Peace

House of Faith

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, hope, love, Peace, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability

Seems like yesterday, but it was I guess, twenty or so years ago. I cut the big branches from the sycamore tree and laid them in the back seat. Leaves as big as my two hands together. I had a plan for my room. I was assigned the lesson on Zacchaeus.

The branches touched the ceiling in the tiny room where I created a scene to tell the children about how a man moved from the top of a tree hoping just to see Jesus, to having him as a guest in his home.

On the night I was to teach the lesson, the room disappointed. The church trying to save electricity had turned off the air conditioning. I was met by wilted leaves and a room that was consumed by humidity, a swampy smell. The “tree” I built in the corner was wilted, not special or impressive for the little children at all.

The tree was no longer a part of the lesson. Ten or so boys and girls sat in front of me in a circle on a rug we imagined was the tax collector’s home.

I taught them about the man who said yes to Jesus coming inside. They listened as I told them of the man up in the tree who never thought he’d meet Jesus, he just wanted to see unnoticed by others, the one who was spreading hope and love, a healer.

Then Jesus said, I’m not just passing by, I’m headed to your house today, climb down from that (ridiculous) tree.

The story continues with the criticism of others who knew Zacchaeus as a rich man, a cheater, a scoundrel you may say.

None of that mattered to Jesus. He set his sights on people unworthy from others’ perspectives.

I’m one of those.

Later, we’ll be having a big crowd at our house. We will celebrate a birthday. Children will swim in our pool, cousins will feel like it’s a reunion party. There will be noisy conversation, peach cobbler, baked beans, popsicles, etc.

My husband asked me if I was ready just now. He knows I’m an introvert, he’s familiar with the mystery of my yearning for quiet.

Almost a year ago, I began to wear this little bracelet. It’s paint covered sometimes, it’s a little soiled from my walking in this southern heat. It is stretched and weathered.

A tiny charm adorns it. One side says “faith” and the other, “my saint, my hero”. I don’t consider myself a saint nor a hero.

I do know that faith is my mainstay. I don’t need to know if the giver of this bracelet considers me her hero. I just need to continue in my faith and hope others who come around me see it. I need to remember Jesus as my hero. I need to live in a house of faith.

That when others come to my house, they might get a sense that Jesus had been by too, either in the waking prayer of morning, the first step outdoors to see the sun leave layers on the green or in the way I welcome them in.

Where I lack in hospitality, may there be the evidence of my faith.

My prayer

“And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭19:9-10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Zacchaeus, a rich man met Jesus unexpectedly in his home and then carried on from there more honest, more generous, more unashamed.

I get it. May my faith be like the tree climber.

Continue and believe.

When I’m Old and Gray

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, Faith, family, Forgiveness, kindness, memoir, Peace, racial reconciliation, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Joy

Let it be known, my joy was found in Him.

The sound of a riding mower doesn’t obstruct the birdsong. The birds in the big high palm outside the window with my view have done their daily thing.

They’ve made sure that I have seen them before they go their way.

Off kilter because of allowing myself to go back to slumber, my mind is struggling through the mud it seems my soul is in.

Not quick to journal or to read my dailies, I just sit with coffee heavy with cream and honey.

That.

That sitting, I allow myself to see, that sort of sitting is not idle.

Sitting in slow silence with God and morning.

It is joy.

“You will live in joy and peace. The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands!”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭55:12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The birds in the back are now excited. The lawn mower has moved to the far corner of the next door yard.

I step out to do what my mama taught. On hot days I water the plants before the sun is high in the sky and later, just as it fades.

I love the little things she gave me.

The man on the lawn mower is from one house away. He is cutting the widow’s grass perhaps unrequested. It seems an unspoken agreement that began when her husband got suddenly sick and then sooner than expected went to heaven.

We all were together in communication through texting as he grew closer to passing away.

The neighbors who are black and have two spunky twin girls and are expecting a third baby I believe very, very soon.

