grace

Through the Woods: the Place where They are at Rest

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

The only way I’d ever know would be to take off through the woods, haphazard but determined. 

There’s an open field between two county lines and I slow down and submit to its calling. 

Every single time. 

There are not many cars, I press the button, lower the window and randomly, but with intention, I hope to capture this place. 

There are photos on my phone.

Today, I decided the sky more magnificent here, the red tipped wild spreading weeds that convince me of flower, they are more special here too. 

This place that sits in the middle of two county lines, Bulloch and Jenkins and Screven, a border, I realized on the other side of the field that turns my head. 

Because I drove on towards the turn towards Rocky Ford, thinking I should go, travel about seven or so minutes then turn right then another right and then a left to the place at the bottom of the clay slick road. 

The Hendrix Cemetary, where my mama and my daddy lay and rest. 

I don’t turn. I don’t know why or I do know; but, I feel horrible to say I don’t. 

They are not there. To visit the stones marked by name and date, I suppose feels obligatory, an act expected.

So, I consider the turn, plenty of time; yet, I decide it is better to go home. 

So, I go on, for only a bit feeling disloyal or unfit and hours later, I’ve decided, the field that causes me to look, I believe it leads to that place. 

If I might set out one day, I believe it would be true. The open field that slows my travel is the one that sits in the shadow of the high hill and the tall cedars that shade the graves of the ones who made me, me. 

Yes, this is why the sky seems more ready to meet me, the field more inviting and the road less long and never ending. 

Because of the nearness, the nearness of them. 

I prefer to notice the clouds, full to the point of bursting and the wide open field beneath that beckons me every single time I travel on my path from Georgia back to Carolina 

And underneath what  I’ve decided now is just a walk through the woods that makes and has made sense all along. 

I felt them; yes, I felt them near and I paused to be sure. 

To be sure. 

Knowing Grace

bravery, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

I wasn’t looking for this book, went in search of another, one more purposefully instructive.  I found grace though in the pages and if it weren’t the library’s there’d be little gray asterisks throughout. 

When we go from rashly and clenched to grateful, we sometimes get to note the experience of grace, in knowing that we could not have gotten ourselves from where we were stuck, in haste or self-righteousness or self-loathing (which are the same thing), to freedom. The movement of grace in our lives toward freedom is the mystery. So we simply say “Thanks.” 

Something had to give, and I don’t have a clue how to get things to do that. But they did, or grace did. 

Anne Lamont 

Help Thanks Wow – The Three Essential Prayers

Yes, grace thus far, but fit grace. 

Grace, grace, grace. 

May 

Mercy, peace and love

Be Multiplied. 

To you. (Jude 1:2)

 

Palm Sunday Sundown 

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Palm Sunday, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

There’s a wide open field sitting catticorner as I turn down the last turn towards home. 

If I stay for church after choir, I’m affirmed in my choice because this field always causes me to stop.  No one around, I let the window down and I pay homage to the display, the sun is going down in a splendid way for me. Always does here. 

Tomorrow will be a new day. 


I consider it all together; the day, the words, the verses showing themselves as I waver over my thoughts and questions, lately enigmatic, where do I go from here? 

Maybe nowhere just yet. Linger, Lisa. 

He makes everything beautiful in His time. 

Become not overwhelmed with lofty what if or when. Let not the discernment of your thoughts be based on anything other than the loudly clear truth that comes when you get quiet and still. 

It’s then you notice what matters, not the validation of others; but, the undeniable notice of one, my Heavenly Father. 

 It happens by surprise, your thoughts lovingly taken captive. 

I cried in church this morning. 

My thoughts drifted during the sermon. I noticed the tiny little footnotes marked by teeny tinier numbers interspersed with scripture. 

I read ahead a little of the sermon on the three crosses and the thieves and skipped to the place marked “The Death of Jesus”. 

“It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:44-46‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I was curious about the explanation marked by footnote, so I looked more closely to understand. 

The time of day was noon, the sixth hour. 

The sun went away leaving what I imagine a large expanse of fear and darkness, of troubled minds, hearts and souls. 

It was dark until 3:00, the ninth hour, the middle of a day. 

Darkness marked the time and day,  Jesus died for the sins of us in between a man bold enough to be humble and believe and the other too proud, angry and defeated to accept the possibility of grace. 
I cried in church this morning. I read about the dark and sunless sky and I cried. 

I thought of Mary, his mother; but, mostly I wondered about God. 

I wondered if maybe God decided it was just too difficult to watch. 

Now, I’ll tell you that’s not scriptural, still I wondered if that may have been His reason. 

And I cried in church this morning over the darkness that marked death.  Had I not recorded it here, no one would know, that I sat next to my husband, looking down at my Bible and I cried. 

My tears were tender. They were soft and not for show, as if my reading of the black sky rested in my thoughts until a hand reached down somehow and clutched my heart, gently prompting a reaction I’d not let be forgotten. 

