Precious Life

Children, Faith, family, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Elijah Blue ‘n Colton Dixon

Made it in time before sundown and we covered our faces in fleece. Heather says fat burns fast in cold air.

So, we strolled, imagining calories burned for the sake of cold air. Baby sized ponds, the dogs ran through and we fussed over it, then called ’em back, inviting their play again.

A storm last night, she said, “The windows were shaking, mama, I mean shaking!”

I thought for less than two seconds, “Wish I’d known.” and she continued with telling me of reaching for her sleeping husband.

Precious, I thought, oh, how sweet!

I made it before sundown and we walked on thick and sandy dirt roads, wide expanse of sky and talk of nothing really and everything really.

“What is it you plan to do with
your one wild and
precious life? “

Mary Oliver

How precious.

Memory and Verse

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Teaching, Uncategorized

Sometimes we only remember our “memory verses, ” and we miss the most meaningful conversations God wants to have with us through His word. The conversations between believers, encouragers, and teachers, they catch me off guard sometimes and make me just glad. I forget I’m reading an ancient book, it becomes such a novel like a story, the characters captivating me, the reader.

In the second of the Timothy books, Paul reminds young Timothy of the spirit God gave him and that it is not a spirit of fear, exhorting him, sending him off to carry out his duty.

It’s a popular verse. I’ve used it, heard it, shared it and prayed it. “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” II Timothy 1:7

Just before turning here I’d prayed that God would make me a more wise leader, that he’d help me understand his way in situations I face. I prayed I’d be more an example, that I’d serve more than lead, be an encourager.

I prayed that my children would have moments in their days that they remembered God and God would catch their attention with something beautifully unexpected, that he would equip them for their days.

Paul was preparing Timothy by reminding him of his unique gifts from God along with the power of the Holy Spirit.

But, Paul did something even more special, maybe he sensed he needed a different approach. I love it when the scriptures are conversational, I’m there with them, and I can see Paul like a coach, a mentor, even like the guy in the Karate Kid, giving ancient wisdom and personal experience to say… “You can do it.”

Maybe, though it wasn’t fear or timidity over the task. Maybe it was more a question of why me, how will I or there are so many who are better, more ready.

So, Paul says to Timothy. “Listen, young man, I know your mother. I remember your grandmother. I know they had sincere faith and so I know that same faith dwells in you.” (vs.5)

“Yeah, well you have a point. I have some strong and faithful women in my family.” I imagine him lifting his head and with a halfway smile of assurance nodding, maybe his mama and grandma standing in the shadows with sweet smiles.

May my faith be sincere Lord, like the faith of my grandma, the one I remember. May it be steadfast like the one I never got to meet but, only heard stories of her strength.

May my faith be sincere and my perseverance be unwavering like my mama.

May people say to my children, “I know you can do it, you’ve got the faith of your mama in you.”

May my faith be more evident each day to them

and to me.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee

Read her beautiful story of how giving gives us just what we need! :

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/find-way-darkest-dark/

Roosters and Angels and New Things

Children, Faith, family, grief, Trust, Uncategorized

When it’s your mama’s birthday and you set out thoughtfully for days… to write something profound about blue feathers and her blue eyes, your blue eyes and the blues of wishing she had lived a little longer, and instead…you paint and feel free.

New pieces tonight:

Today, my mama would have been 77 and on Saturday, it was year 7 since she died.

So, I painted a rooster because she loved them. I painted a cow because it’s harder than I thought and at first it was horrible. I decided not to give up, so I painted a cow and I’ll name her Pearl. Then I finished up the “Gather at the River” painting, three angels, mama, me, my girl.

Birthday Boy

Pearl

Gather at the River

I thought of writing about finding feathers. I’d been finding them all along the way. But, I stopped. Stopped seeing them when glancing down, I guess because I’d become so diligent and longing in my search, forcing the finding of them.

Today, almost sundown, no feather found. I meandered through dead hydrangea, the crisp, dry and crinkly straw from pines. It was dusk. I looked down for a feather, found not one.

But, the bright forsythia are beginning to bloom on the barren charcoal branches.

If there’s a color of hope, I’m sure it’s bright yellow.

So, I painted tonight, lulled by bluegrass sonnets and happy rhythm of time passing quickly and contentedly unaware.

I thought of my morning tribute to her. We love you. We miss you. We are all just fine.

So, happy birthday in heaven mama. I painted your rooster, most beautiful ever I believe, your presence close by.

I love you. I miss you. I’m doing just fine.

In Good Time

Children, family, grace, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized

Every morning quiet time

He waits now. Before, almost two years ago, it was crazy.

I said “Yes” to a Christmas gift of a Labrador for a son who’d be leaving for college.

