family

Geraniums and Guitars

bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, daughters, Faith, family, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, sons, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

The window box of my kitchen window was flowerless last year. Summer 2020 had only half-heartedness as far as color, bloom and tradition.

Days of sanitizing my arms, my car, my doorknobs, my conversations in a way, all caused by a virus.

Life was compromised by fear, animosity prompted by that fear and questions that seemed very unfair until I remembered no one knows what to do.

They don’t know either.

Fear is so much like anger.

Down the hall, leaning against the wall are two guitars, both in need of repair, one only worth fixing most likely. I’ll take it to my friend’s shop today.

I believe in its redemption after several hard years of refusing to let it go, but maybe uncertainty over whether it has importance.

This year, the geraniums are planted already.

Bordered by soft white tiny flowers, the vibrant red in the center tells me good morning and good evening as I stand in the kitchen.

Geraniums were my mama’s favorite, not necessarily mine. My daddy played guitar although I have only one vague memory of hearing him.

I only have the stories of others, stories of how he loved it.

How it loved him.

My mama taught me about plants, water early before the sun gets hot and again before it goes to bed.

Commitment leads to beauty.

I’m close to my parents long passed away because I plant red geraniums and I keep a guitar next to a nightstand.

It’s a weak substitution for conversations we never had, for reconciliation and resolution of hurts I may have caused them and they caused me.

Still, it feels perfect, the comfort of a red geranium and a silent guitar.

I’ve had chances to use the word “imperfect” as a description of my parenting with my children.

It feels like a balm to be able to tell them what they already know.

I pray that’s the way they see it, a gesture unlike stuff or sacrifice of sleep or even monetary indulgences.

I pray they’ve seen my heart quite a lot and enough.

The way I see the heart of my mama in my window box geraniums and in a quietly resting guitar down the hall.

It feels like honor. It feels like they are near, like peace. I embrace it.

“Dedicate your children to God and point them in the way that they should go, and the values they’ve learned from you will be with them for life.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭22:6‬ ‭TPT‬‬

God of the Clouds

bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, family, fear, grace, Peace, praise, Prayer, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom
all of it lining up

You can be sure I prayed on my first flight. There were many things I found odd and being a “noticer” of people, longing to exchange stories, clearly I was out of my element.

The woman next to me seemed flustered. I let her have the armrest the entire three plus hours. She, dressed in a tie dye hoodie with Colorado across her chest, made a low mumbling sound upon takeoff.

I closed my eyes, opened my palm and I said a prayer for us both.

She “played possum” or was sleeping.

The expectation of turbulence was announced and again an audible groan followed by a few more from the woman beside me.

I can’t tell you how close I came to offering my hand.

It was very difficult not to. Me, an empath deciding she was in need of kindness.

Instead, I read. “The Dutch House” is a captivating read about siblings, dysfunctional families and children who continued moving towards reconciliation and making sense of that dysfunction.

I read until I couldn’t stop my fear.

The plane seemed to be slowing. I raised the shade on the window to see we were on top of the clouds.

This didn’t calm me. Nor was I captivated by the beautiful reality.

I was surprised.

Me, the lover of noticing God in the splendor of His creation, not at all taken by the view.

I expected to be in awe. Instead, I clearly thought, “This is not natural. You don’t belong up here.”

That thought fed my fear and so I opened my tattered devotional, “Joy and Strength”.

I did a thing I sometimes do, see how dates or numbers might line up to send a good message from God to me.

I turned to page 327. The passages and commentary were about life and about death, about the reality of both.

“It may mean sickness as well as health; death as well as life; loss as well as gain; peril as well as safety; shipwreck by sea and accident on land…” Anthony W. Thorold

Okay.

I paused.

I thought, okay, okay and then thought maybe there are things I should have said to my family that I didn’t.

I sat calmly.

My eyes returned to the sweat crumpled boarding pass, Flight 372, Gate A53, Seat 12A (close to the emergency exit, close to the engine, next to someone who kept silent).

Not Flight 327, no it was 372 and this number had no relevance other than being the index page in the back of my book!

