hope

Us With Others

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, happy, hope, love, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, obedience, painting, Peace, Redemption, Salvation, Serving, Stillness, surrender, Uncategorized

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My Bible is open for the first time in almost a week and I’ve found the scriptures’ take on an expression I went to bed with.

I had been thinking of how I’m perceived, in a crowd of strangers who don’t know me, amongst artists and shoppers, women, their children.

For the first time in the bulk of my years it wasn’t about my shoes, my hair, my jewelry, my purse, or even my perfume.

I’ve been without my favorite scent called “Happy” for a bit and so the scent on a not so clear and cool day? I’m hoping it was “Dove” laced clear and clean aroma.

Most of us want to be found “worthy” of good things, pleasant to be with, able to hold a good conversation.

We want to have comparable lives to the ones we are with.

We want to be okay being with most everyone.

Before sleep last night I followed a thought trail to the question of what it means to walk worthy of Christ.

What a life that throws out all other measurements of worth held by society and individuals and simply is focused, content, and well, really just happy to only have one assessor of worth so to speak.

Then I wondered how walking worthy would really look, not me looking at me, but others’ views.

The Book of II Corinthians has four chapters spread across two pages in my Bible.

On the left margin I’ve sketched what looks like a steep hill going up a curve and towards a tunnel. I must’ve been reading Paul’s words about how we may think we are irrevocably affected by our pasts.

But we have lives resurrected, we have hope.

“Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:9-10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There are some things I shouldn’t have survived. Before, I questioned how and why I made it through. Now, I’m quite certain my present life, the nearness of God, is the reason.

On the right hand margin, there’s a sketch of what I’ve begun calling “margin girls”.

This pencil sketch is an early one with no color and at her feet, I’ve drawn a clay pot and a beautiful rose.

As Paul continues his writing, Chapter 2 is about triumph over our pasts. This is the place where the verse lives that describes what our walk is when we believe, what our aura and aroma will be amongst others.

He also owns his own horrible and murderous past and writes that if we’ve been forgiven, the best thing we can do is to forgive others as well.

“But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God’s word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭2:14-17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It occurs to me now, I used the word “peddler” just last week as I described how I detest convincing, imploring someone through my own neediness that they need to purchase a painting.

” Peddlers”, I think of insincere and unconvinced vendors.

That’s not who I want to be, when I offer up my belief in Jesus as something others are open to believing.

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No, I share the meaning behind the layers in a piece and onlookers are captivated, drawn closer, decide they’d like to own what God has helped me create.

The idea of the painting, the aroma of Jesus in me, inviting curiosity, not unpleasant.

If I’m found worthy, I want to be found a gentle, confident, pleasingly consistent scent of grace and mercy, salvation through my belief in Jesus.

Years ago, two or three, I heard the Holy Spirit say to me

This is your treasure…your art and your writing.

I was thrilled to be found worthy of such a calling! Impressed that I had progressed to such a place, excited…okay, finally it’s my big break kind of thinking.

But, I’m learning slowly, a treasure is small at first and may never be grand or spectacular at all or in an earthly way.

Instead, the treasure only increases in worth when it’s given back through uncertain and timid hands to the one who made it after all.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:7-11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The thing about God and His teachings through the words of people like Paul is that we don’t understand it fully all at once.

Over time we ponder what is the aroma of Christ that those around me should sense?

What does it really mean to be clay in the potter’s hand waiting to be made into a vessel in which can rest our undeniable faith?

What does it mean to discard all self and others’ assessments of our ability and worth and walk only with one goal.

I want to walk worthy of the God who gave His Son and gifted me through grace to have the Spirit of Jesus in my own very soul. I want to live worthy of this, nothing more.

I suppose if their were a new scent, maybe the Clinique scent called “Happy” I loved so much before, I’ve outgrown.

I’d wear a new aroma, one called “Content” if I owned another pretty bottle.

How are your growing, measuring your worth and your worthiness?

Are you content?

Are you learning?

Content in not suddenly complete and completed?

Content in the balance of caring for the treasure of you, the treasured things you were created to share.

Continue and believe.

You are God’s treasure.

Keep learning.

