grace

More Silent an Ambition

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, Redemption, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

The whole house quiet with the embrace of a frosty fog, I was awakened by the ding of a message from another place I couldn’t begin to know what it’s like there.

I open the back door and the sun is working its way through the pines to the place where they all played.

He sends me photos and a video of the place where Jesus sat in the middle of the men he’d had walking with him, had been giving them glimpses of His glory, His grace, grooming them to carry on without Him. They had supper together before He was crucified for them, for us.

The little bulleted prayer list now has an asterisk “guide Austin’s steps” denoting God’s answer.

Changing my path too,

I’m slowly seeing more surely.

I’m sitting in the silence and reading, confounded over this place here that holds my words. Seems my audience has gone silent. I’ve decided, this is a sovereign sign.

I have been a bit ambitious for acceptance, might have gotten a little lost in the “ahh”

Of approval.

Just now, I read it’s not up to me to pick my purpose. It’s only up to me to let God have what he’s given me to see it come to be.

To sit quietly as He develops the story or stories to tell.

To live quietly, my words from His words, the creations of my hands, they’re formed by His hand.

Lord, set me free from depending on the notice of others, I pray.

“Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we instructed you before.”

“Then people who are not believers will respect the way you live, and you will not need to depend on others.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭4:11-12‬ ‭

Thankful for the Five Minute Friday prompt, lining up my thoughts and words and believing in the gift of getting silent.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/11/09/fmf-link-up-silence/

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Found Praying

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

Tonight, I walked down the hall, the house quiet and settled. The evening, a good one, I walked under leaves and on ground littered with beauty and returned in time to cook a good meal, to paint a bold floral.

I remembered some things I’d been thinking about and made note to be sure I made time to pray for things that will be happening tomorrow.

Stalled by my thoughts on the way to open the dresser drawer, find the warmer pajamas, I decided then, that I’d pray now.

The farthest end of the house, dark.

Unconcerned over not being alone, I knelt, my hands smoothing the creases on the thick quilted cover.

I prayed what needed to be prayed. I prayed what thoughts kept coming back, ones recalled from early and unexpected revelations and realizations from the morning. Ones I’d written down on my pages.

I prayed a prayer that said thank you for your goodness, you are good and your love endures. I told God how grateful I am, recalling sweet little images of my daughter with freckled cheeks and my son, chubby little tanned face, blonde hair bouncing as he ran.

Quiet then, I felt the shift of weight under my knees. I heard the soft sounds of steps on the carpet.

The Labrador presence in the room. I know his sound. I wait, he’ll come up close beside me, make that low grunt like a question.

Instead, he waited. I heard his sigh. He was patient, as if aware of my conversation with God not quite done yet.

He waited and I rose from beside my bed and touched the place between his ears and we walked calmly back down the hall.

And I thought then about something I read today. That people are making light of prayer, have decided we’re all foolish and fooled…those of us who are still praying.

Who will pray.

Who pray when led to pray at not set aside times and believe all the more in prayer, in God, in holy and Holy Spirit.

Because a big brown dog might enter the room and be reverent there until you’re done.

Might know to be still.

To

Be still and

know that He is God.

Psalm 46:10

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other writers on journeys of faith and happy experiences of prayerful discoveries.

Visit here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/live-life-meaning-intention/

Sufficient Is My Treasure

Art, bravery, Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’ve become obsessed with an artist who paints vibrant florals. Her colors are thick with brightness and she covers the canvas, letting the leaves drape over the edge.

I’m a follower of hers, have an Instagram fueled yearning to be her.

I find myself fascinated by her skills, the way she markets herself, the gallery in which her art is displayed, I’ve decided is sleek and uptown.

“I need to paint florals.” I told Connie when I stopped by to scan the walls of her shop to see if she had any on display, sizing up what would be my competition.

I’d sold an angel and one of the “Pines” pieces. She handed me the check. I don’t believe I thanked her, how quickly I’d walked away,

Good gracious!

