Receive grace, we need it. We’re going to need it. Regardless of November, hopelessness is a wound not even close to being healed, the result of our lack of control, uncertainty, the open-ended question of the coming year, the apathy towards each other, the numbing that’s happening to us to the extent we don’t yet know.
“That’s a lot, Lisa…I thought you were a person of faith?”
I know. Today I prayed beside my bed, no words, just a position.
Surrendering the moment.
…and by Him, everyone who believes is freed. Acts 13:39
Belief is a very personal thing, prayer is too. God, knowing each of us completely and individually knows us “down to the very bones” and yet, sees us worthy of the very grace we received when we accepted the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus. We decided then I can’t fix this, in fact in my humanness I am unfixable.
Still, I work hard and with intention and a word we love, “perseverance” to see the measure of my faith be represented by works. It’s how we’re wired and we forget that physical wiring never is enough.
Praise, prayer and worship with music rein me back in closer. I find myself opening my hands to heaven when a song touches my tender wounds, thrilled to be uninterrupted on my knees beside my bed or joining others in prayer with both hands palm up to God.
Giving God the hopes, fears and thanks.
Today, I read “Receive His grace all day.” It struck me that the hands I open to give are rarely opened to receive from God. I forget that I need His grace all day long, every moment. More importantly, I forget that His grace is a reservoir that never runs dry. I forget that it is ours simply for asking, just by saying, I need you every hour. Again, I’m not able on my own and you know it God, still you wait patiently for me to remember.
We cannot put our hopes in this country. I’m sorry if that sounds unpatriotic. It hurts to know that and I worry that hopelessness is outpacing the destruction of the pandemic. Without hope, without God and His grace, none of us can sustain our own manufactured hope.
Open your hands as needed today. Receive grace.
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16 ESV
Don’t you love it when the sky, pre-dusk and cloudy draws your eye up
to see a round ball with an aura and you’re confused over whether it is the sun or the moon?
But, it doesn’t matter. You’re not bothered by your lack of wisdom in the area of science. You’re enamored with the beauty, the beauty of the sun and/or moon.
Don’t you love it when you recognize your bravery and for only a minute, even less, you allow it to make you afraid,
Afraid of others, afraid of too much true you?
Don’t you feel brave when you are you?
Don’t you just love it when you reach down to collect another feather because to you, it means something, to you it feels like you see me?
Do you see the change when your aunt sends you off from your visit with a pot of your own of “hen and biddy” succulents?
Don’t you feel brave when she doesn’t remind you that these grey green waxy flowers are from the funeral arrangement of your mama
And you remember but you don’t linger in the scene of sorrow’s visual?
Don’t you love it when even grief can become beautiful, when you see me more clearly and see more clearly how I see you?
Beautiful all along,
even more evident and every thing beautiful, in time?
Don’t you love it?
God
Overwhelmed with bliss are all who will entwine their hearts in him, waiting for him to help them. Isaiah 30:18, Passion translation
It would be a stretch to say my parents were like Johnny and June. My daddy was small in stature and my mama although very wise, didn’t exhibit a tone of outward patience. Their tolerance for one another came and went, seems it was either battleground or preparing for the coming battles, a rhythm they finally mastered.
As a young woman, I had to move back home. Things happened that led to college being too hard for me. To an outsider, it would appear I gave up or wasn’t college material. Few people knew, most weren’t informed, college was interrupted by unanticipated harm. So, I lived at home in the house by the pond for just a bit, a young woman trying to figure what’s next and ignoring the need to heal.
Most mornings, I lingered lazily in my room. My fascination with art numbed by my sudden incapability.
My parents were in their chairs with coffee. Their singsong exchange in kind conversation captivated me. This is what made me think of Johnny Cash and his longsuffering wife, June.
“This morning, with her, having coffee.” Johnny Cash, when asked his idea of paradise
I cling to the memory of my parents having conquered hopeless days in their marriage and sitting in their morning chairs, calmly talking, planning for possibility.
It occurred to me last week as I thought of my own children, adults navigating marriage, parenting, career in a time such as this, I don’t remember my parents asking one another a question,
“How did we get here with Lisa? Where did we go wrong?”
