The brave and beautiful 3, Praises

Children, courage, Faith, family, praise, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Wednesday morning, I felt the need to retreat. I thought of avoiding all social stuff, followed blogs, subscriptions, true and important posts on the Charleston horror and/or the ones meant to lift me, motivate or push me forward.

I thought of settling back into the comfortable place of effortless complacency. I considered quieting my voice, my words. I remembered my truth, “Write bravely or not at all” and not at all was feeling safe, feeling like a good fit for an expected mold. I had been here before, searching for the consoling truth of God, waiting His truth out.

And then I skimmed my inbox to read the next chance to tell my story, His story. Linking up, who am I kidding? I’ve just really begun, afraid my words are just journaling. On a muggy gray morning I found myself in a funk, a deep pit, asking “Jesus, help me out of this rough patch.”

Like the Psalmist, I cried, I’m slipping! Again, your unfailing love, O’ Lord supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope. Psalm 94:18-10

I’ve been linking up with other writers mainly as an exercise in persistence, an assignment that elicits my naive courage, I think.

Jennifer Dukes Lee reminds me to praise and then suggests I comment sharing three praiseworthy things. I was feeling as far from praise as the sun is from the full moon on a winter night. So, I sat with that sullen quiet as I opened the next message.

I read about courage described by Tracy Line as she recalled her “Time Hop” of three years ago. http://tracyline.com/2015/06/23/the-art-of-practicing-courage/ I decided to comment, a Thank You for Tracy’s story of discovering what God intended for her resting period of three years. I shared my struggle with Tracy, which is odd but not odd, in that I’ve not met Tracy Line “The Writer Tracy”.

But, Tracy replied in the same kind way Jennifer Dukes Lee replied months ago. Both expressed good and hopeful truths. Tracy encouraged me further, told me she had read my brave words…You’re a good writer.” she said.

Both said they would pray for me.

Published authors, stopping to pray for me. And both times, God heard and I sensed a change of thought, of heart, reason and my reasoning.

Both times!

Here it is Thursday evening and I’m thinking of the beauty of kind words of two strangers who love God. I’m remembering the challenge to be thankful for three things. A discarded chance to comment just a day ago because I felt my praises were too contrived, too insincere.

Now, just a day past the thought of keeping it all to myself, my brave words, slipping into a quiet, keep it all inside place…I’m bursting to proclaim my three things for which I lift my face and hands in praise!

Praise God #1

Praises to God for a wedding dress weekend! A couch filled with crazy, how do I work this selfie-stick laughter. My daughter streaming happy, joyous, honest and sweet tears from the dressing room when she could wait no longer and slipped her pretty arms into the wedding dress. Her quiet request of the seamstress to honor Grandma and my stopping to catch my breath sigh upon hearing it…my daughter, soon to be a bride. One of my three…

Pre-Yes to the Dress party

Praise God #2

I bought the biggest and best dog bed, refusing to believe it would be ripped apart. I bought this dog bed because “Colt” the Christmas gift to a son about to enter The Citadel, is in fact a pony size chocolate lab puppy who has outgrown the crate. Praise God, he loves his bed!

Every night for a week, back to the place where the crate had been and a word “Bed” and he sleeps, all night. No more pee puddles and he has stopped eating my bras! He is a rambunctious little boy of a dog who likes living here. Praise God for my “What was I thinking Merry Christmas, Austin” lapse in reason addition to our family.

Worth it all

Praise God #3

From a heart, heavy and tired, I’ve been lifted again. Praise God, the sustainer and lover of my weary and wayward soul! The God who reminds me of the good seed he planted in me. The God planted, joy bringing, soul nourishing act of thoughts made words.

Writing, my seed

Clearly and more confident

Bravely, with a few familiar steps back, but stronger steps forward, good work began, carried to completion.

With God, through and for God.

