mercy

Already Known

anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

It’s both awesome and awful to realize just how completely we are known by God

From our first breath to here.

I stood at the kitchen window and noticed the lime green glow of Spring on the grass.

The trees.

I remembered the sycamore tree, the hand sized leaves and the broken branches.

Thirty-plus years ago, I cut down branches heavy with green leaves and decorated a tiny cinder block room.

There was a grand plan. I’d be teaching children about the man who climbed the tree to get a chance to see Jesus, Zacchaeus.

It would be my first time as a Vacation Bible School teacher and I was intent on winning best decorated classroom.

The first night, a line of children trailing me down the hall, I giddily swung open the door to discover a disaster.

Leaves wilted and woeful covered the floor and the stench was unbearable in the poorly ventilated room.

I don’t remember teaching the children about a greedy man who got to see Jesus and then fed him supper.

I remember who I was then and am grateful to be not quite the same today.

Just as Jesus knew Zacchaeus was hated by many, was sneaky, corrupt and greedy, He knew I was just learning back then.

Just learning what matters to Him.

Not fully grown, but fully known.

We are already known. The secrets, the shame, the actions we take wrongly motivated,

Jesus is not surprised and doesn’t keep a record. It’s we who do.

My mama used to say, Lisa, stress’ll kill you. I’m here to say I believe its not so distant cousin, shame is more fatal.

The Woman at the Well in the heat of the day encounters a man who shouldn’t be there. She calculated her replenishing of her water to go to the well when she could go unnoticed.

She is surprised by a man who tells her he can help. He has a certain kind of water that won’t run out, she’d never have to be sneaky again in coming to the well.

“Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭13‬-‭14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She’d never have to be thirsty again. She decides to accept the stranger’s offer.

“Please, sir,” the woman said, “give me this water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again, and I won’t have to come here to get water.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

And we know Jesus wasn’t talking about a cool drink of ice water on a humid day. He was talking about the refreshing peace of an abundant life.

Jesus tells the woman to go and get her husband and come back. She tells him she’s not married and he answers with “I know.”

Then he tells her what he does know. That she has a reputation and is well known for being with husbands of others and is now with a married man.

Whoa! or “How dare you?” she could’ve said.

She was brazen after all.

But he continued to enlighten her and she listened, connecting his gentle wisdom with the possibility he might be the Messiah.

So, he told her that indeed he was.

“The woman said, “I know the Messiah is coming—the one who is called Christ. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” Then Jesus told her, “I Am the Messiah!”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭25‬-‭26‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Then she is overjoyed and goes to tell all the townspeople what they already knew about her she’d tried to avoid.

The reputation she tried to cover was now a proclamation…you’ve got to meet Jesus!

“Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me all that I ever did.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭39‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There was no shame anymore, only her story.

Only a tax collector’s, a disciple’s who denied and regretted, a woman’s wearing shame and a lascivious reputation.

A woman like me who didn’t know anything about the value of the story of Zacchaeus, only wanted to be noticed because of trees in a room.

God is patient. He already knew and knows our journeys.

Yesterday, I stood in the parking lot with a woman. As women our age do, we caught up on the lives of our children. We compared wisdom and we exchanged worries.

She asked me to keep writing.

Said she needed my storytelling.

My story of rescue and of tripping and getting back up gradually as I learn.

Today, when you recall your own mistakes, missteps and wrong motivations, will you pause with the truth of being known?

Will you accept the grace that has never said give up, go your own way or isolate in secret shame?

And he gives grace generously. James 4:6

Will you decide to know that being known is love?

You’re already known.

Continue and believe.

Walking Thoughts

Abuse Survivor, Children, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, wonder

“Endurance is not a desperate hanging on but a traveling from strength to strength.” Eugene Peterson

Why am I less moved by the sky, the clouds fluffed or swept like a feather?

Out walking yesterday, I wondered.

Just a few years ago I was moved by gnarly branches on an old pecan tree, scattered white blooms on the asphalt trail or maybe a solitary leaf dried so completely by the sun it glistened metallic.

Noticing God, I called this.

