Salvation

31 Days, Freely: Day One

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, memoir, mercy, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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Day 1, Story

“even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A year or so ago, my story was not the same. It was brave and descriptive and overall, the content served a purpose.

It told a few things readers might relate to, others unaware might be drawn to know more. It was about me and it was going to be about them.

Them, being the ones who brought me harm, stifled my self-confidence, my self-awareness, and my soul truly for a long time.

It would be about some who turned shielded eyes to say they’d not known, turned from my distress saying that must be where she wanted to go.

It was a hopeless story pretending to portray hope and may have caused hurt to a few.

Not necessarily an expose’, just would have thrown a lot of “shade” on a select more than few.

Today, I’m beginning 31 Days of writing. In October, along with the Five Minute Friday community, I’ll write using a prompt, today’s is “story”.

This is my story now.

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Healed and Hopeful

The story I’m choosing, the one that is hopeful and intentional and is led closely by my Father, God.

By my Savior, Jesus and the Spirit saying choose this new way.

  • I turned my eyes from the piece about the candidate and his high school buddies and what he really meant by what he wrote in the yearbook. I turned my attention away. Because last week the news and the media’s social conversation starters stirred up three nights of nightmares just as real as the days before. For a split second, I remembered clearly then turned my thoughts from those days, those nights.
  • I didn’t contribute to the hashtag conversation on why I didn’t report. Even after so many strong women were, it has no bearing on me now, the conversations about before.
  • I love my friend who suggested we all change our Facebook profile pic to blacked out squares. It is supposed to show men what the world would be like without women. Instead, I painted for three hours, a piece not up for sale. It occurred to me to black out my face on Facebook would mean darkness, fear, hiding. Decided I’d rather show God’s glory in me and the women I have around me. My profile pic is my painting.
  • I planned to write “lightly” 31 Days and changed my theme.  I’ll be writing “freely” knowing full well there is still slavery all around. Women who are hurting and angry and fired up and men who were who they were when they scoffed over the good old days with girls. They’re here and real. Their eyes may land here and I may never know their reaction to my choice to not join in. My choice that seems unpopular by the world’s take on this stirring up of women who will not stay silent. I choose silence because I know silence is God’s will for me staying well.

 

My story is freedom.

I’m sticking with it, my “freedom story”, the colors of my Bible are my Bible, of my life.

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The Colors of My Bible

Healed and hopeful because of knowledge, joy, mercy, patience, love, grace, and understanding. It’s too much a burden to go back and begin carrying my hurt around again, too heavy a yoke of sad slavery.

“For freedom, Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.”

‭‭Galatians‬ ‭5:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Father, if there are readers still reeling from trauma or reminded of trauma and feeling pulled back into fear, I pray you lead them to hope and that they find counseling specific to trauma recovery. I pray they know you are near and that persistence towards healing not the pursuit of patterns that cause us to stay focused on before is your desire. I pray you will remind them and me of the woman at the well, the woman who stood before men who were ready to cast stones. She watched them all drop to the ground as Jesus told her she was free, now go and remember this day no more. I pray you will remind us that fear is not from you, only hope. That those deserving of condemnation will surely be handled by You on our behalf. 

Because of mercy,

Amen

Stay tuned, or better yet, join in. Tomorrow, Day 2 is prompted by “afraid”

Potentially

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Serving, Trust, Uncategorized, waiting, wonder, writing

The idea of God’s mercy never-ending lining up with the potential He sees in me is almost too much to take in.

I put potential in a corner, my pattern of hoping not to be a bother, praying not be noticed, doing what I learned to believe was my role, to be content, to never need more than just enough…

Potential is a mystery some days, a misnomer, how could it be for me?

An inaccurate description, uncertain pursuit.

It takes a while to believe in it. I have to hear, read it in God’s word and get little glimpses of it when I least expect.

Yesterday, I heard a radio pastor remind me that I have no clue all that God will enable me to do if I simply choose to believe and continue with Him.

A conversation immediately clicked like a light, the realization of something God is making possible for me through an exchange with another I remembered.

A second encounter, a stranger saw my art and introduced an idea I’d never thought, possibly I’ll pursue.

And a third, I was intrigued by a new mindset in fundraising for our struggling non-profit. Just a slight change in wording, if businesses are for profit, we should be calling our programs “for purpose”, taking the “non” completely out the equation and mindset.

