doubt

Able to Run

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, eating disorder, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Almost 100 degrees and not expected to drop until around 8:00, so I lace up my shoes and I set out.

Thought of the earbuds but chose silence thinking is there any good thing extra I might hear and benefit from?

Striving for every kernel of truth, every recommendation for continuation or confirmation that the things I’m doing I’m doing right.

Instead my arms are free, the pavement too hot for the Labrador, I’m energized by the thought of just the one thing, the decision to walk swiftly until I reach the spot at the top of the long stretch of hill to the place that is level, obscured and a straightaway.

It is hot. My breathing rebellious against my plan and pattern and my legs, large and weighty as I try to be rhythmic in their lifting. “I just can’t run.” I’m known to say and today I was told “It’s a mental game.”

So, I remembered the days of before, the steep hills on the North Georgia campus, early morning my roommate and I starving ourselves in the cafeteria and running three times around the campus.

That was a different determination.

One contentious and filled with a fervent need to control at least one thing I could, my weight, my body, my fear in a strange and new environment.

“But forget all that— it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:18-19‬ ‭

I make it past five fences and houses and give in, I walk and then turn the corner towards the road shaded and step it up again.

Different now, I notice my feet lightly falling and my forwardness more at ease.

Cars pass and I’m unconcerned by the shape of my shorts riding up, crooked and cornered. I continue.

Different, my pace, softer.

Quiet thoughts become prayer.

Lord, thank you that I’m able.

Help me to be more willing.

me

I considered the things I’ve decided of late, bravely trying and being unconcerned with how far I might go or if I might not be invited to participate at all, knowing I’d not go anywhere at all

Unless I stepped out.

Stepped forward. Changed some things, cared less about who is watching, waiting for my fall, surrendering back to the sameness of me.

I told my cousin that I’d decided to put my art out in a new places, broader landscapes, it seems it’s not as popular here, or maybe it’s run its course.

She replied,

Even Jesus wasn’t popular in his own hometown, he had to leave, go other places. VC

So quick was her retort, a few words in a lovely and long conversation, wise kernels sprinkled in through her from God.

I arrived home, red faced and t-shirt clinging to my chest, my face sweaty and making little trails on my cheeks, I go for cold water.

Saying to my son, “I ran more than before.”

His reply, “Keep adding to it. Every day add more, that’s what it takes.”

I thought again about the thought becoming a prayer, thankful at my age and with all the trauma of my past, its potential toll on my body and my mind, my soul, that I am able and I’m more willing than ever.

So, my prayer will be that God sustains my able state while I catch up on my willingness, while I continue at a smooth and steady race towards the ideas He decided were for me a very long time ago.

Remembering it was art that landed me in that place of my youth and I faltered there, I was harmed in some horrible ways and yet, it remains the determination to create, the words, the colors, the love of expression.

I am still able.

Thank God, I’m able.

Able to move forward, sporadic spurts or long stretches strengthened by ability and a new decisive willingness.

Through Him.

He is able. He is willing.

LINKING THIS STORY UP WITH OTHERS WHO LOVE TO TELL OUR STORIES OF JESUS. LINK HERE:  http://marygeisen.com/laughter-is-the-best-medicine/

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Fly Now

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

This bird theme is continuous lately and this morning I’ll be either thinkin’ about the crazy continuity of my seeing the red birds and knowing for sure it’s for something or unable to get the words of a country song, every girl’s anthem back then out of my head.

The one called “Born to Fly” with Sara Evans asking us how on earth do we wait for heaven and how do we keep our feet on the ground when we know, we know, we know, we were born to fly?

We both noticed, the sharp thump against the window, the same window I’d told her I was thankful for the view, the one adorned with the wisteria reminiscent of my youth.

A pause in conversation and the sound, both our faces follow and a beautiful bird, bright red, knocked against the highest window to get our notice and then promptly flew away.

Not a word for a moment or two.

We let it sink in.

Later, I leave our conversation and my car, alone in the parking lot now waits in its daily place, my approach is lazy after long day and so I see it there, not hurried in my leaving.

The driver side mirror of my car, a perch for the cardinal, the same bird in the window I decide and here I am and here it is and there’s a message in this.

I believe for sure, more surely than before.

I know the message now.