I settled, it was settled.

God is in the clouds.

With me.

All is well.

“Through you I’m saved—rescued from every trouble…Psalm 54:7

I’ll most likely fly again.

I’ll understand better that it’s a means to a destination,

settle in,

be still,

say your prayers,

clinch your fist upon landing,

be quietly cordial as you exit.

You got this, God is with you, the God of earth and sky.

Continue and believe

Tiny Things

birds, Children, contentment, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, love, Vulnerability, wonder

Outside the windows, the sunshine called our names.

Barely 10:00 on a Monday morning and I said, “We forgot to say Good Morning.”

I held her up to the window, the baby almost two, and together we said, “Good Morning, God. Thank you.”

Once outside, she ran ahead through the field and picked tiny yellow scattered all over wildflowers.

About the size of her finger, the pinky one, she gave them to me.

And I thought.

I could see myself living this way, no concern over fashion or makeup, no worry over whether I’m dressed according to trend.

How does a woman over 60 dress anyway? One who loves home most of all?

Silly but serious thought…I could live a simple life.

My food, the occasional PB&J and lots of fruit and for breakfast, cheesy scrambled eggs with bacon. Tomatoes and a little lettuce, crackers, Ritz, a splurge.

I am considering the ease of it all.

I could live this way out in the wildflowers under the cloudless blue sky.

I could seek this, I decided, as she beckoned me this morning, “Hurry, hurry!”

And I did.

And I will again.

Already Known

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, Children, Children’s Books, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

It’s become the norm for me to wake with a lyric or a verse. I know the song and it sets my tone. I open my Bible app and search for the verse if other thoughts don’t get me off course.

The promise of today is bright sunshine and the Labrador returns with the ball jammed into his cheek. I step outside and decide just a couple of tosses. It’s still too cold, early Friday morning.

Fully Known and Loved

He’s satisfied and so am I. I turn to go inside, my feet numb from the cold hard ground and I see the beauty of what seems to be an overnight changing to green.

I find myself wondering if God is aware. Of my waking on a Friday morning after sleeping hard from unacknowledged exhaustion.

Did God know I’d wake up with the words to a song by J.J. Heller, “You Already Know”? (Yes, I adore her.) Did God know I’d be standing barefoot and I’d listen to Him reminding me of the dangers of comparison?

Does God know how many blades of grass surround my feet? Is he aware of every rain drenched fallen camellia? I believe so.

“But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭10:30-31‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We are important to God. Courage and trust are the evidence of our embracing this as belief.

Hagar, a pregnant mistress in the Old Testament, used by others to fulfill a longing, felt abandoned, rejected, unnecessary. She longed to escape the bitter condemnation of Sarah. She fled into the wilderness.

God met her there. He pointed out the water she’d been thirsting for.

I wondered this morning if she’d been standing near the flow of water and couldn’t hear it or if she’d become so worried, afraid, confused and maybe angry over how her life’s direction had pointed towards self-destruction, that she couldn’t see the provision of God waiting there.

So, God pointed it out. She was changed by seeing that she’d been seen herself.

“So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.””
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭16:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In a few weeks, a children’s book illustrated and written by me will be available. I may have chances to share its backstory, a story I only recently realized but God already knew.

“Look At The Birds” is a book born of talks with my granddaughter about birds and talks between God and me about worry, worth and trust.

The Birds

It’s a book with a mission of helping children understand their value is determined by Jesus and no one or no place else.

It’s a message God longed for me, the wife, the mother, grandmother, the author, the artist, to begin to finally embrace.

Maybe other adults too.

Solace There

Children, confidence, contentment, daughters, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, mercy, Peace, sons, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Welcoming Peace

I drive the trio of two lane roads to my morning destination, a right turn, a right turn and another and a final sharp right that leads me on clay road with deep moss covered ditches holding up deeper rooted trees.

I think of my children. Mamas of adult children do this, just are less apt to share so much.

More inclined to keep the thoughts to ourselves as if we’re not supposed to have them.

I think of the vast differences of the two, a daughter and a son. Different locations, one like the mouse called country and the other called city.