The mama watches out for me as I walk towards the safer place. She cautions me on the sharp curve knowing people avoiding the main road use our road as a hidden cut through.

Occasionally, the little girls will wave as they see me. Then they’ll wave again and again as if our waving towards each other is the happiest part of our days.

It always feels that way to me at least.

Excited, we are, to encounter each other. The mama and I talk about our children. We talk about our city. We talk about God. We talk about how we’re glad in a crisis that we know it’s mutual, the phone call away if we need anything.

It had been a while since I’d heard the giggling, the girls playing in their backyards on the fort their daddy built them. I hadn’t seen them at the driveway nor had I walked by and seen the mama taking care of her flowers.

I thought of walking to the back door. I’d done that before when the puppy got out or to drop off something.

I wanted to see my neighbor.

I longed for connection. Told myself, I’d stop that day, the day when most people changed their screens to just black.

Instead, I sent a message and I asked for her honesty. I asked just one question and said take your time with your answer.

I wanted to ask this of someone and I knew I could trust you to be honest.

I asked, “Have you ever felt my kindness to your family to be insincere?”

She answered that I should continue to be the person I’ve shown her, kindhearted and spiritual.

Then, she thanked me for being open minded and willing to have a candid conversation.

I felt she was thanking me to care enough about our differences of which neither of us had any control, to ask an honest question and then accept her answer.

You won’t find me joining in political dialogue. You won’t find me following the bandwagon of others. You won’t find me defending myself in an argument that doesn’t include a perspective I know.

Because none of us can ever know fully the heart of another.

Yesterday, I arrived early for grandma duty. I was worried my daughter would notice I’d been crying. I was serenaded by a song all the way down the long road before her road.

It’s a song about how I want to be remembered, to be remembered that I knew nobody on this earth had or would be able to love me like Jesus.

It’s a song about a legacy of that being enough. I’m so very far from that but so much closer to it than before.

Watering the plants this morning with the kind neighbor circling the widow’s yard, I notice the bright bloom stretching up from the grey leaves I only added to the pot on a whim. Brilliant yellow little flowers have grown from the hard soil of a given up on plant.

What good will come?

What good can come from all of this halfway through 2020 distress?

Maybe, we should change the question slightly.

What good has already come?

I pray you find all sorts of little evidences of that.

I pray you know you’ve been cared for by Jesus all the way, his faithful hand.

I pray you find your joy alone in Him. I pray it for me too.

Continue and believe.

We are one in Jesus. No one here on earth will ever love us His way, only be our example to follow.

Listen. https://youtu.be/wapXZkU-jFM

Let my children tell their children, may it be their memory.

Sing Your Song

confidence, contentment, Faith, freedom, happy, hope, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, Thanksgiving, Trust, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

I heard a familiar tune from the hallway. Must’ve been stuck in his head from the Sunday service we watched on the TV in the den. Neither of us sang along. Church at home still weird.

I told him, I heard you can’t be sad or angry if you’re humming or whistling.

No response really.

But, he did resume his whistling as he walked away.

“Nobody loves me like you love me, Jesus!” Chris Tomlin

I woke up with this lyric. God wakes me up with songs some mornings. I think it’s sweet. I’m not a singer except in my car or the shower. I’m not even one to sing loud if someone’s in the car with me. I’m too self-conscious to raise my hands in church but I have found myself lately walking through my neighborhood with my palm to heaven, have driven down the road with one hand lifted in praise.

Maybe it’s God saying I know you’re longing to sing and you’ll be singing very soon. Maybe it’s just a truth I need.

Truth is, nobody knows me and loves me like Jesus. I can tell him my deepest regrets and He is gentle, not a harsh critic or a negative reply.

More importantly I can tell Him the sweetest possibilities I hope for and He knows the significance. He’s not surprised by my surprise over me being blessed in some way, chosen for something that is a deep deep longing, so deep a desire it’s kept secret.

But, He knows.