Continue, I’ll keep an eye out, guide you to the places you should go. Continue to follow.

God

I’ve become accustomed now to seeing them and before I thought well, I’m just more attentive, more fascinated, more curious about their presence.

Yet, it has become continuous in my periphery or planted directly in my view requiring no search, no pause, the vivid red bird refuses any longer to elude.

Early morning barely lit two days ago, I wake and see the figure just outside the door. I turn away, too early I decide, surely not again, probably just an ordinary robin, sparrow, or even crow.

Fly Now

Then its body lifts and yes, again, again, good morning to you too,

the cardinal first thing saying still, “I’m here.”

We believe there’s something to it, my friend and I. Coincidentally, I’ve decided I was not made to cower, rather to create and I know now to fly.

We were not made for fear.

Turing to my day’s Psalm, a Song of Ascent, I read a Psalm of David, words recalling escape from danger, words written to strengthen and lead the followers forward with courage.

Reminding them where their help came from.

“If it had not been the Lord who was on our side— let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side when people rose up against us, then they would have swallowed us up alive, when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters. Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth!

We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:1-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Focused now on flying and not so much on the fowlers, the ones who were bent on my capture, the ones who held me captive in their snares, focused on flying free now, thrilled and hopeful, strong and certain in my Lord who aided in my escape.

Born to fly.

Linking up with other writers guides by Kate Motaung’s prompt. “Fly”. I’m grateful for the prompting.

Five Minute Friday

Practicing to Be Free

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, doubt, Faith, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I have a little pebble on which I wrote the word persist. It rests in the little dish shaped like an oak leaf, the color pale green, leaves marked with tender veins.

It has remained in this spot since I began.

Since I began to write.

This morning, I got specific with God.

After some names I list every morning, family, friends and some very ill suddenly others, I asked for help in my surrender to God’s control.

I added a few new phrases with marks of question…

  • Writing conference?
  • Writing memoir?
  • New site for art?
  • Incourage submission?
  • Piece on anxiety?

and a bold question.

Are any of these your will for me to pursue?

Added more names beside little bullets and finally, asked

Give me boldness, not fear.

Less than a few inches from one page of my journal to the other, I’ve added a verse I’d missed before, meant for me this morning.

In the first of the two Timothy books, chapter four, Timothy tells followers to persist.

I know the passage.

It’s underlined and has an angelic me in the margin, a scribbled note to self about persisting.

I continue through the passage and discover words new to me.

There for me to see.

An answer, already.

“Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.”

‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭4:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Practice, submit the piece, paint new pieces, organize them like portfolio on display, continue writing, persist in painting.

I read again, the answer to my prayer and then got up from my spot to feed the dog.

Then discovered a bird in a panic, afraid.

A tiny bird, trapped in the corner of our porch was frantic, feathered wings faltering then flapping.

The Lab tilted his head to the side, his expression matching mine.

I move to help it be free and in an instant I see, the bird has flown from the corner, flying, flying free.

No longer bumping against our screen, cornered, hemmed in and unsure.

It continued, continued, continued until it was free.

Free like me, for me

For all of me to see.

Hopeful Brave and Possible

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

This morning I jotted in my journal, “You don’t need to be spectacular or famous to use what you know, what you have and have been given to tell your story…to tell what Jesus has done for you. Just be you, the Spirit will do the rest.”

And I knew this was true. Knew for sure I’d keep telling my stories of noticing God and noticing red birds and clouds and I’d keep sitting with my apron tied ’round my waist and I’d keep painting angels with old hymns inspiring their disposition.

All of it seems happenstance.

I never really believed in angels before they began to believe in me.

I’ll be doing an “artist” type thing very soon.

My brushes are clean, my work area is ready.

I’ve some new ideas for pieces I’ll call series’.

Some ideas for massive, mighty, color-filled canvases.

I’ll no longer have “The Art of Quiet Confidence” here, instead a new blog, portfolio and business type feel.

You see, I’ve decided to believe in some things others say are possible.

I’ve decided to agree with the ones who call me an artist.

The ones who call me a writer.

It’s a miracle you might not understand.

That somehow close to 60, I’ve decided to believe.

