freedom

31 Days, Freely – Believe

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, doubt, Faith, family, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

My mama never kept a journal or to my knowledge, wrote thoughts in a Bible.

So, I can’t say I “get that from my mama”.

She’d rather speak her truths to you, long conversations with time in between her phrases to let what she’d given you sink in. Look you in the eye or leave something with you and look away, walk away like that’s it, now I’m puttin’ a period there.

I believe every single thing she ever said.

Lots of times there was no acceptable reply, either she’d put me in my place or I had to just keep my mouth shut and let the sometimes unwelcome truth sink in.

She was resilient.

She believed in the possibility of everything working out for good despite so much wrong she endured.

She rarely quoted scripture, just paraphrased God’s truths in her own no holds barred way. Some would call it irreverent, her language was generous with cuss words.

I don’t think she aspired to write and I rarely recall a book in her lap, she’d rather be one with people, one with life.

She talked about books in a different way, telling me “turn the page, Lisa Anne.” when I kept mulling over some misdeed or misfortune.

She was quick to give her commentary on all that might be wrong or someone’s crazy choices or just mean motives.

She’d say “They’re not reading the right book or they’re not on the same page.”

I know she had a Bible. I know because it was mine and towards the end of her days I noticed it moved from the stack of old Southern Living magazines to the place in front of her where she’d fall asleep with the noise of Fox news.

I know she believed. I know she wanted us all, the four of us to always believe.

To pray, believing more often than beckoning or begging.

To smile, thinking how far we’ve all come and how far she and daddy got to see us go and grow.

Yesterday, I had an encounter with someone who has changed. A distant person who acknowledged her resistance towards relationship, she stopped by to give me a book.

She had a cold, I’d had to same one, I shared. She let me hug her and she hugged me back.

We walked out and I told her she’d reminded me of a new favorite word, “countenance”.

She was puzzled, said she had never heard it before and I told her I thought it might be biblical but that it’s such a beautiful word, a beautiful thing to see.

I explained that it means to me, your sweet soul is shining through, the change in expression showing so pretty on your face.

She thanked me twice, and more.

I thanked her for stopping by.

Thanking her and God now for reminding me of my mama.

Reminding me to choose believing.

Believing God is so very good.

“Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me. I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.””

‭‭John‬ ‭16:32-33‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And to “live life today”, and then tomorrow live and believe again as you “turn the page”.

My mama’s stubborn resilience and God’s unwavering and believable peace and grace, I’m believing in both today.

31 Days, Freely: Day One

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, memoir, mercy, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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Day 1, Story

“even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A year or so ago, my story was not the same. It was brave and descriptive and overall, the content served a purpose.

It told a few things readers might relate to, others unaware might be drawn to know more. It was about me and it was going to be about them.

Them, being the ones who brought me harm, stifled my self-confidence, my self-awareness, and my soul truly for a long time.

It would be about some who turned shielded eyes to say they’d not known, turned from my distress saying that must be where she wanted to go.

It was a hopeless story pretending to portray hope and may have caused hurt to a few.

Not necessarily an expose’, just would have thrown a lot of “shade” on a select more than few.

Today, I’m beginning 31 Days of writing. In October, along with the Five Minute Friday community, I’ll write using a prompt, today’s is “story”.

This is my story now.

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Healed and Hopeful

The story I’m choosing, the one that is hopeful and intentional and is led closely by my Father, God.

By my Savior, Jesus and the Spirit saying choose this new way.

