Like the Mornin’

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I’m gonna do my very best.

I declare. I am. 

Decided, just now, to live more like the morning.

Easy like Sunday or Wednesday or Tuesday,

Mornin’.

Try to live all day “easy peasy” like the thin lines on the blinds becoming silvery gray, drawing me to wake and early, saying let’s go and see.

Morning, takin’  it easy on me.

Time for anticipating, of dark coffee, pink pencil and the corner sofa spot where the tall thin lamp shines down in a quiet welcome, come.

I’m gonna live like morning all day if I can.

To be less frustrated by the unexpected unfriendliness of the day, I’ll turn back to my morning page reread and I’ll decide,

Okay, show me again. I know I read it in your book, underlined, recorded and thought for more than a second…this is God and this is good. This is for me.

No more gettin’ sidetracked by demands and details, brain overloaded from multiple tasks.

I’ve decided to try, too good not to, just try to break the habit of thinkin’ dread and despair and doubt. The things that come out most every middle of the day, like a prisoner breaking out, they’re gonna make their mischief, stir up stuff.

I’m gonna try, here and ready to begin yet again to be unswayed by patterns or people or less than promising plans.

Give me back my morning, no kidding.

I will surely thank me.

If I can live like morning for just a little bit longer like the summer sunrise lingers lazily deciding,  I’m staying up late, I’d surely be more contented come the night.

I’d stretch out my morning mind and soul, establish new ways.

I’m gonna live like the morning, savor it like creamy brown coffee, the color of thick chocolate shake.

I’m gonna cup my cup of morning and do better, I decide.

Less straining towards back home to sigh and declare oh, another day, another day…

Live easy like the mornin’,  yes, so much less me, so much more Him.

“Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭143:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬ 

Discovering this Thursday morning, a beautiful and oh, so timely post about joy and suffering at quietlyreminded.com 

What a pretty place to visit, art and words and grace and truth! 

 
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as she writes about family.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/just-needed-someone-love-god-made-family/

More or Less

bravery, courage, Faith, family, Father's Day, grace, grief, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized

img_7445

Tiny House

Off to the side, a brilliant flash of blue and I’ve given up on capturing the shot with my phone. 

I’ve learned the “momentary-ness” of the bluebird is in itself a message, there will be chances again, encounters with happy bird. 

I think of my cousin; she sits on her porch and thinks of life and loss and love and our Lord. 

I remember the bluebird resting on her lantern, she told me so.  

It meant something to her in that very moment, did me too. 

We’d waited to walk until after the rain, the labrador’s paws searching for shallow puddle and hoping for pond. 

I remembered the nest I found and I wondered if this is where the sparrow came from, the one who rustled the bushes, startled by my search for tennis ball. 

I thought of the sparrow all week, strangely contemplating the words of Jesus. 

“Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:31

‭Because, most days I’m in the middle, more or less assured.

I  believe the middle must be me, must be that place of  humility that doesn’t look like insecurity. 

Days little things flit by like a bluebird. Little truths I must hold fast, must chronicle somehow.


My daughter, my guide, my wise gauge saying “too much, Lisa” or “Let, that go.” when I complained of lack of a thank you for a painting. 

Then she countered it with “your angel ministry has impacted so many people…”

She’d never called my art my “ministry”.

Oh.

I’d thought she thought that too much me.

Like blue or red bird unprepared to see, those are words I cherish. 

My son encouraging me to “give it time”, this first real commitment to my health, the healthy way.  He sees me sweaty. 

He sees me trying, won’t let me be weak. 

Like mental bullet lists, this momentary really only “secondary”  stuff is making me brave. 

Making me believe I’m worth more than I believe. 

So, we ventured down towards the pond, Colt’s leash taut with the pull of high grass and cool water. 

The frogs were singing, the thickness of humidity making their song deep down and hollow.  

The lab tilts his head, meanders towards the sound, two, three times, comes from the water then goes again, a lazy dip. 

I don’t worry with sticks or retrieving, just let him dip down, then walk my way then go back to cool again, again. 

The hill back up feels steeper. Did we choose a different angle back home? 

Slowly, we reach the pavement and again, a thought.

So significant, I wondered if others have such thoughts. 

Thoughts so true and clear and with no one around, just you and the wide open whatever and wherever that all of sudden, 

You utter, “Ohhh.” as your thought becomes voice and makes a sound.  

A sound that starts up high like an excited revelation but, then drops to a sauntered fade of realization that says but, what if, not possible or “Oh, well.”