I stand in awe of His amazing ways.

“Nobody loves me like You love me, Jesus
I stand in awe of Your amazing ways
I worship You as long as I am breathing
God, You are faithful and true…”Chris Tomlin

A Gift, Wonder

Angels, birds, birthday, Children, contentment, curiousity, daughters, Faith, family, grandchildren, happy, hope, love, Motherhood, Peace, Stillness, Uncategorized, wisdom, wonder

Here’s a granddaughter inspired post about “wonder” I wrote a few weeks ago.

Today is her 1st birthday. I call her “morning glory” among other little things. A baby who changes a day from gray to blue, a baby girl who has changed our world. Happy Birthday, sweet little curious thinker, “ELB”. We thank you for making us so much more sure of every single thing. You cause me to rest. You increase my joy. You are a gift. You are the embodiment of certain hope. You are silly, you are wise.

What We See

The hearing ear and the seeing eye, the Lord has made them both. Proverbs 20:12 ESV

As if our bodies were synchronized, our necks craned and faces tilted towards heaven, we stared through the sheer drapery and we tried to find the opening. We wondered if it was as tiny as the point of a pin. We longed to see and were left questioning, “What is up there, what is causing the lingering of her stare?” We were fascinated. We were perplexed.

The baby was tiny then. We decided the veil must surely be thinner between babies and heaven. Occasionally, as her mama cradled her after feeding and before sleep, she raised her tiny arm towards the ceiling in a newborn hello wave. Something was there, someone, a presence only baby girl was capable of seeing. We were captivated by her vision. We researched angelic explanations and discovered mystical and somewhat biblical explanation. My daughter and I agreed, she is in awe of her new world, she sees either angel, God or we hoped, her great-grandma.

Then, she began to grow and curiosity for other was all about what she could touch, feel, manipulate, and discover. We noticed her looking towards heaven less often. She became more fascinated with the cool earth beneath her knees and feet.

Her longing for understanding seemed to be bigger than simply seeing. I watched as she discovered discovering.

I began to discover again.

We sat together in the cool grass of Spring. I watched her fascination with leaves, pine straw, and the big dog.

We sat together.

So serene. I braided the pinestraw in a way I may braid her soft hair one day. She watched me and her chubby fingers tried the same.

“Bird”, I said and she looked at me and then towards the sky. For a moment or two she was enthralled, we looked up together. I held her hand and we sat still.

I am thinking now, posing a question, sermon to self-type evaluation, “Where will you see God today, Lisa?” because it has been something I’ve been wondering in this pandemic. I have taken stock of the things God has not stopped. Babies are born. Birds are cavorting. Even the wind seems more melodic. The flowers are brilliant. The clouds are puffed and fully inflated. I find it confusing these spectacular symbols of living in a time of speculation and dread of death.

How is there such splendor in such a time of fear? How is my wonder over such beauty so fulfilling? What is God’s intention in this juxtaposition of grief and beauty? Are we to hold both, one hand clutching uncertainty and the other, splendor? Possibly, I believe. Perhaps wonder is simply faith we see only through childlike eyes.

The baby will be here momentarily. I’ll spread an old quilt on the grass in the back corner. All the toys will be toted out and she’ll play until she is bored with blocks and colors. Then she and I will look and listen. We will mimic the crow. We will toss the ball to the dog and we may sing her favorite song, “Deep and Wide”. She’ll guide my hands because she knows the words now. She’ll remember long ago when her grandma opened her arms, deep and then wide and sang to her over and over about the fountain flowing, one full of love for her and me. 

We will look together. We will listen and then have a lunch of sweet potato. I’ll be attentive to her seeing and she will be to mine. We will look in wonder for God today, the sweet baby girl, and I will remember our creator, the one who gave us our eyes and our ears and our favorite thing of all, our wonder. 

Where will you see God today? 

May your seeing be as mysteriously clear as a baby’s.