  • I turned my eyes from the piece about the candidate and his high school buddies and what he really meant by what he wrote in the yearbook. I turned my attention away. Because last week the news and the media’s social conversation starters stirred up three nights of nightmares just as real as the days before. For a split second, I remembered clearly then turned my thoughts from those days, those nights.
  • I didn’t contribute to the hashtag conversation on why I didn’t report. Even after so many strong women were, it has no bearing on me now, the conversations about before.
  • I love my friend who suggested we all change our Facebook profile pic to blacked out squares. It is supposed to show men what the world would be like without women. Instead, I painted for three hours, a piece not up for sale. It occurred to me to black out my face on Facebook would mean darkness, fear, hiding. Decided I’d rather show God’s glory in me and the women I have around me. My profile pic is my painting.
  • I planned to write “lightly” 31 Days and changed my theme.  I’ll be writing “freely” knowing full well there is still slavery all around. Women who are hurting and angry and fired up and men who were who they were when they scoffed over the good old days with girls. They’re here and real. Their eyes may land here and I may never know their reaction to my choice to not join in. My choice that seems unpopular by the world’s take on this stirring up of women who will not stay silent. I choose silence because I know silence is God’s will for me staying well.

 

My story is freedom.

I’m sticking with it, my “freedom story”, the colors of my Bible are my Bible, of my life.

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The Colors of My Bible

Healed and hopeful because of knowledge, joy, mercy, patience, love, grace, and understanding. It’s too much a burden to go back and begin carrying my hurt around again, too heavy a yoke of sad slavery.

“For freedom, Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.”

‭‭Galatians‬ ‭5:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Father, if there are readers still reeling from trauma or reminded of trauma and feeling pulled back into fear, I pray you lead them to hope and that they find counseling specific to trauma recovery. I pray they know you are near and that persistence towards healing not the pursuit of patterns that cause us to stay focused on before is your desire. I pray you will remind them and me of the woman at the well, the woman who stood before men who were ready to cast stones. She watched them all drop to the ground as Jesus told her she was free, now go and remember this day no more. I pray you will remind us that fear is not from you, only hope. That those deserving of condemnation will surely be handled by You on our behalf. 

Because of mercy,

Amen

Stay tuned, or better yet, join in. Tomorrow, Day 2 is prompted by “afraid”

Oh, my soul

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

Y’all, I can’t tell you who said this, but I heard it clearly.

My friend called this week a “thick” one with mucky mess making us feel like we oughta either be mad or “mad”.

Then we talked about our souls and the ways we know some stuff is meant to pull us back, keep us back, make us feel like we ain’t makin’ any progress at all.

If I don’t follow or fall back in am I less a warrior, more defeated?

What about the good, the good places we’ve found, come so far to find?

Was our satisfaction sanctimonious, are we any stronger at all?

But, oh, yes we so very much are ‘cause we know our souls and we know what stirs them rightly and what stirs them wrongly

and we decided for sure we’re better than before…just ‘cause we know how to care for our souls.

And we know where we belong.

Our souls stirred and satiated.

We continue on.

Potentially

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, waiting, wonder, writing

The idea of God’s mercy never-ending lining up with the potential He sees in me is almost too much to take in.

I put potential in a corner, my pattern of hoping not to be a bother, praying not be noticed, doing what I learned to believe was my role, to be content, to never need more than just enough…

Potential is a mystery some days, a misnomer, how could it be for me?

An inaccurate description, uncertain pursuit.

It takes a while to believe in it. I have to hear, read it in God’s word and get little glimpses of it when I least expect.

Yesterday, I heard a radio pastor remind me that I have no clue all that God will enable me to do if I simply choose to believe and continue with Him.

A conversation immediately clicked like a light, the realization of something God is making possible for me through an exchange with another I remembered.

A second encounter, a stranger saw my art and introduced an idea I’d never thought, possibly I’ll pursue.

And a third, I was intrigued by a new mindset in fundraising for our struggling non-profit. Just a slight change in wording, if businesses are for profit, we should be calling our programs “for purpose”, taking the “non” completely out the equation and mindset.

I assure you, this was not expected!

Clarity

Potential

Mercy, all lining up!

“Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭33:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

His mercy never ends and it triumphs judgment.

I hear more clearly now as He says

“Oh no…don’t you believe the lie that you’re not able, not worthy, that there’s no potential in you. Look around, look to me, you’ll see little by little and then occasionally more clearly.