Last night, I told my husband I needed more time to write.

I need more time to paint.

If I’m going to be good, I need to do more and I need more time to do it. I don’t have the time I need to be good.

This morning, I walked by my little corner room. It’s a mess.

I’ve given in to allowing the dogs to share it.

My pretty rugs are all off kilter, edges rolled over, been rolled around on.

The blank canvases are not in order, out of place. The mason jars have muddy water covered brushes and there are at least four pieces unfinished.

I knew not to go through the door, I’d have wanted to stay.

I’d have started with putting things where they should be, clean slates for creating and then I’d have put my apron on and squeezed out plops of color on my palette.

I’d sit back and play, Alison Krauss or Bebo Norman and the dogs in their spots they now share would have begun to breathe soft and easy.

Lost in painting for no reason at all, except that it’s my treasure, this treasure God planted in me.

Time gets lost track of, I’ve no need other than to continue. Whole evenings feel like grace.

I could sell hundreds of paintings and I would still want more if I painted from the place of seeking to be special, to be seen, to be sought after.

There’s a need that’s insatiable, the bottomless pit called notice, the ocean bottom wide and wondering that asks why them, not me, and why not yet for me when so many already have so much more.

But with grace, sufficient is my treasure.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” 2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:7‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I bought new canvases, one large and three nice 5 x 7’s. Tomorrow I’ll try my hand at florals, bright pink camellia type blooms with lively thick green leaves and stamens of happy yellow, thick in texture, touchable and bursting through.

We shall see what beauty may come, shall come from a place held by grace.

About Grace

bravery, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The most beautiful things in life are lost in our searching for more, I believe.

Like looking for what you think might be phenomenal, if you could only capture it, to notice later something there all along you’d considered only as a backdrop.

Grace is like that.

It waits for us to notice it’s there, been there all along.

She sat down, had not intended to, was slipping away from the crowd, I suppose, to be alone.

But, I was there and so she paused. We began to talk and we began to listen.

We both had thoughts, both had frustrations, both had hopes that had yet been fulfilled.

Things in common, things we wondered why and stuff we’d like to see done differently and if only others would be brave enough to consider…we were in agreement.

The conversation shifted when I saw the longing in a young woman on the cusp of her future eyes, a little glossed over.

So, I thought I might try my best to talk about grace, about living and walking and breathing and hoping in the air we breathe called grace.

I didn’t say it all the way I wished I could. I saw myself in her, miserably questioning everything in life, missing the trees for the forest of questions, considerations, doubts, and fears.

I told her of when I’m at my best; but, I tripped all over my words trying to help her see.

I am at my best when I am living in a way that says I am walking with grace, on grace, through grace.

(That’s not what I said; but, it is what I tried to say.)

When I don’t discount grace. When I don’t treat grace like a compliment over a blouse in the back of my closet…like saying Oh, grace…yeah it found me and I kept it but I must have forgotten about it…but, I’m glad it’s still there….can’t imagine why since I’d forgotten about it. Man, I feel bad about that grace I hung in the back of my closet, so I can’t really say it’s mine ’cause I didn’t act like it was mine to wear.

I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.

Anne Lamott

Grace is defined as unmerited favor.

But, that doesn’t mean we have to walk around feeling undeserving.

Making apologies for getting it as a gift.

I told her to look for grace. To stop looking for answers, to walk and sit and sleep with that grace. She’ll know when she’s living in light of grace, breathing the air it’s in.

To revel in that grace and to wait for what revelation will come from her time of not questioning, not distracting, not deciding on discontent over things that are not of our concern.

Not for now, wait. Rest.

Well, I didn’t tell her then; I wish I had. I am now.

Telling us both, what I know about grace.

How I’m wishing now we’d spent more time talking about grace instead of all the places we’d gone wrong, found to be wrong.

And I believe we both know now. We shared, we listened. We were in agreement, we were confused, we were challenged and we confided.

It was grace that brought us there.

Grace will see us through.

Will not leave us where we were found.

