mercy

Believing the Proverb

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, curiousity, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, hope, mercy, obedience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5‬ ‭NLT‬‬

When God gave this word to Solomon, He was thinking of Mary, of Martha. He was thinking of Peter, of Paul, of John, of the Woman caught in adultery….too many to tell. He was thinking of me, Lisa and of you, of you as well.

I believe this.

I missed the part about the meeting of their faces until I read the passage. A familiar passage, I remembered the telltale rooster crow and skimmed over the way Jesus saw it all. Jesus saw it all.

I can’t stop thinking how Peter must have felt the next morning. Did he experience a hangover of sorts? Here I am again letting doubt takeover? Maybe not because these hours were the deadly ones, the tortured crucifixion. Sorrow over self had no place then. Only the reality of sacrificial and loving death.

Peter, a man who was the brother of John, the one who was able to step from a stormy boat to walk on the top of the ocean because he trusted God, was sure of Jesus.

His denial to others of his belief is a captivating story.

Jesus told him as he prepared them all at the Last Supper and before. Jesus told Peter, you will deny me.

“Jesus said, “I tell you, Peter, the rooster will not crow this day, until you deny three times that you know me.””
‭‭Luke‬ ‭22:34‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Peter was adamant that he wouldn’t.

But he finds himself sitting around a fire outside a high priest’s house that held the captured Jesus. Peter has followed the throng at a distance from Jesus. Not so far that he didn’t appear to be associated with the Savior. Just far enough to avoid the reactions of the ones who’d be making the crucifixion decision.

The onlookers build a fire, like concert-goers in line for a sell out I suppose. Fireside conversation begins and three separate people spread the word, this man here, hey you, we saw you with him. As if to say, why are you sitting here when you’re known to be a friend of Jesus?

Peter told all three, “not me”.

“And a little later someone else saw him and said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭22:58‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then a rooster crowed three times. Peter met the eyes of the watching Jesus. He wept. He wept at the realization of a Savior who knew him so very well.

“And the Lord turned and looked at Peter. And Peter remembered the saying of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.” And he went out and wept bitterly.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭22:61-62‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Peter’s story doesn’t end here. He encountered the resurrected Jesus and he continued his life proclaiming all he had learned from his experiences with Jesus.

I’m thinking about the fireside scene. How in the world did Peter succumb to peer pressure? Why was it so hard for him to believe without being afraid of consequence or opinion?

I believe it may have been just a fear in general in believing good things could actually come true.

But, this is probably just my takeaway. That we believe what we can count on based on our histories to be true, to be certain, to be what we can count on.

Our humanity causes our hearts to draw the map for our minds to follow. I don’t think Peter was unsure of Jesus. More than that, he was unsure of himself. So, he placed himself with the accusers, the deniers, the cynics and the intellects.

He felt more at home that night with the ones who chose to believe a sure thing, not life changing, miraculous or unseeable.

Jesus knew he would. Peter’s behavior was forgiven. The account of Peter tells the undeniable truth for me and you.

Jesus knows we’re prone to doubt, afraid to speak out, that we dumb ourselves down at times when it comes to our faith.

Jesus knows we’re afraid to be bold on occasion. Knows we’re quite tentative in stepping into his promise of better, of complete.

Yesterday, I heard a statement.

You will be as safe from sin as you are close to Jesus.

What I believe and whether I believe completely is fully known by God. Jesus knew Peter would deny Him. His denial leaves a compelling story for us all.

The regret of Peter over distancing himself from Jesus. The realization and tender repentance when met with the gaze of Jesus.

A repentance, loving and open because of mercy we all can know.

Again and again.

What we believe makes the difference. Believing with an uncertainly over God or believing with all our hearts.

“The reward for trusting him will be the salvation of your souls.”
‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭1:9‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Let it Shine

Abuse Survivor, birds, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, heaven, hope, mercy, Prayer, Salvation, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I am now listening to the shrill song of what I believe is a baby cardinal. I read somewhere that it is a high pitched cry.

I imagine the bird being the baby of the mama and daddy red birds that greeted me through the morning kitchen window.

The grass there is green already.

