Stuff of Sorrow

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, heaven, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Most of my afflictions have been “momentary” and later, I understood them all or with time, accepted them. I can’t say any of my troubles could compare to Job’s and if I’m honest, nor does my unwavering trust.

My choices waver at times, not so much like altogether abandoning my faith; but, like the rich man who couldn’t imagine choosing to follow over keeping all the wealth he had.

And a ruler asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.

You know the commandments: ‘Do not commit adultery, Do not murder, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Honor your father and mother.'”

And he said, “All these I have kept from my youth.”

When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “One thing you still lack. Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

But when he heard these things, he became very sad, for he was extremely rich. – Luke 18:18-23

Sometimes I’m sorrowful over my sorry state of mind and lack of solid pressing forward.

When Jesus told the rich man what he needed to go beyond just being good, it was more than he wanted to hear; I believe he was looking for one more commandment, maybe a new one he could boast about his adherence.

Instead, Jesus asked him to sacrifice.

He asked him give what he treasured, asked him to give up the thing he measured his worth, his value by.

When Jesus tells me to do something or to do without something, it’s obviously not a tap on the shoulder or a verbal command.

It’s more a stirring, sometimes unpleasant and others exhilarating over what my life might be if I gave my all, gave Him my all.

When that soul stirring says “change” “surrender” “give up” or “give all” it’s a call to follow, to come and see how my life might be.

Mostly, I meander and the hard truth is I often ignore and it’s sort of secretive. Only God and me know, how I might be different were I to choose differently.

Then comes the sorrow, the sorrow we label loosely in other, more understandable ways.

Calling it humility, doubt or disappointment because we don’t want to call it what it is, disobedience.

Doubt somehow is easier on the heart, feels more allowable and forgiving like mercy or grace.

Like the Proverbs verse about the dog returning to his vomit, I’m prone to patterns I know, mostly in my thinking, thankfully.

Job chose a different path than the rich ruler. Both had a whole lot. The rich ruler lost nothing, Job everything.

Job refused to curse God. The rich ruler by his refusal to let go of all his riches, essentially did.

Both were sorrowful. Both were tested. One held fast to God, the other to His riches.

And the LORD said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil? He still holds fast his integrity, although you incited me against him to destroy him without reason.” – Job 2:3

Job lost property and children and did not blame God.

Chapter 2 has a header in my Bible that says “Satan Attacks Job’s Health”. Job’s wife watches as he breaks a pot to alleviate the pain and presence of sores, scraping desperately over the toxic wounds now covering his entire body.

She tells him he should curse God and die.

Job replies that her talk is foolish and reminds her we shouldn’t expect good from God only, that we might experience bad, we might experience evil even.

In the midst of our suffering God is still working, will we hold fast and trust Him?

I wonder how the rich ruler continued on. I’d love to know that he reconsidered his riches, that his cycle of security through wealth was somehow harshly broken.

And that when he had nothing of his own making, he believed Jesus and was made new.

This world is not our home, nor all the stuff we pile up round our rooms or anxiously work to acquire and feel we are finally enough.

But, eternity and the riches of heaven, oh my goodness, it is ours for the asking and while heaven can never be here on earth, it’s so very much closer in and around us when keep what we need, our faith and care so very little about the things that are just “the rest”.

God honored Job’s integrity, gave him and his family back all that had been taken. His days continued, they were full with so much more because he accepted what was taken, all.

And Job died, an old man, and full of days. – Job 42:17

Sun, Sit

Faith, family, grace, grief, heaven, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Vulnerability

He sat so that I might see

The sunbeams that were

Soon to be sunset.

We’d walked a sauntering stroll

Purposefully so and the same prayer,

A thought unspoken.

Peace for them, peace surround them

Evidently, all around and real.

As our neighbor lies passing.

The thought I keep thinking.

He paused and I attempted new prayer

But, nothing came.

Peace, I asked again.

Peace.

And the Lab sat until I said “Come on.”

