional and other. My daughter, a 1st grade teacher will nurture and then teach a new group of children.

Yet, she’ll be challenged beyond comprehension as she leaves her precious newborn, Elizabeth, at home with the grandmothers, still she will be leaving her, separated and in our care.

The emotions are palpable as I listen to her talking of being prepared. I agree. I listen. I will pray.

My son will begin the final leg of his academic journey. He’s pressed on quite consistently and has arrived in a pivotal and challenging finish line, approaching stretch of the journey. He will be challenged by numbers and so many yet to be seen things in his steady path towards God’s purpose and career.

Much like the disciples who longed to heal for themselves the son presented to them by a distraught father.

Seizure afflicted for so many years, Jesus told them why their interventions wouldn’t bring healing.

Only the father’s prayer would do. We don’t read of whether he’d been praying for years or whether he never considered it,

The irrefutable power of a parent who aligns themself with Jesus and thus, God the Father, through prayer.

The son was healed. Jesus gave all the credit to the father’s cry.

I don’t want the significance of this gift of my morning Bible to be wasted.

Picture yourself in the presence of Jesus and you’re at the end of your rope, the last of your wit and your sense and he says don’t you go deciding on your own what is possible and what is not!

“And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”

And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.”

Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:21-24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

To pray for your children is to lean in to God.

It is to stand on the safer shore you’ve come to know because of age and experience and be content as background material, consultant over companion.

It is to glance their departure into a distant and new sea.

It is to know that they know you’re praying at every turn and transition into the unexpectedly hard places.

It is a prayer that remembers their toddler frames that required you supporting their falls and becomes support in a more solid way, the visits of grace to them unexpected because you are diligent and persistent in your new compassionate role.

Hands off, heart all in.

You become constant in your prayers.

You pray for alignment of them with you. You pray that the tough times grow them when those times require physical and emotional endurance only God can give.

Not a parent.

No, your part is prayer, the believing kind. Your part is compassion that aligns with Jesus, agrees with God.

Your part is prayer that allows you in to their personal places, leaves all your worries, your hopes, your exaggerated stories on the table, sat next to the Savior to be shared with the Father.

Knowing grace is sufficient and being unwaveringly convinced that grace is good and it’s a gift to your children they never have to fight for, it is mercy that endures.

Mercy like the prayer of a mama, it’ll never be taken off the table, it won’t be a rescinded invitation.

It’ll be like grace, an enabling spirit, a compass positioned towards healing.

Prayer, the power of a parent’s prayer.

Incomprehensible!

“Afterward, when Jesus was alone in the house with his disciples, they asked him, “Why couldn’t we cast out that evil spirit?” Jesus replied, “This kind can be cast out only by prayer. ””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:28-29‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Maybe the sweetest thing I can do is to pray my children

Continue and believe.

More sweeter even is that they see me continue towards believing in God and in them with no need for constant checking in.

Yes, continuing to believe.

To believe in God with them.

A prayer for our children?

To have them unexpectedly experience that God is near.

God stay near, the cry of a parental prayer.

I’m linking up with Mary Geisen and other storytellers here:

https://marygeisen.com/if-you-knew-me-when/

Continuously Believe

birds, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, grace, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I’m in between assignments, never had this much time on my hands.

I have, perhaps never been so quiet, so quiet I can almost hear God’s plans.

At least more than even before, though not fully I am sure.

The spaces in my mind occupied by busy and angst are uncomfortably new.

I must fill them with something, I thought, then waited and in tiny incremental steps, did one thing knowing God will do the next.

God is always working behind the scenes.

3:45 in the afternoon yesterday and I’m found with time to fill.

I sat poolside with a book and my husband until I’d had enough and three hours still until I’d need to get ready.

I’m goin’ for a walk, I told him and struck out like I do.

Happened upon a feather and I kept it although it was grey, not white or blue, oddly it was habitual, my picking it up, not my typical “totem discovered” enthused.

My music skipped annoyingly so I walked without a beat, a solitary robin above me, lifting in a rollercoaster rhythm through the trees.

I found the camera icon and flipped my phone around only to break the cycle, the fat robin never came back into view.

As if it say, that was just for you, no documenting our time together for others required.

Okay. I see.

This morning I remembered last night’s silent prayer.

Driving home later than usual, I’m in the passenger seat and we’ve been with people and chatter and both agreed upon what my husband calls a “conversational hiatus”.

