Found these three today.
Message from Heaven
I found one, then a second in the yard behind the shelter.
Said, “Here you take this one” and gave it to Serina.
She smiled, said “I’ll keep it, Miss Lisa.”
We took a few steps together, both of us looking towards our toes and I saw another, small and pristine.
I knew it then.
Everything will be fine.
A message from my mama.
Surely, I’ll be less pitiful today. I woke up knowing I must redeem myself from yesterday’s miserable mood!
Surely, I’ll remember last night’s sky and go into today feeling optimistic.
This was my waking thought.
Prayer and coffee after fitful sleep
The first thing I see on Tuesday is a request to pray for Haiti.
So, I do. I pray silently for a place and a people I’ll most likely never see.
Yet, children there fear things I can’t fathom and what they hold in their hands is just a tiny morsel compared to the excess I claim as mine.
The storm is headed their way. I glance towards my coffee.
I pray it doesn’t destroy them.
I pray for my friend, the secret request in my envelope.
Some days I’m sunshine, others I’m a pessimistic shadow of impending distress.
Tuesday feels better already simply because I prayed for others. Holy Spirit, bend me towards your way and ripen the fruits of my spirit today. May I be abundant in your produce.
I flip the pages of my Bible heading to Philippians; but, stopping at Corinthians.
I go and refill my coffee, get distracted by the dogs’ refusal to pee and then wait, staring out the window.
The overgrown tower of green stalks, brown on the bottom has decided to bloom just like he said they would when I asked,
“When are you gonna cut that dead mess down?” “Not yet.” he said, pointing to the buds with tiny specks of yellow.
I walked slowly outside to see the bright yellow blooms reaching up high.
I see, now they’ve bloomed.
There was still something good to come from the old brown stalks overtaking the fence.
Still good there, bright like sunshine. New like the day.
For we are glad when we are weak and you are strong.
Your restoration is what we pray for. II Corinthians 13:9
Morning is mine
I’m a stubborn woman; but, I’m quiet about it, so you might not know just how set I am on not being swayed.
If there’s something I believe, you can be sure I believe it with all I got.
I won’t believe because someone told me to believe, demanded I consider their perspective and accept their truth.
It’ll be because I’ve pondered and decided it is true and I’m better for its knowledge.
Too many times at the hands of too many people was my body demanded of and my thoughts, my beliefs coerced.
Years ago, I was chastised by a teacher. Told something akin to never being as good as you can be until you read your Bible every day.
Naturally, I resisted. “She’s not telling me what to do.”
When they’d ask for record keeping sake, “How many daily Bible readers do we have?” the number never matched the room and in silence, eyes scanned the semicircle set of chairs, I suppose they wondered who.
If they’d asked, I would have owned up and said why.
I came to it on my own, eventually and unforced. I admit she was right, I only wish I’d come sooner and it been more peaceably presented.
My Bible is my place of learning, of comfort, of finding the scoundrels and the stubborn who finally gave up control and said,
“Okay, I believe despite question. I believe because you’ve shown me reason to believe.”
So, I journal. I read. I pray. I tell little Instagram stories of my God moments and I tell them quietly; hopefully, bravely enough to bend a listening ear, a searching eye, a longing heart.
Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what He has done for my soul. Psalm 66:16
Far be it from me to make tremendous claims or to attempt to convince another as if I’m soothsayer or savant.
Certainly not saint.
I pray I not become boastful, pompous or judgemental.
I pray I only share with clarity my life with God and for the sake of humble remembering, my life before.
May I, every morning attempt to set the direction of my day in knowing more of God through his word and then saying “Okay, I see. I trust. I understand now.” because I stored up a word, an account of something similar and its unraveling from God’s perspective.
Mostly, though, I just hope to keep getting closer to who I say I am, a woman quietly confident in God.
Not what I write, a piece of art or a position in community.
Rather, a woman who God sees when I fall face down to pray and when I smile silently and contentedly as
October sunbeams fall sweetly across the pages of my Bible.
A woman who sees God so clearly others do too.
And discover for themselves, the poetry, love and lessons of their own Holy Bible.
It was late, almost dark.
The clouds were enormously ominous, a bunch of ’em all gathered up together and I could hear my mama saying,
“Looks like there might be a cloud makin’ up over there.”
The geese were holding a meeting in the grassy field. I brought the leash closer and said quietly, “Good boy.”
We hadn’t meant to scare them, we were just strolling lazily, Colt and I.
But, they congregated and flew up and away together with loud flaps and a chorus of harmonious fly alway song.
I was glad to see them because I heard my mama say,
“There they go.”
I remembered my morning prayer written in my journal, “Lord, send a little reminder today, that all is well and help me to see it clearly.”
And I heard my mama saying now, “It’ll all be fine.”
Lightning in the distance, I turn uphill towards home, cutting short our walk.
I’m content…under heaven.
Geese, storm clouds, and memories of mama.
Thank you, God.
That which was bitter to endure
may be sweet to remember.
a proverb
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as we think about loved ones and heaven.
if you fear death, are puzzled by heaven, or wonder if you’ll live forever – #tellhisstory
She called me “sweetie” when I walked in and naturally I pondered whether that was a sweet thing or condescending like lost puppy talk.