Your potential is great. Remember my mercy towards you, there’s a reason it never ends, there’s so much more for you to know, to experience, to contribute. I made you, I should know.”

linking up with others, prompted by potential here: Five Minute Friday

Joy, Complete

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I don’t typically have tea and certainly not when it’s still so hot here. The air conditioner not working so great in my office and a deadline looming on top of disappointing decisions, I decided on tea.

I was lingering over an encounter from earlier and the nearness of our conversation making both of our disclosures so very palpable.

I wished I had a pretty cup, I’ll fix that tomorrow, heated the water anyway and washed the Christmas mug.

Opened the little envelope and understood.

Understood why I chose to have tea, the message I needed God knew. His love for me is unlimited, His ideas and plans for me are incomplete.

I have time still, no limits.

Can you imagine how differently God sees you than you most of the time see yourself?

I start and stop things because I can’t imagine the shame of not finishing so I’d just as soon not begin.

Just as soon settle for the label of just a dreamer over an accomplished doer.

I don’t think that is God’s desire, that we decide to derail His plans for us or that we doubt the possibility of their completion.

The three Books of John are brief, 2nd John having only one chapter, 13 verses.

He wrote letters, compelling them to walk in love and the chapter ended with him saying, I’m leaving you with these guidelines; but, I’m coming now to sit with you, to be with you, to look you in the eye, because I want to be sure you understand, want to be sure that your joy will be fully and amazingly complete.

“Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead, I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete.”

‭‭2 John‬ ‭1:12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I don’t think he wanted them to take lightly all of the goodness of God, the way to live fully.

I wonder if he’d struggled too to imagine a life complete and he “got it” and wanted to tell them all “you got this too…with God, the possibilities are unlimited! Believe and your joy will be complete.”

Your joy will be consistent, wait and see, you will see redemption this side of Heaven.

Your joy can be complete.

Linking up with others on the prompt from Kate Motaung “complete” as she writes about 7 years and her joy over recording her mom’s passing in her beautiful memoir, A Place to Land. I understand, Kate. I understand.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/09/20/fmf-link-up-complete/

Time and Turnarounds

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, eating disorder, Faith, freedom, memoir, Peace, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

I wish there was another word for broken, I thought.

I’ve had my heart broken, had my collarbone broken and I’ve been broke, close to destitute quite a long time ago.

You’ll hear speakers talk about it, writers write about it, how we must be “broken” to be whole, to truly be who with and through God we are supposed to be.

Women, broken and beautiful.

I prefer words like surrender, words like committed, words like fully aware that I ain’t able own my own.

I need God every hour.

I prefer to believe if I’m a vessel that I don’t have to be cracked open, broken to be used.

Broken seems so physical, to me so much more body than soul.

My tendency to circle back to old ways because I’m not fully broken still rears its ugly secretive ways.

Yesterday evening, the house was mine alone. Just as quick as I could get in the door, my hand reached for the refrigerator door.

Eyeing the savory tarragon chicken salad with almonds so creamy and heavy on the flavor, I grabbed the container and a spoon and dug in.

Standing with the refrigerator door open thinking just a taste, I went for more and then thought, so salty, I need sweet, need so much more.

The apple pie was going to waste, I decided. Just as quickly as before, I dipped out a chunk not a slice and dug around in the pan deciding I’d just have the apples but, then adding the buttered up crumbles.

Popped open the microwave, turned and opened the freezer for ice cream and my timing was synchronicity, the beep beep saying “it’s warm”.

So, I sat with my pretty little bowl and I enjoyed the dessert I decided must come although there’d been no meal.

I thought I’ve been here before but it has been a good long while.

I could go for more, take advantage of the indulgence opening up an opportunity to eat more, even more, to go over the edge like I used to before.

Empty house, pie and ice cream and salty, savory, sublimely good things, they could be all mine.

It could be just like before, I could simply go back for more and more.

All in my control, this at least I know.

Instead, I paid attention to my body’s reaction and my mind caught on. Was I allowing the breaking? I know, at least there was a slight bend, not so unwelcome an idea as before.