We continued on.

Continued on.

Bird’s Eye, Mine

birds, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, Peace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I couldn’t have captured them if I tried.

But, I certainly would if I could and so I’m always looking, ever aware of my pursuit.

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Psalm 27:13 ESV

The one that met me as I began or the one that made its presence known as I drove intent on my part in making things better for someone.

Nor the ones all clustered together to then scatter separately in happy lilting flutters.

I smiled watching as my feet pounded the gravelly trail

Running as a release, and knowing that there’s no need to pause as if I’d cause their pausing. They were all around, teasingly entreating my notice.

Birds are just that way.

Momentarily glimpses of God, in my periphery or suddenly right in front.

And yet, not even as I rounded the curve and the straight place, again, there they were the same small clique, waiting to have me see.

And remember them and the ones before.

The first one, blue.

The second, red and the group, too distant to know, their wings mottled grey and brown.

I couldn’t have captured their appearance if I tried, if I’d flicked my wrist and angled the tiny lens just so and simultaneously tapped the button for a photo.

Even then, I couldn’t have fully captured it, their message to me saying you are seen, you are known, continue singing.

Continue to fly, to walk, to run towards God’s goodness.

Something happens when I step out to walk, to run when I make it a mandate for me.

An unraveling, solitude, unconcern over others around and ears muted to outsiders and filling up with a strong song.

Maybe the getting closer to the sky or unconfined behind desks and screens or maybe it’s the physicality of the unhindered release of mind, of limbs lethargic.

Out amongst the things of God, sounds, movements, and makings, I might otherwise consider only insignificant landscape.

The flight of birds, their singing and skirting about in my presence, it matters to me.

Assures me I matter to God. More than unexpected acclaim or surprising occurrence of good.

The birds remind me I’m small in His presence and yet He knows.

So, I’ll continue changed by the birds I see, I’ll be unchanged by the oddness of it that others might perceive.

I’ll continue joyously at ease every time I see one; the bluebird quick and rare in my presence, the red one, daily and often for me, and the obscure ones gathered together in their little community of engagement.

For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light. – Psalm 36:9 ESV

Each of them for my seeing, elusive in their leading me to carry on, carry on towards the days of goodness in this land of the living.

The birds, the open sky, the invitation to pursue, to wait for all that is good all the good in the light I must go to see, to seek under great big skies, bordered by bird and tree, I must open my eyes to see, open them to heaven!

The unraveling of my anxious thoughts, making space for Him.

Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! Psalm 27:4

August ‘63

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. – 1 Corinthians 13:7

The greatest thing happened yesterday, more special than anyone will understand. I saw myself surrounded by love and I am hesitant to say; but, I am thinking it may be the unlocking of so much more, the freedom to change my perspective, to alter my imaginary ideas of what I was incapable of remembering.

That’s me there. The bobbed bangs and even back then I was unable to open my eyes for the shot. That’s me surrounded by love in the August of ’63 when I turned 3.

I’ve just read two separate perspectives on love after waking up with the realization that “we should just love”.

I can’t say how sleep unearthed this necessary proclamation.

It may have been the weekend with family, the coming together of us from different places and paths that had taken us all spread out from one another are bringing us back together.

In need of the other’s love.

In need of connecting again as if we were small and couldn’t help but be gathered together cousins, sisters, uncles, aunts, and dogs.

This morning I read of how disillusioned Jesus may have been perceived to be.

How he saw others as redeemable and that was all he saw. He saw them as returners to His Father’s love and He saw them without judgment of the places their hands, hearts, and feet had been before they came or returned from wandering.

I’d like to say I love this way. That I don’t pretend that my concerns over others is not judgment, that it is only my hoping for them to be better.

I’d love to know I could love, and that my love wouldn’t be questioned.

That I’d not have ideas about others that humbled me when they were conclusion jumping wrong.

That I’d love the way family loves, bound together although disjointed by life.