And my tender heart is so grateful that I was never privy to those conversations.
Another thing I don’t recall hearing was panic over politics or very much talk at all about trouble to be expected here on earth, that earth is not my home, heaven is.
Surely, in different ways they felt similar fear, apathy and distrust of leaders back then.
There was Vietnam, there was integration, there was the President who had an interview in Playboy magazine and there were leaders assassinated and although we were grown by then, there was September 11th.
Funny story, my granddaddy purchased the said magazine and my brother and cousin found it, ran through the field and after enjoying it for a bit buried it in the sand.
I like to think that was one of my grandfather’s biggest and happiest moments, he probably yelled and stomped but I imagine him loving us all back then; but, especially the two rascals that sneaky and scandalous day.
There’s unrest, division, distress. It is palpable.
Someone told me; well, it was my daughter, “You sound so despondent.”
de·spond·ent/dəˈspändənt/ in low spirits from loss of hope or courage.
She called as I painted and repainted a piece. It was not coming together. I told her it was hard, this is new for me. I told her I have to finish so I can move on.
But, it wasn’t a painting for someone that was causing the mood she heard in my voice.
It was the piling on of other things, the dragging on of pandemic, the way the masked faces and isolation are destroying us all in our inners, depleting our reserve of hope.
So, I sit in my morning chair, a chair that belonged to my mama. The pines are dappled with morning sun, the same sun landing on the arm of my mama’s chair.
Saying, morning has come with wellness again. They did what they could and you are well. You’ve done what you could do as well and those you love are well, will be well. You know this is God’s promise.
“It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name, O Most High; to declare your steadfast love in the morning, and your faithfulness by night,” Psalm 92:1-2 ESV
I did not hear my parents tell me that this world is not forever, there was minimal talk of heaven, even less conversation about our souls or salvation. We absorbed it I suppose from the sporadic other voices.
But, I saw and heard redemption when I laid quietly in the room that allowed me to be a temporary guest. I heard redemption in the conversation that was shared as they sat with coffee together in their “morning chairs”.
Imperfect love, grace and wisdom pulling me closer to living by faith because of mercy finding me, me finding God, continuously seeking, allowing every moment, my heart to be sought.
I pray your morning brings you the assurance that God is very near and that He is able to make good of all things, soften the hardest heart and redeem the angriest of relationships.
My daughter texted me to share that her daughter, 16 months old yesterday, had put her pants on by herself this morning.
I asked if she’d noticed other things like making her own decisions about inside or outside play with a sweet little “nope”.
I asked if she’d taken her to the bathroom with her and seen her tear a sheet of tissue as if to wipe. Yes, she had, my daughter answered but sweet little “ELB” wants nothing to do with the potty. I answered,
“She’s observing and strategizing.”
Last week I followed a flow chart created to help me understand the flow through the Book of Genesis. The kind of chart with lines dropping down interrupted by some action or moving forward through the process.
I began to imagine the route of a prayer, a prayer that cries out for resolution or a prayer that longs to be known by God.
Maybe the simple one that says thank you, another morning I am well or a more spontaneously overtaking one that comes from a song you join in the praise, you are so grateful to be connected with God.
I wondered about the delivery to the throne of God. Is Jesus able to one by one say, “Father, Lisa just had a moment, she’s afraid or Father, look now, she just got a glimpse of you and she’s better.”?
I wonder such things.
Why some prayers go unanswered.
Why some are answered when we’ve decided they weren’t heard. Why there must surely be some strategy in God’s timing that we are asked to trust.
To trust what we can’t see yet.
Last Sunday, the pastor talked about certainty and asked how long it had been since we remembered big ways in our lives that God showed up.
Remembered the answered prayers. I thought of a few.
My son was certain he would not pass the PT test at the military college his “knob” year. He’d been told sit-ups are a challenge for someone as tall as you, at least when they’re timed. A few people, the pastor who baptized him, his little boy Sunday school teacher and I prayed. God woke me up at 5 that morning, the test was scheduled soon after. I prayed. He passed and let me know in a text. He is now a Citadel and grad school graduate working for an accounting firm.