Big semi-trucks are parked in their resting places in both directions of the interstate.

Their big red lights are dim like a soft sleepy glow. He comments, they’re required to pull over, somehow their stopping to rest is kept track of.

Oh.

I lean back, close my eyes and pause.

I pray remembering the bold request earlier today and then later a subtle satisfaction that the outcome will be okay either way and what I want and asked to come sooner than later might never come at all.

I settled it with God and myself then, okay.

Another person came to mind, someone I’ve no real attachment to, only aware of the seemingly futile reply to her prayers.

Someone I love hurts for someone she loves.

I prayed in a “Why not?” way for them, asking God to intervene, intervene in a way they’ve yet to see, a way that will seal the deal for an end to their anxiety.

For real I prayed, long and it seemed ridiculously up front, for real evidence of stability.

Prayer is a response to a nudge from God, so much more than seeking results or answers.

Prayer, the kind where it seems you’re sleeping, pausing, resting, prayer that comes because you notice God with you.

With you, a peaceful presence.

Pray more I tell myself now. More often, more spontaneously, more aware of God’s nearness and when someone comes to mind.

That’s a prompt, an invitation to conversate with our loving Sovereign God.

Pause to mention the person God brought to mind, ask God to see others more than He sees you.

The bluebirds don’t linger although they come close.

The tiny sparrows perch on the rusty barbed fence. I approach and they dart on their way.

The place that grows the flowers from a newly rain soaked ground is littered with egg of baby blue.

A new bird is learning to fly, leaving behind evidence for me.

For you.

To pray sans ceremony or setting, to pray and be changed and to pray for change to come true and be seen.

To pray continuously.

Continue and believe.

“pray continually,”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭NIV

Thoughts on Heaven and Mamas

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, birds, Children, courage, daughters, family, Forgiveness, grace, grief, memoir, Mother’s Day, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, sons, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

This morning I cleaned out my “Saves” on Facebook, stuff I thought I may read later, there were over 50 various things I considered useful at the time.

Same old same, healing from trauma, posts about family, even more expert recommendations to grow my blog, have my voice heard, write the book, don’t give up…

I deleted almost all. I have to be honest, I am on writerly advice overload.

At the bottom was a note, the Facebook kind, I suppose my idea of blogging before I blogged and it was called 30 Randoms…things I’ve learned since mama died.

It is a list compiled 10 years ago come November.

Much of it is the same.

I suppose the ache began when someone said change your profile pic to your mom’s, one of those FB things that make you either go along or rebel.

I rebelled in a kind of pitiful, mulling over pondering way, my way.

I don’t have a photo I haven’t shared before and the one I have is dated and it doesn’t portray the mama I want to portray.

Grief changes its hold on you over time.

I miss my mama, see the cardinals all the time that say she is near.

I’m afraid though it’s simply not enough. Well meaning people will say oh she sees you, she’s looking down and you stand silent like a big dumb block not replying to their little kind words or something to say remedy.

I believe my mama is in heaven; but, I do not fully understand what it’s like for her there.

Possibly her spirit still lingers near me, possibly it’s my memory and longing for her involvement that manufactures this comfort and assurance for me.

Here we are over 10 years and there’s so much she should know.

Updated here are 30 randoms I’m offering up as prayers to heaven in hopes that someone else up there runs out to find you and you sit together and you laugh and cry happy heavenly tears over what is going on, how we’re doing without you and daddy down here:

1. The grandchildren are something else altogether and individually, they are just enough you to be stubborn and outspoken and often irreverently rebellious in being themselves!

2. We are all still married to the ones you saw us with before you passed away.

3. Baby Brown is due any moment of a very soon day. This will mean three great grands. Our home has a baby room.

4. Your grandsons are strong, just enough cockiness of your daddy cushioned by the gentle handsome ways of our daddy.

5. I left my job that was destroying my health. I am an artist. I get “pissy” and I’m sure have a certain look when someone says a painting is “cute”.

6. I am a writer. I will be going by “grandma” just like you and I will be helping my daughter with her baby, just like you.

