Peace Takes Courage

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

The rain subsided enough to get a walk in.

I determined to pursue my daily unraveling.

The sky no longer threatening, the storm separating the colors and the background pale blue grew larger before me.

The grey only narrow stripes of color like paint laid down on a canvas, the palette knife technique.

Rain like water misted from the bottle kept to keep moist the canvas, the grey diffused.

God’s fingers like the biggest thick brush now blending, muting color.

At peace with the presentation.

The exhibit now open for my viewing.

The crepe myrtle petals are sopped like kitchen sponges and hanging low like bursting ripely fruits just waiting for my indulgence.

And it happened again.

What’s this lightness in my gait, the awareness of pep in my step and of belief I’ll take off running once I make it round the bend and just maybe take an extra hill?

Peace, I decided as I took the final home bound hill.

It’s peace that has taken the bricks from your feet.

Peace that says take your gifts and give them to whomever will listen, will read, will be curious over how you moved from burdened fighter to learner to victim no more.

A thought came clearly, I imagined myself confidently telling others.

I give God all the glory. Without God none of this would be possible for me.

Peace is possible.

Take courage.

“But you, take courage! Do not let your hands be weak, for your work shall be rewarded.”

‭‭2 Chronicles‬ ‭15:7‬ ‭ESV

Continue and believe.

Linking up with others at Five Minute Friday, prompted by the word, “Take”.

See A Little Listening

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I told myself feelings are not facts and I do believe it.

Add that little saying to all the others, Lisa Anne, over time your happy heart will override your frenzied mind.

Will cushion the knowing that’s gonna grow you, will soften the edges of you, will be a plump pillow for your head at day’s end, sweet rest for the soul.

I listen to a whole lot of stuff when I’m walking, wisdom and or lyrical voices.

I’m particular with my listening, not my favorite thing to learn from tones that are “chipper”.

Cut out the pretty words. I crave what I already know, just need a voice confirming on a firmer note.

I’m down to just a few now, podcasts that are good fits for me.

Yesterday, I silenced my phone.

I paused the voice that was the same as so many with a similar exhortation.

I already knew. I already know.

I’ve got extra blank space now. I’m not sure I’ve ever had so much room in my thoughts for things to grow.

I’m challenged to accept the void of activity. I resist the not knowing what may be next or not come at all.

I walked bored with others’ knowledge and I saw the geese behind their mama all swimming in a row.

But, first I heard them, the rhyme and rhythm of their following along.

I paused then walked on.

I turned the steep sharp corner carefully and hearing a rattling engine moved to the far edge of the high grass.

I was prepared; but, not to be startled, an old van, a bearded tank top man and a head down in the darkness passenger in his midst.

“I’m walking.” I answered when he asked if I needed a ride and then added, “I walk everyday.” wishing I hadn’t added that and hoping he didn’t hear.

He drove away.

I approached the place where the Labrador loved to sit and I heard the croak of a frog off someplace and I remembered the creek of my childhood and those simple and yet complex days.

We walked every day. We took off to our simple shady quiet place.

I turned towards home and saw the bright blooms of summer, found the hidden key, let myself in and then double locked the door.

Later, I told the neighbor, I’ll be walking a new way, find cut throughs through yards. She said okay, suggested I leave one ear without music.

I told my husband.

He listened and agreed on new ways to get to the cul de sacs, the neighborhood and finally the trail I love.

I mentally made a plan.

I expected to be afraid in my sleep, awakened by the encounter of the ones in the old tagless used and beat up van.

But I wasn’t.

I considered the possible intent of the man and I am responding accordingly, not afraid,

Just informed.

I’m changing, I’m listening. I’m learning.

Feelings do not write your stories.

Listen more to what you are seeing now.

Your story was written so very long ago by the one who knows you now and then and in all the days to come.

“O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:1-3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Notice the one who takes unending notice of you.

You, who God made fearfully and wonderfully well.

“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

You Can Rest Now

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, hope, kindness, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I had the most peaceful morning. I had slept so very well, the kind like a Saturday morning when it was just natural to sleep in.

Then I was easy on myself, I sipped coffee with the “grand-dog” near and eventually made myself breakfast, well, it was brunch.

It was to be a challenging day. I decided not to rush.

It felt like the right choice.

Interviews today, the call back for seconds, there would be three of them.

The first, a sharply dressed young woman.

I listened as she answered their questions, a panel of four, plus me.