These are the moments, I believe, that 

God says, “I know, child. I know.”

I’d seen a tiny truck on the interstate, driving too slow, I passed and glanced over longing to see a handsome frame like my daddy’s; but, not so.

This, I remembered walking Colt back home. 

The thought of my father became a sound and it validated my longing. 

I touched it, not for long and I could let it go, acceptance again. 

It was beautiful in its comfort. 

Oh.

Confirmation like feather then, grace resting in His understanding of me. 

“I know it’s hard, hard for you to know,

To believe you’re worth more than the sparrow. 

Let me show you.

 You are. Fear not the voices inside that shout out to turn back from where I’m leading you.

Utter “Oh” but, never “Oh, well.”

Look at the sparrow, Lisa Anne; consider the lily.

Remember the writer, her message last week. “You were MADE for this.”

Remember these truths more, 

Your fears, less. 

Happy Father’s Day in heaven daddy. 

Linking up with The Mom Gene to share my Sunday Thoughts, a new group for me. Happy to find it. 

The Essence of Days

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Forward with Grace

Wouldn’t it be phenomenal to carry around all day…all the day long, 

the little confirmations

epiphanies 

the truths spoken by another

that happen to be gracefully

placed in your lap?

Most especially the ones that ease your mind

lessen the pressing pressure of what next, what now, what if and what if not? 

The ones that make resting and trusting and doing just our small part in this ginormously, great big world more like grace and less like not enough, even drudgery? 

God is for us. God is with us. 

Step easy, Lisa, tell others the same, that 

there are places He is preparing. 

Seemingly insignificant or maybe no step at all; yet, even my planted feet and heart in places I think dull and lowly are privy to the light.

We are not meant to be seen as God’s perfect, bright shining examples, but to be seen as the everyday essence of ordinary life exhibiting the miracle of His grace. 

Wisdom from Oswald Chambers

The seemingly useless steps are taking us to places we’ll be a light, maybe be warmed by the light of another. Then, round the corner and look back, enlightened. 

I believe this. 

I am trusting this as truth. 

I just keep taking the next step knowing there’s no call for standing in the crowd and recounting my failures, there’s no retribution that demands I shrug off the notice of the works of my hands. 

There’s no need to deny or lessen the good by stepping back into my wanderings to tell of the bad. 

There’s grace in the ordinary life I live that just needs to live, knowing it’s all miracle, all of this beautiful stuff every morning. 

All the days long. 

A wise man I read as often as possible shares occasionally, using the phrase “Miracle, All of It” and gracious his words are beautiful and true examples! 

The everyday essence. Bird nests discovered, things coming through, us being children of God, dogs snoring, eyes waking, happenstance meetings to discover “me too”. 

No accidental occurrences. 

Miracles

of grace. 

And us happy all the day because of them. 

This is God’s desire,

I believe. 

Little Whiles

courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I stopped in at the art store, the time of the month to collect on any art sold. 


I looked towards “my wall” and there they were, “all my girls”. 

We talked of business being slow and of shoppers being a little scarce. I listened, and for a second drifted towards the pity place. I turned to leave and said ” See you soon.” Then stopped, turned back and she looked up from her work to hear me announce…

“It’s never been up to me, what happens with the paintings. I’ll keep painting and see where God takes them next.”

No reply from the shop owner just a nod that said “I know, Lisa. I know this because I know you.”

What I expect gets all messed up in the mix of what comes true. You’d not believe the number of angel paintings I’ve sold or given as gifts if I could recount . You might not believe either that God led me to love writing, rekindled two flames from tough times. 

You might, no should believe there have been days marred by thoughts of others thinking I think too much of myself, my words, my canvas. 

You would be correct. Certainly days that prideful and glorious expectation took all the joy away and made it prideful pursuit to sustain my worth instead of gentle and humble, happy revelation of  what God could do through my hands and thoughts. 

Yes, plenty of moments of “too much Lisa”, not enough Jesus. 

So, he causes a pause in the fury of it all, the addiction of being praised and noticed. 

I’ve learned to love the pause; I know it’s wisdom and wonder and wonderful. 

That I’m writing and painting and waiting seems to be my place now, a slight lull, a place of a simmer.  

So, I know, the embers are there and I’m expecting God will decide when and how the fires will burn, burn for Him. 

“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

http://www.fiveminutefriday.com

Linking up with others to write prompted by “expect” . 

