My new journal has a place in the corner for the date and subject. This invitation to narrow my focus has given space to pause, minimalistic it seems my quiet time is becoming.
It kind of astounds me the depth of thought God rouses me with every morning. I say I’m not deserving of it and He says, “Yes, you are, think on it a little and then share it with whoever.”
Today, grace was and is the subject. Grace that longs for strong holding, grace that says hold on.
So, in my journal under the word “trust” encircled and the names of my children, up above a question, “God, what is mine to do today?”
Then, a summation
From God’s perspective it’s always who we are becoming, the life we accept, His invitation of grace to enter into. Who we are becoming matters so much more to our Holy and SovereignFather thanwho we were or even at this very second who we are. Maybe, I’ve decided that’s a better description of faith than my pen has ever recorded.
Today, I will go with grace towards greater faith.
Grace that responds to my floundering with flourish.
Leads me to places that bring sweet examples of others who knew grace and who were quietly bold.
Three places in scripture, the woman who anointed Jesus is mentioned. The words he used to defend her, to exhibit love and grace because in His eyes she deserved it, caused a sigh in my chest, a tear in my eye. I thought this is what grace sees us capable of, becoming people who never question devotion, aren’t stingy with our love.
“I promise you that as this wonderful gospel spreads all over the world, the story of her lavish devotion to me will be mentioned in memory of her.” Jesus Mark 14:9 TPT
Grace says keep coming towards me, keep learning, keep becoming, you’re not yet home and I’m not done with showing you love and courage.
“O Lord, you are my lamp. The Lord lights up my darkness.” 2 Samuel 22:29 NLT
Early mornings, I travel towards the unveiling of day. On cloudless days the color is thick as I turn from the main road to the more obscure. When I arrive and allow my car to rest on the hill, I gather all my “grandma day” things and pause with the view.
I have so many pictures of this place. On Wednesday, I decided there was no need for another, like most everything now, different day, same thing, I am apathetic over the view.
I looked away, no longer fascinated by the morning, the warm orange and one dot of star up above.
The sunrise held no promise that day, not for me.
Later, I opened the mailbox and was surprised by the gift of a book I’d not ordered but had been helping to launch, “The Advent Narrative” by Mary Geisen
I opened it and thought, the place my eyes land will be the light I need, the lifting of this heavy fog, lingering dull headache that refused to let up. Earlier, I talked to someone who is depressed, recovered from COVID but still very compromised by these days, lingering is his malaise.
I told him, “All I can offer you is to rely on your faith, have faith.”
As I spoke those words, I heard my own tone, a tone of uncertain belief in faith as the answer when the wait for God’s reply has been too long.
I held Mary’s book in my lap, imagining hours and days of compiling her thoughts into words, interspersing scripture as reference and deciding to present the book as a play with three acts, three scenes in each. How unique, how intentional to write this way I thought, pulling the reader in, promising us that if we trust the process, “wait for it”, the story will make sense.
“For it is in the middle, the not yet, the in between, that God does some of His greatest work.” Mary Geisen
The wait is lingering longer than any of us expected, the wait for relief from worry over family and frustration over unresolved conflict and division.
I had grown quite weary. Bored, even of the sameness and stupor caused by this pandemic. I just wanted it all to be over and I told God so.
He answered slowly, an unveiling in quiet ways. A conversation via text led to my summing up my feelings in a way that finally felt honest, helpful.
Because ever since I’d told my brother to have more faith, I’d been wondering exactly where mine had gone and just how small it had become, had become nothing more than a vacant word.
My cousin and I were in agreement, we both longed for our dead mamas’ comfort food. We wished for the impossible to be, we longed for what we remembered to represent goodness to be good for us again.
I remembered when my faith felt that way, like the sweet embrace of a kind adult telling me everything would be okay, the hand of my grandmother against my cheek with no words just assurance. I knew then, in this time of waiting for better, my faith is growing.
That must be why it felt so tiny, my recognition of it expanding to take me to bigger things. When I told my cousin I wanted the comfort of my mama too, it led to clarity, the pain I was feeling ached from growing.
“I know. These are very hard almost nonsensical days. I’m not a prophet or anything but I do believe God is requiring of us a new kind of faith, a faith that doesn’t expect any evidence of its worth at all…I’m beginning to see just how shallow my well is…maybe I’m all pretty words and no substance.”
