Peace

Under God’s Heaven

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“Should I do more?” I asked myself and then my husband.

I turned onto the road to my home and saw a clump of something ahead on the side of the road.

A figure, not a pile of wood, I realized as I got closer.

A young woman with hair the same color as mine, dressed in flannel with black and red and sitting staring straight ahead, her knees drawn into her chest.

In front of our home is a wide empty field with freely growing trees once cut down and now growing.

The high grass is gold and it bends and straightens with the wind.

This young woman sat still.

I turned and turned off my car in the driveway, deciding I’d check on her.

I’m not proud to tell you I thought about putting my purse safely inside the front door, tucking my keys and phone in my pocket. I thought for a second she might be violent.

I knew she’d been struggling, been seen roaming and had been hospitalized for addiction before.

And I knew and know what addictions can do for someone who needs what they need.

So, I thought she might be aggressive.

Then, thank you Lord, I decided differently. I walked to end of the drive, the wind like ice on my face. Quietly, almost like I was sneaking,

I asked, “Are you okay?” and she picked up her body slowly and she walked away.

Slowly, like a crawl, her steps kept on until I could no longer see her as I peered through the window in our garage.

“Should I do more?” I wondered again. Then decided I would simply pray. I could pray.

Pray without her knowing, without me needing her to know.

Because once, a very, very long time ago, I drove my little blue Celica all the way to Tybee Island in the cold.

I sat on the hard empty shore.

I sat and stared toward the ocean for I don’t know how long.

And then, I suppose emptied of some of my thoughts, my sorrows, my questions…I drove back to my imperfect life, my imperfect home, my still present struggles.

I’m remembering that day today.

Knowing it was bravery for me to sit oddly on the beach alone.

It was resourceful. It was deciding I could in fact, go on.

And no one told me so, other than myself.

I hope I get to see the young woman again. I hope God gives me a way to help her see her I’m pulling for her…

Pulling for her to decide she can go on knowing there is meaning and purpose she has not yet known.

That she may recall moments of feeling purposeless and searching for what seems too far to reach.

Maybe God will make a time for me to tell her, this young woman staring into the open and broken down field.

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Becoming, With Love

Angels, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, love, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Yesterday, I chose the butterfly cup. As I daily do I considered which cup to set the tone for the day.

Lovingly Torn

Groggy from fitfully sleeping at first and then sort of languishing, I had been still and quiet

waiting for the sunlight to come.

The butterfly mug was the choice and I waited for the coffee, frothed it with vanilla, checked on the dog and sat in my spot.

“Metamorphosis”, I thought.

I remembered the realization of why I loved a recent read.

What I thought was honesty and authenticity was something different, something I felt more clearly.

It was her “loving tone” and I decided quickly I want to be a writer with such a tone.

I want to be a woman whose tone is loving.

I realized it’s life that decides this for us. We just embrace the gift and most importantly be satisfied in it as enough.

I finished another collection of angels yesterday. The surprise of them being so intriguing to others at first surprised me.

I thought and debated on their titles, “Flourishing 1-7”.

Then I wrote down the reason for this name. I reflected on the process of their creation.

I paint paper.

I tear paper into pieces and I manipulate the shape.

I add colors in right places, I use what might have been thrown away to create a new thing.

Flourishing I , the hem

These pieces, this process all happened sweetly accidental.

My granddaughter and I decided to make butterflies from pieces of some of my old and packed away papers.

And it simply began. This process that resulted in and continues to evolve into stories on canvas.

Happenstance has been the gift of this silent metamorphosis.

Sort of natural and more than sort of unforced.

Like the butterfly, beauty resulted from waiting quietly and still for it to ease from within

Spread gently its wings and fly.

Yesterday after church, my granddaughter held tightly a piece of white paper, folded and creased many times by her little hand.

Her mama held onto it like a prize as Elizabeth fluttered off to run circles with her brother.

I came home and added the final layer to the “Flourishing” collection, photographed them and added descriptions.

“Richly layered with color, these pieces represent flourishing to me. We think less about flourishing in the Winter months. We’re more likely to feel a bit “neutral” if we were to describe ourselves as a color palette. What if we leaned into the confidence that in what may seem to be a dormant season is actually a time of great internal growth? The truth is that whatever feels hidden or delayed is leading to our growth in lasting ways.”

I’m not sure others will see this on the canvas. It’s what I feel in the process and it’s my hope that love, that tone comes through.

My artwork, when unforced comes from within not without.

The postures, the colors, the movement and strokes so very often mimic wings.

I changed a piece yesterday afternoon late. It had been abstract, it had been soft and yet bold but only an idea of what I hoped it would say.

Becoming

My brush found the lines, the curves that I know.

The tilt of the head in prayer, the waiting posture of one in the wings.

The patient figures believing, along with me, in the process, the secret one.

