Seeing my Children

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

So, it must be what others have known.

The simplest of things that remind you of them little.

My daughter, a beautiful woman, ecstatic over the joy of dogs…

That’s the way she was.   The way she is.

Little girl, giggly lovely woman

over a dog overjoyed.

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When Heather comes home..

It was, I thought, the best part of the day…remembering dogs and her.

Little girl and dogs.

We hug  goodbye and then I walk with him, “Colton Dixon” I call him.

There’s time left in the day, so I walk.

A slight loneliness in my step.  There’s a glancing towards sky, a noticing of green trees swaying…looking to fill the space they’ve left open.

A small void….not such a pitiful or gaping hole

just a place you didn’t expect

to be so obvious.

Nothing to wait for…no one to anticipate coming in back door, down the hall.

Walking to clear the mind has become walking to fill the time.

I’m intent though and I walk on with prayers and thanks.

We turn, the set path and Colt turns his body towards the steep hill.

So, we go this way instead… to cut across the grassy field past the homes.

Topping the hill, a soft sound, a door shuts and I turn.

“Hey” he says. I smile, meeting the look of  little boy with light brown hair, damp with warmth of day over his eyes.

“Hey”, I say. Then, “How are you?”

“Fine.” he says, reaching down to tie his shoes…then bounces up, looks towards me and waves his hand…”Bye.” he says.

I saw him there, my son.  Little boy  legs, bounding out into the afternoon…little blue Keds on white socks and happy suntan cheeks.

Texted him later, one more exam he answers. “Did well on the one today.”

“Love you, call me if you want to talk” I say.

“Okay, love you too.” he texts.

The newlywed and the rising college sophomore…

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Austin- Recognition Day – a culmination of perserverance

I saw them as children today.

It was sweet and timely, good.

It was just enough.

Seeing my children, dogs and smiles.

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Pretty girl, Beagle puppy, little brother

Hard to Say

courage, Faith, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

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I told her that painting angels was new for me, adding texture to the wing and choosing vivid over subtle color.

I had an idea of grey, ochre and white against silvery sky.

But, I started again and I made it more me

More my heart, the blue of my eye, the brown of my bangs.

The words to a song

a perfect description.

So, I  named it the name, “Open the eyes of my heart, Lord”.

Yet, I told her I called it

“The Eyes of my Heart”

Left out the Lord.

I did that.

Hard to say why

and it’s a small thing really

in this crazy world filled with offenses and the offended.

It’s a small thing, I know.

Still, I was troubled by my reluctance to be clear, to be outspoken about the “angel prayer”.

It’s hard to say what we need to say.

What we know to be true. What we know of the God who created us, loves us, and sustains us and desires, longs for our hearts to align with his goodness.

It’s hard to say because to oppose the things God opposes elicits accusations and that we are after all, not a people who love.

Perhaps, many have decided, we are a people who hate.

So we’re careful to speak.

I signed the painting with my life verse and name.

They’ll see, I’m certain, the words on the back above my the signature.

Might, I pray,  pause to hold it up before hanging on wall.

Saying, ” Oh, I see.”

Quietly, thoughtfully…

“Open the eyes of my heart, Lord”.

I pray they do.

I pray He does.

I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called—his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.  Ephesians 1:18

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.

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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.

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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.IMG_0740

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

Prayers Left Alone

Children, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

Mary loved Jesus.FB_IMG_1458176276786

She’d wiped his feet with her hair.

She’d spent time in worship while Martha was bitter, angry and anxious over his presence in their home…worried she might not be good enough still.

Martha and Mary both struggled over the delay in Jesus coming to help their brother.  He was dead.

I imagine they felt, “Well, not all my prayers and struggles matter to Jesus”

I’m the same way.

One prayer spoken can bring what seems an immediate resolution while another lingers unresolved for what feels like years, sometimes is.

Mary waited quietly.

Martha, still anxious and panicked, ran out to ask  “Why so long?”

Mary had the same question; but, with a surrendered approach, a desire to understand and grow, she went out to welcome Jesus.

I want to be like Mary; to hear Jesus say “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”  John 11:40

Most days I’m so uncertain of prayer it’s almost a passing thought.

A passing thought like early yesterday morning.

My daughter called. Her wallet was lost; somewhere between job, soon to be new home, and her bedroom here.  We’re transitioning, a wedding very soon.

 She will be moving out.

My house is in total disarray.  Doors are closed to rooms that have become storage units and pretty little spots are unorganized and off kilter.

I searched everywhere, finally the laundry room.

Standing in the center of a spot only big enough for my feet. Two laundry baskets overflowing and shelves covered in socks unmatched, towels, things waiting to be hung or thrown back in to fluff, I ran my hands though the clothing and searched for a wallet I had no idea how would haved ended up here.

