Children

Familiar Things

Children, Faith, family, grace, grief, heaven, Prayer, Trust, Unity

The sun coming in and landing on the succulents.

The Labrador looking longingly out the tall windows.

A phone call before 4, my teacher daughter calling to tell of her day, even the ring or ding, somehow familiar.

My morning, familiar. The sound of stirring of his spoon in coffee cup, so very noisy, intentional and purposed, everything my husband does, he does to be sure it is done.

The habit I have. A little bullet dot by my prayers, to flip the page back the next day and hope to turn the dot to starlike asterisk.

These things, I cherish. They are my familiar.

Last night, we had food together and everyone was seated, we would bless our meal. My sister in law, Julia came and just my daughter, her husband.

My husband would pray and end with “keep us in your will”, instead I asked Julia to pray.

She took a second after saying okay and then prayed.

“You pray just like MeMa. I heard MeMa praying for a little bit.” my daughter said, and we all we’re quiet in agreement, had a little moment, I thought of her prayers, familiar, comforting, an unexpected joy.

I know I needed.

“…always pray with joy”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭1:4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Linking up with others today here:

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/11/23/fmf-link-up-familiar/

Sure as I’m Able

Children, courage, Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I love the part about being sure.

I love the thought of that assurance lasting ’til the end of my days.

But, I can’t decide which I love more.

The sure or the without end.

I wrote it down, like I’d written “trust” one time before.

“Always”

I might use a ballpoint and pretend I’ve been brave enough to be branded.

Write “Always Believe” on the thick part of my palm, the spot that seems the place the thumb finds naturally.

I walked up the hill last night and the sky was marked by a straight arrow white line of jet plane on its way.

I watched for longer than made sense.

Captivated by the distance.

So very distant.

Far away.

I thought I’ll never see the sky the same.

I’ll forever look for white lines going away with trust and sure faith that they will come back.

“He’s got the whole world in His hands.”

And I’m certain there are things I never thought I’d see happen even if they only happened from a distance and without me.

And that’s been quite something else for sure!

To have seen how far they can go.

And how close my Lord can stay.

I know He has been with me always, with them, with us and it’s not yet the end of the age.

So, I will be sure.

Be sure of this…

The whole world

The whole sky wide world

is in His hands.

Listen

Children, courage, Faith, family, grief, Motherhood, rest, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I looked up from my late day desk yesterday.

Caught off guard, I did not hear her walk in.

I rose to meet her, her neighbor couldn’t accompany her, she’d decided to come on her own.

“Good”, I said. “I’m glad you came.”

Almost a half hour before the others, I told her it’s fine. It’s good. It’s hard to walk into a room and know no one.

Now, you know me, and I, you.

I tried not to keep gazing there, the place where the light seemed so warm, so soft this evening, a day after I still think of their embrace.

I question what it is with me, the way I’m drawn to such sights.

The thin branches reaching out, reminded me of them, open and tenderly brave.

It reminded me of listening.

I sat between them, the three of us, mothers.

The one new to the gathering began to speak about her son’s suicide.

The room fell silent.

Reverent.

She looked past me towards the other and asked, “When did you stop blaming yourself?”

Seconds only passed, the imploring of her words, and I noticed the mother three years into grief over her son’s suicide, move slowly from her seat to stand.

Only for just a small breath of a moment did I think to respond. I should comfort.

Instead, I stood and with my hand on the shoulder of the mother to my left, I helped her over to the mother on my right.

I had missed it, that she was on the edge of sorrow, that there were tears about to overflow.

Somehow, she did, the mother to my left.

And, not a single word spoken. Their arms raised to meet the other, shoulders rhythmic with release of tears.

It seemed quite a while; but, the wait not the least bit unsettling.

The father of the son of the one gone three years, the husband of the one offering embrace.

He began to cry. I looked his way, looked slowly away and I joined with them in my own tears. My not nearly comparable mama tears.

Finally, after such a beautiful long time their arms unfolded.