That I’d love without judgment, that my love would be childlike and innocent in acceptance and mature and intentional in the reality of its necessity and giving of grace.

I’d love to love like Jesus.

I believe I shall love better, knowing, after all, I have been loved, was and am.

The little girl in the pointy hat, the stretchy string pinching our necks as we all gathered around the table with our mamas, daddies, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers and a bird dog patiently waiting for a scrap.

Children, now adults, all found our way despite stumbling, falling, faltering along the way.

One, Stephanie, not with us, missed so much more than time can attempt to measure. Others, babies then, too tiny for the table and some yet to be conceived.

When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!

We all were loved, I’m so sorry to have ever doubted.

For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. – John 1:16

Love endured, endures still.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. – 1 Corinthians 13:11-13

Hope of Glory

bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, heaven, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

If you google “glory” there’s not a word, synonym, noun or verb that would be close to heaven.

Maybe it’s the mystery, the mystery of it all that we can’t quite grasp.

Even when we believe, heaven is our hope.

It is our glory. For me and I pray, you.

It’s our eternity.

A long time ago, I began a support group for people who lost loved ones to their choice of dying, suicide.

The initiation of the group coincided with a piece I was asked to write, a Community betterment series, my choice of a topic and I called it, “The Tragedy of Speculation”.

I had been changed, many times over now, by those who sat around my table recalling the death of someone close.

My piece essentially said “Let’s stop talking about the suicide in a way that’s not helpful. Let’s stop faking our sympathy when we simply want to point fingers and say who missed the signs, how far the person had swayed off course or how the family, the parents must not have been doing what they should have.”

My commentary was a little softer back then; but, the thing is, people want to dissect something they don’t understand in hopes they can be certain “never me”.

Thus, the tragedy of speculation

Suicide, a tragic mystery.

About the same time, I got a phone call.

An older man with gravel in his voice, assertive and impatient it seemed with this task he was tasked to do.

To call me and give his input.

I answered, confirmed I was the author of the article and he announced:

If you want to prevent suicide you need to start telling people if they do that they will go straight to Hell!

A tad but unsettled; but, prepared because of my childhood exposure to preachers spittin’ orders and threats all over the pews,

I replied, calmly, I would never tell someone that because I don’t believe it.

Silence on the other end, I sensed his surprise by my candor.

Several years later, the numbers in our county and our country keep growing.

Could such a declaration change that? Possibly, no, probably not.

Would you tell someone about a sure place called Hell over Heaven and compromise the character grace and mercy of Jesus to save a life?

I’m thinking this is not what God means by salvation.

No, not I.

I wonder what Bourdain thought of God. Kate Spade, as well.

If momentarily in the deep place of a resignation not to go on they simply could no longer sense the wonder.

Much conversation is occurring now about depression, about suicide.

I’m no licensed professional. I’m just a noticer.

And I suppose if my sometimes seemingly naive approach could add anything to the discussion.

I’d say, let’s think empirically.

Let’s come forth for that person from all perspectives, friend, family, faith, medicine, aspirations, accomplishments, addictions recovery and reminders of possibility.

Let’s do better at coming alongside in whatever our way and staying beside.

It’s a battle they most likely are waging war against and became weary with all the shots coming at them from every imaginable direction, internal and external.

Wounds not fully healed, maybe they’d grown tired of the reoccurring reminders.

And depression, a deep hole, maybe it becomes a safe bunker and maybe the choice to surrender, to finally, finally retreat.

Their decision.

This is why I continue.

I continue to try to understand it, suicide.

Why I say faith in God is not the cure for depression or the saver of those suicidal.

What it is is a certain and steadfast complement to healing, to have a reason to live.

“For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:13-14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

To believing new things are possible.

A hopeful complement in this crazy, horrible and often hindered world.

Paul and Timothy told the Colossian believers, you’ve come so far, I know it seems mysterious; but, it is what God created you for, the riches of a glorious mystery.

“To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The hope of glory.