She was articulate and graceful and I noticed the tremor in her voice, the sound that became less possible, the strain of nerves, a rush of something taking control.

I paid attention as she continued, answered tough questions about some things she didn’t really know.

She, a year older than my youngest child and she was an applicant for my job.

I watched as she continued, a question posed about management style, multi-tasking and de-escalations of conflict.

She answered without pause, said she’s a big believer in therapy and she had at one time thought it unimportant, her emotional self-care.

She talked about mental health, used the subject in a sentence about her church. Every area of her life, she had exposed to the light of the needs she knew, her own and others’.

Now she knows, she knows the value of taking care, of being alone.

The necessity of a sort of reset.

Had it been appropriate, I would have told her thank you, thank you for that.

Because you are brave.

Brave enough to know yourself and to continue the pattern you know that is right for you.

The thing that keeps you well, not just “fine” or pushing through.

This morning, I realized how desperately I was in need of rest.

It was so good, the way I slept.

Like I’d been out for a while and all the while someone so kind had been keeping their kind heart and eyes on me.

The word “recovery” came to mind and it seemed odd because I am well.

It was fitting though, this sense of this season representing recovery from exhausting patterns I’d become accustomed to.

I so greatly needed rest, I’d been unable to feel my own fatigue.

Until I began to see

you need it.

It’s an inward shift.

Today, I mentally applauded someone who admitted at one time anxiety made her weak and that now rest keeps her strong.

And so she listens to her mind, her body, her soul and she goes to the place that whispers.

Come away, get to the place you call rest.

You can rest now.

Peace is not found in a fainting towards the finish line pursuit, rather in the place you left it last to continue yet another exhausting other pursuit.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:1‬ ‭esv

Inward, 40 Days

Abuse Survivor, Angels, birds, bravery, contentment, courage, Easter, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, kindness, Lent, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Every day this week, the robins have said “Good Morning.” As if they are thrilled to see me return, they fly from the cedar tree to the oaks and back again, as if announcing, “She’s here, she’s here, come and see!”

And I pause before entering my office door, I pause in the parking lot longing to discern their meaning, their message, being so captivated by them there.

I heard a podcast speaking of change in habits, change in mindset and how most of us make it about four days.

Good morning Day 4 of 40 and my observation of Lent!

Someone chuckled when I announced my decision to fast, added we’re not Catholic or Episcopalian or anything like that.

She watched as I chose water over wine.

Had little to say when I told her I had to choose my favorite indulgence, my favorite reward or as we both know so very well because I used to belt the lyrics loud in my powerfully independent voice,

My favorite mistake.

My girl grew up on the anthems of Sheryl Crow.

So, we continued as I shared with her why I chose my indulgent red wine in the pretty stemless glass that my hand hurried home to cup after life and work had worked my nerves and took from me more than I had to give.

How could I not choose to give up the thing that I decided was my worthy reward, my justified balm for my weary soul?

How could I not sacrifice in an effort to find perhaps the true balm that was being perhaps, ignored?

For some it’s social media, others it is sugar or bread or chocolate or maybe stronger drink, intoxicating the heart and mind.

For me it could have easily been Instagram or peanut butter.

Because, I’ve taken to peanut butter in excess again.

Made up for the break from red wine by mindlessly cleaning out the jar of especially crunchy and sweet salty amber colored cream while waiting for dinner to be done.

Then I had my dinner with water in the wine glass and I was satisfied until it came time for something more…my pattern, I am learning.

So again I go to the kitchen and I finish off the chocolate almond Halo Top that boasts of being harmless.

The wine stayed corked in the cabinet and I began to learn what I know now.

I look for reward in things outside of myself to be told that I am enough and when I feel unnoticed, I indulge in the first “good” thing I can get my hands on that is waiting there for me.

To burst through the back door, tell my husband it was a horrible day and reach for my reward.

Maybe three days in, I’m learning already about that “heart shaped hole” people speak of that we try to fill.

The place of our souls where Jesus wants to be enough.

Maybe by day ten I will have fully exhausted all of my immediately gratifying rewards and I’ll sit with Jesus and myself just quietly.

Maybe I will be filled not from the immediate things I seek to gratify me, food, drink, a device in my hand or a reader that likes me and says “you’re good”.

Maybe my needs will be less and my soul’s wants, becoming more will be seen more clearly.

They’ve been so fully met all along.

What you need has always been here.

