Faith

The Stranger

Angels, courage, Faith, heaven, praise, rest, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On my way tonight to workout, he was walking.

On my back home, I saw him too.

90 minutes passed and the place on the side of the road, barely off the road in the high weeds, where he was again made no sense at all.

He should’ve been farther along; yet, there he was again, on my way.

I remembered, I thought if I see him again, I’ll know it’s true, true like my son suggested one day in a little boy whimsical way,

“What if he’s Jesus?” Childlike chastising my questioning comment directed towards someone standing on the edge of the exit ramp holding a cardboard sign.

Now, I’m thinking again, yeah…what if?

You should know I only tell true stories and you must know I find all sorts of stuff significant when I see it. I consider it God.

About three weeks ago, I stopped by our local printer to collect items ordered for work.

“What is he doing?” she asked, “walking up and down the sidewalk with that stick?”

I told her I’d ask him and I did, asked him if he was okay.

He needed to be pointed in the direction of the soup kitchen, so I directed him four blocks down and two over.

He smiled, said, “Do I know you?” “Did you go to high school in Hepzibah?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

Then he told me his name, adding angel as a surname. Told me he was an angel and then said: “Jesus loves you.”

I smiled, said, “I know, you too.”

Then on a drizzly Sunday one week ago, Colt and I were out back. All my day’s plans go awry because of an emergency with an employee, I’d be going to work.

Tennis ball toss, the command given “drop” and again and again until I turn towards the back porch.

I see him, a male form bent over shoulders heavy, walking down my road, holding a big shepherd like stick.

“Oh…it’s him.” The Labrador sees and hurries up to the fence, makes a squeaky sound, not at all resembling bark or growl.

He never barked, sort of sighed, pulled the sound of dog startle back in as if he knew him, knew there was no need for noise.

There was no call to fear threatening.

Then he watches body next to my hip and his nose on the cold link of fence. I watch, feet tiptoed and neck craning as the man who says he’s an angel crosses in front of my house and on down the road.

I know right away, I’ll turn that way instead of my normal when I go. I’ll leave for work and I’ll hope on my way he’s there.

Cheese crackers, granola and a Cliff bar in my lap, I drive down the hill and turn the curve and he’s there.

He’s making his way up the hill. No one around on Sunday morning church time, I slow my car, window eases down and I say,

“Good morning.” My hand through the window meets his and he’s surprised by my giving, he thanks me for the food and then stores it in deep pockets of a jacket dragging down by so much wear.

“Jesus loves you.” He says and then adds,

“I love your hair.” I smile knowing no way he could know the gray I’d just felt depressed over, the flatness of strands due to age and the daily angst over cut or grow out.

I drove on remembering the time before when he said he was an angel.

Tonight, I saw him the third time I told myself would “seal the deal” if it happened, make me sure of providence and certain of angels.

I wondered why he’d only walked a block or so in the 90 minutes between seeing him and seeing him again.

I considered why he’d kept appearing on my way and then I pondered all who might avoid him and worse yet might not see him in the very close to dark dangerous road.

I hoped he’d be okay. I hoped he has headed someplace safe.

Then I realized he’d be one Jesus would pause to notice. He, one of the least of these, a wandering soul and lost mentally maybe.

But who am I to say He’s not already done so; this man walking tall with a stick the height of his shoulders and telling me, others, whoever that he’s “Angel John” and that Jesus loves us.

Who’s to say who’s angelic or not or why I might see him and believe more wistfully, more surely and more unexpectedly that there are angels among us and that those angels know Jesus?

Who’s to say who knows?

Yesterday, I gathered up my angel figurines. I’d been noticing all the clutter collected and decided they no longer belonged on the desk. My eye drawn to them seems it has begun to feel their placement was all wrong.

I moved them to my bedroom, tucked them together collectively on the shelf just above my pillow.

I’m believing more than before and unafraid to say so, believing because of who and what and where I’ve seen God and probability of angels, love, and grace among us.

And strangers with contagious smiles despite missing teeth who make confident proclamations of Jesus and love and not at all coincidentally cross my path.

Some would say homeless or crazy or not worth much at all…

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, who are we to say

or he, a stranger?