Strong Standing

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, courage, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I ease up slowly and turn to plant my feet, sockless, on the floor that my husband warned of germs. I don’t sleep well in socks, have to have space for moving my toes, can’t be entrapped.

It is not lost on me that the day before I lose my footing, I listen to a podcast about trees, about God’s plan for trees to be meaningful, have significance for us like they do in the Bible.

To not be cut off. Like hope in God, rooted deeply, strong and reaching.

It is not lost on me that I’d been pondering how mysterious is our God, how necessary my dependence on Him is, and that for days I’d been encircling the word “Surrender”.

It is not lost on me that I’d become a little entitled, sure and pompous over my good and strong health.

Everything happens to have us consider the lesson of it.

Yes, I believe everything does happen for a reason.

On Tuesday morning, vertigo came like a hurricane.

I was leveled. Sick, panicked, scared. I was unable to regain my footing, I was swept away on the waves of nausea and sad, sad frantic anxiety.

You’ll maybe laugh over the simplicity of my conclusion.

I was humbled.

Two nights in the hospital to be sure the panic wasn’t cardiac related chest discomfort.

I fell asleep aware of my standing.

Across the hall, a man with dementia who kept prompting the nurses with the erratic pressing of his button.

He cried loudly through the night.

Maybe next door, or close at least, another loud shouter, violent and a threat due to mental condition, he prompted announcements across the hospital speakers of a particular code.

The man with dementia had a visitor with a peace lily in hand and then later a quiet uncertain visitor, looked to be his same age, he knocked timidly and then entered. A third visitor told the cafeteria people the door was closed because we were praying.

I listened. I considered my condition.

Somehow the other man calmed down eventually.

At night I pray for my family and friends. I recall them by using the alphabet and I include all the M’s I know for example, before moving to “N”.

It’s not lost on me that until the scary vertigo episode, I’d never included my well being in the “L” request.

I never pray for my own health other than in a way that always calls to account how I’m certain I don’t deserve to be here.

Or is it because I felt others needed it more? A bit of pride, a big mindset of control?

So, I prayed God would help me navigate this new condition and that He’d forgive my thinking I was “all that” because “I’m 59 and all I take is melatonin!”

Yay me!

Don’t you wish you were so lucky, so fortunate, so fit?

It’s not lost on me that for weeks I’d been getting closer and closer to really seeing that

I’m not able on my own.

Don’t you see it all comes together?

God has been weaving my path to this current understanding for longer than possible for me to comprehend.

You can be strong but you can’t stand alone. You can be stubborn in your perseverance but you’re not without vulnerability nor are you invincible.

You’re not completely well all alone, independence, a fault.

The sunrise on the second morning of hospital waking was so splendid I just waited. I postponed my experimental testing of my balance, my rising to stand and walk and I simply stared, gazed, considered.

You’re still standing. Still standing strong.

Even if you had to be shaken to attention.

God holds out as long as possible to teach an important lesson.

He’s more patient than I deserve.

The lesson? Rest and trust.

Slow down, Lisa. Your body cannot keep up with your erratic physical schedule and not enough rest mind!

In the book Reforesting FaithMatthew Sleeth, a former medical professional, atheist, carpenter discusses trees and their significance in the Bible. He shares his seeking and beginning to believe in God on the Annie F. Downs podcast. You can listen here:

Dr. Matthew Sleeth

I can’t decide if my favorite part of the conversation is that he stole a Bible and began reading with Matthew’s book or the quote that describes how God had been with him all along even when he didn’t believe.

If you don’t believe in God it doesn’t mean God doesn’t believe in you. Matthew Sleeth

I woke at home this morning having slept okay after falling asleep with a Proverbs verse.

“In the same way, wisdom is sweet to your soul. If you find it, you will have a bright future, and your hopes will not be cut short.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭24:14‬ ‭NLT

I walked with puppy, back on routine and I paused at my little spot with one chair under the pine situated in the corner.

I hadn’t thought of it until this morning, this not so grand pine is growing, enough for shade and to be the arm outstretched for a bird feeder.

This very pine, the source of me questioning my husband to myself. Why does he insist on replanting, why is he putting that puny little branch in the ground…I mean, the whole back yard is filled with strong pines?