So pretty, their red wings against it. They have returned and their legacy of flying by to cause thoughts of others will continue in the little bird up high crying now.

Yesterday, I couldn’t calm the baby. We sang every song in our regular rocking slow cantata.

She was in rhythm with me, a sweet low sort of melodic hum.

She listened as I sang “Deep and Wide” on repeat and the one I’d never sang before.

“This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine. Hide it under a bushel, no. I’m gonna let it shine.”

Today I hurriedly read about the beginning of the ministry of Jesus. The way he was tempted when starving, the way he was rejected because people who knew His parents didn’t think His miracles could be true.

He continued though. He continued and history records those who saw Him as human and then Savior.

History records for the benefit of me, of us. Storytellers and those rescued.

History and present. Firsthand phenomenally personal and compelling because of His love, His Spirit, our steadfast and settled believing He is Jesus.

“And reports about him went out into every place in the surrounding region.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭4:37‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Believing and continuing.

Let it shine. Your personal essay, a report of Jesus.

Hope and Strength 2020

2020 Calendar, Angels, Art, Christmas, Faith, hope, mercy, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability

It has been a happy exchange.

Not handing over a calendar or two in exchange for $25 each.

No, the happy exchange or the occurrence, I should say is to see the pages turn.

To see the faces meet the drawing of the faces of the images I’ve drawn.

To sign the backs of them

Because of mercy, LT

And to say, wanna hear something crazy…I hadn’t intended to sign them that way.

I changed my mind from the more formal “to God be all glory”.

Later, I discovered the theme for my birthday month, August, is “mercy”.

Every detail, He knows.

If you’d like to purchase a calendar, just visit my shop and order through PayPal. If you can afford it, add shipping of about $7.

Thanks so much!

Your Gift

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, Peace, Redemption, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Whether you believe or not

It is true.

You’re gifted.

Your gift?

Your story, the truth of it, what that truth has taught you, what God desires you not keep boxed up.

Your gift is your belonging because of or despite your story.

You’re gifted with stuff you should never stuff down

Nor keep tightly wrapped

Nor keep it hidden in the darkness of your heart.

The events that made you, the hard, the happy, the glorious.

There are times I believe it’s essential to remember the before things, it’s beneficial to not forget the ugly so that you can smile when you communicate to others the pretty.

I told a story twice yesterday. The story of this drawing, a drawing in my Bible, a print I call a “margin girl”.

The professional gently turned the pages of my Bible, she positioned the page on the scanner.

With the first of my five she asked what I called it and I answered.

Made well.

The drawing depicts the story of the woman who touched the hem of Jesus’s garment and was made well.

We examined the print closely together, the lines so clear, the color so vivid.

I thanked her.

I told her that this is one of my favorite stories.

She paused and said she didn’t know it.

So I told her.

I told her I wonder if the color is too graphic, the deep red that encircles the woman’s gown that represents blood, years of incapacitating menstrual flow.

She listened as I continued with remembering how Jesus was intentional in finding her. He wanted her to know her faith had made her well.

Told her.

Go in peace.

Later, I sold this print and three others. I stood with two women who knew this story and now, the story of God and my art.

Now, they know that little bit of my story.

Not kept hidden, wrapped tight or concealed for dread of paralyzing trigger.

No, our stories are gifts.

We’re gifted and we’re givers.

Share your story, feel your soul open wider, your heart expand to allow others in.

Know the glow they’re seeing, the soft fire in your eyes.

No, you don’t see what they see.

But, oh my goodness you surely feel it.

So, that thing or things that made you stronger, wiser, sure ‬‬and surer of mercy and grace?

Give it to others.

“And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭7:50‬ ‭ESV

Your gift.

Share and give.

And continue.

Continue and believe.

No Hurry

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, happy, memoir, mercy, Peace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

For the second morning in a row lights are bright and obnoxiously encroaching.

Like a vehicle has decided to coattail, to just cruise, crash through and pile into my backseat.

Oh, the lights are saying.

Where the hell are you going?

Obviously, nowhere!

I’m on the way to my day, the place I greet the morning these days.

Say

Good morning, God!