It was a kind welcome, “sweetie” must be her word, I decided, it seemed so natural.
Earlier that morning, someone else called me “Honey”. Same thing, just a thing she called people, I supposed.
The usual instructor not there and the only spot available between two men, one my friend’s husband, uninterested in small talk and the other, in his 70’s and really focused on his balance.
He practiced a while, one knee bent, and the opposite leg teetering, like a limb bent by heavy fruit, I feared it might snap.
I thought he might tumble and I knew the reaction would be kind, still, I hoped he didn’t for his sake.
I considered leaving; but, the music was so good, acoustic mellowed out guitar versions of ” Let it Be”, “Imagine” and some softened up Tom Petty “Mary Jane”.
I decided instead to relax and breathe in my little strip of space, a little closet-like cocoon.
The poses drew the tensions up and away from my shoulders. I accomplished for the first time, “tree poses” with my eyes set firm and my arms up high above my shoulders.
“Child’s pose”, I realized is the same as falling on my face in prayer. The instructor told us, “The forehead on the ground is the place where letting go takes place.”
“Oh”…I thought…I know this already.
Ending with “Shavasana”, flat on thin mat, I feel thinner now.
The hard floor underneath me and a weighted bag on my belly, I close my eyes and breathe.
Then, interrupted by the most gentle touch, like a silver spoon dropping a dollop of heavy cream into a warm cup, the instructor gently massages essential oil into the spot above my nose and on my temples.
I notice the scent, contemplate it and decide if it were a color it would be the tint of pale blue sky and I pray,
speaking in a way a bit blunt.
Words spill from my mind like the rat a tat of ammunition and then
they slow with a quiet confirmation.
Gratitude finds its way into my thoughts as warm tears make little puddles around my eyes.
I rise slowly, open my eyes and let the tears evaporate.
Then, listen in farewell “mountain pose” upwards stretching high and then hands at my heart, as the instructor wishes us peace before adding “Namaste”.
I reply “Namaste” and my heart opened, whisper a silent
“Selah”
and an
“Amen.”
A room filled with women, we arrived and found our table. Five women can live at our homeless shelter at any given time. We’re always full, their stories always different.
One’s had a really tough stretch of days and she rode with me.
I told her on the way over about the way I sometimes write the word “trust” on my palm. I open my hand to look at it and remember or sometimes close my fingers in towards my palm, letting my thumb lie against the place I know the word rests.
She smiled and I drove, running late as usual.
When she realized we were going to the country club for dinner, she said,”Oh, we’re going to be at the country club?!”
I answered, “Yes.” and a added a little “whoop whoop hand in the air shoulder shake”
It’s my signature move. My daughter has built a whole “Snap” story around me.
She added, laughing out loud, ” Raise the roof, Miss Lisa!”
And then, her eyes glossy, “I laughed. This is the first time I’ve laughed this week.”
We all sat together. The women who live in our shelter, myself and another employee.
When grace was said, I opened my hands on my lap and listened.
Softly and unexpectedly,she put her hand in mine and I covered our hands together as we prayed.
The warmth of her hand was indescribable.
The thought of it still now as warm.
I spoke about our program, remembering little of what I said except “Their stories become my story. It’s only the grace of God that has kept me from the same hardship.” Because I always say that, always.
Some of the women in the fancy dining room listened, really understood. Most likely only some were brave enough to try and understand if I’m honest.
Let’s be honest, many were thinking…Well, I’d never get myself in such a mess like that.
The room was filled with wealthy women and towards the end of the night, one in particular clearly shunned me.
I felt it.
I have experience with this feeling.
I woke up remembering it and almost let it linger; but, remembered more clearly her beautiful hand in mine.
How could I minimize the beauty of the one hand by sulking over the other?
Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and chasing after the wind. Ecclesiastes 4:5
So, I prayed, “Lord thank you that my life has been less than perfect. That I’ve not had the perfect dress for every function. Lord, thank you that you’ve placed me in places that I get to hold the hands of others. Thank you, Lord that she reached for my hand, knowing I’d reach back. Thank you for reminding me to stop chasing the approval of others.
Linking up for Five Minute Friday although, I always feel certain I go over. I’m not so great rule follower at all. 🙂
I walked outside, barefoot. This morning, the grass wet and cooler than just a few days ago, it caught me by surprise.
I lightened my steps, tippy-toeing, the dogs wondering, “what’s the problem?”.
Summer slumber moving me towards the letting go and the crisp of cool Fall.
I looked towards the sky, turned to go back inside and looked quickly, again back towards the tall pines.
One clump of green up way, way high, lit up golden, welcoming the day. Day of change and chance.
And I took it to heart, I thought…Yes, there’s still chance for new and good.
I angrily covered over a canvas last night, erased the amateur tones that couldn’t be made right.
Then, decided to write, to add some thoughts to words already started.
But, force and anxious effort took over.
Like the Psalmist I wondered,
Could it be God has forgotten to be gracious to me?
Psalm 77:9
Empty feeling, I left the words there, just draft.
Devoid of creative and exhausted from the effort.