 

I’ve just read a post from Jennifer Dukes Lee about helping another along the way. Who’s to say when we might need help up or when we get to reach down.

Vist here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learned-movie-can-imagine/

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Maybe Something Other

Abuse Survivor, courage, Faith, Redemption, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’m beginning to consider other than what I’ve decided always.

Starting to let go my old responses to come what may, my old way.

Who does that? Brings a dandelion inside and places it next to the delicate dogwood bloom, adds it to the water in the little bulbous jelly jar?

I’ve never seen such a pretty arrangement. The contrast of the sticklike stem beside the velvet leaf of other.

The grass had been freshly mown and my day, not long into. The Lab and I returning inside and I paused to see the sun through the pines land on the solitary weed.

I picked it and blew towards the sky, the stem strong in my grasp; but, the feathery frond like fluff would not let go, held tight to the middle.

So, I’ve decided now, in my morning spot, that it was meant for other. It wasn’t meant to be blown away by my forceful breath and it dodged the destruction of the sharp blade of mower.

It was meant for more.

It was meant for other.

I have a task today and another tomorrow.

Tomorrow’s, I’ve asked God to help me reconsider what I’ve decided it’s purpose will be.

To cause me to let go my preconception and to be open to other.

To be accepting of what I will see, hear, feel, knowing I’m made by God, His plans for me planted and not fully seen.

I cover my eyes and my heart with other often, handicapping the growth, deciding my part.

“You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭19:21‬ ‭NLT‬‬

His desire is that I not be blown away.

To carry what comes my way in a different way, to do maybe something other than before. To not fade away nor be destroyed.

This morning I’m linking up with Five Minute Friday, prompted by the word and thoughts of “other” .

Trees and Me

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I’ve a friend who invites conversation by asking, “Where did you see God today?”

And I’ve loved it so, the thought of it.

But, even more, my own thoughts and ponder,

“And what did He say?”

I find God in places happened upon, causing my pause.

A puff of moss amongst high weeds, a purple flower on a single stem, I consider it there for me, burst forth, break through it seems to say.

Morning was a compilation today of happenstance and truth.

The sameness of my journal, the place where thoughts land and the habitual sometimes same old requests I pencil in carefully, thoughtfully certain.

This one’s a slate grey blue and has a delicate copper colored lettering “notes” in its center.

I’ve many journals, pages full, I bet you can only imagine.

This morning I read via Anita Ojeda that journaling is medicine. It wasn’t news to me, still, I felt it new.

This one, “I know this much is true” kinda truth came a little more alive today and so it’s included in my journal.

Memoir means you intentionally write about your past events in order to understand them better. In the process, you’ll find healing. Anita Ojeda

It occurred to me this is the reason I’m only able to write a paragraph here and there when it comes to memoir.

Other places and subjects, even here I can let flow a thousand words or more.

With memoir, I’m tentative.

Maybe it’s because the content is so precious, so precariously cusp teetering like as far my healing, that its power must be approached gingerly, intentionally and not at all hurriedly.

And sometimes I think time might be running out and my season might be winter forever, that my story might never burst forth.

Others, I think I’m just lazy.

This morning, I prayed a prayer for me. The words were not typical, the request new and softer, different.

The place where I’d been asking for strength or courage or forgiveness, clarity or ability to obey,

I asked for love. Love, instead.

Lord, order my day I pray and help me to do the right things in light of your love for me.

Amen

I especially love this one old tree. When we walk, I can’t turn my eyes from its frame. We turn back and I pause every time because I find its twisted trunk and aging limbs so sublime.

I don’t think it has another season, yet I see small buds on leafless limbs. I’m waiting to see, is it just not time?

Will the fruit of pecans cover the ground come August?

Will its branches continue to reach towards the sky regardless?

The tree, this beautiful old tree it tells me there is time and purpose and plenty of it still.

I almost skipped my Bible this morning, knowing I must get my butt in gear. My passage for April 10, Psalm 92, “How Great are Your Works” it begins.

And I am amazed again at the never accidental nature of my God.

