fear

On the Day Marked 29

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, grace, grief, heaven, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“You have trusted Him in a few things, and He has not failed you.” Hannah Whitall Smith

Work is in progress behind my window.

Heavy machinery harvesting timber.

The wide field that welcomed a spontaneous “capture the flag” adventure on a memorable New Year’s Eve is becoming more empty day by day.

The place where the cousins cavorted, that’s a memory nothing will take away.

Memories, such beautiful yet onerous things.

We discussed the motivation behind the new landowner’s intentions.

My husband added “Yeah, they’re raping the land.”

He paused for a minute when I gave no reply and I saw in his eyes that he regretted the word.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O’ bring Thou me out of my distresses. Psalm 35:17

And that’s progress.

That knowing of me by him.

That’s progress.

This morning I opened my devotional to read and felt seen and known.

He made you and understands you, and knows how to manage you, and you must trust Him to do it. Hannah Whitall Smith

I move to put my books away and see I’ve been moved by words for the 29th of August rather than July.

There are no accidents with God, the truth meant for a month from now is what is needed today.

The greatest burden we have to carry in life is self. Hannah Whitall Smith

Smith was an author, a Quaker, a fighter for women. She was a mother to seven children with only three who survived. Something she fought for resulted in “scandal” and I am thinking it had to do with women.

She wrote about God as a God of comfort and one to be trusted.

She died in 1911. I’m glad she left her footprint through words.

For me by accident this morning.

The lot across from my home is changing. The place that kept me feeling like I was still back home in Georgia will be nothing but vacant and leveled soon.

Empty space for consideration.

A place for new. And it’s not up to me what it becomes, only how I decide see it.

Same with struggle, with grief, with open wounds waiting to be healed.

Grief must be complete before life can be full.

Oddly, I’m grieving what’s happening with the strong and lovely trees across the way.

I love someone who’s dealing with the same, an unwelcome change in the space she felt still, felt safe.

Causes me to consider and to welcome that maybe hard consideration.

What is it that you’re not allowing in?

What is it that you’ve not fully grieved.

What do you harbor that’s only been allowed God’s peeking in for a sort of intake session, pre-intervention, taking from you?

What are you avoiding revisiting because you abhor the ugliness and truth of what it includes?

What are you not inviting a closer and clearer look at and in doing so, only prolonging the splendid healing?

Allow your knees to hit the floor, tell God your secret sorrow.

Let the tears flow.

Welcome the clearing.

Welcome the hard seeing that feels so achingly self-destructive of your wounded soul.

No one likes to cry.

But, if we’re honest it leads to better.

Embrace the joy that is waiting but cannot arrive til you’ve let the sorrow begin and be done.

Not happenstance that July 29th would also include a HWS quote and a verse about God as our maker, the Father we can trust.

And a question from Isaiah about to whom we belong and who He is…

“This is what the Lord says— the Holy One of Israel and your Creator: “Do you question what I do for my children? Do you give me orders about the work of my hands? I am the one who made the earth and created people to live on it. With my hands I stretched out the heavens. All the stars are at my command.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭45:11-12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

One worthy of my trust.

Maker of heaven, earth, tress and me.

Continue and believe.

Middle Place Waiting

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, fear, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

They didn’t startle as I stepped closer. Any minute I expected the interruption of an assertive announcement by the leader of the flock and then a sudden flutter and departure upward.

Instead they just kinda waddled or as my little nephew described my walk when he was little.

The geese were “shalkin”. Their bottoms were shaking a little as they walked away. 😊

I watched as they slowly went from one neighbor’s front lawn to another.

Then several just situated themselves in the middle of our well traveled road.

Cars slowed, geese cleared and then cars quietly drove on.

Some tapped their horns lightly. The neighbors little girls, I could hear in the distance as I sat in my evening space, giggling over the visitors.

They were congregating in front of me, on the other side of the fence.

I’d love to say my mama sent them to see me and in a way my response to them, the sweetness of their odd visit, it’s heaven sent because it gives me a silliness that’s rare for me.

[bctt tweet=”Unexpectedness invites us to believe.” username=””]

Last week I ran in my pajamas from the back to the front surprised by them, our yard filled with geese and now scattered feathers.