To be less apologetic, less doubtful and to meet the faces of those who speak kindly of my possibilities with a thankful “thank you” rather than an injured and hesitant acceptance of all I’d ever longed to be true.

I was created to create.

This, I know is true.

Is possible.

What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes. Mark‬ ‭9:23‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Amongst One Another

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, daughters, doubt, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability

I suppose it might be possible.

That there might be some amongst us who don’t know struggle, haven’t had it woven intricately in the layers of their skin, embedded deep deep deep in the pits of their tummies.

I saw someone last night and I remembered how she’d been real with me and I, with her.

How I’d said yes to her unexpected invite for lunch, just wanting us to know one another more.

First of all, how often are we so honest? How rare are women that brave?

She shattered my illusion of her life more sublime than mine. She told me her story.

And, I mine.

I guess over a year or more ago. She listened as I shared the colors of my Bible, my story.

And I saw her and I told her what that meant to me, her opening her heart, her curiosity of mine.

What if we did that more? What if we left each other loved and uplifted, caressed on more than typical passing platitudes?

We’d know more the feeling of being amongst one another. We’d be more generous with our giving of time, less greedy for dominance in conversation.

Another friend made me cry when I held her and let her cry. It was hard.

Then soft.

She said it, what I already knew.

“I think I just saw God.”

I read a beautiful prayer this morning, a prayer by a French Archbishop whose name I can’t pronounce. It was a prayer asking God to find us when we can’t find Him.

Take my heart, for I canst give it and when thou hast it, oh, keep it for Thee and save me in spite of myself. Archbishop F’enelon

Someone mentioned feeling as if in an abyss yesterday and we then talked about the “cliff”.

If you’ve ever been in a deep place feeling like you can’t pull yourself out or if you’ve found yourself on the edge, on the cusp of disastrous choice worn out and miserable over what’s come your way, having to get real quiet or real loud and maybe say God, come near, be my rescue, remind me again.

Save me, yet again.

The Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation. Psalm 118:14

We’re not made to cower.

Impatient Wonder

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, happy, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Two or three things stuck last week, adding to the mix even more this morning and now, afternoon as well.

The first is the perspective changer that uncertainty is a gift, an absolute gift.

Uncertainty, held by grace.

And wonder.

Last week, I berated myself out loud to another, her commentary brought new perspective, brought me to consider a kind response.

To realize I had not been “resourced” back then to choose alternate responses.

Too much wrong food, buying stuff just because and giving in to a pattern as if there was no other way but back and so scared I might be moving in reverse not forward.

“Coping mechanisms” she called my overindulgence(s).

You’re self-aware, you’ve called yourself out this time, that’s progress.

You’re not stuck.

“Oh.” I remembered later, what a gracious choice. What a gracious idea giving permission to mess up and even more so, a prompting to step surely and rightly again.

I’ve been talking about turning 60 for months now, anxious that I might not do the things I said I was gonna do when I was a year younger than I am now.

I’ve got about 30 months to 60 and I guess about 900 days. I’m no math person, let me use my words.

Words are my thing, not numbers.

Wondering if I will, uncertain if I can.

Impatient to see what I will.

Stuck.

If you’re Southern you might remember a ready reply your mama, your grandma or grandpa would give in reply to whether and when.

Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise!

What might happen depending on God being willing and I imagine whoever started this go to reply, the road might have been impassable, their door might have guarded the way out and they may have decided not today, gotta wait for the creek to settle, gotta wait for the water to flow back downstream to the river, to the sea.

Gotta wait for the settling.

Today, I read about the woman in Proverbs again, the passage that tells a son what to look for in a wife. The verses are filled with guidance, the descriptive nature often causes wonder of worth.

Today though, one part stuck.

“She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭31:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The part about considering, about patient wonder, about tentative even proceeding.

About waiting patiently for an undertaking, taking graceful steps towards uncertain yielding of creative crop.

Giving myself a pass on not perfecting.

I hadn’t cooked for days. My husband was having omelets, pb&j’s and pizza from a box.

I’ve a meal in the oven now, rosemary roasted turkey, potatoes and carrots to be beside asparagus drizzled in butter and warm grain rice.

An assignment for a magazine had me insecure and regretful, due tomorrow, 1000 words for a hundred.

