contentment

Be Well

9/11, Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, depression, Faith, freedom, grace, grief, heaven, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, suicide loss, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

For a long time, very long time, we all remembered and talked about the time.

I’ve never been to New York City nor D.C.. I’ve never travelled by plane although I’m beginning to entertain the possibility, romanticize the big “6-0”.

I do remember the morning of 9/11. I remember I was at DFCS in my little square office with a window on a hallway with other “welfare” workers who I considered friends.

I loved working with these people. I did.

My mama called, the children were in school an hour away and I cannot remember whether we closed the office and all of us went home.

Eventually, I was with them, home and safe with my husband.

Changed, not because I knew anyone there nor remotely understood their trauma, fear, tragedy. I had no idea.

I have no idea.

Yesterday evening, social media informed me of the death of a popular young pastor and mental health pioneer,

By suicide.

I felt afraid because of his story, suicide and its occurrence is to me “scary”.

Because it’s happening more and because I’ve been with those who have been knocked down by the tragic reality.

I find it scary.

I’m following the journey of a child named Eva, in an induced coma now and it all started with a tumble to the ground, a simple fall.

Her mama wrote about hope this morning in her Instagram.

I began to think about life and hope.

About tragedy interspersed with triumph because it seems to me this is life in this world, in most of our worlds.

I remember my mama calling on 9/11.

I remember the morning my brother called to tell me my mama was gone.

The loud moan that came up from my belly that morning must have frightened my admin, the others in the office next door.

She was gone.

I had prayed so very hard she’d be healed. I had talked with her about faith and hope, brand new and uncomfortable things for me.

Things I thought were real, my mama’s death like a test I failed, my hope was either wrong or not enough.

I stopped believing.

Because, she was gone.

Mornings like that, losses and tragedies linger.

Tragedy is interspersed with triumph though.

This is life.

I believe it.

So, how did I continue, they continue…the ones for whom today brings fatal remembrances?

I believe we must choose as best we can with God’s help.

To be well.

Be the one who is able to say.

It is well. Even so, it is well. Even though, it is well. Although and even if, it is well.

I have this hope in God, in Christ Jesus.

It is evident.

Hope that says despite the very worst scenarios…

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:”

‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3:21‬ ‭ESV

Not a vacant or mystical hope, there are reasons for my hope.

A baby I call “morning glory” because it fits, evidence of long and woeful answered prayers and a new sense of God being near me, of Jesus being personally acquainted with me, in spite of tragedy and triumph and every mistake , silly or serious misstep in between.

It is well.

Be well.

Decide to fight for yourself, to believe without the full understanding of why.

That God is sovereign.

And so.

It is well.

It is well with you.

And me.

All of us often out of rhythm, rocked by loss of life, out of kilter because of uncertain outcomes,

We are dwelling between two spaces, tragedy and triumph.

Reality.

But, glory, new glory comes every morning and often if you notice, it’s interspersed in the midst of moments.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Course Change

Abuse Survivor, baptism, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Does not wisdom call?

Does not understanding raise her voice? Proverbs 8:1

I heard them off in the distance and decided they were traversing through the warm fog towards the expected pond down the road.

I stood as the puppy followed his pattern, checking out the corner shrub, sniffing at the dirt; he is so slow in the mornings to do “his business”.

The sound of the geese came closer and I expected to see them fly over the four homes down subdivision.

Instead they were sounding very close.

I stood as the sound approached and there they were, two sets of geese perfectly positioned over me. So very close, I could see the pattern of their feathers and their soft curved bellies, their beaks breaking up the fog.

Two sets of seven or eight or so in their arrow design making their way to must be a new destination, course change, following new directions today.

The puppy scurried towards me and was startled, his little face looking up towards the sky as he hurried.

This is new for him, I thought; he has to figure out if he should run away or be okay, trusting their kind and sweetly patterned arrival.

Being safe and simply noticing.

Noticing God.

Like the random occurrence of the dragonfly perched on my cup poolside, it rested until I noticed and because I noticed, I captured it on my phone.

Someone asked, “You’re taking a picture of a dragonfly?”

I don’t believe I responded.

Because I had no idea the symbolism and I didn’t know how beautiful it and its traditional meaning would be.

Until this morning.

Until the meaning lined up with my prayer.

The Dragonfly normally lives most of its life as a nymph or an immature. It flies only for a fraction of its life.  This symbolizes and exemplifies the virtue of living in the moment and living life to the fullest.

I’m back to bedside prayers in the morning. To be honest it’s sometimes more like a long low downward dog pose, hoping for relief in the ache of low back.