Truth is, I believe, they’re confused. Their trek has been redirected. The pond they expectantly fly to from the other is now uprooted, uprooting their annual route, their typical schedule, their counted on livelihood.

The big log trucks in and out, orange signs for the coming and going cars, warning to caution, log trucks might be entering here.

Thankful for the signs, they may be saving the geese from head on beak collision.

I’m anxious to see if they fly again with ease, once the noise is done, the bustle and debris cleared, the pond safe to return to, despite being without tall pines.

They’ll figure it out and this might be our final year of geese visits. It may be a while before I recall again the voice of my mama saying, “Here they come.”

I’m listening for new things in this middle ground called transition, age, vocation, dream pursuit, purpose and plan.

Where are you now?

The exciting onset of endeavor, the middle ground of stagnant seeming nothing place, or are you celebrating your arrival, your destiny’s destination?

I’m learning to be settled where I am, the solid place of somewhat mediocre.

Because I know the excitement of accomplishment, accolades and acknowledgement of you. I’ve been in those places, stood behind those high pedestals.

I’ve been in the place of defeat too, the place where the floor beckons my soul to release my fears.

The middle too, the place of multiple options and lines cast like lures towards the big fish, nothing worth keeping, I just throw it back in to grow, try try again.

[bctt tweet=”Feels less like suffering suddenly and more like learning to be still.” username=””]

Patience. The middle place like overgrown pond fishing, it’s more about waiting than reeling in.

The path is unfolding, keep waiting.

Every place you are in He is there too.

In the happy beginning, what sadly or successfully ended and in the middle, the place of hoping and of not knowing.

Always, always.

“lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28:20‬ ‭KJV‬‬

[bctt tweet=”Continue and believe. ” username=””]

Prompted to write by the FMF group. Read more here:

https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/07/25/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-middle/

But Jesus

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Truth, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Two pages of print so fine I resort to going without my glasses. My vision is aging, my prescription apparently needs changing.

Side note, 49 got me worse than 50 did and I’m thinking 59’s gonna hit me hard the same.

Still, oh mercy me…I’ve come along way in my most recent ten years!

Thank you Jesus!

At first I thought I might just focus on Ephesians, the second chapter.

I’ll take just a few words and I linger in my absorption of their meaning being just a tad different.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I felt the emotion of remembrance and I let it set in

But God.

Yesterday, I listened to a podcast that always welcomes the discussion of hard things.

A pastor, raised by his grandmother talked about his struggles and I won’t attempt to quote him, it’d be better if you listen in.

Derrick Hawkins on JOE

I’m out walking.

Fooled by the morning temps now hot, achy for some reason. I pressed on if for no other reason than to get back home.

And I listened.

At the end of this podcast, Lisa Whittle asks her guests an every episode question.

What’s the last thing you’d say about Jesus? Lisa Whittle

When Derrick Hawkins answered, I said “Oh” out loud and again “Oh, my.”

I’ll remember that like a Bible story, I’ll consider it significant.

When the woman at the house of the leper in Bethany poured out expensive ointment from her alabaster flask over Jesus’ head the disciples were indignant.

I guess they were maybe vying for his approval. Perhaps, they thought he’d find her behavior flamboyant or ridiculous.

They were haughty in their pointing out her behavior to him. I love it.

[bctt tweet=”Jesus said basically, let her love me. Let her be. ” username=””]

That she’d take it upon herself to worship Jesus unprompted and unexpectedly, she simply did what her heart led her to do.

She walked up behind the reclining Jesus and she honored him by giving away what was seen as precious, costly, not to be wasted.

She couldn’t imagine a better use for it.

The best of her given so unabashedly.

The best of what she’d acquired or been given, given away in a sense for the sake of worship, of remembrance of him, of believing what he’d been telling the others was about to occur.

Like a farewell offering, a worthy gift to a deserving recipient.

Maybe the disciples doubted the doom of his death. Maybe the woman at Bethany believed and was ready.

Because of her lack of concern for the disciples opinion, she will be remembered.

“Truly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭26:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Here in South Carolina on a balmy nothing spectacular morning, I turn to this story.

On the day I decide to open my Bible after two days of just phone found scripture, I sit and let my eyes fill with tears.

I am connected with her story as I was with the one of Derrick Hawkins.

