confidence

Must Be Me

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Forgiveness, grace, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

The geese were carrying on a lively conversation over my shoulder.

I stopped on the curve. I owed them my attention. They used to captivate me so.

And now don’t really.

Not sure why.

The dangerous turn where people just don’t care.

Drive way too fast, using our quiet neighborly place as a shortcut, cut through, toss your trash and beer cans out place.

I paused to talk with the father and daughter in their yard. The little girl’s a twin and her sister’s got a fever. She’s solving a mystery her daddy told me.

The result of a week filled with “Scooby Doo”.

I watch as she pieces together her clues, little slips of paper her daddy hung in the trees, hid near the wagon.

I notice he’s patient.

His twin daughter, the one most inquisitive.

“Merry Christmas” she told me, three times or four.

Then her daddy, a police officer reminded me to be careful, people drive too fast and then he told me that when he sees me walking he prays I’ll be safe.

I told him I have to walk, don’t worry, I’m careful.

I’d be a shell of myself if someone told me to stop walking.

So, I walked at dusk on Christmas Day.

It was joyful.

Cutting short my route because of talking to the daddy and daughter and well, because I’m slow now, slower than three months ago.

Vertigo scared me then gave me permission to eat bread.

Sandwiches, I decided.

I’ll just eat sandwiches now.

And it’s been six months since my feet have stood still on either side of the number on a scale.

Last week someone told me to keep being me.

Just be you. DK

I have been thinking of it since.

So, today is day two of walking solitary again with words or music in my ears.

My bones feel inflated, the rub of joints and hips; but, today was better than yesterday and so on and so on.

Thinking I’m not able but trying anyway.

30 feet or even less, the left heel moving weight to the toe and then the right and the left and the bounce, bounce of the headphone wire against my chest.

I’m elated although I don’t go far.

The geese caused me to pause as I rounded the curve.

The sky has swept the slate clean and I can’t explain it but there’s a freedom in my feet.

There’s a light sense of new as the horizon replied with a sky that said love.

And I’ve added maybe 90 seconds of running to a 15 minute walk and I’ve given myself permission to be okay with the accomplishment of that.

Okay because it is me and I, after all.

Must be me.

And someone told me to keep being me.

Someone else told me they pray for me.

Neither of the two I will forget.

No, I’ll keep going.

Keep going towards you, Lisa Anne. You’re closer than you’ve ever known.

I’ve just read that DK who can’t fathom how significant his three words were…the just be you that has set the tone for my 2020 thoughts, has experienced loss on Christmas Day and so, I pray for him. I pray for peace in a time and a thing that makes no sense, the heavy weight of his loss. I will pray the kindness shown to the one he’s lost will be in turn, known by him.

One or Both?

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, curiousity, Faith, hope, memoir, New Years Day, Peace, Redemption, surrender, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

I’ve just scribbled out the words to my December newsletter.

Months ago I considered quitting.

Quitting because of my perception of a very low number of readers.

Okay, not perception.

Reality.

Now, I’m in a new place.

Not just a cute ending to a post but a decision.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Still, there are timely decisions to be made and those decisions don’t feel insignificant.

They feel like the can’t avoid nudging in my journey in writing and in art.

Deadlines and expiration dates, a place that’s not working when people ask

where can I find your art?

And I’m so unskilled when it comes to technology.

Plus, I’m not rich.

I am leaning in to 2020 with the awareness of the need to be more visible.

More confident…a little less quiet?

To take myself seriously.

To understand that’s not pride; but, it is that same surrender.

Surrender, the word you keep circling in your journal.

Surrender and acceptance of God’s call for me to continue.

Create art and words that tell redemption’s story.

Emanate from the mercy you’ve been shown while making others curious over God.

Curious over mercy.

Advice?

I could use some.

Stick with WordPress and try again to make it a place for art and words?

Switch to just basic WordPress, no art, no buying, just blogging about God and love and small things?

Create a separate and clean space for art, commissions, engagement?

Professional.

I read or heard last week or the one before and I’m believing it:

To be an artist or any creative you must take your creativity seriously.

I’ll add my takeaway.

Others knew you when art or writing were just “hobbies” or eccentricities of you, you deep, you, inside your head too much. Many still believe this is true. Don’t be sidelined or offended.

Take your art seriously. Others will eventually. Often it’s strangers who believe most in you, the you you’re becoming.

If you’re one of my strangers, allow me to make this my Merry Christmas and Happy New decade and year to you!

Thank you!

Thank you for helping me continue!