I went for my walk/run, returned to shower and spent two hours doing something tangible, demonstrative and intentionally in control of my part with my writing.

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I organized what I could imagine coming together as chapters, moved the art covering the cork board and planned it all out, quietly, visually, assuredly.

For me, this was a new thing, a turning in my road, a smoother stretch than ever before.

When we don’t go back to the place of before, the struggles that harmed us but feel so very much like rewards, could it be we’re being broken?

When we reject our default responses, the self-medicating maneuvers to avoid the unpleasantries of our days, could it be we’re accepting the tiny opening of cracks in our tightly sealed vessels?

When we anticipate the good stretches, don’t get off kilter by the interruptions of uncertain or not as good as before, could it be we’re broken more than ever, we’re believing in our God of so much more?

We worry less about the wilderness of unknowing while waiting and we don’t fill ourselves up with all our hungry hearts can hold, no need to hoard the good. We don’t have to do that anymore.

I made a turnaround last night.

I embraced the frantic fringe of my almost choosing to binge, to fill up my empty spaces and be in control. Instead, I recognized the misery of me, did what I could to pour my mind and body into the alternative, filled myself up with intention, followed it up with action and had a moment or two when the pieces fell together.

It caused a chill up my spine, my breaking,  and a pause that said,

Yes, Lord you are bringing all of this together now, you are leading my writing way.  You’ve broken me of myself, it had to happen to make room for so much more.

“For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, flowing out in the valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey,”

‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭8:7-8‬ ESV

Like Moses reminded the Israelites, God reminded me of the horrible places he’d delivered me from and promised me that with His help my turnaround was leading me to so very much more.

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Broken, surrendered, open to new directions, to making space for Him, clarity for my making known of Him.

Just as sovereignty and providence would have it, I heard a pretty song this morning that made being broken feel quite lovely and welcoming and well, just exactly what and who I should be because of who I was before.

A rebel, a prodigal, imperfect and scarred.

I suppose I’m quite beautiful after all, broken.

 

 

If it’s true you use broken things, then here I am, Lord, I’m all yours.

Matthew West, Broken Things

Linking up with the Tell His Story community and a post today about Jennifer Dukes Lee’s new book, It’s all Under Control. Timely for me and I’m thinking lots of others. Visit here:

https://marygeisen.com/you-have-more-control-than-you-think-and-a-giveaway/

 

Happy Way of Life #17

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

I made it to the top of the hill and the rain showered my cheeks in a whipping wash.

The storm brought rain mostly and a time to wait, and trust, and to stop depending on the weather or the man to begin, or to stay, to go.

Go, go with the flow. Go slow if you struggle, still go.

So, today the wind said no use for that hat and I set out to walk, to run into the wind with Alison Krauss singing of maybe one day maybe and a simple love like that and please read the letter that I wrote.

Tiny leaves all around, torn from the trees still green and one large maple between two pines is sparsely scattered with yellow now amongst the still lively greens.

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Saying time is changing, you are changing. It is time.

So, I passed a couple walking separate but together, moved uphill running to the opposite and not even a nod did I offer.

For I was moving steady and thinking now about the times against the wind and how that song used to slow me but, now feels quite fine.

Like a letter you write that needs new correspondence because this is now and that was then.  You open the mail to find an invitation to enter a literary competition, to submit again like last year before and you tuck it away knowing already the story, the one about changing names.

 

Understanding Alone

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, contentment, freedom, grace, love, mercy, Peace, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

God is in the midst of her…Psalm 46:5

You may know the quote, the one about being courageous enough to grow up and be who you are.

The labels and descriptions you may have spent the bulk of your life trying to prove wrong won’t be thrown off, won’t allow your discarding.

For they know they belong.

You’re not aloof, you just understand more clearly than others maybe, the longing for and gift of alone.

You are finally you, and okay more now than then with your understanding of alone.

My son in law uses an expression quite often that makes me smile when he gets it slightly wrong.

