Prayer

Hope of Glory

bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, heaven, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

If you google “glory” there’s not a word, synonym, noun or verb that would be close to heaven.

Maybe it’s the mystery, the mystery of it all that we can’t quite grasp.

Even when we believe, heaven is our hope.

It is our glory. For me and I pray, you.

It’s our eternity.

A long time ago, I began a support group for people who lost loved ones to their choice of dying, suicide.

The initiation of the group coincided with a piece I was asked to write, a Community betterment series, my choice of a topic and I called it, “The Tragedy of Speculation”.

I had been changed, many times over now, by those who sat around my table recalling the death of someone close.

My piece essentially said “Let’s stop talking about the suicide in a way that’s not helpful. Let’s stop faking our sympathy when we simply want to point fingers and say who missed the signs, how far the person had swayed off course or how the family, the parents must not have been doing what they should have.”

My commentary was a little softer back then; but, the thing is, people want to dissect something they don’t understand in hopes they can be certain “never me”.

Thus, the tragedy of speculation

Suicide, a tragic mystery.

About the same time, I got a phone call.

An older man with gravel in his voice, assertive and impatient it seemed with this task he was tasked to do.

To call me and give his input.

I answered, confirmed I was the author of the article and he announced:

If you want to prevent suicide you need to start telling people if they do that they will go straight to Hell!

A tad but unsettled; but, prepared because of my childhood exposure to preachers spittin’ orders and threats all over the pews,

I replied, calmly, I would never tell someone that because I don’t believe it.

Silence on the other end, I sensed his surprise by my candor.

Several years later, the numbers in our county and our country keep growing.

Could such a declaration change that? Possibly, no, probably not.

Would you tell someone about a sure place called Hell over Heaven and compromise the character grace and mercy of Jesus to save a life?

I’m thinking this is not what God means by salvation.

No, not I.

I wonder what Bourdain thought of God. Kate Spade, as well.

If momentarily in the deep place of a resignation not to go on they simply could no longer sense the wonder.

Much conversation is occurring now about depression, about suicide.

I’m no licensed professional. I’m just a noticer.

And I suppose if my sometimes seemingly naive approach could add anything to the discussion.

I’d say, let’s think empirically.

Let’s come forth for that person from all perspectives, friend, family, faith, medicine, aspirations, accomplishments, addictions recovery and reminders of possibility.

Let’s do better at coming alongside in whatever our way and staying beside.

It’s a battle they most likely are waging war against and became weary with all the shots coming at them from every imaginable direction, internal and external.

Wounds not fully healed, maybe they’d grown tired of the reoccurring reminders.

And depression, a deep hole, maybe it becomes a safe bunker and maybe the choice to surrender, to finally, finally retreat.

Their decision.

This is why I continue.

I continue to try to understand it, suicide.

Why I say faith in God is not the cure for depression or the saver of those suicidal.

What it is is a certain and steadfast complement to healing, to have a reason to live.

“For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:13-14‬ ‭NIV‬‬

To believing new things are possible.

A hopeful complement in this crazy, horrible and often hindered world.

Paul and Timothy told the Colossian believers, you’ve come so far, I know it seems mysterious; but, it is what God created you for, the riches of a glorious mystery.

“To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The hope of glory.

Most everything about God’s word feels mysterious to me at times.

Like, how I pray and because I believe in Jesus, he intercedes for me.

It’s a mystery to me, a glorious mystery I’ve seen to be true in the simplest and grandest of ways.

A chubby freckle faced little girl grows up and begins to believe God is for her and she prays for opportunities every single day and they come and she continues boldly even when afraid.

Because she believes now, finally that her hope is Christ and He sees her settled, finally surrendered and new things, new things keep springin’ up!

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:18-19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ll not talk so much about glory with one considering suicide or one trying hard to prevent it.

But, hope, oh I’ll surely tell them of hope.

Lord, help me to never hinder, always to remind of hope!

To use all you’ve given me the opportunity to know and to complement my knowledge with your grace and mercy and my strength only through you, my hope.

Because of mercy, Amen

Our county has a Coalition to Prevent Suicide, yours may as well. We are all concerned about the increase in numbers and continuously increase our efforts.

Visit here: Coalition for Suicide Prevention of Aiken County

Or the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

Know the signs, intervene and if Hope is a thing for you, a sure and steady God thing, pray with those who are sad and suicidal.

