doubt

Choosing Better

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

Countless times I’ve known “goodness by surprise”, things continued and finished and left alone to develop or fizzle actually come back around to close the circle in response to that sort of open-ended question.

…let us run with patience the race set before us. Hebrews 12:1 KJV

in green pastures

I lifted the kitchen window. I’m home alone and it’s a Sunday morning rainy song.

Which do you think matters more

Skill or endurance?

Pursuit or acceptance?

I’m not a runner but I’ve heard pacing yourself is important.

Last night I dreamt I was running. It was a dream layered with threats and pursuit and one that ended with comfort.

Deeply personal and I guess likely will never be fully understood.

I opened my devotional to read an unknown author’s letter of encouragement to Christians during trials…words about endurance and about the things of life that entangle us and impede our ability to run the course set for us with peace and ease.

So many times, scripture seems nonsensical.

How is it humanly possible to run with patience?

I mean, isn’t the point of running to get there more quickly with faster dropping feet on the ground or pavement, of pushing past everyone else?

Or maybe the reason we run with patience is because there are no competitors in our race of life marked by our faith. It’s just us on our own pre-decided by our Maker trail.

The spirit of God invisible to others, but within and beside us.

A solitary race, an especially intense one not because of its importance, rather because of the very tender and personal reward.

Peace, often by surprise.

Peace that sometimes awes.

Run with patience the path that has been set for you alone.

Now, here’s the story of this I know.

Grandma, your angels…

This painting came to life after being layered and pondered many times. I’d been asked to “live paint” as an accompaniment to my artist story for a women’s event.

I was wise enough to choose the better, to not talk and paint at the same time. I’d tried that before and I decided to learn from what was not me nor easy.

So, this large piece traveled as a backdrop to my story of what had been not so easy lessons in my artist as business endeavors.

I spoke of how God was teaching me that my value was not acclaim, gallery shows, representation or sold out collections.

Rather, my value is my story of continuing.

Fast forward, I get all excited and choose this piece for a prestigious exhibit and am thrilled and a little too obviously excited when a couple decided it should be in their home…and then reconsidered.

Then, I submit “Of Lasting Value” as a part of my portfolio for an Emerging Artist Show.

Again, giddiness over the possibility of acceptance and “fame” convinced me I’d be “in”.

Not selected though and I’d actually decided not to enter this piece in a local show. I was so confident, I’d decided…well, I can’t enter it if it’s committed someplace else.

A simple decision, an afterthought led to entering it in the local show because of the tenderness of its story and it came full circle, a tearful surprise.

Of Lasting Value, detail

My husband and I entered the gallery for the opening reception and I scanned the room to find my paintings.

“There’s a ribbon on one of mine.” I said quietly, almost a whisper.

Then discovered and later heard the juror’s reason why

My painting had been selected, “Best in Show”.

Congratulatory chats continued and I told a friend, “There’s such a bigger significance to this for me.”

Later, I made a promise to myself, or I guess I should say a request of God.

Don’t let this fade, the blessing of this honor, the many layers to the story of me written by You

This affirmation clearly that I am your beloved, that I am loved by you, God.

I don’t know where the story of this painting will go from here, whether I’ll stop by the gallery to see a red dot saying she’ll be gracing someone’s home or whether she’ll be coming back to me.

I don’t know yet. I’ll be patient. I’ll keep walking with a stillness I can’t create or maintain on my own. I’ll be shepherded on this path I am on.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23‬:‭2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We stopped by the gallery, my granddaughter and I. We love to decide on a “favorite”.

We had the whole space to ourselves and after she’d pointed out “my angels”, said “Hurry, hurry, look” and turned the corner to gaze long at a brilliant painting of the ocean.

A textured piece with vividly and perfectly rendered sea grass with a background of water and sunset.

And this one, she told me was her favorite because it was “shiny”.

And I told her, my little artist and watcher of all things, just how spectacular I found it to be too.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up.

And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Run with patience the path made for you.

Others are watching, not following, not chasing you.

Simply watching your pursuit of peace.

Not easy but better.

