Peace

What We Need

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, pride, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

Not sure which is the source of more regret, sharing our sorrows and discontentment or pretending they don’t exist, that elation and contentment never ever wane as we walk with our Lord amongst others.

Rubbing shoulders with their successes, exposing our less.

The back of my mind wonders if others wonder,

Who is this God she mentions and then seems to regularly forget?

The God who calls her back because He knows her, knows her fully, knows she’s willing to listen again.

“If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭24:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God who knows I’m learning, getting more comfortable with my strengths.

I saw Saturday morning beginning from a distance through the kitchen window.

I rose to see for myself the source of the glow making mosaics in the space of pine trees.

Sun coming up after a hard rain.

I pick the tiny bud realizing it’s been a bit since I brought one in.

Saturday beginning again to remind me not to despise small things.

Small things like regret over words painted by pity that longed for expression.

A sacrifice for others I guess, a place for their brave me too.

I’m happy for Saturday.

Lessons have settled, done their work and woke me with, although reluctant, a return to determination.

To get back with what is mine to do, gather myself up and submit all my efforts and energy to getting back on track.

God’s way.

Patient.

Oddly, “the Stones” are in agreement with scripture today.

I will get what I need.

Not always what I want.

If I try, sometimes.

How we live either stirs us up or settles us. Let your heart hold what’s in your hands right this very moment. Gently discipline yourself again and again and again…until there’s no frantic grasping for other things. You’ve become satisfied with only what is yours to seek, to gather, to make good things from, to hold a bit and then share with others. Your art. Your words.

Try sometime and then sometime again.

You’ll get what you need.

When your heart changes your mind and takes the lead.

Spreads down from your shoulders, your arms, your fingers.

Love you believe, love you release.

Art and words.

Continue and believe.

Selling Our Wares and Our Ways

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, fear, memoir, mercy, Peace, race, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’ve mentioned before, my grandma was an artist. She created bejeweled Christmas balls and sold them.

I suppose she did this for two or three years.

She had a following.

If it were today, it might be said she had a platform, her art at Christmas was known county-wide.

I’ve not sold a painting in a month or so and today I was rejected twice via email, my bravely written and submitted words.

My words, my fingers easy on the keyboard or messy in the paint.

I saw the email, didn’t want to read it, held my phone at a distance as I scrolled as if the yes or no might cause my screen to explode or illuminate in my hand.

So many submissions, thank you.

Not selected.

Okay.

Less than 72 hours ago I was reminded of a favorite Old Testament verse, I admit I pluck out just a portion, my favorite part.

Don’t despise the day of small things.

“For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice…”

‭‭Zechariah‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭ESV

Someone called me asking about a gift certificate for a painting. I said, sure, okay.

$25

I heard a podcast interview that discussed the ministries of 30 or so years ago, sitting with others, talking about hard things and Jesus or helping someone on the cusp of not believing to believe again.

That’s what we called ministry back then.

Now we look at numbers, followers, visitors, and interactions.

Last week I quietly chastened myself. It stuck. I was changed more than momentarily.

My blog is my ministry.

My Instagram is my ministry.

My art is my ministry.

I felt like crap when I admitted I’d acted as if there had to be more.

Always more.

Almost three years ago I told a friend “I don’t want to be a cutesy trendy female Christian writer.”

It seems I’d forgotten.

I had made my readers small, the regulars who read my words, unimportant.

I realized all along and without me needing to know, my words are my ministry.

My words are always honest.

Are genuine, not prettied up hoping for selection.

These weekly, daily, maybe more are truly me, true me.

Brave and oh, the trendy word.

“Authentic”.

I prayed last week for some sense of direction to keep writing, trying or give up.

Specifically, I asked God to send someone to tell me keep going or settle.

Then I got the rejection of two pieces and I acted as if I’d never asked the above question.

God’s not saying quit writing.

God is saying quit chasing notice. Stop seeking acclaim.

Why are you trying to write anything other than what you started and can’t bring yourself to finish?

Because I fear rejection.

Yet, I fear giving up even more.

I’ll keep going, slow and with free speaking, thinking, praying and believing.

I’ll keep writing and I’ll keep painting and I’ll keep taking the same steps as before knowing I’m still headed towards forward, not the me of before.

Small things of my day today?

I finished a tiny watercolor painting, my three month old granddaughter on my lap.