She said, “Thank you.” to the mama who knew and sat slowly back down.

And the other mama waited, as if to be sure and I listened to the voices of grief I can never quite comprehend.

Praying I don’t.

More Silent an Ambition

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, Redemption, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

The whole house quiet with the embrace of a frosty fog, I was awakened by the ding of a message from another place I couldn’t begin to know what it’s like there.

I open the back door and the sun is working its way through the pines to the place where they all played.

He sends me photos and a video of the place where Jesus sat in the middle of the men he’d had walking with him, had been giving them glimpses of His glory, His grace, grooming them to carry on without Him. They had supper together before He was crucified for them, for us.

The little bulleted prayer list now has an asterisk “guide Austin’s steps” denoting God’s answer.

Changing my path too,

I’m slowly seeing more surely.

I’m sitting in the silence and reading, confounded over this place here that holds my words. Seems my audience has gone silent. I’ve decided, this is a sovereign sign.

I have been a bit ambitious for acceptance, might have gotten a little lost in the “ahh”

Of approval.

Just now, I read it’s not up to me to pick my purpose. It’s only up to me to let God have what he’s given me to see it come to be.

To sit quietly as He develops the story or stories to tell.

To live quietly, my words from His words, the creations of my hands, they’re formed by His hand.

Lord, set me free from depending on the notice of others, I pray.

“Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we instructed you before.”

“Then people who are not believers will respect the way you live, and you will not need to depend on others.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭4:11-12‬ ‭

Thankful for the Five Minute Friday prompt, lining up my thoughts and words and believing in the gift of getting silent.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/11/09/fmf-link-up-silence/

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Found Praying

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Tonight, I walked down the hall, the house quiet and settled. The evening, a good one, I walked under leaves and on ground littered with beauty and returned in time to cook a good meal, to paint a bold floral.

I remembered some things I’d been thinking about and made note to be sure I made time to pray for things that will be happening tomorrow.

Stalled by my thoughts on the way to open the dresser drawer, find the warmer pajamas, I decided then, that I’d pray now.

The farthest end of the house, dark.

Unconcerned over not being alone, I knelt, my hands smoothing the creases on the thick quilted cover.

I prayed what needed to be prayed. I prayed what thoughts kept coming back, ones recalled from early and unexpected revelations and realizations from the morning. Ones I’d written down on my pages.

I prayed a prayer that said thank you for your goodness, you are good and your love endures. I told God how grateful I am, recalling sweet little images of my daughter with freckled cheeks and my son, chubby little tanned face, blonde hair bouncing as he ran.

Quiet then, I felt the shift of weight under my knees. I heard the soft sounds of steps on the carpet.

The Labrador presence in the room. I know his sound. I wait, he’ll come up close beside me, make that low grunt like a question.

Instead, he waited. I heard his sigh. He was patient, as if aware of my conversation with God not quite done yet.

He waited and I rose from beside my bed and touched the place between his ears and we walked calmly back down the hall.

And I thought then about something I read today. That people are making light of prayer, have decided we’re all foolish and fooled…those of us who are still praying.

Who will pray.

Who pray when led to pray at not set aside times and believe all the more in prayer, in God, in holy and Holy Spirit.

Because a big brown dog might enter the room and be reverent there until you’re done.

Might know to be still.

To

Be still and

know that He is God.

Psalm 46:10

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other writers on journeys of faith and happy experiences of prayerful discoveries.

Visit here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/live-life-meaning-intention/

Bending With the Road

Children, courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

We took the old way today.

I decided, first thing in the morning, the open window air felt so very, very fresh.

Went to church, came back home and had decided…we’re gonna walk the hill.

We took the old way, the one before the subdivision came and brought with it, walking trail.

The way he’d never gotten to go, “Colton Dixon” the big brown Lab and I.

I held tight his leash, pulled him quick and sharp to the grassy edge when a car sped by.

It’s different now.

Before, I always knew, could anticipate what was coming. I considered it skill, my control and my anticipating good or bad.