The car behind me two times early morning causing me to feel pressured, hurried, incapable.

Push, push, push.

Two mornings, early and in my space.

On Monday, a big truck and the next day a little Kia.

All of a sudden they are upon me and saying what in the world is your problem, where are you going?

You better hurry.

Craziness.

Like the month of December will soon be the goodbye to a decade

And what’ve you done?

What have you done with what you barely have begun?

If I could I would tell them what God has been telling me.

Slow down.

Slow down.

Slow down before I will need to intervene and show you how.

Cause your acceptance of my sovereign delay.

This morning, I read farther than the devotion’s verse, the passage about being pulled from the mire of our mental making.

I read farther and in agreement with the psalmist.

I am needy and I need a rescue, God.

“As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭40:17‬ ‭

Please.

Hurry.

And rescue me from thinking I must hurry.

I am poor.

I am needy.

But, I keep sensing you saying.

Listen.

No hurry.

Breakfast with Daddy and Mama

Angels, bravery, Christmas, confidence, contentment, daughters, grace, grief, memoir, mercy, Peace, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Not intentionally, I sat in the section where the older men gather for breakfast.

I didn’t want to sit next to the windows, not cold just chilly.

I’m out with a list of errands, early and sans makeup or shower.

I longed for my daddy as one came and then another.

Comparing ailments, discussing Georgia football, reading the wrong day’s paper they discovered.

I listened.

I had been thinking about Christmases of before, about hard memories, about what Christmas sometimes does to people.

Still, I missed my daddy, he left me too young.

So, I finish my meal and then sip on strong coffee.

I’m listening to their commentary and their kindness as the biscuit maker from the kitchen’s early shift rounds the corner to join them.

They catch up with one another.

The tone is pleasant.

The biscuit maker and I, we belong.

I miss my mama and my daddy at Christmas.

I’ll be attentive to who they may have been had they been allowed to be here still.

My daddy would be talking with the biscuit maker, mama too.

She’d be joining in.

She’d know right away why the biscuits were “too flaky”, what the chef had done wrong with the dough.

The gentlemen are talking behind me now,

I’ll gather my tray and go.

Give them a nod, have a good day.

They’ll wish me the same I believe.

Now I go, I go in peace towards Christmas.

Very Sure

Abuse Survivor, Angels, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Truth, Vulnerability, wonder

The sky this morning makes me certain.

Certain of God.

The sky, barely sunlit, so soft this morning makes me certain that God is intentional.

Look up, Lisa. Refer to me for the day’s instruction.

A soft beckoning, a reminder of grace.

Yes, I’ve decided, the way of creation is intentional.

The decay of old underfoot making what God’s nature intends for new.

The sky so big, so wide, so deeply open to interpret.

So soft this morning

On purpose.

Look. Look again.

And then again.

Grace is still for you.

Be hopeful today.

Look forward to the turning, the next bend in your road that’s not lonely at all.

Rather, open to optimal reflection.

Ease your mind, there’s still time.

The way of your steps bordered by steady and unrelenting grace.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

I made heaven and earth. I’ve got you covered, nurtured, safe and hemmed in by mercy. I’m everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

God

Wonderful Souls

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, grief, heaven, Homeless, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong. Proverbs 31:17

What will you notice in others today other than the surface of them, their predicament, their imperfect and even offensive behavior?

Will you consider what’s within?

Will it occur to you that your interaction with others is invitation to ministry, to the wonder of it all, our souls?

Yesterday I woke with the ache of an unpleasant dream. It was early morning and the drift of extra falling asleep led to remembering the news of Saturday.

A woman had been found by her son, unexpectedly she passed away. The dream had me rolled up knees to chest while my friend sat close by letting me cry. Letting me express the regret over not intervening, not being close enough to the sweet elderly woman’s need.

The dream was beneficial. I texted my friend told her I was praying for her because the measure of her grief is greater than mine. My friend had been much closer, like a daughter, like a fighter for this woman’s good, my friend was up close to the survival of this sweet tiny little spitfire survivor of abuse and valiant victor over the bottle despite being homeless woman.