Most everything about God’s word feels mysterious to me at times.

Like, how I pray and because I believe in Jesus, he intercedes for me.

It’s a mystery to me, a glorious mystery I’ve seen to be true in the simplest and grandest of ways.

A chubby freckle faced little girl grows up and begins to believe God is for her and she prays for opportunities every single day and they come and she continues boldly even when afraid.

Because she believes now, finally that her hope is Christ and He sees her settled, finally surrendered and new things, new things keep springin’ up!

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:18-19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ll not talk so much about glory with one considering suicide or one trying hard to prevent it.

But, hope, oh I’ll surely tell them of hope.

Lord, help me to never hinder, always to remind of hope!

To use all you’ve given me the opportunity to know and to complement my knowledge with your grace and mercy and my strength only through you, my hope.

Because of mercy, Amen

Our county has a Coalition to Prevent Suicide, yours may as well. We are all concerned about the increase in numbers and continuously increase our efforts.

Visit here: Coalition for Suicide Prevention of Aiken County

Or the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

Know the signs, intervene and if Hope is a thing for you, a sure and steady God thing, pray with those who are sad and suicidal.

Moon and Sun Together with Message

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

It’s a pivot is all, the motion of the body choosing one way over the other.

I open the door and pause, I’ll either go right or go left.

Either answer the bird call, the sky going blue or I’ll walk steady, coffee sat down on coaster and settle into the cushions, sort of sinking in and stuck.

Today, I chose the right and I remembered I love the morning and why.

Morning, most of all is to me without judgement.

Time briefly uncrowded, alone and without conversation.

It seems morning is worthy.

Worthy of such respect.

Morning, I believe the time most devoid of fear and fullest of perhaps.

The bordered sky, pink buffering to blueish violet hue.

Never a harsh beckon to come see, instead a call to step outside and to stand still,

To turn one side then the other and then discover before stepping through the door back in.

The moon still hanging,

the moon and the sun the same this morning, their calling of me.

Convincing me, be still, be still.

In this morning time, the moon, the sun they say.

Be still and know that He is God.

Momentarily, I turn to go inside then look back and see.

The two of them, together like goose and duckling or buck and a doe.

Two of them catch my eye, not typically together, usually one bright, the other with feathers tinted brown, they fly by, a couple.

Two females this morning, a cardinal pair catch my gaze and I’m astounded it has happened again.

Yesterday a friend shared something she’d been told.

…a cardinal’s presence represents a time to renew vitality through developing and accepting a new sense of our own true self.

Birds, red in color appearing almost always now. It’s extraordinary if you must know.

Back inside, I sit and write. I turn to read the guided passage in Timothy and in the Psalms.

The Labrador drops his tennis ball and waits at my feet. Morning, he knows.

He waits while I read.

Quiet every morning.

And the Psalm talks of birds and escape and how my hope is in the name of the Lord, how I’d once been held captive.

Now I’m free. So much more free.

“We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And I know for sure this much is true. The maker of every sunrise and moon waiting to fade away and the red birds perched and parading are for me, not against.

The maker of heaven and earth, of morning and night, the maker of me

and of you.

I am so very certain.

Certain of his knowing my name.

Yours too.

God is everywhere.

Don’t forget to notice.

For I’m not sure how long, I’ve linked my posts up on other writers’ blogs. In the beginning, I felt uncertain, felt “Community” was beyond my place as a writer. I decided to join, a hard thing for me and my insecurities, my measure of me.

What began as a hopeful chance to be seen has now become, dare I say it, a community. Reading the words of likeminded writers and reading the words of those with different expression, I’ve been educated, am now certain that I’m the only one with my voice, my experiences and my tone even.

Last week, we were in Genesis in Sunday school, the very beginning of the book. The question for discussion was about how God’s plan of creation made us feel about Him. Some said that we should honor Him, others said He’s in control.

I kept my response to myself, shared later with some women. I realized just how intricately I am made and how purposeful God was in creation. This means no need for competing, no cause for comparison.