I tumble from my bed to the floor determined to at the very least start well.

Start surrendered.

I think of the invalid who’d been so very close to healing waters but waited over half his life for someone to help him get well, help him from the ground into the water.

He waited to be noticed, for maybe someone to care and he used the excuses that well everyone else is beating me there, the line’s too long or perhaps, he felt the waters had lost their strength because of all the help they’d given everyone else…

Could there still be healing enough left in the water for me?

After all those years, he was paralyzed, not only his limbs but his mind and his soul.

Oh, man! I understand.

Stay where you are, settle in your place of thinking you can but never will.

“One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.”

‭‭John‬ ‭5:5-9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It’s no coincidence, the geese flying over, the visiting dragonfly and my different prayer this morning.

Lord, can my life truly be different? Help me live today in pursuit of the difference in me that only you know. Help me to be moment by moment today instead of rushing towards this evening, tomorrow or even next year. Can my life really be different? I’m willing to see.

I don’t think we know at all, even an ounce of what God might have planned if we are patient, persistent and willing.

I don’t think we see the magic and power of getting up from our “mats”… our places on the ground or the floor and embracing the change and changes God says are possible when we forget all the barriers, the doubts, the distractions and the pull of life backward or in unhealthy directions.

It may be slow. I’ll try to be steady.

I’ll go slow.

I’ll follow unknown paths perhaps.

Moment by moment, change will come and I’ll find myself in small yet surrendered places.

Positioned with Him because I moved from my worn out tattered and sad place and into the healing water.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Changed.

Protected Child

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

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

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

The sky beckoning her gaze.

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

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

We walk.

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

She welcomes my hold.

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

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

I love her. What a sweet thing.

Someone from the coast asked for my thoughts yesterday,

What do you say to your storms? DH

I answered.

I tell the storm, “I’m protected.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ha! Wow!

Me, reminding you of your role?!

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

And that you, not I, have already written.

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

Like mine.

Yes.

I can know they are protected.

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

‭‭1 John‬ ‭4:12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

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

Point more clearly towards hope.

Be strong so that my strength is what they admire.

Yes, love.

Love is the protection, mine to freely give.

Best I can offer.

Protection is yours.

Light Remains

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, Labradors, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Prayer, pride, Redemption, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Has your path left a long shadow behind you of late?

When you look back at before do you see only the grey, the narrow thinning of your best days?

This is not the case.

We rarely see the places our light remains. This, I believe is always always God’s intent, we don’t have to see it, see Him to know the light in us is never dimmed.

We don’t have to know the places the light he gave us remains.

Maybe that’s grace that says this is humility.

Maybe it’s mercy that says there’s new every morning, let’s move forward.

Some days I skip the Old Testament passage my guide tells me is for today.

Not today.

Job 29 and 30 is Job’s defense, his argument with God. I suppose you might say it’s sad.

But, it’s honest.

Job is recalling his standing amongst others, the way people responded to his walking by, the commitments he made to others and followed through. Maybe you’ve been in a similar place. Yesterday, God positioned me with a woman of faith, we caught up and she assured me she’d sensed some recent changes had been uneasy.

We were in agreement, God grows us up in those seasons, helps us not fight for our reputations, to sit in silence and let Him lead.

While I’d never compare my life to Job’s, I learn something new each time I turn to his book. Today, it wasn’t the inventory of all his good he reminds God of in these chapters. It was to me a couple of verses I think may have been his lasting peace.

His memories of the way he was with others. This cherished. What Job remembered being, doing, believing it was good.

“I smiled on them when they had no confidence, and the light of my face they did not cast down.”

‭‭Job‬ ‭29:24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

What a beautiful thing, to have changed the environment or lessened someone’s pain by being near.

Yes, this is enough.

More than.

My friend and I talked about the enemy yesterday too.

How revelations like the one above will try to be dulled by gossipers, questioners, disputers and even our own doubts about your heart and soul’s intentions.

We are human, we get drawn towards bitterness and hurt. We learn as we go, hard times increase our faith.

It’s the soft light of our faith that will remain in the same way it did in other former places.

God’s light is ever slow to dull.

I am so thankful for Job. He teaches me every single time. God is always good.

Always.

Always faithful as we endure for the sake of His plans not our own.

Linking up with other FMF bloggers on the prompt of BACK

Five Minute Friday

#thecolorsofmybible #butforhisgrace #faithful19

Unhindered

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, freedom, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I’m curious whether musicians, singers, sculptors and dancers do the same.

Find little pockets of chance to create unhindered by the approval of audience or observer.