 

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other writers at Tell His Story. This week she’s sharing a brightly colored PDF to remind me to be grateful every day!

Check it out and start being intentionally grateful!

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/join-us-30-days-gratitude/

Hope Not Harm

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Writing, prompted by the word “Overcome”

Last week, I prayed before getting out of my car for work, opened my eyes towards my open palm and was awakened to the truth of my life becoming too noisy, my telling of things to myself and others just a little too tender, too tough to know, to remember. I was reminded of my strength, my hope, my faith, my love, my peace, of what is true. I was reminded of the quiet me, the quiet confidence.

Delicate charms and a strong timepiece I wear, gifts given by those who know me well, I know this well, I am loved.

I was reminded.

I came to a place that made me see I’d not actually overcome some things and instead, I’m still prone to them overcoming me.

That harm, not keep me hoping.

It may change my course altogether of the plan of God I’ve called my treasure and I may actually be closer to living what I believe, to believing more consistently the little things I say, to hope not harm.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29:11‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I use little bits of wisdom here and there like “My story was just a story, then God became a part and he made it a testimony.” or “God’s not finished with me yet.” or one I have painted in softly colored capital letters covering the length of an old piece of wood, “Live What I Believe.”

Only pleasantries really, if all I do is say them, post them, share them.

My good intentions got tripped up I found myself falling backward, back into the place of misery and memories. Not for long, the warning was clear, clearer than ever and not a correction, a consolation now.

I spoke of overcoming trauma, hinted at freedom; yet, I became close to being overcome by it.

It hurt, not healed.

It hindered my faith, did not help my hope.

Father, thank you for making me attentive, for seeing the worth of me and my story. For showing me the way forward, the way of hope not harm. May I not be overcome by my own telling. May my words bring hope, not harm.

Because of your mercy, I pray.

Amen

me

Linking this post up here: http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/10/26/overcome-day-27/

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Turning Corners

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I saw them first. Up ahead, maybe the distance of two cars or three.

We’d need to go left. They’d be going right.

I stepped it up. My face down, eyes up, are they closer, do they see us?

No idea if they were female or male, four of them gaining on us, I knew we had to get there first. I pulled left. He pulled right.

We can do it. I’m fast. You’re strong.

We got this!

They zeroed in towards us. He saw, “No sir.” I said.

Eyes met.

“No sir,” I said and he made a sound like oh I want to bark so bad or scream but, I’ll hold back.

Then they let loose, yipping yapping, yipping yapping, four white fur balls perfectly coiffed bouncing along the asphalt out of control, black lines twisting here and there leashes turning round and round.

He stepped in step with me, his body by my side, but turned all awkward and his head tilted back with a half-hearted plea of a bark fading away into silence.

Good boy, good boy.

We were free, had made it to the track making for a long way around.

It was getting dark. But, we were good and

Free.

Free and clear now, free.

We made it to the straightaway and since the sky was turning dark blue and the air felt so very clean, we ran.

We ran a rhythmic run. No strain, no push, no expectation.

We ran. Then, we walked and then because it occurred to me I could, we ran again.

Downhill, feet clapping happy claps on the pavement. We ran with abandon.

Then turning towards home, oh my goodness.

It’s dark.

We stopped at the place where we stop and he sat under the crescent moon and I waited.

We crossed to the other side of the road and ran a solid and determined run about a block back home.

Progress unintentional for me, to run.

Progress for me today.

A blog post waits in draft status, been there three whole days, all about tender hearts and hope and falling apart to be put back together by the one who made me.

Three attempts to move it from draft to published.

Probably, maybe trashed. Yes, I think so. I’d gotten all tangled up conveying how my heart became tender, how it felt like a consequence for oversharing here. I had an idea of something big and breakthrough I wanted others to know. It was my heart that wasn’t so much hard-hearted; but, that needed to be okay with being soft, open to a gentle handing, willing to rest in my Father’s hands.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t string the words together and then the draft wasn’t the draft I’d saved. Okay, I told myself, not touching that again and tried to forget about how significant it was, the realization of my need to let go my defenses, my strong facade.