Dog and Pencil and Promise

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Homeless, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Like yesterday, I open my pretty journal. It’s the exact color of soft tangerine, like the chair from my husband’s mama’s home.

A list, oh, how I love and live by lists.

A new one every morning, today with new names and needs, two of them unexpectedly hard and two more most especially and welcomingly hopeful.

I thought the other day, is prayer the most simple of things, another of many we make laboriously complicated?

Even if I hadn’t carefully jotted down using my rose colored mechanical tool and strategically added a dot beside each need and name…

Wouldn’t God know, isn’t it true it’s not at all necessary that He see, read?

Practice, though, it’s a practice for me.

Today, my list includes

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING

Opportunities and assignments await, one a farewell piece to a monthly column, two others submissions for possibility, actually three and one, an in the works more probable than possible featured artist in a publication.

This one, a wow, the kind comments from an editor. I shared it with my son, surprised by the reply, as if to convey,

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Eleanor Roosevelt

I sit with my today list for a moment then suddenly, opening paragraphs are completed with pencil notations of subject and submission.

I have begun.

“My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I turn the page for empty spaces and discover a funny face of a child I began. I must’ve then handed the pencil over hoping to entertain her while her troubled mama and I met.

Lines all over my page, I’ll not tear it out or trash it, simply fill in the blank space and remember for a moment.

A little baby named Shyla, came home from hospital to our shelter, now a vivacious toddler with a smile that cannot be ignored.

A toddler with a passion and her mama with a purpose and me, us, our work a chance to be a part.

She called me last night, the mama. Things are going well, so very well. She’s a believer and she’s a bulldog to not give up or give in. She’s passionate about her progress, gives all the glory to God!

She’ll stop by, she said, with her daughters, one we got to help her bring into the world and the one we helped only a little with her reunification.

Then before goodbye she said “I love you.” first and it followed my reply, “I love you.”

Amazes me every time, drives me, compels my compassion.

So, I’ll not tear the scribbled all over page from my journal. I’ll remember on those days when I resent my work, when I’m grandiose in my ideas of being a painter and a writer only.

Lord, help me remember your equipping me for opportunities and your timing and your purpose. Help me remember I can do all of these things through you.

Forgive my resentment of what I see as obligation, work, and remind me again of my little spurts of writing that come all the more authentically when I sit and your spirit is evident becoming thoughts, words that flow.

Stop me when I justify my mood by reminding myself, my family, my friends, “I’ve been a helping professional almost 25 years!”

Remind me of days that flow like grace and days that are hard and filled with opposition and strife that all of a sudden settle and I’m met by the face of one whose countenance is now content.

Remind me again to wait, to wait for it to come. Make me passionate yet again about my work.

Flow so much all the more genuine, authentic and true.

Art and word, painting and writing, passions that feed and fuel me.

Thank you, Lord.

For a child’s scribbles in my journal, for opportunities and for potential in places that remind me to endure.

To be confident.

“So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭10:35-36‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Thank you for passion, enthusiasm that compels me to continue.

For

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING and
  • HELPING

Amen.

Linking up with TellHisStory writers.

http://marygeisen.com/tellhisstory/

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Happy Way of Life #9

Abuse Survivor, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Saturday morning waking on cool crisp sheets and happy, simply to have missed the sunlight, to have slept just right.

I wake with wondering why I dreamt that I couldn’t find my mama and a dream that had no conclusion only a question, “Should we check to see if she’s okay?”

I understand, thank the Lord I understand and so the dreamy state leaves me light, not burdened.

I am better now.

I understand.

There were conversations and observations, I scanned an article about women dying at hands of abusers. I had thoughts of what to do or what not to do for a family and their mama, the wife.

Decided, simply pray.

“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭6:24-26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yet, another consideration buried deep and came out to frolic, my friend in Georgia, I want to know more and I want her to know that I want that.

She’s not well.

Still, I wake renewed and I’ll not bore you with the thing that’s helping…the Day 9 Whole30 thing.

I’ll just say.

Consider the possibility that your body feeds your mind with what you feed your body. I’m just sayin’…

Me

So, Saturday,

I’m open and wiling and I’m better!

I have new canvases and new thoughts and just a few hampered obligations!

No wonder I told Him, my Heavenly Father up there with my mama,

first thing,

Thank you God, for another day!