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green,”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭92:12-14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And mostly that there’s always time to grow, to bear the fruit of hope, so that others may hope as well.

And that perhaps, some things held onto for very, very long must die before new will fully live.

Like being okay with not finding four leaf clovers in a cluster of clover.

Drawn in by the vibrance, caught off guard by the possibility, stymied by the enormous beauty, I look but am satisfied despite finding the one “lucky one”.

I’m seeing God everywhere and I’m noticing, noting clearly and contentedly my need to continue on.

Who’s to say how we grow, when we’ll burst forth unforced.

When the bud might open or the branches stay barren

Only God can make trees. Only God can make me.

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

Trusting More

Angels, Art, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, grace, Motherhood, Peace, praise, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity

I barely heard him over the crowd. He mentioned “trust” to her as she shared their big plans and hopes. “You know the place, Proverbs 3:5-6…” he said.

Mentioned trust, then looked towards me, and added, “Of course you do, you’ve got her.”

It was a gift, to be known as one who talks of God and trust and love to my children so that they know.

They know.

Such a pretty night, just the slightest breeze and the aura of a singer and a guitarist had me optimistic.

The singer’s voice gritty, heart and soul in his movements and melodies. The guitarist, honed in on his part; both, phenomenal talents.

Doing their thing, for us; but, seemed mainly for themselves, the satisfaction of sharing their souls’ song and string.

The vibe was easy, the night was soulful and my soul was full.

Leaving the day behind to happen upon a friend, see an acquaintance in the distance, people who’d otherwise be postured with just a nod of notice, reaching out arms for an embrace and saying more than ever before, glad you’re here.

I was taken to a place of letting go.

She took me there, my daughter. The night was splendid, turned my day around.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5-6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

A mom stopped by yesterday to pick up a painting, a gift for her mother.

I’d leaned it against an empty chair and had two days with “her”.

Checked it over to be sure the paint and layered words were sealed, added a card denoting my life verse and contact info to the back.

Then, saw the place where trust had been revealed from under layers of paint.

And smiled, fascinated by my creation.

“I love this girl.” I told the buyer when she arrived and explained I love her not in an accomplished way or even satisfied over technique or tradition.

I’d realized earlier that whether it’s a paragraph or a painting, there’s a joy that comes that I’m not sure I can explain.

You step back, sit back and you know.

“This is me, this is mine. I’ve conveyed something that is sincere, genuinely me.”

Then you trust it more, you trust this thing God made you to discover.

You trust that painting, writing, singing or strumming unfettered and unfiltered are a part of His plan.

‘Tis so sweet…trusting more.

‘Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,

Just to take Him at His Word

Just to rest upon His promise,

Just to know, “Thus saith the Lord!

O’ for grace to trust Him more.

They Rested

bravery, courage, Easter, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Never random when she calls, it’s always an interruption for both of us.

Still, we are rapt and attentive, anticipatory.

We pause, we interject.

We listen, we add to the conversation.

We are one and we call one another from the proverbial cliffs of our own anxious waiting.

Sometimes I call her down, sometimes she consoles, corrects, cajoles me.

Either way, there may be tears. There is always prayer and always, always we are both equally better.

Or at least, we’ve filled a big chunk of the space in our minds tainted by what we are dying to know, what we are willing ourselves to believe all will be His will or we are plain worn out from devising outcomes from which to choose and get ready for.

We are both willful we decide.

This morning, I want to know more. I’m reading my Bible like the good book it is, enthralled to know more, I decide to read each account of the day between death and resurrection.

I choose Luke because of one sentence in what amounts to no more than a paragraph.

Just a paragraph, a pause.

John, Mark and Matthew all the same, a resignation of accepting the death of Jesus and a business transaction on the part of a man named Joseph.

“Now there was a man named Joseph, from the Jewish town of Arimathea. He was a member of the council, a good and righteous man, who had not consented to their decision and action; and he was looking for the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down and wrapped it in a linen shroud and laid him in a tomb cut in stone, where no one had ever yet been laid. It was the day of Preparation, and the Sabbath was beginning.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:50-54‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The women prepared the spices, they’d taken care to continue in their parts. Verses before, they’d been told of promises.