Maybe too fixed up, too contrived, too well-groomed; but, yet held tight by the leash that holds back called comparison, approval, like or compliment in a comment.

Maybe I’d given it the wrong attention, or too much.

I’m the grandma for my son’s dog who was abandoned on the side of the road. Adopted from a shelter.

Not wanted, not trained.

Yet, well-mannered. Attentive, understanding and amenable.

Not at all concerned with being a good dog, just “good boy”.

My cousin told me I shouldn’t throw my pearls to swine.

I understand now, I should save my most truly me thoughts turned words for those who might be open to their meaning and message.

Much like taking off with the untrained but, well-mannered Labrador to avoid the approach and possible attack of the fancy and trained yet, unable to behave pedigrees.

I worry over my words amongst the words of others and then I waver.

I wander.

I’ll keep walking. I’ll keep noticing. I’ll keep writing about noticing and walking and running and skies and sunsets and yes, yes, yes…

about God who reminded me to cry, who brought me a place where I slightly fell apart in a late night hard cry, only to say.

I’m taking that heart of stone you’ve decided is what kept you confident, brave and strong and I’m making you tender again,

making you open, making you, you.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

‭‭Ezekiel‬ ‭36:26‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Helping you run with feet softer, more sure of being safe, more knowing you’re free.

More okay with the decision to run.

 

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who shares some very good advice on who to keep near. 

Visit here:http://jenniferdukeslee.com/four-kinds-friends-need/

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Weep No More

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, marriage, mercy, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I tweeted “me too”, not even close to the allowable character limit, my sentence vague and just a hint of reference to my past.

Others have declared loudly and clearly their memories of being ravaged, manipulated, tried and terrorized.

I tweeted how it’s with me still, how I’ll never not be bothered by the battering.

It’s the fabric of me, woven and sewn into my story, I use it to try and strengthen others on days I’m strong.#MeToo

I saw her yesterday, her jeans too big, I wanted to ask why. Her walk the same, determined and continuing forward, still just her. It has been lately.

She walks alone now.

I saw her the first time this year in early Spring. She walked looking down mostly, her face towards the sidewalk. There was the empty space of two or three people blank between her and a man.

The air was cool still, requiring a jacket or sweater and hers hung over her shoulders. Her body reminding me of a wire hanger and she’d not lined up the garment’s seams.

Her jeans were off kilter, they hung askew and I thought she must be bothered by being unable to keep them up; but, decided she’d learned to make the best of hard things, pants not fitting, the least of concerns. Her shoes barely showing from the drag of hem, their flat soles like a piece of old cardboard. I imagined the sound of denim touching concrete, seemed similar too a lull.

Yet, she walked on. I wondered where she goes. I saw her face only slightly in my mirror glance as I passed by on my way towards my day.

Her long hair, unattempted uncontrolled, I longed to approach her, to know her well enough to gently tuck the long strands of dark hair behind her ears. I longed to know her in a way that she’d welcome my gesture. I created a story in which I could tell her my story, one that would include “me too” as I’ve seen her now unaccompanied by the man.

But, I’d be wrong to assume, wrong to demand conversation, wrong to open a wound she may have begun to heal.

Because, I’ve been drawn in to the stories of others who said “Me too”. I was pulled in, applauded braveries and became both captivated and courageously angry over others like me.

I thought of Hagar, the maid forced to give a barren woman a child. Hagar, manipulated and groomed for something someone else felt was their right. She was used for sex then shamed for giving in, for complying with the demands of those who hoarded over.

She did what they wanted and was quickly discarded.

But, God saw her. He met her and told her good will come from this, good towards you and from these abusive and harmful actions by one who used their control.

Good will come. Hagar believed God and it changed her course. Changed the course of mankind.

“So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭16:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I hope to see her again, the woman who walks every morning. But, I’ll not invite conversation or long to know I’m wrong or right about my assumptions.

