mercy

The Intersecting of You

Abuse Survivor, Angels, birds, confidence, contentment, curiousity, depression, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I got away from it.

Decided it was silly.

Began to discount its value, my fascination with feathers.

I’d been letting them lay, walking right past or looking closely to consider gathering up only to find them invaluable.

Worse yet, taking cute pictures and posting them.

I was faking.

It was a slow descent into believing that was crazy, finding a feather and proclaiming it prophetic or memorable in some way.

Worse yet, believing a feather on the ground meant God was watching and that He knew my steps would be passing this way, that my rapid walk would slow and my glance go sideways to find the loosened from goose, hawk, sparrow or bluebird, feathers.

I had become unaffected by discovery.

I could not seem to find God for a bit.

Thickly guarded and girded in old dark leather, my heart felt imprisoned by invalid disdain.

But, the softening would not let up, the grace of God wouldn’t relent.

I walked after skipping two days due to fatigue and suffocating heat. There had been a shower, the breeze was back.

I trudged on for the sake of the good it does me, wards off depression, affords time alone.

The white was glistening in the grass, a feather like the wing of an angel in the same spot as three days ago.

I had found it, held it for a second and then decided to let it land as I wistfully blew it loose from my fingers attempting a cinematic floating away of it towards heaven.

Instead it just fell and I walked on.

See, told you, I thought to myself.

What has happened? You don’t care anymore.

Until yesterday I saw it and I asked myself.

What’s happening with you? Why have you stopped being open to noticing, to deciding God is near?

I held the feather, turned it over to see the beauty of strong striated brown, ivory, black all perfectly curving upward from the sturdy white spine like unbreakable bone.

I walked on, holding it in my free hand. Passed another walker, phone in her hand, noise in our ears.

We nod and continue.

Good, no casual conversation required. Relief.

I think for a second. I wish I was more of a “peopler”.

And then I am surprised, this longing for people; this is new.

God is doing something, making me less okay with lonely.

I continue walking and I decide I’ll not keep the feather, I have so very many.

But, something else, maybe.

I walk towards the end of the trail. In the center is a short pole that keeps cars from entering.

I position the feather there and I leave it, uncertain if it will stay, if the breeze will catch it, if it will simply fall to the hard ground of trail or if someone will come along behind me walking and find it, to say.

Oh, wow, a feather. Wow, this seems significant, my finding.

I imagine them feeling a peace.

I believe it will make a difference for the discoverer and this has me hopeful again.

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭30:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This return to my sure noticing, this return to my embrace of God, of lying my head on his shoulder, being held by His grace, wonderfully.

And wonderment, again.

To return to a simple joy that few speak of but find it too.

I believe.

Lord, may I remain pliable, may I welcome the breaking of my hard places to be approachable and to never grow so thickly guarded or burdened that I don’t welcome the intersecting of you.

With me.

And with others.

Belief in Prayer

bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Some evenings I walk and I recall some instruction from some time ago reminding me to use the strength of my core, the power in my legs.

I may have turned a corner at the place on the path that my muscles are less tight and resistant and so, my walk becomes a flow, an easy assurance to go on.

Other times, the heavy weight of me goes uneased and I consider turning back for home but never do.

I walk on.

And I lean forward although it’s not the best look or posture, I bend my head towards the ground and I slump a little over into the heart of my fatigue, the core of my concern.

I walk on. Music or calming advisor in my ear, I’m absorbing information that is for naught now but always surfaces later.

I’m thinking about compassion today because someone and I talked about it a few days ago, the demonstration of it, the innate trait of knowing how to make it known.

Compassion, I read is “to suffer together” with others.

Like leaning into their distressing situation and through your presence you’re invited to listen or through your unknown prayers unrelenting.

It’s being in a tough season with someone knowing you can’t comprehend their seasonal distress, nor can you walk them through it, instruct them to walk forward in a certain way.