And the day improved from there. Errands needed to be fulfilled and the mask requirement was still in place. The line stretched long at the post office as I stood in my tape marked place. I looked at the other masked faces wishing I knew their feelings. Were they angry, afraid, cocky over their fancy masked protection?
The eyes are not telling stories in the way they used to. Have you noticed?
The crescendo is building, the day we hope for by faith. My faith is growing. I know this for sure. No wonder it felt so little, I needed to allow it to grow. I am seeing myself more clearly.
I waited and I said Psalm 23 to myself over and over, the passage that quells my chest tightness, contains the promise I know is God’s. My favorite clerk called out “Next!” and his eyes greeted mine as I asked if he was doing okay. He was tired, he said and I thought to myself as he coughed, turning away, I really hope he will be okay, hope relief comes soon, relief of the tiredness of these days.
“Peeling layers of life back to reveal our innermost being is demanding work. The harder we push away from what is good, noble, pure, and lovely (Philippians 4:8), the more God gently loves us. He has a way of softening the edges, sliding through the cracks, and entering our darkest places. God is the image bearer, light-keeper, and grace-gifter.” Mary Geisen, “The Advent Narrative-The Life You Didn’t Know You Were Already Living”
The Saturday morning sunlight is creating a pattern of undeniable hope on my lap. I’ll not ignore it, the glorious sameness of grace, of hope, of faith.
I am growing, God is waiting with me in the waiting.
Purchase this book filled with truth, inviting wonder here:
The two homes on the cul de sac are inviting Christmas early. One changed overnight from a massive friendly ghost inflatable to a same size “Frosty” snowman waving at me as I walk by. The second, more subtle a view, the front door open to allow my peeking in, a tree lit simply in a corner. One reminding me of great big joy and the other a decided upon peace.
“Charlie Brown”
The tree is up early in my granddaughter’s room. My daughter, a teacher exhausted over what may come next for her students, watched Christmas movies with her baby, sang songs about jingling bells and dressed her in pink peppermint pajamas.
All of it, beauty!
The deciding to celebrate Christmas in November and groaning in our hearts and souls for a star, a sign symbolic of hope.
Jesus was born and everything changed.
And now centuries later, we are still longing for Christmas. We are so very weary, so very.
“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” O’ Holy Night
“Baby’s Tree”
The air was crisp on our walk this morning. We danced along with music in my pocket, looked towards the sky and we rubbed our hands on the cool ground and moss pillows on the hill.
Christmas, I wondered last night before sleeping, how will it be? Will the animosity over politics, vaccines, mask wearing or not wearing ever end?
Will Christmas be quiet this year, requiring less frantic buying and limited travel, limited dining together?
Will we be home alone?
If so, will we know this is God’s will for this time, His idea?
Will we trust in Jesus? Will we keep believing God sees us?
“Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah” Psalm 77:9 ESV
Will we open our Bibles, find comfort in the likemindedness of the psalmist? Will we be reassured of His goodness because of the evidence of more goodness than we can possibly recall?
Will we see ourselves in the Gospels as we reacquaint ourselves with the birth to resurrection story of the baby born in a manger, Jesus?
Moss “Pillows”
I pray I am able, pray I avoid the trap of worry, of not knowing the last word in this season’s book and I pray the book becomes one of lessons with resolution not a cliffhanger waiting for the sequel.
Christmas, come early. Come sooner than later. We long for your star. We long for the peace it promised then and promises still.
“I love Thee, Lord Jesus Look down from the sky And stay by my side ‘Til morning is nighBe near me, Lord Jesus I ask Thee to stay Close by me forever And love me, I pray…” Away in A Manger”
Be near us Jesus, as we continue on the paths you place us.
Christmas, come soon. Find us as we find you again. Find ourselves remembering the meaning of Christmas, you, a Savior born for every single soul.
Last night the dreams did that filtering thing, bringing all the half processed thoughts to the surface so that morning’s arrival could have a blank slate.
Angry encounters, loneliness amongst others, worry, an almost real sense of illness and a vivid place of being taken advantage of.
I understand the purpose of dreams when they are this threatening, this vulnerability revealing.
What was heavy becomes evidence now of false narrative and a waking up to return to truth.
“I am convinced that any suffering we endure is less than nothing compared to the magnitude of glory that is about to be unveiled within us.” Romans 8:18 TPT
Last weekend my husband and I stole away for a couple of days in a time it seems we’re supposed to be hunkering down, getting ready to fight, a time of yet more uncertain events.