Stopped then, giving up the search and said a silent prayer, really just a thought, “Lord, please help Heather find her wallet.” and then decided to just go on with my morning.

Texted her to say, “Sorry, no wallet here anywhere”. I expected to hear later she’d found it.

She replied, “I just found it.”

I told her I had prayed. “Power of prayer” she replied.

I’m praying for bigger things than misplaced wallets lately.

 I’m praying with big lumps in my throat and with an honest pleading of surrender.

Praying so much it feels like angst, like work, like frustration.

Prayers that I know God is hearing; but, maybe wondering why I’m hesitant to believe.

Why I’m ranting so, when help is on the way…in time.

Maybe not as immediate a response as a laundry room prayer.

I’ll believe and I will see, soon.

As soon as I continue on my way, resolute in His glory.

As soon as I decide to stop my diligent search for the answer, like a wallet left at work that was never in any of the places I looked, after all.

If I’ll let go, sit quietly and wait to welcome the arrival of the one who heals.

If I will believe.

Have faith in God.  Mark 11:24

 I’m  linking up with others who tell stories of believing.

Thanks and Love Unprompted

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

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When your children become grown-ups.

There’s a holding back, a fumbling for words sometimes in seeking to know, to just be a part.

All involved, in control, in charge…no more.

What was expectation before becomes tentative, should I ask…?

Questions feel  at first, like awkward conversation, small talk sometimes.

Like your babies are just acquaintances now…just people you know and love, respect, admire.

Then, the sweetest things happen.

Sweet words or just something unexpected.

Thank you for that

or love your hair in this picture

And

Love you.

Crazy special and blessed when love happens unprompted.

And my prayers for them, my daughter and my son, jotted…little dots marking them…have been answered,

This week.

This month.

This year.

 

Peace.

Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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One of those mornings, waking up early for no reason to a totally quiet house.

Read Psalms and Proverbs, day 16, before sleep.  Needing to flush out the negative of social media overload.

The gluttony of politics making me nauseous. So, purposefully, I read from Psalms, from Proverbs.

Rest was good, full and sufficient.

Led me to wake without alarm,  to greet the day before dawn.

Jesus Calling today, a reminder to shut out the craziness, distractions, disorder and get back to Jesus…back to peace.

So, I hold my Bible before opening.

Turn to guide, little check marks for my reading through this year.

Genesis and Exodus almost done, a quarter way through the Psalms and made it to the heart of Luke,

Oh,  the beautiful words of Jesus here!

Today, I turned back, though before picking up at place from day before.

Wanted to reread a special passage.

The place in Exodus where I discovered my daddy’s name, Ruel.

A man who welcomed Moses in, fed him, blessed him and gave his blessing.

I wondered if he was quiet and handsome like daddy or if my grandmother, Cynthia, who I never had chance to know, chose this name on a morning years and years ago as she sat in the quiet with her Bible.

I believe she did, believe she chose my daddy’s name this way.

I can’t explain the joy of this, finding my daddy’s name there in the Book of Exodus.

Turning to Psalm 44, I read of people seeking God in time of unrest, crying out to Him.

Comforted by people who committed to “not turn back, not departed from God’s way”  verse 18.

Finally read from Luke 7, Jesus’ loving response to a woman, her tears, falling from her face to wash His feet.

His words in response…
“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Peace.

Winter now, Spring soon…work, life, faith…

Children, courage, Faith, family, Prayer, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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The breeze moved crisply this morning.

Damp feeling from the night before.

A hard rain giving

Gentle, wispy newness, stirring taller trees in a sway-like dance.

The sky was divided.

Grey thickness separated by an underlay of clear white.

Then, gradual interspersing of illumined white, clear and soft.

Intersecting, blending…a collaborative, much like my work, home, faith, prayer and passion.

I’ve heard stories this week and last of children, teens, young adults who are struggling.

Of parents blindsided by words, thoughts, and acts.

Frightening, shocking and saddening.  The parents, lost for words and for solutions.

One shared their plans for a conversation.

Told me they’d say with bold and outspoken love, “I would be the saddest person on the planet if you killed yourself…would you do that to me?”

I waited, feeling the courage, the truth, the authority behind their words.

Then said… “Your sadness is not on their mind.”

Paused, allowing my words to settle, adding

“If someone is depressed, is so far down in sadness of their own, the only thing they can think of is how to get out of the deep, deep hole that has encompassed them, the dirt of their pain or circumstances surrounding them like a wall caving in.”

“Oh.” they said, eyes dropping down, their understanding palpable.

Work intersects life sometimes for me. Approached in church by a concerned parent I tell them I’ll pray; then I tell them what I’ve learned through stories of survivors of suicide loss. I share with conviction and with intention what I know of depression, what I’ve become passionate in conveying to others, my efforts all based on hearing at least one less story of suicide.

Depression is medical. Depression is not a lapse in or deficiency of faith or belief.