In the mornings I go out barefooted and stand in the cool wet grass for a minute.

I look up usually.

Sometimes down, at the level place God has me now and I know clearly I cannot discount his mercy.

I made a list this morning of all things of me.

Changed artist to painter and writer to blogger, added roles most important, wife, mother, grandmother, disciple.

Told myself, let’s be honest Lisa Anne and celebrate that honesty being enough in your Father’s eyes and hands.

No need to demand my attention I feel God’s been saying.

[bctt tweet=”Stay aligned with Jesus, be unconcerned with who may be watching.” username=””]

I pray I’d not have been the disciple who said thousands of years ago, I don’t know Him or the one who couldn’t stay awake or the one who kissed his cheek as a way to show the killers who to take.

But I am some days, I falter.

He finds me.

Says come back now, your unique worship is welcome, nothing is wasted.

Give me what is you.

How will I be remembered?

Will it be in ways of significance or simply small by our culture of comparison and cutesy competition and Instagram celebrity standards?

I don’t believe this satisfies Jesus and I’m beginning to believe it doesn’t satisfy me.

My seeking of recognition.

Not my anxious counting of followers, rather my calm obedience to my content consistently representing my hope of causing curiosity over Jesus, my possible never knowing how my story might change another.

And that being okay, the not knowing that one day a grand or a great-grand or even a stranger might say oh, I love the way she wrote about life and love and Jesus or I love the way she laid down color on canvas.

Letting Jesus decide the direction of my blog, the worth of my story.

The image and images I leave.

Time is not a factor in the impact of our stories and our brave acts of sharing.

The alabaster flask anointing story of Jesus causes me to be certain of my mercy story.

Causes me to know I’m a child of God and that Jesus will always be my defender.

The story of Derrick Hawkins and his last comment about Jesus got me good.

I’m sure he didn’t plan it, my connecting with him.

But God did.

Got me thinking I understand mercy more now.

Mercy that’s rich.

That doesn’t chastise or refute me.

[bctt tweet=”Mercy finds me and says, that was then, this is now.” username=””]

My Heavenly Father saying

Yes, I know Lisa Anne but, Jesus.

And me in agreement saying, I’ll continue.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

“For we are his workmanship…”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Peace Takes Courage

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

The rain subsided enough to get a walk in.

I determined to pursue my daily unraveling.

The sky no longer threatening, the storm separating the colors and the background pale blue grew larger before me.

The grey only narrow stripes of color like paint laid down on a canvas, the palette knife technique.

Rain like water misted from the bottle kept to keep moist the canvas, the grey diffused.

God’s fingers like the biggest thick brush now blending, muting color.

At peace with the presentation.

The exhibit now open for my viewing.

The crepe myrtle petals are sopped like kitchen sponges and hanging low like bursting ripely fruits just waiting for my indulgence.

And it happened again.

What’s this lightness in my gait, the awareness of pep in my step and of belief I’ll take off running once I make it round the bend and just maybe take an extra hill?

Peace, I decided as I took the final home bound hill.

It’s peace that has taken the bricks from your feet.

Peace that says take your gifts and give them to whomever will listen, will read, will be curious over how you moved from burdened fighter to learner to victim no more.

A thought came clearly, I imagined myself confidently telling others.

I give God all the glory. Without God none of this would be possible for me.

Peace is possible.

Take courage.

“But you, take courage! Do not let your hands be weak, for your work shall be rewarded.”

‭‭2 Chronicles‬ ‭15:7‬ ‭ESV

Continue and believe.

Linking up with others at Five Minute Friday, prompted by the word, “Take”.

Read more here: https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/07/04/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-take/

See A Little Listening

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I told myself feelings are not facts and I do believe it.

Add that little saying to all the others, Lisa Anne, over time your happy heart will override your frenzied mind.

Will cushion the knowing that’s gonna grow you, will soften the edges of you, will be a plump pillow for your head at day’s end, sweet rest for the soul.

I listen to a whole lot of stuff when I’m walking, wisdom and or lyrical voices.

I’m particular with my listening, not my favorite thing to learn from tones that are “chipper”.

Cut out the pretty words. I crave what I already know, just need a voice confirming on a firmer note.

I’m down to just a few now, podcasts that are good fits for me.

Yesterday, I silenced my phone.