Moon and Sun Together with Message

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

It’s a pivot is all, the motion of the body choosing one way over the other.

I open the door and pause, I’ll either go right or go left.

Either answer the bird call, the sky going blue or I’ll walk steady, coffee sat down on coaster and settle into the cushions, sort of sinking in and stuck.

Today, I chose the right and I remembered I love the morning and why.

Morning, most of all is to me without judgement.

Time briefly uncrowded, alone and without conversation.

It seems morning is worthy.

Worthy of such respect.

Morning, I believe the time most devoid of fear and fullest of perhaps.

The bordered sky, pink buffering to blueish violet hue.

Never a harsh beckon to come see, instead a call to step outside and to stand still,

To turn one side then the other and then discover before stepping through the door back in.

The moon still hanging,

the moon and the sun the same this morning, their calling of me.

Convincing me, be still, be still.

In this morning time, the moon, the sun they say.

Be still and know that He is God.

Momentarily, I turn to go inside then look back and see.

The two of them, together like goose and duckling or buck and a doe.

Two of them catch my eye, not typically together, usually one bright, the other with feathers tinted brown, they fly by, a couple.

Two females this morning, a cardinal pair catch my gaze and I’m astounded it has happened again.

Yesterday a friend shared something she’d been told.

…a cardinal’s presence represents a time to renew vitality through developing and accepting a new sense of our own true self.

Birds, red in color appearing almost always now. It’s extraordinary if you must know.

Back inside, I sit and write. I turn to read the guided passage in Timothy and in the Psalms.

The Labrador drops his tennis ball and waits at my feet. Morning, he knows.

He waits while I read.

Quiet every morning.

And the Psalm talks of birds and escape and how my hope is in the name of the Lord, how I’d once been held captive.

Now I’m free. So much more free.

“We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And I know for sure this much is true. The maker of every sunrise and moon waiting to fade away and the red birds perched and parading are for me, not against.

The maker of heaven and earth, of morning and night, the maker of me

and of you.

I am so very certain.

Certain of his knowing my name.

Yours too.

God is everywhere.

Don’t forget to notice.

For I’m not sure how long, I’ve linked my posts up on other writers’ blogs. In the beginning, I felt uncertain, felt “Community” was beyond my place as a writer. I decided to join, a hard thing for me and my insecurities, my measure of me.

What began as a hopeful chance to be seen has now become, dare I say it, a community. Reading the words of likeminded writers and reading the words of those with different expression, I’ve been educated, am now certain that I’m the only one with my voice, my experiences and my tone even.

Last week, we were in Genesis in Sunday school, the very beginning of the book. The question for discussion was about how God’s plan of creation made us feel about Him. Some said that we should honor Him, others said He’s in control.

I kept my response to myself, shared later with some women. I realized just how intricately I am made and how purposeful God was in creation. This means no need for competing, no cause for comparison.

As if God has said all along “Lisa Anne, You be you!”

The Tell His Story Community is a place to see this truth, to honor it, to honor God.

I’m so happy it is continuing and I know I’m not the only one!

You’ll be great, Mary! You be you.

Linking this post with others here:

Tell His Story

Practicing to Be Free

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, doubt, Faith, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I have a little pebble on which I wrote the word persist. It rests in the little dish shaped like an oak leaf, the color pale green, leaves marked with tender veins.

It has remained in this spot since I began.

Since I began to write.

This morning, I got specific with God.

After some names I list every morning, family, friends and some very ill suddenly others, I asked for help in my surrender to God’s control.

I added a few new phrases with marks of question…

  • Writing conference?
  • Writing memoir?
  • New site for art?
  • Incourage submission?
  • Piece on anxiety?

and a bold question.

Are any of these your will for me to pursue?

Added more names beside little bullets and finally, asked

Give me boldness, not fear.

Less than a few inches from one page of my journal to the other, I’ve added a verse I’d missed before, meant for me this morning.

In the first of the two Timothy books, chapter four, Timothy tells followers to persist.

I know the passage.

It’s underlined and has an angelic me in the margin, a scribbled note to self about persisting.

I continue through the passage and discover words new to me.

There for me to see.

An answer, already.

“Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.”

‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭4:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Practice, submit the piece, paint new pieces, organize them like portfolio on display, continue writing, persist in painting.

I read again, the answer to my prayer and then got up from my spot to feed the dog.

Then discovered a bird in a panic, afraid.