I lost all control. I did. My emotions of the transition I suppose, of my little boy, took over the reigns. The idea of a big, big dog in a house with an already sweet older little beagle getting older and moodier lady…

the one that was supposed to have been his, but, his sister had to take on the raising.

So, cold January , post-Christmas mornings, I’m out with him, I’d done my research he needs a routine, he needs to play, needs to run.

Cold mornings, kicking a basketball with rain boot covered feet, wrapped in my bathrobe as he ran from fence post to fence post.

We had a routine.

He was settling in. Over time, less chewed shoes, we needed a new screen door anyway.

Now, he’s my morning buddy. He is good and we sit. He waits. He looks out the window for the spot the 4Runner whips into when the college boy comes home. He looks every morning. He knows it will be soon.

He brings me the tennis ball. “Not yet, No sir.” I say, and he plops down beside my feet with a human like sigh of acceptance.

He waits.

He understands. He waits.

I remember times I ran ahead of God’s sweet and sure control. I forced my way, tore up stuff and things, outcomes, fell onto the floor emotionally with hands clenched tightly into fists.

Then, I learned to wait. And waiting became routine.

Routine is good. Like Colt, the big brown dog, I’m good now…better, at least more quiet.

In returning and rest, shall you be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength. Isaiah 30:15

Peace, Strength, Bright Hope Tomorrow

Children, courage, Faith, grief, praise, Trust, Uncategorized

I’ve resorted to setting my alarm again. There was a time it wasn’t necessary, I’d wake cause my body knew it was time and moved, alert and following my mind.

But, lately I linger in the place I’ve come to rest. The place where the light comes in, I linger here, a chorus has stirred me slowly.

It’s a funny thing, I hesitate to tell.

Ive been waking with a song. I’ll remember an old hymn or new praise and I suppose God is setting a tone. On Monday, it was “leaning , leaning, safe secure from all alarm.”

I reached for a cup realizing I’d postponed putting the dishes away. All the plain ones in the front, like a song upon waking, I look for a vessel for my coffee. I’m mapping my day.

Oh. I see it, pushed to the back.

A gift from my daughter, one of the many.

Thoughts and little gifts, sparking a recognition of my need, subtle sayings that say, “Get over yourself or get through this, you can.”

There are three funerals of good people who lived long, good lives this week, the week of the day remembering of my mama’s passing.

I get word of a young man who gave up and tragically died and I read the obituary of a mother without hope.

Both, only a quarter of a century of life lived thus far, that far.

” It’s happening a lot.” she said, meaning family members and older people.

I agreed, “Yes.” thinking, more by suicide. This is work; still it is my life, life.

It is morning again, the one after I woke to drink from the cup of peace and I feel as if I’ve toiled all night, I wake early for fear of sleeping too late. Today’s cup, paisley pink and purple swirls, a gift from my son.

The message, even more subtle, a boy on a trip with his buddies, used his spending money and thought of his mama, “Got something for you.”

And I sing a song for the day as I turn towards work, thinking yesterday I cherished quiet and I was thoughtful and trusting.

“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!”

Today, more celebratory in early morning blue sky, suddenly bright with joy and tomorrow…

Tomorrow is yet to see and be seen, to be partaken of.

I’ve got the coffee ready for my rising.

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided,
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to “Tell His Story”

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learned-life-beautiful-bumpy-road-faraway-island/

Carolina Rain, Georgia all the Same

Children, family, Prayer, Uncategorized

A slight departure from my typically long and longing posts.

Progress, perhaps in my not taking of myself quite so seriously fragile and focused. Remembering more the things worth remembering as opposed to those more cumbersome.

I’m in Carolina; but, Georgia’s

on my mind.

The little white house on Peacock Hill. All us cousins spending the night every weekend.

And if we had a “cloud makin’ up over yonder somewhere”

We knew we better hush our mouths.

I go back now on this dark and stormy day that’s gotten more quiet as evening comes and I find us there, all the same as it was.

The thick sky muffled with rain and drumming thud of thunder right now.

My Grandma, “Bama” would have us all sitting on her sofa side by side.

She’d be pacing through the wide open front room to the screened porch to look at the sky, turning from east, west, south, north. Her tiny little fierce frame, checking for bad weather, it was a sight, her task, we sure did respect her.

“God is working! ” she’d say.

It was the only time my granddaddy, “Dan Dan” wasn’t giving us hell from his recliner about one thing or the other or asking my cousin Stephanie, to rub his feet. Which she always did.

If you’re my cousin or my sibling, I feel you right there with me now sitting on the setee trying not to let our legs touch. Knowing not to make a peep, get tickled or pass gas.