Continue and believe.

Power and Prayer

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I finished a short book, a memoir I was asked to endorse. I committed to read in its entirety at first because I’ve heard endorsers of books rarely read the book fully.

And then, because I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll share more about this book soon.

For now though, a little about this little prayer, the graphic I offer you here.

Maybe, I thought, a more acceptable prayer, one more able to help tie the loose ends of unanswered questions, to heal wounds still festering, a prayer more conducive to strength and with less shame.

“God, turn it for good.”

The book I finished caught my breath with its honesty, made me pause overwhelmed by the author’s words of wisdom and mostly, empathy.

It’s a memoir about child sexual abuse, a woman detailing her faith and counseling journey as she bravely reveals her secret, confronts her abuser, her father.

Intertwined in her coming to terms with the abuse by her father, she comes to terms with her questions about why she wasn’t protected by God and how the ripple effect of her sexual abuse separated her even farther from the God she was raised in every Sunday morning church to know.

Because she wasn’t protected, she believed less that she was “wronged” and that all along it was her that was “wrong”.

As I read, many comments were added for my benefit. I became teary eyed when I read of her circling back and back again to the why of God, where and why and how was it allowed?

Her counselor gifted her with words I’ve learned to treasure.

God was there too. God was not pleased. Evil took over. But, God was there with you.

Just as He is today.

Still, it is close to impossible for this truth I choose to be less mystery than reality.

I am learning. God saved me for this.

I’m learning to hold in one hand my questions while balancing in the other the evidence of God in my life, the promises that have been fulfilled.

All of the trauma, the unfair treatment, the less than storybook childhood, the abuse, the grief, the slander of my name by others.

The lack of rescue until I was numb to having a hand clench my neck or throw me against a wall. Stunned, I was stunned into submission of things that should never have happened at all.

That I did not cause.

These hurts are long gone and the thoughts they’ve birthed that I share here are for your hope.

These redemptive thoughts.

So, I offer you this little prayer, a phrase you can say on repeat for whatever wrongs you’ve known.

God, turn it for good.

Once, a few years ago (I’ve thankfully come so far) my counselor asked me if I ever asked Jesus where he was.

So, I asked and He answered slowly, not audibly or enormously, instead so fittingly, an image like a painting.

A familiar place where hard things happened and beside me in a grassy place, Jesus kneeled.

Jesus was with me.

I offer you this prayer.

A precious one, really and not an attempt to right wrongs, a gift of retribution, or a magic eraser of pain.

No, a leaning really. Just a leaning as you learn, as you see God with you.

Continue and believe.

Your story is special.

(Mine is too.)

Befriended

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.”
‭‭John‬ ‭15‬:‭13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I asked my friend to counsel me. She invited me to dinner instead and we counseled, consoled and decided some things.

Considered why there’s no 12 step type group for those who are questioners, often to the point of despondency, despairing and the other “D”, depression.

There was healing in our agreement, there was laughter over our recognition of that need.

There was the knowing of ourselves and of one another.

Befriending.

I had dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in close to two years. I was scurrying to make it and almost cancelled. My hair was dirty, I didn’t feel too “spunky” and well, I’m older than the last time I saw her. I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been thinking about aging.

But, I made it to the spot, dry shampoo and mascara plumped eyelashes with blush on my cheeks.

I beat her there. She arrived and we held each other long, long, long. “I love you” was the greeting as well as the goodbye.

We talked, we laughed, we counseled one another. We ate pizza over a glass of good wine.

When I woke the next morning, my first thought was “God’s not disappointed in you.” and as the day became sunny and pink with azaleas, I took to heart that I shouldn’t be either and I smiled as I remembered my friend’s hands in mine as we caught up with each other and decided.

“We’re gonna make it after all.”

Two days later, I’m recalling the likemindedness in our chatter. I’m remembering her inquisitive patience. I’m reminding myself of the gift of affirmation, the bravery of listening when listening is more important than adding to the conversation.

Early today, I rethought a familiar prayer, the one prayed by Jabez, (I Chronicles 4:10) the son who was labeled by a name that made his future seem grim.