7. I am less afraid but still prefer to stay hidden.

8. I left the church that made me feel I’d never be enough.

9. I sit every morning with my Bible, a pencil and a memorandum book.

10. When I’m sad or angry or anxious, I clean the whole house, rearrange stuff.

11. People call me an open book. I reply with only certain stories.

12. I reunited with Melanie and revisited the times I fell apart and she helped you and daddy hold me together.

13. I regret going home the night you passed away.

14. I understand you probably wanted it this way.

15. I love Jesus the way you lived it, love everyone the best you can, not more than you should to those who love themselves so much they don’t need yours.

16. Be kind to your husband, as he ages you become everything to him.

17. Love a dog, this love will sustain you.

18. Love food, not its control over you.

19. Delicious things are only delicious if savored not embellished or used to satiate empty bottomless places.

20. Accept God’s grace.

21. Being pitiful is not pretty or permitted.

22. Wear more red. Paint your toenails red, learn to wear a hat.

23. Don’t stress.

24. Stress will kill you. (I’ve told you before, Lisa Anne).

25. I’m going by Lisa Anne now mama, occasionally “LT”.

26. I sold three paintings last week and I gave one expensive one away.

27. One painting found a new home, it was inspired by your high school photo and I called it “Heaven Meets Earth”.

28. Today, I will believe there are better days ahead, I’ll not long as much to have you here to have your hand touch mine, to see your face when you see ours.

29. Today, I’ve decided I’ll ask again and if you’re listening, maybe you can soften the way. For Mother’s Day, I want a dog.

Yes, how fitting, how perfect, how precious it will be. A puppy or a rescue, a new home with me to represent and honor you. Yes, I’ve decided, I’ll ask again.

Don’t you think it’s time, Greg? Time for us to get a dog? If not now he might say soon and I’ll let it go, trust it’s just not a good time.

30. Better now, I’m better. Grief is a mystery and an unexplainable thing. Words from others who don’t truly know are better left unsaid.

There’s really no right response other than remembering.

When Mother’s Day is without a mom, a mother, an outspoken and gone too soon mama!

The greatest gift is to allow all of the remembering you can stand!

P.S. I joined the Artist Guild and there’s an exhibit tonight I don’t think I’ll be attending. One, possibly two of my pieces will be displayed. Some artists will have ribbons on their works. I’m not going because I still don’t care for spotlights or attention.

Remember the time you and daddy drove four hours because a piece I created was chosen for a blue ribbon?

I remember it well and the years that followed dulled my shine and the gift of your being there.

So, if I didn’t say so then, thank you for telling me back then that it was possible,

I could become an artist according to you!

I finally believe you.

Happy Mother’s Day. I feel you near, do not fully understand it, I do believe you have become an angel.

Lisa Anne

The Gift of Memory

Angels, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

A friend is praying that God would give me memory.

I’ve lost something I haven’t needed in years and I cannot find it, my college diploma.

Yesterday, my pregnant daughter asked if I remembered a certain pain and I didn’t, so I blamed it on one thing I did remember harshly…when it was actually another, my lack of memory,

Then told her it’s true what they say.

You don’t remember the pain once your baby is here.

I’m wondering if my friend’s prayers are stirring my memories as a whole, of all sorts of things.

I woke with first thought, prayer.

God, help me to know you more.

There are disjointed possibilities in my life, a new one popped up yesterday. I gotta circle back around, finish multiple things, my mind and plans chaotic over stuff begun and not finished

My thoughts are all over the place.

I make the coffee, open the door for fresh air and I remember.

“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.”

‭‭James‬ ‭1:5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

An elderly couple lived below us, my younger brother and me. We were not quiet apartment dwellers. We were single and in our 20’s. We frequented “River Street” in Savannah and found our way back home safely, how?

God only knows.

I watched them on Sundays, they’d come and go clutching Bibles, holding hands.

I avoided them in my comings and goings until one day in the stairwell, I came face to face with the husband, a sharply dressed gentleman.

I asked, “How can I know God’s will?”

He answered simply, “Know God.”

That was two decades ago and his answer left me hanging, left me lacking not longing. I wanted so much more than an answer so broad.

I desired a quick list or an easy plan.

I wanted it “one and done” for me, quickly fix me, God, I know you can!

Perfection, I yearned for, had no understanding of grace, God’s patience, His allowance of progression.

How in the world could we imagine God’s will as only quick when, after all, He has us and the whole world in His hands? He orders our seconds, minutes, hours and days. Their unfolding, He knows.

I understand the simplicity yet mystery now.

His pursuit of me is graceful and grace-filled.