I’d welcome the chance to know; but, I’d no longer force my way in, beg her to tell.

Last night, I woke my husband. I screamed out “No…..!” in my sleep. I was dreaming. I was in a room. I saw the shadow of ominous shoulders, so large and overpowering outside my window. I waited. I knew he’d be coming inside. I cowered into the corner. He raised both arms and pushed me hard into a corner.

I moaned, “No…..”

It scared him, my husband said, has said before.

He woke me, gently pulling me free,

Lisa, Lisa, Lisa.

I shifted under the covers.

Placed my hand on my chest and said no more me too, no more, and slept soundly and languished long, woke deciding I’ll not go back there, to the place of being damaged by men who made me a “Me Too”.

I’ll trust the God who has brought me through and my story will be as strong as God has promised, has made good on His promise.

But, it won’t be sorrowful and it will scare me no more.

I pray if my story is to be told it won’t cause remembrances that bring forth fear, fear from those places healed; that I’ll not cause the opening of old wounds.

I’ll keep walking forward in the way that brought healing.

I’ll walk like the woman I long to know, determined in her way, her shoulders more level, her face steadily more uplifted each morning I pass.

I’ll keep looking ahead and remember the wisdom of someone more than half my age, it doesn’t help to hold onto the bad things that happened before. They happened, move on.

Walking forward, never backward, lest I allow myself to be tripped again by fear.

“…you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:19-21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m linking up with other writers to Tell His Story here:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/control-think-free-printables/

Writing Side

Art, bravery, Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’ve not written in days.

I will soon.

I’ll not dishonor my thoughts, my observations

my stories I’ve been observant of

by writing here for the sake of writing

because I’m naive to believe my followers

might wonder where I’ve been.

Still here. Still believing.

Still noticing.

Still true to my thoughts becoming words.

And less worried they might fade away forgotten.

Painted again, finally ‘tho.

A piece I decided to call, “Restful One”.

Time, time is mine and on

my side.

“…and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭7:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Rest and Dusty Places

Art, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Connie texted me “your duck painting sold! You need to paint some roosters!

“Gotcha! See you next week.” I replied.

Went to the little room to finish some “girls” before moving to roosters and decided, not today, I’ll wait. I’ll let these rest for now. I have time next week.

Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while. Jesus

Mark 6:31

The verse before this one tells of how the disciples told Jesus we’ve been working so hard that we haven’t even taken the time eat.

They’d just seen Jesus rejected in the town of his birth, Nazareth.

They were discouraged. Jesus told them let’s move on.

Reminded me of me, my little affirmations to self: “Learn from it and carry on. Turn the page, begin again, you’ve done what you could, do the next thing, take a new road…”

“And he marveled because of their unbelief. And he went about among the villages teaching.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He told them, you go now, paired them up. You can do this on your own. They had little other than his brief but firm instruction.

“And if any place will not receive you and they will not listen to you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent.

And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:11-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yesterday, I walked towards my car, exhorting myself over a presentation. The words came to mind easy…”I can do all things through Christ…”

I got in the car, got the navigation set and thought about the “all”.

I knew so clearly then, the meeting might not go well. An easy drive despite construction and fog until I took my exit and I was blind to the spot where the black car’s door was inches from mine.

A split second. I glanced over and the black car kept moving, I barely slowed; yet, we were spared, the stranger I didn’t see and me, we both continued on.

God gave me warning, be careful, be alert, be prepared.

The presentation did not go well. I was not prepared in the way the one questioning demanded and their expectations were quite clearly stated with my deficiencies made known. But, the morning taught me some things. “I understand” I told the questioner.

I understand.

No, you cannot do all things, Lisa.

You can do all of the things that come to you through me.

Some places you go will not receive you well. Some people you meet will not be interested in your testimonies, your stories.

Dust yourself off and decide to try again or not, don’t discount the things you know are not your “all” through me that my Spirit has made clear.