We were among the leaves, the curving hills and valleys, the powerful rush of water, the sound of leaves tousling under our feet and dancing downward.
In the afternoon I sat and rocked alone on the old porch shielded by camellias. The inn was uncrowded because of pandemic.
I simply sat. Several minutes into the comfort of nothingness, I turned to see an oddity.
In the corner of the porch, the shape of a dark bird sat. I turned away and then looked again, still there.
I puzzled over the shape. Had somebody left a carved bird there for sweet decoration, was it one of those country birds people put on a shelf, the legs dangling?
I waited, no hurry to decide what it was.
I began to be sure that it was there just for me. My soul was stilled. The world around me a mess and yet, I am sitting quietly with a simply beautiful view and I’m rocking gently in an old wooden chair.
All was good, was well.
Sunset approached and I quietly decided to see more closely the figure in the corner.
I stepped gingerly and I saw it, a sparrow who allowed my visit and then fluttered away.
I went to tell my husband and to dress for dinner. As we stepped towards the porch I shushed him, maybe we will see it.
And we did. Back in its safe place, we both saw the bird.
“It’s roosting.” my husband said.
Oh.
The bird wasn’t there when we returned after dinner nor on Sunday when we departed.
Only Saturday as I sat resting from hiking and in between a good long call with my son and a FaceTime with my daughter and hers.
I knew it was God.
I know it was His nearness in a visit with a roosting bird.
Now I know roosting is different than nesting as far as the pattern of a bird. Roosting is sitting still, finding a place to rest and returning there for comfort, for safety.
Maybe we roost when we allow our souls to rest in God’s tender but massive hand. Maybe we confidently return to our little place.
“A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord, A wonderful Savior to me; He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, Where rivers of pleasure I see. He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, That shadows a dry, thirsty land; He hideth my life in the depths of His love, And covers me there with His hand, And covers me there with His hand.”
I pray you know God’s nearness today, that the noise of all other is quieted by a view, a song, a sound and that if sleep awakens buried fears, you wake with assurance of being never alone and you rest in the safe place of that knowledge.
If you will get quiet, God will come near and tie up the edges of your thoughts, bring them together and bind them as a chapter in your story.
I know this to be true.
Last week, a stranger called. Someone told her I had connections, good at problem solving, helping others not give up.
I listened and advised, adding I’m not really connected any longer with people in places of helping others.
I listened as she told her story, one of divorce, of children who struggled, of being diagnosed with physical infirmity.
“Everything has me feeling so broken.” she said.
“When we accept our brokenness and give up our own repairs, we allow God to make beautiful things of our lives.”
Quietly, she agreed and thanked me for reassuring her that the connections she has already made are the right ones.
This morning, quiet with God, I thought of a song’s lyrics, “we won’t be shaken” and I journaled a tender note to myself remembering my talk with the stranger.
Love never fails. I Corinthians 13:8
The note to self, confirmation that according to God, I am enough. The rich blessings I know are more than I expected. I can rest. I can quiet my soul.
Art, writing, telling my story of redemption, these are I suppose options, either way, I am loved.
Do you believe God loves you no matter your talent, success or bravery? It’s a difference maker, this realization.
It’s the evidence of the presence of His Spirit in you, the comfort of truly doing things to God’s glory, not yours. It’s the sign of surrender that will set you free.
I’m only beginning to see. Still, it is freedom for me.
Some know of my book idea, the redemption story I’ve carried for very long. God turned the tables on that story and is piece by piece, giving me a more beautiful one, one that’s not relentless in remembering the past, focused on women like me who bravely stepped forward.
Who’s to say if it will be written. I’m okay either way. The beautiful thing, God is okay with me as well.
The same is true for you, the gracious and merciful love of God guiding your every endeavor.
Visualize it. God looking down on you, seeing your capabilities, your talents, your unique approach to sharing your God story. I see Him seeing us, seeing us getting closer to the story He wrote of us, seeing us combine His love, our bravery and just enough humility.
Whether or not you follow through on the things God made you to do, beautiful ideas only for you, is mercifully up to you.
Oh, that you would bless me indeed, enlarge my borders, that your hand would be with me and keep me from harm so that I would not be in pain. Jabez’s prayer
What can hear God saying in the quiet?
Listen. He’s patient in your response, gracious no matter your decision.
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10 NLT
Yesterday was a good day, restful but productive until I paused with early sunset on the sofa and allowed my thoughts to catch up.
