Mercy prayers and stories

Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

Lord, have mercy...

Lord, have mercy…

What makes some of us anxious, even excited to share our days before coming to Christ while others keep their stories hidden? My grandmother, “Bama”, the daughter of a Methodist minister would start up conversations wherever she found opportunity.

A petite woman, dressed in crisp blouses and slacks, she found joy in engaging with others.  She always found a way to listen and make others believe she completely understood.

She was merciful.  She gave mercy.  Had received mercy.

She was an interested listener, so people shared. She didn’t have to be in church to talk about Jesus, about her faith and sometimes about us, struggles she was praying about or had made it through.

The favor she’d been shown, inherited, carried her through to a place of unashamed sharing her story of redemption and drawing out the stories of those she met.

Some said she shared too much information; was nosy and annoying but, she kept right on connecting in the beauty shop, the dime store or the fellowship hall. She was telling and listening to testimonies, stories of Jesus.

One morning last week, praying before the workday, I thanked God for my salvation through His Son, Jesus Christ.  And then, thoughts becoming prayers, I prayed “God, thank you for saving me long before I asked.”

Isn’t this the prayer of every person who has finally come to Jesus?

The story of every person who like Zacchaeus, wanting to know Jesus; but, believing too much wrongdoing and greed made him unworthy.  Or maybe like the Samaritan woman, shamed by wrong choices, yet welcomed by Jesus in the presence of those who scorned her.  Or the leper, discarded and avoided, yet embraced by the love of Jesus.  Wouldn’t it be amazing to have testimony Sunday and hear Zacchaeus telling, excitedly about Jesus wanting to dine with him, wanting to save him!  Imagine the Samaritan woman standing behind the pulpit in your church, and tearfully describing the welcoming salvation of Jesus despite her sins. I can hear her telling of the love she felt when Jesus defended her against the comments of onlookers who labeled her unclean and even reported to Jesus her record of sin.  What a touching and beautiful time it would be to see the horribly disfigured and cast aside leper standing in your sanctuary, healthy and radiantly smiling describing the healing hand of God, through Jesus!

Every one of them could proclaim, the Psalmist’s words

Praise God, who did not ignore my prayer and did not withdraw His unfailing love from me!  Psalm 66:20

Jesus was saving them before he even encountered them, for His best, waiting to offer redemption in simple, yet intentional encounters.

I learned about the struggles of two friends in our church recently. Both shared, through tears, and shaky voices glimpses into their lives before they were walking with God.  Both caught me by surprise. Powerful testimonies and disclosures of damaging choices and paths wrongly taken, spoken as examples of grace.  It would make sense to wonder, “Why are they sharing so much?”  or “How can they admit their mistakes in front of a church full of people who really did not need to know?”

Because, they know what it means to Tell the Story of Jesus, the story of His truth, “Truth Telling”, I like to call it.

I sometimes think I have a bit of my grandma in me.  I am drawn to the stories of others.  I love to share stories of His place in my heart, my life.

And just like the redeemed in the pews or in the parking lot or waiting in line at the checkout, I’m comparing notes, comparing encounters with Jesus who saved me.

Answered my prayer, seeking mercy.

I’m remembering a time of failure and devastation when the preacher from the tiny little white church stopped by to visit…he’d heard my story…everyone had.

And when I asked,  “How can I get through this?”

His kind and gentle voice answered firmly,

“Just pray for mercy.”

I did. I still do.

And now,  like my grandma. I love to listen and tell.

Stories of Jesus and His mercy.

What’s your story of Jesus, your redemption story, your truth?

Your  “Lord, have mercy” story ?

Come and listen, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what He did for me. Psalm 66:16 

 

strong words

courage, Faith, Trust, Uncategorized
Even so

Even so

Patience is intentional.

It is effort.

Not ever effortless.

Faith is a solid, yet sweet statement.

Not meek;  Faith is quite courageous.

Intentional

Hope, a word offered up as buoy, as preservation.

A pleasant wish to ease the distressed

Devoid of much at all really to sustain, to hold up.

Until anchored in Sovereign strength of God,

Patience and hope are just poetry without faith in God.

Little pleasantries become confident stories.

Strong words

Not timid “hope so’s'”

Or, ” have faith’s”

Or  little “well wishes”

But, well souls.

Confident and unshaken wellness

It is Well. It is Well

with my soul, Strong words.

Strong souls.

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

 

Before I forget what I realized

Children, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized
My heart

My heart

I realized a parenting truth last week.

Time has not been kind to my writing joy.

I must record this truth. I must remind myself of its clarity.

The only writing this past week has been penciled in thoughts about prayer, faith, rewriting and remembering.

Busy times, baseball season, lingering, annoying cold and cough.

So, my writing has been non-existent.

Last week, I scripted a prayer that came to me with ease.

My prayer, Lord, help me to know what to say and when to say it.

Give Heather and Austin the clarity they need and make yourself known to them daily, because I know you are there…in their hearts.