He who began a good work in me will carry it through to completion. Philippians 1:6

Quiet Confidence is my strength, returning and rest, my salvation. Isaiah 30:15

I’m linking up with other amazing and motivating writers who Tell His Story at Jennifer Dukes Lee.http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/

The Story of my Daddy’s Heart

Children, courage, Faith, family, Prayer, Vulnerability

I hadn’t noticed the puppy until now. I didn’t remember my daddy being the dog lover mama was. But, here we are.

Me, almost three with daddy and a puppy following along at our heels. I’m looking down and he must have been watching for roots to trip me up or something that might harm my tiny little feet. I keep this photo on my desk and I cling to the love it portrays, an image of his kind and quiet heart.

Walking by the water

My daddy’s life was badly bruised by tragedy. His daddy was murdered by a black man over some sort of dispute, at the well drawing water. Daddy never spoke of this, I only know through stories saved for my grown-up ears. The knowledge of my daddy’s pain brought clarity and forgiveness for hurtful and scary words that would come easily when alcohol was salve for his wounds.

The story of my daddy’s heart is a timely story, an important story.

Mainly, for the children I love, grown or still small who need to know.

A story of a friendship between a white man and a black man.

Thomas, my daddy’s friend helped him when no one else would.

Thomas checked on my daddy, had long talks on lonely cold nights with my daddy and drove him home on many nights.

Stood by his friend through cancer and watched him, with us, become kinder and more humble each day. Every day spent in searching conversations centered on ammends making and making right of perceived wrongs.

Thomas and his wife, Mary cried at my daddy’s funeral and then stopped by to sit with, listen to my mama on lonely cold nights in her lonely country home.

Thomas fished in their pond, cut her knee high grass in summer.

Just checked on her, kept her going. And then, when my mama died, we gave Thomas and Mary her car. They cared for my mama’s best friend, her dog, until it’s grieving and aging heart passed on too.

Thomas and daddy are together again, friends in Heaven.

Thomas was my daddy’s friend. Race didn’t matter. This is the story of my daddy’s heart and of his friend’s heart.

A Father’s Day story, a timely story

A story for a time like this, a time of tragic hate and young people who are both impressive and impressionable. Young people who are paying attention and are standing for something. Maybe deciding between love or hate.

Choose love over hate. Love like a Wednesday night prayer meeting prayer. An open heart, open door prayer for someone they thought just lost and seeking. A love shown, freely offered in light of and because of Jesus. A strong love like a mama taught a son. A son who lost his mama at a Wednesday night prayer meeting in Charleston.

For the ones I love, a story you need to know

“Love is always stronger than hate.”

Chris Singleton, son of Sharonda Singleton

Finding feathers again

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I almost stopped noticing feathers, red birds and coins.

A callous remark meant to be fun was hurtful.

“How will you survive your son, your “baby” going to college?”

My answer, not quite as mournful as the question.. “Oh, I don’t know.” was met reply…”You’ll be fine, just go find a feather.”

So, I almost stopped noticing.

I walked the Saturday evening after seeing the accident with a little boy injured frighteningly bad. I thought of the posture of my prayer that day and the unashamed plea for life. I recalled the scene of imploringly requesting mercy, the prayer, unashamed, uninhibited.

I remembered as I walked, the sweet story of a white dove on the walking trail. The dove my daughter and her fiance had greet them a few days in a row before that Saturday.

Before that Saturday afternoon beside the road with a little boy.

Peace, a dove, calmly preparing the heart.

And as I walked and prayed God’s will, God’s glory, not mine

I noticed, shiny, glistening, amongst flattened leaves and straw

A silver, beaten up old dime.

And I remembered that finding a dime is symbolic of grace and assurance as if to say, ” It will be alright. You are seen. You are loved.”

“You are remembered.”

And so, I am noticing God again.

Red birds flitting by. Clouds bordered by pink. Big pretty full or skinny crescent moons. Lyrics that stop my busyness, speak perfectly, clearly.

Parallels in prayer, in thought, in scripture recited, journaled, offered up to a friend and then recalled, repeated, reminded by another.

My friend, John stopped by and we talked about a funeral.