As if God has said all along “Lisa Anne, You be you!”

The Tell His Story Community is a place to see this truth, to honor it, to honor God.

I’m so happy it is continuing and I know I’m not the only one!

You’ll be great, Mary! You be you.

Linking this post with others here:

Tell His Story

Happy Way of Life #8

Angels, bravery, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, heaven, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, rest, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I was outside literally two minutes or less, finally finished, I made my way to the spot I sit and watch the blue cool pool water paint patterns on my feet.

I’d been cleaning like crazy, Friday night instead of Saturday morning.

I was raised that way.

On Saturday morning, nothing happened until we cleaned.

My mama handed out assignments and by noon you’d have thought our house on the poor side of town was tucked away behind stately gates.

I adhere to her pattern, my daughter and son do too. We like things straight.

We like our places put together and pretty.

Now, it’s morning and I have Saturday’s day about to unfold. I’ve been awakened by a text, “You up?”

“In bed, awake”, my reply.

“Get ready.” her instruction.

Last night I tried to remember my mama’s particular words and I couldn’t. I tried to bring to mind her philosophical response, fashioned in blunt reply.

What I miss most of all are Saturday morning calls, coaxing me not worry…to let these two be, to know that they are good.

I can’t recall what it was, the thing I said just like her. I wanted to remember, tried so very hard.

I had to let it go hoping it comes back when I least expect.

Because last night, I sat in my spot, magazine by my side with a splash of wine in pretty glass. Relax, Lisa Anne.

Relax now.

Don’t stress. Let it be. Pick your battles. It’ll be fine. The truth always comes out and again, stress’ll kill you.

Momentarily, I heard the sound.

The arrival, I was ready.

Closer to me, at just the right time, I tilt my eyes towards heaven, and there are three.

The geese, the geese.

Mama always said, “Here they come.”

And yes, they did.

Again.

Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow in heaven. I’ll keep looking for you, mama, in my every single thing.

I’ll be listening for your reply.

The Stranger

Angels, courage, Faith, heaven, praise, rest, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On my way tonight to workout, he was walking.

On my back home, I saw him too.

90 minutes passed and the place on the side of the road, barely off the road in the high weeds, where he was again made no sense at all.

He should’ve been farther along; yet, there he was again, on my way.

I remembered, I thought if I see him again, I’ll know it’s true, true like my son suggested one day in a little boy whimsical way,

“What if he’s Jesus?” Childlike chastising my questioning comment directed towards someone standing on the edge of the exit ramp holding a cardboard sign.

Now, I’m thinking again, yeah…what if?

You should know I only tell true stories and you must know I find all sorts of stuff significant when I see it. I consider it God.

About three weeks ago, I stopped by our local printer to collect items ordered for work.

“What is he doing?” she asked, “walking up and down the sidewalk with that stick?”

I told her I’d ask him and I did, asked him if he was okay.

He needed to be pointed in the direction of the soup kitchen, so I directed him four blocks down and two over.

He smiled, said, “Do I know you?” “Did you go to high school in Hepzibah?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

Then he told me his name, adding angel as a surname. Told me he was an angel and then said: “Jesus loves you.”

I smiled, said, “I know, you too.”

Then on a drizzly Sunday one week ago, Colt and I were out back. All my day’s plans go awry because of an emergency with an employee, I’d be going to work.

Tennis ball toss, the command given “drop” and again and again until I turn towards the back porch.

I see him, a male form bent over shoulders heavy, walking down my road, holding a big shepherd like stick.

“Oh…it’s him.” The Labrador sees and hurries up to the fence, makes a squeaky sound, not at all resembling bark or growl.

He never barked, sort of sighed, pulled the sound of dog startle back in as if he knew him, knew there was no need for noise.

There was no call to fear threatening.

Then he watches body next to my hip and his nose on the cold link of fence. I watch, feet tiptoed and neck craning as the man who says he’s an angel crosses in front of my house and on down the road.