Calmly waiting to see what might develop, might say what’s needing to be said both clearly and lovingly.

And mostly to know that the process that both comforts and guides may offer hope to others.

This morning, after resting well, I chose the simple ivory mug.

The day is unfolding.

So is the love. Wait slowly.

Stay with it, the tone. Always hope.

We may know who we are.

We surely know who we’ve been.

But, we don’t know fully who we are becoming.

We should surrender to the art of us, not resist.

“The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3‬: 25‬-‭26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Always hope.

You are loved.

And becoming.

Perception

Abuse Survivor, aging, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, New Year, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, surrender, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

An unexpected gift I was given on Christmas Day is now a morning ritual. 

finding the light

A voice like comfort responds to my ask. Her name is Alexa. I know you’ve probably known her for a bit. I’m just getting to know her. 

Today is the third morning I’ve spoken into to the predawn darkness and asked for the “verse of the day”. 

The first day the verse was from the Book of John, the words of Jesus telling the disciples not to worry. He was leaving but he’d be preparing a place, they’d be with Him soon. 

I listened. My takeaway was the pure confidence in the words of Jesus and the accepted promise and confidence in the listeners who could not perceive all of it as certain truth. 

The second day the verse came from John 16, the verse again in the words of Jesus, again with assurance but this time, an assurance of difficulties. 

This morning, New Year’s Eve, I asked my little nightstand friend for the verse again.

Today’s verses? Isaiah 43:16-19 

I thought, I know these by heart.

There’s a sketch in the margin here from years ago, a time marking the embrace of this promise. 

“This is what the Lord says— he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭16‬-‭19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I know this passage. I’ve held it closely as a promise and I’ve used it often for not so gentle redirection. 

Perceive: to obtain knowledge by the senses, to understand, to discern

“Do you not perceive it?” 

These five words begged me to listen longer, to examine myself, to consider my perceptions. 

How my perceptions of life past and present affect my influence. 

My influencing others toward hope, toward peace and toward newness regardless of their past. 

Because…

I can only influence others. I don’t bring change, only offer quietly, my influence.

I can and should assess the perceptions of others of me. 

Do I love with pure intentions only? 

Are my regrets sincere? 

Do I surrender the impossibly hard feelings and things or do they wreak havoc on my influence, my presence? 

Do I coddle my past like a sick baby needing constant attention or do I honor that past in light of my present wellness? Do I care for my past wounds from a healthy distance?

new strength every morning

Our perceptions determine our influence. 

What ways has God made a way for you? 

What dried up and deserted places have been refreshed to flow like peaceful streams? 

Are you focused on the old things, even as recent as yesterday, and worn blinders to obscure the new things springing up? 

God loves you. You have a future. 

Do you not perceive it?  Isaiah 43:19 

Happy New Year’s Eve.

Can you hear the voice of hope?

Listen closely and remember mostly, it’s a soft voice like morning light in the distance, a comforting whisper responding to your questions.

Gently calling and asking you to remember and keep remembering.

He giveth more grace. James 4:6

Christmas Children

Children, Christmas, christmas ornaments, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, sons, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder
Christmas Morn

Every morning except Christmas morning, my feet padded softly down the hall and to the outlet that powered the Christmas tree lights.

Then I’d touch the little button on the mantel garland and the soft lights shone sweetly.

On Christmas morning, the lights were left on all night before.

I’m thinking about the kindness of my husband’s gesture.

There was no talk of Santa, no cookies and milk for him, no carrots for the reindeer, no late night sneaking of gifts to the living room.

Still, the lights were shining because it was Christmas Eve.

And try as I might, I can’t not remember childhood Christmases. I both cherish them and with tender caution hold hard memories gently.

This Sunday morning, my whole house is quiet as the predicted stormy weather approaches.

As I do very often, I thought of my daughter and son, wondered what they were doing, hoping their days would be good.

I thought of who I am as a mother and what mothering has taught me. Naturally, a list formed.

Mothering

“I love you” has been spoken or typed without reservation .

I can always count on a weather report from my daughter.

I can enjoy dining out with my son.

I’ve learned to expect adventure, a few times I’ve been invited to tag along.

There will always be opportunity to both laugh at myself and to own my weaknesses.

I will never not secretly see them as little children at times and those times are gifts, precious surprises.

The certainty of their giftedness is a gift to me as is the certainty that they were gifted to me by God.

I think about such things.

Likely more so at Christmas. The solitude invites reflection and resulting epiphanies.

This year my tree will be up until January 7th.

Holding on until Epiphany, as I consider Jesus as a child.

For Jesus as child at Christmas and the child still in me as a mother, I’ll keep the tiny lights on.

Longer than ever before.