I paused the voice that was the same as so many with a similar exhortation.

I already knew. I already know.

I’ve got extra blank space now. I’m not sure I’ve ever had so much room in my thoughts for things to grow.

I’m challenged to accept the void of activity. I resist the not knowing what may be next or not come at all.

I walked bored with others’ knowledge and I saw the geese behind their mama all swimming in a row.

But, first I heard them, the rhyme and rhythm of their following along.

I paused then walked on.

I turned the steep sharp corner carefully and hearing a rattling engine moved to the far edge of the high grass.

I was prepared; but, not to be startled, an old van, a bearded tank top man and a head down in the darkness passenger in his midst.

“I’m walking.” I answered when he asked if I needed a ride and then added, “I walk everyday.” wishing I hadn’t added that and hoping he didn’t hear.

He drove away.

I approached the place where the Labrador loved to sit and I heard the croak of a frog off someplace and I remembered the creek of my childhood and those simple and yet complex days.

We walked every day. We took off to our simple shady quiet place.

I turned towards home and saw the bright blooms of summer, found the hidden key, let myself in and then double locked the door.

Later, I told the neighbor, I’ll be walking a new way, find cut throughs through yards. She said okay, suggested I leave one ear without music.

I told my husband.

He listened and agreed on new ways to get to the cul de sacs, the neighborhood and finally the trail I love.

I mentally made a plan.

I expected to be afraid in my sleep, awakened by the encounter of the ones in the old tagless used and beat up van.

But I wasn’t.

I considered the possible intent of the man and I am responding accordingly, not afraid,

Just informed.

I’m changing, I’m listening. I’m learning.

Feelings do not write your stories.

Listen more to what you are seeing now.

Your story was written so very long ago by the one who knows you now and then and in all the days to come.

“O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:1-3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Notice the one who takes unending notice of you.

You, who God made fearfully and wonderfully well.

“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The Road Blurry

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, daughters, Faith, fear, grace, memoir, painting, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Truth, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

Maybe knowing God is better than knowing me.

I found this accidental photo just now.

Funny how it happens, happenstance making sense.

Last night the air cooled slightly after just a showering of a misty rain.

I walked, listening again to informative content on the number of me, the Enneagram 4.

I finished up my walk, showered, ate, settled on the sofa and with nothing else worth my time, watched college softball’s big game.

I’d seen a young woman earlier, she made it to collegiate level and now she tells me she’s expecting her third baby.

She continues to ask how I’m doing, what I’m doing,

how I’m feeling in my new role, “#goingbygrandmanow”

I tell her it has been an adjustment, some things not easy.

I add when I see baby Elizabeth all of my anxiety fades.

She smiles. “Oh, I forgot something!” she says in her excited and bubbly way.

We are standing in the crowded post office and she begins to talk about church.

She tells me about their sermon series and how it was suggested everyone find a “spiritual mentor”.

She has chosen me, says I was her first choice.

Of course I said yes and I’d call her for coffee and yes, we can talk about Jesus.

I was not prepared at all.

Should I have answered no, I wonder?

Should I have said “Oh, I’m not the one, you just don’t know!”?

Because I’m not feeling so suitable for such a place in another’s life now.

I walked and thought again about validation, understanding my tendencies a little more and thinking I should ask a professional…

Is this a breakthrough for me? Have I figured out something transformative and new?

Do I seek not only the validation of the positive of me but, also habitually choose the patterns I know that sustain the negative of me?

Thereby destroying any possibility that life can be different, can be better?

Is this typical I wonder, for anyone approaching 59, knowing 60 is just up ahead?

I believe we’re inundated with advisors and we are at a loss over whose truth to soak in.

Someone wants to edit my website, has a proposal she wants to present, claims she can make me more visible, increase sales, build my numbers.

A creative has seen my art, beckons me to join her next series of marketing courses. I consider, almost jumping in, signing up for yet another hope that feels false after a bit.

They’re a business after all, I tell myself.

I unjoined a writing community, yet the content continues to come.

And yet, writing and painting don’t hold the same place in my heart as before.

Have become like a chore.

This morning I made a list of concerns lined up with contentment, two columns, thing is nothing was listed under contentment at all.