Likeness in their initiative, their determination, their deeply instilled must have passed from parents and grandparents, work hard, work is a representation of you.

It’s an odd thing to want to quell honorable ambition, to encourage them not to do too much, to not exhaust themselves.

Hard because you remember the you they saw as a professional, the little girl and boy who didn’t quite understand it all maybe, just knew their mama worked hard at hard things.

So, you encourage self-awareness, you hint at balance, you warn of self-care and of being certain you know it’s not work that gauges your value, it is peace at the end of the day and again the next morning.

My mornings have a pattern now. Read something in my Bible, sip coffee, write some things down, circle the names.

On two or three days I drive in the dark and on good days I’m not tailgated or blinded by truck lights undimmed. I arrive and situate myself for the day, a visitor and helper.

If there is time and the Spirit leads, I pray. I watch the windows and listen for the waking child.

I anticipate the sun rising across the wide sky. I step outside and say “Good Morning, God”. Later, I do the same with the baby.

“For thy mercy is great above the heavens: and thy truth reacheth unto the clouds.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭108:4‬ ‭KJV‬‬

On Tuesday, the sky was only grey mixed with clouds dispersing to bring the morning. Clouds like in a children’s picture book, fat white fluffs with underbellies defined with thick crayon.

Made me think I could grab one.

The clouds that shifted all day that began with not a whole lot of tangerine hue, instead a spew of sparsely filtered white either coming down from heaven to us or reaching back up.

Either way, I noticed. I noticed God.

I stood and honored it, the way God substituted happy orange for quiet iridescence.

Solace.

I woke remembering today.

Remembering conversations with my children, the authenticity of them, the timing, the words unafraid to be spoken, the replies of gratefulness and of

you’re welcome.

Welcomed in.

There is solace there.

Gratitude immeasurable there.

Mercy for mothering mistakes, the truth of us now with God’s grace covering them all and the acceptance of new days.

Continue and believe. Continue towards peace today.

There’s just so very much of it waiting.

Cake Tomorrow

Art, birthday, courage, daughters, family, mixed media painting, Motherhood, painting, wonder
January 30th – Cake With Your Mama Day

One of my favorite things to see is the expression on my son in law’s face when I talk about art or life or I’m uncharacteristically funny.

We were sharing our Saturday plans, “cake with your mama day” and the whole idea of it.

Mama baked, January 30th was her birthday, still is and so, we’ll celebrate it by eating cake and telling other people about it.

He smiles, looks at my daughter. I walk towards my car and say, I guess most people think I’m weird!

My daughter shouted back,

“No, just crazy!”

And I saw them smile and I drove away, knowing they think I’m crazy in a good way, the way God made me.

“I thank you, God, for making me so mysteriously complex! Everything you do is marvelously breathtaking. It simply amazes me to think about it! How thoroughly you know me, Lord!”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭TPT

Crazy for fun ideas and for sharing them?

It’s the way God designed me.

Linking up with others here prompted by “design” and I’m hoping they’ll have cake with their mama tomorrow or cake by themselves or with someone to honor her!

FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: Design

(Artwork above is available to purchase.)

Love, Said the Sky

Abuse Survivor, birds, Christmas, confidence, contentment, Faith, family, freedom, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

“We will enhance your beauty, encircling you with our golden reins of love. You will be marked with our redeeming grace.”
‭‭Song of Songs‬ ‭1:11‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Pink Embrace

I returned to a book in the Bible yesterday, read all eight chapters of the odd one, the complex one I avoided, the one that confused and confuses, the one that felt oddly sexual and therefore, made me feel dirty, caused me to withdraw, decide it didn’t belong.

The timing of the reading was brought on by something unintentional. I’d been scurrying around, doing busy Christmas things, avoiding the onslaught of bad news and stuffing down my frustration over Christmas not being the way it should.

For no real reason I began to wonder how many of us really believe God loves us, not in an occasional way when a song makes it seem so or in the touch of a loved one, the smile of a baby, the surprise of a special gift?