Happy 1st birthday, Elizabeth Lettie, we love you more than any words can express. We love you for changing our seeing. We love you for increasing our wonder.

Others Too

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, fear, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

Last week I read about the longing for resonance. At least this was my interpretation, we long for resonance and for whatever we choose and how we use it, to resonate with others.

This idea made an impression.

Told me to write about the sky, the tiny roses, the way the baby laughs over a shared popsicle time.

God doesn’t want us to feel small, simply know we are smaller than Him.

me

You are loved.

You are seen.

You are not finished.

Yesterday morning, I woke with a longing to understand the “stuck in the middle” me.

So, I prayed about it, scribbled a sleepy question in my journal.



What is a calling and how do you know?

Me

It felt serious, the question like risk analysis of quitting or resuming. It was a question about why ideas feel so tangibly possible only to be set aside because of fear.

I’m thinking art again, and I’m thinking manuscripts. I’m asking God is this calling or is it just something good I love to do?

There seems to be (at least to me) a whole lot of pressure to call out to the world our callings.

Maybe, the calling is simply to be attentive to the call towards God and to keep getting closer.

Perhaps any other pursuit of calling can’t help but be tainted by selfish endeavor.

Maybe the call is to continue and I suppose see what develops. Crazy we can’t be content with that, we need to feel pressure in our pursuit I guess.

Unexpectedly, I received a request to contribute to a writing community. Out of the blue it would seem.

But, I know better.

Something about my Instagram resonated and this leader of the community sent an invitation.

The sky last evening told me stories, the sort of story I told long ago and had stopped sharing.

The quest for bigger calling made my sky stories seem odd and irrelevant.

The sky with the heart shaped window, the brilliant moon that saw me growing and the bend in the road that said, God is calling.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

A new question today, a prayer.

God, how can I resonate with others? Help me to see the calling as a calling towards you.

me

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.” Jesus
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭7:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Sanctuaries

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, doubt, eating disorder, grace, Peace, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, writing

We have value.

Worth caring for. Cared for. Worth resets of neglected places and grace in the rearranging. Worth “beginnings again”.

Sitting in my studio (there, I said it!) that I call a “sanctuary”, the room that was Heather’s, the room with every momento of my children or creative inspiration on the walls before, I feel renewed.

Today, I cleared the walls of unnecessary (almost every space was push pinned with something!) and only left a little. I left the cow Heather painted, an empty frame to get me thinking, and a color wheel Austin must have done in a school assignment. Other things on tables, just a very few to keep my focus on what matters.

I exchanged a pretty chair for an old one and added a forgotten pillow. I repositioned the desk to the window, no longer facing the wall. I cleaned up my messy painting desk, layers and layers of dust, pencil shavings and paint. I felt a little embarrassed by all the paint tubes without lids, how I’d been so careless. I let it pass and I kept at it. Because, I knew the result would be fresh, it would be a “begin again”.

I woke with that thought today, begin again. I wake with it often. Today, just maybe it’s sticking.

My space had gotten totally out of hand. It had a vibe of disrespect. It did not represent the love I have for writing and art and it was a glaring contradiction of a “sanctuary”. Nothing but claustrophobic info overload was its loud unmotivated voice.

On Friday, a friend purchased three paintings. We talked for a bit in the center of my room and I saw my “sanctuary” from her perspective. An outsider seeing in would never know that these things in my room are my treasures.

She certainly didn’t say it. And she didn’t make me feel it, I felt it because I knew it.

I guess in this pandemic season I just let things go, lots of things, thinking well does anything matter anymore? It can be easy to think that way, to let things go, when all around you are questions about life going on and if and how and when it will.

So, begin again, I am, Yay!

Reluctant for sure, tomorrow morning I’ll step on the scales. I haven’t since October. October told me to eat sandwiches again and I have been since then and it is showing, the excess “uncaringness” of it all.

I’ll accept the number and I’ll acknowledge its causes and I’ll begin again in this body God says is His temple. Begin again. We matter to God, every little thing about us does. We matter.