I know right away, I’ll turn that way instead of my normal when I go. I’ll leave for work and I’ll hope on my way he’s there.

Cheese crackers, granola and a Cliff bar in my lap, I drive down the hill and turn the curve and he’s there.

He’s making his way up the hill. No one around on Sunday morning church time, I slow my car, window eases down and I say,

“Good morning.” My hand through the window meets his and he’s surprised by my giving, he thanks me for the food and then stores it in deep pockets of a jacket dragging down by so much wear.

“Jesus loves you.” He says and then adds,

“I love your hair.” I smile knowing no way he could know the gray I’d just felt depressed over, the flatness of strands due to age and the daily angst over cut or grow out.

I drove on remembering the time before when he said he was an angel.

Tonight, I saw him the third time I told myself would “seal the deal” if it happened, make me sure of providence and certain of angels.

I wondered why he’d only walked a block or so in the 90 minutes between seeing him and seeing him again.

I considered why he’d kept appearing on my way and then I pondered all who might avoid him and worse yet might not see him in the very close to dark dangerous road.

I hoped he’d be okay. I hoped he has headed someplace safe.

Then I realized he’d be one Jesus would pause to notice. He, one of the least of these, a wandering soul and lost mentally maybe.

But who am I to say He’s not already done so; this man walking tall with a stick the height of his shoulders and telling me, others, whoever that he’s “Angel John” and that Jesus loves us.

Who’s to say who’s angelic or not or why I might see him and believe more wistfully, more surely and more unexpectedly that there are angels among us and that those angels know Jesus?

Who’s to say who knows?

Yesterday, I gathered up my angel figurines. I’d been noticing all the clutter collected and decided they no longer belonged on the desk. My eye drawn to them seems it has begun to feel their placement was all wrong.

I moved them to my bedroom, tucked them together collectively on the shelf just above my pillow.

I’m believing more than before and unafraid to say so, believing because of who and what and where I’ve seen God and probability of angels, love, and grace among us.

And strangers with contagious smiles despite missing teeth who make confident proclamations of Jesus and love and not at all coincidentally cross my path.

Some would say homeless or crazy or not worth much at all…

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, who are we to say

or he, a stranger?

 

I’ve just read a post from Jennifer Dukes Lee about helping another along the way. Who’s to say when we might need help up or when we get to reach down.

Vist here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learned-movie-can-imagine/

image

 

Book Review : A Place to Land, A Story of Longing and Belonging

book review, bravery, Children, courage, grace, grief, heaven, Peace, praise, rest, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability

I believe empathy should have another name, a word that’s descriptive without the clinical tone. I believe empathy, the word, should sound softer, a whispered acknowledging tone.

Empathy, whether you’re the giver or the receiver, an exchange really, is human hearts trading places.

I’ve finished Kate Motaung’s book and considered the technique of allowing the pages to fall open, deciding this is the place I should write of my connection with this story.

Still, each time I sought redirection, I wound up in the same place, the place we had in common, the place and time when grace filled the room.

Years ago, it was the most pitifully powerful memory I’d ever known.

Still is the most powerful, not pitiful or pity filled any longer.

The day was Christmas and the drive was three hours one way. My husband, the children, there was no discussion, we were going to see mama.

We arrived at the hospital and the nurse said, “She’s waiting.”

Her body was weak, her organs were weaker; but, she was expecting us. Her hair had been styled and she had on the most delicate of nightgowns I’d ever seen, more beautiful than any I’d ever known her to own.

She smiled. She “made over” my daughter and my son. She encouraged them, she reminded, she laughed a little, she gave them direction.

We gave her the gifts we’d brought and I remember that she thought my siblings might come later and my aunt had come and she had an expression of pure love and acceptance of whatever gift or not might be given.

She grew tired and it seemed we grew awkward, like clumsy adolescents not being sure what to do with our hands, none of us knew what to with our hearts.