I hope you do too.

Known Soul

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, curiousity, enneagram, Faith, memoir, obedience, rest, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I step out and see the stars I called beautiful last night are concealed thickly.

The moon not nearly as spectacular with an iPhone 7 than my real life view, is big and spectacular.

You won’t see it in this photo.

It peeped through the clouds and their shape was like a little square surrounding it, like an opened box.

My thought?

I agree with God’s ideas.

I agree and am curious over God’s intentional forming of me, my physical form and my tender soul.

Yesterday, I sold two nudes. I talked with the buyer, a stranger about the evolving of my art.

The shape and shaping of me.

She was not interested and yet, I continued.

Perhaps for a more secure understanding, a clarifying for myself of God’s message.

Saying it is good to understand you are wonderfully made. It is good to be unashamed of your hips, your delicate shoulders, the lean one way or the other that has brought curiosity, even disapproval and notice of others.

These tiny framed views from behind of women resting, sitting, every one different are intriguing.

Makes others calm, draws the eye and the soul closer to our maker, I believe.

Bodies holding souls.

We are.

Souls only God fully knows.

I am listening. I am listening to His explanation of me.

My maker.

God knows.

Much is being said about the Enneagram and it’s all over the place, “What’s your number?”, the question of the day.

I was an avid listener although I have no books.

I determined I was a 4, no surprise to many and I took in every 4 podcast I could find, I listened, I spun with the ideas of my stances and stresses and how I’d always be this, just needed to know myself more.

And then I quit being pulled in, I quit listening to experts on me.

I told my cousin I tired of feeling doomed by my number, I tired even more though of the Enneagram talk feeling so cliquish, cultish, a sense of unable to understand ourselves wandering people barely able to survive on our own.

The curiosity and draw of me through the Enneagram had become an idol, a tad bit controlling.

Pulled from wanting to grow based on what God knew and knows of me.

My grad student son told me he’d never heard of it, didn’t need to know a number to know what was good in him and what he could improve.

Still, I kept teetering. Everyone was on the “number train”, I better keep riding.

Until I decided no, something feels like I’m losing my footing, going off the rails God has me on.

Something in the soul of me that is growing daily more translucently known and understood by God said stay away from this number knowing, its complexity is pulling you from me.

So, I’m not listening now.

I’m knowing God made me and life messed me up, detoured my route, caused me to muzzle my soul with my physical choices and torments.

The soul is so quiet.

And yet so very vocal.

So strong.

Such an articulate speaker of me.

I shall listen to my soul and know the wonderful me made by God, understood by God.

I’ll keep pursuing the closeness of me to God, and according to my soul.

He understands me.

No need for numbers or books or trending conversations, not for me, at least.

I’m done perplexing over the complexity of me. Instead, I’ll celebrate my intricacies and know every tiny bit is God’s idea, my soul shall sing its one and only song.

Continue and believe.

No more fixing of me by me.

Your Gift

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, Peace, Redemption, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Whether you believe or not

It is true.

You’re gifted.

Your gift?

Your story, the truth of it, what that truth has taught you, what God desires you not keep boxed up.

Your gift is your belonging because of or despite your story.

You’re gifted with stuff you should never stuff down

Nor keep tightly wrapped

Nor keep it hidden in the darkness of your heart.

The events that made you, the hard, the happy, the glorious.

There are times I believe it’s essential to remember the before things, it’s beneficial to not forget the ugly so that you can smile when you communicate to others the pretty.

I told a story twice yesterday. The story of this drawing, a drawing in my Bible, a print I call a “margin girl”.

The professional gently turned the pages of my Bible, she positioned the page on the scanner.

With the first of my five she asked what I called it and I answered.

Made well.

The drawing depicts the story of the woman who touched the hem of Jesus’s garment and was made well.

We examined the print closely together, the lines so clear, the color so vivid.

I thanked her.

I told her that this is one of my favorite stories.

She paused and said she didn’t know it.

So I told her.

I told her I wonder if the color is too graphic, the deep red that encircles the woman’s gown that represents blood, years of incapacitating menstrual flow.

She listened as I continued with remembering how Jesus was intentional in finding her. He wanted her to know her faith had made her well.

Told her.

Go in peace.

Later, I sold this print and three others. I stood with two women who knew this story and now, the story of God and my art.

Now, they know that little bit of my story.

Not kept hidden, wrapped tight or concealed for dread of paralyzing trigger.

No, our stories are gifts.

We’re gifted and we’re givers.

