family

Sweetly Sorrowful

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

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This morning I had no intention of being reminded.

Of getting drawn backwards in time.

I hadn’t thought this way in a while, I’d finally crossed the finish line of acceptance in that long race called grief.

Like a runner crossing that line, arms thrown towards heaven, acceptance was well-earned.

But, I got pulled in, read a few lines and my eyes rested in a place of raw truth.

The words, written about a mother missed.  Shared by David Kanigan, a thoughtful blogger, writer, sharer and follower. I only skimmed it, the piece he shared. I stopped, still in this truth, captivated by the expression.

It’s been three years now since my mother’s death, and I’m still wondering why I haven’t spoken with her in so long. Blair Hurley

more here:  http://lithub.com/my-mother-is-gone-but-her-edits-remain/

And they were so true, her words so sad, such a validation that I carried them all day long, thinking

“It’s true, how I long to talk to her. How it seems I should be able.”

Later, it occurred to me “not too many people live as long as I have without my daddy here or my mama.”

My daddy, 17 years.

Mama, almost 7.

Reminded of loss,  but moved by another’s understanding. Changed for having read the honest and unexpected words of another.

Oddly, I found myself happy over her admission, her honesty as if we’d talked and she and I agreed…yes, I know, I know!

Grief is such a juxtaposition of sorrow and sweet, I’ve decided.

Such sorrow over our lack of ability to change it, such sweetness over our retelling and remembering.

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A sadness kept silent, yet relieved in finding the perfect expression of another.

So, I carried my sadness lightly today; I’m sure no one noticed, like an all day reminder saying  “yes, but….” .

That was the state of my heart.

It was there all day, hung around, popped up when things got quiet.

Intermittent longing for my mother.

Good things happened today…conversations, smiles, friendships and tasks completed.

Still, at day’s end I felt the longing again.

Decided not to walk the dog.

Too tired, too late, too unmotivated.

Then, felt the pull. The sky, the birds and end of day pull towards God. It happens this way…decide not to walk, go anyway and it happens every time. God sends me some beauty.

Geese overhead, puffy clouds and a rainbow with no rain. A sky filled with soft clouds beckoning me to rest, to be at peace.

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No one will understand unless they may have been there…

Country night, dusky sky and we look toward the water, my grandfather’s pond and in the distance we hear them.

Mama says, “Here they come.”

And they do, the geese, v-shaped silhouettes against evening sky.

They did and I mouthed her expression,  “Here they come.” pointing towards the sky hoping she could see.

 

Dogs and Happy

family, rest, Uncategorized

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If I chased happy like Colt chases a lime green ball, I might be inclined to find it more often.

Or if I simply welcomed its possibility, like a dog bounds into the backyard

hoping that I follow into the moist morning grass

to reach down for the tennis ball,

squish it, soft, dirty and worn

and then throw it, straight and solid across the yard.

He rushes back, happy to  have it then drops it “Good boy!” I say like mama to child, “That’s good.” and he looks at me, happy to have pleased me.

Today I will pursue happy; invite it and be exuberant in my retrieving.

Then bring it back, drop it at the feet of the Father, the one inviting my pursuit.

 

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Broken Cherished Things

courage, Faith, family, Teaching, Uncategorized

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I moved it inside.

The plant by the pool, neglected and uncertain of thriving, the one with the succulents and stones.

I’d planted it meticulously remembering, “not too deep, room for roots to grow, break up the roots and soak it all down good, but don’t beat them to death with water …then leave it alone”.

I took the time, finally to use her pot

thinking it’d be my focus, my tribute and yet it was barely making it now midsummer.

So, I brought it inside, the succulents in the broken-edged pot.

The shallow dish planter from my mama’s deck, its edges crumbled and broken off in chunks, still I’d kept it all these years.

It sits nearby now, beginning to live again brightly.

Vivid green, sprigs of new and thriving of what was planted before.

It must be the choice of spot, the repositioning or perhaps just the noticing of need, my giving an honored spot close by.

Or maybe, the remembering of being cherished and loved again.

Moved closer now, close as possible to remember her love.

Remembering her hands in dirt, seasoning in the pots and icing on the cakes.

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Cause me to see, Lord

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

Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.

Psalm 143:8

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I watched a little boy digging a tunnel from the place where the tide crept close up to his mama’s feet. His lanky arms, working hard with occasional glances up to meet eyes and small of his mama.

A straight line, little clumpy hills bordering the hollowed out path from edge of ocean to his mama.

She smiled towards him, then towards me as I stepped over his tunneled path to walk down towards the open space of shore.

Her smile, a knowing smile, the sweetness of motherhood, our bond.

What beautiful stories are the ones of mamas and children, brief moments of treasure.

We walked on, my husband drifting ahead, slightly towards open water. My walk more slow, a response to the invitation of space wide and unhindered now.