I find a little teacup and steep the bag in steam and down the hall I go and I pray

Father, help me to write the words that someone is needing, that they read my words and begin to be better.

Because of mercy, Amen

Me

I go back for the tea, meet the waiting laptop and the notes scribbled and scattered and I read, I read before I write, the little teeny words on a square on a string I’ll tear off and keep.

And now, the article is done, pool time and blueberry creamy coolness to be followed by dog walking and sky studying.

Sunday, oh, Happy Day you have been!

Words and Pursuit

courage, doubt, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I love a pretty word, love the way it prompts pursuit.

Draws me to be hopeful it’ll fit just right, my emotion and understanding.

Love the way it awakens me, a word saying “Carry on, continue, you’re not too far gone.”

I found myself drawn to confirm my understanding, the word “ardent”, I felt descriptive of someone committed, zealous, passionate even in their effort to be near, be in relationship with another.

The book I read in the mornings is made of quotes and verses and very often, I must pause to understand the linguistic disconnect.

I’m not sure I’d ever heard it, that God was an ardent pursuer of me, a sort of suitor refusing to accept my rebuff.

Lord knows, back in the day, the nice guys I cast aside, rarely did they continue their pursuit, lost interest, lost cause.

Today, I couldn’t quite believe with my whole heart. I teetered between the why and His will. I wondered if others tired of wanting to understand but, being unable to believe.

Someone stopped by and her whole face was smiling. Another stopped by and she cried, I cried with her.

Another called and I apologized before I ever began, I’m sorry I’m pitiful today. She told me she’d woken the same way.

I sat in my car and she prayed I’d know his nearness, that I’d remember my strength because of a God who pursues and protects me. She prayed there’d be a break in my heavy load and that the big things looming would have His hand on me.

And it wasn’t all of a sudden, like a gathering of hallelujah singers all around, it was a gradual sense of God’s presence.

A calming factor, a sense of hope and an affirmative reminder that I believe.

The to do pad on the fridge, blank until today. Home from long day, I decide on a bike ride. The slight cooling down of evening air on my face, I pedaled strong and determined and never let up, careening around the curve and back through my yard. I hop off my bike and back inside, realize the day is different.

It’s dusk and it’s evening and there’s chili simmering on the stove.

I reach for the fridge and my note to self from early morning.

Believe God.

Now, I know you know I didn’t, haven’t seen God. But, he pursued me today and followed me and happened to have people see me, hear me, listen, smile, cry and pray.

And they were intentional. They were wholehearted and enthusiastic. They were passionate in their pursuit of my heart as I was of theirs and we were mutually ardent in our compassionate responses.

Goodness and mercy found me today. It seems it was not without effort because sometimes I look and don’t find and I grow weary and worn, wilted, drained and deplete.

But, He never lets go His ardent pursuit.

“Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Ardent, a word descriptive of a committed and fervent one. One who never gives up.

A quote from my little morning book from the Rev. John Tauler, born 1290 and deceased in 1361, 71 years of understanding of God’s pursuit:

For God is right diligent to be with us at all seasons, and to teach us, that He may bring us to Himself, when we are like to go astray.

None of us ever desired anything more ardently than God desires to bring men to the knowledge of Himself. J. Tauler

Oh my goodness, knowledge so very close to being too wonderful to know.

To know that I am known by God.

Wonderful to know.

Mercy Cry

courage, doubt, Faith, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Boot camp warm up always begin with I guess a community type bonding circle where we all play a little beachball volleying.

The trainer usually gets the brunt of being the target and dodges a direct hit to the face.

The ball’s pretty flimsy and it doesn’t hurt, still we all put our hands up to cover our faces or the occasional and intentional ball in the chest.

Last week, I returned a volley with more force and intention than my normal sweet self.

I ran to meet the ball in the middle and then straightaway returned it from whence it had come, and ohhh, everybody was like, “whoa…Lisa!”

I smiled, told them I was the only girl in a neighborhood full of boys and I mostly stayed out of the way.

Sometimes, though I fended for myself, knew how to be defensive, my brothers surprised when I’d “had enough”.

This morning, I’m thinking about mercy and how God keeps on giving, keeps on taking me as I am and keeps on loving me when I’m not feeling lovable or worthy.