Yes, I had a small part in helping but my friend had one much larger.

Still, both of us were engaged, captivated and humbled by the tenacity of Miss G. because she taught us both to be better, she taught us to keep keeping on.

As tiny as a child she was and on her very best days just as excited over living.

Miss G. was diminutive. If she ever felt diminished or delicate she kept that hidden.

The weak places she buried in the shadowy silence of her soul.

Let us in only a little, me much less than my friend and co-worker, Michelle.

Miss G. saw the wonder of life, love, believing in possible things and she lived, she lived in light of that wonder.

Monday morning now and I’ve switched off the lamplight. I am with God.

He alone knows the sadness of my soul.

Only He knows the benefit of sorrow’s visit.

Sorrow is grief’s measurement.

I allow the rivulet to lay on my cheek, I am thinking of my relationship with Miss G., the petite pulled together woman who fixed her hair to show up to clean the rooms in the emergency department of our hospital.

She was a hard worker, inspired others, was awarded for her attitude.

She came to check on me as I cautiously turned to see her, my condition still shaky, the vertigo and its nausea.

I don’t recall what she said, her look was not one of pity, no it was all her, her philosophy.

Never missing a chance to promote strength over pity.

Stay strong, don’t fall and don’t ever let yourself believe that God is not able.

She left me with this, this instruction as she looked long and directly before leaving.

This was not a verbal exchange. It was her heart seeing mine, this was her ministering to my soul.

So, I allow the tears to fall and let them seep below my skin, to dry on their own. I consider them a gift, drops on my cheeks like the resting rain on the last rosebud.

If I could I’d leave them much longer, evidence of love.

I thought of this sweet woman and of others.

Thought of the work I did before.

Then gave myself permission to see it as it had always been, ministry.

The work of overseeing a program that welcomed a woman in because she was without a home.

That’s not social or administrative or not for profit outcomes based work.

No, not at all.

This is and was ministry of the soul. I see now, clearly.

The encounters, the obstacles, the run ins with not ready for change people.

This was not hard work.

No it was soft, softening of all of our souls.

Me and they, all of us souls.

“Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭13:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The wonder of it all!

God intersecting our lives with others, all of us with burdens undeniable or hidden.

May I never lose my wonder!

There’s a tiny brick house I pass twice a day on the way to Elizabeth and back home.

A tiny porch bordered by mounds of garbage is lit by a bulb. Often the front door is open and a woman sits in a plastic chair that faces sideways, never turned towards the road, the passing cars, people.

I long to know her story.

I’ve decided it’s enough to simply see her as a soul.

To pray for a need not mine to know.

My friend’s grief over Miss G. is much more than my own. I texted her after my Sunday dream.

This morning I walked outside and I thought of how much you loved Miss G. how much she loved you. I know you are grieving. Miss G. is celebrating in heaven and she was greeted with “Well done thou good and faithful servant!” and I just see her grinning at Jesus and saying…”oh but you just wait til you meet Michelle!” You loved her well, God saw it all. Love you. Praises today, only praises.

What souls are yours to see?

Give yourself permission to go deeper than passing interaction or fulfilling vocation or expectation.

The soul is secret and yet so open.

Let your grace toward someone do unrequited things today.

Be satisfied beyond anything that you noticed and your work became ministry, became the work of seeing souls.

See them more clearly, love when opportunity comes.

Rest In Peace, Miss G. Thank you for ministering to my soul, the souls of so many others.

I will remember you well.


“Fill us with wonder
May we never lose our wonder
May we never lose our wonder
Wide eyed and mystified
May we be just like a child…”

Bethel Music

You’re Movin’ Too Fast

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, pride, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

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

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5-6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

On Monday, the weather was cool and all day long, the sky was grey with thick theatrical draping, the clouds seemed so heavy.

I watched through the windows that day, we stayed inside.

A beautiful bird visited.

If we’d have ventured out, we might have walked for miles, found ourselves in the place where the cornfield was being cut down.

We might have worried the neighborly man plopped in the big machinery, the one who’d been working all morning tending his field.

You could hear it all day muffled, way off from the back porch, the machinery and the voices, someone giving instructions.