Driving the Train

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, marriage, mercy, Motherhood, praise, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

My “Jesus Calling” devotional just lit a fire down in my soul, a warmth bubbled up and found its way to the bottom of my lashes. 


Little cups slowly filling with the hot need to pause and realign my heart, my thoughts, my confidence. 

So, I let it happen as I saw her there, my mama in the conference room. My big brother trying to figure out the “unfigurable”. This doctor and that one, then another. 

My mama found the right time in awkward and helpless pause of them all and said.

“Not a one of us is driving this train. God’s driving this train.”

My mama always spoke the truth. I believe she’s been watching me feel less than capable, wavering unsteady on the cusp of hard but good things. I believe she sees me about ready to retreat; and she’s proud of me that I haven’t. 

I believe she knows I won’t. 

My world’s not falling apart, some of the details are just tediously unpleasant and tough. Requiring a steadfast stance, a throwing off of the burdens of second guessing and scared. 

I have a life I never fathomed possible. 

So many thankful things. 

The way my husband has endured so much.  The way my son-in-law looks after my girl. The way my son is focused and committed but not in a way that’s crazy obsessive to his future, the way my daughter demonstrates loving her husband.  It’s a pretty love they have, I’m thankful to sit back and see. 

The way today is the first morning in a week I did not wake to a pile of labrador poop. So, I’m thankful for rice and Pepto this morning. I am. 

But, I tell you something!  I dreamt an awful outrageous dream just hours ago filled with trauma and memories and somehow they all mingled with today stuff and yesterday junk.

But, wake up oh, sleeper Lisa! 

Acknowledge you took some bad things to bed with you. Don’t lie there all day! 

Now, let them go and let God! 

He’s got the whole world in His hands.  It is absolutely not up to me to hold it all, hold it all together or figure it out. 

Not my place now. 

Knees down, hands open, face to heaven. 

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you,”

‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Enjoy the ride, the driver knows the way. 

Who is in charge of your life? If it is you, then you have good cause to worry. 

But, if it is I, then worry is both unnecessary and counterproductive…

back off a bit, redirecting your focus to Me.  

Jesus Calling

Hard Words and Hope

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


A particular line, a verse in the passage I’m studying, caused me to be cautionary. 

Again today, a word with a serious tone, unpleasant, almost intimidating. 

in·so·lent

ˈinsələnt/

adjective

showing a rude and arrogant lack of respect.

“she hated the insolent tone of his voice”
I walked away slowly thinking of my prayer. “Give me grace, help me give grace.”

I’d prayed before encounter, will be praying again. Conflict resolution, doing hard things, handling unavoidable resolutions I’m responsible for…I cower. 

I don’t feel strong.  

Weak, I feel weak. 

So, I’m looking towards my feet and I’m proceeding with thoughts and patient steps towards what will be my next step.

Sometimes like a “heads up” a feeling will linger, taking its time to be tangible, maybe pointing out the concern I already knew. 

People are not always kind; in fact, when faced with desperation they might be downright insolent. 

I had to look it up, the word “insolent” seemed so important for me to grasp, an angry sounding word shouting out of a Psalm, saying, “Listen up, Lisa; be aware.”

“Teach me good judgment and knowledge, for I believe in your commandments. Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep your word. You are good and do good; teach me your statutes. The insolent smear me with lies, but with my whole heart I keep your precepts; their heart is unfeeling like fat, but I delight in your law. It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn your statutes.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:66-71‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Me, the one who still maintains people are good, it’s just stuff that happens to them that makes them not so “good” or good hearted. 

When my children were little,  they’d tell me about a mean boy or girl, a bully or an arrogant peer. 

I’d caution them not to label, saying “Something must be bad at home.” 

I believe they believed me. 

Grown up children carrying scars all around, I notice the negative directed towards me and decide, most likely,  “Something bad must have happened or is happening now to cause their behavior.”

I look at the faces on the “jail report” and have to look away, it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen, a newspaper with mugshots of people who lost their way and committed crimes.  Their expressions either lost or stoically arrogant and accepting of their label.

 I don’t allow myself to gawk over another’s distress. I look away wondering “their story” and think what a sad commentary on our society that people purchase this like glossy fashion magazine or news. 

They print this publication in color, the faces jump out from convenience store cover. 

Somewhere along the line misfortune tainted their choice to walk a straight line. 

I choose to believe, still. 

We all stumble in many ways. James 3:2


Empaths like me try to see the other side, still we’re blindsided at times when compassion doesn’t set things right and we encounter ugly face to face. 

When we’re forced to accept that our compassion is not always enough. 