We walked together, Elizabeth and I and when I mentioned the birds, her sweet face turned in their direction,

I prayed with my cousin and she with me and we helped one another.

Ministry.

Yes, I used what God gave me, small things.

My ministries today.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and God will lead my thinking. I’ll type a little something and someone might comment, “needed this today” and I’ll answer

“I’m just saying what God told me first thing.”

And I’ll sit and add colors to canvas and in my comforting of myself, I’ll make art for others.

I don’t know why I continue, rejection is a certain thing.

Small things, I won’t despise them.

Won’t despise the days full of them and what they are teaching me.

Rejection and joy, all in a day.

Listless Pursuits and Edits

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, memoir, painting, Peace, rest, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

How do you continue in a pursuit, something you feel in your soul is yours God gave you, made you to do?

Vocation, talent, thing that when it “clicks” feels like your gift?

How do you keep going when whatever is taking you farther has hit a bump in the road, a stall?

You don’t think right away and resist the realization, God is intentional when He slows us, requires our acceptance of the shift, the limbo, other adjustments we resist.

We want to use what we know, learn from others, humanly input some change to eliminate the insecurities in the lull.

I do anyway.

Partly, y’all. I just turned 59, I waited a long time to believe I had what I call a share-worthy treasure.

My testimony. My story.

My art and my words.

I make lists every morning, both tasks and requests of God longing to be farther along, a little perplexed over do I continue or surrender the idea of possibility.

My mama always said,

It’s all in it!

And I knew it was true but I dreaded her truth, keep on or stop, just know some days you’re floating and others you fight to swim.

I guess bravery keeps swimming, doubt watches from the shore.

I journal little exhortations to myself I hope I may remember an hour later.

Why are we uncomfortable with the state of limbo, I wonder.

Just now, I’ve explored website options for my art and whether I should bring all my pieces home from where I’ve consigned them, lay them down for new photographs and then create a presence, a polished website.

I dream of being selected by a gallery as an artist but I’m not ready or respected without a website.

I’ve just stood with my feet on the rain soaked grass and pondered my day, my ways.

What about the book idea? What about the proposal out there, the query?

I’d rather be an artist. If I’m honest, that’s what I’ve dreamt to be, meant to be?

I’ll finish the remaining seven chapters and then I’ll edit too much me out and then I’ll mail the perspective chapter’s inspiration to each of the women who I’ve set out to honor, to write of their being Jesus to me.

Then, I won’t hold my head down in regret or humiliation over thinking publication might be possible.

I’ll rest in acceptance and I’ll close that door.

Limbo is miserable, waiting is an invitation to toss everything and permission to be satisfied with that discarding.

Then the thought, but your story is for others handicapped by traumatic experiences who need your voice, your choice to seek hope over remorse.

That’s what I’ve always felt God said when He told me this was my treasure.

So, today I will continue. I’ll do one thing at a time.

I will pray and the thing I’m to continue will come naturally.

Naturally, when I don’t look too far ahead and I let God, not me, lead.

I don’t really understand this thing called a calling or being “called” or following a “call”

I told God so this morning.

Is my pursuit to be less about a pursuit guided by a list every morning?

Maybe.

Maybe so and maybe that’s the reason I’m increasingly captivated by His sky?

How silly and such a waste of time would it be for me to stare up towards heaven, backyard, walking trail, parking lot at the mall?

Me, oblivious to anything or one, being pulled upward, seeking, finding, being better, stronger and more suited for His plan?

There has to be a reason my head keeps tilting skyward.

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭3:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

My birthday card from my daughter, her hubby, their baby daughter was a treasure this year!

It wished me, “a rare bird” a happy day. Then the puppy somehow finagled it loose from its frame, found a hidden spot and began at the corner, chewing at the pretty paper.

I was upset. I overthought it. I called the puppy a demon dog with evil intent. I put it away in a drawer, nothing could fix it.

I told my daughter and she allowed my pitiful story. Said she’d get me another and later told me to frame it, what a memory, what a good story!

I told her no, not funny.

Then I did, I framed it, the card with the little birds and the perfect sentiment and the bottom corner imperfect and chewed.

I asked God this morning to bless my writing and to bless my art.

I’m not sure I’ve asked that of Him before. Asked for redirection where I need it, for His gentle push to persevere and a sense of gentle settling when anxiety asks what is coming.