My daughter’s heart condition lingered several years, the place in her heart the surgeon called a little “stick of dynamite”was in a delicate place. Every procedure they simply couldn’t ablate it. Every procedure, we waited and prayed.
The final one, I was waiting with her sweet husband. The surgeon came out and as with each time before, he just couldn’t synchronize his instrument with the misfiring in her heart.
I nodded in acceptance as he told us he wasn’t giving up yet and then I walked away. I found the tiny chapel prayer space the size of a closet.
I cried and I prayed.
Shortly after, I sat with my son in law in acceptance and waiting. The surgeon returned and he told us so very explicitly the strategy he used and then he told us in words we could hold on to. He’d gone in to the location he knew from her records the malfunction occurred and he “schnockered” the area he told us.
He was optimistic.
A few years later, they are parents of a girl that wouldn’t have been advisable before. Her heart is well.
Other prayers have been unanswered and while they bring sorrow upon remembrance, I’ve accepted the response God chose was better based on His observation of the whole picture, the sovereign strategy I am not capable of understanding.
I just need to believe that my prayers are heard. I have some big ones these days.
I need to believe the incomprehensible truth that every single other person’s are heard in equal measure.
I need to believe because I have seen and I need to never doubt because of those things I did not see and won’t ever until eternity.
“Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” John 20:29-31 ESV
She told me a heartbreaking story and how she came to accept it.
She said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
I woke today and met rejection. An email quickly skimmed and moved on to the folder marked trash.
I’d told myself submit and if it is for you, it will be.
I wasn’t at all destroyed over it. The not being chosen for my writing was sort of an answer to some recent questions of God.
One in particular, do I just blog and let that be enough?
I don’t know yet.
But, I’m open either way.
Not on the edge about it. I know that God’s intentions for me are always good. I find it brave to believe this.
Wish I’d believed it sooner.
Wish I’d seen the verse with the words “returning and rest” the way my friend explained it.
“Daughter, come back.” is what she told me the prophet Isaiah wrote, as instructed by God.
“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
My friend is biblically wise and I’d always felt the words about running away felt like chastisement.
She read farther back and told me God is just reminding me rest means closeness and confidence and strength are from staying near.
We talked a little more and we began to share worries over our world, the evil motivations of people and the bravery required to stand strong and speak up about God.
She became quiet. She shared of a high school classmate she’d heard through others had suffered a stroke.
She told me they weren’t close friends, hadn’t run in the same circles way back then.
Using the connection of another former classmate, she contacted the ailing friend and asked to drop off food, say hello.
The stroke victim said no at first and eventually allowed my friend in.
And I’m not sure how many visits there were, if meals were shared or if conversation became natural.
My friend shared that the woman she’d been visiting did not believe in God. She had her reasons.
My friend asked God to keep her alive until she could change her mind about Jesus.
My friend ached for that assurance. She is aching still.
The former classmate died too soon.
Tremendous pain prompted her to get any pill she could get off the street and my friend heard that the stroke victim who said there was no God, died while sending someone a text.
My friend heard later, the pill was tainted, a deadly ingredient added.
I sat and sensed the ache of question. I saw regret in the posture of my friend.
Months passed since the passing until one day in the shower, she longed to know why she’d not been able to help the former classmate believe in Jesus.
She looked over at me and said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
And the truth of God’s intention for my friend’s friend and for me caused tears to begin slowly.
Peace permeated the space between us.
“So, you have peace about her?” I asked and she nodded.
Then, I smiled and I cried and I told her something I don’t think she knew would be for me.
What that means is that those horrible things that happened to me were not what God intended, the evil just won the battle.
And maybe, just maybe the stuff I longed for that had not happened was not God’s intention for me.
Come back, daughter. Yes, I now see.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you. Isaiah 30:18 ESV
What makes no sense to you if you believe in a God that is good?
My friend found peace when God told her, I was on your team, I was fighting alongside you.
You having more time with her was my intention.
Evil broke in. Broke in too soon.
On earth there is evil.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 ESV
Heaven, though, is God’s purpose.