You’ve got no measurement for their trip, your only traction for their footing is your alignment through prayer.

John, Peter and James trekked up the mountain with Jesus. They’d been in His presence, had observed all of his healing, all of the furor over his being God’s Son, the speculative conversations disputing His purpose, Redeemer.

They’d seen Jesus walk on water, they saw Him have compassion on the hungry, the deaf, the ones brave and desperate enough to draw near.

They climbed up to the mountain aligned with Jesus and there they saw Him transfigured in the presence of Elijah and Moses, with God. Peter didn’t really understand. They were terrified by the ghostly presence. At the same time, Peter’s heart was settled. God was near.

“And Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:5‬ ‭ESV

My children are entering new phases. They are stepping into new challenges, emotional and other. My daughter, a 1st grade teacher will nurture and then teach a new group of children.

Yet, she’ll be challenged beyond comprehension as she leaves her precious newborn, Elizabeth, at home with the grandmothers, still she will be leaving her, separated and in our care.

The emotions are palpable as I listen to her talking of being prepared. I agree. I listen. I will pray.

My son will begin the final leg of his academic journey. He’s pressed on quite consistently and has arrived in a pivotal and challenging finish line, approaching stretch of the journey. He will be challenged by numbers and so many yet to be seen things in his steady path towards God’s purpose and career.

Much like the disciples who longed to heal for themselves the son presented to them by a distraught father.

Seizure afflicted for so many years, Jesus told them why their interventions wouldn’t bring healing.

Only the father’s prayer would do. We don’t read of whether he’d been praying for years or whether he never considered it,

The irrefutable power of a parent who aligns themself with Jesus and thus, God the Father, through prayer.

The son was healed. Jesus gave all the credit to the father’s cry.

I don’t want the significance of this gift of my morning Bible to be wasted.

Picture yourself in the presence of Jesus and you’re at the end of your rope, the last of your wit and your sense and he says don’t you go deciding on your own what is possible and what is not!

“And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”

And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.”

Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:21-24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

To pray for your children is to lean in to God.

It is to stand on the safer shore you’ve come to know because of age and experience and be content as background material, consultant over companion.

It is to glance their departure into a distant and new sea.

It is to know that they know you’re praying at every turn and transition into the unexpectedly hard places.

It is a prayer that remembers their toddler frames that required you supporting their falls and becomes support in a more solid way, the visits of grace to them unexpected because you are diligent and persistent in your new compassionate role.

Hands off, heart all in.

You become constant in your prayers.

You pray for alignment of them with you. You pray that the tough times grow them when those times require physical and emotional endurance only God can give.

Not a parent.

No, your part is prayer, the believing kind. Your part is compassion that aligns with Jesus, agrees with God.

Your part is prayer that allows you in to their personal places, leaves all your worries, your hopes, your exaggerated stories on the table, sat next to the Savior to be shared with the Father.

Knowing grace is sufficient and being unwaveringly convinced that grace is good and it’s a gift to your children they never have to fight for, it is mercy that endures.

Mercy like the prayer of a mama, it’ll never be taken off the table, it won’t be a rescinded invitation.

It’ll be like grace, an enabling spirit, a compass positioned towards healing.

Prayer, the power of a parent’s prayer.

Incomprehensible!

“Afterward, when Jesus was alone in the house with his disciples, they asked him, “Why couldn’t we cast out that evil spirit?” Jesus replied, “This kind can be cast out only by prayer. ””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭9:28-29‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Maybe the sweetest thing I can do is to pray my children

Continue and believe.

More sweeter even is that they see me continue towards believing in God and in them with no need for constant checking in.

Yes, continuing to believe.

To believe in God with them.

A prayer for our children?

To have them unexpectedly experience that God is near.

God stay near, the cry of a parental prayer.

I’m linking up with Mary Geisen and other storytellers here:

https://marygeisen.com/if-you-knew-me-when/

Job, the 5th Chapter

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grief, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I forgo my regular pattern of following my daily Bible guide and I go back to Job.

