mercy

Before Beginning

courage, Easter, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Trust

Yesterday, I thought of the women in mourning. All day long, sort of tucked back and settled there, my thoughts were on the times in between. 


In between believing it was the end or I might see beginning again, again. 

I keep this on my desk, a little slip of paper.

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning.   Louis L’Amour

I’ve had some of those. Not only mornings,  I’ve made it through a night or two when your mind finally decided to give it a rest, that real or imagined trauma.

 I’ve made it through days moving through, sometimes falling into bed earlier than made sense just so tomorrow could come. 

I’d say, “I’m going to sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.”

And each and every time I’ve been face first on the floor or knees down, hands open and up, I have made it through. 

Sometimes I had no words, only my heart spread wide open to God. 

He knows. 

Many believe circumstances are designed by God to teach us to hold out hope, to walk by faith, not by sight. 

I know this to be true because I have seen newness of days after months of droughtful delay. 

Like childbirth or special times with someone you love after a too long separation, the hard stuff fades, the pain or consuming wonder over why is so insignificant when the day is new. 

Yesterday, the day in the middle of death and of life. God, I thank you for designing it to be this way. 

For such a time as this, that we worship or we contemplate or maybe question and wonder. 

We see now, Lord.

 I do, I know…more and more and more…age, wisdom and circumstance; but, mostly proof, mostly proof has made me see. 

Like the morning you weren’t there and they waited with heartache to see you again. 

Jesus himself stood among them and said, “Peace to you.” John 24:36

I’ve had my mornings, Lord and I know they are because of you. 

Mornings and long stretches of waiting. 

I see now, just the time and season before beginning.

I pray you know this peace unfathomable, yet true. With time and mornings, truth and life. 

Song and Story

courage, Easter, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Sometimes I sing songs to myself, quietly, affirmations. 

I may sing “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” or “I am weak though art strong, Jesus keep me from all wrong.”


The other day, I spoke to a group of women philanthropists and in detailing data and outcome, I kept circling back around to story. 

I stood in front of them, some questioning, some listening, some disenchanted and some quite enthralled. 

I told them, “I am a storyteller.” and some smiled, maybe thinking “Yes, you are.” Because theres a touchable lightness, a clarity I know, I can feel, when I have an invitation to tell. I have a friend who calls this the “Aura of God” He is all around us when we are being who he made us to be, the aura of God, maybe you know too. 

“I love to tell the story of Jesus and His love. Tell me the story of Jesus, write on my heart every word, sweetest that I’ve ever heard. Tell how the angels in glory sang as they welcomed his birth. Living he loved me. Dying he saved me…oh, glorious day!”

I’d loved to have been there. To sit with the two Marys. I believe I would have had no need to question or speak , although there would be much to understand. 

I’d loved to have simply been in their presence when they mourned the horrible death of Jesus, when they stretched out their faithful allegiance to him for as long as they could, lingering where he’d been laid. 

I wonder how long they would have remained had he not risen and then walked beside them to reveal his resurrection to them, His presence. 

Oh, what a comfort that must have been. 

What joy, what a humbling privilege. 

I cannot imagine.


 I’d love to have been able to sit with them. I know they must have told the story to thousands and certainly countless times. Still telling it to me as I make markings of how I conjure them to have been. 
“Early on Sunday morning, as the new day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went out to visit the tomb. Suddenly there was a great earthquake! For an angel of the Lord came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone, and sat on it. His face shone like lightning, and his clothing was as white as snow. The guards shook with fear when they saw him, and they fell into a dead faint. Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28:1-6

I’d love to have heard their sharing, been captivated by their sadness and joy as they sat before me, women who told their Easter morning story of Jesus. 

I met Jesus when a country preacher told me to just pray for his mercy. So, I did and every single day I feel more forgiven and I have more new and amazing stories of his mercy towards me that tells makes clear, “Yes, Lisa you are worthy of mercy and grace.” 

That’s the way of my moment by minute walk, it’s a growing journey, this song I sing…

“Just a closer walk with thee” and let me ever be aware of you Lord, let me not get so distracted and independent of you Lord. 

Let me linger in the place where death held your battered body. 

But, only just a little while. Because you live. 

This is why I sing, “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” 

May I be like the Marys, may I know where to stay. 

Tomorrow I’ll sing with our choir made up of women. 

I have a few lines to myself, a solo. 

“The love of God is greater far than any tongue or pen can tell. 

It goes beyond the highest star and reaches to the lowest hell…oh, how he loves you and me.”

What a story I get to tell because of mercy, unmerited favor. His death sacrificial. 