Our hope and future.
Come back. Stay near. My grace to you is intentional.
On the morning, two Sundays ago that I decided just in time to go to church, I was honest with myself.
I’d been waiting until conditions could be right to return. I’d been waiting for the church to be in agreement with me, to not require that I wear a mask.
Church that morning enveloped me in peace. The mask that I deplore because I deplore demands made of me
Invited a sweeter worship in.
The music, the prayer, my hands open in front of me, my joining in the singing despite my mask.
I wish it weren’t so; but, I tend to be self-conscious in a sanctuary. No surprise, I compare my worship to the worship of others and I worry if others are watching me, measuring whether my praise is big enough.
But, on that morning, before the message on humility and its meaning and worth, I allowed peace to come.
Peace that came through the Spirit leading me to be alone there in the socially distanced place, to close my eyes and be moved by “The Blessing”, to welcome the tears that came. To be aware of, overwhelmed by God’s peace.
Peace comes when we acknowledge our standing in relation to God.
Peace comes when we challenge ourselves to believe we should go when we don’t think we are able or don’t believe we belong.
Peace comes when we remember,
“I am weak but He is strong.” (Yes, Jesus loves me.)
Meekness leads to peace.
Meekness leads to great things.
“Now the man Moses was very meek, more than all people who were on the face of the earth.” Numbers 12:3 ESV
My little circle of six feet in the sanctuary was inhabited by a sense of Holy that Sunday.
I had no idea that choosing not to be selfish, stubborn, self-righteous over a piece of cloth over my mouth, would bring me such peace.
“But the meek shall inherit the land and delight themselves in abundant peace.” Psalm 37:11 ESV
And peace shall be mine again.
I will sing along.
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 ESV
Joining others who are writing prompted by the word “church” here.
The situation was dire. His friend Lazarus had died. His arrival to save him was delayed.
I am thinking of a young woman who bravely told her story of domestic violence on social media.
Photos with captions of what was happening instead of what her posed by his side and pretty face portrayed.
Photos hard to look at for long, one dark purple encircled eye balancing the other’s vacant expression and her arm marked by a bruise from grabbing.
This young woman is from the place I call home.
She is brave, was brave.
Most likely very afraid.
I fell asleep with private tears puddled near my ear. I fell asleep with the acceptance of my own truth.
A truth I’d been over and over rethinking.
Certainly, there was good.
Turning Corners
For some reason, I just don’t remember it. Surely, your years all running together could not have contained that much hurt, that much fear, that much abuse.
I breathed deeply again and tried to rewind my life in my 20’s movie. I longed to believe the trauma had simply erased the happy like they say it does the hard,
As sort of our brain’s protective role.
But, that made and makes no sense at all. Why would the brain and its memory reservoir dry up the good, deny the times of love?
Two nights ago, tears came and my soul felt sad and then gently at peace, relieved.
Yes, physical and emotional abuse by a man who began as a date is a part of my story.
Being a captive and being brainwashed into keeping it secret is a chapter in my life.
Now, even more healing will have its chance to do what it has been preparing me for, what God kept me alive to do.
Mercy Every Morning
I see the waking up slowly of me and I see the tears that were not brought on by long ago pain, rather the welling up of hope, I see the beautiful things that have already begun and will now be free to finish.
As I turned the long clay lane to my granddaughter yesterday morning, a song came.
I crept up the winding hill, turned on to the sandy path we walk and hold hands. I careened in slowly to my place on the hill.
Safely I arrived and safe I shall be.
I hope you’ll listen.
Josh Garrel’s rendition of “Farther Along” makes me happy every time.
Makes me hopeful. Makes me content in not being all knowing.
Father, thank you for the honesty you allow, the truth of us you slowly guide into revelations with sweet, never bitter tears. Thank you for words, for bravery even if new. Thank you for helping me continue, to continue and believe. Thank you for my present love and safety, the embrace of family.
Because of mercy, Amen
Me.
I am thinking still of the young woman and her photos, meant to share her truth and to help others. I’m thinking of her bravery and the way I still hesitate to say that I was a victim of abuse.