I chose to fast from red wine for 40 days for two reasons, one of them selfish, I admit.

I see it as sort of a spiritual experiment. I am curious to see how my faith will change, what I will hear and see more clearly.

How I will know myself and God when I surrender intentionally.

The other reason as I told my young assistant when she, seeing all the conflict of work these days announced…”Oh wow, you really chose wine?”

Women and wine, it’s obviously a thing.

To which I answered.

How could I not sacrifice something that will be hard when Jesus died for me…sacrificed His life on the cross for me?

She smiled sweetly.

So, Lent for this not churched that way poor country girl, I am learning and I am allowing your lessons.

It may be more than wine as the wind down “waiting to comfort me reward” that’s been buffering God’s voice.

It may be that and other things I am only just beginning to hear.

It may be finally that all the mistakes I casually named my favorites because you don’t tell your little daughter dancing in the kitchen about your shame.

You masquerade your shame with reckless sometimes funny mommy behaviors.

It may be that three days in,

I am at last understanding

and embracing

forgiveness.

It will be joy for me, fully believing.

It will be like resurrection morning!

Last night, I drafted a post about the robins, deleted and started over three times. Went to bed thinking, well I don’t know why…but, I may be losing my writing voice. It seemed so unnecessary, for me to tell again about my love of a bird.

So, I woke and I journaled and I decided to be brave and share my choice for Lent. Like most writing, the words just came. And it is about me; but, it may be for someone else, God said. “It is my will that you be brave.

It’s your part to be real at the risk of being ridiculed, this is what you should surrender, your fear of being shamed and allow your truth to go the places I say, Lisa Anne.”

About forgiveness I’m learning more every day, every new day I am becoming more free.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

‭‭John‬ ‭3:16-17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God Appointments and Rain

bravery, courage, Faith, Homeless, hope, kindness, Prayer

I did not want to hear her response through a text as I shared my day only two hours in.

God appointment, she texted.

Okay. Oh, okay.

There was an empty wheelchair in my office parking lot this morning in the cold drizzling rain.

What in the world??? , I said.

I didn’t get out of my car right away, ready yourself, ready, be ready.

I saw him in the lobby.

A homeless man and without his bicycle and now with crutches and a hand me down wheelchair.

Okay, I told myself.

Hands and feet, hands and feet.

Breathe, see this as an opportunity.

When he said he’d not eaten since Sunday, we bought him two cheeseburgers and a chocolate shake.

He looked around my office, saw the photos of my children, chuckled over one of my husband and me, told me he looked like a “pretty cool dude” and then because we needed to do what the system said, I convinced him to go for a mental health assessment and I told him we haven’t done this before.

It may be the one thing that will turn the key.

He kept talking about hope. I told him to continue.

Hope.

Then I found out they wouldn’t, couldn’t help him and he still said thank you, Lisa as my eyes met his as they loaded his wheelchair I brought to the van in the rain.

And I do not understand.

I don’t think I understand systems that push people through only getting a glimpse of their stories, I’m not sure I understand our present humanity at all.

I’m very regretful over resenting that I gave this man the bulk of my day and how I kept saying to myself “hands and feet, hands and feet” yet, I got him no remedy, no relief.

Such is life when it hits you to commit to the last few words you said.

I will pray for you, I told him.

I will. I pray I remember.

Least I can do when my hands and feet, do little at all, seem to be for naught.

I can pray.

Least of the things I can do when my hands, my feet, my heart falls short of relief.

Hope and pray.

Continue and believe.

Sky and Bloom

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

“Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards, for our vineyards are in blossom.”

‭‭The Song of Solomon‬ ‭2:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Cold in a way I had no idea, I removed the soft heavy blanket and because the birds had begun to sing, I turned and saw the sky behind me, bright with pink.

Longing to see more and to see with a more private view I ventured to the backyard.

Bare feet on crunchy frozen grass, my steps became a dance and rather than staring towards the sky I became captivated by the camellias.

Pink, I decide is the color of vibrance and optimism. Some petalled balls fallen from the branches and in varying stages of change, some clinging gloriously and a few yet to bloom.

I pray we don’t get the icy days we southerners disdain.

I pray the terminal frost that curtails the continued growth stays away.

Because, the camellias this winter have blossomed in grander and more undeniable ways.

Or is it my notice that has changed?

Has a sense of hopeful curiosity begun to enlighten my belief?

Changing doubtful speculation to committed curiosity over things that might finally be?