The music. Piano, clear and consulate. The message. The presence of God, of love.

He had noticed too. So, I shared my words recorded earlier:

A few weeks ago, a friend who happens to be an employee lost her husband unexpectedly. She was in shock and heartbroken, physically ill. In our embrace, I reminded her of her strength, her courage and her faith. “You are strong.” I told her. “Still, it will be hard.”

Through the evening and into the following day, I texted her to check in, each time reminding her that I was praying for her. I recalled a promise from God’s word and I simply texted her “My prayer for you is that you are keenly aware of the peace of God…the peace that surpasses all understanding.” Thinking back now, I know that verse was brought to mind by God, for my friend. Without knowing the exact verse or its context, these few words came to mind for my friend.

While not nearly sufficient to ease her pain, I’ve thought since how appropriate these words were for my friend her world spinning and she, in shock. The passing of her husband on a typical Thursday morning, something she could not understand. And I thought “How amazing is our God that he knows there will be tragedies we can’t fathom or understand?”

We are not expected to understand.

Our lack of understanding confounds us, troubles us, and grieves us. His command, His promise, “Rest in my peace. It surpasses your bewilderment and grief.”

I attended the funeral service for my friend’s husband. The music enveloped me as I sat accompanied by a few women who live in our shelter and one other friend.

We were such a contrast, lining that pew, I’m sure to most people.

Young women, older women, and a sharply dressed professional and member of our board of directors, we lined one of the pews. All of us there as friends together loving our friend through her loss.

The minister welcomed us with a prayer and all joined in singing Amazing Grace. My board member and friend, the definition of a gentleman, sat on my right and a pregnant and homeless young woman, a resident of our shelter on my left. The gentleman, a crisp navy suit; the young soon to be mother, having no dresses wore a pair of denim capris, a maternity top and a bright scarf she later told me with a big smile she added to give “a pop of color”.

We sang together. We blended beautifully.

We sang Amazing Grace as if we’d all been singing in the same little church choir for years. By the third verse, I found myself in tears over the beauty of this grace, this peaceful worship.

The minister spoke from Philippians, Chapter 4. He spoke of the pain of death. He spoke of grief and of the hope of heaven. Then, he closed with verse seven:

“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Phil. 4:7

Quietly, I closed my eyes then and thanked God for His words and His lyrics, our Amazing God, our God who longs to be noticed.

I am noticing again. How can I not?

My friend, now a widow returned to work at our shelter.

A very young new mom and precious newborn baby girl, anticipating her return. A child, a mama, an older wise lady.

A young woman, burdened by mistakes but believing in good

And a front porch fern with open mouthed, frantically happy birds

Saying “Begin again”.

Finding feathers and noticing God. We begin again.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee, sharing, learning, being brave.

The Bluest of Days

Children, courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

This time last week I was hoping for more time of quiet. I knew pretty soon I’d be interrupted by noisy kitchen rumblings and Saturday morning useless television.

But, I stopped my down time and moved slowly from the couch to shower when my daughter offered to have lunch and go antique shopping. A tiny little town about twenty minutes away, our favorite spot, we’d need to hurry she said.

Just time enough to “go junkin'” and have a little lunch, then back home so she could go fishing with her fiance.

My plan had been to write, to try and make sense of some of the thoughts from a rough previous week.

I had asked a friend earlier this month…I can’t decide if I’m overwhelmed or sad. Just so much good, so much sad, so much to celebrate, so much to grieve.

There was such a disconnect. I felt so disjointed.

I was thinking about sadness and a longing to be hopeful. I felt like life had become too much for me understand and the idea of being hopeful and surrendered was a burden, a chore. Felt unattainable.

Resistant to hoping, I struggled, because all I kept thinking was

Sometimes being sad makes sense and hope feels like being stranded in a deep grey ocean, clinging tightly to whatever is possible, staying afloat, yet wondering, “How will I ever get to shore?”

I attended the funeral of a friend’s husband of 22 years. He, I believe, was on the cusp of living fully, freely. Suddenly massively unexpectedly. he died on an otherwise predictable day. His wife, my friend is sad.