But, if someone did…Dan Dan would shake his head and smile that rascal smile and say, “I’d give a dollar to make a fart like that.”

Good thing he couldn’t, cause if he did, he’d say “There’s a kiss for you.” and we’d have all fell all over one another, cackling our heads off!

Stormy now in Carolina and because of Georgia, I’m sittin’ still, checkin’ from the porch and I’m smiling in the remembering of God working.

Keeping quiet, watching the weather and thinking it’s a good time to say a prayer.

God is working, Bama told us so.

Longing Ponds

Children, courage, family, grief, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

” So, come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing. And put your lip to the world. And live your life.” Mary Oliver

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I’ve plenty of time now to talk to myself. Empty morning house and moving slowly through the rooms.

My thoughts, an exchange with my soul, so true it’s a wonder the dogs don’t hear and

Tilt their heads towards me as if to say, “Oh, it’ll be okay.”

Today, I woke and made plans as if my day was free. Like a silly survey to guess my type or temperament, I saw myself answering,

What would you do today if you could do anything?

I saw myself, assuredly, giving voice to my wish.

“Well, I’d drive to Georgia and my mama would be there. We’d sit on her dock after eating good fattening food somewhere, havin’ gone to town and to K Mart, buying stuff we didn’t need.”

That is what I’d do. I can’t say why; but, I’m missing her more this time, this coming back to the day she died just before her birthday time.

Grieving after a long time is even more a secret sorrow now. It’s not a heavy grief, more a wish kept secret for the sake of its sacredness.

So, I’d have gone to sit by the pond with my mama, maybe walk around the dam, see if the beavers had clogged up the “run around” and listen for the geese in the distance

Just so I could hear her say, ” Here they come.”

I went to the country today, to my daughter’s. Later than I had planned, I was rushed and annoyed.

“It’s okay if you don’t have time to walk.” I said.

img_4779_kindlephoto-50171596

“Oh, we’re going on an adventure.” she answered.

We walked on curving paths through fields and red moist clay. The dogs ran ahead, turned back to catch up and chased after a rustling in the woods, just a little ways, we’d call and they’d come right back.

We turned a sharp turn, she asked her dog, “Eli, you know where we’re going?” and said to me, “This way.”

” A pond? ” I asked.

“”Yeah.” she said and we made our way through the briars and branches to the place under the pines where the water rushed through.

She couldn’t have known. My soul, I suppose led us all there, my daughter, the dogs, my mama and me.

img_4754_kindlephoto-50064842

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story. This week’s post is about grief? What I’ve come to know as my sacred secret as I move through the month of January, finding feathers everywhere.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/grief-becomes-gratitude-giveaway/

Thus Far

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

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We lived in a cute apartment in a sort of upscale community, my baby brother and I. Our apartment was above a retired couple.

Their comings and goings always together, I’d glance down at them from the kitchen window, he gently helping her from the car and carrying one or two bags of groceries.

Occasionally,he looked up, his expression a contrast in wisdom and frustration.

Yet, they never complained of our late hours, our trash piling up or our completely haphazard life.

Both of us single, both of us sowing wild and hapless oats.

Every Sunday, they went to church. Sharply dressed and contentedly methodical were their steps back home.

On one particular evening, we ended up close enough for words. I asked the gentleman, “How can I know God’s will for me?”

Surprised by what he must have seen as a lost and careless young woman, he just stood there. “I’m sorry if we are loud up there sometimes.” I said, ashamed I’d asked the question.

Still, no words as we stood together in the shade of stairwell. Do I wait, do I leave him be? Should I not have invited his sermon? Will he rightly point out my sins?

He answered with a book. I’d love to say it lives on my shelf; unfortunately, the patterns of my life were not abruptly changed that day.

But, a seed planted, oh my goodness and I’m so glad God allowed me time enough for it to grow.

There are many who will not believe there are big portions of my life not well-lived.

Who may think I talk of redemption and wonder how on earth do I really think I needed to be redeemed.

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Last night, a text came. I was painting and cleaning my art room. I’d walked the dog in the mist and fog, praying hard and quietly demanding as I walked.

The old heavy and annoying albatross of anxiety had begun to linger above my head.

It’s such a dull and cumbersome feeling, the one that cooks up chaos, confusion and confoundedness in the heart and mind.

I decided, after listing all my anxious taking of responsibility for plans gone awry to God, to head home, be quiet and paint. “I’ll paint. I’ll listen to Alison Krauss and I’ll just paint.”

So, I’m painting in silence because the air has cleared, my mind unfurled and open.

My painting, not furious, but an easy comfort.

My prayer was heard, my heart was made free.