Jesus saw their longing, their lamenting. He spoke of our own longing, our lamenting when and will and how and how long?

“But turning to them Jesus said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:28-30‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Told them days of blessings are a sure thing. Every single word of Jesus was purposeful, was promise.

Was a promise he kept and still keeps.

As if saying, Believe. You will see!

That day in between, sad but serene resignation, accepting, doing what we can do.

They did what they could, they made the preparations.

They were careful in their role as ones who cared.

They did what they could and then rested.

“Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:56‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Today, I made a new to do list.

I’m in charge of some things and I’ve promised to do another. My children will be with me tomorrow for lunch and I’m ditzy when it comes to hosting and cooking and timelines.

I’ll read the narration for our cantata and I’ll sing and worship.

I added a bold bracket around my list and asked God to use me and my abilities as He sees fit.

And I remembered wisdom from another:

“I will when I can.”

Today, I’ll rest in my waiting. I’ll do my best to embrace the time, the day between.

Sabbath, I surrender to you. I’ll give grace to me and to those around me.

With anticipation and excitement I’ll celebrate the life and newness and resurrection tomorrow.

Like Mary and the others, I’ll hold on hopeful and wholeheartedly to your promise that it is not finished with me, there are still mountains to be moved and beautiful blessings from barren times for me and for the ones I love and humbly pray intercession for.

Prayers spoken and answered, she will call and we’ll sing together because His glory has been shown.

Yes, we have seen God’s glory!

New life!

Closer Walking Words

bravery, courage, Faith, Good Friday, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

It’s fitting I believe, that the morning outside is dreary, a dull gray film making my time feel like mercy and slow acceptance that all will be well, the atmosphere already has changed.

Holy Spirit reminding me, no fear in love.

Walk more closely.

Continue, speechless.

His loss for my words that come.

Good words on Good Friday,  the day marked by suffering.

His suffering for my words, words that come like mercy every morning.

Wordless

I follow my daily guide that gives words in my Bible, a passage about a husband and wife who allowed greed and insecurity to go against what their souls knew they should do.

They chose to hide the excess of what they’d profited from, hid it away possibly insecure over their future, doesn’t say why.

The husband and then the wife died. Makes me wonder if this is where we get the phrase, “can’t take it with you!”

Peter asked them why they’d not trusted the Spirit, why they chose to hide their mistrust, revealing their lack of belief in God’s provision.

“But Peter said to her, “How is it that you have agreed together to test the Spirit of the Lord? Behold, the feet of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out.”

‭‭Acts‬ ‭5:9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Today is Good Friday, two days before Easter services, sermons and celebrations.

I open my Bible to understand its significance, longing for the perspective of ancient writers and recorders rather than countless commentaries and insight of others.

I long, thankfully so, to be closer to the heart and soul of the day, to glean more significantly my conviction and my certainty of the suffering for my sake.

I consider the Books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John before finally resting on the page that I penciled in my calculation of the time the world was dark for three hours.

Dark because God could not watch His Son suffer.

“And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭15:33-34‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Observers felt surely rescue would come as the reply. But, it didn’t.

Jesus died.

“And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭15:37‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Good Friday, I woke again asking for mercy and mercy, again met me like so many days before.

Today, easing its way reminding me kindly to test the Lord less often, to trust His graceful provision.

To not hide away, insecurely the disguises of my fear.

To not cover my sins of doubt, of shame that lead to paths uncertain and unsafe, paths that might find me falling down, falling back.

So I rose to the dim morning light and He met me again; Jesus, a merciful advocate showing that indeed, Friday is good.

Not just this one; but, all of them Lisa Anne!

All of your Fridays are good when you live in light of My goodness and my grace.

And if you look you will surely see good in every waking day, every day that you choose not to hide your treasure from me, that you choose not to hide your heart away.

Every moment that you are bold enough to believe!

Every day you choose not to blur your visions, your senses, your walking in agreement with my will and way, not yours.

Just a closer walk.

“”Agree with God, and be at peace; thereby good will come to you.”