Lord, help me to trust you to enlarge my boundaries, extend my reach and keep me from chasing after things that will lead to pain, things fueled by insecurity and fear.

I readied myself in the dark for my day, interrupted by the nudge to pray.

A prayer with a shift in perspective.

Jesus, help me to accept fully your befriending.

Because all sorts of songs and trendy Christian talk will proclaim friendship with Jesus.

But, oh to be honest, it’s not up to us at all.

No effort will sustain the relationship.

It’s really much more simple.

Acceptance. Belief.

Be befriended by Jesus.

I’m not sure where I’d be if there were an expiration date on my understanding of such things.

I’m old and I yet young in this friendship actually.

You’ll likely hear this song soon or hear about it. Lauren Daigle’s tender voice and truth admitting she’d be a mess without the friendship of Jesus.

Thank God I Do

I encourage you to listen. I just did with tear soaked cheeks while feeding a baby.

I hope you’ll allow the befriending of Jesus.

It’s a beautiful education of the soul.

Lightly, Loosely

anxiety, bravery, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, freedom, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Vulnerability, wonder

Waking thoughts…early morning’s drive.

Settle your mind.

Reacquaint with your soul.

My trainer friend answered, “It’s from use.”

I have a pain in my upper right arm that wakes me at night. It’s caused by the way I carry things, she says.

I think, yes. Right.

Life, questions, concerns, and the baby

Close to my chest like prized possessions.

She suggests I alternate arms, shift the weight to the other side. I can.

That’ll be easy, remembering the words I’d been thinking all day.

Cease striving.

Cease striving, it’s not all up to you and

you’re not on your own.

Stop carrying so many things alone.

Rest.

Lighten your load. Carry what is yours to carry, to treasure, to hold sweetly to your chest.

Put the rest on the shelf.

Don’t pick it back up.

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

Be still.

Loosen up, live lightly. You’re strong but stubborn.

It’s not all up to you and you’re not alone.

Settle your mind. Reacquaint with your soul.

Rest will follow. It’s Gods promise.

Lay your hand softly on your chest.

Remember God.

Enough Too

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, hope, memoir, patience, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

I’m thinking about my reaction to a request for a commission, the story behind the requested pink rose and the words to be added alongside the art.

A powerful and emotional story I’m changed by.

“You are enough.”

When my friend explained the reason behind the words, I paused.

I slowly reversed my thought to pass judgement.

Did you know there are books written about this one “forbidden phrase”?

There are.

And the reasoning behind it is worth understanding, that we’re not enough on our own as believers, we need to be influenced by and aligned with Jesus.

We need to remember we don’t fly solo in this trip around the sun.

Days have passed since I painted and got the approval of the painting.

I’ve been unafraid to reconsider the expression, to rethink it.

Maybe, add some clarifiers.

Like this morning’s thought.

“You are enough to contribute…”

As are you.

As was Esther, an orphaned girl who faced fear in the face and used her words to make a difference, to save her people from perishing.

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

Continue and believe, carefully considering how some trending and trendy sayings might paralyze you being you.

Or take you back to a time you were certain you’d never ever amount to much.

I planted pink snapdragons yesterday, deciding again to believe in beauty, in perseverance, in deciding against apathy and negative thinking.

Springtime revelations,

You are enough to contribute.

You have value.

Carefully consider the power of words, the not so completely true.

Bravely remind yourself,

You are enough to….

Inviting Emotion

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, writing

The world around me was dark on Wednesday.

Gorgeous though.

On either side, grey with spattering of a heavier shade of green. Illuminated by headlights switched courteously to dim, the asphalt blended in and danced with shining specks.

The colors of the morning like a softly blended oil painting evoking thought, allowing questions.

I slowed to press the Audio button to resume my walking podcast, again, again. It didn’t work. Thought to find the charger wire and took the second or two struggle with the plug. Then, made the decision to travel quietly.

To have the only noise be the noise of my thoughts being easier to address, more approachable as emotions, less of a hurry to stuff them down, keep them hidden.

