My Little Eye

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

Epiphany -January 6th

There are a couple of words I love most in my collection of “perfectly pretty words”.

The way they sound when they’re spoken by me, at least from my perspective is just special, significant and kind of sweet.

And the way the letters are so balanced and artful, their dots and intersected cursives making their mark on my pages.

I love them. Two in particular, vignette and epiphany.

I love a pretty place on bedside table, a collection of unevenly numbered things, a clock, a pebble, a book or a candle, framed photo and glass jar filled with pretty pencils. I step back or sit next to a spot, eyes drifting over to my “vignette” and I smile.

I opened the planner on my desk left clean for my return after Christmas. Not marked yet, I turned to January.

Paused when I saw it, “Epiphany” , it’s tomorrow, the 6th.

Epiphany, the day that marks the time the Magi encountered Jesus, the newborn, Son of God.

I use the word when I stop suddenly upon a realization of truth or a long sought understanding.

I use it when the waiting and the hardest parts of my life show me their worth, their lesson, their value.

“Oh, I just had an epiphany.” I’ll say to myself, its validity a personal and precious gift.

Epiphany, an intuitive revelation. Intuition, another especially beautiful word.

Like “vignette” as description makes the ordinary arrangement more special, “epiphany” makes our realization more heart and soul.

This morning I read a verse from Psalms that made me think of striking out on my own and the paths I’d rushed towards or stumbled through in search of desire and destination. The things I see when I wait to see through God’s eyes are much grander, established, settled, safe and sure.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭32:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This verse makes me smile. I can hear it now….the voice of one or the other of my children. ” I spy…with my little eye.” I’d love that pause between spy and with because I knew their little minds were thinking about what might be hard to find and how much of an adventure it would be for us to either find it or give up!

God never takes his eye off me. I believe there are good things he wants me to seek…to stay right beside him, to depend on his not so little eye.

Or like a lost and disoriented misguided mule without reins, we’re either uncertain or overconfident. Lacking direction and stubbornly impatient.

Because, I spy with my little eye only a tiny bit of the light of what’s to come, like a skinny strip under a midnight door, I can see just enough to get by.

Then, I stop looking for it or remember to see it

little vignettes and silently sought epiphanies

revelations of God.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/magical-habit-lingering-free-journal/

Thus Far

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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We lived in a cute apartment in a sort of upscale community, my baby brother and I. Our apartment was above a retired couple.

Their comings and goings always together, I’d glance down at them from the kitchen window, he gently helping her from the car and carrying one or two bags of groceries.

Occasionally,he looked up, his expression a contrast in wisdom and frustration.

Yet, they never complained of our late hours, our trash piling up or our completely haphazard life.

Both of us single, both of us sowing wild and hapless oats.

Every Sunday, they went to church. Sharply dressed and contentedly methodical were their steps back home.

On one particular evening, we ended up close enough for words. I asked the gentleman, “How can I know God’s will for me?”

Surprised by what he must have seen as a lost and careless young woman, he just stood there. “I’m sorry if we are loud up there sometimes.” I said, ashamed I’d asked the question.

Still, no words as we stood together in the shade of stairwell. Do I wait, do I leave him be? Should I not have invited his sermon? Will he rightly point out my sins?

He answered with a book. I’d love to say it lives on my shelf; unfortunately, the patterns of my life were not abruptly changed that day.

But, a seed planted, oh my goodness and I’m so glad God allowed me time enough for it to grow.

There are many who will not believe there are big portions of my life not well-lived.

Who may think I talk of redemption and wonder how on earth do I really think I needed to be redeemed.

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Last night, a text came. I was painting and cleaning my art room. I’d walked the dog in the mist and fog, praying hard and quietly demanding as I walked.

The old heavy and annoying albatross of anxiety had begun to linger above my head.

It’s such a dull and cumbersome feeling, the one that cooks up chaos, confusion and confoundedness in the heart and mind.

I decided, after listing all my anxious taking of responsibility for plans gone awry to God, to head home, be quiet and paint. “I’ll paint. I’ll listen to Alison Krauss and I’ll just paint.”

So, I’m painting in silence because the air has cleared, my mind unfurled and open.

My painting, not furious, but an easy comfort.

My prayer was heard, my heart was made free.

I needed to answer her text; a young woman, mother of precious girls and one little boy is worried and has been crying for days, she said.

I’d given her a reference for a job. She didn’t know. She desperately needs one.

“I’ll pray for you, that a breakthrough will be soon.” I said. She answered with something like you are so great, I really appreciate it. I wish I had your faith.