My sister in law gave me a present wrapped in thick paper sprinkled with holly berries. We weren’t supposed to exchange I told her, just the crazy “white elephant” thing, that was the plan.

I looked across the room at her, the distance of the living room rug and she said,

“Your mama told me to get you that.” And our eyes met, both puddled and the room went silent.

Inside a box, a cream colored canister adorned with a “red bird”, a cardinal.

She added, “because of your book.”

Two days later, I’m recalling my waking thoughts. I wondered how often my thoughts of God’s thoughts lean more towards correction, self-loathing, self-condemnation and whether I believe the ugly of me more often than His love.

Whether I believe God thinks these ways of me too.

I wondered again how many of us really believe we are loved, are longed for by God.

“It is you I long for, with no veil between us!”
‭‭Song of Songs‬ ‭1:7‬ ‭TPT‬‬

In comparing the two, how much of our thoughts are devoted to measuring up, second guessing our pasts, taking inventory of our wrongs or not yet good enoughs?

What amount of our time and thought is devoted to being embraced by God, truly believing you are loved?

That God is love.

That love fully believed will bring peace, will model, actually exude peace and strength.

The cardinal canister is on my kitchen counter with a little ceramic sparrow resting on top, resembling a knob, a daughter memory.

I’ve decided it will be a vessel for answered prayers and things God causes me to see, I’ll scribble onto strips of paper, leave them there forever as love’s legacy.

Because I didn’t think of it on Saturday, today I’m certain.

My mama knows about the book I’ve written, about to be published, called “Look at The Birds”. It is she who always told me “don’t stress”, not to worry.

Her hands and God’s made me brave, made it possible.

On Saturday, the family who travelled a couple of hours, the ones who felt safe in coming and were able, headed back home.

Me too, traveling the road from my daughter’s and buffeted by the most glorious pink aura.

No one around, country roads empty, I took my time to see clearly, God had been with us and He will continue to be.

He loves us so.

I believe and my believing will lead to peace and strength.

Now, I turn to the words of the Song of Songs, a poetic book of the Bible, an allegory written by Solomon.

“This divine parable penned by Solomon also describes the journey that every longing lover of Jesus will find as his or her very own.” Introduction, Song of Songs, Passion translation.

I find the place I read last week, the words that didn’t make me question, didn’t cause me to shut the book, confused over the passionate tone.

I’m instead, more certain of God’s extravagant love. A tear forms in my eye as I understand love.

My season is coming.

“The one I love calls to me: Arise, my dearest. Hurry, my darling. Come away with me! I have come as you have asked to draw you to my heart and lead you out. For now is the time, my beautiful one. The season has changed, the bondage of your barren winter has ended, and the season of hiding is over and gone. The rains have soaked the earth”
‭‭Song of Songs‬ ‭2:10-11‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Closer every moment to victorious.

The bondage of winter will end.

Continue and believe.

Peace Walking

Christmas, contentment, daughters, Faith, family, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing
Noticing God, Being Noticed by God

I’m certain God is intentional. On Monday, I believed this. My body tight and my soul sullen, I bundled up to walk.

My pace is swift I’ve been told. There’s motion in my movement, I swing my arms. I reckon there’s a rhythm in my ample hips. I walk on. It has its benefits.

I exited the trail onto the last cul de sac. The yellow leaves fluttering from the trees, adding to crunchy cushion under my feet. I turned the curve and a leaf affixed itself to my sleeve. I smiled and walked on.

“I’m with you.” I was certain of the message, the brilliant interruption. Around the bend and back uphill, the brittle yellow leaf lingered despite my pace. It wanted to be seen, it wanted my acceptance of its message.

“God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.” me

It’d been months since I jotted that sentiment, a long stretch of days just walking to let go worry and angst. God said “See me, I see you.”

“You are so intimately aware of me, Lord. You read my heart like an open book and you know all the words I’m about to speak before I even start a sentence! You know every step I will take before my journey even begins. You perceive every movement of my heart and soul, and you understand my every thought before it even enters my mind.

Yesterday, I walked again. Accompanied by my daughter and her daughter, the baby in her wagon all dressed in pink and her mama matching, her cap was pink.

