Not Common – Five minute Friday prompt

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

Maybe it’s age I thought, except it doesn’t feel like an aged thing to do. I look towards the sky, treetops, moon and sun. I pause in the connection that feels more like settled than sage.

Closer to God, closer to them. I see my father in the tallest of narrow pines, the moon resting there, unpretentious.

If I told you a story of my father, I might have described him as common. I may have told of remembering his scarcity of conversation. I may have told you about his best friend Thomas who looked after my mama after he died.

I may have told you of his intolerance towards the pompous or arrogant or his consistently trying to be more than life and hardship had equipped him to be.

I may even have told you about his love hate relationship with drink, loving the way it numbed his past, hating its angry hold.

Most likely, though I’d tell you he was handsome, neat as a pin and wisely quiet and refined. When he smiled, it was true.

I might tell you that I never saw him read his Bible, nor did I hear him pray out loud. I believe he did.

I believe he believed and he prayed the way he lived, like Paul urged, quiet and not for noticing.

¹¹and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you…I Thessalonians 4:11

Uncommonly quiet and simply uncommon…

We have that in common, I pray.

http://katemotaung.com/2016/11/10/five-minute-friday-common-a-giveaway/

Morning Reassured

Faith, family, grace, praise, Uncategorized

Day is done with a Beautiful “Amen”

What is morning

if not reassurance, or evening

if not acceptance?

Morning wakes with wondering,

What beauty might be mine?

Evening rests with a yearning,

Will there be acceptance of day?

Nightfall, like unprompted embrace with hand resting on the small of back,

A confirmation?

A gentle nod and slight smile, could it be

“All is fine.”

“You are good.”?

The early morning birdsong, an exhuberant testimony

and the crimson ribboned sky, an Amen.

Reassurances, to me

of God.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.

Indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. Psalm 16:6

The Story will Decide

Children, courage, family, Motherhood, praise, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Bible and Wisdom at day’s end

My children are no longer children and they may or may not read my blog.

They know I love words.

When they were little, I’d get a little elaborate in my explanation, get carried away in my telling of story meant to influence or remind.

Eyes rolled on little faces as the chance to tell them good things excited me so.

“Why do you talk that way?” they’d ask.

“Words are for using… if we have them, we should use them.”

And I never let up on my love of word.

So, to have a mother who writes, I doubt they’re surprised.

They may or may not read my blog.

I wonder sometimes; but, carry on regardless.

I like to think they do, maybe find time to scan my posts and smile to themselves.

Even on some level find it special or on another level maybe feel a tiny bit happy for me to be doing something good for me that I love.

I’m sitting here on a Friday with dusky sky signaling end to a long, long week.

I remembered a conversation I’d meant to never forget, this little truth from a conversation about my “book” last month:

“You should let the story decide the number of pages.”

This, from my son as I replied to his question…”Well, how many pages have you written of your book and how many is it going to be?”

I answered, “maybe 250 or 300.”

And he paused, maybe thinking, “Why on earth am I talking to my mother like a friend about her dreams?” and then he left this little morsel of wisdom:

“Let the story decide it’s length. Write it until you’ve finished.”

My daughter read yesterday’s blog post.

She loved it; loves me, she told me so.

Tucking In, Tying Shoes and Waiting to be Mama

Children, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Old rocker, new place and season, my daughter and her husband’s home

I took the country roads. Trees slightly curving inward with the wind and marigold hue of leaves gently loosened to fall to the ground, then lifted by breeze towards blue.

They were on the playground when I arrived. Chattering little voices becoming new friends, they turned to notice me, and my daughter tells them, “This is my mama.”

Their faces turn, pause as if they’re wondering, “My teacher has a mama?”

The first pair was a faded red.

The laces gray and soft from wear, I asked, “Do you want me to tie your shoes?”

He answered, “yes ma’am.” with a timid upturn of lip as I leaned to listen, and so I knelt to tie his shoes. Double knots, I remember we always did the double, sometimes triple. My son’s little legs, tanned by the Georgia sun, white crew socks and navy blue Keds, I saw him there.

I was visiting my daughter’s Pre-K class for the first time this year. I tied his shoes and he smiled, then another pair and another took their place in line, bent their sweet faces to watch me tie and each with a little pat on the tips of their toes, turned and ran off to play.