I am curious as to whether I’d have been as intrigued by Job twenty or so years ago as I am today.

An Old Testament book that reads like a novel to me, not one with lengthy lineage lists of unpronounceable names or one that details all of the practices and laws, I love the emotion of Job.

The emotion of God in this book.

Would I have felt the same many years ago, years when I felt forgotten by God and others?

I don’t know.

Because God knows, I didn’t really know God back then.

But, He knew me.

He surely knew Job.

In Chapter 3 Job laments. Chapter 4 and then 5 are the first of the attempts to comfort, redirect, to talk about the perceived unfairness of God by Eliphaz, his friend.

Life includes the expectation of trouble he told him then told him to complain, God would understand, would intervene.

“For affliction does not come from the dust, nor does trouble sprout from the ground, but man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.”

‭‭Job‬ ‭5:6-7‬ ‭ESV

Eliphaz is confident of Job’s innocence and so he tells him essentially, tell God how you feel and since He knows you’re a godly man, He’ll come through.

“Behold, blessed is the one whom God reproves; therefore despise not the discipline of the Almighty.

For he wounds, but he binds up; he shatters, but his hands heal.”

‭‭Job‬ ‭5:17-18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And so the chapter ends on a good note, a friend hopeful in his advice to a friend.

Chapter 6 of the Book of Job is 30 verses in the words of Job, a valid and lamenting complaint to God.

A plea for redirection, for rescue.

“Teach me, and I will be silent; make me understand how I have gone astray.”

‭‭Job‬ ‭6:24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

As far as the rest of the story, (after a long while) God restores Job in new ways. Job’s old days of integrity, of blessing, of beautiful things, those no longer remained.

But, God gave more and He gave even greater understanding to a man who stuck with Him.

I suppose this is why I consider the Job story so important and uplifting in between the lines of damage, death and destruction for no reason other than one.

Trust God.

Trust God in smaller ways.

Trust God in your present day, your past is only a reference for all the goodness, the rescue from what could’ve, should have killed you.

Trust God in your unknown.

His hands hold your beautiful future here on this evil tainted earth and your unfathomably sublime and peaceful heaven.

Job, Chapter 5, a chronicle of the advice of a friend who eventually tossed him aside, named his “wickedness great” and joined in with Job’s wife saying throw in the towel, “curse God and die”.

Leaving Job with one sole friend, advisor and listener, God.

Lord, thank you for Job, thank you for his trials that were unmerited and for his decision to stay aligned despite confusion with You.

May I learn even more from him and from you. Because of mercy, I pray, Amen

Linking up with others here, prompted by “Five”.

https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/08/01/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-five/

Happy Anniversary, FMF!

On the Day Marked 29

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, grace, grief, heaven, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Serving, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“You have trusted Him in a few things, and He has not failed you.” Hannah Whitall Smith

Work is in progress behind my window.

Heavy machinery harvesting timber.

The wide field that welcomed a spontaneous “capture the flag” adventure on a memorable New Year’s Eve is becoming more empty day by day.

The place where the cousins cavorted, that’s a memory nothing will take away.

Memories, such beautiful yet onerous things.

We discussed the motivation behind the new landowner’s intentions.

My husband added “Yeah, they’re raping the land.”

He paused for a minute when I gave no reply and I saw in his eyes that he regretted the word.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O’ bring Thou me out of my distresses. Psalm 35:17

And that’s progress.

That knowing of me by him.

That’s progress.

This morning I opened my devotional to read and felt seen and known.

He made you and understands you, and knows how to manage you, and you must trust Him to do it. Hannah Whitall Smith

I move to put my books away and see I’ve been moved by words for the 29th of August rather than July.

There are no accidents with God, the truth meant for a month from now is what is needed today.