“Oh how he loves you and me…if we with ink, the ocean fill and we’re the skies of parchment made, if every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade…

to write the love of God above

would drain the ocean dry.”

“Love’s like a hurricane, I am a tree

Bending beneath

The weight of his wind and mercy.” 


In Jesus name and because of mercy

I pray, 

Amen.  

“This is my story. This is my song. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”

Palm Sunday Sundown 

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Palm Sunday, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

There’s a wide open field sitting catticorner as I turn down the last turn towards home. 

If I stay for church after choir, I’m affirmed in my choice because this field always causes me to stop.  No one around, I let the window down and I pay homage to the display, the sun is going down in a splendid way for me. Always does here. 

Tomorrow will be a new day. 


I consider it all together; the day, the words, the verses showing themselves as I waver over my thoughts and questions, lately enigmatic, where do I go from here? 

Maybe nowhere just yet. Linger, Lisa. 

He makes everything beautiful in His time. 

Become not overwhelmed with lofty what if or when. Let not the discernment of your thoughts be based on anything other than the loudly clear truth that comes when you get quiet and still. 

It’s then you notice what matters, not the validation of others; but, the undeniable notice of one, my Heavenly Father. 

 It happens by surprise, your thoughts lovingly taken captive. 

I cried in church this morning. 

My thoughts drifted during the sermon. I noticed the tiny little footnotes marked by teeny tinier numbers interspersed with scripture. 

I read ahead a little of the sermon on the three crosses and the thieves and skipped to the place marked “The Death of Jesus”. 

“It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:44-46‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I was curious about the explanation marked by footnote, so I looked more closely to understand. 

The time of day was noon, the sixth hour. 

The sun went away leaving what I imagine a large expanse of fear and darkness, of troubled minds, hearts and souls. 

It was dark until 3:00, the ninth hour, the middle of a day. 

Darkness marked the time and day,  Jesus died for the sins of us in between a man bold enough to be humble and believe and the other too proud, angry and defeated to accept the possibility of grace. 
I cried in church this morning. I read about the dark and sunless sky and I cried. 

I thought of Mary, his mother; but, mostly I wondered about God. 

I wondered if maybe God decided it was just too difficult to watch. 

Now, I’ll tell you that’s not scriptural, still I wondered if that may have been His reason. 

And I cried in church this morning over the darkness that marked death.  Had I not recorded it here, no one would know, that I sat next to my husband, looking down at my Bible and I cried. 

My tears were tender. They were soft and not for show, as if my reading of the black sky rested in my thoughts until a hand reached down somehow and clutched my heart, gently prompting a reaction I’d not let be forgotten. 

I’ve been journaling about the people who met Jesus. Women caught, found out, brought out and yet, redeemed. 

The intellectuals made to tuck their tails and turn from places in the sand preventing stones hurled at “sinners”. 

I wrote about the woman at the well who met Jesus and then went about thrilled over all the bad he knew of her yet loved her. 

She told every single person about her encounter at the well. She was astounded in a joyously unabashed way. 

I cried at church today.  I cried to think of how God took away the sun in the middle of the day as his Son died for me and you. 

How could I not tell you of it, my tears and my redemption? 

How could I scarcely keep it in, the way the sun escorted me home the day I mourned its going away? 

Everything, beautiful in its time 

He makes it.  Darkness only lasts for a time, long enough to remind me of what matters most. 

This “calling”, this thing I call my treasure because God led me to name it so, it will flourish and it will grow to whatever size and benefit God decides will serve the purpose of his glory. 

I know some things grow best in the dark. 

Faith, especially, the strength our eyes do not see. 
Linking up with Michele Morin as she talks about her fears and a blind man who responded when Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Everything, Fine and Surrendered

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Vulnerability


Every little place, an intersection, crossing of path, if we pay attention.  A piece on prayer featured my simple words on content. 

A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.

Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind. 

I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace. 

Yesterday, I prayed.  

I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move.  I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known. 

And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move. 

It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to. 

Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary. 

This is not a thing  I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand.  I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault. 

Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow. 

But,  I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder. 

I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.” 

“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together. 

But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate. 

He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”

And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine. 

It’s going to be fine.  My eyes are moist upon remembering. 

Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment. 

I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.

In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

 If not for Easter

Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized

I read from the Old Testament.

I turn the pages back, I always do the hard things first, move on more confident in completing the others and feeling more connected and encouraged, courageous.

I stopped on a verse about bringing all things valuable to God, gold and trinkets and valuables, such things worthy of being offered at the throne of God.