Boldly Quiet

aging, Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, worship
A New Color

We left the gathering, an annual one that’s held in a building adjacent to a country home. The barn-like place is love-filled, its walls are covered with memorabilia and photos representing life and the life spans of family.

We arrive and we move from table to table, from people not seen in a year or so and maybe a couple or a few you may have passed in the grocery store.

The conversations are sweet, it’s a catching up and it’s a reunion for the cousins. They love it. They recognize many families neglect this type gathering.

The one who prays acknowledges this. I mostly observe. I join in and say words when it seems to fit.

That’s not because of the “rules” of the get-together. It’s simply my nature.

My mama used to tell us all that her husband, my daddy saw no need to speak unless there was something important to say.

Although, he was a quiet man, one of few words, I cherish the smoothness of his voice.

I remember the way he paused as he spoke. There was a sense of waiting for the hearer to absorb his contribution.

I listened.

A word woke me this morning.

I added it to my list, a list that came from a realization that in life and in Christmas, we often have grandiose expectations.

We expect Christmas be a certain way. Not to mention the comparison of others’ celebrations.

I wondered how my heart would settle if I decided to

“Expect less, acknowledge more.”

A list was formed.

Safety, Food aplenty, Gifts, Smiles, Gatherings, a sense of God’s nearness, Pink Dawns…

Quietude

Google informed me of the meaning, no surprise I loved it.

Another gift came from Google, a sweet surprise. This word has a color named for it.

A shade that’s a blending of grey and blue and green.

“Quietude” is the chosen name for the HGTV 2025 color.

I finished the 3rd of three paintings last night, large 30×40’s.

The first, “Now Found”,

“Now Found”, detail

the second, “Light and Momentary”

“Light and Momentary”, detail

and the third, “Have Hope”.

“Have Hope”, detail

Driving home from the cousin gathering, my husband wanted to talk. I told him I was talked out, let’s be quiet.

He insisted and prodded me with a well-thought question…

“Who would you like to talk to that you’d be just so captivated by the conversation, on the edge of your seat and just waiting for every word?”

Stubborn me replied, after a few seconds, “No one, that’s a good question but I can’t think of anyone I want to talk to right now.”

He believed me. He knows me well.

But, he spoke in the long pause of accepting my answer.

“I thought you’d say Jesus.”

“Yes, I just thought of that.” I smiled and answered.

We finished the Christmas Eve country drive home and I sat in my quiet spot with my grown son who is often quiet himself.

morning quiet

Understood, I felt understood.

“Accepted”, a word I’m adding to the list of acknowledgments.

“Grace”, too.

Just now, I revisited Christmases past through my photos. Babies have grown, changes have come, tough days have occurred, peace has been given and endurance has become even more a quiet strength for me.

Because I’ve learned and am learning a couple of things from my “telling it to Jesus alone.”

He giveth more grace.

I am loved.

There’s so much more coming for me.

Because I’ve accepted, I’m the “quiet one” and always will be.

“But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131‬:‭2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Always hope.

I look toward my tall Christmas tree, the one ornament, a tiny home, my granddaughter insisted be for it and my uncertainty because it “wasn’t really me.”

And now I see, the bluish green, a pale teal that’s happy quietly although boldly, its pretty red door sort of calling, “open me”.

How can it be?

The color in me, the quiet color has become an invitation to me being me.

A little house accepted by me, inviting an even bolder acceptance of the strength in the choice to keep hoping.

“As for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭71‬:‭14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Newfound Wonder

aging, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, Holy Spirit, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, surrender, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

My noticing of feathers had faded until yesterday.

God is everywhere, don’t forget to notice.

One feather, not spectacular at all caught my eye, my face toward the ground.

A few weeks ago, a bird sat in the driveway. It was not tiny. It seemed paralyzed and I thought it must be my place to help it.

Soon, I discovered it was newborn. Large and loud birds began to appear. It was odd, the realization that they saw me as a threat.

I stood only a minute. I was captivated by their aggression and the way the newborn bird began to move away from me, recognizing because of the elders, I might be unsafe.

They were mockingbirds. That’s what they do, it’s the way of God and nature.

Yesterday, I reached for the feather and I wondered why I’d stopped considering my “finding feathers” as sacred as before.

I decided it’s because of my vision being too “far focused”, either looking into my future with uncertainty and fear or looking into my past with longing to no longer “go there”.

Rarely just in the moment.

So, the wonders that once captivated me with simple surprise were less sacred than before.

Sacred, a word that invited itself into my heart a couple of months ago, a word I’d rarely used to describe my life or my living and its contributions as quietly important.

Significant.

An ask came and with my yes came the assurance that this thing I’d been called to do was sacred.

Now, a memorable gift not to others only but to myself because of that realization.

That secretly and intentionally has led to my noticing wonderful things again.