My daughter called them over, her tone firm and loving, “Line up and go to the rug.” Some lingered, some called out, “Mrs. Brown…he!” and one had left his shoes under the monkey bars.

A tiny little girl, her long blonde hair hanging in her eyes, went and brought her classmate’s shoes to my daughter, helping Mrs. Brown. So, my daughter stopped and calmly responded, “Thank you, Sunni.”

I wanted to thank her too. Embrace her and gather up her feathery bangs into a clip, away from her face to show her pretty eyes.

I remembered my little Kindergartener getting so frustrated with her cutesy bows slipping from her silky hair, she chopped her bangs, off and told me “Mama, I told you I was tired of that mess in my eyes!” always resourceful, independent and resilient, my daughter.

Still is.

I waited until all of them had settled on the bright rug. I’d scanned the playground, seemed like more than eighteen children now. She introduced me again as her mama, “Miss Lisa” and said “I picked out a book for her to read, so get ready to listen.”

I watched as they all adjusted into “listening body” position which Mrs. Brown had taught them apparently and I took a seat on the stool next to a poster sized note from her to the children.

She’d written in fat neatly formed letters, “It’s a marvelous Monday!” followed by a list…”Today we will…love, Mrs. Brown.”

I read to them, their sweet little faces turned up towards mine and we all giggled together over the silly story. With a quick “the end” from me, Mrs. Brown instructed the girls to get their mats. One of them, the day’s leader was told to turn off the lights and then the boys rose to follow.

All around me, boys and girls dispersed to cubbies and then appeared with mats and soft blankets. The room, soft with sounds of gentle song, my daughter looked towards a child and said “She needs to be tucked in, can you do it?”

I went over and met a little girl’s sweetly waiting gaze as she turned to her tummy. I unfolded her blanket, then tucked under its sides and bottom, rested my hand on her arm, and asked, “Is this good?” She nodded and I looked towards my daughter, thinking she must’ve remembered I was good at tucking in real tight. Must have known I’d like to tuck her in.

This time last year reading to preschoolers would have had me a melancholy mess! My son was just beginning the most challenging year of his life for more reasons than I imagined. Daily talks, prayers, and responses to texts were heavier than I’d prepared for.

Planning my daughter’s wedding was a beautiful distraction; still a seesaw of joyous celebration and thoughts of how I’d be with empty nest. My son texted to tell me this week he’d passed his Physical Training test, a big deal. He added that this year is hard. I replied that I knew it would be hard, just a different hard and that he’s stronger now, and so am I.

Will be even stronger.

My daughter will have a cardiologist visit next week. I won’t be there, her husband will. I could go, told them I would… it’s up to her, her husband said.

Not this time. It’s okay, we’ll let you know.

I’ll wait to hear; wait to embrace.

Wait to be mama again.

I happened upon a story this morning about swans and I was drawn into the beauty of her words. Linking up with my most “captivating” story from last week. So,so trying to better at this “community” thing.

http://anitaojeda.com/2016/10/30/what-happens-to-the-cygnets-of-an-injured-swan/

Who I Am, Alone

Faith, family, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized

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Who I am, alone, the one who believes.

Perhaps, I thought…strongly perhaps, the thing we who believe should do is to believe more assuredly, more unwaveringly and more amenable to others maybe curious.

Perhaps, our beliefs unchangeable should display such a peace that others might come close enough to wonder why we’ve not budged, why we’re unphased by harsh and horrible accusation, rant or interpretation.

Not an expert in doctrine, not necessary, just simply a consistent thinker of thought, believer of my beliefs and faithfulness in my faith.

Who I am when alone, the most valid measure of my faith I’ve decided.

The morning after a wedding celebration, I drove home alone with a Sunday morning mix of quiet and jubilant on a road I’d never traveled.

It was phenomenal.

fullsizerender-21_kindlephoto-20427290 Scanning static and station,I settled on Southern gospel praise with a boom boom rhythm about “Not lettin’ the devil steal my peace.. not my joy… not my soul…no, no, no…I’m not gonna let him take my peace!”

My shoulders falling in a lean one side to the other and my free hand pumping with a confident keepin’ time.

My soul free and easy, my thoughts open and thankful.

Then quiet, just moving through blue sky country towards home and noticing everything; I thought of stopping to see for longer,

A church on a grassy hill, a tree lined stretch of glorious shade and a cotton field gazed upon through open window.

fullsizerender-20_kindlephoto-20355179

This morning, I’m back to early morning with Bible in my lap.

