grace

My Soul, the Same

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

Groggy because of the rain barely falling and the ceiling fan’s dull wobbly sound. It is rhythmic, the way I’m drawn to notice.

I’d nap if there were time or if my mind could remember the way back to settled. I’ve lost the gift of napping and I’ve no idea why except there always seems to be something else I need to know, new words, the expressions of them. I’m introspective unable to stop soaking in, seeking the more to know.

My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive.

Mary Oliver

A poet’s book of essays on my lap and

the kind words of the morning still close.

Someone said they’d heard a soul described as clear as glass.

My day started this way, a message, a kind word.

I heard a reference in the story that instantly reminded me of the path you are on. It is when Joshua referred to a woman having a “soul that is clear as glass”. I can’t think of another person who fits that bill. Keep writing.

Ray

This evening, hoping to summon autumn, I decide on a cup of tea.

The tiniest bit of sugar crystallized clumped now on the bottom, I notice the word “soul”.

I smile because I’m reminded my heart is known, the desires of them, by God.

Clearly, my soul the same.

All of it Grace

grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Unraveling slowly, so slowly, I gather my things needed for tasks and consider making a list. The sky last night, we knew we’d not be able to find the moon. Still, we emptied our thoughts underneath, together again.

I’m slow moving now and I suppose intentional in my avoiding the stuff to be done.

I might feel more on top of it all, if I made that list, might be anxious to get to that feeling of “see you got it all done, you did!”

Instead, I walk out back, the dogs impatient, and I hear the slow, soft rain.

I’m enveloped. I’m slow to go back in; I must greet the moist day with a grateful welcome, I decided, it’s been a while since it’s rained.

Then, I wonder again how to find the rest of the story, I’d only heard the beginning, the words somewhere recorded, of Tom Petty’s thoughts on Jesus.

I stay a little longer, barefooted in my nightgown and the beagle’s taking tip toe steps in the rain soaked grass.

The Lab has done his business and stands close by looking out, I wonder if he wonders why we are here still and in no hurry.

The crazy wild roses are soaking it all in and I go from thinking of grace to remembering the thunder in an instant.

When you look over your shoulder

And you see the life that you’ve left behind

When you think it over do you ever wonder?

What it is that holds your life so close to mine.

You love the thunder and you love the rain.

Jackson Brown, You Love the Thunder

And I’ve yet to make that list or journal my prayer and it’s three hours into my being awake and two from the time I have to do my first thing on my weekend schedule today.

Slow Saturday, I decided, its all grace, grace, grace.

Give a little bit, to you.

It’s all grace.

Every bit of it.

Someone asked what I think of when I think of grace, or how I might define it, an invitation to write about it.

I decided against responding, knowing the only thing I know is that I think of it every day and all day, I give it it’s due.

I know it’s all grace, only grace. Got me this far, leading me on.

She’s a good girl,

loves Jesus

and America too.

Tom Petty, Free Fallin ‘

Rain and dirt roads, good places, pretty good girls and grace, grace, grace.

Every bit of it, grace for us all, all of us.

“Grace be with all of you.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13:25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Bending Down

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I love it when I see into your heart for your kids. It makes me see a piece of my Mum, who left for heaven early. I can imagine her praying for us like you do for yours. And I still see prayers she prayed over us reaping fruit: the deeds of the righteous shall follow them. I hope God gives you glimpses into the fruit even now. Those prayers carry the weight of eternal blessings no one can take away from your kids.

You won’t find me joining in on “sending

positive thoughts” or “good energy” or even “hopeful thoughts”.

I’ve seen the pleas of such and I pause, I wonder over the vague imploring for good from those who hope for good.

I designed a book cover…used a picture I loved and a title I believed,

What God Can Do…

my name, my first and middle with last, in a pretty font underneath.

I’d planned to set it aside til pages were filled on the one before.

But, decided to be intentional, after all I’d proclaimed it already…What God can do.

Intentional in my recording, light impressions from lead in light touch of pencil.

Little dot I call “bullet”, I wrote

I will know whether I should write or not.

Thus, the quote above from someone in some place I’ve no idea and who longs for her mama, her “mum” and was kind enough to be the person who, prompted by God who heard my prayer to tell me I should continue writing.