It occurred to me that being mama at this point is so much more about availability than ability.

So much more about staying back, yet being there when called upon.

More like waiting to be inquired of, being in tune with Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak way of love, of mothering.

Waiting to advise, to direct…so unmotherly.

Just to be there… waiting on sidelines, in background

And ready to answer with love.

Holding closely, loving wholeheartedly, pointing towards Jesus.

So, I must remember this parenting epiphany

I must record this knowledge to carry through the approaching moving away.

Be available as needed.

Only as needed.

They are able.

They have been trained.

Be there…love with availability, as needed, requested.

Train up a child in the way he should go…when they are old, they will not depart from it.  Proverbs 22:6

humble believer – the one believed to fail

Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

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Pretty soon, I’m taking a trip down country roads.

A neighboring county where the roads become pretty hills and valleys, oak trees and old barns, daffodils blooming freestyle.

I’ll be looking for an old country cemetery that might have one headstone marked with the name belonging to an ancestor on my daddy’s side.

An ancient military man named Jabez Hendrix.

My brother, connecting and seeking, a habit of his.

A longing, perhaps to understand more, to fill in missing pieces and endings to stories that might be clearer, happier and hopeful.

Just so happens Jabez Hendrix is buried close by.

In the meantime, I am fascinated by Jabez of the Bible.

Just a few sentences about one son in a family of several sons.

Likened to the runt of a large breed of pups.

The one that caused mama dog pain, scrawny and most likely not the pick of the litter. The son whose name meant “bore in pain”.

Yet, he believed and trusted God for more.

Was bold enough to grasp the possibility of a God who created all.

Was confident enough to request more than just enough

Was humble enough to ask for God to stay close by, to ask for God to keep his hand ever present.

Yet, he knew of frailty and falling  asking God, “keep me from evil.”

Jabez, born to fail, believed in more.

Asked for more and received.

I’m praying like Jabez going on four days now.

Thinking of the blessings God has for me.

The blessings I never thought to ask for

The people he wants to place on my path

The broadening of my territory, my influence and influencers.

His hand, at my humble request kept securely close

Keeping me from evil.

Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil…So God granted him what he requested. I Chronicles 4: 9-10

The one who was most shy, most awkward, most likely to hide away.

The one searching for identity and getting lost in life, disconnected, disowned, discarded

I am the one who believes, finally in God.

His hand upon me.

His placing and planning of my territory.

His keeping me from evil.

Loved by God, the one with less than hopeful beginning and rebellious crazy, scary middle.

Fascinated and acquainted with God’s Jabez

The humble believer.

A courageous soldier, ancient uncle, laid to rest in a country cemetery a country ride away.

 

 

Grace, still

courage, Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

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Is it true that a man was caged, standing tall and strong as he waited for the trail of fire to ignite his body?

Are children being ravaged and beheaded?

Are quiet men who profess Jesus lined up along the shore, told to kneel and then decapitated?

Kneeling, accepting the firm hand pushing their frames into the pristine sand anticipating the horrific force of death?

Did their blood make bright red the vast expanse of ocean, tinting pink the foamy tide until the high and low of nature settled its remnants along the ocean floor?

I wish I knew more, or maybe I am glad I do not. I am not a political person. I’m overwhelmed by world news and our country’s news. Coverage so divisive and frustrating, filled with uncertainties.   If I’m honest, I am dangerously close to apathy. I am not all informed, but I can’t stop thinking about the 21.

I wish I knew that the horrors were exaggerated.

I read that reverent, firmly spoken prayers were uttered.

The mouthing of silent reassurances offered up in Jesus’ name.

The martyred  21  offering final and steadfast faith in God through prayers soft praises on a shore

Hollywood-esque portrayal of riveting and graphic violence

Perhaps, they knew we would not look away.

A cinematic broadcast of martyrdom simply to illicit our fear.

Brutal and belligerent terror, tyranny has gotten our attention.

But, we know of grace.

And we know of  heaven and the glory to come.

That same shoreline ravaged by death met the morn of  today.

The heavens opened and the warmth of a tangerine sky greeted our world.

The waves built up from the stirrings within and from below.

They crashed upon the shore again

Again, and again.

Making beautiful and resoundingly peaceful the place in the sand of lost lives

Fresh and new, grace still there. That same place of deaths.

Grace is there.

A cloud covered billowy sky with glimpses of  God’s grace remains.

His grace endures, makes new.  The heavens declare it so.

Let no one tell you otherwise.

Stand firm and be still in God’s grace, still.

The heavens tell of the glory of God.  The skies display His marvelous craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known. Psalm 19: 1-3

growing love

courage, Faith, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
The soil of faith

The soil of faith

To love someone in reality is easy.

I wonder if there’s more to be said for Faith that stands, that lingers.

That withstands and makes stands.

In love and for love.

Faith is the staying the course, an intentional choice of aligning.

Faith is decision tied to action, doing, not just being.

To have faith in someone is to cultivate love.

Tend to them. To grow them like seedlings.

