Pretty Words like Hope

courage, Faith, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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What if we saw it as more than a word on a pin, this word, “Hope”?

More than a trendy phrase about an anchor, more than the middle word in the group of three?

What if we knew this emotion called hope as more than a

word in passing, a vague and wavering optimism?

“Well, I hope so.” we say, as if hope is nothing more than a rare and pitiful possibility.

This morning, I rose to begin the day from the space on the carpet next to my bed.

Groggy and thankful for the ease of waking like clockwork without a clock.

My folded up, sleepy legs found their way to bending knees to rest in a downward pose to pray.

This morning, simply, “Jesus, help me today.”

I read from the Book of Hebrews, chapters 4 -6 and found the familiar phrase there.

Hope, an anchor for my soul, a catchy quote, trendy phrase.

I colored in my margin, drew an anchor, a sky, an ocean and a moon. Mornings like this, and my Bible are gifts.

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Fingers blending dusty colored pastel, a delicate touch on the border of a fragile page, I thought of hope.

The middle child in the faith, hope, love family. Hope.

Reading the verses just before the one I knew by heart, understanding a little differently, more clearly and stronger today. This sweet little pretty word, what a mighty thing is hope.

I read the whole chapter, the whole book and saw hope, the way God longs for us to see…to see Him, our hope.

Saw it as certainty, read about histories and lineages of people who understood hope.

That hope is unchangeable.

Hope is God’s promise and we know he keeps his word.

I read that hope is earnest assurance and that we might sway, but hope cannot be moved once established.

Hope, I read, is a better thing for those God calls beloved.

So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise, the unchangeable character of His purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie,we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement

to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.

Hope, the place of pausing to rest my seeking knees, my open heart every morning, to be anchored in certainty.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/bit-light-youre-dark-day-tellhisstory/

Deciding Quietly

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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The sun made the narrow spaces between the blinds a warm golden hue this morning.

Allowing time for an easy morning, I looked towards the window and considered getting up, raising the blinds and taking a picture.

Decided against it because I knew it wasn’t the sunlight in its beginning of day that my mind embraced.

It was the light edged in shadow that kept me there under cool sheets and swift, swirl of fan, for moments longer than usual.

Looking towards the day in a way that spoke softly for my submission, as if knowing I’d grown weary of demands.

Barely lit bedroom, a haven and my morning less of dread…the light beginning to filter through, quietly without forcing response from me.

Slowly and with calm intention, I move on towards the morning.

I begin with note to self, calling it a commitment.

Certain of its timing, I write clearly, my penmanship better than it’s been, under today’s date and encircle it in a bold bracket.

Stop looking at what others are doing. Do what your heart tells you is right, is true, is good.

Then, moved to study God’s word, today’s passages in read through my Bible plan.

And because God is God, a few words were planted there to be discovered, to be certain of the quiet wisdom of today.

Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness.

I Timothy 2:11

Linking up my five minutes of Friday here:

Needing Rain

courage, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

IMG_0086_kindlephoto-6706827 If you were raised the way I was raised, you’d notice the building of dark clouds.

You’d not be surprised by the dark, shifting clouds or the storms through the night with just short breaks in between.

You’d remember the stillness, the way someone would walk towards the porch to check the sky.

Then, turn to say, “We need the rain.”

And maybe after sitting and waiting, someone else would say,

“We need the rain.”

There’d be no dispute, not a word from us cousins. The corn, the butterbeans, the low, wide tobacco leaves needed the rain.

Last week I felt the air become heavy and unexpectedly dark.

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There was a complaint, a correction, a criticism. I was caught in surprise of storm. Suspicious of its source.

There was a feeling of being thrown into the storm with no one noticing my abandonment, my inability to swim.

It was work stuff; yet, it was hard.

It wasn’t family storm, not my heart; but it was hard.

Darkness of word, of reactions and of lack of reaction.

I suppose it was needed. Like rain on an early summer evening.

The kind of storm that causes me to get quiet, it’s storming.

I needed the storms.

I needed to be courageous in a way that caught uncaring people by surprise.

I needed to be humble when my pride and hurt feelings hindered my moving forward.

I needed to take a chance, to take the next step and to be uncertain of reaction, but decide to accept it as truth, as needed.

To hush the insecurities and doubts.