Why can’t he stop adding new growth? Why does he insist on keeping every tree?

But, now, now this one is mine and it is still growing. It is not towering; but it is strong.

Strong standing, after all and welcoming the surrender to sun and rain and whatever wind might blow.

Strong standing.

Planted a long time ago and quietly surrendered.

Walking on level places, not stoic in the steadiness of my own feet.

Strong standing because He made me, kept and keeps me.

Continuing to believe.

Your hopes will not be cut short. Proverbs 24:17

Able, just not on my own.

October Newsletter

Art, confidence, courage, doubt, hope, Redemption, Uncategorized

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Maybe small change is God’s idea, subtle. shifts of just not quitting.

Here’s October’s Newsletter:

Redemptive Stories

If I’m honest, my newsletter is just a blog post in a different location…and most of the time my blog posts are just diary, (blogging pros say this is not good).

Still, quitting because you’re not big and strong or fancy or famous enough is never good.

Continue, continue and believe.

 

 

No Notes

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, fear, freedom, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’ve misplaced yet another good pen. The lead in the mechanical pencil isn’t working, keeps slipping from the cylinder.

Is that what it’s called? Cylinder?

The part, under the pressure of my thumb and an erratic clicking to yield the grey lead?

Probably hid the pen from the puppy, yet another thing inedible eaten.

My journaling ritual,

Habitual or healing?

I barely made a note on this blessed stormy morn, just repeated the word “surrender” and circled, circled, circled.

It’s day 7 of 40. When I get to 41, I’ve decided I’ll circle “surrender” again.

It’s an unending thing.

Not specific. It covers what’s needed, encircles it all.

Twice since yesterday I’ve heard things that are more than enough, simply profound, stand alone philosophy and determined mindset.

My grandma used to say “pass and re-pass” meaning get along with others and my mama always said things like “pick your battles”, “turn the page” or “don’t stress”.

It really is a wonder she found words to encourage us. She was tormented by life and at times, my father.

Then there’s my aunt, who is now my mama. “Prayer and Patience”, her answer for life, for everything.

A mother who had a daughter die. She lives by the “2 p’s”.

My father, on the other hand was a man of hardly any words.

He abhorred nasty and condescending puffed up men.

He was kind to the often downtrodden in need of a cheap six-pack on Sunday people.

He always told the truth.

He just kept trying.

Told us “tell one lie, you gonna have to tell another”.

Occurs to me now, this may be why I’m so honest with others, getting better at honesty with myself.

Back to the two things:

1. Fear always stems from and centers itself around what we love most.

2. Strength is found in weakness.

My greatest fears have always been related to the loss of something, usually someone I love greatly.

My weaknesses are ironically where my strengths are after fifty plus years, emerging.

Bursting.

Too sensitive? I don’t think so anymore. I’m owning my sensitivity, calling it observing.

If fear is a result of loving fully, give me fear in abundance because I want to love with all I got from here on.

No notes needed for either.

Know your “weakness” fully engage it and encircle your fears with like a ginormous comforting hug.

That sounds/reads ridiculous.

Oh well, it’s Saturday and I’m too comfy to find a pen for journaling.

Thus, the unraveling is here.

We do not know what life will bring us.

Even Jesus asked His Father God for other options.

Jesus was human amongst humans til his thirties.

He loved fully, knew fear. Taught fairness, non-judgment, honesty and love.

He knew his life had a purpose but hoped there’d be a less tragic demonstration.

He asked to be excused three times from the ultimate demonstration of love.

His disciples were with him in the Garden. His only request of them, stay awake, I will be pleading. I will be asking My Father if my death is His will or if there is some other way to make heaven possible for all.

They slept while he prayed and then he told them again, be vigilant, my death is coming.

It wasn’t His Father’s plan that he avoid a sacrificial death. The bitter cup would be His.

“saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And when he rose from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping for sorrow,”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭22:42-45‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We don’t know what life will bring us, what we will be forced to endure, when freedom from endurance will be delivered.

We only get to choose whether to see fear as a sign of love, weakness as the soil for the strongest seed waiting for water.

Everyone has a story.

This I believe. Will continue.

