confidence

Oh, My Goodness

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭21‬ ‭NIV‬‬

My friend, Susan gets me, the way I share a story that goes down every path possible and then I circle back around to the point of my sharing.

God has placed wisdom in the form of listeners and those who notice me and mostly unbeknownst to them lead to clarity.

Many years ago on a Thursday morning, a question lingered, had been lingering long. I asked God what to do and added that I knew me and I’d be confused and conflicted forever if He didn’t show me in a big and clear way.

And He did and the course of my life changed.

I accepted that I would be a single mother.

I may never have a prayer answered so promptly and sure again. Or I may.

Wednesday morning, the country road was quiet, the half moon moved with me and fields on either side, sprinkled with cows and crops were striated by thinly layered fog.

Like a canvas changed by an artist who intentionally used light spectacularly well.

I’d been thinking of that same sort of application in new paintings.

seeing goodness

I thought of my words in a journal, the research into what the phrase “honing my craft” truly means.

I was happy. I love words and I love when they are like little secret gifts.

A term I used as a nonprofit professional came to mind, “mission creep”. New to the leadership field, I inherited a mess of misuse of many things. Funding was failing, the agency facing catastrophic losses and necessary changes.

I had no skillset for this position other than compassion for others and a commitment to that call.

There were talks of “adding programs” for which grant funding was freely distributed. If we did more, there might be more money.

But, we had two employees and no capacity to carry out additional programs. I said no and I had a board who trusted me.

I offered, “No, let’s figure out what we are known for, what matters and what we do well and let’s get better at that.”

That naive assertion on my part redirected the course of the agency I oversaw for ten years and I suppose as I write this, it’s the actual first time I have given myself credit for that courageous “no” to chasing after new at the expense of forgoing good.

Abstraction

Choosing better over bigger.

Lord, I see you refining my jagged edges.

A prayer I offered on Wednesday morning, the fog striated in the sky, layered like paint in varying thickness on the canvas of an abstract painting. The sky wrote a beautiful note to my soul that morning,

told me to slow down, settle into what you love about writing and painting and do what is you, not anyone else.

A friend later surprised me with what she’d been seeing in me.

“With your painting -it is beautifully abstract-it does not have to be “perfect”. I sense you feel that your writing has to be “perfect” whatever that is for writing which trips you up. I see Holy Spirit lovingly pouring what looks like liquid gold over and into your mind. I feel that as you continue to explore God’s unconditional love for you. His words are going to flow out of you.” K.

My friend’s response to the question that wears me out (and probably others).

Should I just paint and not write?

If you’re still reading, you may be tired of this old weary question.

Me too. ME TOO!

I stopped by the gallery of a friend. If you’re anywhere near Augusta, Georgia, you must stop in to CANDL on Broad Street. The photographer and curator, Drake White is someone I described as just “happening upon me and my art”. I am honored to have been photographed by him.

I committed to seeing the current exhibit of the acclaimed artist, Ed Rice on the final night of the show and so I drove over yesterday evening, scurrying into the gallery without an umbrella in the sprinkling rain.

I was greeted by two gentleman, one an artist and the other Mr. White. Fascinated by the works, I commented on the emotion of the subjects, not people, rather 18th century dolls.

Still, I decided one was demure and another had been “harmed”.

I was introduced to the other artist with words about three things…

my faith

my writing

my art

faith

I stood quietly and accepted the kind commentary of me.

The me I’d been losing, sort of like a “mission creep” in creative endeavors seeking to be known.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I hadn’t lost my faith; but, maybe I was losing “faith in me” as in the Holy Spirit answering in the most unexpected ways and quietly, a ripple of wisdom that barely changes the stream.

Involving others as teachers, as witnesses of you.

For the sake of you.

For goodness sake and to contribute to the question…with the surest and sweetest answer.

Faith, writing and art, Lisa Anne…for the goodness of others, share my goodness in you.

Is there a place you’ve ventured away from what is for you?