And I asked him to be my editor, to edit me and my story and to help me to know

Am I being led another way or am I running scared? Are you changing my course or am I jumping ship? Am I stubborn child or a patient learner?

Lord, I want to honor you with my life, my words. Help me to edit my story.

“ Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 ESV

‭‭It’s raining now, no sky captivated staring today.

Maybe later. Yes, later.

And more and more, less list obsession and more seeing, knowing, being pursued by God.

I’m linking up at Tell His Story, a community of writers led by Mary Geisen.

https://marygeisen.com/how-to-learn-from-an-arctic-tern/

Rest on Saturday

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, depression, eating disorder, Faith, freedom, happy, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

This “microblog” on insta seemed to resonate with a few so I’ll share here: (Happy Saturday!)

Flakes and Banana Simply

Saturday without shame. Is there anything sweeter and more reminiscent of being a kid than cereal flakes floating in creamy milk with little round banana bites?

All of my life, food has been a battle.

Eat too much, eat too little, eat everything or nothing at all, carb shame and protein shakes, don’t eat too late, don’t skip meals…you might know the drill.

Y’all this morning, I’m finding beauty in a bowl of cereal because why in the world would I allow food to be a battle when we live in a world with so many very real battles, battles of the heart, battles of the enemy for our souls. We make progress in our walk with Jesus and then get pulled away causing us to question whether we’re good enough and even worse whether God really loves us at all! That’s why he calls us to stop striving, stop adding stress to your already load, rest.

I used to write “trust” on my wrist or doodled wherever I’d find space, I’d jot down TRUST. But for me, it’s softening now, this change towards Jesus. It’s less like instruction and more like invitation and less self-condemnation and more of me honoring the reality of my salvation.

It’s less rigid persecution of me by me and more giving what I can and being okay with not knowing where it goes.

It’s “Sit back and rest, Lisa. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

The places I wrote trust, I’m writing REST.

It’s finishing my cereal without regret over not having a veggie omelet.

PS…if you’re a newsletter subscriber, tomorrow I’m writing about Jeremiah’s warning of trusting our hearts. I hope I can do him justice, it’s a very interesting subject/passage.

#lifetothefullest #faithful19 #thecolorsofmybible #rest

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.

No Plan Me

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, grace, memoir, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Since I’ve changed my blog site up just a tad…naively and fantastically I think I may add three or four more chapters.

And hey, someone may look, may be curious, is her brand hope, is this her message?

Does her presence match her proposal?

Is her connection the hope of redemption?

Do enough people read her?

In the book idea that lingers, a memoir, stories of women who loved me like Jesus despite the disaster of me.

One about redemption I’ve received, finally.

No, maybe today actually it’s more eventually I’ll believe it was and is for me.

I read yesterday that doubt shouldn’t be disguised by incessant quote of scripture.

It’s better to be real about your occasional disbelief than to hide your dismay and eventually implode.

The heart can only hold so much.

We all gotta get quiet sometimes, tell God what it is we need to know.

img_6506

Oh, Magnolia

I won’t despise the day of discontent because I know the content will return in a quiet and almost out of nowhere whisper.

What I’m not finished may be complete, I’ll have an entire manuscript and what if, what if nothing happens when the “piece” is done?

Perhaps, I buy several big envelopes and I mail the pages stapled together to quite a few people, maybe some family.

Or, I don’t because wouldn’t it be a shame to know they probably wouldn’t read it anyway?

This, I have decided is why I paint and get closer and closer to no longer writing.

I’m alone in my room, my canvas, the puppy satisfied at my feet and I dab the brushes on my apron, I wipe the excess color from my fingers.

I paint.

I don’t write, I fear returning to what I’m quite scared to death I might give up.

It’s actually a little incapacitating ridiculousness, that I continue.

Yet, I do.

I continue and maybe a tiny bit believe.

Or I paint little brush shaped squares in varying texture and width and length and

I think.

And I add color with no set plan.

And before I know it, I decide.

“Oh, Magnolia”.

And I’m satiated, satisfied, singularly successful.

Just me.

img_6491.jpg

And I can’t think of a biblical reference other than waiting doesn’t mean quitting, maybe just means reprieve from me being all about me and back to quietly trusting

In who and what I believe.

Eventually.

We shall see.

Mystery and Secret

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, grace, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

One translation calls it a secret and the other a mystery.