“Elizabeth’s First Autumn”

I walked with my baby grandchild and we talked about the leaves. Her eyes told me she was listening when I stopped to gaze on the brilliant color against the still spring like green.

I asked myself,

How does God decide which colors become the most brilliant and in what order and why do some take longer to turn.

I knew the answer, it’s how the sun lays down its warmth on the leaves, how they position themselves.

Same with us, same with me.

I’ll turn towards the light to become God’s idea of brilliant.

If not past years, this one, something is saying to me.

You’re coming into brilliance!

Take your time, keep exposing yourself to me.

Let the change in your colors come naturally and without force or calculation.

Nurture your creativity.

It is your treasure to be shared.

I find I’m painting/writing in this way.

I return to the place of ease and flow whether it be pencil and pad or canvas and easel.

This way, I’m not painting or writing and all along pondering the possibility of rejection.

It’s a practice, this non-demanding creativity.

A worthy practice. Pure abandonment in process and completion.

Unhindered.

I take it with me today as I complete three requests for art.

Today is an art day.

What is your creative expression?

Be unhindered, get it down on paper or hands messy in the clay or paint or across the keys or strings.

God made us to make beautiful things!

Remember

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, depression, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

At 5:30 this morning the moon was just to the left of the big dipper. The crescent base was like a cupped up saucer holding a scoop of vanilla, round and resting.

The stars were scattered. The air was pleasant. I’m the keeper of the puppy’s potty schedule.

I’m the middle of the nighter.

My husband asked me when he’d be like “Colt” the beloved chocolate lab who became impossible not to love, impossible not to miss.

I told him it would be a while, at least a year.

We didn’t forget, but it mattered so much less. How he destroyed the back porch door, ate the arm off the new couch and once ate an entire plate of marinating pork.

We somehow don’t remember.

I wondered this morning how the moon got back to my favorite, the crescent. I wondered not in a way that I’d search for astronomy books.

I just thought of the pace of its changes and how the circle and cycle is remembered.

I told my daughter, a new mother that with her and her brother, I know there was labor in their deliveries but I don’t really remember the details.

I remember how she as a baby lit up when I came near. I don’t remember not sleeping. I remember singing “You are my Sunshine” and making up new verses just for her.

I remember my son hated back seat car rides and so I drove one hand on the wheel and the other holding his. I remember how he’d turn upon my arrival, his little Keds filled with dirt, he greeted his working mama and ran with chubby legs to find my arms.

I remember my daughter laughing and unfolding all the laundry as we sat together in the middle of the tiny living room floor.

We lived in a single wide that was so old, there was plywood for the floor and her first room was a closet.

We loved there.

I remember the love, not the struggle.

By 7:00 this morning, the grass is still damp and chilly and the little crescent is barely visible above the halo over the pines created by the sun.

Today I read about comfort and sorrow, how we can expect to be somewhere on the continuum of the circle.

Same with progress and stagnation, a cycle, a circle.

The passage in II Corinthians, the very beginning reads this way.

“Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:3-5‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Tribulations and comforts, life and longings.

This from my “Joy and Strength” devotion today:

He is ever ready to increase His grace in our hearts, that as we live and act among all the sorrows of the world we may learn by slow degrees the skill and mastery of consolation. Francis Paget

Yesterday, I talked with someone about the creeping back in of anxiety and depression, situational. I mentioned I’m learning to fight against it, to get back to where I need to be, not drifting too far from my peace.

Self awareness that doesn’t get stuck, doesn’t defer to pity,

Remembers God and His ever ready rescue and mercy.

One sentence, a verse gave me remembrance of this, a mental picture not of my rambling, damaged and tormented life before I sought peace daily.

An image of my significance from God’s perspective.

And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders rejoicing. Luke 15:5 ESV

The parable of the lost sheep, the shepherd Jesus, not remembering our bad behaviors or our losing our ways, only overjoyed that we are found again!

Like the full moon remembering how to return to crescent or the parent literally forgetting the struggles, only remembering the bliss, God longs for us to know the circle, the coming back with ease to Him.

Back to peace.

Consolation and comfort never waning, always waiting.

Jesus, our constant.

Continue and believe.

What We Need

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, pride, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

Not sure which is the source of more regret, sharing our sorrows and discontentment or pretending they don’t exist, that elation and contentment never ever wane as we walk with our Lord amongst others.

Rubbing shoulders with their successes, exposing our less.

The back of my mind wonders if others wonder,

Who is this God she mentions and then seems to regularly forget?

The God who calls her back because He knows her, knows her fully, knows she’s willing to listen again.

“If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭24:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God who knows I’m learning, getting more comfortable with my strengths.

