rest

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/

Hopeful Brave and Possible

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

This morning I jotted in my journal, “You don’t need to be spectacular or famous to use what you know, what you have and have been given to tell your story…to tell what Jesus has done for you. Just be you, the Spirit will do the rest.”

And I knew this was true. Knew for sure I’d keep telling my stories of noticing God and noticing red birds and clouds and I’d keep sitting with my apron tied ’round my waist and I’d keep painting angels with old hymns inspiring their disposition.

All of it seems happenstance.

I never really believed in angels before they began to believe in me.

I’ll be doing an “artist” type thing very soon.

My brushes are clean, my work area is ready.

I’ve some new ideas for pieces I’ll call series’.

Some ideas for massive, mighty, color-filled canvases.

I’ll no longer have “The Art of Quiet Confidence” here, instead a new blog, portfolio and business type feel.

You see, I’ve decided to believe in some things others say are possible.

I’ve decided to agree with the ones who call me an artist.

The ones who call me a writer.

It’s a miracle you might not understand.

That somehow close to 60, I’ve decided to believe.

To be less apologetic, less doubtful and to meet the faces of those who speak kindly of my possibilities with a thankful “thank you” rather than an injured and hesitant acceptance of all I’d ever longed to be true.

I was created to create.

This, I know is true.

Is possible.

What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes. Mark‬ ‭9:23‬ ‭NLT‬‬

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/

Contentment, a Choice

bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Peace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Towards the end of my walk sans Labrador and with instruction in my ears,

I took the trail instead of the cul de sac.

I gave up one thing already, an obligation accepted because someone thought I’d be good at its demands.

I didn’t paint a pretty or pitiful reason why I’d be quitting, simply said not for me anymore. Here’s what I accomplished, it was small, happy I could help meet a need. Now, you’ll need to find someone else.

I was truthful, confident in my choice of no.

Done. Accepted promptly and the reply was with gratitude.

I’d waited a month to tell them, Lord knows why.

Podcast almost done, one about the secret to contentment.

The voice in my ears started with a story of seasons in our lives when we’re so focused on the attainment of something to complete us, striving towards what we decide will be satisfying and then realizing why on earth did I push so stubbornly and steady towards what I know now didn’t shine so brightly after all.

Did that, done, what now, what next?

What can I do that might finally feel well done?

I’ve heard it before. The secret to a full life is learning to live in the moment, to be satisfied where you’re standing, to be content no matter the circumstances.

I listened as the podcast voice reminded of Paul’s teaching to those in Corinth and in Philippi.

His life, the fodder of many a memory verse, he learned to be content.

He learned. He learned through his mistakes. He paid attention to his times better, not worse.

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:11-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I approached the place where the anonymous dog barks incessantly, longing to know the footfall on the trail encroaching on his property.

I barely hear it; yet, I know he’s growling, struggling to break down the fence. I know he’ll keep barking, following me til I’m far from his fence.

I don’t hear him the same. The words in my ear, wisdom and better.

I turned just in time to see the way the sun was laying down its shadow on the open field, deciding it was good for me to walk this way today.

The right thing to choose long walk with a chance of a storm over a crosstown drive for a night of boot camp with the trainer.

It was good that I paid attention and I chose the other.

Later, I sent an email, informing an editor that June would be my last monthly contribution, explained to her I was trying to free up some space so that I could hear God’s plan more clearly, trying to make sure my focus is His.

Many will miss my column, the sweet ladies will wonder why. They’d grown accustomed to anticipating my picture in the paper and found it somehow celebrity like.

I realized I did too.

So, the secret to contentment is less me more Jesus.

Less believing that achievement and recognition will equal satisfaction. More realization of the thing that feeds my soul and enlightens my mind.

More quiet, being content no matter the notice of others, knowing so much more surely and unending I’m noticed by God.

Contentment, I’m reminded does not come naturally. It’s something we come back to because we remember how it feels.

We remember to be satisfied in so very little of what we say, do, aspire towards or even are recognized for.

We learn it’s not about us and we stay as surely as this crazy world allows in that place where the light came in, the place where God was illumined quite beautifully and clearly.

We give up being responsible for creating it.

We stop striving, cease controlling and we shield our ears from critical, chaotic or demanding requests like the bark of angry dog.

We learn to hear,

to fix our focus, the secret to being content, our choosing.

I’m prompted by the Five Minute Friday word, “Secret” and I always hope I can stop at five minutes, but never do: full disclosure.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/05/17/fmf-link-up-secret/

Still I couldn’t help but think of contentment and the secret to keeping it.

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.

Happy Way of Life #7

Angels, courage, Faith, grace, happy, memoir, Peace, rest, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The page is marked by words that meant something sometime and now, again, a torn off strip of paper, a verse.

“God will make this happen, for he who calls you is faithful.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:24‬

The pages shimmy softly under the swooshing breeze manufactured by hovering above fan.

I read what I somehow had not read before, yet left the blue torn slip in this very place.

A poem:

“The World I Live In”

I have refused to live

locked in the orderly house of

reasons and proofs.

The world I live in and believe in

is wider than that. And anyway,

what’s wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn’t believe what once or

twice I’ve seen. I’ll just

tell you this:

only if there are angels in your head will you

ever, possibly, see one.

Mary Oliver

Believe.

Believe and see.

The “change-up”

Abuse Survivor, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Slowly, my perspective is changing.

Consistently, I am enlightened by God.

Finally, I am beginning to create a space for freedom to be true.

I heard a sermon from Lamentations last week, the highlighted passage was on the steadfast quality of God’s love. It’s well known, an affirmative promise.

My mind wandered, I admit.

I have a hard time in a room with noises that distract, so I’ll focus my attention on my little space.