Have them buffered by chatty voices or lamenting songs.

In the early morning hours, I woke without alarm, lyrics waltzing.

“We will never the see the end of your goodness.”

I wrote in my journal, “Don’t lose heart.”

On the first day in February, I had a thought about emotions.

The emotions we wish were not ours, the ones that come back pounding on the door like an official bent on taking us away.

I thought wrongly at first.

Emotions must not go unaddressed, I thought and

then thought to be more truthful,

emotions will not go unexpressed.

They won’t allow being held back. They’re bullies that way.

Because we cannot choose emotion, only our behaviors that tend them, embrace them, coax them gently to go away.

What are those behaviors? I’m sure I can’t accurately say for everyone.

We can choose behaviors that allow the beneficial expression of emotions.

Walking (without advice or music)

Praying (unashamedly allowing your anxiety to be exposed privately to God)

Sitting quietly (unhurried for evidence of His attentiveness)

Drawing (pencil on paper, no skill necessary and no ideas for precision or perfection)

Here it is February 2nd and I have already forgotten how to prevent that squeeze in my chest over my not yet enoughness.

Then I remember the words of David that woke me.

“Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭51‬:‭12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m participating (at least for today) in a creative challenge called Artfull February. It’s a way to acquaint myself with other artists, to engage. Yesterday, I introduced myself, told my artist story.

Today’s prompt suggests we share our “studio”. This space in my home is called “my art room” by my husband. It’s an add on room that was built for my daughter when our family became “blended”.

It’s tiny. It’s deficient in natural light and the floor is covered in old rugs. The corners are filled and growing higher with works on paper and the walls all have paintings completed and not purchased leaning against them.

I catch my paint thickened apron hung sweetly on the easel and I see a recent piece newly edited, “Pursuit”.

I snap a photo of the beauty to me in the midst of the mess.

David penned this prayer after a big mess he made. He’d slept with another man’s wife and that secret he tried to keep was only a tiny part of his descent into remorse.

He asked God to give him a willing spirit. I suppose he could’ve justifiably given up, hidden, quit living altogether or decide there’s nothing in my future.

Nothing I’m worthy of pursuing or participating in.

Instead he was honest.

With himself and God. The anxiety that tried to catch me as I surveyed the place others call “studio” and added to it the pending works of art I’ve promised but can’t seem to start was unpleasant and stifling.

But, not for long. I acknowledged it. Decided to realize today I may not paint.

That won’t be disastrous.

I asked God to give me ten more years of the “late to the game” pastime that’s becoming vocation.

Still, today is just one day.

Restoration, Refinement and Redemption aren’t instantaneous.

Emotions stem from destruction deeply imbedded. Be hopeful that you have the guts to address them.

Listen to what they’re telling you and then bravely reply

“This is not that.”

It just feels like it.

Then embrace the restoration you know, hold it like a treasure, press its cheek against your soul.

You’re not fully grown; but oh how you’ve grown.

Believe. Continue and believe.

Choose loving kindness for yourself.

Remember to be willing to do what is your heart’s desire as well as your obligations.

Maybe remember the old sayin’

“Lord willing and the creek don’t rise…”

Then exchange your grappling with graciousness, your tentative tasks with tenderness and your insufficient mindset with the certainty that we’re not the ones in control.

Be happy in that.

There’s an emotion worth choosing.

Happiness in knowing.

You’re not alone. Anxiety is a thing.

A thing tamed by acknowledgment.

Little Lights

Abuse Survivor, Angels, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, Forgiveness, grace, hope, kindness, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Someone in a prayer group I’m a member of commented, “Pray for me because of this root of bitterness trying to grow.” And the replies understood the concerns, the need for prayer…even urgency.

Because bitterness begins in secret and then the roots grow thick and stronger and threaten us until they take over.

What is bitterness? I could share my list of things that are secret and of things I’ve vented in conversation with others (about others).

Roots destroy fertile ground. Love and peace cannot thrive when bitterness keeps growing.

“Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled;”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12‬:‭14‬-‭15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

More importantly, our roots destroy relationships with others. Bitterness that makes sense only makes us sadder.

Sometimes I look around and see how very different I am and feel from others and I remind myself to bring peace not judgment, love not frustration and a subtle but steady light that points to the source of my joy (even if it’s dim on the days questions, doubt or bitterness crouch at my door.)

When Elizabeth was born, I sang “Deep and Wide” over and over and over. I can’t say why (other than God) I sang it over and over from the first moment I cradled her tiny head in my hands.

With Henry, it’s been “This Little Light of Mine” and like his sister, he doesn’t seem to mind that it’s the same words over and over. I want him to see my light as I want Elizabeth to know the depth of mine and God’s love.

Love one another.

Don’t grow bitter.

Your life has no space for hatred to take over. Only room for joy to grow high enough to create a canopy for all who stand near you.

“Forget not to show love unto strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13‬:‭2‬ ‭ASV‬‬

I’ve never met an angel or have I perhaps, only dimmed and unnoticed by distraction?

I believe I shall notice more gently, silence the bitter banter of all other.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

On Grace

bravery, doubt, Faith, grace, Homeless, hope, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

If grace was matter, a substance to be measured, tallied, considered in a debate about comparables, how much would you say your cup would contain, how substantial would be the grace you’ve been shown?

I woke before light and stayed still until I saw the light coming across the hall, narrow slats on the carpet from the room with the silver tree.

I remembered the homeless one.

Three times I’ve now seen him, he finds spots to retreat in the woods near the abandoned mall. He looks to be mid-twenties, thin but not starving.

I first saw him camped in a shady spot. I shopped at Target then drove back to give him $5. I hurried my window down and sort of frantically thrust the money towards him. He said thanks and I drove away. I don’t know why I was scared of him or being harmed.

Then I saw him leaving all his bags in front of Target and dart inside and I worried someone might just take all his stuff and I wondered if he was worried. When I was done shopping, he and his stuff were gone.

I don’t know his story. I just want him to know what I know about grace.

It was 22 degrees in Carolina this morning.

I remembered the homeless one.

The third time I saw him, I had a back seat full of groceries and one last shopping stop. He was standing at the intersection, cardboard marked with a scrawl, “homeless”.

I looked his way, smiled that smile of mine that says worry, accompanies an inaudible moan.

I paid for my art supplies with cash and added a Hershey bar with almonds, wrapped in cash, $10 and headed back to the homeless man.

This time, I paused. I let the window all the way down. I gave him the candy bar and money, suggested he eat something good.

I looked at his eyes, he at mine.

And I told him strongly as if I was telling a long held secret to someone before you’re not sure of ever seeing them again.

God loves you.

And a second or two transpired that felt like hours and I repeated myself and added, “no matter what.”

I got the sense that he believed me or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he thought

Well, lady what good is that?!

I don’t know what he thought.

I just know my God is love and if I forget that I also stumble over the immeasurable gift of grace.

I fall into that pit of looking to others to determine my worth, to prove to myself that I’ve done enough and more to be worthy of this abundance of grace I’ve been shown.

Paul talked about this to people who continued to question their rights and their wrongs in an assessment of themselves and others to believe in their righteousness.

They believed and couldn’t fathom not believing it was all up to them to be good enough.

Paul told them he would never waste the death of Jesus by complicating it with his behavior.

“I do not treat the grace of God as meaningless. For if keeping the law could make us right with God, then there was no need for Christ to die.”
‭‭Galatians‬ ‭2‬:‭21‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Grace matters, matters more than any effort we pursue, any accomplishment we know.

It matters more than our falters, our failures and thank goodness it matters so much more than our stubborn and strong or feeble and sad efforts to prove ourselves right enough not to be found wrong.

Here’s a song about such an incomprehensible thing, to know my God is love.

God is Love

My cup is full.

On Grace

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, memoir, patience, pride, Redemption, Vulnerability, writing
“Of Lasting Value” (final edit)

Grace is a small, even fragile word.

So delicate I forget the unseen power in its protection and provision.