Why so hurried in an irritable way now?

A daily habit that over time seems to be sort of furious?

Walking too fast, too angrily hurry, hurry, hurrying to some better destination.

Better days?

The place with no remnants of pandemic.

The better place, the place with no residue or remembrance of what happened or who or what didn’t come through.

Couldn’t be counted on.

On Wednesday, my path crossed a Target shopper leaving. Her phone on her cheek, she passed me, quick as a rabbit and I overheard her tell somebody “what the Republicans did today!”

And I wondered, when did we ever in our lives finish up a midweek shopping trip and urgently report to someone what a Republican did today?

A woman, about my age, distressed on a pretty day about the government.

We are different now.

I am learning.

Learning still. I can embrace a thought that now makes my response to trauma make more sense.

I can befriend these surprising revelations.

I can toss them over in my mind and see the value in finally beginning to understand my own tender heart and behaviors.

I can allow truth to make sense.

Today, the sky was striated pink and to the right rested the remnant of moon, a crescent.

I couldn’t look away.

It kept getting better.

Too splendid to capture in a photo, I stood solid footed and I watched.

Unhurried, only noticing.

Noticing God again.

Maybe that’s what obedience is and not some frenetic race to keep on, keep on, keep on.

Maybe obedience is noticing splendor, noticing God.

Knowing that where you are in this very never to be repeated moment.

You are loved.

Continue and believe.

Pass it on, this slow walk called noticing.

“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Walking this way again.

Noticing.

You are loved.

It’s my hope that you know this.

Encircled

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, love, mercy, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

I will go before you and level the exalted places. Isaiah 45:2

I dreamt I attended the funeral ceremony of a kind and giving man, a steadfast friend of our community. I suppose I’d seen the photos of others who attended, who shared their thoughts on being there.

The faces of the family left to live without him, the dignitaries who gave thoughts and tributes and other individuals there to witness the event and offer support.

I noticed the posture of some, shoulders slightly bent, carrying a burden and I noticed downcast faces on some who stood at the podium.

But, I saw strength in many; perhaps, they told of how this gentleman taught them to be stronger.

So, I dreamt that I was there and after the ceremony was over, one of the speakers approached me to say hello. It was then that we shared our own experiences of knowing the man who passed away.

It was then I shared,

He always spoke with the kindness and sincerity in hoping the best for me every time I had the chance to talk with him.

The listener listened with the same kindness as I added, “He was like a father to many, I believe.”

Every morning, I add thick circles around my prayers. One in particular might be circled until I’m gone.

Because when I think “no need” life shows me I could be wrong.

I’ve told a very few people on rare occasions that someone felt like a father to me.

It’s super personal and often uncomfortable to express that you wish you’d had your father a little longer or worse yet, that he had been a different person.

Now, I’m seeing why I dreamed that dream. Often, writing helps me unravel the causes. It wasn’t the FB photos of the funeral attendants, it was a thoughtful documentary about redeeming our days and the days we decide were all wrong.

Yesterday, I watched “Love, Tom”, a documentary about the life of songwriter Tom Douglas.

The story is told as his response to a younger man struggling who says beseechingly so in a letter to Tom.

You’d think he might not even respond.

After all, he’s famous, the recipient of many awards.

He lives in Nashville and is beyond the early angst of a creative’s struggle. I’ve commented on Instagram to writers when feeling a likemindedness…no reply. You realize they’re famous and you are not.

I’ve promised myself if I write again, a book more well-known or become a better known artist, I’ll engage with the curious and kind followers who simply want to be closer to my craft and me, the creative behind it.

Tom wrote the young songwriter close to giving up an authentic letter.

The letter became this documentary.

And, I suppose because he’s a creative he told some beautifully, tender and honest things about himself.

About redemption and about a sort of rethinking his father who struggled’s reputation.

I won’t spoil it for you. I hope you’ll watch it for more than a couple of reasons:

A well-known responding to another who feels invisible, a parent relating to a child, a child forgiving a parent and a creative who learned not to pursue creativity harder than he pursued the Creator.

