courage

Steps and Beginnings

courage, family, grace, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I knew I’d feel like taking steps when early this morning

I noticed the sun making wide spaces on the ground

And illuminating the hydrangea.

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Coaxing color and bloom…you’ve started, now grow.

So I wrote them.

Six letters.

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Revealed my longing, invited their joining, sealed the envelopes.

The flag already up, outgoing mail waiting,  I added my  letters, conflicted over their opening in a day or two, maybe three.

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Colors of my Bible, women of my heart, a compilation of them of me, of God, of us.

Then, I wrote tonight, the foreword.

I began.

Wrote one paragraph, 12 sentences and saved it.

A step, just a step towards not changing my mind.

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.  Zechariah 4:10

 

Commas, Periods and Joy

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

I write grants. I  deplore asking for money. That’s tough, but an honest admission.

What I enjoy so, so much is sharing stories of our work, compelling others to come alongside in giving.

Two big grants were denied within days of each other…one large in amount, one large in significance.  Two things in my “pending” file that have now been decided upon, denial…not a comma, a period.

So, I decided to Let it go, Lisa.  Turn the page.  Close the book.

God is in control.  Walk by faith. Period.

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The monthly Faith column contributed for April: 

Grammar and God

I must admit there are times I could use an editor. In life and in writing I have a tendency to overuse the comma. Quite often and unnecessarily, I pause in the middle, hanging on to an idea, taking it down some path rather than closing with a firm ending, a period. If you’ve had more than a few conversations with me, you’ll know I can talk about a variety of things all at once. I have been told it can be hard to know whether I’ve finished with one thing before jumping to the next. I jump around and then pause, circling back to the beginning. I don’t think a comma would even help there. My life sometimes feels like a series of long run-on sentences.

A friend who is a wise conversationalist shared a bit of wisdom last week. Surprisingly, this insight came from a very young woman, a patient of hers. My friend, advising the young woman through trauma and life change, had been listening as her patient recalled her hardships. She paused, looked at my friend and said, “Maybe I should start using periods instead of commas.” She had essentially realized the time had come to rest, to accept certain truths.

In my desk, there’s a folder marked “pending”. About once a week I take it out, remind myself of its contents. I may remove a paper or finish a task left undone, but I don’t hassle over the items waiting. I leave them there in the place of pending. Life is full of waiting, wondering and pausing.

It can be torment to keep looking at what we don’t know, what’s not yet complete. We have commas and long pauses of doubt all over the places of our lives. What if we made prayer our pending file? Waiting would be less overwhelming. What if our lives modeled good grammar, God’s grammar? I decided to become more disciplined in my commas by adding more periods. I made a list of truths and marked them with strong, black dots of assurance, periods at the end of each. Have faith in God. Pray, and let God work. Trust God’s plan. God is good. God is in control. Let it go, Lisa.

The Book of James guides us in times of trouble. We are to expect trouble. We’re told there will be times we feel our “sentences” will never be complete, our circumstances unresolved, and our delays will lack an understanding. We will meet trials of various kinds. Do not doubt. Ask God. Believe. Don’t be tossed about. Ask in faith for wisdom, Amen,  add a period.

Count it all joy when you meet trials. The testing of your faith produces steadfastness. James 1:2

Turn the page.

Close the book.

Re-read your Faith column.

Live what you believe.

Count it as joy.

Tomorrow’s another day.

 

 

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as she reminds us all of the miralce we are, the miracles within and around us…http://jenniferdukeslee.com/miracle/

Hard to Say

courage, Faith, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

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I told her that painting angels was new for me, adding texture to the wing and choosing vivid over subtle color.

I had an idea of grey, ochre and white against silvery sky.

But, I started again and I made it more me

More my heart, the blue of my eye, the brown of my bangs.

The words to a song

a perfect description.

So, I  named it the name, “Open the eyes of my heart, Lord”.

Yet, I told her I called it

“The Eyes of my Heart”

Left out the Lord.

I did that.

Hard to say why

and it’s a small thing really

in this crazy world filled with offenses and the offended.

It’s a small thing, I know.

Still, I was troubled by my reluctance to be clear, to be outspoken about the “angel prayer”.

It’s hard to say what we need to say.

What we know to be true. What we know of the God who created us, loves us, and sustains us and desires, longs for our hearts to align with his goodness.

