courage

Everything, Fine and Surrendered

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Vulnerability


Every little place, an intersection, crossing of path, if we pay attention.  A piece on prayer featured my simple words on content. 

A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.

Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind. 

I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace. 

Yesterday, I prayed.  

I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move.  I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known. 

And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move. 

It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to. 

Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary. 

This is not a thing  I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand.  I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault. 

Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow. 

But,  I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder. 

I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.” 

“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together. 

But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate. 

He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”

And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine. 

It’s going to be fine.  My eyes are moist upon remembering. 

Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment. 

I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.

In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

Trust and Amen

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Begin, get lost along the

way. 

Come back. 

Find, then abandon, lose again,  yourself

in the place of believing in your word, your color, your marks, layered color and

or authentic story on page or canvas and

be glad that you’re glad no matter. 

Sit back, step back. 

Yes, this is me. 

Alleluia, Amen. 

Trust and Amen. 

Here’s something you may not know. 

I went to college on art scholarship but, I was not ready, got a little lost…30 plus years later, I am painting and it is joy. 

I missed my studio aka Heather’s old room…after a weekend away and no commissions to be fulfilled, so I painted this afternoon and into evening. 

This piece is a 16×20 mixed media on canvas…graphite, watercolor, pastel, acrylic with just a tiny hint of hymn peeking through…the words, Trust and Amen. 
Send a message if you’d like to purchase.

Sparks and Moon

Children, courage, family, grace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the 

moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.

I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.

Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last. 

A late, long day,  change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night. 

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead. 

The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark, 

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

Bright and  red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddle on the street as the car ahead eases on. 

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled. 

My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.

I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we  floated  down the road.

Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch. 

Going home for Christmas. 

I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.

Sparks flying up and the 

Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so. 

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Closer to Strong Walking

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/

 

Book Review and Giveaway- Choosing Real by Bekah Jane Pogue

courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I opened this book quite convinced there’d be nothing relatable for me. 

I did what women do, pictured Bekah Jane’s pretty little life in her pretty little sunny home surrounded by happy boys and handsome husband, and decided I think I’m too old, too much a contrasted life to relate. 

Perhaps, jealousy veiled the door. After all, her name’s on a book and mine is not. 

I began Choosing Real on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday means church to me, choir, if on a set day it means leading Missions. 

Sunday feels like work sometimes and most days I’d rather just rest.

Bekah Jane understands. Like me, she has spent many hours of her days working, planning, showing her efforts to herself and God. Barely into the first few pages, my pencil is making pretty little gray asterisks already. 

You, my friend, you don’t have to work so hard. You don’t have to strive to perform, because God is already in it.  

I understand, Bekah. I’m sure we’re not the only ones, little girls wanting to believe Jesus loved us…loves us, really. 

Less than a page or two over, here’s this gem, this rock solid truth refined and precious jewelry. 

How could I follow a Jesus I didn’t have a real relationship with other than what I did for Him?  

Yes, this is the beginning of understanding, of the wisdom finally seen clearly through another. 

Finally, I am  understanding surrender through this book. Surrender is not a strapped down performance based response because of self-condemnation over never enough or not enough consistently! 

Breakthrough here.

Yes. That truth came to me in these pages. Bekah is an event planner and so she’s all about arranging, inviting, I imagine beautiful and welcoming occasions. 

Surrender is simply saying, I’ll come along, Jesus to the events you have planned for me. 

I know that you have some very special occasions you’d like me to fully attend, to be present, to enjoy, to accept as opportunities to dine with you while dining with others at a table large with glorious grace and graces to share.

I struggle to convey how big was this epiphany, this new view of surrender so I’ll use another’s clarity from the book,  Bob Goff. 

Every day God invites us on the same kind of adventure. It’s not a trip where He sends us a rigid itinerary; He simply invites us. 

God asks us what it is He’s made us to love, what it is that captures our attention, what feeds that deep indescribable need of our souls to experience the richness of the world He made. And then, leaning over us whispers, ‘Let’s do that together’.

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I’d love to create a little list of all the places this book touched my heart.  

Bekah speaks of grief over the loss of her father in a way so real I simply wish we could meet so I could run across the room without reservation and hug her so, so tightly and say “Me too.”

Grief leveled her. Grief changed her. I understand. She and I are one in this ache  that comes round and round. 

Friends, I’ve only barely skimmed the surface of this book and it’s importance for us all. 

Last week, I attended a fancy meeting. I couldn’t wait to leave, worried over being a guest, not a member and shunned over wearing the wrong shoes or being less notable a person than others.

I sat in my car and said. “I’d rather be real.” and the sun warmed my face as I looked towards blueness of sky. I paused there in the parking lot, okay with belonging to quiet over club. 

I paused, content in being more real me than ever, a place of peace and acceptance. Happy to be real, not rich. 