Redemption, he suggests we keep after it until we’re gone.

Now, I see that the dream wasn’t really about the man laid to rest, it was about the other prominent person who listened when I expressed my feelings over the loss and with his response and his eyes, he agreed and together our grief was encircled.

More here:

Love, Tom

Love and Mercy

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Christmas, courage, curiousity, daughters, Faith, family, grace, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, sons, waiting, wisdom, wonder
Then and Now

Of all the scribblings and sketches in my Bible that chart my hopes, prayers, dreams and instructions, there are a couple I prefer not to read, that cause a sort of wrestling.

Make me wish I’d used a pencil, not a pen.

One word, “mama”.

“Do not fear; only believe, and she will be well.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭8‬:‭50‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Jesus had just been interrupted on his way to heal an important official’s daughter. He stopped in the throng of curious people when he felt a touch, I think more a desperate, still gentle tug and he healed a woman who’d been ostracized because she couldn’t stop bleeding. He looked her in the eye and called her “daughter” and said carry on now, go and live freely and well.

A few sentences later, he raised Jairus’s daughter from the dead in front of a group of mourners, saying she was just sleeping.

“My doubt has fled; my faith is free.” Harriet McEwen Kimball, “Joy & Strength”

I’m curious about Harriet. How she came to this freedom and how she remained doubtless. Maybe it was an exercise in returning to the faith, of reminding herself in a comparative sort of fashion why she chose to believe.

Yesterday, I thought of prayers it seems I’ve been praying for quite a long time and I thought about waiting and about the wonder of prayer.

I could bullet list mentally the answers to some seemingly unrealistic and rapid responses and I could list the times I fall back to my knees and say “Here I am again, Lord and it’s the same thing.”

I can list the times I’ve been reminded by God’s spirit, give it to Him.

On Monday, I thanked God for the privilege of surrender, not being responsible for everything or maybe not much of anything at all.

I’ve written about this before, about the country preacher who came to visit when a long fought battle forced surrender.

The preacher didn’t lecture, didn’t condescend, didn’t direct me to a Bible, didn’t say he’d send the women’s ministry to see me.

He turned to me in my fragility and spoke softly,

“Just pray for mercy.”

The itinerant preacher from Poplar Springs Baptist Church saw me and responded.

And thereby started me on my tentative path towards believing, of refusing to doubt no matter the dilemma or delay.

When I wrote “mama” in my Bible, the lowercase letters resembling a middle school diary entry, I was a different woman than I am today.

If there was an assignment, I said yes. If there was a need, I volunteered to fill it.

If the church lights were on, I was seated in my pew or I was dutifully down the narrow hall, teaching or getting ready to sing.

I didn’t listen, only now cringe remembering, the Sunday morning my son said to me, “Mama, just sing with your voice.”

Oh, the ways my children endured me!

Because of my steady efforts, I was certain my mama would not die, like the daughter of Jairus, she’d rise up strong again.

But, she did not.

There were some things, I decided, my faith could not do.

I see “mama” on the page in Luke in my Bible as a gift now, a retrospective glance at the striver I was rescued from being.

I see “mama” and I still believe.

Because wellness, healing, a life without serious illness or chronic conditions is not completely up to me.

No amount of striving, performance or gut wrenching protective prayers or isolating will guarantee a life without sickness.

Circumstances will come, that’s a given.

Still, it is with certainty that I know belief is not circumstantial.

If it were, the woman with the flow of blood wouldn’t have had to wait so long or worse yet, she’d been overlooked or assumed too far gone.

Just pray for mercy.

Mercy will be given.

Perhaps not as expected and likely not without question of “if”.

And certainly not because of or despite your performance.

Mercy is given, not rewarded.

Just pray for mercy.

Use your voice.

Continue and believe.

This one’s for you mama, Merry Christmas.

Lisa Anne

Little Lights

Abuse Survivor, Angels, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, Forgiveness, grace, hope, kindness, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Someone in a prayer group I’m a member of commented, “Pray for me because of this root of bitterness trying to grow.” And the replies understood the concerns, the need for prayer…even urgency.