The greatest burden we have to carry in life is self. Hannah Whitall Smith

Smith was an author, a Quaker, a fighter for women. She was a mother to seven children with only three who survived. Something she fought for resulted in “scandal” and I am thinking it had to do with women.

She wrote about God as a God of comfort and one to be trusted.

She died in 1911. I’m glad she left her footprint through words.

For me by accident this morning.

The lot across from my home is changing. The place that kept me feeling like I was still back home in Georgia will be nothing but vacant and leveled soon.

Empty space for consideration.

A place for new. And it’s not up to me what it becomes, only how I decide see it.

Same with struggle, with grief, with open wounds waiting to be healed.

Grief must be complete before life can be full.

Oddly, I’m grieving what’s happening with the strong and lovely trees across the way.

I love someone who’s dealing with the same, an unwelcome change in the space she felt still, felt safe.

Causes me to consider and to welcome that maybe hard consideration.

What is it that you’re not allowing in?

What is it that you’ve not fully grieved.

What do you harbor that’s only been allowed God’s peeking in for a sort of intake session, pre-intervention, taking from you?

What are you avoiding revisiting because you abhor the ugliness and truth of what it includes?

What are you not inviting a closer and clearer look at and in doing so, only prolonging the splendid healing?

Allow your knees to hit the floor, tell God your secret sorrow.

Let the tears flow.

Welcome the clearing.

Welcome the hard seeing that feels so achingly self-destructive of your wounded soul.

No one likes to cry.

But, if we’re honest it leads to better.

Embrace the joy that is waiting but cannot arrive til you’ve let the sorrow begin and be done.

Not happenstance that July 29th would also include a HWS quote and a verse about God as our maker, the Father we can trust.

And a question from Isaiah about to whom we belong and who He is…

“This is what the Lord says— the Holy One of Israel and your Creator: “Do you question what I do for my children? Do you give me orders about the work of my hands? I am the one who made the earth and created people to live on it. With my hands I stretched out the heavens. All the stars are at my command.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭45:11-12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

One worthy of my trust.

Maker of heaven, earth, tress and me.

Continue and believe.

But Jesus

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Truth, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Two pages of print so fine I resort to going without my glasses. My vision is aging, my prescription apparently needs changing.

Side note, 49 got me worse than 50 did and I’m thinking 59’s gonna hit me hard the same.

Still, oh mercy me…I’ve come along way in my most recent ten years!

Thank you Jesus!

At first I thought I might just focus on Ephesians, the second chapter.

I’ll take just a few words and I linger in my absorption of their meaning being just a tad different.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I felt the emotion of remembrance and I let it set in

But God.

Yesterday, I listened to a podcast that always welcomes the discussion of hard things.

A pastor, raised by his grandmother talked about his struggles and I won’t attempt to quote him, it’d be better if you listen in.

Derrick Hawkins on JOE

I’m out walking.

Fooled by the morning temps now hot, achy for some reason. I pressed on if for no other reason than to get back home.

And I listened.

At the end of this podcast, Lisa Whittle asks her guests an every episode question.

What’s the last thing you’d say about Jesus? Lisa Whittle

When Derrick Hawkins answered, I said “Oh” out loud and again “Oh, my.”

I’ll remember that like a Bible story, I’ll consider it significant.

When the woman at the house of the leper in Bethany poured out expensive ointment from her alabaster flask over Jesus’ head the disciples were indignant.

I guess they were maybe vying for his approval. Perhaps, they thought he’d find her behavior flamboyant or ridiculous.

They were haughty in their pointing out her behavior to him. I love it.

[bctt tweet=”Jesus said basically, let her love me. Let her be. ” username=””]

That she’d take it upon herself to worship Jesus unprompted and unexpectedly, she simply did what her heart led her to do.

She walked up behind the reclining Jesus and she honored him by giving away what was seen as precious, costly, not to be wasted.

She couldn’t imagine a better use for it.