I told her that the things I say to her are the things I say to myself quite regularly.

I’m not who I was, still not all I should be. Closer every time I surrender, a thankful trusting heart at rest.

Told her I get the blues too. I have to pray, get quiet and trust.

I hope she knows it’s true, that the mess I am is not nearly as much a mess as before.

That, the will of God is for her a good and settled mind; but, we have to seek it.

That’s what he said back then twenty plus years or so, the kind and patient gentleman who gave me the book.

“You have to seek God’s will and keep seeking it in the quiet place of prayer. ”

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This morning, I’m reading scripture from II Samuel. A devotional about setting goals for fruitful living, talks about spending time alone with God.

The passage is called “David’s Prayer of Gratitude”. It was written after he was the least likely to be chosen, after he defeated a giant with a stone and before he strayed haphazardly distracted again by lusts of life.

“Then King David went in and sat before the LORD and prayed, “Who am I, O Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far?”
‭‭2 Samuel 7:18

He’s the good shepherd; he kept his shepherd boy who he chose to be a king.

He keeps us too, reminds us where he found us and where he’d like to help us go.

Where we long to stay, reminded of our thus far.

Resolve

courage, Faith, family, grace, New Years Day, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

Acknowledge what I’ve been given instead of longing for what I lost, felt I lost out on.

re·solve

NOUN

firm determination to do something:

“she received information that strengthened her resolve”

Pray more.

Trust more.

Love more.

Learn more about God and me.

Keep them all.

“Keep the faith, finish the course. ” 2 Timothy 4:7

Thank you, Paul, for your part in the story.

Sometimes I think I’m either the most simple minded of people on earth or the most complicated of minds incapable of rest.

I’m a contrast of contentment in the gift of lamplight on morning devotion; I yearn for solitude, rarely am I lonely.

Yet, the thoughts I conjure up, I’m unable to contain. Been called “deep”, been thanked for my deep thoughts.

On this day, the last of 2016, there’s a loud huffy sigh, bemoaning the disdain of its days. I don’t think I’ve ever lived a year that many feel as if we’ve all walked around either on eggshells or avoiding land mines. Negativity, pessimism and a tendency to grieve people we’ve never known, to align ourselves with the distress that we’ve never experienced and probably never will.

Tomorrow, not an unveiling of newness, other than number, a new set of hours making a day. But, there is a trend towards thinking it might be good, might be better.

My only aspiration is to step towards the things I’ve let fade, linger too long.

The treasure, closer and closer to the place of boxing up and storing on the top shelf of my closet, nothing more than idea and season.

This morning I read of Paul and his encounter with a rich man, a man whose possessions meant more than his days.

Measured his wealth, decided it was too risky to trade in for his soul.

I have never known wealth, have lived an unexpectant life. I’ve coveted the lives of others, longed for their pretty things.

Wasteful times and thoughts those have been.

Finally, I’m beginning to cherish the beautiful enough.

I’m thrilled by the smallest of unvalued and the immeasurably valuable things.

Lessons, memories, stories, connections.

Seeing, feeling, knowing Gods hand on the course my life.

Dogs, I learned to love them in 2016.

Life, I learned to accept it, daily.

My people, I learned to love them with open hands, not tightly clutched grasp of apprehension.

Thank you, God.

Crazy chances taken, wasted saving graces and Lord knows I’m beginning to see why I made it through.

I’m finally finishing a book I should’ve never set aside. I’m rereading it now, underlining bedside.

Paul and Jesus, themes of wealth, struggle, integrity, times living “on fire”, times of dull flame, finally, more times of staying the mental course that brings good to days. The little book ends with “Ten Vows of Success”

“He who suffers, remembers.” Og Mandino

“I will bathe my days in the golden glow of enthusiasm. In that bright glow will I be able to see, for the first time, all the good things in life that were concealed from me during those years of futility.

Just as a young lover has a finer sense and more acute vision and sees, in the object of his affection, a hundred virtues and charms invisible to all other eyes, so will I, imbued with enthusiasm, have my power of perception heightened and my vision magnified until I can see the beauty and charm others cannot discern which can compensate for large loads of drudgery, deprivation, hardship, and even persecution.

With enthusiasm I can make the best of any situation and should I stumble now and then, as even the most talented will do on occasions, I will pick myself up and go on with my life.

Always will I bathe my days in the golden glow of enthusiasm.” Part II The End of the Story, The Greatest Salesman in the World by Og Mandino

This little book, a recommended read from my son and a very wise friend, Ray Visotski.