A tiny bird, trapped in the corner of our porch was frantic, feathered wings faltering then flapping.

The Lab tilted his head to the side, his expression matching mine.

I move to help it be free and in an instant I see, the bird has flown from the corner, flying, flying free.

No longer bumping against our screen, cornered, hemmed in and unsure.

It continued, continued, continued until it was free.

Free like me, for me

For all of me to see.

Returning

confidence, courage, eating disorder, Faith, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Hello June and coffee, black.

Strong, yes, coffee and I!

Today, I’m doing something new because I was close to returning to something old.

I’ve never been to the Krispy Kreme, the new one in town. Everybody goes and today being called “Donut Day” and makin’ it nationwide, the line’ll be backed out on the busy street.

This is a place that had police directing traffic for about a week when they opened grandly.

Seriously.

I’ve never even been, I boasted with an air of pride and obvious sense of accomplishment that I had not gone crazy over the doughy glazed delights.

Yet.

Instead, I was whippin’ my car back towards home, one hand in my Chick-Fil-A kid’s meal bag and the other on the wheel.

I had my nuggets strategically in my lap and the little sweet sauce restin’ in the middle, dipping and driving, crammin’ waffle fries in my mouth.

But, hey I never stopped for donuts.

Women and food. Women and wine. Women and secrets.

Eating in the car, eating only lettuce, driving through drive-thrus and bags hidden under our seats or declining dinner, no, I’m not really hungry then tearing into bags of salty things washed down with red wine or water or Coke, or thick chunky peanut butter on thick bread washed down with cold milk…

Food, drink, secret indulgences, everything eventually not ever in moderation.

Feast or famine, go with or completely without.

Occasionally gettin’ close to being mocked by my choices.

Then gettin’ shamed, then again gettin’ strong!

We “git right”.

Today, I begin a new thing. I have had one cup of coffee, no cream, and no sugar.

I’ve read the book. I’ve bought the journal to help me track the challenge. I am doing the Whole30 reset.

I’ve seen the recipes. I’m prepared with my shopping list.

I’m praying I’ll be disciplined and the self-discipline will be the greatest challenge.

You see, I, maybe you, a woman with a whole lot on her plate and on her mind, I am courted by the fancy comforts of indulgence.

I’m coaxed into believing some things I just deserve.

I’m not hoping now, for weight loss or for even, a glowing complexion.

I’m hoping, in 30 days I’ll have stayed on track, won’t need a redo and that I will return to a place of health and wellness I haven’t known in too long a time

That I’ll not return to the places I went before, secret eating, secret living.

So, hello June and coffee, black.

I’m ready, 30 Days, Whole.

My prayer,

God, help me be disciplined. Help me return more closely to me and to thee.

“A person without self-control is like a city with broken-down walls.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭25:28‬ ‭NLT‬‬

A temple for you, my body.

Least I can do is maintain it…keep it clean and untainted by secret ingredients.

The place where my treasure lives, I’m believing it’s gonna begin to be more clear.

Honest and true, disciplined anew.

Maybe you too.

I’m prompted by the word “Return” which originally had me thinking I’ll just tell how I’m hoping to return my body to health.
   

I’m returning to rest.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
    in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”  Isaiah 30:15 ESV

I’m afraid it’s impossible for me to write “unbravely”.

Lord help me; but, I have a hard time not telling my story,

my healing from disorder, eating and other.

Visit Five Minute Friday here: http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/05/31/fmf-link-up-return/

My Ungrowing

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The tiny houseplant was a gift to my daughter as a teacher. Its little pot barely containing the roots, yet I pull it from the pretty little pot, give it water and its leaves lift up and persist, my home, its home now.

Not sure why it’s taken so long to decide, to decide it needed room to grow and lifted it from the flimsy black pot and dig deep down the soil already waiting in a container that contained something planted before that would not for the life of me grow.

Moved the tender tiny clinging still plants to the border and I placed the philodendron (maybe) in the center and just because, I put the ceramic sparrow there, to rest and to watch with me, the new place the plant will grow.

“Revive me according to Your lovingkindness, So that I may keep the testimony of Your mouth.”

Psalms‬ ‭119:88‬ ‭NASB‬‬

I changed my morning spot, baffled over why I’d not thought to do so before.

Uncrowded now, the succulents are next to the others, two fat containers of thick odd things that grow best left alone. I’ll nourish this new planting, watch it flourish, see how it will go.