Because bitterness begins in secret and then the roots grow thick and stronger and threaten us until they take over.

What is bitterness? I could share my list of things that are secret and of things I’ve vented in conversation with others (about others).

Roots destroy fertile ground. Love and peace cannot thrive when bitterness keeps growing.

“Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled;”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12‬:‭14‬-‭15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

More importantly, our roots destroy relationships with others. Bitterness that makes sense only makes us sadder.

Sometimes I look around and see how very different I am and feel from others and I remind myself to bring peace not judgment, love not frustration and a subtle but steady light that points to the source of my joy (even if it’s dim on the days questions, doubt or bitterness crouch at my door.)

When Elizabeth was born, I sang “Deep and Wide” over and over and over. I can’t say why (other than God) I sang it over and over from the first moment I cradled her tiny head in my hands.

With Henry, it’s been “This Little Light of Mine” and like his sister, he doesn’t seem to mind that it’s the same words over and over. I want him to see my light as I want Elizabeth to know the depth of mine and God’s love.

Love one another.

Don’t grow bitter.

Your life has no space for hatred to take over. Only room for joy to grow high enough to create a canopy for all who stand near you.

“Forget not to show love unto strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13‬:‭2‬ ‭ASV‬‬

I’ve never met an angel or have I perhaps, only dimmed and unnoticed by distraction?

I believe I shall notice more gently, silence the bitter banter of all other.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

On Grace

bravery, doubt, Faith, grace, Homeless, hope, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

If grace was matter, a substance to be measured, tallied, considered in a debate about comparables, how much would you say your cup would contain, how substantial would be the grace you’ve been shown?

I woke before light and stayed still until I saw the light coming across the hall, narrow slats on the carpet from the room with the silver tree.

I remembered the homeless one.

Three times I’ve now seen him, he finds spots to retreat in the woods near the abandoned mall. He looks to be mid-twenties, thin but not starving.

I first saw him camped in a shady spot. I shopped at Target then drove back to give him $5. I hurried my window down and sort of frantically thrust the money towards him. He said thanks and I drove away. I don’t know why I was scared of him or being harmed.

Then I saw him leaving all his bags in front of Target and dart inside and I worried someone might just take all his stuff and I wondered if he was worried. When I was done shopping, he and his stuff were gone.

I don’t know his story. I just want him to know what I know about grace.

It was 22 degrees in Carolina this morning.

I remembered the homeless one.

The third time I saw him, I had a back seat full of groceries and one last shopping stop. He was standing at the intersection, cardboard marked with a scrawl, “homeless”.

I looked his way, smiled that smile of mine that says worry, accompanies an inaudible moan.

I paid for my art supplies with cash and added a Hershey bar with almonds, wrapped in cash, $10 and headed back to the homeless man.

This time, I paused. I let the window all the way down. I gave him the candy bar and money, suggested he eat something good.

I looked at his eyes, he at mine.

And I told him strongly as if I was telling a long held secret to someone before you’re not sure of ever seeing them again.

God loves you.

And a second or two transpired that felt like hours and I repeated myself and added, “no matter what.”

I got the sense that he believed me or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he thought

Well, lady what good is that?!

I don’t know what he thought.

I just know my God is love and if I forget that I also stumble over the immeasurable gift of grace.

I fall into that pit of looking to others to determine my worth, to prove to myself that I’ve done enough and more to be worthy of this abundance of grace I’ve been shown.

Paul talked about this to people who continued to question their rights and their wrongs in an assessment of themselves and others to believe in their righteousness.

They believed and couldn’t fathom not believing it was all up to them to be good enough.

Paul told them he would never waste the death of Jesus by complicating it with his behavior.

“I do not treat the grace of God as meaningless. For if keeping the law could make us right with God, then there was no need for Christ to die.”
‭‭Galatians‬ ‭2‬:‭21‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Grace matters, matters more than any effort we pursue, any accomplishment we know.

It matters more than our falters, our failures and thank goodness it matters so much more than our stubborn and strong or feeble and sad efforts to prove ourselves right enough not to be found wrong.