When the disciples reunited with Jesus, they’d accomplished much for Him, but they’d also suffered grief and hardship.

They had to bury John, who’d been beheaded. They were hungry and tired and if the word was in their vocabulary back then, I believe they knew burnout.

Jesus calmly invites them to rest. He sends them out, encourages they go away and recover.

And I believe this was a welcome command. I see them heaving a sigh of gratitude and turning to go and find that quiet place.

But, others followed. Many were coming and going and they all were in great need.

Jesus had compassion on them, called them sheep without a shepherd to guide their way.

The disciples must have wondered, I thought you told us to rest. We found the place to rest, can we rest now?

“And when it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a desolate place, and the hour is now late. Send them away to go into the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:35-36‬ ‭

Jesus answered, “No, we need to feed them.”

And they were fed, all five thousand of them from a couple of fish and five loaves.

I told my friend about the horrible presentation, about how defeated and tired I felt.

She asked me why I continue. A woman walked from the hallway and around the corner to cook her supper in the kitchen of a home that’s not hers, a shelter.

Yesterday, she’d raked the backyard of our home we call, “Nurture”. She called me over and I thanked her.

I asked how she’s doing. She said “I’m keeping on!” and turned to finish her work.

I know why you continue she said after I’d pointed to the woman walking by the door.

“The greater good, for the greater good.”

she said.

I nodded.

No more need for complaint or question.

Dusted myself off to try again.

I’m writing, prompted by the “invite”, shared in the Five Minute Friday. More than five minutes, clearly. Still, I’m linking up because I consider the invitation open despite my way over the time rule.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/10/12/writing-life-invite/

I’ve discovered Kelly Balarie this morning and some good words on self condemnation and fear. Linking up with others at http://purposefulfaith.com/

What I Said

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’d be more than enough if I quietly painted and gave myself over to small and large pieces or thick papers that I stacked high or hung in the corner of one wall.

And I left them there, to be seen

or not.

I’d be more than enough in the eyes of God and I believe, the eyes of others, too.

I’d be more than enough if not a single soul read the words I pencil or peck out.

More than enough if later, a long time away maybe, my children and grandchildren got a glimpse of my faith and my falters and remembered me well.

I’d be more than enough, more than I can know, if they found their names written next to a little dot and they knew that God knew and that I knew too.

Because I’ve found my name in my grandmother’s Bible, faded black underlines and a delicate cursive “Lisa” in the margin.

It was something to see, significant.

I’m all out of sorts with the attention that comes with the calling, the calling to write, the calling to create.

What a fine line it is, thin and fine, between expression and validation.

Too much, Lisa.

Too much Lisa.

This morning, I’ve read a blog post from a writer who wrote about grace, her focus for “31 Days”.

Her disappointment over not being chosen yet again, her submission denied.

I commented “same here, I understand, show yourself some grace, I’ll take a little too”.

Then, remembered what I’d said when I’d been informed of my own no.

It was a clear declaration, a mindset proclaiming acceptance, it was all the right words.

“Yes, Lord. I see this no is your no and I see that you see me not writing devotions; but, the book.”

I was confident in my making the no a yes. Everyone agreed, oh my, what a way to make a no a yes!

Oh, yes.

No.

Then that sneaky feeling came back… the fat girl in the weird clothes whose name was last to be called in the “Red Rover, red rover, send…right over” or the one sitting up proper amongst the pretty and proper dying inside over “How soon can I leave this room, how much longer must I be on display?”

I went back to my default of quiet girl unnoticed, safe, no fear of not being chosen.

It was familiar.

But, somehow foreign.

So, I asked God the other morning in the shower,

I prayed. It was different, not different because of where I was, shower prayers are my daily, maybe odd to some thing.

Different, because it was certain and for sure feeling.

“Lord, what will you think if I just don’t write anymore, if I don’t finish what you told me start?”

I waited, the question was free flowing, like asking a friend “What do ya’ think? ” easy to ask and open for their reply.