I reach down to touch a washed up feather, wet, dull and textured, beaten by surf into its shape.  I’ll place it in my book, allow it to dry, become white again and cause me to remember it as my treasure.

This morning’s verse, a morning verse, a call to God to turn my heart, my eyes and mind towards grand things and small things. The King James Version, more direct a request  asking “Cause me to know you and see you, God.”

Cause me, stop me in my haste; may I be unable to look away, to not be aware of you, Lord.

Turn my face, Lord. Open my eyes and heart to the wide expanse of your glory and to the smallest of stories that invite my reading along.

 

Saturday morning with Sleeping House

courage, Faith, family, Prayer, rest, Uncategorized

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All are sleeping, cool quiet house and coffee in hand, I pause to pray.

Lord, help me; help us to love one another…to love well. Remind me to start with love, thinking of the great writer, Og Mandino’s words, how love sees everything, frames the perspective of everything from the beginning.

Help me not to strive to be the fixer of all, the holder together of all and the keep the peacer of all.

Help me to notice You today.

Remind me to pause to remember all the sweet and powerful answers to my prayers, your hearing and your replies and your goodness in my life.

Help me notice others in a way that is more attentive to hearts, to vulnerability and to need.

And then strengthen my compassion and my empathy so that I know clearly “but for the grace of God…” or just a reminder, not sad just memory of a time I might have been similarly downhearted.

Dear Lord, help us to love one another. May our hearts be light and our time be joyful.

Thank you for laughter.

We look forward to more silly, more funny and fun.

We love you Lord, our souls rejoice.

Thank you for the beauty of our earth.

Because of mercy, I pray

in Jesus name,

Amen

Going There

courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

There’s a place I’d like to go except that it’s hard to go there.  I imagine the plans, think of the beginnings and I understand the decision; but, wish it made sense for now.

It wasn’t a trailer, it was a mobile home. It was big and solid and positioned in the spot away from pines but cushioned by the shade of trees.  Its foundation was intentional and solid, not blocks strategic in their placement, no there was a real foundation.

My parents’ last home, the home place. They waited a long time to be there.

The home was stable, designed with stability in mind; it sat on a firm foundation.

The road to turn towards the place is still dirt. A slight left at the bottom of the hill will carry you through a narrow path and a field to the place it still sits.

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It’s been a long while since I’ve gone to the empty house.  Someone asked recently, “When’s the last time you went?” I answered, “A long time, hard to think about it.”

Then nothing else was said.

It’s still standing despite years and weather and no touch from the hands of family. But, still standing because it was built on a permanent foundation.

The place of its situation is level and smooth, built on faith, dreams and hope and it was good.

It was loved. It was loved well and will be again…at the appointed time.

Yesterday,  I heard a quick word about good things that come at appointed times. Things that come when we reject the hindrance of doubt. Essentially the words reminded me, God is good and Lisa, he wants good things for you. He knows the things you long for, things that have been established ahead of time to come to you.

The foundation is there. The building up is happening, maybe you don’t see it. Maybe you want to rush in, rebuild, tear down,start over. You look back at what was or you look at the passing of time and fear the longing to build will be forsaken…you’ll accept the falling down of the roof and the rotting of the boards because you understand it can’t happen on desire alone.

And some of the tools of the rebuilding are simply not yours, are not matters in your hands.

At the appointed time, though, if you believe, it will come to pass.

The foundation will be there underneath it all. It will be steady. It will not have moved.

Waiting for the time to build again, a place to gather and remember our family, our foundation, to built on strength and heart and patience.

Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:14

 

http://katemotaung.com/five-minute-friday/

 

I will pray

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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On a blue, blue summer day I drove to see a friend, one of the women who’d colored my life.

I knew all would be okay, would be good actually,  when I turned off the highway from the usual road.  I’d traveled  before, this road towards home, countless times.

The vicinity of my destination for today was close by, just a different direction.

Others might not understand the nervous place in the hollow spot adjacent to my heart or the need to go back to a place of then to acknowledge now.

So, I’d been praying as I drew closer to now.

I’m taking this journey in increments, circling back to be reacquainted. It’s a challenge of my faith in me and an act of gratitude for them.

The road just a few minutes from my friend was a thin grey thread towards a needle, narrow because of wide sky and corn field borders.

Its curves were easy, not sharp, its little hills and softly,  forwardly coaxing me,  like God’s hand resting on the small of my back, saying

“Getting closer, keep on.”

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There were big houses along the way set back behind fences and oaks and there were small little white ones, tiny porches and trailers up on cinder blocks, cool under shade of fully grown and lush July green.

A small brick home, a couple of old cars and a bed of roses at its entry made me wonder.

Off to the side, a simple sign like garage sale or politician’s was positioned just so, leaning only slightly despite storm I’d been warned of.