Both talk about glory.

It happened again.

I woke with words from a verse. It’ll either be a verse or some lyrics and it happens quite often.

I’m listening to “Remember God” by Annie F. Downs now.

She writes of a desperate time in her life. One morning she woke with lyrics. It was significant for her.

I see.

I like her conclusion as to the reason, she says it must be because her mind is at rest when she’s sleeping and her soul can contribute to the conversation.

She didn’t say it just like that but, I see.

I’m such an imperfect follower of Jesus and yet, I’m still so very called to listen.

It’s the following that brings me words and lyrics.

Today’s?

“Christ in me, the hope of glory”

I thought about it, the minimization of this truth that I do.

Christ in me.

Must’ve been from talking with my cousin about how we want to live and be seen and known in our living by others who see.

See the peaceable of me, just see it, not needing any telling.

Just showing.

Like it truly is a secret or a mystery, the gradual change in the joy on my face, the ease in conversation, the letting be and letting go what are not matters that are to matter to me.

Glory, I longed to know what it is that I’m aching for, leaning towards, committed to and convinced of.

Of all the synonymous words,

I’ll stick with splendor.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled for the splendor that says to me,

There are beautiful things waiting with your name on them. This is hope, mysterious believing in splendor to come.

The tiny roses are blooming again even after being clearly overly pruned.

Oddly, the thorns are minimal and ones that are appearing are cushioned by tender green.

Little baby teacup like flowers are showing up amongst the leaves turning darker colors.

As if to say.

There are seasons even in the midst of a season, there are plot twists and mysterious yet to be seen glories.

The thing you’re waiting for, your assurance of ordering your days is taking its bittersweet time in arrival.

You just feel so scattered, you keep saying.

In the process, you see a settling, you sense a bit more comfort in the not always knowing.

And you know why your reply has been on repeat in various conversations related to your transition.

God is growing me in this season.

And you know for sure there’s no visible evidence and you know that’s okay.

It is true, you are growing.

There’s no need for notice or big “to do” over you.

What matters is the soul of you, the shift of your spirit, the incremental transition to the you known by God.

To peacable you, peaceful and at peace you.

Oh, I know it will happen again, likely tomorrow.

My first thought groggy but awake.

It will be of God.

Either song or scripture.

“And this is the secret: Christ lives in you. This gives you assurance of sharing his glory.”

‭‭Colossians 1:27 NLT

And I’ll chase it again, want to own it.

I’ll chase down that glory and I’ll say thank you Jesus for your persistence in chasing down my soul, wearing that thorny crown, causing me to wonder, leading me to follow.

Thank you for the secret, the mysterious hope of you.

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/

Encumbrances

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, Homeless, hope, kindness, memoir, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, Salvation, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I like words that make you feel their meaning, words like “encumbrance”.

Words that cause pause, make you want to be sure you honor their meaning.

I told my husband what to say to the puppy and how. “Good Boy” or “No”.

Same tone I told him.

“Don’t make him cower.”

“Cower?” He paused and then understood.

I like words. That’s why I like that he calls me an enigma. It’s descriptive, a little mysterious.

Me.

I landed in the word encumbrance in devotion this morning. Accurate and timely in a time I find myself intentionally less burdened and more aware of useless stories of shame.

When I read encumbrance, I can almost see myself bent over and trying to trudge on exhausted and hopeless with my carried way too long bag full of bad choices and less than certain trust.

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12:1‬ ‭NASB‬‬

Where I walk has lots of hills and turns and the steps back home are up a final steep hill. I push myself til I’m done, sometimes try to jog it. Rarely do I just ease back home. I want to finish strong, get all the benefits of the exercise.

I like the message it teaches me, yeah you made it back home, you finished today’s walk; but, your walk has only just begun and so the steep hills and the struggle causing curves, keep taking them, they are good. They are teaching you to endure and to throw off the heavy holding you back things…the thoughts that say oh, it doesn’t make a difference anyway and the physical choices that make you not fit, lazy and unable, body and soul.

God wants us to be able to keep climbing higher, he knows we gotta be lighter, we gotta let go of our encumbrances, our heavy loads.

Less us, more Him. Less heavy junk like shame and worry and more freedom from constant prayer and trust. He wants endurance from us, finished races and joyful victories are what He purposed us to see.

#finishwell #thecolorsofmybible #quietconfidenceartandword

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!