I would have nothing to give. What on earth could I have given? Wedding rings and tiny diamond studs? Bracelets here and there, gifts from my daughter, my son? I’d bring them there and leave them. They’d pale in comparison to the mounds of others left seeking to be atoned.

“And we have brought the Lord ‘s offering, what each man found, articles of gold, armlets and bracelets, signet rings, earrings, and beads, to make atonement for ourselves before the Lord.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭31:50‬ ‭ESV‬‬


I underlined here.  I penciled in the margin.

What would I have to bring?

I flipped to Psalms and read the verses describing the people who could never be satisfied, who forgot about the wonders and good things of God.

Sometimes I forget, I remember.

Miracles like parted seas, food raining down from heaven and protection from horrific famine, terror and defeat…led by Moses because God told him he could and he believed, even when the thousands did not.

“They forgot his works and the wonders that he had shown them.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭78:11

Then, I return to the Book of John and I am open hearted and minded and perhaps, even excited.

Because, the Book of John and the people Jesus decided mattered when no one else cared, these are the people who are making me strong, the women like me.

I understand the woman Jesus greeted as she waited to be stoned, tried to be as hidden as she could.  I imagine her smile as Jesus tells the others, cast a stone if you’re free of sin. If not, go your way.

And they did.

I can see the surprise on the woman’s face who’d known many men when Jesus told her, I know you too.

It’s time to thirst no more for what has not quenched you before you. He gave her water, living water.

So she told everyone who she met and how she was changed.

And this morning, in John 20, I am reacquainted with Mary Magdalene, the one weeping over the empty tomb.

The one Jesus healed, her mind able to see more clearly, whatever demons had entangled her thoughts, he removed.

No wonder she called him “Teacher”. She longed to learn more.

Mary Magdalene was healed by Jesus.

Lots of modern day reviewers of scripture call her a prostitute. She had seven demons and she anointed the feet of Jesus. She was the first to hear him speak when all the others had lost hope.

She heard him say her name.

She called him “Teacher” and followed him from the time he turned her life around, to his grave. When she and the disciples discovered the tomb empty, they left.

But, she lingered.

Grief is complicated.

Sometimes we stick with sorrow because sorrow is all we have left that is them, the one we are grieving. If we discard or sorrow, what then will remind?

So, I believe on Resurrection morn, Mary lingered in the last place her Savior and her Teacher, the one who changed her had been.

It’s barely daylight, she’s alone but oblivious to the possible danger or question of others. A man appears as her head lifts from her chest. She thinks he’s the gardener, maybe a worker, maybe there to clear up the mess the ones who’d removed Jesus left behind.
She asks if he knows where the body has gone.

“They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Jesus asked why she was weeping.

She turns and Jesus says, “Mary”.

She answers, “Teacher” and goes quickly to tell the others he lives.

“I have seen the Lord.”

I have not seen and it can be hard to believe; but I do. 

And if it were not for Easter, I’d not be free.

This I know, this I believe. 

I’ve not enough valuables or golden and cherished jewels to atone me. 

Grace, grace thus far. 

And mercy. 

 Because of mercy.

Trust and Amen

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Begin, get lost along the

way. 

Come back. 

Find, then abandon, lose again,  yourself

in the place of believing in your word, your color, your marks, layered color and

or authentic story on page or canvas and

be glad that you’re glad no matter. 

Sit back, step back. 

Yes, this is me. 

Alleluia, Amen. 

Trust and Amen. 

Here’s something you may not know. 

I went to college on art scholarship but, I was not ready, got a little lost…30 plus years later, I am painting and it is joy. 

I missed my studio aka Heather’s old room…after a weekend away and no commissions to be fulfilled, so I painted this afternoon and into evening. 

This piece is a 16×20 mixed media on canvas…graphite, watercolor, pastel, acrylic with just a tiny hint of hymn peeking through…the words, Trust and Amen. 
Send a message if you’d like to purchase.

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Closer to Strong Walking

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/

 

Tender Mercy

courage, Faith, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_5527

I must have held a bit too tightly, anxious in my grasping.

I saw it there, moved quickly, lifted my hand and met its movement.

Held it in my hand.

I clutched with all my heart, my mighty mind and anxious searching.

And longer this time, it rested there, before its wings in a flutter of struggle convinced my opening of hand

to release again to the heavens,

mercy, stopped by again…

tender mercy.

I dreamt in bright color, red.

Held mercy in my hand, a red bird, fearless and for me momentarily; yet, less fleetingly than before.

I touched its velvet belly.  My palm cushioned its smooth chest and my fingers  settled its fitful feathers.

It rested longer this time, just enough for me to know,

tender mercy, I know you, yes.