Bold, simple, intentionally brief; but with exclamation at the end.

“I will pray!”

Yesterday I prayed, most days I pray at set times and randomly.

My  heart sought assurance and in return I noticed the sweetness of answer.

I welcomed answer and  prayed in reply with a slight smile no one might notice, “Thank you for that, God. Thank you, Lord.”

Some would say, if I shared my prayer and the evidence of its hearing…that’s silly, you just worry or that’s no big miraculous reply.

It is and it was and it’s why I believe.

In God who is just as majestically sovereign as He is miraculously small, attentively swift.

Yesterday morning and again last night, I prayed. “God, help our country.”

And I wondered about the past, my parents, my grandparents and those recalled in history, when times looked as bleak and scary and incomprehensible as they do now.

I wondered why or if there are people like me who pray about children, friends, husbands, or a heart’s desire…but are now, just now we are praying… God, help our country and maybe, like me, are torn between

“Come, Lord Jesus” and “Trust and Obey”

And our prayerful mama hearts want much for our children and theirs…want time and hope and good things. We long for happy futures, faith-filled lives filled with smiling babies and beauty.

I wonder if there were times like these before.

Times when all felt lost and uncertain. Times of Job, of Isaiah and of Moses, of David, of Martha, Mary and Paul.

I listen for their cries for help in the words of my Bible and I search for God’s replies, finding them in thousands of places, replies of good and everlasting joy and of protection and favor in midst of struggle.

I hear God saying to them, to me.

“Choose me. Choose joy.”

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
    let them ever sing for joy,
and spread your protection over them,
    that those who love your name may exult in you.

For you bless the righteous, O’ Lord; you cover them with favor as with a shield. Psalm 5:11-12

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I embraced my friend, told her I expected I’d cry and we cried and talked and shared onion rings and fries.

I prayed and she told me she’d been praying and we reminded each other of ourselves and our unanswered prayers for our good and we prayed, we pray. We will pray, we agreed.

It was easy and good and love. I left her sweet house with emotions that beg for holding onto, the description of our time and our talk resting safely for awhile in a place so closely real and beautifully raw.

So, I drove back towards Carolina, indescribably, thankfully good, especially glad.

The pretty road just as pretty and the view different only because of direction and another house…white, small but with big trees, tiny porch and front yard sign proclaiming,

I will pray!

Let us pray.

I will pray.

Linking up to Tell God’s story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/what-we-all-have-in-common-tellhisstory/

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Encounters, Grief and Joy

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

I was more than a little excited to see her.  She and I, I realized when we met almost four years ago now, had the same long, slow southern accent.IMG_0228_kindlephoto-372860

I was sure she must be from Georgia and even more sure, I decided, we had to be distant relatives.  Her dialect, her slow and lilting sentences ending with just a slight upturn. Well, she sounded like me I decided and so, I was happy to know her.

So, when I saw her on an early morning estate sale venture, I couldn’t wait to say, “Hey” and “Oh my Lord it’s been a really long time.”

I was joyous to see her there.

I wasn’t prepared for her response, she leaned back, was hesitant. I  figured “Oh well, she doesn’t remember me”   or does but, can’t remember how. Still, I was just so happily surprised over seeing her again.

I should have read her cues, should have seen it for what it was.

Instead, I added, “Remember, from the group?”  She said, “I remember.” nothing more. It was clear she wished I hadn’t reminded her, refreshed the memory.

It was humid;  awkward and cramped, standing amongst the trinkets, treasures,and big patterned armchairs.

She’d moved away, opened an antique shop in a pretty little town.  She’d come back, was in charge of the sale that day.

Someone offered a fan, she replied “I’m fine.” and turned to look towards the drive so I wandered to the back porch and into the little house.

I continued to explore, found a pretty little bud vase and a bird for me and a rooster for the sake of memory of mama. I held my little things close to my chest and went to pay.  Her eyes met mine and I said, “I hope you’re doing well and I apologize if I overwhelmed you when I saw you.” She said, “That’s okay.” Nothing more.  I added, always the one trying to fix the messes I make, to undo the damage, “We were in the mountains and I was so close to your antique shop; but, couldn’t find time to come.” Again, no reaction really, just another nod.

Finally, I said what I should have said in the beginning and maybe again as I left with a simple goodbye.

“It’s so good to see you again. I hope you are doing well.”

My happiness over seeing her came from a place of recalling our connection, of remembering her sincerity and kind, kind heart, although grieving.

Her seeing me changed the course of her day, turned back the clock, flipped the page to the time and the memory of loss.

And mine as well, to the night she talked and I listened.

To her story of a sorrow I dont know, haven’t felt, only have heard.

Each heart knows its own bitterness,
    and no one else can share its joy.

Proverbs 14:10

It was so good to see her, I hope she is doing well.