I read from Jeremiah; then a Psalm followed by two chapters in Romans.

Providence in word from Old and New.

The place of promise is revealed through faith.

It depends on faith and rests on grace. Romans 4:16

A return to the place my soul bare and at rest in simple yet astounding grace.

Because of faith.

In the quiet of morning and alone, I understood more than before.

I believe it shows.

My faith unmoved with noise of our day.

So unmoved and undaunted, perhaps inviting question.

This one, I kept

courage, family, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I rearranged some things and hung it so that from a certain spot I can be there again.

It might be a chilly morning in mid-March with puffy cloud of mist hovering above my grandfather’s pond.

Dan Dan’s pond

I might be standing on my mama’s lonely deck and fix my eyes towards the far corner of the pond’s bank.

The morning might begin to open its eyes and the eventual sunlight would paint the pine tops iridescent.

I may remember the grassy path, the thick clumpy moss on roots and the long and leafy ferns spread out like ocean floor of green.

So, this one I kept so that I might go back again, to the pond behind my mama’s.

My grandfather’s pond, the place of my soul, my childhood, my fresh starts and heartaches.

This one, the one I created with sun dappled green and blue, on old beaten up and discarded wood that quite naturally became trees, I will keep.

Eighteen Years Today

Children, courage, family, grief, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Daddy and I

Yesterday I uttered, “Grief is insidious and mean.” when my cousin told me about her loss, her husband’s loss of his mother.

Grief is insidious.

It’s sneaky and mean. It lingers long.

It slips away quietly and comes back without invitation.

Today, eighteen years ago, my daddy died.

18 years is a long time. It’s a span that allows little boy to become a man, little girl to become beautiful wife and a daughter to become more brave.

We shouldn’t be surprised by grief over people of such significance, our mamas our daddies, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, cousins or friends.

Our immeasurable love and connection deserve nothing less than a significant remembering, even if hard, heavy and solemn.

So, today I grieve my daddy well and with significance in my gaze towards the world around me.

I look for him. See him in my children and in me. Know him in my thoughts, reactions and stubborn mindset.

Grief is onerously huge; but, I won’t sink into its miry isolation.

I’ll let it be big today…as big as it wants.

A heaping measure equivalent to my love.

Big but not scary…just big enough to never forget.

My cousin texted me just now. Today’s her mama’s birthday. She really misses her, she added. I texted her back, in awe of God’s timing, both of us grieving over a parent.

“I have had grief on my mind since we talked yesterday and today, 18 years ago, daddy died. My thoughts were, grief is huge…how on earth can we expect any different when we are flesh of their flesh and after all, love is so big!? It’s bigger than fear and I will choose to make it bigger than grief. Happy Birthday in Heaven, Aunt Birdie!!!”

Grief, be big today.

As big as love and its lessons.

Lessons like never lie, quiet people are thinking people and words aren’t always necessary just for the sake of talking.

My daddy was a quiet man.

Sweet Remembering

Faith, family, grace, grief, Prayer, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

It was late, almost dark.

The clouds were enormously ominous, a bunch of ’em all gathered up together and I could hear my mama saying,

“Looks like there might be a cloud makin’ up over there.”

The geese were holding a meeting in the grassy field. I brought the leash closer and said quietly, “Good boy.”

We hadn’t meant to scare them, we were just strolling lazily, Colt and I.

But, they congregated and flew up and away together with loud flaps and a chorus of harmonious fly alway song.

I was glad to see them because I heard my mama say,

“There they go.”

I remembered my morning prayer written in my journal, “Lord, send a little reminder today, that all is well and help me to see it clearly.”

And I heard my mama saying now, “It’ll all be fine.”

Lightning in the distance, I turn uphill towards home, cutting short our walk.

I’m content…under heaven.

Geese, storm clouds, and memories of mama.

Thank you, God.

That which was bitter to endure

may be sweet to remember.

a proverb

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as we think about loved ones and heaven.

if you fear death, are puzzled by heaven, or wonder if you’ll live forever – #tellhisstory

Letting Be

Faith, family, grace, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

She called me “sweetie” when I walked in and naturally I pondered whether that was a sweet thing or condescending like lost puppy talk.

It was a kind welcome, “sweetie” must be her word, I decided, it seemed so natural.

Earlier that morning, someone else called me “Honey”. Same thing, just a thing she called people, I supposed.