The way I walked before, holding tight their sweet hands up the hill.

Sometimes my daughter, others my son

And sometimes both, we’ve gone on walks since way back when.

They thought it so high, the hill in the distance, the curvy approach, excited…I remember them being so excited for our nothingness type of adventure.

Our long walk, they always listened when I said we

gotta listen out, be careful.

One little stretch, a few feet you can’t see looking back towards home or up ahead towards hill, still there.

We were careful there. I held them close.

Then there were some days, just me, walking off the whatever on my mind.

Praying.

Not quite as careful by myself for the sound of car’s engine or the turn of rowdy boy truck from back road.

But, with them, well…

It was our adventure; but, I watched and I listened until.

We’d say, “We made it!”

Made it to the top of the hill, “Whew!”

The air today, it was heavenly.

The sky, blue and translucent.

No trail to follow, only edge of the road and a quite

vacant Sunday afternoon road.

We took the old way, new to him.

Our senses overloaded, his nose and my heart…all the little new things.

Reminded.

Reminded me, enough now, to be reminded and to pray.

The walks we walked back then.

The hill not nearly so steep, nor the road as much a challenge at all now.

The bend remains and the spot where you can’t see very far ahead, still there.

In between the sharp curve and high hill.

And it’s one way or the other now, I realized. A choice, an acceptance, sometimes reluctant surrender.

Bending away or towards what is not yet seen, a less tightly held hand on what doesn’t seem old at all…not old, just before now.

I turn with the change, turning, stepping, leaning into the curves. I’m not at all tired, stronger thoughts, stronger stride.

I lift my eyes toward heaven and the faith I walk with cares less about the hill and the sharp unknown of the bends and so much more about the adventures, their lives once and still mine.

Spaces We Get Stronger

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, praise, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I remember the time before.

I walked, hurriedly to the massive concrete place.

It was early morning, my face was taut from determination, my eyes were worn from the hours of awake, waiting, watching.

How could I be expected to find it, I realize now, many years later. It was a hard day.

I’m no longer that hard on myself.

I walked, already lost and entered every lane. I chose different levels. White, black, grey, red tail lights barely standing out in the black place filled with cars. Occasional glints of shiny color distracting my search, the sun coming up and in gradually.

I had a full meltdown.

The patient waiting without me at the corner of the hospital, the nurse maybe wondering what happened to her mama and my girl most likely sure her mama must be lost.

I lost my car. I stood with the truth of my disaster and accepted what I knew must be true. It’s not here, somehow, someone has taken it.

My daughter waiting, I believe realized I’d “lost it this time” and we’d not discuss it at all.

Same as there’d be no need or time to talk of “what if, what next, what now or why?”

A hospitalization after a procedure that was not a success and she, we go from exam table in pretty Dr.’s room to hospital bed to spend New Year’s Eve.

We were released and my mind, emotionally overloaded could not remember the space among hundreds of cars from two days before on the morning we got to go home.

The morning the sunrise came in through the openings in the hard place up high, I came to terms with what I might not be able to fix or find.

I found it eventually and made it down to load my girl in the car, her almost adult frame and baby face, understanding how I’d fallen apart and stayed away so long, struggling a real struggle in the parking garage while she waited in a wheelchair below.

She loved me anyway. Didn’t say so then but does everyday now.

So, this time I wasn’t gonna lose my mind and my car. Fatigued for a different reason, sleep deprived and uncertain of how I might be.

We were early, but had to park on the very top, the place that feels oddly special with open sky above, a slightly risky feeling.

I opened the door, grabbed my purse and prepared to walk with my boy into the place he’d be flying away for three months.

Stopped for a second, he slightly ahead on his way. I looked down at the marking on the space. “L” it said, okay I told myself, “L like Lisa, I’m good.”

Then, just to be certain, uncertain of my state upon coming back alone, I quickly got my phone from the pocket of my bag and I took a picture of the place I’d be coming back to.

Because, I remembered and I’m not at all embarrassed now over losing my car before.