I’ve been journaling about the people who met Jesus. Women caught, found out, brought out and yet, redeemed. 

The intellectuals made to tuck their tails and turn from places in the sand preventing stones hurled at “sinners”. 

I wrote about the woman at the well who met Jesus and then went about thrilled over all the bad he knew of her yet loved her. 

She told every single person about her encounter at the well. She was astounded in a joyously unabashed way. 

I cried at church today.  I cried to think of how God took away the sun in the middle of the day as his Son died for me and you. 

How could I not tell you of it, my tears and my redemption? 

How could I scarcely keep it in, the way the sun escorted me home the day I mourned its going away? 

Everything, beautiful in its time 

He makes it.  Darkness only lasts for a time, long enough to remind me of what matters most. 

This “calling”, this thing I call my treasure because God led me to name it so, it will flourish and it will grow to whatever size and benefit God decides will serve the purpose of his glory. 

I know some things grow best in the dark. 

Faith, especially, the strength our eyes do not see. 
Linking up with Michele Morin as she talks about her fears and a blind man who responded when Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Imagined Lives and Enough

bravery, Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized

I saw the prompt first thing, Five Minute Friday’s link up/join in on the spontaneously impulsive writing.  I always go over the time limit, still I like the idea of free flow.

And I love, loved it, a word already settled in my heart. I’ve finally found the place of enough, goodness, I hope I stay longer.

 


The word is “Enough”.  I thought, Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, even made a proclamation of its value and convincingly told myself that enough is well and good and is well, enough.

Like the little corner in the room I call “writing”, I had lofty ideas for its design; but the Labrador has taken over the bed and I’ve yet to order the gallery pictures for the walls. Still, I made a little corner more special and I believe it’s enough.

Enough is a mindset easily tainted by comparison and imagined lives causing me to feel less than enough or mostly, lately…”How on earth would I find enough time to do the things they do so very well and smoothly?  Every place I gaze upon, I see helpful hint overload, guidance, encouragement like coursework on a syllabus to be followed. Do this, that, keep going, keep trying, keep writing. ”

Steals the joy of it really, sometimes, the joy of pretty sentences looked back over to cause my nod slightly when no ones around.

Yes, this is me, this is brave, these words match my thoughts. I imagine the lives of others having seamlessly designed days of basking in the satisfaction of completeness.

I imagine them more joyful because of it.

So, I’ve decided this and will do my best to stick to its conviction.

I will write a few words, eventually chapters and upon sending the words into the world, I will say to self and listen to self as I offer up prayer:

Lord, let this land in the face of one looking down, looking for connection, for reason and relating. Let me not reach to grab back for show or measure what I’ve given to you for you to give to another.

Lord, remind me of the joy of enough.

Linking up with Kate Motaug for Five Minute Friday.

http://katemotaung.com/2017/04/06/five-minute-friday-enough-plus-a-giveaway/

enough

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pausing

Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’ve not always been this way.

Maybe I have, I’d just been quiet about it.

Yes, that’s it. Always and ever aware of every speck of life around me, a keen sense of alert or rest, now though it’s become a present pause.

And because I recognize the significance of its prompt, to stop and be attentive, to associate my pauses with God,

I’m not concerned with keeping it a secret, this  beautiful life I’ve come to know.

The beauty of it all, the wonder of it all.

That God would know there would be moments I’d pause to see sunlight shadows across my freshly straightened duvet, a bed made in haste; yet, I pause now and smile.

At the realization of God, my comforter.

Because, I read and have cherished words like,

Calmness can lay great errors to rest. Ecclesiastes 10:4

Regardless of greatness of my error(s),  He is greater.

You may get to this place too, over halfway through your life, when you could care less if people call you too serious, less sociable than most or find it odd, your love of sky and bird, petals bright, of sound and glory.

Might get to the place that it will not matter, the glorious pauses with God far exceeding the fitting in with others, the moan and groan of our competitive inward striving doldrum of day.

Pause, when you see it, pause

Every time.

You will see.

On a morning like now, when the birds are silent telling of coming storm

And I’ve prayed for traveling mercy, knowing “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”

What a day it has been here in Carolina. We traveled mercifully and for many reasons, I’m thankful he kept us in his hands. 

Im linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She shares a beautiful and insightful piece on knowing “how to pray” and I’m humbled that she chose me again, by sharing my post  on strawberries and new towels, simple things reminding me of “enough”. 

This explanation of “teaching us to pray” is so very good: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/everyone-else-doesnt-know-pray/

Everything, Fine and Surrendered

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Vulnerability


Every little place, an intersection, crossing of path, if we pay attention.  A piece on prayer featured my simple words on content. 

A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.

Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind. 

I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace. 

Yesterday, I prayed.  

I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move.  I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known. 

And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move. 

It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to. 

Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary. 

This is not a thing  I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand.  I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault. 

Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow. 

But,  I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder. 

I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.” 

“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together. 

But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate. 

He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”

And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine. 

It’s going to be fine.  My eyes are moist upon remembering. 

Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment. 

I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.

In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

 If not for Easter

Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized

I read from the Old Testament.

I turn the pages back, I always do the hard things first, move on more confident in completing the others and feeling more connected and encouraged, courageous.

I stopped on a verse about bringing all things valuable to God, gold and trinkets and valuables, such things worthy of being offered at the throne of God.

I would have nothing to give. What on earth could I have given? Wedding rings and tiny diamond studs? Bracelets here and there, gifts from my daughter, my son? I’d bring them there and leave them. They’d pale in comparison to the mounds of others left seeking to be atoned.

“And we have brought the Lord ‘s offering, what each man found, articles of gold, armlets and bracelets, signet rings, earrings, and beads, to make atonement for ourselves before the Lord.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭31:50‬ ‭ESV‬‬


I underlined here.  I penciled in the margin.

What would I have to bring?

I flipped to Psalms and read the verses describing the people who could never be satisfied, who forgot about the wonders and good things of God.

Sometimes I forget, I remember.

Miracles like parted seas, food raining down from heaven and protection from horrific famine, terror and defeat…led by Moses because God told him he could and he believed, even when the thousands did not.

“They forgot his works and the wonders that he had shown them.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭78:11

Then, I return to the Book of John and I am open hearted and minded and perhaps, even excited.

Because, the Book of John and the people Jesus decided mattered when no one else cared, these are the people who are making me strong, the women like me.

I understand the woman Jesus greeted as she waited to be stoned, tried to be as hidden as she could.  I imagine her smile as Jesus tells the others, cast a stone if you’re free of sin. If not, go your way.

And they did.

I can see the surprise on the woman’s face who’d known many men when Jesus told her, I know you too.

It’s time to thirst no more for what has not quenched you before you. He gave her water, living water.

So she told everyone who she met and how she was changed.

And this morning, in John 20, I am reacquainted with Mary Magdalene, the one weeping over the empty tomb.

The one Jesus healed, her mind able to see more clearly, whatever demons had entangled her thoughts, he removed.

No wonder she called him “Teacher”. She longed to learn more.

Mary Magdalene was healed by Jesus.

Lots of modern day reviewers of scripture call her a prostitute. She had seven demons and she anointed the feet of Jesus. She was the first to hear him speak when all the others had lost hope.

She heard him say her name.

She called him “Teacher” and followed him from the time he turned her life around, to his grave. When she and the disciples discovered the tomb empty, they left.

But, she lingered.

Grief is complicated.

Sometimes we stick with sorrow because sorrow is all we have left that is them, the one we are grieving. If we discard or sorrow, what then will remind?

So, I believe on Resurrection morn, Mary lingered in the last place her Savior and her Teacher, the one who changed her had been.

It’s barely daylight, she’s alone but oblivious to the possible danger or question of others. A man appears as her head lifts from her chest. She thinks he’s the gardener, maybe a worker, maybe there to clear up the mess the ones who’d removed Jesus left behind.
She asks if he knows where the body has gone.

“They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Jesus asked why she was weeping.

She turns and Jesus says, “Mary”.

She answers, “Teacher” and goes quickly to tell the others he lives.

“I have seen the Lord.”

I have not seen and it can be hard to believe; but I do. 

And if it were not for Easter, I’d not be free.

This I know, this I believe. 

I’ve not enough valuables or golden and cherished jewels to atone me. 

Grace, grace thus far. 

And mercy. 

 Because of mercy.

Trust and Amen

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Begin, get lost along the

way. 

Come back. 

Find, then abandon, lose again,  yourself

in the place of believing in your word, your color, your marks, layered color and

or authentic story on page or canvas and

be glad that you’re glad no matter. 

Sit back, step back. 

Yes, this is me. 

Alleluia, Amen. 

Trust and Amen. 

Here’s something you may not know. 

I went to college on art scholarship but, I was not ready, got a little lost…30 plus years later, I am painting and it is joy. 

I missed my studio aka Heather’s old room…after a weekend away and no commissions to be fulfilled, so I painted this afternoon and into evening. 

This piece is a 16×20 mixed media on canvas…graphite, watercolor, pastel, acrylic with just a tiny hint of hymn peeking through…the words, Trust and Amen. 
Send a message if you’d like to purchase.

Sparks and Moon

Children, courage, family, grace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the 

moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.

I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.

Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last. 

A late, long day,  change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night. 

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead. 

The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark, 

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

Bright and  red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddle on the street as the car ahead eases on. 

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled. 

My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.

I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we  floated  down the road.

Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch. 

Going home for Christmas. 

I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.

Sparks flying up and the 

Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so.