And I was not always an understander of God or a pray-er of prayers; but, I’d love to know that someone may read this and decide to pray, nothing against good thoughts or positive vibes.

But, I pray someone will pray.

Maybe make a bullet list in the morning or night.

One was this (the others I’ll keep secret, sacred):

I will know (because of what God can do)

that I should write, I should write for one person, just one and that one will be quite well enough.

“Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭116:2

She read Bending with the Road

About my Children

and her comment, no less than a confirmation and an answer…What God Can Do.

Book of Redemption

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

Redeemed, I woke up wondering and started my morning thing by writing it down…

redeemed

Underneath the date of today.

I’d picked the teal cup for my coffee, the one gifted me, unexpectedly.

I thought of the word, “redeem” and I went back to Bama’s, my grandma.

I saw her licking the stamps, sitting at the table rimmed in silver with yellow linoleum smooth surface, the place for our plates. I saw her filling up the books, the edges lined just right.

I thought I might ask to help, but always reconsidered, I watched her fill up her books.

Little paper books filled with them, S & H Green Stamps marked on the top with the word,

“Redeem”.

She shopped at the Piggly Wiggly and she redeemed the stamps she pasted into the books.

I never heard her say the word. She wouldn’t have, I don’t believe. She may have said “turn in my stamps” or “take my books to the S & H Green Stamp store”; but, I’m certain I never heard her say “redeemed”.

Yet, I woke up longing to grasp its meaning, “redemption”, in the way lately I’ve been focused on comprehending grace. I’ve felt it, celebrated it, been talking to myself about it…knowing truths like “were it not for grace and

grace, grace, grace”.

Unmerited favor. Yes, I know grace.

I almost give up on me at least three times a day. I get a little helpless and hopeless some days when I wonder why I’m still waiting for what I might not be quite sure I’m able to see come true. I get a little despondent over what not might come to be because of me not being me, bravely me.

So, I prayed this morning with last night’s truth on my mind, the stern hold on…don’t go there…I’d said to myself firm and redirecting…look how far you’ve made it, it would be so wrong to waste it, to not believe the uphill path is possibly not so scary high.

Oh, the books I could fill by now had I collected everything stamped “Redeemed”. You’d not believe the book filled with grace for falters and faults.

So, I’m rereading now, the pencilled in prayer wrote down quick and messy too early this morning:

I prayed.

Redeem my days, Lord Jesus, the ones inattentive or inconclusively sure of tomorrow, lost and aimlessly lulled into selfish and careless.

Those I squandered, let slip by, not including even the smallest consideration of your knowing me fully and lovingly waiting, loving.

And your knowing the entirety of my frame from way, so way back when, so clearly that you lined up my clumsy self

and you kept me from the deep ditches. You helped me find my way out of the others.

You saved me.

You brought me out.

You were with me.

Yes, I’ve been redeemed.

Redeemed, not wasted; surely

Redeemed, I will go

now and from now on,

Redeemed.

“Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

‭‭John‬ ‭8:10-11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and this truth: We are marked by God’s love not our mistakes.

Tell His Story

Light Comes Through

Faith, grace, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’m horrible at writing for only five minutes. (I believe she was right, out of the blue she told me to “focus on the bigger thing, Lisa…the story that is supposed to be written, yours!” ) I like the idea of responding to a suggested prompt, waiting to see what God might have me say. It’s an exercise, skills building, practice.

So, Five Minute Friday’s prompt today…here is where you led me:

This morning, I’m recording what I’m beginning to see come through. I’m not concerned over what I’m not sure of yet.

The light just enough for now, more breathtaking than all at once, for sure.

I should keep a record of how things come true, come through when I take my thoughts elsewhere.

Big, big revelations about my path and tiny little, sweet surprises that if I’d seen my face in a mirror, I’m quite sure it held a glow.

How a bold statement from an honest soul had been tucked away festering in my place of what if, maybe.

In the back of my mind.

The place where those thoughts I manipulate, the ones compromised by past and the ones trying to shine like a pretty twinkle of light longing for unveiling.

Yep, they are all there together.

This morning, I journaled two sentences from a lengthy devotional, pulling out the ones for me.

Not a single one of your thoughts escapes God’s notice.