The best of her given so unabashedly.

The best of what she’d acquired or been given, given away in a sense for the sake of worship, of remembrance of him, of believing what he’d been telling the others was about to occur.

Like a farewell offering, a worthy gift to a deserving recipient.

Maybe the disciples doubted the doom of his death. Maybe the woman at Bethany believed and was ready.

Because of her lack of concern for the disciples opinion, she will be remembered.

“Truly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭26:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Here in South Carolina on a balmy nothing spectacular morning, I turn to this story.

On the day I decide to open my Bible after two days of just phone found scripture, I sit and let my eyes fill with tears.

I am connected with her story as I was with the one of Derrick Hawkins.

In the mornings I go out barefooted and stand in the cool wet grass for a minute.

I look up usually.

Sometimes down, at the level place God has me now and I know clearly I cannot discount his mercy.

I made a list this morning of all things of me.

Changed artist to painter and writer to blogger, added roles most important, wife, mother, grandmother, disciple.

Told myself, let’s be honest Lisa Anne and celebrate that honesty being enough in your Father’s eyes and hands.

No need to demand my attention I feel God’s been saying.

[bctt tweet=”Stay aligned with Jesus, be unconcerned with who may be watching.” username=””]

I pray I’d not have been the disciple who said thousands of years ago, I don’t know Him or the one who couldn’t stay awake or the one who kissed his cheek as a way to show the killers who to take.

But I am some days, I falter.

He finds me.

Says come back now, your unique worship is welcome, nothing is wasted.

Give me what is you.

How will I be remembered?

Will it be in ways of significance or simply small by our culture of comparison and cutesy competition and Instagram celebrity standards?

I don’t believe this satisfies Jesus and I’m beginning to believe it doesn’t satisfy me.

My seeking of recognition.

Not my anxious counting of followers, rather my calm obedience to my content consistently representing my hope of causing curiosity over Jesus, my possible never knowing how my story might change another.

And that being okay, the not knowing that one day a grand or a great-grand or even a stranger might say oh, I love the way she wrote about life and love and Jesus or I love the way she laid down color on canvas.

Letting Jesus decide the direction of my blog, the worth of my story.

The image and images I leave.

Time is not a factor in the impact of our stories and our brave acts of sharing.

The alabaster flask anointing story of Jesus causes me to be certain of my mercy story.

Causes me to know I’m a child of God and that Jesus will always be my defender.

The story of Derrick Hawkins and his last comment about Jesus got me good.

I’m sure he didn’t plan it, my connecting with him.

But God did.

Got me thinking I understand mercy more now.

Mercy that’s rich.

That doesn’t chastise or refute me.

[bctt tweet=”Mercy finds me and says, that was then, this is now.” username=””]

My Heavenly Father saying

Yes, I know Lisa Anne but, Jesus.

And me in agreement saying, I’ll continue.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

“For we are his workmanship…”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The Way We See It

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

It would be quite the writing skill to describe the sky as eloquently as I saw it.

As spectacular as it spoke to me this morning.

I know, another sky inspired post.

Yes, I’m unafraid to say it is so.

Thanks to Charlie the pup I’m outdoors in the morning before and as the sun appears and into the revelation of the day.

I stood in my spot, remembered to look up.

Rain predicted later, sky currently bright blue with sweeping up dust of white sheets.

The clouds are shifting quickly, I mean really quickly.

A silent plane pushes through thick ones and past the barely there half moon.

I watch the silent wonder of its flight and I decide then,

I’m gonna fly one day.

I want to watch the movement longer but decide it could consume my entire day.

Standing outdoors until the rain comes later, all because of being entranced by the shifting space of my world.

I notice clearly.

I am shifting.

Back inside, there’s coffee rich with cream and sweet with honey.

I added a header to my subject line:

Shiftings ~

  • I notice I make things bigger than they are.
  • Movement is occurring and I see it today.
  • I am less afraid.