Happy New Day tomorrow…that just happens to be the first of a New Year!

Acknowledge what you’ve been given instead of what you’ve lost or lack, Lisa.

Bathe your days in enthusiasm, sunsets, dogs,

God, faith and hope

and love.

Towards Grace

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On the first day of new, I wrote a prayer and called it “Winter”, knowing that what I write, I might retain.

I found it beautiful then. It was descriptive and true.

Grace found

Pausing to look it over, gray lines and loops on thin white paper, I pondered the seven days since I’d already begun to fear.

Welcome, Winter.

May your arrival bring new things.

May I be unafraid of your truth

and of mine.

May I hold fast to a promise uttered for others and for me,

a breakthrough is coming, it’s about to be time.

This morning I sat in a dim space. The morning faded by moist and thick fog led me to linger. I read and wrote, three or four lines at most. The quiet of the morning, too much of a calm nothingness for me to move.

I listened and heard a dove in the distance. Its coo was quiet, then more clear, then quiet again. The notes of its song danced like black squiggly shapes on sheets of music.

I listened and thought of grace.

Grace, manifested, making itself evident, the only other sound the tick of the clock on kitchen wall.

The cooing of the bird becoming conversation, for me, I decide.

I waited. It continued.

It quietens, so I move, unfolding the quilt from my bare feet.

I think of seeking the sound, the sight of grace.

For months, I walked almost daily with lens pointed towards the sky. Random shots of clouds that called me to notice. The sky, like dove song, I’m certain was always for me.

Grace, manifested. Grace, rediscovered.

Had never moved, not been removed nor withdrawn, I’d just stopped looking. Maybe I’d become comfortable in the apathy of apprehensive unknown.

Sometimes we do these little things like “quiet time” and journaling and they’re nothing short of cliched habit, practicing a trendy social sharing, searching for a word to declare will carry us through the day…like wearing our badges of honor to mark our fading faith.

Then, we see grace.

We feel it. We hear it because it was not of our making, we got silent and still enough to see God.

I’m looking again. I’m noticing again. It’s a quiet and private practice.

Earlier today, I was captivated by a presentation. Watch and listen:

Are you listening?

A video created by a photographer, the intent to capture the emotion of 2016. It’s hard to watch. Hard not to watch. The voice of the narrator is reminiscent of the sweetest teacher a Southern girl may have ever known. It’s a voice that is somber in its serious tone, broken in its cadence.

If voices were visible emotion, her’s would be the drawn face of sorrowful acceptance.

It was hard to watch, such an accurate commentary of our time, our distress.

Hard to watch, yet, impossible not to take notice.

I watched and still, I thought of grace.

I thought of Job and his refusal to give up on God, his dismay, his defeat and his holding out and holding on to see grace again when they all told him it was not to be found.

No more grace for you, curse what you’ve decided to count on for good and accept that your doubts have come true. His wife, his friends, the bodies of his children cried out. Job 2:9

I thought of the sky that I turned to notice once the fog had cleared.

The open spot where the blue came in.

That’s the place that reminded me of my Winter prayer

and eventually, again, of grace.

Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. Psalm 86:6

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/want-give-2017-even-starts/

Little much

Children, courage, family, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

corn flakes, banana and pecan

Yesterday, we all had dinner together.

Beef brisket on little buns loaded with jack cheese and buns made shiny by warm butter

Fingerling potatoes coated in olive oil and Parmesan cheese, crispy under the broiler

A cole slaw fancied up with creamy bleu cheese, crushed pecans and cranberries

Decadent macaroni and cheese, thick, soft and warm

My attempt at a little cafe’ worthy finale’, custard and Nutella blended gently over heat, cooled and then covered in melted marshmallow, not the star of the show,

still sweetly delicious.

Gifts exchanged late Christmas night. Laughter and languishing. Sprawled out in the den.

Late night led to late waking.

Back to the kitchen, I go for the simple.

Remembering my grandma’s house when we all had breakfast from the box with the big rooster.

And how I loved it when the honey colored flakes floated in a pool of white.

I’d dip into the bowl with little fingers, pick just one and bring it my mouth, letting it rest softly on my tongue.

Then I’d turn the shallow bowl up and drink down the milk that tasted like candy

My feet swinging loosely over the edge of my grandma’s chairs up close to the big table.

My cousins all around me, the day after Christmas at the old house in the country.

Little is much, I know this to be true, know its peace.

Her Back Then

courage, Faith, family, grace, Uncategorized

The Minister’s Daughter

All I can think now is how she was then.