Sadness makes sense.

And I had been stuck on something I couldn’t change. I wanted mama here, their grandma. Ausin will be graduating from high school and Heather will be trying on wedding dresses…both happening in just days, weeks.

Sadness makes sense when grandmas don’t live until grandchildren become adults. This is truth, to me.

Being sad made sense…the kind of trying to but can’t snap out of it sense. But, forced to be a secret kind of sadness because you can’t or don’t really let on how hopeless missing someone feels.

The spiraling down hopelessness made even more ugly because of the feeling of “shouldn’t feel this way” and “your faith is an example to everyone so you can’t be so afraid, so sad, so weak.”

And the promises of and from God are good. But still, that dark grey ocean of longing for what no longer can be surrounds you as you peer anxiously and vacantly to see, feel that hope.

There you are holding onto to what you know of hope; but, still squinting through tired, heavy eyes for rescue, hope…stumbling and stepping cautiously for a level, safe place.

We all stumble in many ways. James 3:2

Days passed, thoughts gathering, circled around and stored up for sharing. Yet, no time for writing, my journal filled with ramblings of prayer and promises of good to come.

Jotted down thoughts on sadness, on hope. Lists made of scriptural recordings of sad and wandering people like me…themselves floating in the murk of what they knew, never doubted, truly and deeply knew was a strong solid hope, yet they too wondered

” How long, Lord until hope is again my safety, my solace?”

How long, Lord until I see your glory?

How long until I see you, know and believe in Hope?

Writing about sad making sense and hope feeling like lost was on my mind and heavy in my heart until last Saturday when I said yes to lunch and shopping.

Until, I walked outside and saw the sky, saw God.

“Look at the sky, Heather, not a single cloud.” I said, lingering for a minute, my face turned upward as I pulled out of the drive.

Nothing but blue.

The brilliant, bluest expanse of blue, as if heaven had thrown open its arms to say, ” All is well.”

My daughter and I had lunch, she discovered the sweetest idea for her reception tables and we headed back home.

Pretty country roads on a blue sky day with happy talk of wedding and then, ” Oh, mama”

And I turn towards her face to see a flash of blue pajama bottoms, a child badly injured.

We stop abruptly, side of the road, get out of my car, hurrying.

She consoled. She comforted. She nurtured. Talked of 5th grade and basketball. Teacher voice, calm and intent . She prayed, silently, kneeling amongst overgrown weeds.

And again, that same blue sky buffeted us as I ran without thinking to pray…to a sister, a mama and held hands pleading ,

“Jesus, save this child. We are certain Lord of your love for us. Please, Jesus, save this child.”

I had never prayed this way. Never implored, pleaded, cried out in this tone…this manner.

Praying, hoping, knowing, trusting.

And a week ago tomorrow, afraid of what I might hear, I found hope again in the voice of a mama who answered a hospital room phone saying,

“He’s gonna be just fine.

I recognize your voice, you held me. You prayed.”

Hope, I see you. You, God are my hope.

little sayings big thoughts

courage, Faith, family, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Closer to God

I cannot remember when, but someone complimented, noticed my faith.

I wish I could remember, just a conversation in passing I think.

I thanked them….said “I’m a work in progress.” Because I am.

Progress not perfection.

Doubtful but not nearly as often doubting God.

And lately, I say “Time will tell” about most everything.

And I’ve said “God has a plan.”

in response to unknowns so many times a day I should be constantly at rest, in submission.

And I recall my best stance, my life verse, the Lisa God knows best, God made this way.

Quietly confident…resting strongly. Isaiah 30:15

I woke this morning and thought of prayer. Can’t see, can’t touch, can’t measure…like faith it is most real in the looking back, the remembering of the written, the spoken, the thought, the mentioned to God, to friend, just to self. I thought of my frustrations, my drive to intervene, to fix, to shed light on an unfair turn of events.

My prayer, my thoughts, my surrender. God answered. He convicted. The unfair and upsetting became fair and possible.