Are you missing the goodness because of grabbing for grander?

Pay attention to what others notice in you and be reminded by a certain little phrase my granddaughter is quite proud of saying…

“Oh, my goodness!” Elizabeth

Oh…my goodness, yes.

Continue and believe

thank you for being here.

Resemblance

Art, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Walking, exhausted and walking, I thought about a storm I must’ve missed.

Fragments on the pavement, objects fallen and scattered.

I’d been away for three days.

Fern fronds, one facing upward the other folded, wilted. Similar, of the same family

Yet, different.

I’d just gotten home from two days with family, the aunt like my mama, cousins, siblings, nephews, nieces.

Grandchildren.

Shown off on social media, the celebration.

It happened again.

Someone said “she’s your mini me”, referring to my granddaughter, Elizabeth.

And it prompted me to think again

About resemblance.

I have two children, a daughter and a son.

One is fair, blonde hair, blue eyes and porcelain complexion prone to freckles.

The other, dark almost coal hair, brown eyes and a more easily bronzed complexion.

Still, I’ve heard through the years.

Oh, he/she looks so much like you!

Of course, I love the assessment.

Last week, I smiled as I saw the light in the eyes of an adopted child on her birthday.

This child, brown in complexion, parented by blondes I was fortunate to meet and be a part of their story.

I saw her mama’s smile. I recognized her father’s confidence in her shoulders.

Not genetic, not inherited.

I see my granddaughter and I see the glimmer of her grandmother, “Gamma” in her eyes. I see her daddy’s expression in her confident answers. I see her cousins’ smile in hers.

I see her mama in the freckles sprinkled across her nose and in her stubborn tenacity.

I see my heart when I see hers and I also see the heart of others.

And that’s what I’ve decided about resemblance…

It’s the heart that shows and the heart that knows.

One child can be seen as the echo of so many all at the same time.

Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, caregivers and protectors.

All of us, imparting resemblance.

It’s not the curve of the cheek, the tip of the nose, the color of the eyes or the way the lips turn above the chin.

Instead, it’s the imprint of love.

Less severe the likeness, more sweetness and nuance.

Love is the reason for the resemblance.

And resemblance is the evidence of that love.

Wildflowers, oak leaves and children.

The remnants of rhododendron.

All the same and on their own on display.

When others say my granddaughter is so much like me in her sweet little face

I know the resemblance is so far from physical and every bit

Spiritual.

The heart of me in her alongside the heart of others who love her.

A high compliment, I was once given and until now have kept secret,

“Your Bible could be in a museum one day.” D.W.

I paused in awe of his assertion, this skilled photographer who discovered me through the sketches I share from the margins of my Bible was quite convinced of this possibility.

I can only hope that if my Bible is found by someone when I’m long gone, that the gift of it finds them in the same lasting way.

That their response to God’s word catches them by surprise, that their reaction is a quiet and lasting one, a reaction that resembles mine.

On page 576 of my Crossway Journaling Bible they will find a sketch of a figure facing forward, she’s not small and her shoulders are bent in either thought or simply aged posture. Her hands are cupped in front of her and cascading behind her is a flow like a river that curves and grows larger.

She is pouring out all that’s within her, joy.

“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭12‬:‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She is giving to others what she has gone searching for, drawn up from deep wells.

I pray I resemble her.

That I focus less on the outer aging, conflicted and overly burdened by activity me and that I consider the gifting inside me, not my gifts, talents, words or physical abilities.

Instead, I hope my life is a resemblance of joy.

Babies are born and bystanders ooh and ah as they decide who the nose, the eyes, the hands are from like a fun little challenging trivia game.

What matters less is who they resemble and more the ones God puts around them to contribute to the best of our ability what joys and gifts and graces deep within us that we embody and get to give them.

When someone says “ELB” looks like me, I smile because I know in that moment caught in a photo it’s not at all that we resemble.

Rather, it’s that the person who caught the moment on film also captured my joy and it was joy, not looks that were mirrored in a toddlers face.