Depression requires a brave and attentive response.

A readiness to hear what you are afraid may be spoken.

Sticking around to listen and then staying close in readiness to hear even more.

Praying too; prayer like David’s, a cry of desperate search for relief from turmoil.

A brokenhearted petition seeking relief, restoration, longing to have reason again to praise when none can be found.  Yes, pray. Pray without boundaries while you seek help and stay close.

Acknowledge the mind as a physical part of the body. Sore throat? There’s a test for strep. Growing pains or something more? There are tests for that.

Bad mood, puberty, peer issues, teenage angst or depression,  there’s a test for that.

The soul thirsts for God; but, is after all encapsulated vulnerably and imperfectly in physical body.

Why are you cast down, O’ my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?  Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. Psalm 42:5

Be brave. Be attentive.

Be informed.

Respond while you pray.  Winter is hard; but there’s Spring again, soon.

Here’s a valuable resource God blessed me to be a part of forming. 

Visit this page and learn the signs of depression, of suicide.

And another resource designed just now, a new resource of MHA Aiken County as I prepare to speak to teens tomorrow.  Work, life, faith, prevention.

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1 in 10 Teens will Experience Depression.  It is more than sadness.

 

 

 

Earth and Heaven – Dirty Feet and Peace

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

I wondered about the soles of my feet yesterday.

Bare feet, pointed towards my friend, a yoga instructor, I remembered the callouses from my days of fancy shoes and I thought of the hardness of my heels. Hesitated there only a second, purposeful in my breathing, the intent of this new thing for me, a practice in resting my mind.

Earlier, my pastor mentioned dirty feet in his sermon.

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He glanced my way when he spoke of the method of travel in those days.  He spoke of Jesus washing feet. Feet on the ground. The earth uncushioned, the dryness of soil showing no mercy;  yet, feet followed closely in their seeking of Jesus, of heaven.

For just a few seconds, I was there. I was one of those women, my dress touching the earth, like a curtain, full and billowing on a dining room floor.  My feet, dusty and tired.  The soles and heels hardened by my journey; but, not yet weary in my  pursuit of peaceful destination.

Others there, dusty brownish gray hard feet, all of us witness to His cleansing.

Seeing the blind see.

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The lame walk.

Walking with Jesus, pausing because a desperate father has brought a child to be healed or to be with a sister waiting for Jesus, almost hopeless for a brother to live.

My thoughts were there; my dirty, earthen feet longing for Jesus.

To be one of the throng of followers, surely weary from watching.

Circled round the cross in mournful lament,

Our dirty feet holding up our weary hearts.

Hearing Jesus say, “It is finished.” John 19:30

Maybe falling to filthy, tormented ground to join in bellowing grief.

And later, to be standing with Mary, to have seen the scars and believed in His promise…the way of peace.

“Peace be with you.”  John 20:26

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I sat with hands folded towards my heart yesterday. This new thing I’m doing, not faith-based necessarily but, beautiful in the mingling of my faith.

Bare feet, yoga pants not quite covering waist of panties and uncertain of the meaning of  “Namaste”, I prayed in warrior pose and I prayed in victor’s breath; practiced what’s called soul breathing, eyes closed and heart towards heaven.

Dirty feet and cleansed soul.

Earth and Heaven

Joined together in bare feet.  

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and am treasuring the truth

of her words today, “your critics don’t own you.” 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/what-we-all-need-to-know-about-our-critics-tellhisstory/

Petals and Remembrance

courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust

If you knew what might be said of you,  an act or characteristic that all would agree,  “That’s what I remember most about….”

What might that one thing be, when might that moment have occurred or what might be the description of you that followed pensive pause?

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I read today about a woman who loved Jesus.

With intention, she sought and found Jesus. She found him at the house of Simon, a man with leprosy.  Others were there. She made her way to Jesus, broke open the alabaster vase and tenderly poured the costly perfume on his head, anointing him, an act of love.

She had heard of his coming death. The others, indignant and critical, vying for the approval of Jesus, pointed out her waste, her lack of discretion. Jesus, instead corrected them, humbled and touched by her beautiful and timely act.

The act of love she’d be remembered by, the story of the broken vase, the perfume,  Jesus told them all this is what will be told in memory of her…

the woman from Bethany, the one with intentional love for me.

“She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for burial. Truly, I say to you wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.” Jesus.  Mark  14:8-9

There are camellia petals, still rich and soft, in my Bible.

There are little asterisks, notes, and lengthy prayers scattered among bullet lists of blessings.IMG_1418_kindlephoto-16830405

There’s a place I’m found every morning for a while now.  Bible and nicely flowing pen or pencil, time with God. I’m most content there.

It’s not at all profound or amazing; yet, I’d like to know there may be memories of me there, in my morning chair.

The place of finding Jesus.

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