Here’s a song about such an incomprehensible thing, to know my God is love.

God is Love

My cup is full.

Thoughts on Psalms and Paint

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, hope, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder
Goodness and Mercy

A few months ago, I discovered an online publication, “Collected Magazine”. I connected and they connected in reply. The result includes some of my artwork and an interview about my Psalm 23 series. Here’s the link:

Collected

Goodness and Mercy is available

Girl on Whiskey

Abuse Survivor, bravery, curiousity, fear, grace, hope, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, suicide loss, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

“…where have you come from, and where are you going?” Genesis 16:8

If I inventory my speculations, judgments, concerned observations and exchanges in chatty conversation last week or so, I could fill a page of my journal, the pages that typically contain personal/selfish prayers.

Think of Others

Like the practice of contour drawing, I laid down names on the paper. A simple free flow based on things I’ve heard, concerns I know and mostly, worries and hopes others have that only they know.

You can pray for others without “needing to know”.

Some names of people who have questionable behavior, names of some who’ve told me their woes and a really random one.

Facebook clamored yesterday around a sighting of a pretty girl on the loose, darting in and out of, in front of cars on the most cluttered and crowded road in our city, Whiskey.

Comments became jokes, a few worried, a few diagnosing the addiction she was caught in and one or two sincere worries over why she was running.

Speculation.

When I worked, I did my best to support families and friends of those who lost someone to a suicidal choice.

I learned that we ask a lot of questions, those of us who don’t know this tragically unique trauma.

I wrote an essay and titled it “The Tragedy of Speculation”.

Because, I noticed I needed a reason to know this wouldn’t, couldn’t happen to me.

I needed to justify the behavior of another from a distance, so that I could have assurance. In my time there, doing the work, the foundation of me living by “but for the grace of God, I go there” became solid, steady and strong.

I am grateful.

So, I rounded out my list of praying, with “girl on whiskey”, gave the page a header.

pray without ceasing

trust in the Lord.

I hope the pretty girl gone crazy on Whiskey is better today. I pray she finds her way and that it is safe.

Steady.

And I pray for others who were the subjects of my speculation, snarky comments masked as concern and I open my palm to heaven remembering it’s God who knows the way I go.

Also, knows where I came from.

Now time for page two, I just remembered more names.

“pray continually,”
‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Enough

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, wonder

A noticer of people, on Monday I watched from my car in the Hobby Lobby parking lot. I noticed the clothing of others; vibrant yellow, a too long skirt on a woman, a man who walked beside his wife dressed as if accompanying her to the craft store was a hot date,

A young girl with black boots, arms covered in ink and every accessory a display of matching energy as she danced by, like a little bird on a mission.


A woman dressed completely in drab black, long skirt, shirt and too big cardigan, I watched her shuffling in orthopedic/athletic shoes that were so big I could’ve put my fist in the spot for her heels.

For a minute, I was sad, felt it was my place to fix her.

Should I offer to give her my shoes or give her money for a pair that fit? Thinking, here I sit, about to go and buy more paint as I enjoy my Chick-Fil-A and she needs shoes.

Or does she?

Who am I to know what defines “abundance” for her?

I thought about her all day. My thoughts went from sympathy to more of “I think she’s okay”.

And today, I wake to Job’s words again coupled with Ann Voskamp’s email, reminding me that I’m not the maker or measuring tool for abundance, only called to do what God created me for and to notice in places less obvious.

To see it in me, the abundant life through Christ, to quietly consider every moment just how abundance looks, feels, is expressed through me.

To see my little deposit of abundance in the faces of others.

God understands the way to it and he alone knows where it dwells, for he views the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭28:23-24‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The Creator knows us, us as artists, executives, teachers or skilled fixers of things…as creatives, makers of families, lovers of the beautifully crafted earth around us.

Notice today.

He knows the way.

Abundance is in and around you.

Don’t miss it, don’t miss a thing.

Notice God today.

Say a little secret prayer,

“Abundance, God…show me the way to it.”

You are loved.