I’ll buffer the outside and go inside, reading ahead, veering a few lines or a chapter away to the other verses, protective of my focus and intentional in my holding close what’s mine, what’s beneficial.

Same way in my daily readings. this morning, only a few words because of time.

Yet, timely, so timely.  Gone, going are the days of holding onto hurt like a treasure, a badge marking honorable mention for making it through.

img_4547

 

I’m adapting.

We talked about my story last week, my friend and I.

Talked about the possibility of a changeup.

“Change-up”, the phrase paints a memory for me and I digress. My son’s reaction when he got that one right, priceless was his joy! The batter befuddled by the sudden change in pattern, tricked by his expectation of the fastball or the curve, he couldn’t adapt.

He couldn’t throw it too often, the batters grew to expect it, prepared and anticipated and they’d connect, triumphant their expression, they adapted, adjusted and met what was thrown a little differently, refusing to be struck out, struck down and defeated.

My story is wrought with trauma and it made…makes me vulnerable, just the thought of its presentation and mostly, its lack of completion.

Beginning even.

But, a changeup is in the works, slowly the perspective is changing and my mind is catching up to the curve.

Not fear, not remorse, not hard heard recollection, rather an authentic expression of gratitude and hope in the midst of every stage.

I’m adapting. I’m hopeful, less hindered by my vulnerability and my striving towards redeeming my wrongs and the wrongs done towards me.

Adapting my story from a fearful perspective to more of a welcome gift of forgiveness to others.

Not about me, my fears or my falters, rather about those steadfast in their hope for me.

My life, an adaptation of God.

“I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit; you heard my plea, ‘Do not close your ear to my cry for help!’ You came near when I called on you; you said, ‘Do not fear!’ “You have taken up my cause, O Lord; you have redeemed my life.”

‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3:55-58‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with others, writing for 5 minutes, prompted by “adapt”.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/05/03/fmf-link-up-adapt/

 

Happy Way of Life #6

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, happy, memoir, mercy, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Creativity is either bliss or burden.

No one might ever understand, your own little ways,

Only you.

I found old beaten down wood, peeling white chips on muddy tinted grain, a “2 b’ 6” the shop owner said.

I decided it must’ve come from a little place in a house in the country, a kitchen with a window that looked out on wide, wide field the same color, the field, a cushion of green.

I asked my husband to make three of the one and I’d forgotten sort of.

Until home from work today and he’s done, the pieces leaning against the back door for me saying, Here, I did this.

For you.

I’ve added white sheathed gowns to all three, shades of peachy pink on soft tilted faces will come later.

But for now, the green on old wood, the white paint thick and the shape of shoulders, hinting a disposition.

Brings me joy.

We decided today, a friend and I that creativity makes you vulnerable, you try and feel fulfilled or you attempt and over attempt and wonder

oh, my goodness why do I continue?

But, you go back to the place where you tie the apron thick with paint around your waist or you sit and take a deep breath until the authenticity of you comes through in nouns and verbs and considerations.

And you know, you know God made you different, made you to not cower; made you to create.  Me

Made you unafraid,

Of you.

I’ll go back to the old desk covered in splattered thick colors and I’ll return just as soon as I can to the desk neatly sorted, copies of my words on white sheets and I’ll write there.

The desk that looks out on the birds.

I’ll have the courage to become me again, the one who paints angels without faces without caring who wonders why and writes stories about hope lost and found and grace.

my happy way of life

more to follow

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!

A Kind of Light

courage, Faith, family, grace, kindness, mercy, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

Out in the country, in the little place my daughter and her hubby call home, the sky is big, very big.

I’m always looking to see the light, the play of color, the hue falling on the high grass or the crimson “sour” weed.

I go outside, the rain being done for now and the sun is setting.

The softest light I’ve known. I’m in love with the sky, can’t get enough of the view.

Yesterday morning, I received an apology from someone and I wasn’t quite sure of its need.

There’d been some tension in our exchange, an agitation in his voice, seemed some sort of struggle unrelated to the topic being volleyed across conference room table.

I’d decided early on that my go to all day was gonna be kindness, intentionally to go the way of accepting another without making their manner of speech, attitude or action about harming me, hampering me.

I must’ve carried that resolve into the meeting because when I’d have typically said “not dealing with you” and rejecting another person all together, I sensed something else and I said to self, “Be kind.”

Thought of that quote when I read his apology, not knowing what horrible thing was hidden in his typed asking forgiveness, I thought of “be kind…there’s a hard battle here you don’t know.” Something you can understand.

“He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding.” Ephesians 1:8

‭

I blogged my second piece as a contributor at Daughters of The Deep about being light wherever we go.

Light in a dark world that we sometimes get wrong I think, we sometimes feel as Christians we have to burst forth into every room and like a blinding presence that can’t be denied, we can’t and won’t be denied.

That’s not God’s expectation, I don’t believe.

Who ever thought of love or kindness or mercy as a spotlight piercing in and causing us to shield our eyes, our souls?

Moses even had to turn away and it was God who drew near him. Surely, we know our lights are a significantly different version, His Spirit in us, minuscule but, still mighty in its meaning and message.

Love, it’s the much softer light that we should bring, a subtle difference nudging others to know more of why.

Our light, a kinder light.

Mostly, kindness, just choosing kindness.

In this recent post, I wrote about the women who were with Jesus because they’d had their lives changed by His healing. I wrote about their hard sorrows before and their light infused afters.

I wrote of the beauty we see when we choose to see others through eyes changed, through a softer light, a light that doesn’t blind in its sudden sizing up of others.

The Beauty We See

A light that’s warm and welcoming in and in illuminating rightly my impression of others, not begging their notice or impression of me,

a kind of light, kinder.