The place I keep deeply covered, the longings for one thing or another.

They come to light when I let them, on their own.

There’s a lesson here. One I should know by now. We can’t hold faith, can’t see it or hear it.

Cannot manipulate or mold into what we want.

It resides in the recesses.

Then when it pleases, it shows itself in beautiful or bold surprises.

And though I’m giddy sometimes over the surprise of God’s notice and timing, I still go back to depending on me and my part in it all.

When did I forget that you’ve always been the King of the world? Natalie Grant

The hidden things are of God. The secrets revealed in time not mine.

Were it not so I’d do nothing but strive, search, yearn, push and pout.

Instead, maybe, no…Yes! I’ll hold on longer this time to the surprises that are never surprises at all. Yes, I will depend on your knowing.

A phone call you never expected, an answer to your fears on the other end or just a voice, saying everything is okay.

“Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭11:1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Spaces We Get Stronger

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, praise, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I remember the time before.

I walked, hurriedly to the massive concrete place.

It was early morning, my face was taut from determination, my eyes were worn from the hours of awake, waiting, watching.

How could I be expected to find it, I realize now, many years later. It was a hard day.

I’m no longer that hard on myself.

I walked, already lost and entered every lane. I chose different levels. White, black, grey, red tail lights barely standing out in the black place filled with cars. Occasional glints of shiny color distracting my search, the sun coming up and in gradually.

I had a full meltdown.

The patient waiting without me at the corner of the hospital, the nurse maybe wondering what happened to her mama and my girl most likely sure her mama must be lost.

I lost my car. I stood with the truth of my disaster and accepted what I knew must be true. It’s not here, somehow, someone has taken it.

My daughter waiting, I believe realized I’d “lost it this time” and we’d not discuss it at all.

Same as there’d be no need or time to talk of “what if, what next, what now or why?”

A hospitalization after a procedure that was not a success and she, we go from exam table in pretty Dr.’s room to hospital bed to spend New Year’s Eve.

We were released and my mind, emotionally overloaded could not remember the space among hundreds of cars from two days before on the morning we got to go home.

The morning the sunrise came in through the openings in the hard place up high, I came to terms with what I might not be able to fix or find.

I found it eventually and made it down to load my girl in the car, her almost adult frame and baby face, understanding how I’d fallen apart and stayed away so long, struggling a real struggle in the parking garage while she waited in a wheelchair below.

She loved me anyway. Didn’t say so then but does everyday now.

So, this time I wasn’t gonna lose my mind and my car. Fatigued for a different reason, sleep deprived and uncertain of how I might be.

We were early, but had to park on the very top, the place that feels oddly special with open sky above, a slightly risky feeling.

I opened the door, grabbed my purse and prepared to walk with my boy into the place he’d be flying away for three months.

Stopped for a second, he slightly ahead on his way. I looked down at the marking on the space. “L” it said, okay I told myself, “L like Lisa, I’m good.”

Then, just to be certain, uncertain of my state upon coming back alone, I quickly got my phone from the pocket of my bag and I took a picture of the place I’d be coming back to.

Because, I remembered and I’m not at all embarrassed now over losing my car before.

The mama mind is naturally consumed sometimes and directionally challenged because of the strong and hard pull of the heart. Times when the baby bird is in need of healing to be better at flying and times when the bird is learning to fly.

Surely, mama bird might struggle in her return to the nest.

I’m certain she does.

Perhaps, they mark it with a bright stem or string, wanting to be confident of where they left off.

And I wonder now, if ever, just for the sake of mama memory, if the mama bird flies back to rest a bit in the place she let them go.

Maybe just for the sake of remembering how strong she made their wings.

The Far Away Chorus

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

On Sunday, I stood among a display of images, faces, places, art.

I’d made my way over to an area made into what I saw as sanctuary.

No walls or doors to enter in, the space was open. I entered.

The images displayed in honor of the remembered lives massacred.

This morning I’ve slept with interruptions and I rise from my bed and then decide to begin with prayer. Knees tumble and land in a somewhat pensive posture.

Thank you for protection, I begin. I add in grace, mercy, and thank you for today.

My prayer, one of a rambler and a sleeping mind. Rote in my utterance, disorganized and uncommitted.