Offered up to and by those we love.

Given by those who don’t know just how badly we need it nor do we until we’re surprised by the extension of it.

Small places on our paths are seen before we trip into “Oh, no”.

Players in the drama of our lives are setting the stage of our next act, quietly and unknowingly directed by our God who protects us from mess ups.

Here’s a little evidence, a hint of the kindness of grace.

I wrote a story about a painting. I thought to add it to my talk for women, mostly to lengthen my presentation.

But, I folded it, decided this is not for sharing even though I treasure the words.

Days later, a publication I thought had either lost or tossed it reached out.

An unexpected email, the same essay is read by an editor and they love it, but suggest a different tone.

The editor tells me which part she loves and which are wrong.

Ouch, a tiny sigh. I let the critique sink in and see it (eventually) as unexpected grace.

Less about Lisa, more about others.

(A familiar refrain, I’m afraid)😊

Now, I’m sort of iffy about it altogether.

I fear I’ve forgotten how to write as often as I fear I suddenly don’t remember how to paint.

But, grace says the road is wide for your walking, your words and your colors, whatever the thing that is for you to do.

And grace is right beside you as you go.

Come on.

Let’s go.

Start walking.

“and I shall walk in a wide place, for I have sought your precepts.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭119‬:‭45‬ ‭ESV‬‬

You don’t have to go perfectly or suddenly.

There’s grace for circling back, rerouting, resting and letting “it” rest to come back to what has been patiently waiting.

Waiting for you.

Because it’s only grace, the grace of God that knows the true you.

Truly.

And that’s really cool.

I’ll sit and consider the edits to my essay. I’ll be grateful for the grace of course correction, for the opportunity to keep telling the story of “Blue Ribbon Girl”.

“His grace will lead you in small things as well as great.” Jean Nicolas Grou

Continue and believe.

You be you, grace will lead.

It’s grace that’ll remind you, you’re not perfect; but, you’re getting closer.

Closer to the Father and His idea of you.

Value

Abuse Survivor, Art, contentment, doubt, Faith, grace, memoir, Redemption, Vulnerability, wonder, writing
Use Your Words, Canvases and Other Things

Last week, I asked someone “Are you hugging people?” Even typing that sounds ridiculous. But, she said yes and so, we hugged.

You probably know the research about hugs, how our body releases bad stuff, let’s good stuff take over when we hug.

Not, a cordial southern “how you doing? but an embrace; a hug that knows you need to be pulled closer and holds you tightly until they just know it’s good, it’s better, I can let her go.

If you know me, you know I love words.

I thought about strongholds this morning.

I’d dreamt of my mama and daddy traveling far for an art exhibit that didn’t go well at all, filled with criticism and two judges telling me in front of everyone what I’d gotten wrong. The fancy onlookers clearly reminding me, “Who were you to think you belong?”

Doubt is what you could call one of my “strongholds”.

So, I laid still and changed my thoughts once the dream was over. I remembered two essays I’ve recently written, I thought of the women I wrote about and their dilemmas, their deficit, their would be “strongholds”.

I will be the speaker for a women’s event very soon. The essay that will be my speech is written, the accompanying artwork is in progress on the easel. I’ve chosen several women from the Bible who left a legacy demonstrating a specific value, a value that is lasting.

On the Easel

Just now, I may have settled on what I am hoping mine could be

My value left long after me, that I never stopped remembering the gift of grace.

I heard a song that captured that hope with a substitutionary word for “saved”.

Your grace has salvaged me.

I hope you’ll allow yourself a few minutes to listen her and remember grace again.

Grace Song

Maybe you have a “stronghold”. Maybe it’s fear, anger, worry, resentment, sadness or maybe a default rescue you turn to as a way to dull them.

I share honestly.

I often wonder if I should. I hope someone who needs to fall into God’s strong embrace and linger there long reads this today.

Remembers where peace is found, our God’s soft long enough hug never just cordial that won’t let go.

“But the Lord has become my stronghold, and my God the rock of my refuge.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭94:22‬ ‭ESV‬‬