Yesterday, I heard a mom talk of her little girl’s big girl dreams and goals. I smiled as I listened to how she was schooling her own mama in teaching her marketing strategy.

This child already knowing the value in believing she is capable and she can do anything when she combines her confidence with her courageous talent and selling of her self.

But, maybe it’s different for some.

Maybe I’m one of the some.

Maybe nothing more than now is the best place for me. Maybe I’ve blinded myself of the goodness of God by seeking what everyone else says is better.

What if we overwhelm ourselves with so many virtual mentors we lose ourselves in their midst?

God spoke to me this morning saying it is okay to consider the wisdom of others but you must never forget the wisdom you’ve found of me.

Your one story is now shelved because you have filled your mind with the details of so many others’.

Your fear has unintentionally buffered your courage.

So, there comes a choice to be made, slow down and take a breath.

Eliminate the unnecessary content.

Listen to God more than anything or anyone else.

It happens when you don’t deny the evidence of that.

A friend of your daughter says be my spiritual mentor and unknowingly prompts your return the place you had left.

The place where one person in this great big world sees you face to face and says I want to know the Jesus you know.

“Is that possible, do you think?” she asks.

And I answer, “Yes.”

It is possible.

I’m thinking of my grandmother this morning who was industrious and talented but rarely talked about her craft.

She created intricate Christmas ornaments from discarded jewelry. She boxed her creations up in big flat boxes and her work room was a dresser and a bed.

She made deliveries to people who paid her and I suppose she was known for her creations.

But, I never remember anyone encouraging her to go bigger, maybe put a sign up in the IGA or even an ad in the Statesboro Herald.

She provided what was requested of her. She was compensated, yes; but, only enough for what she needed.

She was content in the act of creating, it was her independent venture that I saw, that instilled in me the truth of possibility.

My grandmother taught me that being yourself is all you need.

Is there a book in me?

Will a gallery be inclined to display my art?

Will I be a better me or finally decide I’m enough as I am?

Content in the waiting as I rest in what comes not forced or rushed and be amazed by paths crossing and opportunities that unfold unexpectedly.

Next week or the next I’ll have an iced coffee with “Sam”.

I may tell her what a mess I was when I saw her or I won’t.

I may just tell her what I was learning on that and any other day.

Learning that the advice I need is found in the quiet place beside my bed or in the wide sky, the bending road or in the palms of my beautiful granddaughter’s hands.

God is everywhere, I will tell her.

Continue and believe, I might add.

Knowing God is better than better knowing me.

Learn as you go.

I’m on the morning road to my daughter’s, her husband’s, Elizabeth’s home.

The fog is lifting.

Remembering the thing that God just told me, an awakening of sorts and how one day I may tell Elizabeth or not.

How her grandma began to come into her own…

Maybe just live it intentionally for her to see.

Rest in this self awareness you’ve so keenly acquired and continue now easily into the you God has always known.

Discard all calculations to change your course or set new direction.

Become who you were becoming the very day you were born, God’s unique and capable child.

It is well with your soul.

It is well.

Towards What is Yours

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Prayer, race, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

A life lived reluctantly is not what God has in mind for any of us.

Paul reminded me this morning in a passage that’s a paragraph with multiple underlines from a time and times before.

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.

Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own.

But one thing I do:

forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭3:12-16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Beckoning me to remember who I was before when I’m disappointed in who I am now.

Reminding me it’s not at all easy, otherwise he’d not have used words like “pressing” and “strain”.

Paul’s words are true and valuable, validation for me that I’m not who I was before.

He wrote that God will let us know when we think otherwise about what is most important, the “upward” call, the movement of our motivation based on our relationship with Him.

Look up, Lisa Anne.

Look up and move forward, learning even more than what you thought was enough so far.

Learn from the pressing, the straining, the uncomfortable rub of life that is making new wine from your bitter grapes.

Continue and believe.

Continue towards the goodness that is yet to be fully known.

Secrets and Growth and Peace

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Serving, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I believe God is pleased that we think of Him, ponder, consider His ways.

“Does not wisdom call out? Does not understanding raise her voice?”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭8:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

That’s just another example of His grace.

I believe God sees our gradual growth and celebrates rather than pontificates over why on earth has it taken her so long to arrive here, why can’t she stay in this place?