Nourishing love’s roots planted deep.

Faith is the soil.

Hope is the water.

Love, like the changing of tiny branches from brittle to verdant green to lush and flowering,  stronger in the growing because of its roots and it’s soil.

Seasonless and for every season.

Faith-filled soil, Moist, pillows of soil, cushioned by hope.

Love grows best there.

We plant. We water. God grows.

 

 

 

The clearing

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder
Hope and Believing

Hope and Believing

Hopefully, full of hope. And Blessed by my believing.

Blessings, unanswered prayers, all the longings of my heart.

Are cherished by a Sovereign and attentive Father who gently, yet persistently desires my trust.

Patiently, watchfully waiting for my trust.

Trust in His best, His time.

Yesterday, I was blessed with clarity.

An unexpected gift in the routine of my day.

A new understanding of Hope…more than a forced emotion I try to convince my doubtful heart and mind to believe in.

Nothing good comes by force. One of my favorite “notes to self”.

Sometimes I force myself to glean understanding from God’s word.

Compulsory reading of scripture, habitual even.

Moving into my day with empty devotion, empty heart.

It’s the times though that we are moved by a word in a new way and we are changed.

We remember. We cherish the clearing.

Hope.

Hope does disappoint. It is planted in our hearts from God.

Romans 5:5

And then a favorite song, heard in a new way on yesterday’s walk.

A song on repeat in my car, my mind…a  solo by me in our choir.

One stanza…just a line.

I listened and in the clearing, I heard.

God hears my imploring, sees my doubts, knows my anxious, analytical heart.

God is concerned with my calamity.

He longs for me to know this. To be changed by this knowing.

And simply, Believe.

“And all the while, you hear each desperate plea and long that we’d have faith to believe.”

Laura Story,  Blessings

The Beautiful After

courage, Faith, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
Fascinated with the fallen - Hunting Island, SC

Fascinated with the fallen – Hunting Island, SC

Massive branches, limbs, fronds border the shore.

Beautiful in their damaged and broken state.

Yet, strong and impressive in their beauty.

Luring us, to walk amongst the destruction.

To pose for photos next to nature’s enormous debris.

Standing proudly, smiling prominently as if an honor to be alongside.

The beautiful aftermath.

Storms cannot destroy grandeur.

Cannot diminish courage.

Will not silence or obscure the power of the telling.

The brave sharing of troubles that  came.

Of strength that was tested.

Strongly different, altered, broken, but not destroyed.

Softened, perhaps and surrendered by the grace of storm.

Conquerors, enduring hopeful survivors with fascinating stories.

My story, my song…sharing the beautiful afters.

 Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God, through Jesus. We gained this access through faith. So, we can stand and rejoice in the glory of God. We can rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering teaches us to persevere, which gives us character and character reminds us to rely on hope. 

Hope does not disappoint us.  Hope is God’s love poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit.  Romans 5: 1-5

Hope gets us through to the Beautiful After.

 

 

The catalyst, Colt

courage, Faith, family, Trust, Vulnerability
Photo credit - my beautiful school teacher daughter aka the Dog Whisperer

Photo credit – my beautiful school teacher daughter aka the Dog Whisperer

Most situations, crises, questions to be answered, issues resolved have a turning point…a turning of stubborn will or surrender and acceptance.

A tipping point, catalyst, straw- breaking camel’s back revelation.

Colt, a chocolate lab was I thought, the catalyst for us.

He almost went back to the shelter.

Me, in “I’ll show you.” mode.

My stubborn, I’ll show you ways almost made a point.

More than surrendering a shelter dog.

So much more about to be thrown back, given up on.

I am prone to making points and then quietly walking away.

Points that solve very little but make big statements.

Statements that say, “No more!  I am standing up for me!”.

Statements that are quick and decisive, for the sake of the upper hand.

Years of trauma make acceptance and waiting hard.

We kept Colt.

The catalyst, not a breaking point.

He’s settled in. So have I.

Into a bending.

A beautiful bending, a “Keeping”

Colt, the catalyst, the big change.

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; He rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for Him. Isaiah 30:18

of great significance and value

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

 

Press on - knees down, heads up

Press on – knees down, heads up

I’m not superstitious and don’t believe in luck or ritual.

Yet, when I glance down to find a penny on heads, I feel favor.

A shiny, but weathered coin, yet stoic forward facing.

Lincoln’s profile reminds of my father.

Strong jaw, contemplative eyes.

Favoring and reminding me of his heart, good and honest, although worn, battered and beaten by life.

A penny on heads early this morning in the chaos of the laundry room, I pick it up and smile, slipping it into the pocket of my robe.

Of great significance to me

A house is built by wisdom and becomes strong through good sense.  Through knowledge its rooms are filled with all sorts of precious riches and valuables. Proverbs 24:3-4

Common sense, a strong and honest heart, my father’s legacy.

Life beckons me to move courageously.

Quietly and confidently

With great significance

I am worthy and valued.

My fathers, both of them have told me so.