grace

See, Jesus

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

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Closer to Strong Walking

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

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/

 

Book Review and Giveaway- Choosing Real by Bekah Jane Pogue

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

I opened this book quite convinced there’d be nothing relatable for me. 

I did what women do, pictured Bekah Jane’s pretty little life in her pretty little sunny home surrounded by happy boys and handsome husband, and decided I think I’m too old, too much a contrasted life to relate. 

Perhaps, jealousy veiled the door. After all, her name’s on a book and mine is not. 

I began Choosing Real on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday means church to me, choir, if on a set day it means leading Missions. 

Sunday feels like work sometimes and most days I’d rather just rest.

Bekah Jane understands. Like me, she has spent many hours of her days working, planning, showing her efforts to herself and God. Barely into the first few pages, my pencil is making pretty little gray asterisks already. 

You, my friend, you don’t have to work so hard. You don’t have to strive to perform, because God is already in it.  

I understand, Bekah. I’m sure we’re not the only ones, little girls wanting to believe Jesus loved us…loves us, really. 

Less than a page or two over, here’s this gem, this rock solid truth refined and precious jewelry. 

How could I follow a Jesus I didn’t have a real relationship with other than what I did for Him?  

Yes, this is the beginning of understanding, of the wisdom finally seen clearly through another. 

Finally, I am  understanding surrender through this book. Surrender is not a strapped down performance based response because of self-condemnation over never enough or not enough consistently! 

Breakthrough here.

Yes. That truth came to me in these pages. Bekah is an event planner and so she’s all about arranging, inviting, I imagine beautiful and welcoming occasions. 

Surrender is simply saying, I’ll come along, Jesus to the events you have planned for me. 

I know that you have some very special occasions you’d like me to fully attend, to be present, to enjoy, to accept as opportunities to dine with you while dining with others at a table large with glorious grace and graces to share.

I struggle to convey how big was this epiphany, this new view of surrender so I’ll use another’s clarity from the book,  Bob Goff. 

Every day God invites us on the same kind of adventure. It’s not a trip where He sends us a rigid itinerary; He simply invites us. 

God asks us what it is He’s made us to love, what it is that captures our attention, what feeds that deep indescribable need of our souls to experience the richness of the world He made. And then, leaning over us whispers, ‘Let’s do that together’.

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I’d love to create a little list of all the places this book touched my heart.  

Bekah speaks of grief over the loss of her father in a way so real I simply wish we could meet so I could run across the room without reservation and hug her so, so tightly and say “Me too.”

Grief leveled her. Grief changed her. I understand. She and I are one in this ache  that comes round and round. 

Friends, I’ve only barely skimmed the surface of this book and it’s importance for us all. 

Last week, I attended a fancy meeting. I couldn’t wait to leave, worried over being a guest, not a member and shunned over wearing the wrong shoes or being less notable a person than others.

I sat in my car and said. “I’d rather be real.” and the sun warmed my face as I looked towards blueness of sky. I paused there in the parking lot, okay with belonging to quiet over club. 

I paused, content in being more real me than ever, a place of peace and acceptance. Happy to be real, not rich. 

Later, I painted and I will again today. This ministry born of sketching me in margins, an invitation to abandoned joy it has become. 

Work, before. Over 39 years ago, I longed, ached, tried and failed to be an artist. Now, I simply long to paint, to write, to bravely create from my heart. 

Choosing Real ends with an invitation to proclaim,  a beckoning to consider believing I matter, an exercise in embracing God’s long ago promise. 

You matter. 

I have a copy of this book I’m anxious to pass on. I know it will end up where it belongs because God placed me here on this chilly Saturday morning to share my heart and its significance with you. 

Leave a comment and at random, I’ll choose someone to send a copy, wishing I could send to all! 

Choose real. Accept God’s invitation to surrender to life when our plan gets messy or even grief and chaos ridden. 

Reach out, take His hand and remember, surrender is not selfish defeat or dismay…it’s saying “Yes” to believing Jesus has some amazing and “really real”  things, amazing days he awaits our acceptance of invitation. 

Acquaint yourself with the wisdom and heart of Bekah here: http://www.bekahpogue.com/

*Thank you to Stephanie Alton at the Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc. for allowing me to review this book and for providing a book for the giveaway this month. 

Mindfilledness

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

I have a friend who is a therapist, yoga instructor and a quite beautiful singer. Her voice is smooth, her tone steady and open to my turning.

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He redeems my soul in safety from the battle I wage. Psalm 55:18

She talks about trauma like David thought of Goliath.

As if to say, “I know you’re lurking, come at me, I’m stronger than you know.”

Oh, the mind filled messes we all hide away, stuff under the bed or way, way back in the dark corner of our dusty attic minds…

Thinking, “I know you’re still there; but, I have no need for you whatsoever…stay up there, away, I know you; but, have no need to bring you out.”

Trauma and memory, fine ’til they can’t rest and start to dance together, way past midnight in our dreams.

Last night, I watched a movie. Rare for me because I despise the “F word” and I have no desire for sex that looks like proud display of nastiness and shame.