‭‭Job‬ ‭22:21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

 

linking this post up with other writers who love to tell His story. Visit here:

Tell His Story

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Purify my Intention

courage, Faith, grace, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Morning is the purest time and

I’ve become cautious over its treasure, careful not to be simply habitual.

Four or five books and my Bible

A pattern, a little system to my journaled prayers.

If I’m not careful I’ll jinx it, do this then that, then this…afraid a misstep or missed morning might lessen God’s notice of me.

Slippery slope down the path of my believing my measure of worth depends on what I do, what I continue to do…

“When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your unfailing love, Lord, supported me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭94:18‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Protected time. My little spot. I’m safe again.

I’m remembering yesterday morning tonight.

Yesterday morning, I was sparked by remembering that I’d written somewhere else. I scanned my emails for notice of a comment telling me I’d been noticed by others.

Anxious for accolades.

Then, stopped. Suddenly, I stopped myself. Sat still and sat quietly, clearly and in tune.

Told myself my words will go where God has for them to go. My words will be seen by those who need to see them.

That is all.

This is enough. This is me, now.

Then I skipped reading my devotionals and began my day. Mid morning, found my little book and turned to the page marked March 20.

And I was met by intentional, intuitive and gradual grace through words of another.

The words in the book titled “Joy and Strength” are a little quirky in an ancient centuries ago way. The fonts are so delicate, the pages fragile and the verses are numbered a forgotten Roman system.

The words of a French Roman Catholic mystic convinced me that impatience is the disdain of prayer, that grace has a quality so clearly, gradual.

Gradual, God’s expectations are and accepting are His allowances.

He shows us the way forward, slowly not regimented or rigid. Not ever habitual or rote.

“Be content to go on quietly.

When you discover somewhat in yourself which is earthly and imperfect, be patient while you strive to cast it out.

Your perceptions will grow, at first, God will show you very obvious stumbling blocks; be diligent in clearing these away, and do not aim at heights to which you are not equal.

Leave all to God, and while you earnestly desire that He would purify your intention, and seek to work with Him to that end, be satisfied with the gradual progress He sets before you; and remember that He often works in ways unseen by us.”

Jean Nicolas Grou

Tomorrow morning, new thoughts, prayers and wisdom will meet me here and

Content, I’ll go on quietly.

Not Sought After

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

I almost hurried to finish what I only had one day to complete. It would be my first time not submitting, my first time not trying, my first time not getting all optimistic and hopeful that this time I’d surely be selected.

“Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭27:14‬ ‭NLT‬

Almost midnight, I get a message with just a question, “What has become of “Colors”?

Accountability, an unexpected “ding” and my reply was ready. “Work in progress. Truly.”

He replied with thumbs up.

The message sent by someone maybe seeming an unlikely supporter, wise one, writerly and truthful.

He’d read the first chapter of “Colors” as he calls the book, and he understood clearly when I spoke strongly of wanting not to be just a cute little inspirational writer, I wanted to be true, honest, brave.

All those things and now, most of all though humble and hopeful.

Closer to me and my story for them, for others, for God.

Ready to convey Hope and Healed in a way others see healing as not just possible but potential and probable.

So, I didn’t submit for the fourth time (actually, maybe fifth) to the well known platform for Christian women writers.

I wasn’t prompted by God with anything to say. I knew the words would be just mine and they’d be impulsively conjured up and confident only in me, not Him.

Yesterday, I told someone I’d always found humility to be tough, tough for people who have already had such a hard time with finding themselves worthy.

It can be so conflicting sometimes to believe in good things, to believe ourselves deserving and hear voices that shout loudly inside that warn of pride.

Thinking less of ourselves does not mean thinking ourselves less than what God says.

Maybe humility is simply thinking more of the me God sees and knowing oh, my lord how much more that is, and is not pride it’s just believing without stopping believing.

I decided I make humility harder than it is.

When all it is, is focus, keeping right my focus. Humility is simply modesty aligned with prayer and an open mind to God’s ways more than mine.

Unexpected encounters are the confirmation of why the best things are never sought, always unexpected.

It’s our seeking that leads to pride, the seeking that starts with hope, starts with maybe just an innocent sweet yearning for good.

We might even call it God’s blessing because we know He loves to bless His children.