The void unfilled.

So, I tried hard to cease with the words, to let it happen, to believe my heart was heard.

I knew there was something I needed to know; needed, not wanted.  I’d disengaged, though,  closing the door to the place needing attention.

Closed off the place and hid the mess, distracting myself with other obligations.

Saying I’ll get back to it soon.

I will.

Why must I feel my prayer should be performance, I wonder sometimes?

Why must my cluttered mind overwhelm me in the clamor, a competition, the hearing of my thinking the thoughts

And of letting be, letting go, letting come to rest?

img_9588

Standing still instead, waiting to hear the hearing I’ve known.

On Tuesday, I went back to the place honoring those who died in a church at a Wednesday night prayer meeting.

The beauty of the faces hanging in frames. The bright vibrant color on those who walked the bridge in unity, hands raised up high on the high bridge over Charleston, South Carolina.

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The others lined up, symmetry along one wall, black and white, the photographs, the expressions on the faces.

img_9637

Together, standing amongst flowers strewn on the ground, eyes closed in prayer, hands  unbroken and tightly clutched.

img_9636

The slain pastor’s Bible encased in glass, opened to the parable of the mustard seed.

30 Again he said, “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? 31 It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. 32 Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” Mark 4:30-32

Heaven was enlarged that night.

Surely it was.

Stained glass windows depicting Mother Emanuel Church and words, just a few lines, a humble display, a description of what happened that night.

On Sunday, I listened and my emotions felt close to erupting like volcanic overflow in the international airport. I came to the place I’d be letting go and the letting go I’d need to be prepared for in advance.

On Sunday, I stood alone in the place with strong words on the wall that said

“Charleston Strong”.

img_9590

My cousin was there; but, she let me be alone, apart.

I wasn’t very strong.  I was surely present.

I was present as I heard the soft sound of hymn barely coming through someplace, seemed above or perhaps the four corners holding together.

“It is well, it is well.”

Sunday was an opportunity to be aware, to feel the feels of goodbye, to not be blindsided by the things I did not know.

I’d never left a child at the airport.  Never boarded a plane or watched a son fly away.

On Tuesday, we returned, my son and I and he successfully and without me or complication navigated the steps towards leaving, of boarding for his flight.

He surprised me when he approached a woman, asked her to take our picture.

“Uhmmm, I’m gonna be studying abroad for three months, could you take a picture of my mom and me?”

We stood together beneath the Arrival-Departure display.

img_9639

I reached up and around trying to embrace him. His backpack stuffed fat for carry on, my arm got all awkward and tangled up and I smiled, leaned into his chest and let go my attempt to hold on.

My expression, a sigh. I notice now, the darkness under my eyes.

He turned and looked towards security and I looked the other way.

“Come and see this.” I said.

We were together there for a few minutes, entranced together by the display.

“Isn’t it amazing?” I asked.

He answered “Yeah.”

We both captured this time, this place, took photos of what touched us there.

Patience filled the separate place, we lingered and I listened again to what I found to be amazing, the sound the same as Sunday.

I entered the space with seeking heart,  curious over display, stood quietly and after a little while, just the same as on Sunday,  now on Tuesday.

I heard the chorus. The faraway melody, the hymn of assurance as soft as a lullaby and as certain as a vow.

“It is well, it is well

with my soul”

And now it’s Thursday.

I’ve heard good words from my son, excitement in the tone of his texts.

I’ve prayed for protection still and I’ve stumbled over my thoughts of his journey.

I’m remembering now, my decision to wait on Tuesday,  at the top of the parking deck, waiting for the departure. I heard the faraway sound of strong engine, I watched the plane appear and then become only a speck. The sky empty then, a flock of blackbirds gathered for me, I believe, to say “all is well”.

img_9648

I heard the seeping in of faraway chorus of grace again today, of

Waiting, of sanctuary and of song.

It is well with me.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story. Her words this week remind her of looking towards the heavens, of remembering where hope comes from.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/one-thing-well-never-outgrow/

No Angel

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Serving, Teaching, Vulnerability

This morning, I am writing on the Five Minute Friday prompt of “support” and my mind goes the way of thinking of work, of funding we lost to support the homeless.