I needed the dark clouds, were it not for storm, I’d not understand, truly understand my need.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Romans 8:28

Sometimes God brings storms and we’re thinking okay, I’ll understand the purpose of this heavy rain, this earth shaking thunder or this frighteningly unexpected bolt of fearful lightening…eventually, we think.

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We need the rain. We’re better for the storm.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/

Persisting Upside Down

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Persistently writing

The last page of the soft white journal.

Moleskin supple, barely visible lines, a simple book.

Typically covering three months or so, I have stacks of these now.

The last page this morning, waiting for my grey swirly lead lines.

There are quiet rumblings trying to fade of a hard week with hard words, harder choices. It’s work though, and work complained about does nothing more than frustrate you in the explanation. So, I let it be, let Saturday come, let Friday meetings and confrontations go.

And journal thankful things and read the Psalms, prepare for yoga instead of parade.

I turn the page, preparing to close the book.

To see it’s been upside down all this time, the empty space for my name is blank; the little space next to the question of its worth, blank too.

I smile. It’s worth a bunch to me, I think.

Another journal filled with my early morning heart’s pondering.

I rise before the dawn and cry for help; I wait for your words.

Psalm 119: 147

Thoughts purposeful sometimes, other times shallow or habitual murmuring.

Revelations, realizations and regrets.

Progress, backwards steps, teeters and totters.

Yet, I persist. Turn the page, begin again, right side up.

Or upside down, funny the relevance of this tiny oops.

I light a pretty candle and choose music, then not.

Preferring the sound of beagle snores and nothing else.

I write 200 or so more words, remembering my promise to myself to begin and…

Write for as long as you feel the words come clearly and when you don’t feel them, can’t find them, stop.

Persist, though.

There are true and brave stories to be told in the colors of my Bible, in the words of my Psalms.

Mistin’ Rain

Faith, grace, praise, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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I intended to walk briskly, music in my ears, arms pumping and muscles striving. I couldn’t say no and gave in to the stroll, Colt sniffing up ants and stopping, startled by sparrows.

I walked on, following his lumbering gait, an easy slack in his leash. We took the turn and my cheeks noticed then…

“It’s mistin’ rain.” I remembered, my mama used to say that and I moved more slowly up the hill, oddly content in the soft, misty rain.

Lingering in its wonder.

Took our time then, choosing to cross the grassy field, tall stalks, tiny daisy like flowers and mossy green cushion.

We step lightly, a little jump over the ditch makes me feel little girlish and my feet land on smooth pavement turning towards home.

My toes feeling the chill of wet, I’d not bothered with socks, oh well.

Misty, moistened hair and dampness on my cheeks, yet I longed to stay there, to stand in the rain, in the clarity of the nothingness of evening rain and

of wide open sky over grassy field in the mist.

At the end of a week cluttered, crowded, and disenchanted, mostly…

I found wide sky and open field filtered by the mist of rain.

O’ my soul….O’ my soul.

When clouds veil the sun and disaster comes
Oh my soul, oh my soul
When waters rise and hope takes flight
Oh my soul, oh my soul, oh my soul

Ever faithful, ever true
You, I know, You never let go

You never let go, You never let go
You never let go
You never let go, You never let go
You never let go.

David Crowder Band

Some things mean something

courage, Faith, family, praise, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

When something means something to you

You long to share, but keep it close for the sake of its significance.

A bird lifted its wings quickly and flew in a straight path as I opened the door to leave. Frustrated, deciding to take a break, hear a song, circle a block…just let it be for a bit. I head towards my car, having nowhere to go.

Then, it lands, the bird on the fence, sitting pretty. Facing me, its torso the most vibrant flash of red. I stopped, hoped to see again, waited as it rustled in the tree.

A red bird, I paused and felt empowered…Keep at it, Lisa. Continue, you will be okay. “Never settle for less than your worth.” my mama said.

I remembered her strength.

And just now, tonight as I decided to wait for God’s plan, things are falling into place.

I hear from two more friends as I’m listening via an email to advice from “writers of hope”.

I notice the words in the corner of my new book for notes, just above the place I jotted, “God has been in this all along, the people, the places, the tough and desperate times…the times of believing.”

With God, all things are possible. Matthew 19:26, it said in the corner of my notebook.