Thinking now how growth only is possible when we are willing to accept a shift in perspective.

I read this morning in three places, the recommendation that I not harden my heart.

The psalmist in the 95th psalm implores us to remember we are God’s people, a cautionary reminder not to let our hearts be hard and wandering, 40 years or even just an hour, a day.

Looking for Him in other places, moody over our maladies.

“For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness,”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭95:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The Book of Hebrews, a book by an unknown author written to encourage Christ followers in trying times, tells us the same.

Do not harden your heart.

I thought of what may cause a heart to harden.

Not necessarily anger, resentment, unreconciled wrongs, lack of remorse on the part of an abuser, harsh words used against you that were untruths, or happenings that happened to those you love when it appears others get miraculously easy, free passes daily.

My mind and soul went elsewhere and I followed the new path.

I began to ponder what it would mean to be “malleable”.

Not being sure the description was fitting, I searched.

Saw immediately, oh that’s referring to metal, to hard surfaces and to industrial type objects, not the image of a potter reworking clay or massaging a heart grown hard in a calm and loving sort of way.

I realized though that malleable might just be the way to be willing in change.

Malleable, capable of being controlled or altered by an outside influence, the capacity for adapting to change.

I thought again of hardness of heart and considered its result from other than the hateful circumstances of our lives.

We harden our hearts when we give up on the shifting.

We harden our hearts when we don’t believe in the possibility of different.

We harden our hearts when we decide to live in dismay rather than trusting promised deliverance.

“Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭4:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I said a prayer last week.

I remembered all I had been saved from and sustained through and each ugly truth and hard admission, I offered one by one…

Thank you, God. You sustained me through __________ and you will sustain me again.

Fill in the immeasurable blank.

May our hearts be malleable, be softened by our seeking rather than our grumbling or self soothing choices that are futile.

May we remember our wilderness days as a constant reminder of God’s sustenance.

I’m not a theological scholar. I read my Bible as if it were a great mystery just waiting to give me my life’s next clue.

And it does. It surprises and engages me when I allow it.

I understand in new ways things I read before or had been taught in a hammering hard critical shouting tone and way.

Like there are hearts so hard even God can’t soften them and like people like me who made mistakes who can’t really know redemption, only say they do as they depressingly conceal their expected doubts.

Or don’t embrace the shifting of perspective, the embrace of promised peace.

A final prayer:

Lord, help me keep longer the soft spoken lessons you are teaching me, may I speak and live the way you prompt me to write about believing. Yes, Lord, I want to believe the way I write believing. me

May today our attention turn to you as we stand in our crowded and noisy fields or our vacant, empty and at times lonely places.

May we know without doubt that you know our names.

May we know you as our patient and persistent teacher, the shifter of our hard perspectives.

“And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭42:16‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Click here to read Mary’s take on the summertime blues. I was happy to know I’m not the only one who’s occasionally moody for no reason.

https://marygeisen.com/tellhisstory/

Tell His Story

Church on Sunday

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, curiousity, Faith, freedom, grace, heaven, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Truth, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I’m happy for the secluded corner, shady under the crepe myrtles.

How was church yesterday?

Were you moved?

Were your hands lifted high, even if only internally lifted?

Did you sense the spirit through the words of a Spirit filled messenger?

Did you cling to the assurance, God is faithful?

Did you sense the same elsewhere, in the simplicity of small earth underneath big sky?

“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭19:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Barefooted and with a whole day to fill, I walk out with the pup watching to be sure he pees.

I plop down on the moist grass, thinking adults don’t sit on the ground in the shade, not usually.

But, what a gift. Because I decided church would be via my laptop, I sat and just sat, no hurry, just wait.

Warm breeze, birds singing, nothing much else.

I said my prayers there.

And left them.

This Monday morning, up early with puppy, my husband pauses groggy with his coffee and turns to ask me, “What you ponderin’?