I’m realizing just now that maybe yesterday was different, the joy in my heart when my grandson nodded yes, smiled and gave me a “high five”, the sincerity in my husband’s voice, the giddiness in my daughter’s voice and in her daughter’s brand new dancer’s pose, my son calling to tell me of a new thing he’ll be trying and the subtle excitement in his voice.

I remembered that yesterday and again this morning, I spoke a new prayer, pondered a word I’m newly fascinated over.

I consecrate this day to you, God.

Consecrate.

: dedicated to a sacred purpose

I consecrated my day to the Lord and I began to notice God again in the small ways.

“May we never lose our wonder…wide-eyed and mystified, may we be just like a child.”

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

Look for the wonder.

Pressing On

aging, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, hope, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, waiting, wonder
Morning Art

Press in.
Press on.

“Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us…”
‭‭Hosea‬ ‭6‬:‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

One of the surest ways to finding yourself back in what I call that “deep hole” of feeling aloneness or burn out over things you thought you could control and learned that you couldn’t is this…

Unexpressed emotions, specifically unexpressed disappointment.

You don’t have to tell anyone. Just tell God alone. You may be surprised over all you’ve been holding in either because it seems trivial or you believe you should’ve long let it go.

Sit in silence. Let your disappointments come to the surface. Be honest with God.

If tears come, let them.
Actually, be glad they did.

Don’t hide your disappointments, express them so they don’t keep you hidden.

Know yourself well and you’ll know God even more.

Pressing On

aging, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, hope, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, waiting, wonder
Morning Art

Press in.
Press on.

“Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us…”
‭‭Hosea‬ ‭6‬:‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

One of the surest ways to finding yourself back in what I call that “deep hole” of feeling aloneness or burn out over things you thought you could control and learned that you couldn’t is this…

Unexpressed emotions, specifically unexpressed disappointment.

You don’t have to tell anyone. Just tell God alone. You may be surprised over all you’ve been holding in either because it seems trivial or you believe you should’ve long let it go.

Sit in silence. Let your disappointments come to the surface. Be honest with God.

If tears come, let them.
Actually, be glad they did.

Don’t hide your disappointments, express them so they don’t keep you hidden.

Know yourself well and you’ll know God even more.

Nurture the Yes Ones

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, self-portrait, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

I have a t-shirt I rarely wear, never in public.

It’s not covered with paint, not a stain or a splatter. It’s not folded and stuffed in a drawer, it’s on a hanger.

Soft material, sort of beige and in a classy black font, one word “influencer”.

It was given to me, not a purchase. Someone thought it was a good fit.

I woke this morning recalling a beautiful dream and contrasting it alongside a question waiting to be responded to.

I journaled,

If I am quiet, I will be able to know which things and which people align with God’s will for my life.

In a way, I was wondering which influences in my life point to hope and which do not.

I asked God to help me see others clearly and to be able to know which influences are healthy and which are not.

I recognized in my soul that just as God sees the vulnerability and weakness of me, He sees it in others and those weaknesses in them cause them to not be a right now good influence on me.

So, I made a bullet list, not one that says “you don’t belong”, just a quiet inventory of those who contribute to my hope and those who don’t.

Not a cancel type thing, just a recognition, a nudge of clarity so that I don’t give up hope.

I have a bookmark in my Bible.

“Only speak words that make souls stronger.” Ann Voskamp

I’ve been trying to commit to this as a filter in all I speak, write or even show in my facial expression.

I’ve been set on being at peace so that I can bring peace into every room I enter.

So that through me, the light of Christ and the voice of hope is observed and considered,

Not simply tolerated.

And so, I quietly asked myself, right now which conversations and interactions are making me

Hopeful?

Which are contributing to

Doubt?

Which feels like a reverent posture of pure and humble wisdom.

The stance God desires.

When this journaling began this morning, this inventory of the “yes’s” I need to nurture

I had not opened my Bible.

I turned to today’s date in “Joy and Strength” and was led to Deuteronomy.

Wisdom that complemented my own words.

A warning for a woman like me, a people pleaser, a longing to belong “belonger”, a person who is easily manipulated in ways that seem innocent, that aren’t harmful, just not best.

“If a prophet or a dreamer of dreams arises among you and gives you a sign or a wonder, and the sign or wonder that he tells you comes to pass, and if he says, ‘Let us go after other gods,’ which you have not known, ‘and let us serve them,’

you shall not listen to the words of that prophet or that dreamer of dreams.

For the Lord your God is testing you, to know whether you love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.”


‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭13‬:‭1‬-‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Get quiet with God. Silence the naysayers. Listen to the voices that speak hope and healing.

Those who softly warn you of your straying rather than string you along.

Those who love you, not just court you.

Nurture the “yes’s” while not discarding the “no’s”. Tend to the hope God planted inside your soul so that it becomes bigger than anything about you.

So that your offering is first and only…always

Hope.