Who resembles you?

Who do you resemble?

Years from now, a grandchild may flip through the thin pages of my Bible and I hope they find a drawing in the margin and say sort of quietly to themselves.

That’s me. That looks like me in that same story.

And rest in their hearts in this,

“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭12‬:‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Who resembles you?

Seekers

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, Peace, Redemption, Trust, wisdom, wonder, writing

“But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28‬:‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The rhododendron, magenta in soft color cups its petals upward from a thick branch, thick as a tiny tree.

The leaves that flare around and about it are dark green, thick and waxy. I believe it’s a rare flowering shrub. Three years ago, like a child finding a treasure, I found it. Now, I wait with a blissful anticipation to see the display again.

The spectacularly elegant flower, I believe a cousin to the azalea but so much bolder.

I had lunch with a friend not long ago. It was a first time sit together, want to know you better sort of thing.

She is an artist. She and I shared our stories, the alikeness and the differences.

I admire her strength, her intelligence and what I see as a determined grace to flourish.

After talk of art, childhood and what comes from the heart more…writing or art comparisons, we began to talk about what it means to be female.

How we’d like in our lifetimes to see women not seen as less capable, less worthy, “less than”.

I thought of this conversation for days.

I thought about what feels like futility in efforts and endeavors if one is a woman not man.

Today, I discovered why the conversation lingered, the one that wondered why we are valued.

Here we again, that whole seeking value conundrum I’ve been trying to quit.

Last week, I wrote myself a very honest note.

“The more you achieve, the more you receive, the more you are known for your art, your writing, your appearance, your family or some other surprise special thing…the more you are known for these things, the more it will never be enough. Because the “more” of you, the value others need is the true story of you …you seeing your value according to Jesus.”

Because, Jesus is more. Jesus is better.

In a flash of clarity, I almost heard my very thoughts.

Women need to know that their value is according to God and they need to know sooner than later.

I need to somehow tell them.

Then, I thought of the women Jesus empowered.

I thought of Mary Magdalene, the woman healed from evil debilitating spirits. I thought of how there were no requirements of her to be the one standing beside the empty tomb, to hear Jesus say

Mary, it’s me, go tell all the men.

And I’m thinking now of the woman at the well, the woman sick for years, the women who in those days were supposed to be little and be belittled never were seen that way by Jesus…so, why must we think we’re supposed to feel small?

Or worse even, find our value in any other effort or acclaim.

I’m a work in progress here. Today, I painted a piece with women scattered “At Rest” and I rested too.

Strong like a rhododendron, beautifully fragile in its display, held up by strong branch, deep, deep roots,

Seekers of strength, light and love us all.

May we settle and sit quietly and remember the peace that never leaves and the value decided by God of us all longer before than we can ever know.

Continue and believe.

I will too.

Simply Becoming

confidence, contentment, Easter, Faith, grace, hope, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
You Shall Not Perish

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
‭‭John‬ ‭3‬:‭16‬-‭17‬ ‭ESV

Yesterday, I read about the truth that with the death of Jesus and our acceptance and belief of this, not only our sin but our shame died too.

I’ve been thinking about the word “acceptance”. All my years I’ve heard the term “accept, believe, confess”.

As I grow, age in every way, I think acceptance becomes a different choice.

Maybe acceptance is allowing ourselves to believe the truth of God’s plan for us…not for others who appear more perfect, others who have lived less damaged lives.

I added red to the woman in the margin, I suppose a banner of my past, my sin, my struggles.

But, I see this woman less often than before and to me, that’s the precious gift of today…the day in between. The day reflecting the horror of before and resting sweetly in the precious promise of new life tomorrow.

We have a long stretch of in between…who we were before we chose to believe in Jesus and who we will be in eternity.

It’s really a precious gift, a beautiful offering that says take this time to get to know me fully because as you know me…you will truly know what I saw and see in you.

Rambling…rambling. Sorry.

Happy day in between.

Rest.

Consider the gift of the grace of growing.