No notes needed.

I’m not an expert in theology and don’t anticipate late in life education of the seminary sort.

What I know is life is a teacher. God is my life’s author.

I can believe from here.

No notes.

No pen needed.

Winds and Wills

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

From the window I watched a cloud-like gathering of mist rising up. I could see it drift and sort of fade and then it was evident again, dancing in an upward slow swirl and sway.

The breeze had gathered together it seemed, what was left of the misting rain and it wasn’t collected in anything that could contain it, just danced a bit and then disappeared.

Mystery, in a way.

The seasons, a metaphor maybe God uses to lead us, redirection or reinvention.

The gray rain sky changed to fog and mist and then later the sun landed on the daisies next to the sill.

The day changed.

Crisp, it called and my granddaughter and I went.

I watched the big brown leaves layered on the soft path and then their unlayering, leaning and lifting together with the notice of afternoon’s wind.

We talked about God making things, not sure what else.

We must’ve been listening.

Now today has delivered Autumn, the shift of season made the sky more transparent yesterday late evening.

Seemed that way. Translucent from my perspective.

It may be me.

Believing clarity is cusping.

No longer bold breaking through just responding to pending invitation.

Change, no longer resisted at all.

Direction? Now just a calm consideration of truth not fully revealed.

Shoes on my feet and my arms drawn in tight acknowledging the change.

Embrace the shift, the change, the lack of understanding of everything. Your path will be directed. Look and listen.

You will see.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5-6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He will.

Wonder, Full

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Before he’d be going one way for the evening, I was preparing to go the other.

Walking the puppy, I noticed a feather.

We had a slight disagreement, nothing major. I reversed my car, felt the thump thump of something under.

I looked over and saw him, the look on his face saying, I’ll never fully understand her.

I had run over the garden hose.

He turned and I took off writing stories in my mind over the way God made me, makes us all.

“For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body.”

‭‭James‬ ‭3:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I found myself teetering on the edge of despair, emotional discontentment.

He listened and tried to understand, to an extent he did; but, when he came to my defense it only added to my frustration.

Only God knows me fully.

The soul he created, His beautiful anticipation of me.

“Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:14-16‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I’ve barely and inconsistently scratched the surface that might give a glimpse of the me that God sees and knows.

I find it hard to believe.

I practice intention and notice, otherwise I get sullen over the lack of notice by all the others.

I’m digging deeper, understanding a child that’s not validated will strive the rest of their days for someone to tell them they matter.

It helps to know the reason.

I found a feather, pristine and soft. I left it beside his phone before leaving. The music serenaded my husband as he watered the lawn. Like a peace offering for what I’d done he saw as wrong.

I envisioned him finding it, knowing it was an unspoken apology.

I walked alone later, the cool air sending leaves a flutter. It was good, good to walk alone.

A tiny feather I found for me, white and edged with brown, I slipped it in my pocket.

I’d been researching angels, read that finding a white feather, some believe is the presence of an angel near.

I couldn’t help but think of my mama and her love of Willie Nelson.

The line from a song about a sad soul, too far from heaven, about to lose her way or not belonging in the place she’d landed.

Too far from heaven, too close to the dirty earth and ground, the feather I found.

Angel flying too close to the ground…Willie Nelson

Back home, I saw my husband had left on the counter, a pear or an apple?

I couldn’t be sure.

I washed the tiny feather, laid it on top of the brown fruit to dry.

I can’t be certain if it’s an apple or a pear, I’ll just wonder.

Not slice it.

The beauty of it on my kitchen counter is enough.

The message of simple things, forgiveness, offerings of peace, images and objects that cause for me, remembrance of God.

Remembering with wonder.

Full of wonder over all I don’t yet see.

I am made for so much more than what I present on the outside.

I’m more significant in the eyes of God because of the me only He sees.

When God made me.

He decided my significance.

Enough.

Validated me in a way no words, acceptance, praise or accomplishment can get close to in measure.

The measure of my worth?

That God made me.

There’s a million reasons to trust Him. He knows me fully and yet, loves me still.

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭91:4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

May my soul find your nearness and stay near, God. May I be ever aware of what’s unseen, the spirit of you, nearer, nearer in my natural realm.