But, I don’t linger there, my mind goes to the place that keeps me humbled, keeps my heart aligned with work, a place where love comes in.

Here goes.

I get a random text from her. She wants to check on me, wants me to know she loves me.

I respond “I love you too, do you need anything and then backspace the question, tell her I am stopping by with food.”

Our system’s flawed on this one if you ask me. No benefits for one who can’t work because of mistakes made years ago.

So, we’ve been helping, we check on her.

A former resident of our shelter called “Nurture Home”.

I pulled in with bags of staples and milk and eggs. I noticed the window broken out in her back seat. My periphery takes in the neighbors and I am aware of loud music from the adjoining duplex.

I knock and she opens the heavy door.

She smiles. We hug long.

And I’m happy to see her home, the place we’re helping her with.

I notice the bedroom wall. I stare long at one framed photograph, left alone in her bedroom for a bit.

A photo of her cradling her son and smiling a heavenly smile.

I’m sad knowing her longing to know him now, the photo of them hanging above her bed, close.

She texted me later, called me “her angel”.

I replied, “I’m no angel. I assure you.”

This extra stuff beyond programmatic interventions some call “support” or “aftercare”.

She calls it love. I see it as grace and perspective.

A reminder of my periphery, my purpose, of the opportunity to notice His nearness.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭34:17-18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The Scarlett Effect

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

I must’ve had Scarlett on the brain.

We played Clue over and over and because I loved the color of the game piece.

I decided, I’ll be Scarlett.

Then, I woke and thought of Scarlett.

O’Hara, that is.

I woke imagining distress and I figured out myself, figured me out, my ways.

I’m either imagining the horrific or I’m deciding…oh well, my hands are tied.

What will be, will be.

Oh, Lord let it not be hard.

So, yeah, I recognized my ways and decided “no more of that thinking that way…nothing or all, catastrophe or avoidance…no more of that!”

No more.

And it began with a waking thought, an affirmation.

People may question this truth.

But, I assure you it’s true. I linger long enough before rising and a song or a verse comes to mind, says good morning Lisa, here’s what you need today.

This truth happened today:

Fear is not from God.

Fear of what I do not know, cannot know

Is NOT from God.

A sound mind…one settled and set on truth, trust, assurance.

One reined back in towards what’s certain and true.

He’s got the whole world in His hands.

This is true.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.”

‭‭2 Timothy‬ ‭1:7‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Rest now, oh wandering and imaginatively, tragically creative mind.

Tell yourself stories of good, oh, sound mind, rest.

Rest, assured.

Getting Real

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

It’s a dim morning. Plans are being made and preparations began will be followed through.

My sister is breathing easy on the couch and I’m aware of the storm.

I sit, quietly.

I sometimes call them “epiphany” because I love the way it sounds.

To be in a quiet place and bit by bit by bit, it happens.

The change in way of seeing.

The slipping up on me of coming to a conclusion on my own.

Things wise or quick to correct people may have said, either as encouragement or a gentle chastise…

You must stop perceiving in this way.

This is not the way you should view life and its gift, its lessons, its living.

Somewhere today in my scanning devotion, Irma, weather and whatever I accepted a truth.

“Your value, Lisa… as you are now and as God sees in His plans for you are worth so much more than any past wrong doing or decision.”

The winds are causing trees to bend and the rain is sideways sheets.

I sit in the waiting room of a doctor who worked us in early, my son is wearing his college hoodie, caught the eye of the physician, an alum.

Small talk, talk only Citadel men understand.

I sit back. I’ve suggested what he say to the doctor who will be preparing him medically for international travel.

I remember my epiphany before the one most recent, God loves him greatly.

Unfathomable, but true.

God loves him more.

Jesus talked with his disciples, prepared them for their going on without him.

“All this I have told you so that you will not fall away.”

‭‭John‬ ‭16:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Stay strong, all will be well.

Recall what you’ve been told, what you know.

What you’ve seen me do for you and for you to believe by seeing.

And though they slept in the garden, he prayed, he prepared their way ahead.

There are new places my son’s feet will travel. There are new lessons to learn, new experiences to experience and encounters to encounter.

He will grow, I’ve prayed through the nights and more to come.

With God’s help, I’ve done my part.

Prepared his way.

#lethimfly