It’s hard to say because to oppose the things God opposes elicits accusations and that we are after all, not a people who love.

Perhaps, many have decided, we are a people who hate.

So we’re careful to speak.

I signed the painting with my life verse and name.

They’ll see, I’m certain, the words on the back above my the signature.

Might, I pray,  pause to hold it up before hanging on wall.

Saying, ” Oh, I see.”

Quietly, thoughtfully…

“Open the eyes of my heart, Lord”.

I pray they do.

I pray He does.

I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called—his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.  Ephesians 1:18

On the Cusp of Beautiful

courage, Uncategorized

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I figured it out, just now I believe.

Why I’ve been both enthused and stagnant all at once.

Why I yearn to create; but, only think of it. Like standing, solid and solitary.

I hold my ideas tightly to my chest…exhilarated but clinging tightly, keep them close for now.

But, I figured it out just now. The beauty of a pianist, a cautious performer.  Only so much to share, perhaps the listener won’t understand, won’t honor my beautiful sound.

Yet, he played and I saw his gift.

I read this post, a blogger who often reads my words. I’d not written in a few days. I have clarity of idea, disorganization of thought. In art and writing, I thought I might just be tired. I believe it’s cherishing and caution.

I might be on the cusp. It may come soon, my time, with careful intention.

Like this pianist. 

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A musician, his instrument, tentative

 Yet,  intentional.

His fingers, delicate and purposeful.

Pausing, I noticed, delayed it seemed.

As if concerned, will the touch of the tip of my finger

Elicit the beauty of note I desire?

Or should I not touch for now, not paint, not write?

Should I be hesitant, cautious, uncertain?

I’m on the cusp…an idea today, a story quite clear.

Like steep cliff ground clinging fear.

Still, I decide.

I will go slowly.  I am on the cusp. 

I will go lightly like the pianist, the keys, the touch of his rounded fingertips.

Plucking each key, lifting the finger, falling back after the pause to brush another.

He continued and I listened.

To the story of his decision to play.

And I understood my pause, my cusp.

My passion.

Thank you, David Kanigan for making this time make sense.

Prayers Left Alone

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

Mary loved Jesus.FB_IMG_1458176276786

She’d wiped his feet with her hair.

She’d spent time in worship while Martha was bitter, angry and anxious over his presence in their home…worried she might not be good enough still.

Martha and Mary both struggled over the delay in Jesus coming to help their brother.  He was dead.

I imagine they felt, “Well, not all my prayers and struggles matter to Jesus”

I’m the same way.

One prayer spoken can bring what seems an immediate resolution while another lingers unresolved for what feels like years, sometimes is.

Mary waited quietly.

Martha, still anxious and panicked, ran out to ask  “Why so long?”

Mary had the same question; but, with a surrendered approach, a desire to understand and grow, she went out to welcome Jesus.

I want to be like Mary; to hear Jesus say “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”  John 11:40

Most days I’m so uncertain of prayer it’s almost a passing thought.

A passing thought like early yesterday morning.

My daughter called. Her wallet was lost; somewhere between job, soon to be new home, and her bedroom here.  We’re transitioning, a wedding very soon.

 She will be moving out.

My house is in total disarray.  Doors are closed to rooms that have become storage units and pretty little spots are unorganized and off kilter.

I searched everywhere, finally the laundry room.

Standing in the center of a spot only big enough for my feet. Two laundry baskets overflowing and shelves covered in socks unmatched, towels, things waiting to be hung or thrown back in to fluff, I ran my hands though the clothing and searched for a wallet I had no idea how would haved ended up here.

Stopped then, giving up the search and said a silent prayer, really just a thought, “Lord, please help Heather find her wallet.” and then decided to just go on with my morning.

Texted her to say, “Sorry, no wallet here anywhere”. I expected to hear later she’d found it.

She replied, “I just found it.”

I told her I had prayed. “Power of prayer” she replied.

I’m praying for bigger things than misplaced wallets lately.

 I’m praying with big lumps in my throat and with an honest pleading of surrender.

Praying so much it feels like angst, like work, like frustration.

Prayers that I know God is hearing; but, maybe wondering why I’m hesitant to believe.

Why I’m ranting so, when help is on the way…in time.

Maybe not as immediate a response as a laundry room prayer.

I’ll believe and I will see, soon.