I open the door to the back porch. The dog is barking. I call him, he lingers. He waits, as if to beckon. I wait, then ease out into the early darkness of night, look up and see the moon with the fuzzy border.

Again, my mama. Again, God.

Reminding me to be brave.

believe

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

When your day starts with questioning

you move forward with uncertainty.

Then you do the new thing you said you would.

You stretch your mind, your limbs, your lungs, breathing deeply and with intention…in a room filled with strangers.

And you join them in murmurs of “Namaste”, but, you’re thinking, ” Selah…It is well.”

Because the prayer you prayed when instructed to breathe, to release the heavy load you’re holding

was “Believe, believe, believe…”

You decide to believe and the late morning brings warmth in the voice of a friend.

Soft, slow, southern and sensual…she said, “Oh, Lisa…I’ve just read your letter…I’d love to see you.”

Her voice, slow like slight breeze in an open field, drawn out, long pauses in between.

Later, thinking of the day, I left the usual route.

Decided to walk through high grass and turned to notice the sway of tree, the glimmer of leaves.

Beauty catching my eye, settled.

The sunlight decisive in it’s place of setting shadows.

It is well. Believe.

Blessed is she who believed that there would be fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord. Luke 1:45

Because of Honeysuckle

Faith, grace, praise, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

Tonight I met someone offended by faith. I didn’t know right away that their belief in not believing was a factor in their frustration.

I didnt know until I had begun to say goodbye and discovered in a random few words, they were devoid of faith, had decided to go it alone, were steadfast in their rebellion of its embrace.

Last night, I read a blog written by someone who’d decided the searching and seeking for God was a wasteful plummet into never quite good enough, never ever anything other than disgrace in the face of grace. I remember that lack, that lost.

The writer had decided to not be wrangled any longer,had decided to throw off the burden of impossible aspiring towards the good grace of God.

I thought of them both, I thought of the stubborn decision to not believe…to refuse to waver in their close fisted, closed mind and closed heart deciding to be independent of God.

I know God is in my days, in my details. I know my life before believing, when fear of measuring up led me to be convinced that believing was a venture down a path with no assurance of ever having a chance of arriving.

I remember those days of looking for God but not seeing Him.

I remember searching, being lost.

Worried he might see me, unaware that he always had and that what He saw He knew already.

Seeing God, believing God is nothing more, yet so much more than can be explained.

It’s encounter. It’s acceptance of being made, fearfully, wonderfully, knowingly and purposefully.

It’s yearning to walk with Him because you’ve walked without Him, without knowing His Son and believing in His mercy, accepting Him and His grace.

But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. I Corinthians 15:37

God is not an explanation, a reporting of data driven research.

God is relationship. God is personal.

God is a tender force, ever present, beckoning us to turn, to trust, to linger, to be at peace.

I paused to notice the flowers tucked in the shrubbery. The dog was patient as I stopped, thinking what is this bloom, not honeysuckle; there was no vine.

The fragrance of the bloom reminding of my days on dirt roads my children holding hands. I thought, how amazing is our earth that even blooms are family, even scents are in communion?

This is why I believe in God. Because my soul knows very well.

Moments like this, an evening walk, a blooming tiny flower and the timeliness of all of it

All at once to be noticed by me, by God.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. How wonderful are your works.

My soul knows it very well.

Psalm 139: 14

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Here’s a wonderful post about giving and generous acts unexpected:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/

Nuptials and Prayers for Happy

Children, family, praise, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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I’d chronicle the wedding from rehearsal to sparkly exit if I could.

Still, I’d miss special details, deficient in my description.

If I could, I’d have thought to sit and record its sequence.

The room where we dressed together, laughed together, cried, smiled and circled together in prayer.

A ceremony with sunlit windows, guitar strumming, low voices.

Softly falling, sharp sounds of her heels touching the polished floor as she walked towards her love.

And he, jaw clinched, eyes shut spontaneously as if to look,

Then look again.

She joined him there. IMG_1823_kindlephoto-180313

The words to their song subtle buffered softly…

“Sweet love of mine, I have surrendered to your design.”

And his eyes never left hers.

Nor hers, his.

He spoke softly, assuredly to her only as the preacher paused and we all said as he suggested, “love”.

Then, they smiled.

They kissed twice…then once more, her idea.