It’s the bane of my work, do the best, let God do the rest and then “rest in that”. 

This, one of many what I call a “Lisaisms”.

I suppose there’s a reason God brings struggle to our lives, causes us to struggle with the hard things like unfairness, disappointment, disrespect and struggling people who put us in places that require us to stand firm in kindness. 

When being hard makes sense. 

To defer to imagining how we might feel in their place. 

Surely it’s important for me to know that I might encounter people I can’t change. Two days in a row, the word “insolent” in my verses. 

“Let the insolent be put to shame, because they have wronged me with falsehood; as for me, I will meditate on your precepts.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:78‬ ‭ESV 

So, you speak truth in a way that you can maintain because bending one way or another will make it harder to hold onto you and your hope. 

You know yourself, important to hold fast. 

Because hope is bigger than insolence. Integrity more sustaining than offense and I believe God’s faithfulness more pervasive than the perverse of those whose actions are perverse. 

I’ve read and left in draft this post, thinking too dark.  

I’m cautious over readers who might turn away, the content just too contentious. 

But, we live in a difficult world. We’re surrounded by people with difficulties who are difficult. 

We ourselves are these who lean towards the ugly at times. We have to keep ourselves leaning or better yet, upright. 

Knees down, hands open, face to God. 

Someone said to me the other day, as we were talking of a loss of life, young stolen by drugs and then mental illness, incarceration and finally homelessness. 

 “We are all just a circumstance from the bottom.” Vickie

So, let me not grow hard Lord, keep as my philosophy the “but, for the grace God” thingy I say. 

Let me not become someone other than me because of hard faces or insolent words, trampled on hearts. 

Help me help others rejoice. 

“Those who fear you shall see me and rejoice, because I have hoped in your word.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:74‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as she shares some solid motivation for us with fitness goals, boot camp, et al. 🙂

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/start-chain-reaction-good-habits/

Grief and Stories

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, grief, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Vulnerability


If you asked me the favorite story of my daddy, it wouldn’t be the times I rested my head on his lap as he drove us all home from my grandma’s in the dark night, on a dark empty highway. 

It would be the one my aunt tells.  Weak and frail, he’d visit her, my mama’s only sister. 

Her telling of the way he was then would light up her face, she beams with the comfort of their time together. 

He’d visit her, pull up in his little truck for as long as he was able to drive. 

He’d talk long and longingly with her about the wrongs he’d done, the longing he had to undo some days and do it all untouched by mistake and struggle. 

Mostly, he made known his love.

 It was his daily task, a calling. 

Yesterday, I had a chance to think of my daddy, how he beat cancer; but, a tiny germ took root in his feeble lungs and it just grew fertilized by the lack of immune system. 

And the doctors took forever trying to figure it out, what on earth is this tiny bacteria that is ravaging him?

They discovered a rare thing, it had come from the dirt. We were all confounded, defeated and distraught over deciding to let him go.

And I thought, dirt somehow got in there, maybe he’d walked towards my house, drove with windows down through the lane cutting through the cornfields, dirt, the earth had infected his lungs. 

Oh, the tragic irony! 

But, time and grace came and over time 

Changed my reading of the story. 

Became a fitting comfort because of the annual garden, the potatoes we dug up, my children dressed in overalls, their hineys resting at the end of a row, my daughter clutching her baby brother. 

I have a picture of the scene, my daddy’s feet planted in the cool autumn dirt, my babies in the foreground. 

I know some people now with news of illness and some, I know in places marked by faithful  and powerful prayer and responses from God less than hopeful. 

And God has placed on my path someone whose father has cancer. She can’t visit now, his immune system not allowing.

 I listened and remembered and I did my best, although, not surely enough to comfort. 

When words aren’t there, or the listener not strong enough to hear them,  listening is a comfort. 

And is enough, more than sometimes. 

Because I understand, almost twenty years later, I understand and I think we get all out of sorts when we see another facing diagnosis or bleak prognosis. 

We look for right words or we avoid, afraid to let our recall of fear be reflected on our faces. 

When comfort, I believe, is no more than simply saying I have been where you are and here I am now. 

To comfort another is to open our book on grief and share the story the reader might be longing to hear. 

One of a similar tragic time and one or two or so many more of the stories time used to refine them 

And us. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:3-4‬ ‭ESV

In the Morning

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability

Imagine the day that begins with a prayer, rising and settling into the truth coming out in the quiet of ticking kitchen wall clock space. 