Things I believe are for me, abilities and opportunities designed by God.

I am beginning to trust it might be, that I will see.

Jesus has seen me and is pleased in my growing understanding of Him.

Mercy is becoming more than “Christiany” expression tacked on in hopes to gain acceptance.

Mercy, I am finally seeing.

Is for me.

Jesus, leaving Jericho heard the desperate cries of two blind men sitting on the side of the road.

Their sense of hearing compensated for their inability to see and so, they cried out loudly to Jesus asking for mercy. The crowds chastised them, these pitiful men positioned on their way.

How dare they ask to be seen, much less to be able to see?

Have you felt this way?

Felt that according to God and to others, you should stay in your place, why on earth would you believe there could be grander things to see?

The blind men must have been desperate, must have been shouting.

Jesus paused for them.

He asked them what it was they needed.

Jesus wanted to hear their deepest need.

“And stopping, Jesus called them and said, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.” And Jesus in pity touched their eyes, and immediately they recovered their sight and followed him.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭20:32-34‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yesterday, I sat anchored by weighted rice bags on my abdomen and thighs, the sense of settled safety, I was seeking.

I joined in my friend’s “Midweek Mindfulness” and loosened up the places where my stress had made its abode.

Anchored and waiting, eyes closed in meditation, I struggled to be still, to stay composed.

Surely, this will soon be over, I don’t know how much longer I can hold this pose and I can’t think of a single additional thing to let go and I’ve prayed my prayers and I’ve focused my focus…

Then she begins to speak of curiosity and I naively conclude she’s done this solely for me.

It actually could be.

I listen and decide curiosity is a worthy mindset, not one curtailed by pessimism or conclusions to my stories, rather a careful and hopeful, continuous pursuit.

The blind men could have chosen what they’d always chosen, likely just being careful to stay out of the way

Instead they decided to be brave, to be curious about Jesus and to give new sights a try.

This morning beckoned me out onto the cold January ground and led me to see beauty, not only in the morning sun but in the blooms fallen and fading making way for new.

I get emotional over a couple of lines in a pretty song. The voice is captivating, tender and true.

She makes a quiet and sure proclamation over her soul and unknowingly, mine.

She sings, “the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy!”

It is a tender song, inspired by the verses from the Song of Solomon, a book that reads like poetry, sonnets and splendidly passionate love.

Good to Me

What are the “foxes” in your vineyard? What present or past or based on your own predictions is set on stealing the joy you’ve begun to get a tiny taste of?

Exchange the sly intentions of the evil one committed to keeping you back for the mercy of the merciful one who asks.

What do you want me to do for you? Jesus

Speak of your need despite others silencing your curiosity.

Believe mercy will always meet it, always meet you.

Lift your eyes to the hills.

Your help will come.

Continue and believe.

I’m linking up with other writers at Tell His Story. https://marygeisen.com/in-the-middle-of-winter-guest-post/

https://marygeisen.com/the-one-word-that-almost-wasnt/

Not As Before

Abuse Survivor, Angels, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I’ve made some decisions and haven’t turned back, took some chances and opportunities recently, things that are teaching me that not everything comes by chance.

Fortune shines on others more than me and

Oh well, it wasn’t meant to be…these were the truths I believed.

Being a believer of a God who is sovereign, who is in control, led to my conclusion that only just enough good could be for me and that as a believer in sovereignty I must surely stay in my place, must not seek more than a little, must stay anchored by doubt and by fear of failure, not trying at all because of the unlikelihood of success.

I intentionally handicap myself.

I’m beginning to learn from my children, adults who have most likely seen this in me all along but never called me on it, accepted my ways for this long.

I wonder how it feels for a child to see a parent finally coming into their own?

Close to 60 years old and becoming strong?

I wonder if they realize in their own way, they helped me here.

To this season of wanting my legacy to be more than the timid and tentative mama, they may have always known. The one whose thoughts were always deep and bent towards worry.

Here now because I want their faith in God and His goodness to be strong.

Several months ago, I lost control.

Headed towards an important event, we were “T-boned” by a crossing car and my car jumped it seemed into the deep ditch and the front end was crushed by a timely positioned pine.

The Labrador, my husband and me. He jumped from the passenger side and I screamed loud and long. It was a very odd and out of control sounding cry. It was fear.

My daughter answered her phone.

“Mama, are you okay? You are okay. You are okay. Now, stop crying, just breathe and calm down.

You’re okay.