The annoying squeeze of the unnamed anxiety was realized. I walked down the hall to use the stretch, “legs against the wall” and I felt the rope loosen, the one that was tight around my chest.
Stretching and then praying made it better, the place that my soul inhabits was opened up, restored, clearing out the clutter, making more room for my Father’s spirit to be fully known by me.
I’m beginning to believe God. Beginning to believe the prayer that children say has words that are more than a pretty promise, are true.
“Ask Jesus to come into your heart.”
Not as a child but as a thirty something year old, I said what is called the “sinner’s prayer”.
Jesus came near, planted His Spirit in my soul. It has been gradual, often half-heartedly that I believed this mystery to be so.
This mystery that by grace and patience is no longer so obscurely mysterious at all.
Because I’ve been asking God to come near, to fill me, to allow His river to flow to me and through me and it has begun to be so.
It is becoming well with my soul,
Will become even more so. I am certain. I continue to believe.
Believing God has good things for me, not just for others is a closer truth than before.
A couple of weeks ago the nearness of God astounded me. I’ve kept it to myself except one wise other person until now.
On a regular morning walk with my grandchild, music she loves coming from my pocket and stops and starts to dig in the sand followed by her bouncy steps running, I had a thought.
Surrounded by trees, I remembered the scary vertigo episode almost exactly a year ago. I thanked God for wellness, for no further episodes.
I looked on either side, trees with leaves falling, old tall ones and new branches and I wondered to myself, what would I do if one of these trees fell, if my grandchild was safe but I was trapped?
I imagined calmly, the dog would look after Elizabeth and I’d be able to call for help.
Although scary, it would be okay, I would be safe.
Strange, I know.
Even stranger or as I now believe, not strange at all, occurred the next morning.
I arrived to care for my granddaughter in the dark of morning. My daughter said her husband wanted to know,
“Did your mama see that big tree that fell overnight?”
“No”, I answered. She continued with the way it fell, not a loud sound and the tree with the trunk at least seven feet around, it fell perfectly against the fence row, didn’t block the road.
“Oh” I mumbled.
We walked later to see it, the baby and I. I saw the massive oak severed by something unhuman lying on the ground.
I admit, I thought heavily of it all day, wondering over the weight of my thoughts the day before. It felt very scary and then, supernatural in a kind and loving way.
I texted my friend, wise in spiritual strengths and truth.
She wasn’t astounded or afraid. She simply told me God wanted to show me He is protecting me. That wherever I am, He is; I embody His Spirit. I have an advocate. There was no shock in her tone, she didn’t think I was crazy or what happened was scary.
Later, I realized I could believe it too. God is very close to me.
He is answering my most tender prayers.
Before sleep last night, I read five psalms, a proverb and a message.
I remembered the random text from the friend mentioned above, the way her words sent a chill down my calf.
I slept with the certainty of being known and loved and when I woke I repeated what God told me overnight.
“You are a masterpiece. Keep creating.”
“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.” Psalms 4:8 NLT
Receive grace, we need it. We’re going to need it. Regardless of November, hopelessness is a wound not even close to being healed, the result of our lack of control, uncertainty, the open-ended question of the coming year, the apathy towards each other, the numbing that’s happening to us to the extent we don’t yet know.
“That’s a lot, Lisa…I thought you were a person of faith?”
I know. Today I prayed beside my bed, no words, just a position.
Surrendering the moment.
…and by Him, everyone who believes is freed. Acts 13:39
Belief is a very personal thing, prayer is too. God, knowing each of us completely and individually knows us “down to the very bones” and yet, sees us worthy of the very grace we received when we accepted the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus. We decided then I can’t fix this, in fact in my humanness I am unfixable.
Still, I work hard and with intention and a word we love, “perseverance” to see the measure of my faith be represented by works. It’s how we’re wired and we forget that physical wiring never is enough.
Praise, prayer and worship with music rein me back in closer. I find myself opening my hands to heaven when a song touches my tender wounds, thrilled to be uninterrupted on my knees beside my bed or joining others in prayer with both hands palm up to God.
Giving God the hopes, fears and thanks.
Today, I read “Receive His grace all day.” It struck me that the hands I open to give are rarely opened to receive from God. I forget that I need His grace all day long, every moment. More importantly, I forget that His grace is a reservoir that never runs dry. I forget that it is ours simply for asking, just by saying, I need you every hour. Again, I’m not able on my own and you know it God, still you wait patiently for me to remember.