Consider the acceptance of simply becoming. That’s why they call it grace.

Give yourself some today.

Continue and believe.

Power and Prayer

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I finished a short book, a memoir I was asked to endorse. I committed to read in its entirety at first because I’ve heard endorsers of books rarely read the book fully.

And then, because I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll share more about this book soon.

For now though, a little about this little prayer, the graphic I offer you here.

Maybe, I thought, a more acceptable prayer, one more able to help tie the loose ends of unanswered questions, to heal wounds still festering, a prayer more conducive to strength and with less shame.

“God, turn it for good.”

The book I finished caught my breath with its honesty, made me pause overwhelmed by the author’s words of wisdom and mostly, empathy.

It’s a memoir about child sexual abuse, a woman detailing her faith and counseling journey as she bravely reveals her secret, confronts her abuser, her father.

Intertwined in her coming to terms with the abuse by her father, she comes to terms with her questions about why she wasn’t protected by God and how the ripple effect of her sexual abuse separated her even farther from the God she was raised in every Sunday morning church to know.

Because she wasn’t protected, she believed less that she was “wronged” and that all along it was her that was “wrong”.

As I read, many comments were added for my benefit. I became teary eyed when I read of her circling back and back again to the why of God, where and why and how was it allowed?

Her counselor gifted her with words I’ve learned to treasure.

God was there too. God was not pleased. Evil took over. But, God was there with you.

Just as He is today.

Still, it is close to impossible for this truth I choose to be less mystery than reality.

I am learning. God saved me for this.

I’m learning to hold in one hand my questions while balancing in the other the evidence of God in my life, the promises that have been fulfilled.

All of the trauma, the unfair treatment, the less than storybook childhood, the abuse, the grief, the slander of my name by others.

The lack of rescue until I was numb to having a hand clench my neck or throw me against a wall. Stunned, I was stunned into submission of things that should never have happened at all.

That I did not cause.

These hurts are long gone and the thoughts they’ve birthed that I share here are for your hope.

These redemptive thoughts.

So, I offer you this little prayer, a phrase you can say on repeat for whatever wrongs you’ve known.

God, turn it for good.

Once, a few years ago (I’ve thankfully come so far) my counselor asked me if I ever asked Jesus where he was.

So, I asked and He answered slowly, not audibly or enormously, instead so fittingly, an image like a painting.

A familiar place where hard things happened and beside me in a grassy place, Jesus kneeled.

Jesus was with me.

I offer you this prayer.

A precious one, really and not an attempt to right wrongs, a gift of retribution, or a magic eraser of pain.

No, a leaning really. Just a leaning as you learn, as you see God with you.

Continue and believe.

Your story is special.

(Mine is too.)

Already Known

anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

It’s both awesome and awful to realize just how completely we are known by God

From our first breath to here.

I stood at the kitchen window and noticed the lime green glow of Spring on the grass.

The trees.

I remembered the sycamore tree, the hand sized leaves and the broken branches.

Thirty-plus years ago, I cut down branches heavy with green leaves and decorated a tiny cinder block room.

There was a grand plan. I’d be teaching children about the man who climbed the tree to get a chance to see Jesus, Zacchaeus.

It would be my first time as a Vacation Bible School teacher and I was intent on winning best decorated classroom.

The first night, a line of children trailing me down the hall, I giddily swung open the door to discover a disaster.

Leaves wilted and woeful covered the floor and the stench was unbearable in the poorly ventilated room.

I don’t remember teaching the children about a greedy man who got to see Jesus and then fed him supper.

I remember who I was then and am grateful to be not quite the same today.

Just as Jesus knew Zacchaeus was hated by many, was sneaky, corrupt and greedy, He knew I was just learning back then.

Just learning what matters to Him.

Not fully grown, but fully known.

We are already known. The secrets, the shame, the actions we take wrongly motivated,

Jesus is not surprised and doesn’t keep a record. It’s we who do.