I saw Saturday morning beginning from a distance through the kitchen window.

I rose to see for myself the source of the glow making mosaics in the space of pine trees.

Sun coming up after a hard rain.

I pick the tiny bud realizing it’s been a bit since I brought one in.

Saturday beginning again to remind me not to despise small things.

Small things like regret over words painted by pity that longed for expression.

A sacrifice for others I guess, a place for their brave me too.

I’m happy for Saturday.

Lessons have settled, done their work and woke me with, although reluctant, a return to determination.

To get back with what is mine to do, gather myself up and submit all my efforts and energy to getting back on track.

God’s way.

Patient.

Oddly, “the Stones” are in agreement with scripture today.

I will get what I need.

Not always what I want.

If I try, sometimes.

How we live either stirs us up or settles us. Let your heart hold what’s in your hands right this very moment. Gently discipline yourself again and again and again…until there’s no frantic grasping for other things. You’ve become satisfied with only what is yours to seek, to gather, to make good things from, to hold a bit and then share with others. Your art. Your words.

Try sometime and then sometime again.

You’ll get what you need.

When your heart changes your mind and takes the lead.

Spreads down from your shoulders, your arms, your fingers.

Love you believe, love you release.

Art and words.

Continue and believe.

Selling Our Wares and Our Ways

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, fear, memoir, mercy, Peace, race, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’ve mentioned before, my grandma was an artist. She created bejeweled Christmas balls and sold them.

I suppose she did this for two or three years.

She had a following.

If it were today, it might be said she had a platform, her art at Christmas was known county-wide.

I’ve not sold a painting in a month or so and today I was rejected twice via email, my bravely written and submitted words.

My words, my fingers easy on the keyboard or messy in the paint.

I saw the email, didn’t want to read it, held my phone at a distance as I scrolled as if the yes or no might cause my screen to explode or illuminate in my hand.

So many submissions, thank you.

Not selected.

Okay.

Less than 72 hours ago I was reminded of a favorite Old Testament verse, I admit I pluck out just a portion, my favorite part.

Don’t despise the day of small things.

“For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice…”

‭‭Zechariah‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭ESV

Someone called me asking about a gift certificate for a painting. I said, sure, okay.

$25

I heard a podcast interview that discussed the ministries of 30 or so years ago, sitting with others, talking about hard things and Jesus or helping someone on the cusp of not believing to believe again.

That’s what we called ministry back then.

Now we look at numbers, followers, visitors, and interactions.

Last week I quietly chastened myself. It stuck. I was changed more than momentarily.

My blog is my ministry.

My Instagram is my ministry.

My art is my ministry.

I felt like crap when I admitted I’d acted as if there had to be more.

Always more.

Almost three years ago I told a friend “I don’t want to be a cutesy trendy female Christian writer.”

It seems I’d forgotten.

I had made my readers small, the regulars who read my words, unimportant.

I realized all along and without me needing to know, my words are my ministry.

My words are always honest.

Are genuine, not prettied up hoping for selection.

These weekly, daily, maybe more are truly me, true me.

Brave and oh, the trendy word.

“Authentic”.

I prayed last week for some sense of direction to keep writing, trying or give up.

Specifically, I asked God to send someone to tell me keep going or settle.

Then I got the rejection of two pieces and I acted as if I’d never asked the above question.

God’s not saying quit writing.

God is saying quit chasing notice. Stop seeking acclaim.

Why are you trying to write anything other than what you started and can’t bring yourself to finish?

Because I fear rejection.

Yet, I fear giving up even more.

I’ll keep going, slow and with free speaking, thinking, praying and believing.

I’ll keep writing and I’ll keep painting and I’ll keep taking the same steps as before knowing I’m still headed towards forward, not the me of before.

Small things of my day today?

I finished a tiny watercolor painting, my three month old granddaughter on my lap.

We walked together, Elizabeth and I and when I mentioned the birds, her sweet face turned in their direction,

I prayed with my cousin and she with me and we helped one another.

Ministry.

Yes, I used what God gave me, small things.

My ministries today.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and God will lead my thinking. I’ll type a little something and someone might comment, “needed this today” and I’ll answer

“I’m just saying what God told me first thing.”

And I’ll sit and add colors to canvas and in my comforting of myself, I’ll make art for others.

I don’t know why I continue, rejection is a certain thing.

Small things, I won’t despise them.

Won’t despise the days full of them and what they are teaching me.

Rejection and joy, all in a day.

Listless Pursuits and Edits

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, memoir, painting, Peace, rest, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

How do you continue in a pursuit, something you feel in your soul is yours God gave you, made you to do?