I believe God is simply happy to see our return, our return to believing that He knows.

I’m certain that morning is the most optimum time for gentle instruction.

I’ve not a clue as to why I woke up this morning with the question to myself.

How are you waking, with regret or redemption?

Why, oh why must I wake with such deep considerations?

Or maybe we all do, just keep them to ourselves.

Makes good sense, your brain filters your thoughts all through the night, transfers them to the place where the finished and important product, a lesson is delivered.

Voila’! Here you go! This message is just for you! God

Are you smiling now, imagining God saying “Voila'”?

Me too.

I think sometimes I think the oddest things and then realize there is always a reason.

A secret waiting to be revealed.

To be researched, to be determined what it is exactly God wants me to know, to hold on to as my own.

Wants me to u-turn, don’t go back that way, you were progressing, see now…stay here.

Be at peace.

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.

‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭14:33‬ ‭ ESV

Someone called this morning by accident. Her Bluetooth dialed the wrong Lisa. I knew her voice, thought Lord have mercy, did I call her and forget I did?!

But, I hadn’t and she reminded me of our relationship which led to me telling her what I’m doing now, hoping to use my grant writing skills to work with causes I believe in.

And that led to her telling me she had “chills” now because of an idea she has to strengthen the cause she is over.

We talked about it further and even longer about our faith, about how God wakes us to new opportunities every day and how none of them are accidents.

I considered her truth.

She considered mine as I shared with her my waking thought, regret or redemption, which will you choose to frame your day?

She said “Oh, that’s wise.” “Thanks”, I said and thought, thank you God for this confirmation of my next steps and direction.

Of letting some things go unattended to give my energy to what is new, even unseen, sort of brewing.

So, what is this state of mind and heart called “spiritual maturity”?

It is waking with regret less often in light of your redemption.

It is waking with the clear and attainable path towards peace.

It is recalling the stuff you felt God telling you to do afraid even if there’s fear in the room because there’s a reason you don’t know that God wants you to go, to be something He sees as necessary for others in the room.

He has us go places we don’t understand.

It is being attentive to a nudge that becomes a lengthy pause because you are still enough to become more wise, to receive either good or disappointing clarity so that your peace is not stolen and so that you grow.

That’s redemption, my friend.

Understanding what it is that is the taker of and opposing force of your peace.

Spiritual maturity is a splendid and secretly personal gift.

It is a fervent fire inside kept alive by your yearning to learn more, know more of God.

It is an acknowledgment of better days, contented minds, and restful nights because of your redemptive choice to forgo regret.

It is knowing you are still growing. It is glimpses of the secret place, the view of you through God’s eyes.

Smile.

It is not always easy, nor is it difficult at all.

The secret for me, intentional choosing which thoughts I allow to write scary, hurtful and impossible to understand stories.

“For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

To set my mind on the awakening things of my mornings.

Lord, help me to stay quiet enough to know which way to stay my thoughts and which way my words and work should go. Because of your redemptive mercy towards me, Amen

Give Not Get

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, daughters, eating disorder, fear, grace, memoir, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Today I give you a story you might never know.

Were it not for me reading three books at a time, one called The God Dare by Kate Battistelli, a second called Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist and the third, the book called Ephesians written by Paul.

I’ve just finished a just right omelette, fluffy pillow of egg with the soft insides of spinach and melty oozing cheese. On the side a good tomato as if straight from the vine, peppered generously. Enjoyed every bit, a mellowed out mug of coffee with cream to complement.

I gaze over at the empty plate and think to finish Ephesians but remind myself of the three words that came in light of getting on with my life, vocation of some sort, art, writing and family.

Give not Get.

I thought again.

I’m brave now, hearing God daring me to pay attention and say things He has for me to say.

There was a time I ate everything I could get and then ritualistically and yet uncontrollably used my unwell techniques to get rid of it all quickly.

I was not well then.

I’m close to weighing the same as my husband. I felt lighter yesterday, paused to see the flatness of my belly in the bathroom mirror and took a chance…decided to step on the scale.

Wrong!

You weigh the same, the same as last week and more than last month but not as much as that one time before.

I remembered the book about the bread and wine and not a mention three chapters in of calories or gluten or exercise.

Only stories of times around tables and splendid descriptions of food eaten with abandon, life and love.