I had rested. I had waited. I am waiting more often.

I am drawing near, staying near.

Refusing to doubt.

Doing what I can…letting God do the rest.

Little sayings.

Big thoughts.

Early morning brings a prayer of clarity:

Lord, remind me of the gift of coming back to you. Remind me of clarity and of your sovereignty. Keep me aware of the joy of quiet. Make me an example to others of the blessing of trust, of confident quiet. Give me simple, yet powerful boldness in declaring your mercy and your grace and Lord, most of all, thank you for loving me in the times my prayers are angry, rambling, frustrated, and disheartened. I thank you Lord, for the gift of quiet, for this is when I see, I feel, I recognize…

You were listening.

In Jesus name, Amen.

Morning, finally

Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

Glory

Waking to pitch black wondering of what time it might be.

Motionless body, then turning to side hoping to drift

Still as possible, don’t look at time…just drift back to slumber.

Quiet body but thoughts refusing to let up.

So, prayers begin, a mental lullaby, offered up in singsong then interrupted by alarm.

Slow, quiet progression towards coffee and foggy rhythmic sound of raindrops.

Rain falling

Prayers uttered

Begin again

So, I sit and wrap in quilt waiting for morning, finally hear them

Birds and their springtime sounds

Joy muffled by moisture landing on lush green

Journal, Psalms, Proverb, pen and prayer

Blessings and Supplication

Begin again

Morning, finally.

thread and pattern

courage, Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I surprised myself and never doubted my decision. In general, this is not me. Time has passed now and the weave and texture of each word, each encounter, I fear will become less significant.

That the beauty of the right word at the right time will be wasted and fade into the mix of my crazy busy days of late.

Two weeks ago now, I needed a place to stay and secretly hoped to be invited by my cousin.

An overnight trip to prepare Austin for college. Normally, I’d treasure time alone, hotel room, book, hot bath.

Yet, I was intrigued by the idea of meeting up with my cousin.

This is new and strange behavior for me.

I am not a “friend-ly” person.

Never one to congregate, weekend for girls, or endless daily talks with girlfriends.

Maybe it’s growing up the only little girl in a rowdy “little rascals” type neighborhood, or most likely just the cautiously introverted thinker I am.

I have lots to say, I’m just particular about who I say it to. Because it’s usually an honest conversation, I’m careful to engage.

Not much on shallow filling of conversation space with talk about the insignificant

Always been the one to think about the back scene of people’s circumstances and stories.

So, to be excited to have dinner and conversation in a home with a distant cousin and her husband on a trip to decide my son’s future…

Again, strange, atypical behavior for me that might require small talk.

Strange for her too, maybe not having seen me in about 20 years. Her husband questioned the offer.

My husband questioned my acceptance.

I imagined cool conversations about children, God, and touching up paintings of childhood memories.

I found their home and stepped onto the beautiful porch overlooking the marsh, consoling her dogs as I walked up, a stranger, and then she greeted me and we hugged, big southern girl cousin hugs and she said…stepping back

“Oh, my goodness, you look like your mama.”

I replied, honestly and without hesitation “I know. Some days that’s good, others not so much.”

And then, we began the filling in of the missing years, the misconceptions, myths and the preconceptions.

Family junk, legacy, laughter, closeted skeleton stories

Threads of our pasts more than anything at all…most of all our faith in God.

Our dinner and breakfast conversations all about childhoods both blessed and marred…commonalities and clarity.

Vickie called it a “thread”…such a tender strand of strength we both held.

A powerful acknowledgement of ” what messes our lives have been…but grace…

But, Faith.”

She prayed the right prayers, said the right things. Words just bounced between us, meaningful ones I grasped like a quick reaching up with hand to embrace, hold softly and tightly in my palm.

“Keeping this one.”

At church, I was greeted by a woman who said.

“You’re growing. I can see it.”