My mama used to say, Lisa, stress’ll kill you. I’m here to say I believe its not so distant cousin, shame is more fatal.

The Woman at the Well in the heat of the day encounters a man who shouldn’t be there. She calculated her replenishing of her water to go to the well when she could go unnoticed.

She is surprised by a man who tells her he can help. He has a certain kind of water that won’t run out, she’d never have to be sneaky again in coming to the well.

“Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭13‬-‭14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She’d never have to be thirsty again. She decides to accept the stranger’s offer.

“Please, sir,” the woman said, “give me this water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again, and I won’t have to come here to get water.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

And we know Jesus wasn’t talking about a cool drink of ice water on a humid day. He was talking about the refreshing peace of an abundant life.

Jesus tells the woman to go and get her husband and come back. She tells him she’s not married and he answers with “I know.”

Then he tells her what he does know. That she has a reputation and is well known for being with husbands of others and is now with a married man.

Whoa! or “How dare you?” she could’ve said.

She was brazen after all.

But he continued to enlighten her and she listened, connecting his gentle wisdom with the possibility he might be the Messiah.

So, he told her that indeed he was.

“The woman said, “I know the Messiah is coming—the one who is called Christ. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” Then Jesus told her, “I Am the Messiah!”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭25‬-‭26‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Then she is overjoyed and goes to tell all the townspeople what they already knew about her she’d tried to avoid.

The reputation she tried to cover was now a proclamation…you’ve got to meet Jesus!

“Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me all that I ever did.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭39‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There was no shame anymore, only her story.

Only a tax collector’s, a disciple’s who denied and regretted, a woman’s wearing shame and a lascivious reputation.

A woman like me who didn’t know anything about the value of the story of Zacchaeus, only wanted to be noticed because of trees in a room.

God is patient. He already knew and knows our journeys.

Yesterday, I stood in the parking lot with a woman. As women our age do, we caught up on the lives of our children. We compared wisdom and we exchanged worries.

She asked me to keep writing.

Said she needed my storytelling.

My story of rescue and of tripping and getting back up gradually as I learn.

Today, when you recall your own mistakes, missteps and wrong motivations, will you pause with the truth of being known?

Will you accept the grace that has never said give up, go your own way or isolate in secret shame?

And he gives grace generously. James 4:6

Will you decide to know that being known is love?

You’re already known.

Continue and believe.

Resonance

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, testimony, wisdom, wonder, writing
like an echo

I stared out the window, the tops of pines golden in the early light. A mysterious sight, a dab of different color caused me to stare.

A pine branch must’ve splintered and the light color must be the underbelly of the bark. Then, I looked again. The object was gone.

I concluded it had to have been an owl or a hawk and naturally, that led to even more romanticizing this enigma in the trees.

Mid-morning, I looked again. With a baby on my chest, I discovered the object was a balloon that had gotten tangled and deflated and the wind had it dancing in and out of my sight.

Then, I began to get excited.

My granddaughter’s butterfly balloon had escaped her grip and “gone up to heaven” never to be seen again.

She arrived home with her mama and before I could tell her, her mama spotted it.

A hurried gathering of jackets began and I listened as she asked, “I gotta show you something, remember us asking God to help us find your balloon?”

She nodded with a smile that said she knew the surprise already.

Then baby boy and I watched from the window as they struck out through the hay field to the very back corner, a valley.

From a distance, I saw my daughter grab a broken limb and somehow dislodge the tangled ribbon and the flattened balloon.

Then, they took the long way back around the field, the walk I call “around the block”.

I asked my daughter, “Was it the butterfly?” anxious to join them in the mystery, the answered prayer.

“No, it was a Valentine’s one from who knows where.”

I watched my granddaughter, ever the listener as she quickly announced that it was hers anyway, just not the butterfly, it was her Valentine balloon (imagined).

She decided it was worth celebrating, special and unexpected even if wasn’t exactly the miracle we thought.

And then she moved on to something else, balloon adventure forgotten.