I prayed later on. I cried, just a little. Surprisingly to some, I’m not at all the weepy one. But, warm tears, just enough to blur my sight made sense.
Then, I just decided to let it be, let it rest.
So, as morning is purposed for, the morning sky gave a chance to understand…again.
It’s crazy how little tolerance we have for things not going like we think they should.
We can hit one roadblock or not get something just right and we concoct a whole dialogue about our lack of worth and our lack of being good enough for good things to happen.
I just wrote my monthly Faith column for the Wagener Monthly. This month, about a blind man who thought he was blind because he was bad, his parents did too.
Never convinced him differently, even after he could see.
He met Jesus. He could see, he was healed. He believed. They still didn’t.
I falter in the two things I feel God has given me to do and I, like the blind man’s parents, start thinking…I was wrong, not me, not good enough, made too many mistakes to measure up to this gift.
That kind of thinking grows and grows until you become so miserable that you have to decide to be blunt and question yourself…where is this from…what’s this really about?
Asking yourself the things no one else would dare ask.
Like, why did you find it necessary to post every single angel you painted? What were you seeking? What void were you attempting to fill?
Then, you remember.
Oh, this thing I used to consider joy, that used to fill me up and spill over, I’ve made it something else. I’ve made it a place that’s open to fault finding, to self-ridicule and worst of all, to comparison.
Then, jealousy.
So, you get quiet and you get back to you.
You rest, let it rest. You sense the slow change, feel it, move through it at a sweet pace of your own.
You rest. You notice again.
I walked this evening. The cooler air separating the clouds, an intentional separating, breaking down and apart…sifted to smoothness and patterned for best.
I turn towards home, stopping with the Labrador in the grassy spot that feels like country and linger with him in the weeds.
No need for rushing.
We both look towards the place where the sky is wide. He saunters, the high grass brushing his belly and I unleash him because we’re almost home anyway, it’s safe.
I look towards the sky, then we’re done with the day.
And I’ve not pushed, I’ve prayed some more. I’ll paint tomorrow, write again too.
I’ll welcome the unfolding of morning, the nod of evening skies knowing God has been so, so gracious.
Again.
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee
I finished a grant, resubmitted a report, calculated the number of homeless in need of shelter and hugged a mama who wants to see her daughter left in another state because at least there was a home there.
Chasing grants, projecting budgets, tweaking outcomes.
I helped another mama figure out how to search for a surrendered child and I requested items needed from donor.
Finished up screenings, collaborative efforts in recognizing depression and inventoried supplies, worried over funding loss.
Came home, reached for leash, ready to walk. He pulled, on a scent, resisted me all the way.
We walked, out of synch. I was annoyed.
Unregulated in his walk, routine off, he calms finally.
So anxious to begin, worn out and panting towards the end.
Leash off, water bowl filled.
Not at all refreshed, renewed.
So, I put out food for the birds. I can do this at least.
Then painted, finishing a landscape.
I love it so!
I remembered my son’s call, just when I’d decided to be okay without his call…he called.
Oh my.
Reached for the phone to text my daughter then,
She called me first. “I was just about to text you!” I said.
Oh, the joy of things unexpected.
The things that happen without effort.
Effort, less.
I filled the bird feeders and then noticed the seeds had become moist, clumped all together.
So, I left a little more, expecting it not to last.
But, happy to know it was discovered.
Better is a handful of quietness than two handfuls full of toil and a striving after the wind.
Ecclesiastes 4:6
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story. http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/
She walked in slowly, not yet feeling welcome.
I’ve known her almost a year now and yet, she has a ways to go in not being afraid or unworthy.
We worked together on a matter of crisis she might not have been able to handle.
We talked about her worth. She was surprised when I listed her qualities, when I questioned whether she agreed; maybe more surprised by how strongly I insisted on her worthiness.
She broke her leg last year. We had to move her to the downstairs room of our shelter. It was a tough time.
She said to me out of the blue, in the middle of our meeting, “I can’t believe my leg doesn’t even hurt. I can’t believe that broken bone got healed.”
We both smiled.
A friend stopped by on Tuesday to talk about our programs collaborating more. We decided on a new initiative to prioritize a mother’s thinking, giving value and purpose to their lives, the gift of their child.
We prayed together; she first, then me.
I thanked God for her and the time she prayed for me, in agreement with me and the falling apart time she got me through.
I heard her sigh and felt the emotion of her surprise, my mentioning her to God.
It was raw, almost touchable, as if she felt God’s hearing of my voice.
Because in that moment, the thing we didn’t discuss, my healing, was real and she’d been a part of it.
The broken place was healed finally.
And after you have suffered a little while, the God of grace who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. I Peter 5:10
Having noticed the birds singing as the morning on cue unfolded, I questioned my surprise.
It made no sense to me that birds would sing, butterflies congregate and the sky open so vastly midday.
Had they not heard of loss? Had they a resolve tougher than ours, more able to shake off the sorrows and sadnesses of life, of death?
I paused to listen again, to notice
Without fail, a God who like you.
Causing me to see, to hear, to know.
To be still. To trust both the beauty and the not so beautiful.
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