I think of how some days, like yesterday, I’m still ashamed and afraid to tell. And I’m grateful for days like today when I choose “publish” instead of “trash”. I choose believing there is so much good to see.
“Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” John 11:40 ESV
I see God in the sky. This evening, the view was varied. There was strength. There was jubilant fullness. There was wide expanse with layered color.
I longed to be stronger because of seeing.
But, not so much. Not this evening.
If I’m honest.
My thoughts are likely controversial. I’ll be called selfish. It may be an opinion of many that it’s not such a big request, to require my face is masked.
I used to so very much enjoy outings, no particular reason trips to Target or to little shops or the art center, even the library.
Now, I’d rather not go.
I know not everyone else feels the same.
Today, my granddaughter not once but twice or more, looked into my eyes and smiled and she pulled my mask away from my face so she could kiss me on the lips.
At first, I thought, so sweet and then, I thought,
So odd. So very odd that someone who loves her so is “masked up” as if in disguise.
Thankfully, smart little baby wasn’t having it, she wanted to see her grandma.
A heavy weight bearing down, so very sick of all of this.
I walk with music.
The clouds are humongous.
The heron flies away the minute I walk by. To my right the sky is spattered sunset orange and to my right the fat clouds have a foundation almost purple.
And I hear a song called “Job’s” and I truly want to be comforted.
I’m sorry to say, I continue to wonder.
“How long?”
How long will my granddaughter see her grandma wearing a mask?
How long will we all be afraid and conformed to fearing even more every single moment.
How long until we trust our Sovereign God who made us fearfully and wonderfully and numbered our very moments…how long must we wait until our faith in His knowing of us gives us the courage to be free, unmasked and trusting the timing, the living, the hope…
To live without hiding, to live unmasked?
Fear will grow, keep growing until we are confident and trusting in the God that Job knew, the God we are all being beckoned to consider.
He knows.
“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.” Job 42:2 ESV
Up early and uncertain whether I had again gratefully “woken up well”, I walk outside to see the pink sky in the distance, wishing our home was set either on a hill or not bordered by tall trees and houses.
If that were so, I could see the wide morning. Instead, I look upward and the half moon is above me, surrounded by the remnant of two clouds breaking thinly away.
I wished for a different sky. I had hoped the day would bring rain.
A rainy day that could give permission for thinking, make seclusion seem more pleasant.
On this day, nineteen years ago, destruction changed our country, altered our thinking of what could happen.
For years, the color code marking threat bordered our television screens.
For days on end I wondered when it would happen again, certain that it could. Another attack by people who hated us, another planned explosion in places where people congregated.
It could happen again.
For now, there are other “coulds”, the resounding murmuring amongst one another.
Rather than explosion, I sense a subtle threat to our togetherness, I fear we are imploding, a caving in.
Don’t get too close, she may be sick. Don’t touch the door, it could have the viral contaminated touch of someone else. Don’t forget your mask, don’t let your worn out mask shift and uncover your nose.
Don’t hug the friend you encounter that you’ve not seen in years.
You could get sick, you could make others unwell. You could cause pain to others.
This predisposition to high alert stances based on what could happen is much like a phrase I’m just now embracing.
Don’t borrow trouble.
Two hours ago, I woke up too early. I was thirsty and had what my grandma called a “dull” headache. I moved from my bed to the kitchen for water.
Today, I did not pray, “thank you God, I woke up well.”
But, now I am because I was sullenly anticipating dread. I was alert to what could happen because of it happening all around me, inundated with a sense of foreboding,
A man in the Bible, mentioned just a couple of times, Jabez confronted his predisposed “could happens” with a prayer that God answered.
“Jabez called upon the God of Israel, saying, “Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my border, and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not bring me pain!” And God granted what he asked.” 1 Chronicles 4:10 ESV
The mother of Jabez chose his name that meant pain and told him so, of all the brothers, his birth had caused her great pain.
Could it be so for us? That we acknowledge what harms could come our way and simply ask God to prevent them.
Knowing He can?
I’m not so naive to live the fairy tale that all pain can be avoided. This world, our country gets more angry and full of fear and evil every day.