“To each is love, Miss Lisa” , he’ll remind me when we’re noticing people who don’t look, act or talk the same as us.

Maybe he’s right, maybe to each of us “it is our own” and for each us to be here all crowded together, it is love that is required.

I dislike crowds. Some don’t believe me. Speaking in public comes with the territory of my work. Facing crowds with half-hearted expressions and faces to talk about hard things my heart beats for, is hard for me.

When I’m done, I retreat, I long to be hidden, wish I could sit in silence.

I need to be alone.

You know the story about the sheep that Jesus told the disciples in John, 10?

“And I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”

‭‭John‬ ‭10:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

If I were a sheep I’d be the one close enough to the fold and keenly listening to be sure I didn’t get separated.

I’m the one Jesus keeps his eye on, knowing my need not to be sort of alone, but still close enough to know His love.

I’m the one often mistaken for aloof, sweet little “shy” one, the childhood description that stuck.

The one in the midst of the gathering either making awkward conversation or biding time until I can again be alone.

“To each is love.”

To each of us quiet sheep following our shepherd but lingering on the edge of the crowded and maybe boisterous crowd, to each of us too, is His love.

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.”

‭‭John‬ ‭10:27-28‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We feel safer in our aloneness, quiet in our quiet places.

We hear our shepherd more clearly when we’re not amongst all the others, competitive or compelling the crowd might be, good crowd or just noisy crowd.

We know where we long to be. So does He.

Linking up, prompted by the word “crowd” with others for Five Minute Friday.

Being Taught

Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, happy, heaven, Homeless, memoir, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

There’s just something about God’s ways that cause the constant return to quiet.

“Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭25:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

When you’ve had and have so many irons in the fire and you’re persisting, persisting, persisting because you believe not persisting would be giving up and well giving up might be quitting altogether once and for all.

And then you’d have to fake being fine with the oh, well I tried and it wasn’t meant to be for me facade.

I’ve been creating like crazy, so much that there’s no more space for my pieces and a crazy little children’s table I’m determined I’m gonna be stuck with because, no one thinks it’s worth what I’ve put into it and oh,

Well, you’re not really an artist, Lisa. You have talent but you don’t have what it takes to take you anywhere.

And you’re not really a writer except that people actually like your words and you like sharing them and a few people take something with them from their reading. And they tell you and you smile, thinking oh that’s kind of you but I wish I could be more, more, more.

Because you’ve got five or six possible places and ideas and they’re absolutely all over the place and all overdue soon.

You fathom a community changing idea for suicide prevention but you’re naive to believe you can do it your own and you know that so that knowledge joins in the conversation and question of them all.

Give up or try?

Then you realize, just stop.

Just stop for a day or maybe two.

Stop and remember your why that got crowded out by your what if and why not me or the big one for me, “How can I, How should I and mostly How could I not?

Because there’s always the place inside that won’t let you forget God told you these things are your purpose, He made you for these.

Landscapes were painted because the angels seemed less charming, amateurish, I discerned.

Others wanted color, I adjusted my technique and my brushes.

I wrote bravely and hurriedly to comply with a deadline and four days later reread the folded and put away copy and found a sentence that made no sense, a whole paragraph that had no flow.

Obsessively checking emails to see if they chose to publish it anyway. Crazy!

Crazy ever seeking more for me.

Too much, Lisa. Too much Lisa.

Grace upon Grace

You lost your why again.

Art had become a chore, my quiet space an obligation, counting down time ’til I was done with one and then finish three more to be complete, a series I called “Spirit”.

I suppose such is life when you’re teetering over deciding your worth from what you create instead of from your creator.

The things that have always been your sweet spot of comfort become a frantic and frazzled focus, an ever futile challenge.

It is miserable when you veer off the path of what had become your peaceable and pretty place.

So, you take a break, maybe just an hour, a day or two and you ask God to speak before you close your eyes.

You wake and there’s barely light outside, the soft and gradual I’m not gonna overwhelm you revelation of day.