Vocation, talent, thing that when it “clicks” feels like your gift?

How do you keep going when whatever is taking you farther has hit a bump in the road, a stall?

You don’t think right away and resist the realization, God is intentional when He slows us, requires our acceptance of the shift, the limbo, other adjustments we resist.

We want to use what we know, learn from others, humanly input some change to eliminate the insecurities in the lull.

I do anyway.

Partly, y’all. I just turned 59, I waited a long time to believe I had what I call a share-worthy treasure.

My testimony. My story.

My art and my words.

I make lists every morning, both tasks and requests of God longing to be farther along, a little perplexed over do I continue or surrender the idea of possibility.

My mama always said,

It’s all in it!

And I knew it was true but I dreaded her truth, keep on or stop, just know some days you’re floating and others you fight to swim.

I guess bravery keeps swimming, doubt watches from the shore.

I journal little exhortations to myself I hope I may remember an hour later.

Why are we uncomfortable with the state of limbo, I wonder.

Just now, I’ve explored website options for my art and whether I should bring all my pieces home from where I’ve consigned them, lay them down for new photographs and then create a presence, a polished website.

I dream of being selected by a gallery as an artist but I’m not ready or respected without a website.

I’ve just stood with my feet on the rain soaked grass and pondered my day, my ways.

What about the book idea? What about the proposal out there, the query?

I’d rather be an artist. If I’m honest, that’s what I’ve dreamt to be, meant to be?

I’ll finish the remaining seven chapters and then I’ll edit too much me out and then I’ll mail the perspective chapter’s inspiration to each of the women who I’ve set out to honor, to write of their being Jesus to me.

Then, I won’t hold my head down in regret or humiliation over thinking publication might be possible.

I’ll rest in acceptance and I’ll close that door.

Limbo is miserable, waiting is an invitation to toss everything and permission to be satisfied with that discarding.

Then the thought, but your story is for others handicapped by traumatic experiences who need your voice, your choice to seek hope over remorse.

That’s what I’ve always felt God said when He told me this was my treasure.

So, today I will continue. I’ll do one thing at a time.

I will pray and the thing I’m to continue will come naturally.

Naturally, when I don’t look too far ahead and I let God, not me, lead.

I don’t really understand this thing called a calling or being “called” or following a “call”

I told God so this morning.

Is my pursuit to be less about a pursuit guided by a list every morning?

Maybe.

Maybe so and maybe that’s the reason I’m increasingly captivated by His sky?

How silly and such a waste of time would it be for me to stare up towards heaven, backyard, walking trail, parking lot at the mall?

Me, oblivious to anything or one, being pulled upward, seeking, finding, being better, stronger and more suited for His plan?

There has to be a reason my head keeps tilting skyward.

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭3:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

My birthday card from my daughter, her hubby, their baby daughter was a treasure this year!

It wished me, “a rare bird” a happy day. Then the puppy somehow finagled it loose from its frame, found a hidden spot and began at the corner, chewing at the pretty paper.

I was upset. I overthought it. I called the puppy a demon dog with evil intent. I put it away in a drawer, nothing could fix it.

I told my daughter and she allowed my pitiful story. Said she’d get me another and later told me to frame it, what a memory, what a good story!

I told her no, not funny.

Then I did, I framed it, the card with the little birds and the perfect sentiment and the bottom corner imperfect and chewed.

I asked God this morning to bless my writing and to bless my art.

I’m not sure I’ve asked that of Him before. Asked for redirection where I need it, for His gentle push to persevere and a sense of gentle settling when anxiety asks what is coming.

And I asked him to be my editor, to edit me and my story and to help me to know

Am I being led another way or am I running scared? Are you changing my course or am I jumping ship? Am I stubborn child or a patient learner?

Lord, I want to honor you with my life, my words. Help me to edit my story.

“ Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 ESV

‭‭It’s raining now, no sky captivated staring today.

Maybe later. Yes, later.

And more and more, less list obsession and more seeing, knowing, being pursued by God.

I’m linking up at Tell His Story, a community of writers led by Mary Geisen.

https://marygeisen.com/how-to-learn-from-an-arctic-tern/

August Thoughts

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, hope, memoir, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability, writing

I’m sticking with the newsletter, not because it’s no longer challenging as far as technology.

Sticking with it because I’m not good at letting undertakings sort of drift away, I worry about being called a quitter. I’m stubborn or good at persevering…

Oh, the typo. I should have done a giveaway of some sort to the first to find it and let me know, from not form. There ya go!

August Do-Over, the Redemptive Stories