Years ago, this same person anxiously approached me offering an embrace. She sensed and I believe, was told that I’m not so open to hugs and attention and overwhelming questions about myself, my life. Over time she honored that, yet continued to greet me with a handshake and a smile…still though strong words of encouragement and of reinforcement of my faith path.

Saying things like…”God has great plans for you.” or “I love to read your column. God is using you.”

I smiled and said ” Thank you.” Still sort of awkwardly feeling as if her eye was constantly on me.

The closeness made me feel oddly inadequate. So, I avoided her and she retreated, until one Sunday. One sentence.

She and I, in the church bathroom, washing hands together. Miss Bobbie, a thread in my pattern.

“You are growing. I can see it.” Miss Bobbie

Several days ago, I commented on a blog post by Jennifer Dukes Lee about being homesick, about her struggles to find her way as a college student. Jennifer’s struggle to find her way resonated with me in a way much broader. My struggle was about prayer.

My struggle was simple, but, oh so destructive. I did not believe God heard my prayers, therefore I had decided it was too hard to pray for fear of delay or disappointment.

I bravely commented on Jennifer’s blog.

” I have a tendency to pray half-heartedly to avoid disappointment.”

And Jennifer Dukes Lee responded to God’s prompting, just for me at just this time with:

“When I get weary of praying I remember that one day I will be in Heaven and when I get there and meet God, I want Him to recognize me as woman who was persistent in prayer.” Jennifer

A thread in my pattern, Jennifer, a woman I’ve never met.

And early this morning my friend Debra greeted me via Facebook and coffee together, but miles apart.

” I pray for you daily.”

Debra, a thread in my pattern

My growing pattern.

And like Jennifer, I want to be recognized by God and even now in my earthly, chaotic, doubtful days I am hearing Him say so, so clearly…

“You are growing, Lisa. I see it.” God

Thank you Jennifer!

Answered Prayers and Tomorrows too Soon

Children, courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

Two big changes are coming all at once.

My daughter’s engaged to the boy, now a man, with the big truck with the Bible on the seat and the beautiful smile.

The future Mr. and Mrs. Benji Brown

The one she woke me over 7 years ago to say. ” I’ve found him!”

And half asleep in the dark, I knew she was smiling.

I thought a long time that night of the sweet, determined confidence in her announcement.

And now, I see her tender smiling tears and I am joyously overwhelmed. To see her in love and preparing to wed, an answered prayer and blessing.

A year away but feeling like it’s tomorrow and tomorrow is feeling too soon.

Too soon for happy, teary, joyful goodbyes

Goodbyes covered in prayers of blessing and “Don’t forget I love you’s”.

My tomorrows for now are spent intentionally reminding of love…mine and God’s and of being weepy at unexpected times in my day.

My daily text messages of scripture continues, but my focus is intentional to show a more blessed me and a joy-filled temperament…one that shows, not just speaks…one that lives out what I have spoken so long.

“You are a blessing to me”.

Still, the thought of a house without my daughter and my son moistens my eyes.

Weepiness is not really me.

But it is my heart and they are my heart, my soul.

So, in the meantime there are ways to move towards this time of the coming tomorrows.

Like standing in the center of their bedrooms after they’ve left for the day lingering in the quiet, yet noisy messiness of their stuff.

Art and antiques on my daughter’s walls, bed made just so, heirlooms of her grandma’s, dried flowers from Benji, Bible, journals and massive amounts of clothing filling her closet.

Down the hall, sparse and organized, my son’s room, a guitar and flags, hoodies, hats and an overabundance of shoes lined up in orderly fashion

College acceptance letters neatly stacked on the corner of his desk. A lone blue folder, silver letters in marker “Citadel”.

Last week, I dropped him off for “Pre-Knob” overnight at The Citadel.

He turned the corner and walked alone under the canopy of oaks.

His posture was that of a man, broad shouldered, briskly walking towards his future.

I felt it.

I saw it in his steps, a readiness to decide his future.

So, I fell behind a distance and I let him go.

Austin at The Citadel, strong and determined.

And I know…they have been taught along the way.