Like my brothers used to bend back the fingers on each other’s hands or twist one arm behind each other’s backs, stubborn and dead set on not giving in,

Sometimes I hold out as long as possible before I fall apart and ask for help.

For mercy. One thing will happen and then well, another and before long maybe another and I’m shaking my head saying.

“Lord, have mercy! Lord…have mercy.”

I’ll even text my cutesy little “LHM!” Joking or making light of some ridiculous something I’ve seen or heard.

When mercy is not to be received lightly, mercy is not to go for very long without asking for even more.

Knowing full well, mercy is always for me.

Always waiting my reaching out for it, my walking lightly and light heartedly because of all of it I’ve already known.

“For nothing will be impossible with God.””

‭‭Luke‬ ‭1:37‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Mary was told by an angel that nothing would be impossible with God.

Mary, the one whose womb wove together mercy, Jesus.

Mary, who assured us it wasn’t just a gift she’d been chosen for.

Mercy, oh, mercy!

It is ours.

Ours for the asking, ours to be remembered. New mercy to replace the doubt or the decisions we might have made that mercy is not for us.

Must have surely run out.

Like the stubborn refusal to bear the pain of an arm twisted behind your back or to bear the consequences of a misdeed or miscommunication, I decide sometimes in my miserable state, I guess I deserve it.

I suppose I’m meant to bear the pain. I might wallow, cower, hide or wear the mood of martyr.

Yet, I tire of my contemplations and contemptuous self-pity.

“Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭123:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Or, like this morning, I’ll accept the day and its possible difficulty and I’ll accept the mercy of Jesus.

I’ll cry “Mercy!” and soon, very soon I’ll be relieved.

And I’ll move more lightly, less angrily mopey. I’ll let go the wrongs and twisted ways of others I’d decided I must be duly punished for.

I’ll forgive myself and others.

I will give them mercy, give myself a little too, there is more than enough, it endures forever. I’ll linger as long as needed in my morning spot, the place I’m met my mercy,

My earthly “mercy seat”.

“For the Mighty One is holy, and he has done great things for me.

He shows mercy from generation to generation to all who fear him.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭1:49-50‬ ‭NLT

Quiet Voila’

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, doubt, grace, Peace, praise, Prayer, Stillness, Vulnerability

Last week or maybe last year, sporadic in my notice and recognition, I decided “child’s pose” was very much like prayer.

The prayer pose in the dark of early morning beside my bed or in the middle of a day when my pacing feet and pounding heart had left me with no place to go but to

Go there.

To hide away on my side of the bed.

You’d have to walk around to find me.

To hit my knees and find my soul beckoning me rest and my shoulders, lower, lower until they too are closer to the bottom and to wait, my muscles groaning in extension, I’m reaching, now gently.

As far as I can and I wait for God to cause my hands to open towards heaven.

Like a quiet “voila!”.

Saying, this is yours God, not mine.

Like a child, my outstretched hands are both released from my heavy thing and opened for the pure embrace of God.

Lean a little deeper into the prayer like a languished stretch and then ease back upright to maybe a sort of sun salutation.

I rise. I’m better, Son of God, I salute you, your Spirit, now.

I’m better today.

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up for FMF prompted by “release”.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/04/05/fmf-link-up-release/

Oh, and by the way, my book review of Kate Motaung’s recently released memoir, “A Place to Land” is in a draft right now, I’ll be posting tomorrow and giving away a couple of copies!

or you can order here: https://www.amazon.com/Place-Land-Story-Longing-Belonging/dp/162707662X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&linkCode=sl1&tag=headhome-20&linkId=3e098af8efaaaff2f28a716b3f563944

Closer to Healing

bravery, courage, doubt, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability

If you could see it, you’d either laugh so very hard, take pity on me, or either be bored after awhile with the whole scene.

I carefully walk to the end of the diving board. I bounce only slightly, I step forward then back then decide, oh, well not this time either.

Every summer, the same.

I’m thankful again today for chances to write. I’m thankful that God puts us all here, one amongst the other to say, I understand, here’s where I am on my journey…here’s how I got this far. I pray my words help someone.

I’m a guest writer at Beloved Prodigal today.

Visit here and see why the diving board is so scary to me and why I’m closer to the water than ever before, I’ve been healed.

Room for Healing