The mama mind is naturally consumed sometimes and directionally challenged because of the strong and hard pull of the heart. Times when the baby bird is in need of healing to be better at flying and times when the bird is learning to fly.

Surely, mama bird might struggle in her return to the nest.

I’m certain she does.

Perhaps, they mark it with a bright stem or string, wanting to be confident of where they left off.

And I wonder now, if ever, just for the sake of mama memory, if the mama bird flies back to rest a bit in the place she let them go.

Maybe just for the sake of remembering how strong she made their wings.

The Far Away Chorus

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

On Sunday, I stood among a display of images, faces, places, art.

I’d made my way over to an area made into what I saw as sanctuary.

No walls or doors to enter in, the space was open. I entered.

The images displayed in honor of the remembered lives massacred.

This morning I’ve slept with interruptions and I rise from my bed and then decide to begin with prayer. Knees tumble and land in a somewhat pensive posture.

Thank you for protection, I begin. I add in grace, mercy, and thank you for today.

My prayer, one of a rambler and a sleeping mind. Rote in my utterance, disorganized and uncommitted.

The void unfilled.

So, I tried hard to cease with the words, to let it happen, to believe my heart was heard.

I knew there was something I needed to know; needed, not wanted.  I’d disengaged, though,  closing the door to the place needing attention.

Closed off the place and hid the mess, distracting myself with other obligations.

Saying I’ll get back to it soon.

I will.

Why must I feel my prayer should be performance, I wonder sometimes?

Why must my cluttered mind overwhelm me in the clamor, a competition, the hearing of my thinking the thoughts

And of letting be, letting go, letting come to rest?

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Standing still instead, waiting to hear the hearing I’ve known.

On Tuesday, I went back to the place honoring those who died in a church at a Wednesday night prayer meeting.

The beauty of the faces hanging in frames. The bright vibrant color on those who walked the bridge in unity, hands raised up high on the high bridge over Charleston, South Carolina.

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The others lined up, symmetry along one wall, black and white, the photographs, the expressions on the faces.

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Together, standing amongst flowers strewn on the ground, eyes closed in prayer, hands  unbroken and tightly clutched.

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The slain pastor’s Bible encased in glass, opened to the parable of the mustard seed.

30 Again he said, “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? 31 It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. 32 Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” Mark 4:30-32

Heaven was enlarged that night.

Surely it was.

Stained glass windows depicting Mother Emanuel Church and words, just a few lines, a humble display, a description of what happened that night.

On Sunday, I listened and my emotions felt close to erupting like volcanic overflow in the international airport. I came to the place I’d be letting go and the letting go I’d need to be prepared for in advance.

On Sunday, I stood alone in the place with strong words on the wall that said

“Charleston Strong”.

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My cousin was there; but, she let me be alone, apart.

I wasn’t very strong.  I was surely present.

I was present as I heard the soft sound of hymn barely coming through someplace, seemed above or perhaps the four corners holding together.

“It is well, it is well.”

Sunday was an opportunity to be aware, to feel the feels of goodbye, to not be blindsided by the things I did not know.

I’d never left a child at the airport.  Never boarded a plane or watched a son fly away.

On Tuesday, we returned, my son and I and he successfully and without me or complication navigated the steps towards leaving, of boarding for his flight.

He surprised me when he approached a woman, asked her to take our picture.

“Uhmmm, I’m gonna be studying abroad for three months, could you take a picture of my mom and me?”

We stood together beneath the Arrival-Departure display.

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I reached up and around trying to embrace him. His backpack stuffed fat for carry on, my arm got all awkward and tangled up and I smiled, leaned into his chest and let go my attempt to hold on.

My expression, a sigh. I notice now, the darkness under my eyes.

He turned and looked towards security and I looked the other way.

“Come and see this.” I said.

We were together there for a few minutes, entranced together by the display.

“Isn’t it amazing?” I asked.

He answered “Yeah.”

We both captured this time, this place, took photos of what touched us there.