I answered, “Nothing, just dozing.”

Which wasn’t totally true because I’d been wondering about the word “faithful” and whether that was true of me and whether it was attainable in the way I believed it to be.

Looked it up and confirmed by its definition, “loyal, constant, committed, steadfast” that I’m only faithful sporadically or truthfully just momentarily.

I walked outdoors, the pup and I, saying “Go potty” and standing at a distance to confirm that he pooped.

I waited. Looked up and waited.

The heavens opening up, clouds spread thin like marshmallows melting or foam of tide going out and leaving the fluff of the stirring sea.

I laid down on the grass in the same spot of my prayers, thinking no one my age lies down on the ground to see fully the heavens.

But you do, Lisa Anne you do.

Because you’re the pondering kind and you’re not concerned over being caught being childlike, sitting with your hands resting in your lap to pray or looking up lying down because that’s the only true spectacular view.

Church on Sunday was backyard prayers in pajamas.

Church on Monday was being captivated by heaven and realizing my faithfulness is to such activity as this.

Childlike lingering to ponder unashamed out in the backyard.

Yeah, I’m faithful to such things as this.

Listening for birds, hurrying to see the geese, hoping for intermittent promptings to pray prayers that are not spectacular and yet, flow like sweet supper conversations.

Monday morning findings of just one tiny rose bloom left for you to view.

I am learning, these are the faithful sought after traits God knows are mine and are mine to honor Him.

Be faithful in.

Noticing Him.

Being certain of heaven.

Less performance for God and more contemplation of Him.

More learning of acceptance and less calculative striving for answers.

Because the greatest answer is not a reply that says you’re worthy, we chose you, you’re our selection or show us more!

Maybe I’m only meant for little based on human definition.

For now, little consistently and faithfully is feeling much like much.

Thinking of heaven while still on earth, I’m faithful in this.

“Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭25:21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Willing To Be Filled

Abuse Survivor, contentment, courage, curiousity, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Redemption, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

The heavy midnight rain made the grass thick against my feet.

The hem of my pajama pants is damp from my stepping out.

Effervescent, I thought, the rain has made the ground feel like carbonation causing bubbles and a rising up the rim of the earth to cushion my steps.

Generous was the shower.

I look closer at the petals.

Some drooping with the weight of God’s watering.

Resting.

The rain is clinging to rich green leaves and the pure white bloom is radiant.

Satiated, quenched.

Fulfilled.

“The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.””

‭‭John‬ ‭4:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Effortless, this summer’s abundant growth of flora it seems.

Waiting expectantly, the good rains have sustained the pretty colors.

When the woman at the well met the stranger, she’d been seeking satisfaction from multiple men. I am curious if she thought Jesus was just another at first.

She considered a new perspective. She was intrigued by possibility.

Jesus changed her.

Change comes that way.

We must be a willing participant, honest with our inventory of past mistakes and then willing to see ourselves in new, often briefly emotionally distressing ways.

We acknowledge what God knows of us. We are satisfied by His knowing.

We are growing as we lift our cups, chipped, stained or soiled from past spiking.

We lift our empty cups and we say.

Fill it, Lord.

Fill my cup.

Come and quench this thirsting in my soul. Fill my cup, Lord. I lift it up.

Linking up with others at FMF, prompted by the word, “willing”.

WILLING

Inspired

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, freedom, memoir, mercy, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder

A call for artists’ submissions to illustrate a poem entitled “Exhale” caused me to sit with paper, pencil, water and color.

Especially the part about

…after waiting so long. Maggie Swofford

I was moved by the image of a jubilant one fleeing.

My illustration was selected by Fathom Magazine. Click here to read the poem and view the other images

Exhale

It’s not wasted on me that the poet and I connected and that our creativity and maybe similar experiences have been ours.

Flee freely,

Continue and believe.

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”.

Read more here: https://fiveminutefriday.com/2019/07/04/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-take/