Teach your children to choose the right path, and when they are older, they will remain upon it. Proverbs 22:6

Meeting Martha

courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

The sifter and the sifted

If I had the chance, I’d like to meet Martha. I’d tell her about my Children’s Sermon with the old sifter and grater. I’d explain how we talked about grating cheese for macaroni and sifting flour for baking a pound cake.

Martha would understand the point of the rusty grater and the sifter…the laborious process of being changed for better, refined, finer, softer.

Martha, who was frantic and frustrated

Preparing the house and the dinner for Jesus.

I wonder if I’d vacuum or wait peacefully expectantly.

Would I, like Martha go a little crazy?

Become the martyr of housework, miserable and bitter?

My family, like Mary, off in a corner letting my mood run its course.

Watching dogs, feeding dogs

Washing clothes, folding clothes

Working hard at work and hard at home.

Methodical sameness of effort.

Early mornings and late nights.

Then quiet time feels like striving, pushing, forcing

And love feels like work

The bitter seed of pity grows big and strong roots and I’m stuck in a place of distress and discouragement.

Where are your blessings, Lord and where is my joy?

I can see Martha in me.

Martha, and me, sifted and refined by the words of Jesus

Reminded to lay her burdens down

Martha, who felt her efforts went unnoticed.

That her words mattered little and her sacrifice was nothing more than expectation that someone might notice.

Martha, who had a hard time

A very hard time believing that her crazy, frantic efforts were nothing more than distractions and anxious control.

I’d love to meet Martha.

The Martha who was reminded to wait.

The Martha who gave up on Jesus.

I’d ask her, what I believe was true of me and of Martha

“Was it hard Martha, to lay it all down to surrender?”

“Did it get easier to trust…to be more like Mary…or was it something you had to work on every day?”

I’d ask about her brother Lazarus, because I wonder

“Did you feel responsible, you with the inconsistent faith, for Jesus not showing up soon enough?”

Most of all I’d like to know,

“Did you finally embrace faith that can’t be seen when your precious brother came to life with Jesus’s loving hand of healing?”

“Martha, did you finally let go of control when Jesus said?”

“Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”

And then, I’d say with a tight and teary hug…

“Thank you Martha, for being you and for being me.

my good walk

Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

Somebody must have come along early that murky morning.

Made a little bridge from boards to ease my step to the shore.

To the skyline of blue over pinkish orange sunrise and smooth sand.

So, I stepped lightly over the little dune and glanced towards the water, then lifted my head up towards heaven to begin my day.

To begin my walk.

My good walk. Hopeful and clear.

Somebody saw the muddy, grown up mess and bridged it with cast aside boards to beckon me to the shore.

To encourage my steps towards good

I’m remembering my grandma and her marked up Bible and the vision of her in the lamplight every night, steadfast and determined.

Remembering the traveling pastor who taught me of grace and welcomed a single mama to the tiny little generations of family run church.

Remembering the Easter egg hunts and the grace of the little ladies who loved on me because they loved on my children.

The black station wagon that pulled up to the house and picked Heather up for Sunday School at the home of me, the single mama, trying to make it alone.

Feeling scarlet and scorned. But a bridge was built towards my good walk because of a little black station wagon and a grandma and grandpa.

Heather loving little Poplar Springs Baptist Church, a bridge to my good walk.

And Austin a toddler, sitting as quiet as a little old man.

Another bridge…a clear and easy path to my good walk.

Friends like Debra who never rejected, always prayed.

Family who waited to see my good walk, the walk of faith and strength.

So many bridges to the good walk…path clearing people, beckoning me lovingly to follow along in their following of Jesus…on the good walk.

Good Friday, what a good walk, a long and torturous walk to the cross.

Jesus, miraculous, beautiful, merciful Savior

Saver of lives, redeemer of scorned and sinful, friend of sinners and thieves, followed by many as he walked on earth and then followed by few as he chose the surrendered walk, ultimate sacrifice to bridge our wrong, to make clear the good way, the good walk.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. John 3:16-17

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