The usual instructor not there and the only spot available between two men, one my friend’s husband, uninterested in small talk and the other, in his 70’s and really focused on his balance.

He practiced a while, one knee bent, and the opposite leg teetering, like a limb bent by heavy fruit, I feared it might snap.

I thought he might tumble and I knew the reaction would be kind, still, I hoped he didn’t for his sake.

I considered leaving; but, the music was so good, acoustic mellowed out guitar versions of ” Let it Be”, “Imagine” and some softened up Tom Petty “Mary Jane”.

I decided instead to relax and breathe in my little strip of space, a little closet-like cocoon.

The poses drew the tensions up and away from my shoulders. I accomplished for the first time, “tree poses” with my eyes set firm and my arms up high above my shoulders.

“Child’s pose”, I realized is the same as falling on my face in prayer. The instructor told us, “The forehead on the ground is the place where letting go takes place.”

“Oh”…I thought…I know this already.

Ending with “Shavasana”, flat on thin mat, I feel thinner now.

The hard floor underneath me and a weighted bag on my belly, I close my eyes and breathe.

Then, interrupted by the most gentle touch, like a silver spoon dropping a dollop of heavy cream into a warm cup, the instructor gently massages essential oil into the spot above my nose and on my temples.

I notice the scent, contemplate it and decide if it were a color it would be the tint of pale blue sky and I pray,

speaking in a way a bit blunt.

Words spill from my mind like the rat a tat of ammunition and then

they slow with a quiet confirmation.

Gratitude finds its way into my thoughts as warm tears make little puddles around my eyes.

I rise slowly, open my eyes and let the tears evaporate.

Then, listen in farewell “mountain pose” upwards stretching high and then hands at my heart, as the instructor wishes us peace before adding “Namaste”.

I reply “Namaste” and my heart opened, whisper a silent

“Selah”

and an

“Amen.”

Watching God’s Children

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

All it takes to be changed and moved by God’s word is to read the stories of people and places who knew Jesus, to read the stories of Jesus.

I believe the writers of God’s ancient yet beautiful words had in their minds that for generations to come, scripture would change us. Stories and teachings are different in small ways each time we read them. We’re softened in areas we need softening and corrected in the areas we’ve fallen prey to doubt, lost our way, maybe need a little empathy, not sympathy.

We come to God, to His word in different ways, different places each time we pause to read our Bible.

My house has no children now.

I pause a minute here.

They’re doing good things, learning new things, are doing them in new and bigger places.

The story of young Jesus in the temple had me standing right there with his mama, our arms linked. Her son amongst scholars and leaders, was holding his own.

I read the verses and all I could do was think how overjoyed his mama must’ve been to find him; yet, wishing he’d never left her side, didn’t have to venture in new directions.

I wonder if she longed to cradle him in her arms again. If she could go back to the miraculous starry night, would she if she could or did the sight of him speaking of His Heavenly Father overwhelm her?

Mary, the ultimate giver of roots and wings, an empty nest beyond compare.

Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. ⁴²When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. ⁴³After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. ⁴⁴Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. ⁴⁵When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. ⁴⁶After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. ⁴⁷Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. Luke 2:41-47

I imagine Mary, when after losing her son for three days, walking up to the temple and there he is!

She’s standing still, overwhelmed as she catches her breath.

I see her there, utterly enthralled.

His character, his voice and his pursuit of knowledge.

I can sense her knowing, her understanding, her acceptance.

There are things he will do, places he’ll go that she’d never know, not be able to go along. He won’t need her there.

Captivated, she listened and watched.

Something happens in a parent when the child they’ve raised speaks up, speaks for another or simply stands tall in crowd we’d be intimidated by.

It’s a beautiful moment to see.

Watching your child teach children with love and authority, speak with confidence, or demonstrate some act of kindness to another.

Take on a challenge you didn’t expect,

expecting to see it through.

Or maybe, if your children are adults like mine, they notice a place you could do better, tell you about it and you’re not offended by their truth.

You’ve taught them well, you decide.

So you, stand in the distance and watch when you can.

Finding joy in finding them again after being apart.

Captivated by them, God’s children, knowing

He’s watching them now.

And he said to them, “Why were you looking for me?

Luke 2: 49

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and her story of a time she thought herself as less than and now she knows so, so much better!

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/put-brakes-today-happiness-hijacker/

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