There’s no end road to knowing God’s will.

It is a beautiful unraveling, a revealing of splendor and clarity and abundance as we go.

As we go unaffected by our daze and confusion only illumined by His spirit, His dwelling within us.

How do we know God’s will? I believe we remain quietly intent in our pursuit of Him.

He knows. Just ask Him.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice. me

Linking up today with others at Five Minute Friday who are writing on the prompt “Lack”. https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/04/11/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-lack/

Just Left of Beautiful

Children, daughters, family, hope, Motherhood, Vulnerability

The grass was chilled from the still cool soil and the overnight temps were on the warm edge of freezing.

Just to the left, what you don’t see, is my life changing significantly, almost too significant to perceive.

A maternity shoot, my daughter, her husband, their May baby.

I offered my jacket for her bottom and then remembered I had not driven my car.

So, from a distance.

My daughter with her firstborn inside her sat down carefully on the ground laid out in perfectly plowed and planted rows, slices of shimmer,

chilly grass.

The photographer’s mama stood with me.

I smiled as told her I wasn’t surprised.

That she’d sit down, in her pretty dress, baby in her belly, they sat without hesitation on the cool of God’s soil.

Then remembered my blonde girl running through wheat fields, cotton and corn.

I stood and I watched as she rested her hand on her baby.

At a distance, I watched, closer to my daughter than I thought possible, sweeter than ever before.

Seesaw Prayers and Stephanie Sue

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, rest, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting

From God’s perspective, I believe we pray more than we realize, that our thoughts are to Him, sort of informal prayers. Maybe He’s nudging us to pray, saying your thoughts are not trivial, nor too troubling, tell me more. I believe He says let’s wait and see, get there together.

What’s blowing my mind today is the reality of God hearing my prayers! Oh Lord, forgive me for taking this lightly or for only getting excited and wanting to sing loud praises when it’s mind-blowingly big.

I try to get out in front of God, as if I need to coax the direction of a certain “perfect” way. If I’m honest, God must think I’m whiny or either aggravating, the pendulum swings one or the other way.

Like the seesaw, I’m either the queen of the world buoyed up high from my worries by the force and folded knees of my brave cousin, her butt at the bottom and feet firmly in the smooth cool sand.

Showing me, like Jesus.

I’ve got this. Sit still.

Then she lets go and either drastically I hit bottom or she’s easy and my place and turn in the pattern is more like rest on the level ground than a harsh descent, desperately back to prayer.

Or she’s so skilled in her timing, my seesaw partner, that she leaves me in the interim wanting me to trust her weight and balance will keep me there.

I don’t like the middle, the supposed to be at peace with not knowing, the trusting place. Yet, God always teaches me when He increases my faith, my confidence there.

He shows me that He saw me praying a different way, a surrendered and boldly strong expectantly way and so He moved and the situation, hours later changed, the circumstances swayed.

He answers our prayers all day throughout the day. I sometimes pray as if I’ve speculated the river is dry and the flow of sovereign power and grace can’t make it back my way.

Then He does it again. He answers the longing I brought and left with Him, the one I considered not bringing at all.

True story.

Prayer changes things and people.

I hope I remember it long, the thing that happened and It hit me…oh, you prayed! I’ll store it up in my journal of others chronicling the big grace and answered prayers of before along with the little ones He has anticipated and given replies that I may never know.

I don’t have to rush ahead fearing He doesn’t see I need His guiding hand.

I just have to stay close, let my trust be my hand in His hand on this ever changing road and that memories like seesaws and brave cousins who taught me so much are teaching me still.

This post is for you. I miss you, brave and beautiful one, Stephanie Sue!

“pray without ceasing,”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Cake with Your Mama Day

birthday, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, freedom, grief, happy, heaven, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

I’d love to tell you just a little about my mama, on this day, her birthday!

And then I’d love for you to make cake a part of your day!

She passed away nine years ago.

Too soon for us all.

There were more cakes to bake, more commentary to be made on the politics of the day, more acceptance to be given over her sometimes sullen, stubborn and set ways.

More big meals together with some variety of homemade cake.

It may have been my coconut or my brother’s red velvet, maybe caramel, maybe thin layered chocolate so good the sugar melted more sugar on your tongue as you allowed it to linger.

It may have been her pound of everything pound cake or it may have been the fancy cream cheese with pecans creamy carrot.