This morning, I discovered a pretty word I love and had big plans for I may have misused or slightly made wrongly “mine”. (I do this.)

Resonance.

I suppose it has nothing to do with feelings and mostly with science.

Like my granddaughter, I think I’m gonna think differently and decide on my own.

I don’t know why this happens. I decide to pull out the beginning pages of my long ago decided memoir and I go to the library and I run my fingers across the familiar words and the tenderness is so tender, I begin to cry.

I’m not sure what this means.

I’m not jumping to any conclusions as to whether it means close that door or throw every window and door back open. Step back in and don’t ever pack it away or fold it like a letter and seal the envelope forever.

It’s just an observation.

Library, window view towards the blue sky, laptop open, pages ready for pen and then…

Soft, never harsh tears.

I’m in the library, a place I love for two reasons though. My husband is painting cabinets and needed me not to hover.

More importantly, someone I know only through blogging is publishing her memoir and sent the manuscript to me. She asked me to read and endorse her book.

We’ve never met. I know her story and she knows mine through our blogs.

I’m forty pages in to her memoir which begins with a note to the reader, to women like me who’ve had their lives complicated by uninvited trauma.

Resonance.

An inaudible echo in my soul as I read her story, pause to be amazed by her knowing my feelings.

Resonance, a pretty word I love to decide is mine to choose sort of like the mystery balloon not being completely true and yet, choosing to believe.

Sort of beautiful really, the license love affords us to use when we decide life is and can be full and we fully immerse ourselves in the good, the bad, to the no way it’s true…we can choose.

I hope this is a soft echo for you.

Life lived fully known and open to the enigma of you and others who privately or not say “me too” adding to the resonance in ripples.

The echo of you.

Me too.

Continue and believe.

Enough Too

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, hope, memoir, patience, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

I’m thinking about my reaction to a request for a commission, the story behind the requested pink rose and the words to be added alongside the art.

A powerful and emotional story I’m changed by.

“You are enough.”

When my friend explained the reason behind the words, I paused.

I slowly reversed my thought to pass judgement.

Did you know there are books written about this one “forbidden phrase”?

There are.

And the reasoning behind it is worth understanding, that we’re not enough on our own as believers, we need to be influenced by and aligned with Jesus.

We need to remember we don’t fly solo in this trip around the sun.

Days have passed since I painted and got the approval of the painting.

I’ve been unafraid to reconsider the expression, to rethink it.

Maybe, add some clarifiers.

Like this morning’s thought.

“You are enough to contribute…”

As are you.

As was Esther, an orphaned girl who faced fear in the face and used her words to make a difference, to save her people from perishing.

“And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”
‭‭Esther‬ ‭4‬:‭14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Continue and believe, carefully considering how some trending and trendy sayings might paralyze you being you.

Or take you back to a time you were certain you’d never ever amount to much.

I planted pink snapdragons yesterday, deciding again to believe in beauty, in perseverance, in deciding against apathy and negative thinking.

Springtime revelations,

You are enough to contribute.

You have value.

Carefully consider the power of words, the not so completely true.

Bravely remind yourself,

You are enough to….

Like a Bird

Angels, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, grace, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

A sign of strength and a nudge to go on confidently, a messenger of sorts, this is what the red bird, the cardinal means to me.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I opened the drapes to see if there’d be sun today. I had been thinking of the phrase…

You are mindful of me, thinking about how I’m seen and in the thoughts of God.

I watched this woman all dressed and ready for the day, a red jacket like the flash of a cardinal and leopard printed flats just like mine. She navigated the area in front of the hotel and her little terrier from a motorized wheelchair. I noticed her precision in keeping the little dog on the leash.

To think of the intention of rising early, caring for herself and her dog despite limitations humbled me. Tenacity and maybe, I don’t know, a passion for living might be her motivations.

Blessed beyond measure and God being aware of me are two thoughts I’ll carry into my day.

That and the grace of being someone who matters to God, as do you.

Happy Sunday.

Continue and believe.