Share your story, feel your soul open wider, your heart expand to allow others in.

Know the glow they’re seeing, the soft fire in your eyes.

No, you don’t see what they see.

But, oh my goodness you surely feel it.

So, that thing or things that made you stronger, wiser, sure ‬‬and surer of mercy and grace?

Give it to others.

“And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭7:50‬ ‭ESV

Your gift.

Share and give.

And continue.

Continue and believe.

No Hurry

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, happy, memoir, mercy, Peace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

For the second morning in a row lights are bright and obnoxiously encroaching.

Like a vehicle has decided to coattail, to just cruise, crash through and pile into my backseat.

Oh, the lights are saying.

Where the hell are you going?

Obviously, nowhere!

I’m on the way to my day, the place I greet the morning these days.

Say

Good morning, God!

The car behind me two times early morning causing me to feel pressured, hurried, incapable.

Push, push, push.

Two mornings, early and in my space.

On Monday, a big truck and the next day a little Kia.

All of a sudden they are upon me and saying what in the world is your problem, where are you going?

You better hurry.

Craziness.

Like the month of December will soon be the goodbye to a decade

And what’ve you done?

What have you done with what you barely have begun?

If I could I would tell them what God has been telling me.

Slow down.

Slow down.

Slow down before I will need to intervene and show you how.

Cause your acceptance of my sovereign delay.

This morning, I read farther than the devotion’s verse, the passage about being pulled from the mire of our mental making.

I read farther and in agreement with the psalmist.

I am needy and I need a rescue, God.

“As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭40:17‬ ‭

Please.

Hurry.

And rescue me from thinking I must hurry.

I am poor.

I am needy.

But, I keep sensing you saying.

Listen.

No hurry.

Breakfast with Daddy and Mama

Angels, bravery, Christmas, confidence, contentment, daughters, grace, grief, memoir, mercy, Peace, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Not intentionally, I sat in the section where the older men gather for breakfast.

I didn’t want to sit next to the windows, not cold just chilly.

I’m out with a list of errands, early and sans makeup or shower.

I longed for my daddy as one came and then another.

Comparing ailments, discussing Georgia football, reading the wrong day’s paper they discovered.

I listened.

I had been thinking about Christmases of before, about hard memories, about what Christmas sometimes does to people.

Still, I missed my daddy, he left me too young.

So, I finish my meal and then sip on strong coffee.

I’m listening to their commentary and their kindness as the biscuit maker from the kitchen’s early shift rounds the corner to join them.

They catch up with one another.

The tone is pleasant.

The biscuit maker and I, we belong.

I miss my mama and my daddy at Christmas.

I’ll be attentive to who they may have been had they been allowed to be here still.

My daddy would be talking with the biscuit maker, mama too.

She’d be joining in.

She’d know right away why the biscuits were “too flaky”, what the chef had done wrong with the dough.

The gentlemen are talking behind me now,

I’ll gather my tray and go.

Give them a nod, have a good day.

They’ll wish me the same I believe.

Now I go, I go in peace towards Christmas.

Peace and Us

Abuse Survivor, Advent, Christmas, confidence, contentment, courage, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

We held hands in the foyer and prayed and the closing words to Jesus were that we’d be like light, peace in the places we go, that the peace we know we’d hold in the rooms we’re in with others.

That we’d bring light.

How does your light shine?

I ask myself this morning.

Is it sporadic?

Does it dim

And then annoy with incessant flashing

Like harassment

Like hurry?

How does your light shine?

Is it steady?

Inviting?

To be depended on to welcome back in

to a place of peace?

Does it say

Peace is here?

How does your light shine?

Is it left untended to

To die without power

Without the source for burning?

Does it stay so close knowing it can never shine on its own?

How does your light shine?

What is hiding

Showing?

Is it certain like a promise

Dependable like home?

How does your light shine, your peace, your gaze towards hope, your soft assurance of what you know?

Others will see, others will know and seek.

Peace, peace like the light you bring.

Peace, light and love.

Believe.

Peace is for us.

“O Lord, you will ordain peace for us, for you have indeed done for us all our works.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭26:12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Happy Sunday.

Tiny Stars and Light

Advent, Christmas, confidence, contentment, curiousity, Faith, happy, hope, Labradors, love, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

The dog is most content. The laundry is waiting, the errands not even yet listed.

Morning is moving slowly and yet, soon, too quickly for all I need to do.

I’m aware of the need to accomplish a bunch of things.

Instead, I sit. I ponder.

Look beside you, glance around.

What do you see that’s idyllic?