Treasured we are, treasured spaces for God’s use.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Perspective, the Secret

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I caught a glimpse of one of the last pink camellias. The bushes that border our home and the ones along the driveway had been spectacularly brilliant.

Then with the temperatures and rain were suddenly bloom-less. The grass wore a skirt of decaying flowers, their edges rusty with color and the petals limp and fading.

I paused when returning from walking and a glint of pink popped out from the deep green. One camellia was tucked away. I picked it.

I brought the flower inside and filled the vase with water. This was three days ago. The color remains and the bloom is strong on the stem. I can’t decide what I love the most about looking over to see the simple flower.

From every perspective.

Up close, the underlayer of petals are changing from pink to shriveled golden brown. Standing over it, I am drawn to the fragile innards, the bright yellow heart of it. From a distance, I love the contrast in color against our brick.

Why this one camellia caught my eye feels like a sweet secret, something God knew I needed.

I see beauty.

Lately, I’ve thought of how distinctly different every individual’s perspective is in this coronavirus crisis. It is based on their views, their experiences, their current emotional and physical as well as spiritual state.

I’m reminded of a long held truth. No one truly knows how another feels.

Secrets are our truth.

They are tender. They are hard. They are transparent.

I like the definition of perspective that is synonymous with “outlook”. I believe this.

Before we see, we feel and what we feel inwardly leads to our outward view, our perspective.

I asked myself this morning, How can I be more intentional and sure of the way God wants to use me, to continue rather than decide, oh, you must’ve been wrong?

It all begins with and comes back to belief.

“I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭27:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Believing is the perspective changer, the perspective keeper, the level ground during doubtful times, confusing ones like these.

God’s perspective of us, His creation?

He believes we are able.

He made us this way.

But, what about your secrets that tell you otherwise, ones that say to your soul, don’t try, don’t be sure, don’t step out in faith…you never know, you may discover you were wrong?

What if deep down you’re afraid you will learn, you were wrong about God’s believing in you, you were wrong about trying?

What a shameful secret this is. The one that hinders, the one that feels safer to be the same not take any more steps believing.

I may be wrong, I don’t think I’m alone in this occasional and yet, so overwhelming feeling.

This is why I own it, call it out, really look closely at its defeatist agenda! I speak to it! I tell it otherwise.

“God created me to be creative. God believes in me.”

Believe.

Continue and believe. Your heart will find truth when you confront your secrets. You perspective will follow.

Linking up with others on the prompt, “perspective”

FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: Perspective

Togethering Down Here

bravery, confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, curiousity, Faith, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I thought the craziest thought the other day. Leaving the grocery store again after having to pep talk myself into going, I notice all of our differences. I sit and watch the other shoppers’ arrivals and departures. I inventory the wearers of masks in comparison to the full faces.

“Return, O Lord! How long? Have pity on your servants!”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭90:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I notice the efficiency adapted by the store. I am grateful for the smile of the one who wipes down my cart. But, I notice it is ambivalent, the welcome that ushers me to be the next shopper in.

The same expression, same as my thought,

“How long? How long?”

I wear my mask although I don’t like it. I feel it is the respectful of others thing to do.

But, it makes me feel horrible, makes my chest ache in the way that only sparks worry and imagination of diagnosis. The grocery store is symbolic, I decide.

Symbolic of our differences as expressed on masked and unmasked faces.

I imagine God looking down, all of us scattered and separate and still learning this “togethering”.

I notice an older man dressed casually in shorts because our weather is splendid. His eyes meet mine as if me being female reminds him of his promise to his wife. He reluctant huffs as he pulls up his mask. Another older gentleman and the most crisply dressed older woman walk in separately, heads held high, maskless.

They make eye contact with me and their reaction is a mixture of life lived wisdom and pity. I wonder what they think of me.

This may not be a popular noticing of mine I am sharing here.