What a proud reply I’d been quick to give, popping back like an annoyingly cute little toddler pulling on the fabric of someone’s shirt, insisting on attention.

Interrupting all other conversation, anxious to be addressed, noticed, allowed to be the star of her own show.

“Me, me, Me!”

I was determined to be sure others knew I was there.

My confident reply even if no one asked, “I’m just gonna take every single opportunity I get to write.”

Their faces, sometimes awkward smiles and oh, okay, go you kinda responses.

Their reactions puzzled a little as if “This is different, who is this person?”

What began as an answer to prayer sort of sneakily meandered it’s way to obsession and half-hearted and hurried completion.

Let me tell you, Jesus was merciful in not allowing me to make a bigger mess of it. Clearly, a couple of columns, a few pieces were written two hours before deadline and what I know for sure.

It was only grace driven by God’s design of my days that He not me made sense, brought it all together.

None of it my creation alone, still God allowed me such grace in the midst.

Cause my heart was not in it. Thank you, Lord,

Yours was.

Were it not for me telling you so, you might never know. might think there’s no need for you to know.

The answer came one morning, the understanding of and making right this time.

“dormant”

I thought that is it. I’m in the dormant stage. It’s not so lovely a word and not ever say or think with regularity.

I checked to see if I had it right. Did it mean doing nothing, did it mean an on purpose lack of plowing and cultivating of my writing soil?

Yes, dormant. Yes, latent. Letting things lie, all the while knowing I’d be back, they as well.

Yes, stepping away and letting the roots grow in their own.

Dormancy, a season of inactivity because opportunities had somehow become contradictory to opportunity and were heartless obligation.

Counterintuitive, my “ungrowing” season.

I believe it will be.

The minds that are alive to every word from God, give constant opportunity for His divine interference with a suggestion that may alter the courses of their lives…Richard H. Hutton, Joy and Strength

Next week I’ll write my final “Faith” column for the small town paper. I’ll say thank you to all who’ve read and I’ll welcome the new one, the one who’s waiting already for simply a time to grow.

Now, my hope feels unhindered and my pathway one of peace. I’ve not forgotten the morning God, that you told me of my treasure, the one you planted there to grow.

Meanwhile, my hope is in my ungrowing, my revival in my rest.

I believe, Lord. I believe.

“Uphold me according to your promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope!” Psalms‬ ‭119:116‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This post by Holly Gerth confirmed my assurance that it’s okay, okay to wait and see what God has for me.

https://holleygerth.com/blog/

Happy Way of Life #8

Angels, bravery, Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, heaven, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, rest, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I was outside literally two minutes or less, finally finished, I made my way to the spot I sit and watch the blue cool pool water paint patterns on my feet.

I’d been cleaning like crazy, Friday night instead of Saturday morning.

I was raised that way.

On Saturday morning, nothing happened until we cleaned.

My mama handed out assignments and by noon you’d have thought our house on the poor side of town was tucked away behind stately gates.

I adhere to her pattern, my daughter and son do too. We like things straight.

We like our places put together and pretty.

Now, it’s morning and I have Saturday’s day about to unfold. I’ve been awakened by a text, “You up?”

“In bed, awake”, my reply.

“Get ready.” her instruction.

Last night I tried to remember my mama’s particular words and I couldn’t. I tried to bring to mind her philosophical response, fashioned in blunt reply.

What I miss most of all are Saturday morning calls, coaxing me not worry…to let these two be, to know that they are good.

I can’t recall what it was, the thing I said just like her. I wanted to remember, tried so very hard.

I had to let it go hoping it comes back when I least expect.

Because last night, I sat in my spot, magazine by my side with a splash of wine in pretty glass. Relax, Lisa Anne.

Relax now.

Don’t stress. Let it be. Pick your battles. It’ll be fine. The truth always comes out and again, stress’ll kill you.

Momentarily, I heard the sound.

The arrival, I was ready.

Closer to me, at just the right time, I tilt my eyes towards heaven, and there are three.

The geese, the geese.

Mama always said, “Here they come.”

And yes, they did.

Again.

Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow in heaven. I’ll keep looking for you, mama, in my every single thing.

I’ll be listening for your reply.

Amongst One Another

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, daughters, doubt, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability

I suppose it might be possible.