Calm down.”

She called her brother. He called me.

Same reaction, the same level tone in a child of mine’s adult voice. It was the same assurance, same calm.

Control what you can control. my son

Months have passed and changes have been made, changes are on the brink of being announced, career, home, and faith.

Changes are taking place.

Last night, I gave up on watching “Ozark”. Intrigued by the young actor with the authentic twang, I told myself to try it again, watch something that at least causes thought.

Fifteen minutes later, I switch to a Julia Roberts movie simply because she’s beautiful and required less attention.

Told my husband I couldn’t watch, don’t want to go to bed with those thoughts.

Still, I was startled awake before light and had to shake off a horrific dream. I knew it was partly me to blame. I watched the gory scene, heard the horrific words, saw the actor’s fear and grief and evil exchanged.

I went over my average daily screen time. I ate extra spicy food and then had red wine and then topped it off with chocolate milk, Advil and crunchy peanut butter on a spoon.

I recalled the nightmare to forget and move forward. Remembering times before. I had the damaged perception to believe that bad dreams were God sent messages to me.

Messages like you’re still that wild and mistake making girl, you’re still the too attractive and easy for your own good young woman, you’re still the poor girl in the ill-fitting tops, you’re still the fat middle schooler in your brother’s husky jeans.

You’re still the woman in the pew unwelcome by the women who are already there.

I don’t think nightmares are for anyone’s good. If there’s nothing else I can control today, I will control this new truth, this new optimistic conclusion.

And I will carry it into my day, I am no longer living the trauma victim way.

“Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.” She also said, “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?”

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭16:13‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Hagar was a slave girl who followed along with circumstances that caused her to carry a label we today would most likely call “whore”.

I can barely type the word. You see, I’ve been called that before.

In the nightmare last night, I revisited that woman of before; but, she ran, ran, ran ironically away from a church and through the streets to find herself alone in prayer, her face to the floor.

She found God there.

She rose and she walked freely, more freely than before.

What mindsets have held you captive?

You are never in God’s eyes the person you were before.

If you have experiences that lead to nightmares, don’t succumb to the belief that these bad dreams are your restitution for your bad before.

Use the sense that God gave you. Combine it with good and trustworthy therapy and then add in what you know. Know what God knows and can control and then assert yourself to control

What you can control.

Your “resurrection power”, your “freedom living on the inside”.

You called me from the grave by name
You called me out of all my shame
I see the old has passed away
The new has come! Chris Tomlin

Be found in your wilderness, come forward to be seen and to be fully known.

The Book of Luke, 24 Days of Jesus-An Advent Experience

Abuse Survivor, Advent, Angels, Christmas, courage, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, waiting

Believe, Now

The 16th chapter of Luke’s book is not so gentle a read. It ends with Jesus telling a rich man who refused God that there’d be no need in a miraculous sighting sent to warn his family of Hell. Jesus tells the regretful rich man, they didn’t believe in Moses, it’s likely they may never believe.

“He said to him, ‘If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭16:31‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I stood holding hands with family yesterday and prayed. I was asked by my cousin to pray.

It felt a little awkward, family can be that way; but, also a sweet answer because I’d actually thought about it, thought about it on the drive to the gathering, what would I pray if I were to bless the food, to pray?

I consider this God. I consider the way this all fell into place truly sweet, a God thing.

I thanked the Lord for the tradition of our get together, for the good things he’s brought us over the past year, the good things he has brought us to and through, and for the food.

As we released our hands, a circle so wide it covered four rooms, intersected by a kitchen and a hall, everyone was quiet and then our Georgia Christmas meal began.

This morning, I’m remembering intercessory prayer. I’m thinking with certainty how God hears our prayers and how I most likely won’t know how my words offered up a little awkwardly will impact my family members.

Somehow and somewhere, they will.

God hears us when we say them, He always hears our prayers.

The rich man lost his opportunity. He ignored the needs of a poor man who inherited heaven as he focused on his wealth.

“And at his gate was laid a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man’s table. Moreover, even the dogs came and licked his sores. The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried, and in Hades, being in torment, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side.

But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner bad things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭16:20-23, 25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I sat last night making lists and making plans, most of them revolving around money and the assurance over the lack of enough of it.

I thought of how I love giving, love listening and then providing, how I more than anything love giving what is perceived as a “way too generous” surprise.

I’ll review my list today, I’ll squeeze in a shopping trip this week, wrap some new boxes and rearrange them under our tree.