A pause and then the noise of work again.

Getting the season’s work done.

If Monday morning had been led by different thoughts, I would have jumped from the couch, waking up a startled and half asleep five month old.

She, most likely would have gazed towards me and her blue eyes would have softened all at the same time they met the face of mine, her grandma.

She would have smiled.

We might have hurried out onto the porch. I’d have had her little bottom cupped under my arms, holding tight in the way I like to hold her.

The way that lets her see the whole wide world.

We might have watched and then kept seeking, walking quickly and carefully into the open field.

But, we didn’t.

We didn’t go chasing hoping to be closer to what got my attention.

We didn’t follow and end up lost in the deep country woods.

A hawk was on the porch that morning.

Elizabeth slept and I saw it. It lingered only long enough for me to see its shadow and the broad wing.

I only experienced the knowledge of its presence, not close enough to capture on my phone and share or to sit close beside.

The hawk made its presence known.

I noticed God.

We rested, didn’t go off crazy chasing a photo for Instagram.

I was content that the grand bird was near.

That’s how God is.

Notice. Listen.

You will see, not everything all at once, tiny glimpses and assuring hints.

Things you will never fully know.

Touch or see up close.

God is always near.

On Tuesday, the day was different, warm and bright blue.

We walked down pine needle littered trails and the baby dozed while I pushed through dry dirt down the familiar road.

We ended up at the back porch and her eyes opened when I rested. The snoozing baby awakened, looked up.

We lingered outside long enough to see the wide and majestic dark wings against the heavens.

The hawk returned and was content above us and us, content below.

I’m moving slower now.

The vertigo episode of a couple of weeks ago with no determined cause requires a thoughtful pace.

I still am humbled by it all, the way of God getting my notice.

Causing me to take nothing for granted.

Strange, the lesson of it, the clean bill of physical health causing consideration of mental.

It makes no other sense.

A word came, “frenetic”.

A word I do not think I’d ever used.

As I thought it, eventually said it, it felt extreme.

Still does.

After all, I am retired, have no heavy responsibilities or pressured roles.

Or do I?

I worry that my hope will run out of time, be cut off.

The list I made today, it surprised me, pressure self imposed.

The idea of do everything now, you are aging, you might never see your dream come true, the dream of your private soul, the ones involving art

And words. The ones your mind is all tangled up in, dangerously entangled maybe.

fre·net·ic
/frəˈnedik/
adjective
  1. fast and energetic in a rather wild and uncontrolled way “a frenetic pace of activity”

Where was this pace?

In the place between my ears that led to that incapacitated dizziness?

I’m not sure what I’ll accomplish today.

It’s already mid morning.

I have many irons in the fire of my creative passion. Sparks are sparking, wheels turning.

Slow down, don’t let them fall off the rims, note to self.

I have a following now.

I have orders and commissions and I have writing opportunities.

I will proceed at a pace that doesn’t say wait or quit or run harder, just says keep going, keep going.

Pause and rest.

Don’t chase.

Don’t stress.

Don’t go chasing waterfalls. Stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to. Don’t have it your way or nothing at all…you might find you’re moving too fast.

I love the mind God gave me.

One that writes stories of adventures that tell the tale of chasing after a hawk then settles itself for the lesson from God and verses…verses from the Bible and R&B, the “Book of TLC” and Simon and Garfunkel.

Slow down, Lisa Anne.

You move too fast…gotta make the morning last.

sing along now…

“Feelin’ groovy…😊

And a final one from my mama…

Stress’ll kill you. Bette Jean Peacock Hendrix

Hope and Strength 2020

Angels, Art, courage, curiousity, hope, love, mercy, obedience, painting, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I sometimes wish I didn’t love both.

Art and words.

I paint what I call “female forms”.

Some call them angels.

I’ve designed a 2020 calendar. Each month has a thought, a little nudge and a Bible verse.

11×17 on ivory, images large enough for framing.

More photos later and I’ll add to my shop.

For now….just writing about it here.

I’ve done something new.

Feels like a whim.

Is a whim a leap of faith?

Maybe.

Maybe.

More info on ordering this week!