I needed to answer her text; a young woman, mother of precious girls and one little boy is worried and has been crying for days, she said.

I’d given her a reference for a job. She didn’t know. She desperately needs one.

“I’ll pray for you, that a breakthrough will be soon.” I said. She answered with something like you are so great, I really appreciate it. I wish I had your faith.

I told her that the things I say to her are the things I say to myself quite regularly.

I’m not who I was, still not all I should be. Closer every time I surrender, a thankful trusting heart at rest.

Told her I get the blues too. I have to pray, get quiet and trust.

I hope she knows it’s true, that the mess I am is not nearly as much a mess as before.

That, the will of God is for her a good and settled mind; but, we have to seek it.

That’s what he said back then twenty plus years or so, the kind and patient gentleman who gave me the book.

“You have to seek God’s will and keep seeking it in the quiet place of prayer. ”

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This morning, I’m reading scripture from II Samuel. A devotional about setting goals for fruitful living, talks about spending time alone with God.

The passage is called “David’s Prayer of Gratitude”. It was written after he was the least likely to be chosen, after he defeated a giant with a stone and before he strayed haphazardly distracted again by lusts of life.

“Then King David went in and sat before the LORD and prayed, “Who am I, O Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far?”
‭‭2 Samuel 7:18

He’s the good shepherd; he kept his shepherd boy who he chose to be a king.

He keeps us too, reminds us where he found us and where he’d like to help us go.

Where we long to stay, reminded of our thus far.

Little much

Children, courage, family, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

corn flakes, banana and pecan

Yesterday, we all had dinner together.

Beef brisket on little buns loaded with jack cheese and buns made shiny by warm butter

Fingerling potatoes coated in olive oil and Parmesan cheese, crispy under the broiler

A cole slaw fancied up with creamy bleu cheese, crushed pecans and cranberries

Decadent macaroni and cheese, thick, soft and warm

My attempt at a little cafe’ worthy finale’, custard and Nutella blended gently over heat, cooled and then covered in melted marshmallow, not the star of the show,

still sweetly delicious.

Gifts exchanged late Christmas night. Laughter and languishing. Sprawled out in the den.

Late night led to late waking.

Back to the kitchen, I go for the simple.

Remembering my grandma’s house when we all had breakfast from the box with the big rooster.

And how I loved it when the honey colored flakes floated in a pool of white.

I’d dip into the bowl with little fingers, pick just one and bring it my mouth, letting it rest softly on my tongue.

Then I’d turn the shallow bowl up and drink down the milk that tasted like candy

My feet swinging loosely over the edge of my grandma’s chairs up close to the big table.

My cousins all around me, the day after Christmas at the old house in the country.

Little is much, I know this to be true, know its peace.

Day 11 – grace, regardless

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

Day 11, Advent
Uphold me in your promise that I may live and let me not be put to shame in my hope! Psalm 119:116

How we feel about God, about His part in our plans and how we give him a role in our lives, our faith, dependence, trust…our unwavering acceptance of his unwavering grace is the image and message we convey.

It can’t be hidden, won’t be hidden. With God, there’s no masking, no faking, no playing of holy part. Our lives are not scenes from a grand play for which we’ve auditioned and are chosen to be the star follower or the longing reject hoping to be picked to follow Jesus.

There’s no need for acting. There’s no need for striving to maintain appearance of never being afraid or feeling condemned, yet again because of negative conversations with self.

If we try to cover our doubts about grace in the day to day, how will we ever convey God’s saving grace to the doubters of us and of life and love, all around us and in our lives?

We end up exhausted from the farce of it all…going through life only sporadically believing in grace.
Grace is daily.
It is our bread, our sustenance.

It’s what we know we lack and circle back to remember.
The very same grace we accepted as ours when we surrendered our wandering, questioning hearts and believed is the grace that is ours every second of the day.

So, I let my insecurities show and some might be repelled by my lack of discretion, of not covering up. By the grace of God and my discernment of right people, they show less day by day.

In time one of two things surely happens:
It will, my insecurity, show more or struggle to stay hidden. Insecurity is relevant and relatable. It is beautiful for us to be brave enough to be less than strong enough or as we might be expected to be.

The more we remember grace, the less glaringly we’ll obstruct its beauty by the wearing of our masks of can’t be known.

Heather said she’s ready for the leaves to all fall away, the trees should be wintry now, it’s Christmas.

I agree. There’s beauty in barren. There’s beauty in exposed and clinging to what means life.

Can a winter branch shield itself from cold, wet and harsh season?

I think not, still it’s a beautiful thing to see resting in the strength of roots and even more clearly visible unadorned with leaf against wide blue sky.
#graceupongrace #quietconfidence #birthofjesusday