The movie, “Woman in Gold” and the actor a strong and determinedly beautiful woman scarred by the siege of Hitler.

The one scene, the one that stirred up my thoughts, she is afraid to go back and remembers fleeing before being taken prisoner.

She melts down. I saw it in her eyes, Helen Mirren portraying trauma splendidly well.

She faced it. It was so very debilitating,  just for a few seconds.

She knew her giant.

Would not concede.

I dreamt in color of scary things last night, of being held captive, of being harmed.

It was clear and real. It was a true story, true of my story.

Still, I woke and said to myself.

You know the reason for the dream. You know the games your mind plays either you let it become filled with the messes or you pause to be mindful of its seed.

I thought of my friend as I practiced mindfulness and rose to begin my day unscarred by the night and its thoughts.

Birds singing to celebrate the early bloom of forsythia and azalea, of hope, truth and quiet confidence.

Feathers found reminding of grace singing over me.

Filling my mind with things to grab hold to, store up, win battles with.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who is changing the way I see “happy”.

 

Tell His Story

Praise Again

grace, praise, Uncategorized

 

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. Psalm 43:5

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I feel like Helen Keller might be better called a Psalmist,

Angelou, too.

Thanks to writers and wise ones,  I discovered poetry, again.

Mary Oliver, a Psalmist, I believe.

Ann Voskamp, possibly, me.

Possiby you.

Psalmists, too.

Yesterday, the world had no spot for my eye to find rest.

I turned away, didn’t draw near.

Brilliant camellia, I walked right past, thought there are more to come, I’ll wait for the

bursting buds another day.

Another day more brilliant, maybe.

Then, today …oh, today.  The air crisp with a call,  “Come out!”

Rain stopped, long fallen flat, yet beautiful leaves and  the fuzzy bloom of plum tree beginning,

longing  to be seen.

Thrilled by my face turned towards high reaching limbs.

A soft wisp of petal falls and is moist on my cheek.

Yes, goodness me,  today.

I found you beautiful again and new,

Praise, again.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and a beautiful story about learning, love and Valentines.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/valentines-day-keys-happily-ever/

 

 

 

Chance and Fences

courage, Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
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chances, today and hopefully tomorrow

I’m pretty sure God would not design us to straddle the fear of failing fence.

Pretty sure, he calls us to walk steadily towards good things, things that he knows our hearts desire and our minds were made for.

Things we wonder over whether it could be possible for us, all the while being unafraid

to try a new thing,

a different thing

a thing you decide admittedly naive,

might it be possible?

Today, I entered a writing competition.

That is all I required of myself.

Write and enter.

I did. I took a chance.

That was all that was required, write because you love it and let others read your words.

That was enough, all it took.

I thought later.
“The more chances I take,
the more
chances
I will be given.”

 

enough for one day.

by faith

courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

 

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towards heart’s desires

Faith, to me is really more bravery than anything.

It’s enduring self-doubt and even hostility towards your own tender self and deciding to continue on, not growing weary.

Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself so that you may not grow weary or faint hearted. Hebrews 12:3

By faith, whatever that treasure you hold tightly to, keeping quiet about it lest your heart be broken by the attempt and failure or the safety of keeping it secret…

By faith, it can come to fruition.

Hebrews 11, I named the “By Faith 15” cause it’s full of stories of people who simply kept moving forward towards God’s treasure for them.

So, by faith. I began painting again. By faith, I began blogging, telling myself I’m so not skilled for this but, I just kept on writing, by faith.

By faith, I told some special people about my book idea and even let some critique it’s intro.

By faith, I decided to be a brave writer, to be true to my story, not doubtful or embarrassed over the naivety of my dream coming true.

By faith, I wrote almost 2000 words on a Saturday afternoon, my laptop lost 500 of them but, I stopped and looked out the window towards my mama’s birdbath and said “Do not give up.” By faith, I sent the submission in and by faith, I made the final round for publication. By faith, I’m waiting now for the next step…the email to say whether I was selected.

By faith, I will trust God in the decision.

By faith, I am writing tonight, maybe painting too.

By faith, I will submit an essay to a contest no later than Monday because that is the next step.

By faith, I will decide between “It Was Libby” or “The Colors of my Bible”
Two essays, about 700 words so far.

By faith, I will wait and know God will reveal today which story should be shared.

By faith, I will look for God in my moments with others today and I will prepare my heart to lead Missions tomorrow.

By faith, I will just keep taking the next step. I will not grow weary, not grow faint hearted.

Word

courage, family, grace, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I read today and remembered why.  The thing is, I’d forgotten it as pleasure.

Countless messages, subscriptions to opinions and advice of others to equip my writing, prepare my way, make me more writerly. So many voices, is there room for mine?

Information overload.

So, I skimmed my “pins” saved to my “Makes me Think” board and I remembered my last and most beautiful to me book,  The Kite Runner. 

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I understood the story, it was truth for me.