Remembering the tossing of the night and the triumph of a dream that started as memory and ended as battle won. 

Could it be the “ohhmms” that made me victor, not defeated one this time? 

Sunday, yoga with smiles and peace and challenges extended, unleashed. 

Or maybe it was the getting back to the big thing I’d set aside. Just a peek.

I read two pieces, intended to be separate; yesterday I saw that they are one and I realized the answer to the question offered heavenly, 

“Lord, show me what you’d have me do with this idea of me a writer of a book.”

I lingered all evening in the realness of His reply. 

Then dreamt of fighting my old demons and winning, fighting back with determination. 

After the loosening of the groggy like heavy wool coat, I’ve  finally discarded,

I write a prayer to my Heavenly Father.

“Heavenly Father, make me stronger than the things that hold me back, weigh me down, break my spirit.” 

Because of mercy, 

Amen. 

Monday morning begins with the will to be the me He sees again, rediscovered motivation and quiet fervor feeling like fresh anticipation. 

A prayer of Moses, the one God called although he’d declared he could not speak,

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭90:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Motherly (s)

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Wisdom lingers like blood through my veins, pools of restful reasoning.

My waiting, my trusting, my pulling back rather than pushing for quick resolve.

Less control, more confidence.

My reactions, my bravery, my lack of filtering dislike over phony or for show.

Honest expression of observation, less impressing, more insight.

The wisdom of my mama occupies my frame.

wedding 053

She opens her mouth with wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. Proverbs 31:26

There are others too, I’ll call them my “motherlys”. The ones who turn me back to me or towards the good or better they see in me.

My daughter, straight shooter and spot on is quick to lift me up or bring me back down to the place of just enough me rather than “too much Lisa”.

I consider her gauge, I consider her critique as she considers my being of me and we are quite good with the compromise.  A beautiful bride, overjoyed to be wed.

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain.  

Proverbs 31:10-11

One believing the other wise.

wedding 184

 

Wisdom of mothers and daughters, an exchange I’d not expected so pleasantly friendlike.

Then there’s my aunt, my mama’s only sibling.

“Prayer and patience, Lisa…prayer and patience.” Aunt Boo, we call her.

She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchant. Strength and dignity are her clothing.

Proverbs 31:24

wedding 073

A newfound motherly, my “Peacock”cousin, told me yesterday as we talked of answered prayers, that she understands me.

Understands the seeking of attention that had long been sought, yet rarely given. Told me it’s hard to know the play between seeking praise and embracing, celebrating a gift.

She corrected me when I told her I’m working hard not to seek the spotlight, I’m working hard on not seeking the glory, working hard to not expect to be noticed.

She opens her mouth with wisdom.

Proverbs 31:26

She said,  “Lisa, it’s acceptance of being affirmed by God. He is affirming your gift, don’t deny his affirmation.”

And I said an audible,”Ahh.” because I’d never considered that hiding away, of not stepping into the light God arranged to illuminate my gift from Him was something bad or invaluable.

I confuse humility with hiding, praise with pride.

When something God made come true, not something I forced, finagled, pushed my way to and through, begging to be noticed.

Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works be praised at the gates.

Proverbs 31:31

So, on this day moving closer towards my motherless day, I’m sharing an excerpt from the chapter in this book called “I Heart Mom”.

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My chapter, titled “Leaving Loved” was God-planted, cultivated and harvested into print almost smack dab in the middle of this Anthology of stories. There are stories for moms across the ages and stages. I encourage you to purchase a copy and I am thanking God, yet again for his glorious affirmation of my love of putting words together to form stories of good.

   I wore red that day, attempting to inspire myself. My mama wore red. She wore it well. She got stronger one day, and from then on, she was confident and known in her management circles. So, I wore red on that day, anxious to appear in control, assertive and take charge. I met with people, several that day. One, rather outspoken and sure of herself in a way making me, twenty years her senior, feel uncertain. She avoided my eyes, kept glancing towards my neckline. At first, I thought, this necklace is cool, trendy, I guess she wonders maybe where I got it. But, her fixation continued, becoming a question. I figured it out, I decided, “It’s my turkey neck, lines like tissue paper crumbled up then folded back to be used again, the lines in my neck, that’s what she’s obsessing. Later, with many encounters between, I stood in my bathroom and there it was, all day long I’d worn my sweater backward, the stitching of the tag, a rectangle at the base of my neck, the little hollow place. Surely, someone thought to tell me; but, decided against, not wanting to ruin my day. Still, I wondered why friends let me carry on all day, afraid to reveal the truth. Something not nearly as earth shatteringly true as truth kept quiet for years, revelations hard to hear, the ones my children finally revealed; the things nobody along the way had been brave enough to say…