We talked about Christmas, talked about random things.

Then my daughter looked at her child and shared a little story.

Sitting outside or walking I can’t recall, my daughter said a giant yellow leaf cascaded down from a tree and in front of the baby’s face before resting at her feet.

My daughter said she told her, “Look at that beautiful leaf, Elizabeth, just for us from God”.

And then together they gave thanks, the baby and her mama said,

Thank you, God.

I imagined her sweet little toddler tone. I remembered my yellow leaf of Monday. I knew then, why I didn’t settle down and write about it and then yesterday I knew again.

Now I know. Now I know.

God knows.

You’ve gone into my future to prepare the way, and in kindness you follow behind me to spare me from the harm of my past.

With your hand of love upon my life, you impart a blessing to me.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:2-5‬ ‭TPT‬‬

On this evening before Christmas, I pray your pace is slowed enough to notice.

To notice your path even though exhausted or uncertain is fully known and most of all, I hope God sees you, you see God and that you hear Him comforting you with the sweetest tone of all, the words,

“The pace of peace is easy, it’s slow, it’s me with you as you go. Come back, daughter. Walk with me.”

Merry Christmas friends!

Peace is a promise God keeps. Remember this with me.

Bucket Listless

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, heaven, hope, Salvation, Thanksgiving, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Someone said we shouldn’t have a bucket list if we believe in Jesus, believe in heaven.

Made sense, the whole reality of the mysterious truth of eternity, incomprehensible, some might say fantastical idea of God’s original plan, perfection.

That was a relief at least for me, me who’s never flown. I don’t possess a passport and have zero income except the occasional art purchase and a tiny retirement check.

In case you’re curious, it’s Italy.

Someone else reminded me of counting my many blessings, naming them one by one, noticing things, noticing God. I can do this again, a practice to revisit.

Treasures

Golden leaves on my headlight lit path

One golden leaf spinning down

A sky sprinkled with stars

A leftover cheese straw wrapped prettily

Watching Elizabeth waking up and talking to her crib friends

Walking together, saying “Hey” to the sunshine and our shadows

Several birds, very small flying upwards into the sky blue sky

Elizabeth sitting all dainty in her chair ringing her little Christmas bell, her smile, pure glee

The sunrise just now and birdsong causing me to go see where they’re nesting

Calming babies holding them close on their first grandparent visit

Listening to adult conversations between children and not adding my two cents, just being enthralled by their wellness, their voices, by them.

Waking up to rain on Thanksgiving and deciding it makes sense, 2020 and all

Stepping out anyway, my eye noticing the puddled up drop on the magenta rose

Clouds like puffs

Finding my children’s baby stuff

Not ruining the steaks or letting the bottoms of the cookies burn

I could go on, the infinite list, none of it “bucket”.

It’s been a while since I’ve written about mercy or grace, about God.

I wonder if I’m qualified at all.

I’ll wait and see and continue to listen.

Continue and believe.

I’m not listless after all.

“You can pass through his open gates with the password of praise. Come right into his presence with thanksgiving. Come bring your thank offering to him and affectionately bless his beautiful name! For the Lord is always good and ready to receive you. He’s so loving that it will amaze you— so kind that it will astound you! And he is famous for his faithfulness toward all. Everyone knows our God can be trusted, for he keeps his promises to every generation!”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭100:4-5‬ ‭TPT‬‬

So, I began again.

I thought of heaven again this morning, thought of the spectacular mystery just like faith, like hope, intangibles.

Invaluable treasures, the list I’m returning to

The smell of sausage in the kitchen

The thrill in the voice of a child over Christmas and drinking from a Santa mug instead of sippy cup

The sound of frenetic keyboard tapping as my son, home all week but a professional, passionate about his work, working.

A gift for no reason, a luxurious blanket that brought security, represented love

My husband’s announcement as he comes down the hall, “another beautiful day”.

Day 27 of my thankfulness notes:

Thankful for God’s grace.

Linking up with other bloggers here: https://fiveminutefriday.com/2020/11/26/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-grateful/