But, we’re human. We get off track, get impatient over the wait. Insecure over our worthiness.

We get driven and determined over what started as a meek imploring, hope for something to quickly off the rails crashing towards an object or accomplishment that we can NOT live without.

If it doesn’t happen this time or doesn’t happen at all, who am I now?

Who was I ever to God?

We ignore God maybe, then. We begin to believe we should have it, whatever the it is and our motives change.

Our motives change from humility to pride.

No longer do we want what God wants.

We want what we want.

And if we’re not alerted by our soul’s stirring, we act impulsively, we react from our ingratitude for what hasn’t happened yet.

Because we’re human and we can make our way work, we decide to handle the matter, we get things done!

So, two encounters unexpected last night. Two people sought me out in a noisy boisterous crowd.

The first to tell me she starts every day with my Instagram post. I hugged her and I hugged her again. Such a small offering, a few words, maybe a paragraph that’s all I give.

We hugged again and I told her, “It’s just God every morning speaking straight to me and I just share it.”

She smiled as if she saw that, she saw that

I’m imperfect and seeking.

The best place to be.

Humility is no more than that.

The more we find God, the less we look elsewhere for our worth.

Another person, I believe maybe four hugs this time we shared. Overwhelmed and feeling guilty, she decided to resign from our Board of Directors.

I told her I would miss her, I understood, I still hoped to see her.

My husband was standing with us and she told him she just “felt so guilty” about all the things she should do but, she knew she couldn’t.

He pointed towards me and said, “She knows.”

Then she told us what her husband said to her, a comfort and confirmation.

“If you’re feeling guilty it’s not because of you, that feeling, that discomfort, it’s God trying to tell you something.”

Esssentially, her guilt and her discomfort were negative emotions and God never wants us to feel badly about ourselves. He wants us to come to Him to ask for understanding, for guidance, for ways forward.

We don’t need to make tough decisions on our own, they’re always going to leave us conflicted, angry, resentful and divided unless we align with Him, diligent in prayer.

Closer to knowing Him, His ways, His will.

I told her I’d just come to this truth recently, that God does not bring us guilt, doubt, dismay.

We are human in this human and imperfect world. We grasp for understanding when we’re not capable of ever understanding all.

We grasp for what measures our success and what we gauge our contentment by.

Our grasping is always striving, never submission, never settled and waiting for what comes when it is

Not sought after.

The deadline came and passed for the submission. A half-hearted morning prayer was uttered that day “God, give me words that mean in courage.”

Moments, really were all that happened between the reluctant ask and the confident decision, not now, not hurried, not for you, Lisa Anne, not for you.

Because all of my encounters with people and places and platforms that hold my words close and up for others to read have thus far been unexpectedly given, I am completely sure they came from God.

Humility is most of all, prayer and patience. Closer to being the one He knows and Has wonderful unsought after plans for.

Prayer and patience…

Aunt Boo

Love Every Morning

Faith, grace, Peace, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder

I reach for a cup every morning, thoughtful or not. I’ll grab the big one that says I’m the universe’s best mom or the one from a long ago trip my son took.

A favorite is the “sunshine” cup, from my sunshine, my daughter, bright yellow with a little hope reminder in the bottom you see when your coffee runs out.

If I’m open or uncertain or meh, I’ll just go for the cream color from the set.

Today, I went for the Valentines mug, not a gift from anyone, it ended up at the office and then my desk and now home. To be honest, it was a donation and we promptly ate all the Hershey hugs and I claimed the empty mug.

So, today I took the mug from the shelf and I’m drinking creamy coffee sweetened with honey because I know it’s true.

It’s true every morning. All I need is provided. Many of the gifts I cherish, He has provided.

Every morning, every minute, I am without a doubt reminded.

God loves me.

Loves me more.

Loves me despite sharp words spoken, selfish moods and motives and mostly my less than focused focus on Him.

He loves me meek.

Loves me mindful of Him.

Regardless though,

Loves me more.

“I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭31:3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Linking up for five minute Friday writers on the prompt “provide”. I am so thankful that God’s provision of love never runs out . Happy Friday!