Then, I went for beauty and I wondered still how can it be I’d gone my whole life without the gloriously truthful poetry of Mary Oliver in my life, my heart?

I sat with her words, sipping berry infused tea as I thought of a promise to myself, an essay submission, a friend committed to critique and I’m only 200 words in.

Moments

There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.

Like telling someone you love them.

Or giving your money away,  all of it.

Your heart is beating, isn’t it?

You’re not in chains are you?  There is nothing more pathetic than caution

when headlong might save a life,

even, possibly, your own.

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Then, I settled into Sunday afternoon empty house, content with alone. I continued on the trek with Andra Watkins, reading, prompted by guilt over an unfulfilled promise, Not Without My Father. 

I thrilled over understanding, I smiled over connectedness. A book about walking the Natchez Trace because a person who is a big part of history walked this same trail, long-suffering and anguished. I was reluctant. Not a history person, yet, I longed to read the book.

Then, it happened about midway through!

She wrote of giving up or not. She wrote of longing to be noticed. She wrote of the anguish of being understood or of at least being seen. And her father told her he saw her, he noticed. He was proud. She was tough, tougher than he imagined. So, she cried over the gift of exactly what she’d been longing to receive, to know.

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Then, I continue with her. I’m walking the trail reading the book and joy of all joys, she knows about the red birds, she believes in the cardinal, her “Mamaw” beckoning her, fluttering and following, saying “continue” and telling her it will be good from now on.

She is assured. So am I.

On Saturday, I walked and I thought of words and verses and truth. A bare tree, hosting a bevy of grey and tiny birds, I stopped to stare.

I walked on and decided, those birds were there so I’d notice and look towards the sky, to God and to good.

I thought of my beliefs in the moments like this, so real they’re like treasure. I thought of writing, of sharing the emotion of seeing birds fill a tree up high against sky blue.

I thought of keeping silent, of not describing this Saturday afternoon occurrence of birds for the sake of those who think less of the notice of God, of birds, of word.

Then decided, surely there’s another who might be waiting to say “Yes, I saw them too..oh, the beauty of it all.”

Words, sky, scripture, truth and birds up high in lonely tree

Beauty,  waiting for us to see.

Unjumbled

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Uncategorized

I’m writing, attempting to limit my world and words  to five minutes worth. I woke with thoughts carried from the day before and the prompt is “Breathe”.  Here I go.

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There must be more of this, to sit with quiet, to lie with rain. There must be more of this serene.

I thought of being jumbled yesterday, of the days’ comingling  of its junk with my good.

I shared with another, “I don’t believe we remember to think for ourselves anymore…everything seems so decided for us, we limit ourselves like an choosing to take the test with multiple choice, guessing answers a, b, c, rather than the essay question, our voice and words.

We get drawn in to excitement or furor and we become a member of a club that intices our membership through big noisy  words and characters.

Leaving us to decide, is this loop one I’m in?  Surely. I should jump right in.

I’m either captivated or entranced by the seemingly perfect pursuits of others.

until I remember where I’m standing, where I’m sitting and I pause.

I breathe the breath of peace of mind.

i sit with art, words or Bible and I am drawn to listen. Birds, an owl, the dog’s sigh.

But,  I get torn on occasion  with the jumbledness of should, could,oppose, support, despise, adore, follow along or

rest where your mind has you, has brought you.

Breathe, pause, stay.

You are here in this place I have you. Stay.

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not keep silent. Psalm 30:11

Linking up with Kate Motaung for Five Minute Friday http://katemotaung.com/2017/02/02/five-minute-friday-breathe-lisa-jo-baker/

In Good Time

Children, family, grace, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized
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Every morning quiet time

He waits now. Before, almost two years ago, it was crazy.

I said “Yes” to a Christmas gift of a Labrador for a son who’d be leaving for college.

I lost all control. I did. My emotions of the transition I suppose, of my little boy, took over the reigns. The idea of a big, big dog in a house with an already sweet older little beagle getting older and moodier lady…

the one that was supposed to have been his, but, his sister had to take on the raising.

So, cold  January , post-Christmas mornings, I’m out with him, I’d done my research he needs a routine, he needs to play, needs to run.

Cold mornings, kicking a basketball with rain boot covered feet, wrapped in my bathrobe as he ran from fence post to fence post.

We had a routine.

He was settling in. Over time, less chewed shoes, we needed a new screen door anyway.

Now, he’s my morning buddy. He is good and we sit. He waits. He looks out the window for the spot the 4Runner whips into when the college boy comes home. He looks every morning. He knows it will be soon.

He brings me the tennis ball. “Not yet, No sir.” I say, and he plops down beside my feet with a human like sigh of acceptance.

He waits.

He understands. He waits.

I remember times I ran ahead of God’s sweet and sure control. I forced my way, tore up stuff and things, outcomes, fell onto the floor emotionally with hands clenched tightly into fists.

Then, I learned to wait. And waiting became routine.

Routine is good. Like Colt, the big brown dog, I’m good now…better, at least more quiet.

In returning and rest, shall you be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength. Isaiah 30:15