The people who are wearing the masks, including me, appear to be so much more afraid than the ones whose faces are free.

I’m very fond of a word that describes our expressions. It is the best word I know of as the gauge of feelings, outward indications that bubble up from our souls.

It is countenance. I consider it a tool. Stand all alone and face your bathroom mirror. What do your eyes tell you?

The curve of the lines that border your mouth? The rise of your cheeks towards the meeting of your lashes?

What do you see that cannot be hidden? Often, I’d use this assessment when I worked with troubled women. I knew it was truthful and easy to do. I’d tell them, look in the mirror, you’ll be able to see the truth of how you’re doing, what you’re believing, what you’re trying to disguise.

I know this to be true.

I drive home with my groceries feeling more curious. Curious over the choices of some to go without masks. Were they confident or just stubborn? Are they more brave than the rest of us or do they just feel the masks do no good, what’ll happen will happen anyway.

And the ones like me who wore the masks, are we afraid or are we respectfully cautionary? Are we just a “follow alonger”?

I don’t know. Once home, I’m better. I flicked the mask from my face before I even put my cart away. I know it has a purpose; but, I despise the fear it represents to me.

I wake and I open my journal and I think of how scattered my days have been feeling. How some days I see calm as my countenance in the mirror, others a questioning blank gaze.

I ask God to keep me gentle, to keep me observant, to keep me intrigued by the expressions of others.

I ask God to keep me noticing, to be my teacher, to turn me towards the mirror in my car when I’m afraid to get out, to show me my countenance and help me fix it before entering. To allow the light to be shown through my eyes when there’s nothing else uncovered.

I ask God to preserve the gentleness of me, to keep me meek not distressed and bitterly questioning.

These things we do until we realize they don’t serve us well and that we really are together even when we are “un-together” here.

To help me consider the countenance of others although not fully seen. To acknowledge we all struggle differently, many of us numb by now to the fearful pandemic, many of us walking around in what feels like armor. We do what we can and we tell ourselves to stay in our bubble, ignore the statistics and predictions and hope tomorrow will be different.

What are we that He is mindful of us? We are His creation and we matter. To God, to each other.

Our eyes cast down, our chests heavy with question. He knows. Or our confidence in pushing onward moment by moment til this storm has subsided or at least become more understandable.

“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭42:5‬ ‭KJV‬‬

We turn our attention towards the hope and the laments, the questions without answer, the admission of troubled mental struggles and errant behaviors, the book called Psalms.

It is there we find relatable stories, honest words of David, of singers and psalmists, that we find our countenance changers, our togetherness with others and with God.

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭103:1-5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We are together even in our un-togetherness. We are covered although scattered in our thoughts and souls.

We are all together in God’s strong hold. We are together with both masked and unmasked faces God sees fit to have intersect us. I hope my eyes contain just a bit of Him, the one who sees us all, unmasked, scattered and yet, together souls.

Be well. Find your mirror.

Continue and believe.

I’m linking up with others who are telling stories in and for these times. View more here: https://marygeisen.com/if-i-only-had-more-time/

Feathers and Stories

Abuse Survivor, Angels, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

What have you lost that might have seemed silly but made you hopeful until you decided well… even that makes no difference now at all? What represents hope or an idea of God knowing and knowing you?

Today I found something and I almost told my husband. But, I realized the joy of my finding would be lost on him and I needed to keep that joy, I’d gotten a little low. I needed to start a new reserve.

I was determined to find it. I fully expected to see the flash of blue in the very same spot. I walked yesterday and saw the lifeless bright blue bird in the thick green grass.

It bothered me so. I kept walking and self-talking.

It means nothing at all, I told myself, likely the bird intersected a passing car and landed there.

But, it was so vibrant in color. I thought of pulling a feather from its completely still frame.