A hospital room on Christmas Day and an hour or so with my mama and then three hours back home with little talk only uncertain sadness.

This was my mama’s last Christmas. I have never seen her more glowing, never seen her so resigned and simply open to come what may or may not.

I read Kate Motaung’s account of her mother’s cancer diagnosis and of her longing to be with her but, committed to stay on God’s course, a missionary in another country.

I was overjoyed by her telling of her mother’s travels to visit. I envisioned her love for Kate and her family and her maybe stubbornness to be with her daughter, to welcome babies, to leave them with good words and wisdom.

I smiled as I read of the trips for ice cream and the times her mama, weak and unable to be strong on her own, had a zest for life and humor, I could see them together making memories.

The mother giving all she had until she could give no more all for the sake of her children. I understood.

I struggled to imagine being so very far away and then realized prayer has no limits. God doesn’t set parameters as if to say oh, no the prayer you said well it’s way too far for the one you want it to help.

No, God is Sovereign. A mama three days away is no different from one three hours away when our living Father hears the supplication of a loving daughter, asking for mercy for her mama, and grace for the times together.

Towards the end of the book, Chapter 20 is titled “Grace”.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭3:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There’s a surprise trip to visit her, to return from Cape Town, Africa to Michigan.

Her mama’s condo smelled of cookies. The machinery all around, sustaining her breathing and yet, there were fresh cookies.

I wandered then if her mama baked cakes and made pot roast and potatoes and I decided for myself, I believe she did.

The chapter ends with celebration; she, her mama and her sister, memories, more laughter, hysterical laughter.

And a realization.

And it was grace. Kate Motaung

“A Place to Land” is a comfort, it’s consolation and it’s a telling and retelling of a daughter’s unwavering confidence in God.

Mostly, for me it’s a beautiful gift of grace, grace her mother gave, and grace that surrounded her and guided her home.

Guided her daughter through grief to be able to share.

To have other “motherless daughters” understand, be understood.

This book to me, it was grace.

Empathy’s new explanation, I’ve decided.

It’s grace, grace from one who understands shared with another.

Thanks for understanding, Kate.

Purchase your copy here:

Morning Glories

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I woke up in the country and threw back the curtain to this wide open sky.

Yesterday, we saw the workers pruning the branches, making ways for the bright growth soon bursting through. I’ll ride these roads to my girl’s a month from now or so and I’ll be barely able to close my eyes because of all the majestic beauty of peach season!

Isn’t that what God does?

He holds our hand through the enduring, makes us new and strong in our growth, promises us a glorious new season if we’ll let him cut us from the old.

To stop wearing our old tattered and faded garments, to dress in his newness.

Morning glories, realizations filled to the brim, awaiting my drinking in and feeling led to pouring out like cream in warm coffee.

I’m without my devotionals, three of my daily ones; but, I’ve a new one called “Joy and Strength”. The quotes and the verses are ancient wisdom. The numbers, numeral and Roman, causing a longer pause.

So far, two days in and aligning with my season.

Preparing me to be re-planted in God’s freshly broken up ground.

My cousin gifted me the new one, maybe knowing I needed my soul made new.

No, most assuredly I know, it was God knowing, prompting her to know.

“No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the patch tears away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭2:21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The wisdom of the new little book I’ll open to find daily words, words that focus on after here and about what will matter then.

The truth of not just earth; but, heaven too.

Heaven more.

“But according to his promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.”

‭‭2 Peter‬ ‭3:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Without my set routine, not in my morning spot, my books, pencil and my Bible.

I began to wonder how I might otherwise find what God would have me know.

I looked through the wide and uncurtained kitchen window and decided it will be good to look to the day to hear, to see and to know.

And because the kitchen, the pots and the bowls, none of them were familiar or like mine,

My daughter made us oatmeal, the old way, on top of the stove.

And I tasted and saw that it was good.

So good.

So new and morning gloriously good!

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and others who “Tell His Story”

You can join us here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/