Patience filled the separate place, we lingered and I listened again to what I found to be amazing, the sound the same as Sunday.

I entered the space with seeking heart,  curious over display, stood quietly and after a little while, just the same as on Sunday,  now on Tuesday.

I heard the chorus. The faraway melody, the hymn of assurance as soft as a lullaby and as certain as a vow.

“It is well, it is well

with my soul”

And now it’s Thursday.

I’ve heard good words from my son, excitement in the tone of his texts.

I’ve prayed for protection still and I’ve stumbled over my thoughts of his journey.

I’m remembering now, my decision to wait on Tuesday,  at the top of the parking deck, waiting for the departure. I heard the faraway sound of strong engine, I watched the plane appear and then become only a speck. The sky empty then, a flock of blackbirds gathered for me, I believe, to say “all is well”.

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I heard the seeping in of faraway chorus of grace again today, of

Waiting, of sanctuary and of song.

It is well with me.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story. Her words this week remind her of looking towards the heavens, of remembering where hope comes from.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/one-thing-well-never-outgrow/

The Scarlett Effect

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must’ve had Scarlett on the brain.

We played Clue over and over and because I loved the color of the game piece.

I decided, I’ll be Scarlett.

Then, I woke and thought of Scarlett.

O’Hara, that is.

I woke imagining distress and I figured out myself, figured me out, my ways.

I’m either imagining the horrific or I’m deciding…oh well, my hands are tied.

What will be, will be.

Oh, Lord let it not be hard.

So, yeah, I recognized my ways and decided “no more of that thinking that way…nothing or all, catastrophe or avoidance…no more of that!”

No more.

And it began with a waking thought, an affirmation.

People may question this truth.

But, I assure you it’s true. I linger long enough before rising and a song or a verse comes to mind, says good morning Lisa, here’s what you need today.

This truth happened today:

Fear is not from God.

Fear of what I do not know, cannot know

Is NOT from God.

A sound mind…one settled and set on truth, trust, assurance.

One reined back in towards what’s certain and true.

He’s got the whole world in His hands.

This is true.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.”

‭‭2 Timothy‬ ‭1:7‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Rest now, oh wandering and imaginatively, tragically creative mind.

Tell yourself stories of good, oh, sound mind, rest.

Rest, assured.

Getting Real

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

It’s a dim morning. Plans are being made and preparations began will be followed through.

My sister is breathing easy on the couch and I’m aware of the storm.

I sit, quietly.

I sometimes call them “epiphany” because I love the way it sounds.

To be in a quiet place and bit by bit by bit, it happens.

The change in way of seeing.

The slipping up on me of coming to a conclusion on my own.

Things wise or quick to correct people may have said, either as encouragement or a gentle chastise…

You must stop perceiving in this way.

This is not the way you should view life and its gift, its lessons, its living.

Somewhere today in my scanning devotion, Irma, weather and whatever I accepted a truth.

“Your value, Lisa… as you are now and as God sees in His plans for you are worth so much more than any past wrong doing or decision.”

The winds are causing trees to bend and the rain is sideways sheets.

I sit in the waiting room of a doctor who worked us in early, my son is wearing his college hoodie, caught the eye of the physician, an alum.

Small talk, talk only Citadel men understand.

I sit back. I’ve suggested what he say to the doctor who will be preparing him medically for international travel.

I remember my epiphany before the one most recent, God loves him greatly.

Unfathomable, but true.

God loves him more.

Jesus talked with his disciples, prepared them for their going on without him.

“All this I have told you so that you will not fall away.”

‭‭John‬ ‭16:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Stay strong, all will be well.

Recall what you’ve been told, what you know.

What you’ve seen me do for you and for you to believe by seeing.

And though they slept in the garden, he prayed, he prepared their way ahead.

There are new places my son’s feet will travel. There are new lessons to learn, new experiences to experience and encounters to encounter.

He will grow, I’ve prayed through the nights and more to come.

With God’s help, I’ve done my part.

Prepared his way.

#lethimfly