My grandmother in her late teens, it never occurred to me to wonder about her this way ’til I painted her against the backdrop of her raising.

Her daddy was a minister. She had to have been beautiful back then and on the cusp of change. Standing on the firm foundation of her daddy’s reputation and the memorized words to scripture and lilting hymns, I’ve decided she must have turned heads.

I imagine to be in her presence would have been a pleasure. A petite young lady, I believe she’d not be found sitting stiffly with hands folded securely in her lap.

She loved people, loved knowing them, knowing their stories and telling hers. She was engaging.

I suppose there came a time she questioned the path of her life.

There must have been a time of determined rebellion.

She married my granddaddy, my son’s namesake.

She was young, one of four sisters, I recall.

He was a rascal, a carpenter by trade and a fishing man by choice, loved cold beer and cigars. I never heard it told; but, I figure he must’ve swept her off her feet with his irresistible smile and lazy swagger.

I know she didn’t lose her faith, she just didn’t get it on Sunday mornings with her husband by her side.

But, she kept it. She kept her faith, not one to let anything be taken.

I learned a whole lot from that one truth, just realizing it fully now.

Faith, sort of an enigma until you settle into its simple sufficiency.

She kept her faith. I got to see it. Hard marriage followed rebellious courtship, faith never left her.

I wish I’d heard the stories, wish I’d had a little talk with my grandma about her love for him. The giddy beginning of headstrong and hopeful decision.

Wish I could have seen the light of love in her eyes, a young woman abandoning all for abandonment in the moment.

And for loosening the reigns of control.

This painting is for my niece with the song she remembers as my grandma’s favorite. I recall someone sang it at her funeral.

It’s a beautiful hymn with lyrics praising the God who considered us worthy despite ourselves . The acknowledgement of grace causing our souls to sing…

“then sings my soul”.

I’d love to know the song that caused her heart to flutter, though, caused her cheeks to flush when she went for what she wanted.

When she said “Yes” to my granddaddy and no to her father.

Thinking of Now

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

I’m writing for five minutes with thoughts on “Now”.

Linking up with Kate Motaung on this chilly Friday morning in South Carolina.

I’m driving five hours or so today. My companion and I will talk, some of it will be nervous chatter, filling up awkward empty spots. Some of it will be weather, season or world.

Some of our conversation might be about our children or maybe even our shoes. I woke, refreshed and said “Thank you, Lord, for I slept without tossing.”

Today Now

I prayed, “Help me to see my opportunities to help today, to speak the things I know.”

I heard a sweet lady yesterday tell me of her husband’s abusive childhood. He’s a kind and distinguished man, I was not alarmed; but, surprised.

She says he carries it with him. It’s a blessing and a curse, she said.

More curse, but, the blessing is he’s kind to others because of it.

“Yes” I said.

I drive today to help a woman who felt she deserved nothing. I will not speak for her. I doubt I’ll be allowed.

I will speak to her if opportunity presents. Ill tell her that moving forward is scary, that looking back and living in the place another placed you is more comfortable, makes more sense and lessens the fear.

Ill tell her maybe about Esther…The one who stood with grace and spoke for life.

I’ll tell her maybe this is her time.

Ill think, maybe it’s mine.

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

Christmas Trees and Home

courage, grace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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I thought yesterday, what I’d do if I lived in the city where they say trees are going for hundreds of dollars this year.

I passed by the little lot on the corner that always has trees and wondered if I’d choose to do without if a tree for Christmas cost a couple hundred.

I would, I thought…I hoped, do without.

The church where I’ve always bought my tree didn’t sell them this year. I got my tiny tree at the grocery store, both of my children with me; so excited, I plopped my “baby tree” in the back of my car on that Saturday we spent together.

It was $29. I found an old basket and sat it on my favorite old blue-bird blue chair, made a star by tying two ornaments together with twine and it’s just sweet and simple.

I love it.

I pulled another tree from the attic; I can’t lie, it’s the top section of an old artificial tree and I’ve smushed it down into an old brass planter. It wobbled at first; but, I put the base into an old mason jar. Walla! Steady.

It’s so pretty.

I add gold ribbon and grapevine garland and I have another Christmas tree.

Yesterday, driving past the Christmas tree lot and thinking about the big city trees, I had just a few minutes for errands before going to the shelter.

The Sunday School class at the big historic church invited us as guests to their Christmas party, myself and two women, one homeless, the other formerly homeless.

We’d been asked to speak, to tell their stories of Nurture Home. Me, to tell my story of details, budgets, numbers, mission and outcome.