As soon as I continue on my way, resolute in His glory.

As soon as I decide to stop my diligent search for the answer, like a wallet left at work that was never in any of the places I looked, after all.

If I’ll let go, sit quietly and wait to welcome the arrival of the one who heals.

If I will believe.

Have faith in God.  Mark 11:24

 I’m  linking up with others who tell stories of believing.

Stumbling Into Morning

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Yesterday, I drank from my son’s cup.  Paisley flowers, curlicues, creamy colored. A cup, bought by a still chubby, middle schooler on a church trip with his friends. He came home, announced, “Here, I got you something.”

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So, I drank my coffee, turned my back from the window, the morning so heavy with fog, no desire to gaze towards sunrise.

I read of a man in the Book of John, unable to move towards the water, to be healed.

Scripture defining him as “an invalid’.

Him and many others, others who’d decided to go down into the water, to believe they might see change; to be an invalid no more.

To be valid.

But, he couldn’t figure out how to move towards healing; he didn’t believe he could move what must have been just steps away.

He couldn’t step. He expected he’d fall, an invalid, after all.

 6 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?”7 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.” 8 Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” 9 And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.

John 5: 5-9

I thought of all times I’m paralyzed, unable, unwilling to try,  until I stumble back towards the water.

 I thought of the invalid; vowing to never to use the description again, recognizing how low a feeling it is to doubt one’s validity. 

Walking outside with dogs as morning requires, I noticed in the lingering fog, the pear tree beginning to bloom.

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The blossoms barely there against the full of a bland sky, insignificant on this less than optimistic day.

This morning I’m drinking from a different cup. It’s lined in the color of bluebird. It’s a funky little cup, my daughter’s. A big, healthy hog etched in the center of its round edges.

My daughter loves pigs, goats, cats, dogs, cows, livestock, in general. Her bridal portrait on Sunday will have a backdrop of peach blossoms and trees spread so far and wide, for miles it seems.

This morning, I sat with her cup.

The sky spoke, saying…”You can’t imagine the day I have for you, Lisa!”

So, I moved towards our big backyard, looked up and knew it was true.

Not just today, but so many more to come.

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Stumbling, prancing, walking slowly or simply standing still in the early morning

If I could, I’d count these birds of this morning, their voices all a flutter.

I’d touch each blossom of the white flowers of pear tree and I’d know undoubtedly the significance, the validity of my every day.

I’d write on my heart, in my palm with a  sharpie or somehow remember more strongly…the beautiful mercy of believing and stumbling into morning to be healed.

 

Count on it

courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, praise, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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If I get a little sense of ugliness

Of resentment, longing for different, for better…

Mad about why them, not me.

You can be sure, I’ll be faced with opportunity to redeem

All the ugly.

Run into someone, somehow acquainted with my ugly.

You can be sure of it.

I’ll be humbled and graciously welcome their joy in us crossing paths.

Because, I’ll see the lesson.

I’ll notice the providence.

And to be sure, just as sure, I’ll walk at day’s end with extra time thanks to Spring.

Frustrated over buffered songs sought to comfort

I’ll round the corner.

Climb the hill.

Song begins;  continues, meets every longing.

Speaks what I long to hear.

To tell another.

I can count

on it…walking at day’s end and being reminded of grace.

Listening to Third Day…”When the Rain Comes” and wondering if it’s too much like a love song.

To send to someone having a hard day.

Sending anyway, saying you can count on me.

 

 

Thin Layer Chocolate Sundays

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
a satisfied heart

a satisfied heart

If you went to my mama’s on Sunday, there was always cake.

There might be roast beef, butterbeans, corn and biscuits.

There would be mashed potatoes, thick and creamy, with a little place where the butter sat in a little hollowed out center.

Some gravy on top and sweet, glazy carrots, onions.

We’d eat together and we’d talk. Maybe walk to the pond or nap.

Waiting for time for a piece of cake.

Maybe caramel, coconut, pound or “thin layer” chocolate.

The one with the yellow softness of 16 or so tiny layers, thin and spongy.

Striated like zebra, chocolate, layer, chocolate, layer, chocolate….

The dark, dark sweet chocolate cooked stovetop and then poured on top of layer, one by one, smoothed with big, flat knife…slowly, gingerly.

Layers baked on the old black griddle and then eased onto a towel spread on kitchen counter.