Like playing “I Spy” to occupy your toddler, what’s in your world that’s only beauty?

Idyllic?

Charmingly simply.

I have books on my shelf that I once turned in direction, only the buff colored pages showing, no idea which book was which.

Back then, I found it clean and easy.

Not busy,

Now, I’m looking over and the sun is making stripes on the titles, like an abstract painting as the morning comes in.

Idyllic.

Framed photos next to me are dotted with the reflection of lights on the tree.

Last night the stars were sprinkled the same.

Vast sky, tiny brightness.

The puppy is at peace, he is my anchor begging me stay still.

Stay.

I am thinking of the waking thought God gave and the words of a friend yesterday.

Before praying I remembered the words to a peppy southern gospel song.

God will make a way for His children just like He did when He parted the sea.

I got out of bed to calm the shrill bark of the pup and quickly turned back to kneel and pray first.

Thanked God for wise friends who reminded me of His good will and gave my concerns for others needing beautiful surprises, resolutions to unexpected problems.

Left them there.

Coffee in hand, warm in the “You are My Sunshine” mug.

How can I not see the light?

I have been rescued, been blessed.

Reading less, thinking more.

I should hurry. I rest.

My coffee is now cold and still I just sit. I’m watching the patterns the sun is making on the throw pillows the chairs.

Beautiful. This beauty in December on a Friday.

The room is now daylight so I’ll switch off the lights on the tree, I have no centerpiece for the table and stockings are not yet hung.

Maybe today I’ll finish.

Not lazy, just making allowances to be okay with less than perfect.

To be content with simply okay.

To be well. To be at peace.

Look around you. Find light today and give it more than just a second.

Treasure it.

Christmas is not a competition.

Allow the buzz of activity and social media and traffic to continue all around you.

Engage on occasion.

But, then rest and rest some more and consider.

Consider your life a gift, a gift because of a baby in a manger.

Imagine the flurry of activity around the new baby, the excitement, the panic, the questions.

Mary rested and considered the miracle of Jesus.

“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭2:19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

More like Mary I’m hoping to be, Christmas this year, in me.

Looking for light in little things and small places, reminding me of tiny stars on a long ago evening.

I’m fascinated by the charmingly simple things now.

The less than spectacular photos shared by others draw me in.

Less covetous of the grandeur of others. Show me a photo of the “little in your life”, the way the light is landing where you love to live.

These are the compelling stories to me, the little places inviting ❤️ or a comment.

Light in. Let it. Join me in looking.

Meeting hope there.

Where We Walk

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

…and in thee too, while thou knowest it not, God shall be glorified. E.B Pusey

We ventured out differently, not sure the sun was warm enough for walking.

I carried my granddaughter in my arms and adjusted from one side to the other, her weight as we walked.

We covered the perimeter of the land that surrounds her home, all the way to the front of the home valley to the long length of shaded space beside and then turned back towards inside, the front porch welcome back home.

From a distance it was beautiful, I walked slowly avoiding large flat places where cacti lay and stepping gingerly over the little hills, the holes, the tiny valleys covered in grassy hay and straw.

We walked slowly, quietly, calm.

Elizabeth was still, interested as I talked to God and myself. She listened to my random observations of life and leaves and how blue the sky was.

We were noticing God.

On the edge of the field, the most brilliant of color caught my eye, a cluster of yellow amongst all the bare branches of what I think I’m remembering held pink plums in the summer.

Now empty except for this glory.

His glory.

Brilliant late beauty not killed by the cold.

How was your 2019?

I woke with the thought mine was monumental, the change, the choices, the transitions.

I hadn’t realized the truth of this until I numbered the reasons.

Then it all made sense, this feeling of the cusp of new, this current lull in nothingness.

I believe I’m in the season of growth with all the growth still unseen, not evident to the human of me.

I’m always afraid I misuse words so I googled “monumental” and affirmed my thoughts were true.

2019 was a monumental year for me. I thought maybe this is God’s reason to now shift to living momentarily or “momentously”.

Thinking be satisfied in the moments now, don’t aspire to great big life shifting ambitions.

Again, checking my use of word, I was met with surprise, “momentous” I had all wrong, very different than only living in the moment.

Alright.

All right, really.

mo·men·tous
/mōˈmen(t)əs,məˈmen(t)əs
adjective
  1. (of a decision, event, or change) of great importance or significance, especially in its bearing on the future.

Reflecting now, God is confirming boldly for me, one who loves words, things have been happening under the surface, deep in your spirit, my spirit in you that you do not yet fully know.