Today, I am planning to have cake!

You should too.

I give you not permission, but a virtual nudge-like nod to say yes to love, to loosening your control!

To enjoy cake alone or with someone, somehow with your mama.

To have cake and not stress over anything at all!

Stress’ll kill you, Lisa! My Mama

Happy Birthday in heaven, Mama!

Your love has brought us to who and where we are!

I celebrate you today.

Last year, I went “junkin’” and bought this little dog that looked like “Sunny” and then my friend Dana surprised me with cake!

Little did she know she’d be starting a tradition…your birthday will be remembered from now on by enjoying some sort of outrageously delicious cake!

I am officially declaring January 30th “Cake with Your Mama Day”.

If you still have your mama, go see her or call her and catch up over cake!

If your mama is in heaven like mine, sit with someone you love and let love lead your reminiscing or just your making time to be together.

Whatever you plans today, make time for cake!

Then share the love and yumminess of your day!!!

Yay for cake!

#cakewithyourmamaday

God is Busy

Angels, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, hope, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Last night I told myself I needed to get with the times. I need to be aware of how they are truly changing.

I am now that person who is panicked over what the world will be for my children’s children.

I was not this way before.

My mindset was one of oh, it was bad a long time ago too, people have always been violent, issues have been challenging and intense. Children can adjust as long as they have the firm and loving foundation of family and God.

But, I got all worked up over something I saw on the internet about three year olds. Close to midnight and I’m wanting to research it more, prepare myself to protect my grandchild.

The thing is, influence is either worrisome or wonderful. It is unwaveringly committed and steadfast in whatever the influencer believes.

Children, I am certain, will be influenced by the ways of those closest to them and by those who make a commitment to stay close to God.

Last week in church the preacher asked “Who in your life most influenced your faith by their life?”

There are a few people for a few different reasons.

But, I cannot deny my grandma.

She was quiet and private with her Bible.

She was unwavering in her commitments and traditions for us.

She was industrious.

She was gracious.

My name is written in red in her Bible, all of the other names are there too.

A few weeks ago, my “Aunt Boo” reminded me of God’s control and of being sure He is working all for good in my waiting to know.

She reminded me of the refrigerator magnets at my grandma’s that were letters spelling out, “God is busy.”

God is busy. Doris Evelyn Peacock

I told the story to my daughter.

She smiled. She remembered and I promptly purchased a bag of plastic magnets because every single day I too need to remember.

He’s got the whole world in His hands.

God is busy making ways for us.

God is busy dispelling myths about Him, replacing them with reminders of truths about Jesus.

About His love.

God is for us, not against us and He is busy being sure we believe.

Linking up with others on the prompt of “influence” here.

INFLUENCE

True You, Letting Go of Your False Self to Uncover The Person God Created -Book Review

Abuse Survivor, Art, book review, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, freedom, hope, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’ve just finished a book that’s causing me to be more brave, to acknowledge my own unmet needs and my less than consistent motivation and faith.

It’s New Year’s Eve and I am hopeful for 2019! I’m rushing its beginning, my heart longing for change, helped along by a very important book!

My 2019 word, like a label, is Faithful. I’m believing more clearly that God is faithful, more importantly, I’ve decided it’s not too late for me to be faithful in a few things!

I considered deleting the opening sentence of this, it being characteristic of my brooding, possibly seen as seeking attention self, being pitiful. Too honest, too brave.

But, the geese flew over, a loud and harmonious chorus at the very second I felt regret and so I saw that as a sign.

Leave your truth there. It is time, use what you’re beginning to learn.

I’ve just finished a book I’ll read again.

True You by Michelle DeRusha

After reading about her “being called out by God moment” I was challenged to discover the true me, to label the labels I’ve worn all of my life, assigned to me because of circumstances out of my control and handicapped by some of my own mistakes.

But, I couldn’t do any of this suddenly, so I asked God, what are my labels, my idols, my self-handicapping behaviors?

And then I rested and returned to read more and to realize some of my behaviors, my default mindsets and choices are simply what I know as me, keeping me from becoming the me God sees.

I know how to halt my progress, derail the train as it approaches the life changing bend because I’ve not lived in the land of confidence and courage for long enough to extend my stay, to be welcomed in.

To believe it’s a place I could live.

In this book, I gained confirmation of this thing I do, putting limits on my blessings, selling myself short, minimizing my part in my arrival at the place of who I was created to be.