Too wonderful to know, too wonderful not to believe in the possibility of.

Believe.

Continue and believe.

If Not For Ideas

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, memoir, obedience, painting, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I sit with the puppy, my mama’s quilt turned to the side with color, the puppy ate a rubber toy, the red ink of duck lips I concluded.

I flip it over, will wash it today. It’ll wait.

I think of my daddy when I think the word, “Idle”.

This daughter of his was altogether unprepared for independence and yet, I could charge my battery with a jump and when my little blue Celica wouldn’t start, I knew where to spark its start using a screwdriver to beat on just the right wire.

Crazy to think.

Resilience began late for me.

It hasn’t finished just yet.

On a Monday following a post about time chasing after things, I’m happy to have put my pen down, new to do list complete.

I’m sitting on the sofa, moving slowly into Monday.

The puppy is in heaven, our bonding getting better.

Positive reinforcement, not negative, consistent reward and maintaining my cues. What a job! He’s smart and according to the trainer, he really wants to please.

Full disclosure, I wanted a dog but chose a puppy.

Everything in life, a lesson…

Stay at it.

Someone said to me yesterday, resisting change and decision.

“Let’s just idle a little longer.”

I wonder what is their fear of moving forward.

I remembered my daddy telling me before the days of daughters stranded on the interstate with cell phones…I remembered his instruction.

Once you get it started, let it idle but not for long, give it the gas and keep going…My daddy, gone 21 years, this month on the 11th.

Warmth fills my eyes at the thought of me on the side of the road just outside of scary to me Atlanta, remembering how to start my car with a flathead screwdriver.

Wishing this morning I had thanked him for making me see that I was capable.

Capable combined with ideas.

Not able to be idle for long.

I’m learning it’s true what they say about confident waiting, about taking your hands and heart from a situation.

To be surprised when God shows up, shows out or simply gives a nudge.

Because I love understanding words, I compared “idle” to “waiting”.

Found “idle” to be not such a good thing: doing nothing, wasting valuable time, inactive or avoiding work.

See?

Waiting lends itself to a more hopeful stance: expecting, anticipating, to pause or my favorite, “stand by”.

I can visualize “stand by”.

It is evidence of believing truths like God fighting for me when I stay still. It’s indicative of faith, you know the whole enduring in hope of what you haven’t clearly seen.

Like the screwdriver in the hand of a scared and naive young woman about to flunk out on her art scholarship private college…

Waiting only takes a spark, a connection, one thing affecting another

And your engine is started.

You don’t idle. You put your hand and heart to the tasks, you know your ideas are like the pedal to the metal in the dark journey all alone, back home.

Back to you.

I think of a quote, knowing I don’t read nearly enough, so very grateful for recall.

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.  Mary Oliver

 

New this morning?

Dare I share that secret sweet hopeful maybe idea?

A coffee table type book of illustrations, my art, my “Bible girls”, each girl, a story about hope.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Maybe, I’ll wait

and see.

Words, Promises and Broken Cycles

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, rest, sons, Stillness, Teaching, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’m always surprised when I’m noticed.

My little trendy southern town known for being “best” in “Southern Living” and yet, such a mixture of poverty and riches with people in the in between vying to be noticed and included.

I used to be included.

I was always reluctant.

It was my work and my voice for the issues that got me invites to ladies’ clubs and big civic suit dressed men meetings.

It was that voice that labeled me one who “talked about hard things, a conversation starter”.

I brought things like homelessness, suicide and trauma from abuse to the table.

And then, I went home.

It was my job.

I left the work to do something other.

On a Friday night in our little town, the place where everyone congregates is hoppin’!

Women dressed for early dinners before a big show at our little theatre.

Young people, families, craft beers, pizza, music and chilled Pinot glowing in pretty glasses.

I wait outside until an inside table is ready, humid here I ask for water.

People are watching and talking.

Teenage girls in high heels and fancy dresses for homecoming football, carefully walking on cobblestones.

I’m responding to little dings on my phone, a sweet video of my granddaughter dancing to her daddy’s favorite funny song.

Then another, she’s being fed from a spoon, the first time and she’s a pro.