But, I didn’t. Same as two days before. A large hawk or goose feather was laying in the grass along my walking road. I’d normally be excited. I wouldn’t care at all who saw me. I’d walk back home swinging my arms and striding in my fast way. One hand holding my phone, the other clutching a feather as big as my two hands lined up together. I’d bring it inside and I’d stick it in an old bottle.

Instead, I walked on.

Paranoid over something I skimmed about chickens and flu and thinking I’d have all the germs of the feather on my hands and I was only halfway back home. I let it lay.

I regretted it. The next day, I went back looking. The large white edged with brown and grey feather was gone.

So, I thought about it, tried to shake it off, this cynical me I’ve become.

Tried to stop my thinking that God has no notice of me and all of a sudden I’d become unaffected by feathers, I’d become very unseen and afraid.

Two weeks ago, barely steps from our house, a sparrow lay next to the gravel, the tiny brown baby so upset my soul.

So, I thought again. There’s meaning here. Nary a feather have I seen, but a bird on the ground on the side of the road. Is there significance in this for me? Is there a pattern? Is it deadly?

What did it mean? Nothing, I insisted, there is no reason to believe lifeless birds have a message for you.

But, I believed differently. So, I struck out early and I wanted to either see the blue feathers left there or I wanted to see that the bluebird had somehow found strength and flown.

I saw neither. No bird. No feathers. I walked on toward the place with the deep dip, the place where the red birds fly over without exception.

Not this morning. Well. This too?

It’s early, I decided; the birds have an evening path, not morning.

I continued on.

Why the cynic now? Why has my belief in feathers faded? Why had I not seen any? Why was I pretending it didn’t matter?

Steps close to the curb and face towards my feet, I see it and bend down. It’s black and all mottled by rain. You best bet I keep it.

I carry on past the place where the feather was scary and I long to have another chance, see another maybe.

Instead, my steps continue and suddenly a flurry from a paper box delivers! A bluebird so blue it’s nearly blinding and it surprised me!

See! I told you!

it seemed to say, you didn’t see the one you ached to discover but here, it is me!

I am here!

I smiled, smiled and kept walking until I saw it.

A pristine little one nested amongst the leaves, a soft fuzzy tail white feather.

So, I clutch the pair between my fingers and I turn for home.

Thinking every bit of my bird and feather encounter matters. Every bit! The tiny dead sparrow, the hawk wing feather that made me so leery, the precious limp blue winged creature, brilliant although lifeless.

And my longing, it matters, my longing to again long for feathers.

All of it. My confusion, my fear, frustration over not knowing and cynicism over something as simple as a feather.

All my feels. All my feather stories.

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”
‭‭Zephaniah‬ ‭3:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It all matters. Sadness, sorrow and surprise revelations that say

Continue.

Continue and believe. You have more stories. Stories of life interspersed with symbols of sorrow.

Stories of feathers, of God, of your life and love of birds.

Continue.

Evening now, time for walk number two. I’ll be hoping the place where the trail dips and turns will happily greet me with two flashes of red, the cardinal couple.

And maybe, just maybe another feather.

Even Now

Art, courage, curiousity, doubt, Easter, Faith, grace, happy, hope, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I walked because walking is good for me. I thought about my waning faith, my weakened confidence. Mary and Martha came to mind.

Tonight, I walked later than usual and I was frustrated over our internet connection, I only heard part of the communion live stream.

Funny, I usually relate to Martha. But, I thought of Mary who stayed home, didn’t rush to pray that Jesus would bring to life her brother. Had she resigned herself that she’d done all she could do? Meanwhile, Martha tells Jesus “even now” even if you don’t save my brother, I will still believe. “Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
‭‭John‬ ‭11:21-22‬ ‭NIV‬‬

And that’s exactly how I’m feeling, and it feels like peace. I do not understand any of this pandemic crisis. I do understand my faith in God and my redemption through Jesus. And so, even if, even so, all is good, all is well. One of two times, Jesus wept…was he worried he was late? No, he just saw the sadness and worry on the faces of the sisters, I think. Same with us, with me. He sees.