I make it less than it is, the good that’s come my way, through my own hands.

My grandson stood over me as I painted, finishing up pieces for my first exhibit. He sweetly said “You’re really good.”

I smiled and asked “You think so?” He replied yes and asked how’d I get so good at painting.

I replied “I just kept trying, I just kept learning.”

“No, you are a good painter ” he insisted standing so close beside me, captivated as I explained the use of palette knife instead of brush.

And I didn’t discount it, I didn’t insist that he was wrong. I didn’t minimize his sweet praises.

I didn’t do the thing I’ve done for so long, I accepted his assessment of me, I owned it, I believed it belonged.

He labeled me a “good painter”.

Crazy thing, I have been painting for so very long and until that little exchange I’d never felt I could be called an artist, “a painter”.

Always, oh well just the one who keeps trying, keeps trying, I enjoy it, it’s therapy, I had an art scholarship but I flunked out.

Strategically distracting from the accepting of just maybe I’m good.

In Michelle De Rusha’s book I was especially changed by Chapters Four and Five, the ones on brokenness and on dark and desperate periods she refers to as the “hard prune”.

In Chapter Four, I read of the emotional epiphany the author experiences as she comes to terms with her lack of intimacy and utters words to herself that must have surely broken her heart, that her heart was not as close to God as she’d believed.

I didn’t have clarity in my vocation, in my calling as a writer, because I didn’t know who I was in God. Michelle DeRusha

My thought? How brave and how very scary her self revelation!

I had to pause, knowing it’s for me quite the same.

Chapter Five describes seasons of doubt, depression, dark nights of souls.

Unbeknownst to the world until long after her death, Mother Teresa suffered from a long and relentless dark night of the soul. Michelle DeRusha

We’re conditioned to push through those times of dark abyss. We push through, we masquerade, self-medicate with substance and empty activity.

We keep plugging along when what we need most is to accept it, to settle into the solemn and to let the soul get quiet enough for long enough to know what it is it needs to know.

Our culture is contradictory to that response, the letting the sadness and the times devoid of tangible hope do God’s work.

I don’t think I’ve ever thought to welcome seasons like these, I’m quite sure I’ve never thought them beneficial, the blah absence of growth or motivation or meaning.

I never realized they have a reason, there must be a settling into stagnancy, an acceptance of lull in blessing or breakthrough so that we seek Him and find authenticity in our faith again.

We have to let go of the self we created in response to hardship, to circumstances and we must not be pulled back there, to the places we know because we’re afraid of good, it’s too unfamiliar.

We have to allow and own our uncovering of our souls.

Our deepest, truest, most essential self has been waiting all along for this opportunity to be uncovered and exposed to the light, waiting for the invitation to grow into its fullest, richest, most beautiful potential. DeRusha

This book was not easy for me, it was true in ways I hadn’t expected its truth.

Occasionally, I pencilled and tabbed and then set it aside. I feared I was not ready to see some things, afraid to be called out of my past and current patterns.

I was afraid it would be too scary and difficult and even unfair to my messed up me to consider thinking new possibilities of me.

Early one morning I had clarity in making my list of labels and it occurred to me that yes, all of these were decided for you, assigned to you, expected of you.

You simply played along, sat in your corner, came out only when called and never having any inclination that right now you’re still wearing them, really have all along.

God’s seen you quite differently and patiently and consistently is calling you towards His idea of you.

So, my labels I’m letting go of along with their clutching and anxious handhold?

Victim

Misfit

Big girl

Black Sheep

Lost Child

Throwaway Child

Shy Child

Hidden One

The One Without Needs

Addictive Personality

Pitiful

Failure

Dreamer

Middle Child

Quitter

Too Deep

What labels have you lived with for too long?

I signed up to help launch this book and I remember commenting to the author

“Something tells me this book may change my life.”

And it has, it has been a beginning towards change.

I’ve only scratched the surface here.

If you’re ready to live freely, openly and be pruned of unproductive, dormant and decaying parts of you, your “tree”, you should order a copy.

If you order by midnight tonight, there are extra encouraging good things.

I’m so grateful Michelle De Rusha experienced her coming face to face with her self defeating behaviors that hindered her knowing God fully and truly.

Her story is important because she is closer than before to her “God You”.

Me too, hopefully you.