You’re getting closer though. God

Beginning to believe that it is so.

That you are known and

you are worthy of my love.

The years before are simply seeds that needed sifting, needed dormant seasons, needed to lay fallow for a reason,

needed to die to live again.

I believe this.

Are you in a lull that you question? Is where God has you insignificant from your view?

Asking, is this all there’s meant to be for me?

It may be so and that’s the reason for long walks and discovering seemingly insignificant things like yellow leaves.

We simply don’t know, we just keep walking to the place called “we will see”.

We will see.

I’ve added back to my circle today one prayer I thought I’d prayed way too much.

Have you felt that way? Thought after months of the same unanswered question, I’ve asked enough, I’ve told God more than He wants to know, I’m maybe even annoying Him.

I’ve prayed and He knows, I’ll move on…

I’ll let that prayer alone.

No, I’ve decided to pray it again, to ask for God’s help but with a different tone.

I’ll ask with an expectant spirit anticipating a brilliant “we shall see” surprise, an answer that says I’m cherished.

God’s reply, unknown to me when or how. I’ll be cherishing it because I am cherished as is the one for whom I’m making my steady request.

Pray believing.

If you believe in prayer at all, expect God to hear you. If you do not expect, you will not have. God will not hear you unless you believe He will hear you; but if you believe He will, He will be as good as your faith. Charles Spurgeon

Believe

Continue and believe.

Momentous days are now, the brilliance is coming!

Give Happy

Abuse Survivor, book review, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, Redemption, rest, Thanksgiving, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Today I read the final chapter of the book of Colossians and I’m moved by what Paul wrote.

Remember my chains. Grace be with you. Colossians 4:18 ESV

I suppose he wanted all who had been with him as he preached from place to place.

To remember,

My life has not always been this way. There was a lot of horror in my before.

I’m almost done with “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” by Gail Honeyman

I crawl into bed, thinking I’ll finish and slumber steals my attention. I decide I want to be fully awake when I read the happy ending!

Maybe I’ll finish today before the holiday dinner, I’ll sit lit by sunshine and I’ll finish the good book.

Yesterday, I returned to a familiar place. I stepped towards the counter for customer service and I struggled through my transaction.

I turned from the counter and saw an acquaintance at the end of the closing time line.

My eyes met her smile and I rolled my eyes, nodded and mouthed “grouchy!”.

The customer service lady with such a beautiful and unusual name never smiles at me.

She looks at me as if I’m inconvenient. She hurries me, demands my answers to the every customer questions.

Her appearance never changes, faded blue uniform shirt, thick old glasses and her hair in a topknot that never does its job.

Her mottled soft grey hair has fallen out of place, the topknot doesn’t hold it all together.

I decide I’d like to see her smile and then I imagine this is Eleanor, her looks are what Eleanor’s would be I allow myself to believe.

I long to see her smile even though she kind of scares me.

Her mood is so palpable, I wonder is it contagious?

Maybe.

I don’t know.

Do I come back with more packages?

Do I stop sending my art?

Is this what the customer service lady is saying, am I not an artist?

Such is the scare of trauma. The most ridiculous interactions are triggers, are mood and mind changers.

So, I mouth “grouchy” to my friend’s daughter as a warning.

Be prepared. Hold on to your happy.

I sit in the parking lot and I wonder what would happen if I asked,

Why are you so unhappy?

Today, Thanksgiving morning, I sit in silence and leave the lamp off. I gaze towards the dining room/kitchen, to the wall that’s a busy collection.

Feathers, photos and notes.

Old pictures of smiling children, still here mamas, daddies and grandparents. Times of celebration seem so close they may as well be today.

That’s how the view makes me feel.

Happy.

I think again about the topknot lady. I wonder how she’d take it if the next time I’m next in line, I asked her,

What makes you so happy?

And then look her in the eye and be strong in my grace, my love and my mercy.

And say Thanks and walk away, leaving her at least with that thought.

What makes me so happy?

Give happy.

Give thanks for it.

Later I’ll finish the Eleanor story, the one that I’m almost at the end, keep flipping to the chapter “Better Days”.

The story of giving love to someone complicated and unlovable, closed off and shelled up because of unspeakable trauma, chains.

The story of one accepting the warmth of another’s long suffering hand.

See, I love the story of Eleanor Oliphant; but, it’s Raymond in the book who makes me happy.

Remember what kept you in chains today and then remember the hands that set you free.

Believe.

Continue and believe.

Give happy today.