Feels like God saying,

Come now, let’s begin again.

This time be disciplined. Be disciplined not in your doing.

But, be disciplined in your believing.

Make things of beauty because I’ve given you the ability, the hands, the thoughts, the words.

Make them for me, allow me to take them where they belong.

I’ve begun a new piece, returned to my beginning place, the quiet pieces resting on lyrics from old hymnal pages. The works I call “my girls” and some have called my ministry.

I’m at peace again.

Back to my soul.

I’m linking up with the Tell His Story community along with Mary Geisen and this beautiful story: https://marygeisen.com/there-goes-my-heart/

Reflections Clearly

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Jesus met the woman at the well. She described Him as a stranger and yet was compelled to know Him more.

It is the same with me, the same with us.

I consider myself lucky that it’s not the same face to face chronological recitation of my wrongs, rather the knowing that He knows and with no need for discussion speaks gently to my soul saying,

“Lisa Anne, let’s move on.”

Move with me now, not against me.

And like the woman drawing out her supply of water, I allow myself to go without far too long and I come back to the well.

“The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He tells her. She asks to be quenched of her thirst and Jesus suggests she go and fetch her husband to join them.

She tells him she’s not married and He answers like a parent who’s been carefully observing and waiting for the proper time for telling,

Yes, I know. I know what you have done. I know you have a reputation.

I know you’ve been with many men.

She’s surprised, not humiliated or else I believe she would’ve run. Imagine a man you consider a stranger being bold enough to confront your attempt to cover.

It’s time for new water, He says, let me share mine with you.

And she accepted His offer.

Then she left her water jar beside the well and ran quickly to tell others.

“So the woman left her water jar and went away into town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:28-29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Changed by her encounter she had much to say. She couldn’t wait!

I sat with someone this week who came asking for help for someone other than herself. She brought him along, his eyes were sad and yet, open to change.

Desperate for a resolution, she said she thought I might know more and phone calls on speaker were made, options discussed and possible plans suggested.

The conversation shifted. She was tired, I was right, her choice was wrong, what will she do now?

I suggested the same as I suggested before and reminded her how I thought her mama life should line up now.

Straightforward responses that caused the troubled one with her to lift his face in surprise that I might be so bold.

He commented, “I like you, you shoot straight.”

She sat still, face towards her lap and I told him it’s only a small amount of time I get someone within my reach and so if I want to help, I don’t hold back on my words.

“Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me all that I ever did.”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:39‬ ‭ESV‬‬

If I have opportunity to tell, Lord, help me to tell. Me

The door opened wider and she told me she’d gotten away from God, that she doesn’t seek Him, doesn’t make time.

She said it began weeks ago.

I told her I knew, that I had seen it in her eyes, in the way we’d met before and she’d insisted all was good; but, she hurried away and shot out the door.

On this day she sat and I suggested what I know to be true, a true indication of my own distance from or closeness to God.

Begin to pray again, read your Bible, get quiet.

Look in the mirror today and then continue, coming back to it and remember the mirror now in comparison to before.

You’ll like what you see, your eyes more open, your cheeks back up and resting where they belong, your smile will be not of your own making, instead from Him.

It’ll be like you are singing your song again, dancing your dance.

Joy will be your reflection. Your spirit no longer thirsting for whatever was wasted on your attempts to quench it.

This I know, because I know.

I’ve tested my suggestion, I’m well acquainted with my countenance either content or conflicted.

This morning, I woke and prayed:

God help me to tell others the things you have told me.

Things like the mirror story, I tell it because it is mine and things like meeting Jesus and the mercy of His knowing my wrongs.

And remembering them no more.

There’s a song that sounds like love to me.

The lyrics and the tone sway gently with its story, Jesus holding us close and taking the lead, leading me on in a dance of love.

You steady me.

You set my feet to dancing.

Bethel Music

Listen and you might better understand the love of Jesus, the way He says come near, stay near, dance with me now and forever.

We Dance

Beautiful is our reflection.

When it is from Him.