I assure you, this was not expected!

Clarity

Potential

Mercy, all lining up!

“Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭33:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

His mercy never ends and it triumphs judgment.

I hear more clearly now as He says

“Oh no…don’t you believe the lie that you’re not able, not worthy, that there’s no potential in you. Look around, look to me, you’ll see little by little and then occasionally more clearly.

Your potential is great. Remember my mercy towards you, there’s a reason it never ends, there’s so much more for you to know, to experience, to contribute. I made you, I should know.”

linking up with others, prompted by potential here: Five Minute Friday

Reflections Clearly

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Jesus met the woman at the well. She described Him as a stranger and yet was compelled to know Him more.

It is the same with me, the same with us.

I consider myself lucky that it’s not the same face to face chronological recitation of my wrongs, rather the knowing that He knows and with no need for discussion speaks gently to my soul saying,

“Lisa Anne, let’s move on.”

Move with me now, not against me.

And like the woman drawing out her supply of water, I allow myself to go without far too long and I come back to the well.

“The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He tells her. She asks to be quenched of her thirst and Jesus suggests she go and fetch her husband to join them.

She tells him she’s not married and He answers like a parent who’s been carefully observing and waiting for the proper time for telling,

Yes, I know. I know what you have done. I know you have a reputation.

I know you’ve been with many men.

She’s surprised, not humiliated or else I believe she would’ve run. Imagine a man you consider a stranger being bold enough to confront your attempt to cover.

It’s time for new water, He says, let me share mine with you.

And she accepted His offer.

Then she left her water jar beside the well and ran quickly to tell others.

“So the woman left her water jar and went away into town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:28-29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Changed by her encounter she had much to say. She couldn’t wait!

I sat with someone this week who came asking for help for someone other than herself. She brought him along, his eyes were sad and yet, open to change.

Desperate for a resolution, she said she thought I might know more and phone calls on speaker were made, options discussed and possible plans suggested.

The conversation shifted. She was tired, I was right, her choice was wrong, what will she do now?

I suggested the same as I suggested before and reminded her how I thought her mama life should line up now.

Straightforward responses that caused the troubled one with her to lift his face in surprise that I might be so bold.

He commented, “I like you, you shoot straight.”

She sat still, face towards her lap and I told him it’s only a small amount of time I get someone within my reach and so if I want to help, I don’t hold back on my words.

“Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me all that I ever did.”

‭‭John‬ ‭4:39‬ ‭ESV‬‬

If I have opportunity to tell, Lord, help me to tell. Me

The door opened wider and she told me she’d gotten away from God, that she doesn’t seek Him, doesn’t make time.

She said it began weeks ago.

I told her I knew, that I had seen it in her eyes, in the way we’d met before and she’d insisted all was good; but, she hurried away and shot out the door.

On this day she sat and I suggested what I know to be true, a true indication of my own distance from or closeness to God.

Begin to pray again, read your Bible, get quiet.

Look in the mirror today and then continue, coming back to it and remember the mirror now in comparison to before.

You’ll like what you see, your eyes more open, your cheeks back up and resting where they belong, your smile will be not of your own making, instead from Him.

It’ll be like you are singing your song again, dancing your dance.

Joy will be your reflection. Your spirit no longer thirsting for whatever was wasted on your attempts to quench it.

This I know, because I know.

I’ve tested my suggestion, I’m well acquainted with my countenance either content or conflicted.

This morning, I woke and prayed:

God help me to tell others the things you have told me.

Things like the mirror story, I tell it because it is mine and things like meeting Jesus and the mercy of His knowing my wrongs.

And remembering them no more.

There’s a song that sounds like love to me.

The lyrics and the tone sway gently with its story, Jesus holding us close and taking the lead, leading me on in a dance of love.

You steady me.

You set my feet to dancing.

Bethel Music

Listen and you might better understand the love of Jesus, the way He says come near, stay near, dance with me now and forever.

We Dance

Beautiful is our reflection.

When it is from Him.

Where God Has Me

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Lisa Brittain writes about freedom, trust and surrender. She asked me to write about freedom.

She reminds the reader that when we look to the Lord, we are radiant and without fear. (Psalm 34:5).