I thought of being a mother last night, as I do in some way or another every day, praying they sense God near, hoping they remember my “don’t forget I love you notes.” My son had gone back to college from Christmas break, and I’d forgotten somehow, so I thought for a second, I wonder what he’s doing at the house. My daughter, a newlywed at home with husband, I thought of texting her; but, didn’t’, I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow.  I’m almost certain that if you asked someone who knows me they’d say it was good, the way I raised them up, the way they knew my love. I’d like to know if there’d been one attentive observer who thought about telling me the truth I know now. Being the parent of grown up children is laborious and good, its redemption in my self-examination, in their courage to confront my mistakes and manipulative behaviors from a distance. It’s a circling back around, learning lessons from them, their decisions and words, finally speaking hard things they’d never been bold enough to say before.  So, if you asked that circle of friends, family or from a distant, maybe social media observer if I’d been a pushy mama, a controlling mama or a mama who sought glory through her son, her daughter; they’d maybe say, “No way” or “Not, Lisa.” The answer comes gradually, a harsh reality when your children get just far enough away to tell you so, far enough from the fear of their mama’s reaction. Brave enough to know the value of honest expression despite causing their mama’s shoulders to drop and her eyes turning away as they become warm with tears. Neither of them would hurt their mama; our journey had been rocky, single mama for a bit, just us three. My daughter, my son, their mama’s vulnerable heart and driven desires. They became children who pleased me…

I see it know, thank you for showing me easy, my daughter, my son. In my arranging your futures, in what I thought was right, was love, I could have worn you out. I now see it made you strong, strong enough to let me know, courageous enough to move past it all to become who you are.

To read the rest of the story about my children and Jacob and Esau, of letting God lead and allowing them to leave me loved, purchase the book on Amazon here:

https://www.amazon.com/Heart-Mom-together-strongest-motherhood/dp/099822118X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494441621&sr=1-1&keywords=I+Heart+Mom

It’s filled with stories of other moms navigating life, love, and leaving.

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Of babies and boys and girls, softly lined cradles and newly emptied nests.

I am thanking God daily for opportunity.

For reminding me not to give up…to take steps towards doors he decides to open or not.

I’m learning to be affirmed by God, that it’s okay to be happy in good things my way.

I’m linking up  with Jennifer Dukes Lee and the story of the “15 Things”.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/mothers-day-15-things-want-daughters-know/

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Too Deep for Words

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I can tell you there’s nothing better than having strong arms holding you tight

for longer than a consoling or obligatory hug, for as long as the one being held holds on. 

Until they have emptied themselves of what’s been brimming, aching, 

on the verge of

tears.

I worried about her.  Left our shelter to be on her own and then as we decided today “things got hard…illness, upheaval…all hell broke loose and hard stuff happened”. 

My imagination went wild and tragic. 

She was not home, would not answer. 

I finished a meeting early and decided to try again, she may be home

or the car might have moved and come back. 

The apartment complex entry, scattered with  porch sitters and juveniles turning to notice my car. 

I had taken her to church with me, I’d confronted her struggles and we’d found our way back to good. 
We’d talked about Jesus together. 

I get the chance to come to know women at a loss for winning

ever again. 

You can’t imagine the climb from hopeless to possible. 

Nor the fear of trying to be good and safe and alone with no one to depend upon but you. 

So, when I hugged her goodbye and she cried, fragile arms shaking and shoulder blades a’quiver. 

I held her and she cried. 

For a long time. 

And she asked me to pray for her and I thought fleetingly 

I’ll pray now, out loud and pleading. 

But, it seemed self-serving and held tighter instead, my hands on her back, her face against my chest. 

I’d been calling. I’d decided I’d be met by tragedy if ever I might find her again. 

Her phone stopped working, she explained. 

So, on my kitchen counter now lies an old yet new one I’d found at bottom of my pocketbook, the downgraded discarded upon upgrade I said. 

“I have a phone, you can have it. 

Things will be better. 

Pray. One day, one obstacle at a time. ”

“I’ll be stronger for it.” She said. 

“I can’t imagine you any stronger.” I answered.

“I feel better.” she added and I told her if she could, read Romans 8, because I did this morning and I believe I will again. 

And maybe again. 

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:25-26‬ ‭ESV‬‬