I’m hoping my gifts to my family will be an evidence of my faith, of my peace, of my hope and my finally really believing in mercy and grace.

Talking less about it, acting it out more.

As I sit in my spot, I’m remembering my family, the love, laughter, good fortune and misfortune in the room.

Family can be tough. Everybody knows. All coming from the same people and place, all knowing all our stuff and still, loving one another, even if skeptical over the bumps in our roads and how still, we grow.

I’m thankful for them. I believe I told Him and them so.

Thank you, God, that we are all here.

This year, my hope, my purpose is that my family sees more clearly, that they see me being who I say that I am.

That they see, Jesus.

That they see “why I believe”.

“For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The Book of Luke, 24 Days of Jesus – An Advent Experience

Advent, Angels, birds, confidence, contentment, courage, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Peace, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Hope has come.

The cardinal came and this time I paused to watch.

Bright red body perched on a leafless limb, it rested momentarily and then one, two, three little jumps, it was on the highest of the branches, facing forward towards me unmoved by the window.

Then it moved, it was on its way.

I’m now 14 chapters into the Book of Luke and every day has been a new takeaway.

A friend mentioned hope today and as God would have it, hope is what resonated in Chapter 14 for me, hope when all seems lost, hope that longs to be found, not overlooked, not less than all it truly is and can be.

Hope that we need.

Jesus gave hope to an ailing man on a Sunday although the religious leaders chastised him for doing so.

He told the disciples to take the seat that wasn’t so lofty, not to assume you deserve to be there.

Sit in the lowly place, you might eventually be called to a seat of our honor.

But when you are invited, go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. Luke 14:10-12

Jesus told a parable about a master’s grand event, a banquet to which all those invited made excuses, declining the invitation. So, the master told the servants, go out and invite others.

Invite the hopeless, the hapless, the crippled, the perceived unfit.

The banquet room was filled because they came, the others went unfulfilled, their choice leading to them not being invited again.

Can you imagine what they must have missed?

He is the song for the suffering
He is Messiah
The Prince of Peace has come
He has come, Emmanuel Light of the World Lauren Daigle

Jesus calls us to take our hope with us as we go, wherever we go.

Hope that causes question, hope that is unashamed to sit with those that look, from our sometimes lofty positions, like shame.

Those who look like less than us and those who we believe are so much more.

Hope shows no partiality.

It welcomes in the unwelcome and challenges us to have no absolutes, no presumptions or assumptions.

Everyone is fighting a battle we know nothing of.

Hope is here. It has come, Jesus, the light of our world.

Listen in to a song from someone who shared her hope in a place that caused questions from some. She sang her song anyway.

Light of the World

The Book of Luke, 24 Days of Jesus – An Advent Experience

Abuse Survivor, Advent, bravery, Christmas, confidence, contentment, doubt, Faith, family, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, grief, Homeless, hope, kindness, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

The Time of Becoming

Advent: arrival, appearance, emergence or occurrence, the arrival of a notable person or thing.

What are you waiting for, still?

What is the light at the end of the way that you keep pursuing, going towards?

Like the shepherds followed a star, is there a possibility you hope to see still?

My word for 2018 has been “still”. In the beginning, it represented a courageous decision to pursue a certain writing goal.

That I could still, it wasn’t too late.

I’m still writing; but, changes came my way and my book idea will never be the same.

I’m in the phase of stillness, resting and listening to know, which way God, do you want me to go?”

Tell me what to say, Lord.

Continuing in the Book of Luke today, another chapter full of guidance and illustration, historical retelling of what Jesus did before he died.

My spirit has been a little weary, thoughts around trauma trying to take over. I’m recalling today that this is the year I, with the help of some strong therapy, decided I could live healed, that I could let go and be healed.

The year it became my choice to forgive.

My friend said yesterday, that evil still comes back to try to play.

I think she’s quite right, it’s Advent, the season of light and peace, it’s only natural evil creeps in, shows up even louder, harder, mean and determined.

Has to, it is harder now than before to take my peace away. I’m no longer disabled.

“When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said to her, “Woman, you are freed from your disability.” And he laid his hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she glorified God.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭13:12-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Able to seek light and freedom, to not revisit the darkness.

To God be the glory for my emergence year, still.

Becoming me.

I’m linking up with others here at Five Minute Friday, prompted by the word, “Still”.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/12/13/fmf-link-up-still/