Later, I painted and I will again today. This ministry born of sketching me in margins, an invitation to abandoned joy it has become. 

Work, before. Over 39 years ago, I longed, ached, tried and failed to be an artist. Now, I simply long to paint, to write, to bravely create from my heart. 

Choosing Real ends with an invitation to proclaim,  a beckoning to consider believing I matter, an exercise in embracing God’s long ago promise. 

You matter. 

I have a copy of this book I’m anxious to pass on. I know it will end up where it belongs because God placed me here on this chilly Saturday morning to share my heart and its significance with you. 

Leave a comment and at random, I’ll choose someone to send a copy, wishing I could send to all! 

Choose real. Accept God’s invitation to surrender to life when our plan gets messy or even grief and chaos ridden. 

Reach out, take His hand and remember, surrender is not selfish defeat or dismay…it’s saying “Yes” to believing Jesus has some amazing and “really real”  things, amazing days he awaits our acceptance of invitation. 

Acquaint yourself with the wisdom and heart of Bekah here: http://www.bekahpogue.com/

*Thank you to Stephanie Alton at the Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc. for allowing me to review this book and for providing a book for the giveaway this month. 

Purpose and Possibility

courage, Faith, Trust, Vulnerability

I woke excited to know the possibility. 

One of many, I am sure; still, it could be me. I wrote a brave story and followed the instructions for a literary competition. 

Added writing the essay that initially was soft and spoke of childhood to the list in the margin of my calendar called “to do”. 

I’ll know in a few days. I’ll know to be afraid or relieved,  emotionally giddy over being chosen or a bit scared of being seen and hoping to hide behind my grandma like a little girl afraid. 

Either way, there’s a purpose for the outcome. I know this to be true because I asked it to be so. 

Prayed, Lord I am taking this next step you have “purposed” me for and I will see you all along the journey. 

Purposeful, everything is. 

Opened the cabinet for a cup and see it there, little black mug with letters painted white to remind…plans and purpose, not for harm.

For good.  Time will reveal what good will come. May be simply the knowledge of taking the brave next step to make the next one more brave. 

Or maybe it will as my friend promised, the purpose of the shedding light on dark places hidden so I am free, more free than I have been. 

A beautiful and sweet, purposeful free. 

Linking up here: http://katemotaung.com/five-minute-friday/

Tender Mercy

courage, Faith, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_5527

I must have held a bit too tightly, anxious in my grasping.

I saw it there, moved quickly, lifted my hand and met its movement.

Held it in my hand.

I clutched with all my heart, my mighty mind and anxious searching.

And longer this time, it rested there, before its wings in a flutter of struggle convinced my opening of hand

to release again to the heavens,

mercy, stopped by again…

tender mercy.

I dreamt in bright color, red.

Held mercy in my hand, a red bird, fearless and for me momentarily; yet, less fleetingly than before.

I touched its velvet belly.  My palm cushioned its smooth chest and my fingers  settled its fitful feathers.

It rested longer this time, just enough for me to know,

tender mercy, I know you, yes.

Mindfilledness

courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I have a friend who is a therapist, yoga instructor and a quite beautiful singer. Her voice is smooth, her tone steady and open to my turning.

img_5382

He redeems my soul in safety from the battle I wage. Psalm 55:18

She talks about trauma like David thought of Goliath.

As if to say, “I know you’re lurking, come at me, I’m stronger than you know.”

Oh, the mind filled messes we all hide away, stuff under the bed or way, way back in the dark corner of our dusty attic minds…

Thinking, “I know you’re still there; but, I have no need for you whatsoever…stay up there, away, I know you; but, have no need to bring you out.”

Trauma and memory, fine ’til they can’t rest and start to dance together, way past midnight in our dreams.

Last night, I watched a movie. Rare for me because I despise the “F word” and I have no desire for sex that looks like proud display of nastiness and shame.

The movie, “Woman in Gold” and the actor a strong and determinedly beautiful woman scarred by the siege of Hitler.

The one scene, the one that stirred up my thoughts, she is afraid to go back and remembers fleeing before being taken prisoner.

She melts down. I saw it in her eyes, Helen Mirren portraying trauma splendidly well.

She faced it. It was so very debilitating,  just for a few seconds.

She knew her giant.

Would not concede.

I dreamt in color of scary things last night, of being held captive, of being harmed.

It was clear and real. It was a true story, true of my story.

Still, I woke and said to myself.

You know the reason for the dream. You know the games your mind plays either you let it become filled with the messes or you pause to be mindful of its seed.

I thought of my friend as I practiced mindfulness and rose to begin my day unscarred by the night and its thoughts.

Birds singing to celebrate the early bloom of forsythia and azalea, of hope, truth and quiet confidence.

Feathers found reminding of grace singing over me.

Filling my mind with things to grab hold to, store up, win battles with.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who is changing the way I see “happy”.

 

Tell His Story