We cannot put our hopes in this country. I’m sorry if that sounds unpatriotic. It hurts to know that and I worry that hopelessness is outpacing the destruction of the pandemic. Without hope, without God and His grace, none of us can sustain our own manufactured hope.
Open your hands as needed today. Receive grace.
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16 ESV
My daughter texted me to share that her daughter, 16 months old yesterday, had put her pants on by herself this morning.
I asked if she’d noticed other things like making her own decisions about inside or outside play with a sweet little “nope”.
I asked if she’d taken her to the bathroom with her and seen her tear a sheet of tissue as if to wipe. Yes, she had, my daughter answered but sweet little “ELB” wants nothing to do with the potty. I answered,
“She’s observing and strategizing.”
Last week I followed a flow chart created to help me understand the flow through the Book of Genesis. The kind of chart with lines dropping down interrupted by some action or moving forward through the process.
I began to imagine the route of a prayer, a prayer that cries out for resolution or a prayer that longs to be known by God.
Maybe the simple one that says thank you, another morning I am well or a more spontaneously overtaking one that comes from a song you join in the praise, you are so grateful to be connected with God.
I wondered about the delivery to the throne of God. Is Jesus able to one by one say, “Father, Lisa just had a moment, she’s afraid or Father, look now, she just got a glimpse of you and she’s better.”?
I wonder such things.
Why some prayers go unanswered.
Why some are answered when we’ve decided they weren’t heard. Why there must surely be some strategy in God’s timing that we are asked to trust.
To trust what we can’t see yet.
Last Sunday, the pastor talked about certainty and asked how long it had been since we remembered big ways in our lives that God showed up.
Remembered the answered prayers. I thought of a few.
My son was certain he would not pass the PT test at the military college his “knob” year. He’d been told sit-ups are a challenge for someone as tall as you, at least when they’re timed. A few people, the pastor who baptized him, his little boy Sunday school teacher and I prayed. God woke me up at 5 that morning, the test was scheduled soon after. I prayed. He passed and let me know in a text. He is now a Citadel and grad school graduate working for an accounting firm.
My daughter’s heart condition lingered several years, the place in her heart the surgeon called a little “stick of dynamite”was in a delicate place. Every procedure they simply couldn’t ablate it. Every procedure, we waited and prayed.
The final one, I was waiting with her sweet husband. The surgeon came out and as with each time before, he just couldn’t synchronize his instrument with the misfiring in her heart.
I nodded in acceptance as he told us he wasn’t giving up yet and then I walked away. I found the tiny chapel prayer space the size of a closet.
I cried and I prayed.
Shortly after, I sat with my son in law in acceptance and waiting. The surgeon returned and he told us so very explicitly the strategy he used and then he told us in words we could hold on to. He’d gone in to the location he knew from her records the malfunction occurred and he “schnockered” the area he told us.
He was optimistic.
A few years later, they are parents of a girl that wouldn’t have been advisable before. Her heart is well.
Other prayers have been unanswered and while they bring sorrow upon remembrance, I’ve accepted the response God chose was better based on His observation of the whole picture, the sovereign strategy I am not capable of understanding.
I just need to believe that my prayers are heard. I have some big ones these days.
I need to believe the incomprehensible truth that every single other person’s are heard in equal measure.
I need to believe because I have seen and I need to never doubt because of those things I did not see and won’t ever until eternity.
“Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” John 20:29-31 ESV
She told me a heartbreaking story and how she came to accept it.
She said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
I woke today and met rejection. An email quickly skimmed and moved on to the folder marked trash.
I’d told myself submit and if it is for you, it will be.
I wasn’t at all destroyed over it. The not being chosen for my writing was sort of an answer to some recent questions of God.
One in particular, do I just blog and let that be enough?
I don’t know yet.
But, I’m open either way.
Not on the edge about it. I know that God’s intentions for me are always good. I find it brave to believe this.
Wish I’d believed it sooner.
Wish I’d seen the verse with the words “returning and rest” the way my friend explained it.
“Daughter, come back.” is what she told me the prophet Isaiah wrote, as instructed by God.
“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.” Isaiah 30:15 NLT
My friend is biblically wise and I’d always felt the words about running away felt like chastisement.
She read farther back and told me God is just reminding me rest means closeness and confidence and strength are from staying near.
We talked a little more and we began to share worries over our world, the evil motivations of people and the bravery required to stand strong and speak up about God.