I waited, knees resting.

Then this thought, an answer to my prayer question.

“Wouldn’t it be okay if I just keep it to myself, and you, God…pages and pages of the heart you know?”

I waited, relieved to no longer be toting ’round the worry over my worth based on my words.

But, He answered.

I saw myself there at the end of my days resting close by the one who knew me best.

He answered, it was a gentle and kind reply.

Lisa, I know you wanted to

and I

wish you

had.

I wish you had

trusted me more.

This morning, I’m reading about grace towards ourselves and I’ve pencilled in my daily prayer of Jabez in a new way, like a conversation, God’s replies added.

Oh that you would bless me indeed. (I have.)

Enlarge my territory (I have; but, you still long to hide away.)

That your hand would be with me.(Always, it is.)

So that I would not be in pain.

(It is not of my making, any pain that you are feeling. I have and will grant your request.) I Chronicles 4:10

I walk out into the damp grass before work, a mindless morning thing, remembering the Winter day we brought the Labrador home.

It was work. I kept at it. More effort and angst than I could have imagined. The morning thing, routine, schedule, energy let loose…toss a ball, say “good boy” , again again.

Some mornings I rushed. In a hurry, but determined, days that were hard, cold, icy, some humid and mosquitoes unrelenting. Others, I cherish, the geese flew over, a cardinal flitted by, the sky was wide and blue and the rhythm of our play, it was enough.

His retrieval, his reply.

He lumbered up next to my side this morning, now two years with us. My mind miles away and he’d finished his rounds along the fence line.

I looked down and met his eyes.

“Where’s your tennis ball?” I asked, just like the way I used to say “Where’s your paci or your blanket, your glove?”.

“Go find your tennis ball.” I told him.

Then, I waited.

He came back, the dirty and matted old ball sideways, hanging tight in his mouth.

“Good boy!” I said, threw the ball a long ways and he ran towards it again.

Again.

I’m thinking about trust, how it is not struggle, about how I make it hard work, make it hard, make it too much me, make it vain. Decide it’s never enough, my trust.

I toss again. Again.

Still thinking of settling here, this morning thing, this scribbling down of prayers, rambling and random thoughts expression of art, or word.

Enough.

And yet, fascinated by what might come with trust.

I’ve opened my Bible now and it falls open to the pages marked with crimson petals,

Find wisdom. Find reply.

“Then I observed that most people are motivated to success because they envy their neighbors. But this, too, is meaningless—like chasing the wind. “Fools fold their idle hands, leading them to ruin.” And yet, “Better to have one handful with quietness than two handfuls with hard work and chasing the wind.””

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭4:4-6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

So I’ll not sit idle, hands folded in my lap. I’ll be content with the one handful, not chasing after what might be in the hands of another.

I’ve gotten quiet today thinking about the contrast between strife and restful trust, motivation and following God’s lead to

go and find what is mine to catch and bring back.

Out of the blue, I hear from one of my “colors”.

Instead of saying, love you, how are you?, yes I’m still writing or hope to see you soon…

I say, “I’m ready to finish your chapter, up for a visit?”

“Yes”, she said.

And I have lyrics again, lyrics that come to mind.

“Only trust Him…

Only trust Him more.”

Linking up with others at Jennifer Dukes Lee. Click here to read and then share your love, your thoughts, your wisdom and words today with everyone around you!

Jennifer’s story of a man named Charlie, I’ve read again this morning as it’s the 19th year since my daddy died. His name was Charlie Ruel. He fought in the Korean War. He was a good looking man, sharp dressed, lover of the sound of a steel guitar and of my mama. He was a quiet man, not at jovial. When he spoke, he made sure his words were necessary, were beneficial. Tonight, I’ll go to Bible study. We’ve been discussing heaven and I pray I somehow hear from him, my daddy, Mr. Charlie Ruel Hendrix, the baby of his family.

Read here about Jennifer’s Charlie.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/dont-wait-tomorrow-say-needs-said-today/