Still, I can open my hand to heaven now and again later and say “Thank you, I am well. It is well. I will not fear. You are near.”
Like Jabez, I can set my intentions on what God can do not what could happen.
I love to think of other choices that could have been made by people in the Bible. Jabez knowing he was least likely to have a life without pain based on his name could have chosen to cower, could have accepted his position among his brothers, to be careful, to fear pain, to prepare for the worst case scenarios and so, to hide away.
He didn’t. He asked God for the ability to see opportunities, to be kept safe in his pursuit of them and to live a life from which we get the phrase, not just blessed; but, blessed indeed.
The purple flowers that seem to be summer withered have sprinkled petals heavy from humidity all along the border.
I bent over to try to see the sunrise in the distance and noticed a new thing.
The scent from the purple bloom. All summer long I’ve walked past and now almost mid-September, my attention was drawn.
The sweet smell of still hanging on, the still tint of soft indigo and lavender, the gift of finding beauty in my subdivided back yard.
The firm decision not to borrow trouble; instead to be aware of it and to ask God to keep me from it.
Then to remember, not knowing how or if or whether it was sudden.
God granted what he asked.
He will for us as well.
This truth I shall remember when I ponder “what could”.
Remember only the possibility of good.
Our lives are not what are circumstances say they are, rather they are what God says “could happen” if we trust Him.
If we continue, continue and believe.
This post was prompted by the word “could” from Five Minute Friday (I link up although I’m rarely five minutes or under in thinking or writing.) Read others’ words here:
What are you wondering? What are you waiting for, wondering if you’ll ever get through or over it?
What are you waiting to experience, the wonder of a promise that comes true when you weren’t quite sure it would?
“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.” Psalm 62:1 ESV
The begonia in the pot was an afterthought, an extra in the little plastic container, now growing towards the sun.
I wonder why its blooms are fabulous, the others with the caladium have dried up.
I wonder why the women who found the empty tomb, who’d been so grief stricken were scared, uncertain, even seen as crazy.
Were met by skeptics.
Jesus had told them that after three days, you will understand even better the purpose of my violent crucifixion.
It seems as if the women and the disciples had forgotten.
I get that. I’m very much prone to forgetting the promise of good when I’m caught up in the malaise of my waiting.
Or when I don’t see any evidence of just around the bend arrival of it. I act as if pending will never end. I grow weary in waiting.
“…Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee,” Luke 24:6 ESV
Then, like the women bent over by their waiting beside the tomb of Jesus, I’ll get a sense of God’s nearness akin to the angel who told the ladies…
Remember. Remember, God will.
God will bring good again.
What are you waiting for? Is it for grief to subside or to change its grip on your life and your soul?
Grief will change over time. It never goes away, it does change its emotion and the emotion it stirs in you.
What at first and for years and years is bitter, will become sweet.
Here’s why I say this.
A few nights ago, for the first time in decades since she’s been gone, I felt happiness over my memories of my mama.
A Netflix series, “A Chef’s Table”, the first episode, a story of a strong Texan named “Tootsie”.
I was enthralled. I felt I’d never heard a story so like my mama’s. I happily watched the whole show and later told my children, “If you want to watch something that will literally feel like being with your grandma, watch this show.”
I don’t know if they will. But, I will again.
So, here’s to the undeniable mystery of God. Was God aware there’d be a woman named Tootsie who would at last turn my grief to a sweeter thing when I watched a documentary?
I don’t know.
I’m simply accepting that God is good and makes good on His promises.
Promises we only have seen just a glimpse of here.
We are known.
Already known.
We can wait well knowing, the sweetest days are coming.
We canwait in wonder rather than worry.
Because God said so.
Continue and believe.
What are you waiting for?
What, to begin or to end?
Wait in wonder, knowing God knows.
Wonderment, such a pretty word. I’m holding onto it.
we run away from our discomfort... but it doesn't leave us. to heal we need to turn around and face it, experience it and once we truly do we are out of it. We heal and we grow.
2 Timothy 1:7-8 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. This blog is about my Christian walk. Join me for the adventure.
Lisa Anne Tindal 