Food freely given, not grasped for or grabbed to be hidden, hoarded in a get it now or never again kind of way.

Stories like my story this morning, a quiet acknowledgment of noticing my finished breakfast.

Oh, this is good…this life I get to live, have been given, it is good.

Given not taken.

We get new chances every day, to pick up where we left off, to make choices not to go back to old ways.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

To live as grace givers, savoring, trusting the flow of good things and graces.

We have known the gift so that others might know.

We give what we’ve been shown.

My “God Dare” today?

Writing about not eating, about not keeping what I ate because that was all I felt I could control.

A sum total of about 10 years of my life given to anorexia and bulimia.

Close to 25 years now, not thin but healthy.

What’s in front of you that feels insurmountable, that lessens your existence, that self-imposed struggle that sickens your body and soul?

We are created as God’s workmanship, we inhabit His spirit.

He gives life, life meant to be unfathomable in measure, the width, breadth and depth of it all.

I picked up Bread and Wine from the back stack of bargain books and already it has given me more than any book on diet or grace or shame has ever given.

Like its author, pregnancy (thank you, HB!) changed me, pregnancy saved me from my disordered eating.

I wish the change had come sooner, my hard fought recovery not at all sudden or easy, but cushioned by God’s grace.

It took becoming pregnant to finally say to the world, I’m hungry. My first pregnancy shifted so many aspects of my understanding of my body and with it, shifted my view of hunger…I could claim hunger on behalf of my baby, and that small step might as well have been a mile for all it unlocked inside me. Shauna Niequist, Bread and Wine, a love letter to life around the table with recipes

In the book, is the question, What’s your last supper?

Mine?

Spaghetti thick with basil sauced tomatoes galore sprinkled with freshly shaved parmesan and bordered by thick buttered bread.

My cousin Vickie’s salad I can’t replicate on the side.

A glass of red wine as we recline and later gelato, the real kind that tastes like a coffee with just enough chocolate, a dollop of whipped cream to crown it!

Now, what’s for lunch? What’s for supper? Are the good watermelons ready?

Will we be fancy today, my daughter and I or will it be Chick Fil A?

Vulnerable Afflictions

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Serving, Stillness, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I read the response of another the other day… “Who would you like meet?” His answer was “Jesus.”

And then another in a different place, oddly the same question posed. This person answered “Paul”.

Paul, the writer of, with certainty, eight books of the New Testament. Paul, who was a horrid man who was known as Saul who met Jesus and commenced with the telling of his truth from there.

At some point, I pencilled in clarification on a passage.

The verse describing the life of Jesus in me,

“We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭NIV‬‬

We carry around in us what Jesus died to save us from, our human tendencies, our vulnerabilities, our bends towards atrocities even. We carry with us the humanity of us and we simply seek to lessen its hold.

Paul knew who and what He had been. He celebrated when the “outwardness” of him was being overshadowed, wasting away by the developing of the inner him, Jesus in him.

He was focused on eternity and driven to tell others so.

That was his story line, the telling and retelling of his rescue for a purpose story.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:16-18‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The words I wrote in the margin are barely visible, words forming a question about my own vulnerabilities and the display of them making me more aware of the human me… a gradual revelation, the changes to the heart of me.

I won’t say I’ve come a long way. I just know I am not the same, not who I was.

The same as Paul.

The margin as of today has a sketch of a girl in repose.

She sees how far she’s come and she knows she has a big part in how far she will go.

The coming to terms with her story being incomparable to any other.

She cares less although not quite enough yet about herself as she does others.

What’s your story?

She is accepting that her part is just to keep telling in written and painted creation, occasionally or eventually maybe before an audience or in a small circle.

Who knows?

We will not know fully unless we go, simply go forward to the places we get to glance back on and say,

I did it.

I kept going.

My story is not so scary as before, not so tinted by affliction colors.

Stronger.

Strongly, we step forward.

We leave behind us for others, through our stories.

We just prompt another to wonder.

We cause them to consider why we believe in something we don’t yet fully know, why we yearn to keep learning.

And given opportunity, we answer to tell,

We believe because believing is the closest thing to hope.

And because we our story of before, all of our vulnerabilities and afflictions only mercy references and notes for the rest of our story.

Believe and continue.