Sweet Elizabeth Lettie.

My friends arrive, one and then the other.

A couple stands to leave their table and the wife comes over to speak.

She and her husband, long time supporters of the agency I formerly led.

I assume she’s coming to chat with my friend and instead she addresses me.

Asking, how do you like being a grandmother?

I answer and she adds.

I think it’s so very nice, that you kept your promise. VS

I smiled, no, I’d say I was beaming.

No question about adjusting to not working or have you heard about this or that or the other…

All that’s happened in the wake of your retirement?

No, it was words to acknowledge me keeping my promise to my daughter.

Before I left my career, the paper and a local magazine did a piece on my leaving.

Both, I made sure, contained

I’m honoring a promise I made long ago to my daughter, I’ll be helping with her baby.

My friends and I caught up on lives with spouses, small talk and talk about what’s been newsworthy for our small town.

One friend who’d been aligned wholeheartedly with me in my ten year tenure in mental health expressed a longing that the work the way it used to be would continue.

She added it feels like “wasted time” all the years she put in.

“Oh, no, I’m not letting either of you own that!” announced my feisty second friend.

Adding that there are countless lives of women and children whose cycles of abuse and homelessness, depression and worthlessness have been broken!

I thought “ripple effect”.

They then asked about my children, both of them childless.

I shared how they’re doing and recent conversations with both that left me in awe over their strength…them being so much stronger than the me at their age.

My friend added,

you’ve broken the cycle you knew.

I thought of my children.

I accepted that. Yes, I have.

Yes, thank God; with God, I have.

Friday night reflections on Saturday morning:

You’ll hear what you need from others when you need it and while the encounters may be few, you will be noticed for being you.

No other reason.

Just you, being you.

A quiet strong.

Lord, may this be my legacy.

The choices I made and make, the ripple effect, like the settled waters of a quiet creek.

They come back.

Back to me.

I am thankful.

“I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭37:25‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Vanity and Strife

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Teaching, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

In the margin of my Bible, the heading of Ecclesiastes, I’ve added, “Reflections of an old man chasing after ‘good things.'”

I’m glad Solomon left behind his wisdom, his insistence that what we strive for other than God is akin to wasting our days.

Still, we want what we want. We long for what represents achievement.

I laid this leaf inside my Bible not sure I’d be able to preserve it. I was able. The spot in the center is so intricate it looks as if a tree with tiny branches created a piece of art.

I will keep it.

To have my art in a gallery would mean painting a series of similar pieces, gaining the attention of a gallery owner and them being thrilled to display my works.

There might even come a time that I become famous, someone well known buys a painting and all of the other wannabe well knowns follow behind and my art might become well-known

Same with my writing. I may by chance have someone read my blog and they know an agent and they tell said agent, I think this writer is worth looking at more closely. She has a meaningful story.

I imagine such things.

I make up fantastic scenarios about being noticed, about being a success.

But I’ve had little successes that have taught me success doesn’t satiate the soul.

If at all, only for a little while.

“Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭2:11‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Solomon was successful, wise and well-known.

But, found his soul empty, his striving after the uncatchable wind.

I listened to a Grammy winning performer share with a likeminded and successful four book author.

Both admitted days of empty longing that hadn’t been and couldn’t be filled by “success”.

Fear of being able to be enough in their performance led them to isolate for days.

Something was missing at times. Their success on its own could not sustain happiness, contentment or a sense of satisfaction.

I believe success is simply intentional contentment and a personal resignation to choose to pursue “works of your hands” that you give back as an honor of God.

Otherwise, we chase for validation, we covet the Instagram lives of others, we grow sullen over being seemingly left behind.

I’ve been kept whole by my God. I have helped others. I have loved my family. I have made it my goal to grow closer to God each day.

Moment by moment, this pursuit to me, is God’s idea, if there is one, of success.

Success to me?

Being brave so that others will too. Being hopeful so that others have hope, choosing love over remorse and humble surrender to what I in all my vain striving do not know.

Last week, I wrote one of my bravest posts so far. A handful of people read, two or three said thank you or I understand.

Success?

Yes, that feels like just enough.

Success

Linking up with others at FMF on the subject of “Success”.