Easy talk about life as I watched my mama bake, so lovingly and at peace.

She’d gently take the layers, one by one, placing carefully on a pretty cake plate as she added the rich, chocolate, shiny icing, still warm from the pot.

Chocolate icing so thick with sugar, melting like warm grains of sand on the tongue.

This past Sunday, we talked about the bread of life.

How we all try to fill ourselves up, seeking to be content.

Jobs, cars, clothes, burgers, fries, recognition, acclaim and appearance.

I thought this morning of the insatiable seeking for more, for better, for as good as him, as attractive as her.  Wondered if joy were measurable, if contentment could be calculated, would it even be a ripple in the sea of our heart’s deepest desires.

To never have cake again on Sunday at mama’s is just a tiny little longing.

My heart knows the scene, holds the image, keeps safe the memory. It’s just as sweet, sweeter maybe.

To never be famous, have my art only on the walls of friends and family is unimportant, really.

As long as my heart knows the abandonment of paint covered hands and the chance to step back to gaze for a long time at an image known by my soul alone.

To write on this little blog, almost 300 times now… yet, never place a book of my words in the hands of my children.

Is not so tragic as long as my words get to come together occasionally in a way that reflects my soul.

My heart…that’s contentment. 

Satisfaction, fully.

Because your love is better than life,
    my lips will glorify you.
 I will praise you as long as I live,
    and in your name I will lift up my hands.
 I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;
    with singing lips my mouth will praise you.  Psalm 63:5

 

Linking up to Tell His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

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Winter now, Spring soon…work, life, faith…

Children, courage, Faith, family, Prayer, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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The breeze moved crisply this morning.

Damp feeling from the night before.

A hard rain giving

Gentle, wispy newness, stirring taller trees in a sway-like dance.

The sky was divided.

Grey thickness separated by an underlay of clear white.

Then, gradual interspersing of illumined white, clear and soft.

Intersecting, blending…a collaborative, much like my work, home, faith, prayer and passion.

I’ve heard stories this week and last of children, teens, young adults who are struggling.

Of parents blindsided by words, thoughts, and acts.

Frightening, shocking and saddening.  The parents, lost for words and for solutions.

One shared their plans for a conversation.

Told me they’d say with bold and outspoken love, “I would be the saddest person on the planet if you killed yourself…would you do that to me?”

I waited, feeling the courage, the truth, the authority behind their words.

Then said… “Your sadness is not on their mind.”

Paused, allowing my words to settle, adding

“If someone is depressed, is so far down in sadness of their own, the only thing they can think of is how to get out of the deep, deep hole that has encompassed them, the dirt of their pain or circumstances surrounding them like a wall caving in.”

“Oh.” they said, eyes dropping down, their understanding palpable.

Work intersects life sometimes for me. Approached in church by a concerned parent I tell them I’ll pray; then I tell them what I’ve learned through stories of survivors of suicide loss. I share with conviction and with intention what I know of depression, what I’ve become passionate in conveying to others, my efforts all based on hearing at least one less story of suicide.

Depression is medical. Depression is not a lapse in or deficiency of faith or belief.

Depression requires a brave and attentive response.

A readiness to hear what you are afraid may be spoken.

Sticking around to listen and then staying close in readiness to hear even more.

Praying too; prayer like David’s, a cry of desperate search for relief from turmoil.

A brokenhearted petition seeking relief, restoration, longing to have reason again to praise when none can be found.  Yes, pray. Pray without boundaries while you seek help and stay close.

Acknowledge the mind as a physical part of the body. Sore throat? There’s a test for strep. Growing pains or something more? There are tests for that.

Bad mood, puberty, peer issues, teenage angst or depression,  there’s a test for that.

The soul thirsts for God; but, is after all encapsulated vulnerably and imperfectly in physical body.

Why are you cast down, O’ my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?  Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. Psalm 42:5

Be brave. Be attentive.

Be informed.

Respond while you pray.  Winter is hard; but there’s Spring again, soon.

Here’s a valuable resource God blessed me to be a part of forming. 

Visit this page and learn the signs of depression, of suicide.

And another resource designed just now, a new resource of MHA Aiken County as I prepare to speak to teens tomorrow.  Work, life, faith, prevention.

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1 in 10 Teens will Experience Depression.  It is more than sadness.