She became quiet. She shared of a high school classmate she’d heard through others had suffered a stroke.
She told me they weren’t close friends, hadn’t run in the same circles way back then.
Using the connection of another former classmate, she contacted the ailing friend and asked to drop off food, say hello.
The stroke victim said no at first and eventually allowed my friend in.
And I’m not sure how many visits there were, if meals were shared or if conversation became natural.
My friend shared that the woman she’d been visiting did not believe in God. She had her reasons.
My friend asked God to keep her alive until she could change her mind about Jesus.
My friend ached for that assurance. She is aching still.
The former classmate died too soon.
Tremendous pain prompted her to get any pill she could get off the street and my friend heard that the stroke victim who said there was no God, died while sending someone a text.
My friend heard later, the pill was tainted, a deadly ingredient added.
I sat and sensed the ache of question. I saw regret in the posture of my friend.
Months passed since the passing until one day in the shower, she longed to know why she’d not been able to help the former classmate believe in Jesus.
She looked over at me and said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
And the truth of God’s intention for my friend’s friend and for me caused tears to begin slowly.
Peace permeated the space between us.
“So, you have peace about her?” I asked and she nodded.
Then, I smiled and I cried and I told her something I don’t think she knew would be for me.
What that means is that those horrible things that happened to me were not what God intended, the evil just won the battle.
And maybe, just maybe the stuff I longed for that had not happened was not God’s intention for me.
Come back, daughter. Yes, I now see.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you. Isaiah 30:18 ESV
What makes no sense to you if you believe in a God that is good?
My friend found peace when God told her, I was on your team, I was fighting alongside you.
You having more time with her was my intention.
Evil broke in. Broke in too soon.
On earth there is evil.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 ESV
Heaven, though, is God’s purpose.
Our hope and future.
Come back. Stay near. My grace to you is intentional.
What are you wondering? What are you waiting for, wondering if you’ll ever get through or over it?
What are you waiting to experience, the wonder of a promise that comes true when you weren’t quite sure it would?
“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.” Psalm 62:1 ESV
The begonia in the pot was an afterthought, an extra in the little plastic container, now growing towards the sun.
I wonder why its blooms are fabulous, the others with the caladium have dried up.
I wonder why the women who found the empty tomb, who’d been so grief stricken were scared, uncertain, even seen as crazy.
Were met by skeptics.
Jesus had told them that after three days, you will understand even better the purpose of my violent crucifixion.
It seems as if the women and the disciples had forgotten.
I get that. I’m very much prone to forgetting the promise of good when I’m caught up in the malaise of my waiting.
Or when I don’t see any evidence of just around the bend arrival of it. I act as if pending will never end. I grow weary in waiting.
“…Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee,” Luke 24:6 ESV
Then, like the women bent over by their waiting beside the tomb of Jesus, I’ll get a sense of God’s nearness akin to the angel who told the ladies…
Remember. Remember, God will.
God will bring good again.
What are you waiting for? Is it for grief to subside or to change its grip on your life and your soul?
Grief will change over time. It never goes away, it does change its emotion and the emotion it stirs in you.
What at first and for years and years is bitter, will become sweet.
Here’s why I say this.
A few nights ago, for the first time in decades since she’s been gone, I felt happiness over my memories of my mama.
A Netflix series, “A Chef’s Table”, the first episode, a story of a strong Texan named “Tootsie”.
I was enthralled. I felt I’d never heard a story so like my mama’s. I happily watched the whole show and later told my children, “If you want to watch something that will literally feel like being with your grandma, watch this show.”
I don’t know if they will. But, I will again.
So, here’s to the undeniable mystery of God. Was God aware there’d be a woman named Tootsie who would at last turn my grief to a sweeter thing when I watched a documentary?
I don’t know.
I’m simply accepting that God is good and makes good on His promises.
Promises we only have seen just a glimpse of here.
We are known.
Already known.
We can wait well knowing, the sweetest days are coming.
We canwait in wonder rather than worry.
Because God said so.
Continue and believe.
What are you waiting for?
What, to begin or to end?
Wait in wonder, knowing God knows.
Wonderment, such a pretty word. I’m holding onto it.
we run away from our discomfort... but it doesn't leave us. to heal we need to turn around and face it, experience it and once we truly do we are out of it. We heal and we grow.
2 Timothy 1:7-8 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. This blog is about my Christian walk. Join me for the adventure.
Lisa Anne Tindal 