Theirs, how it was to be homeless and how it is for them now.

Thirty or so distinguished and mannerly faces looking towards them as they told strangers of being homeless, expected to die, trapped in abuse and yet, determined to know life differently.

They made a point of mentioning me, “Miss Lisa”, as one who pushed them, one who listened, one who they are grateful for.

They answered questions about determination, they said they were strong because they chose to be strong and because God has better for them and they trust Him, believe it this time.

They talked about God in personal ways and I’d like to say I noticed the faces of others in the room.

I didn’t.

I was listening to eloquent stories with details I didn’t know before and I was overwhelmed by poise and confident expressions detailing their being without a safe place called home.

On life support because of alcohol and choosing not to return to the street, instead finding shelter. Afraid to leave and afraid to stay…afraid of most everything, in fear of being killed, she left with her daughter and came to us, to a shelter.

And now, having dinner in the Methodist parlor of a church.

I lie quietly late that night. I’d dropped her off at the shelter, unloading donations. I left them there, both women, the one who now has a house, a car and job wanted to linger for a little bit. The house warm and full, she wanted to know them all.

I lie quietly that night. I’d turned into our drive, my husband had the porch light on, the red of berries on front door wreath shining against pretty green. The “baby tree” was lit, the house warm, the dogs waiting for me.

Quiet that night, my husband asked, “What’s on your mind? ” I answered, “Nothing, I’m praying.”

“Okay.”he said.

I drifted off to sleep after prayers of gratitude for things I was reminded of having and with figuring out getting a tree, a Christmas tree for the women, the children, at the shelter.

There needs to be a tree for Christmas in the place they call home.

I’ll take one tomorrow; big, not baby.

Day 11 – grace, regardless

Children, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Day 11, Advent
Uphold me in your promise that I may live and let me not be put to shame in my hope! Psalm 119:116

How we feel about God, about His part in our plans and how we give him a role in our lives, our faith, dependence, trust…our unwavering acceptance of his unwavering grace is the image and message we convey.

It can’t be hidden, won’t be hidden. With God, there’s no masking, no faking, no playing of holy part. Our lives are not scenes from a grand play for which we’ve auditioned and are chosen to be the star follower or the longing reject hoping to be picked to follow Jesus.

There’s no need for acting. There’s no need for striving to maintain appearance of never being afraid or feeling condemned, yet again because of negative conversations with self.

If we try to cover our doubts about grace in the day to day, how will we ever convey God’s saving grace to the doubters of us and of life and love, all around us and in our lives?

We end up exhausted from the farce of it all…going through life only sporadically believing in grace.
Grace is daily.
It is our bread, our sustenance.

It’s what we know we lack and circle back to remember.
The very same grace we accepted as ours when we surrendered our wandering, questioning hearts and believed is the grace that is ours every second of the day.

So, I let my insecurities show and some might be repelled by my lack of discretion, of not covering up. By the grace of God and my discernment of right people, they show less day by day.

In time one of two things surely happens:
It will, my insecurity, show more or struggle to stay hidden. Insecurity is relevant and relatable. It is beautiful for us to be brave enough to be less than strong enough or as we might be expected to be.

The more we remember grace, the less glaringly we’ll obstruct its beauty by the wearing of our masks of can’t be known.

Heather said she’s ready for the leaves to all fall away, the trees should be wintry now, it’s Christmas.

I agree. There’s beauty in barren. There’s beauty in exposed and clinging to what means life.

Can a winter branch shield itself from cold, wet and harsh season?

I think not, still it’s a beautiful thing to see resting in the strength of roots and even more clearly visible unadorned with leaf against wide blue sky.
#graceupongrace #quietconfidence #birthofjesusday

Desires of Heart

Children, courage, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Satisfied

Sketches in the margins of my Bible moved onto canvas with thick, layered color, white flowing fabric from empire waists.

The head may tilt or the arms rest, tucked with fingers laced and resting in small of back.

Waiting and satisfied.

Content in the waiting.

I’d always hoped to be an artist.

I’d always hoped I might capture emotion on canvas. I’m selling art and longing to know the place my angels call home.

I have a new favorite, this one with humble and patient expression, hair bobbed with bangs…this one, looking towards the place where faith waits, sure of hope in time.

I pray Lord, and I thank you that I’m satisfied with me, finally.

I pray, Lord for the two desires you know tonight,the ones I prayed when I prayed, believing… the weighty desires of my heart.

They matter much, the desires of my quiet heart.

Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4

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