That there might be some amongst us who don’t know struggle, haven’t had it woven intricately in the layers of their skin, embedded deep deep deep in the pits of their tummies.

I saw someone last night and I remembered how she’d been real with me and I, with her.

How I’d said yes to her unexpected invite for lunch, just wanting us to know one another more.

First of all, how often are we so honest? How rare are women that brave?

She shattered my illusion of her life more sublime than mine. She told me her story.

And, I mine.

I guess over a year or more ago. She listened as I shared the colors of my Bible, my story.

And I saw her and I told her what that meant to me, her opening her heart, her curiosity of mine.

What if we did that more? What if we left each other loved and uplifted, caressed on more than typical passing platitudes?

We’d know more the feeling of being amongst one another. We’d be more generous with our giving of time, less greedy for dominance in conversation.

Another friend made me cry when I held her and let her cry. It was hard.

Then soft.

She said it, what I already knew.

“I think I just saw God.”

I read a beautiful prayer this morning, a prayer by a French Archbishop whose name I can’t pronounce. It was a prayer asking God to find us when we can’t find Him.

Take my heart, for I canst give it and when thou hast it, oh, keep it for Thee and save me in spite of myself. Archbishop F’enelon

Someone mentioned feeling as if in an abyss yesterday and we then talked about the “cliff”.

If you’ve ever been in a deep place feeling like you can’t pull yourself out or if you’ve found yourself on the edge, on the cusp of disastrous choice worn out and miserable over what’s come your way, having to get real quiet or real loud and maybe say God, come near, be my rescue, remind me again.

Save me, yet again.

The Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation. Psalm 118:14

We’re not made to cower.

Impatient Wonder

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, happy, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Two or three things stuck last week, adding to the mix even more this morning and now, afternoon as well.

The first is the perspective changer that uncertainty is a gift, an absolute gift.

Uncertainty, held by grace.

And wonder.

Last week, I berated myself out loud to another, her commentary brought new perspective, brought me to consider a kind response.

To realize I had not been “resourced” back then to choose alternate responses.

Too much wrong food, buying stuff just because and giving in to a pattern as if there was no other way but back and so scared I might be moving in reverse not forward.

“Coping mechanisms” she called my overindulgence(s).

You’re self-aware, you’ve called yourself out this time, that’s progress.

You’re not stuck.

“Oh.” I remembered later, what a gracious choice. What a gracious idea giving permission to mess up and even more so, a prompting to step surely and rightly again.

I’ve been talking about turning 60 for months now, anxious that I might not do the things I said I was gonna do when I was a year younger than I am now.

I’ve got about 30 months to 60 and I guess about 900 days. I’m no math person, let me use my words.

Words are my thing, not numbers.

Wondering if I will, uncertain if I can.

Impatient to see what I will.

Stuck.

If you’re Southern you might remember a ready reply your mama, your grandma or grandpa would give in reply to whether and when.

Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise!

What might happen depending on God being willing and I imagine whoever started this go to reply, the road might have been impassable, their door might have guarded the way out and they may have decided not today, gotta wait for the creek to settle, gotta wait for the water to flow back downstream to the river, to the sea.

Gotta wait for the settling.

Today, I read about the woman in Proverbs again, the passage that tells a son what to look for in a wife. The verses are filled with guidance, the descriptive nature often causes wonder of worth.

Today though, one part stuck.

“She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭31:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The part about considering, about patient wonder, about tentative even proceeding.

About waiting patiently for an undertaking, taking graceful steps towards uncertain yielding of creative crop.

Giving myself a pass on not perfecting.

I hadn’t cooked for days. My husband was having omelets, pb&j’s and pizza from a box.

I’ve a meal in the oven now, rosemary roasted turkey, potatoes and carrots to be beside asparagus drizzled in butter and warm grain rice.

An assignment for a magazine had me insecure and regretful, due tomorrow, 1000 words for a hundred.

I find a little teacup and steep the bag in steam and down the hall I go and I pray

Father, help me to write the words that someone is needing, that they read my words and begin to be better.

Because of mercy, Amen

Me

I go back for the tea, meet the waiting laptop and the notes scribbled and scattered and I read, I read before I write, the little teeny words on a square on a string I’ll tear off and keep.

And now, the article is done, pool time and blueberry creamy coolness to be followed by dog walking and sky studying.

Sunday, oh, Happy Day you have been!