And we all danced in the pretty lights, delicate white flowers, layers of lush green filled the room.

We were silly, were happy. I danced without knowing the dances, holding hands with the bridesmaids.

And danced the last song of the night, for a minute or two with my daughter, Heather Analise, to “You are my Sunshine”, our song.

My sunshine and I.

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Until I paused, noticed him close by, her husband and I placed her hand in his to finish our dance.

I’d love to say more; but, words are not sufficient.

I prayed for light hearts and memorable moments.

And happy, I prayed for happy.

Prayers were answered and God was there…as always in the details.

Fridays and Good Mornings -Seeing Jesus

Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

I could have more morning time and be elated, really I could.

My Bible, pencils, coffee and big dog waiting patiently.

As I read, journal, think and thank.

Happy about it or contented in the ease of moments doesn’t really express how much I’d like more morning.

I’m in the Book of Numbers, refusing to skip it along with Leviticus this time.

It’s passage and passage of muddling through; if, but, sacrifices and rules, regulations and particulars.

When I was a teenager, I dated the preacher’s rebel grandson. We sat in the back of the church and changed the words of the hymns to dirty songs.

What a sinful rebellion, I followed along.

We loaded up the church van on Saturday mornings and we all had palm-sized booklets, stories of Jesus we’d been coached to share.

I wanted to be there. I wanted to be a follower of the rules, a follower of Jesus.

We told the story of Jesus because the preacher told us to.

Most of us, I believe not knowing Jesus really at all.

At least not me.

Still, we were good pupils of the teachings.

We were compliant. We were afraid. We were forced.

And so, I’m reading Numbers, a Psalm, and now the Book of John.

Because I want to.

Psalms recalling the greed of the people led from wilderness, through a parted ocean sized sea, fed manna from heaven and water from a rock.

Safe, rescued and led; yet, longing and discontent.

These followers of law, empty, defeated and angry unwilling to subsist in the provision of God through his reluctant leader, Moses.

Never able to attain enough, be enough, walking straight, stubborn and stoic enough to see themselves worthy of the ways of law.

Following rules, striving for perfectly, afraid to believe in grace.

I’ve been there.

A child in church with an angry leader who wanted us all to go to heaven, but didn’t really believe we could.

I wonder now, who formed his shame-filled mind.

Caused him to preach shame and remorse over mercy, love, acceptance.

I came to know the love of Jesus in my thirties.

A desperate need has become a peaceful seeking.

I’ve been confounded to understand more

The grace and favor that require no merit at all.

Yesterday, I read about Judas bringing the soldiers to Jesus. He’d spent time with the Twelve, handpicked to follow. He was despondent, yet calmly submissive over the coming day of His sacrificial death.

Some had slept when asked to watch and pray.

Peter promised allegiance, then denied being acquainted with Jesus.

3 times.

Judas brought the soldiers to the quiet of the garden and Jesus calmly told them all, I’m the one you are looking to capture.

Then Jesus, knowing all that could happen to him, came forward and said to them, “Whom do you seek?” John 18: 4

I imagine his arms open, as if to welcome their violent intrusion.

I hadn’t thought of Jesus as courageous before I thought of dark, angry soldiers intent on his arrest.

I sat in the quiet and filled the margin of my Bible.

Sketching a lush garden of flowers, Jesus facing an army of men seeking to destroy.

If you had told me I’d be coloring in my Bible 30 years ago, I would have denied it.

It would be one of those rules I’d be terrified of breaking.

I would still be telling the story of Jesus, a good story from a little booklet, afraid to get it wrong.

I’d still be telling a story, prompted by shame.

I’d be telling the story, cautionary, spurned by forceful warning of Hell.

I’d be telling the story of one who never knew grace herself.

Never believed in the courageous, sacrificial arms wide open love of Jesus.

It would not be my story.

My story of now.

Of mornings with Jesus.

Answered prayers in His name.

And simple, graces and glimpses unexpected of heaven.

Like Mary Magdalene searching an empty place on a hopelessly longing and grieving morn.

Looking up to recognize the Savior as he said “Mary”.

Her story is mine.

I have seen the Lord. John 21:18

Linking up to Tell His Story

	Lisa Brittain on Women of Faith
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Women of Faith
	smoker4mom on Women of Faith
	juliedibblewrites on Embracing
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Shine On