This morning, I read my contribution to her blog. It’s an odd excitement to see your words in other places, I hope it will always be exciting. I believe it will.

Today, it prompted a sort of urgent self-reflection, a gentle stirring me to right a slight wrong.

Early still, I’m awake and thinking about this new “forgetting and forgiving is freedom” place God has me.

I know it’s the right place, this place of deliverance longed for for so long.

Yet, it’s not about me.

I’m glad I caught it early.

Self-examination in the quiet space of morning caused me to trash quickly a post, one about not joining in the conversations about new and overwhelmingly increasing numbers of sexual abuse disclosures.

I harshly used the word “bandwagon” to judge others who are finding their voice and bravely revealing what they’d hidden for so long.

My 5:30 a.m. journal is a note to self:

Are you boastful when you declare your progress?

Are you self-righteous when you proclaim your healing?

Somewhere I remember self-righteousness being like filthy rags.

Oh.

Maybe.

And my sermon to self?

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

I will preface the sharing of my post on freedom by being clear.

I understand how important it is to confront physical, sexual, emotional abuse and if appropriate, even the abuser.

I understand the powerful freedom that comes from declarative disclosure, ideally with a trusted and trained therapist.

It is important to say aloud and as often as needed:

“He, she, they should not have hurt me.” or “What happened to me was wrong”.

Yes, I do understand.

I understand the strength you never thought was yours equipping you in your disclosure and growing stronger and stronger.

I understand to decide to step away from those wounds, to move on towards new and vibrant places with a countenance of confidence is a decision of will and of faith, of determination and daily rising up to meet the road with God beside me.

I’m not able on my own.

My decisive daily prayer of what to do now with my survivor story that was once horrific and now, hopeful has become:

Lord, what do I have to say that others need to hear, to read, to know? Help me to help and not hinder and to speak more of my hope through you than my harm through them. May it be so.

Because of mercy, Amen

Here’s an excerpt from my post on which Lisa gave space for my freedom story.

   For so long, I’ve held tightly to my harm from abuse.  My days and nights have been marked by reminders that prodded the scars of my heart’s wounds, the scars that would be forever tender. Talking with others who understood or at least could attempt to be empathic, I was committed to my mindset, a decision to “keep my stuff”. It was a huge part of me…

Read more here:

The Freedom of Forgetting

Happy Way of Life #15

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Serving, Stillness, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

There is always opportunity to choose peace in a world that gives more opportunities for stirring up over settling down, peace must become a choice.

A happy way of life, being an instrument of God’s peace.

“Lord make me an instrument of your peace

Where there is hatred let me sow love

Where there is injury, pardon

Where there is doubt, faith

Where there is despair, hope

Where there is darkness, light

And where there is sadness, joy”

Prayer of St. Francis

Everyone’s disgruntled over one thing or the other and it’s broadcast “nationwide” for us to see, lured in constantly by not missing out or being left out of some loop.

Social media, the not so subtle vehicle for gossip and inciting conflict and confusion.

So, look away I tell myself.

Look up, seek peace while it may be found, look towards the clear blue sky, an open invitation saying here, “See, there is still peace for those who seek.”

This little building held a group of people called a coalition and while I differed from them in many ways, we began the meeting the same, a benediction, an invocation.

We stumbled over what to call it considering some there are offended by prayer.

And while I was once puffed up and offended over the avoidance of the name of Jesus, the verbal listing of titles and names of all inclusive beings and people

I listened. I didn’t know the one reading intended her words to be a prayer as in my head bowed down, my hands opened in my lap, an acceptance of heaven here on earth.

I listened.

My eyes were not closed, my posture not bowed down, more open.

I listened and found a tiny place up high in the beautiful old room to fix my eyes.

I listened quietly as did the others as she read, happy to hear that our “focus” she had chosen was peace, happy to be reminded to live peacefully with others and with our Lord of peace, Jesus.

He is with us.

Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times in every way. The Lord be with you all. – 2 Thessalonians 3:16

What I Lost

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized

On the morning of my birthday, I lost a treasured gift.  A trinket, a charm my hand loved to seek out to be sure still there or to cling not so tightly to, my thumb and index finger, for secret security.

It was early and I was dressing to be with a crowd of women who were hopeful writers, speakers, famous and not famous, wise and seeking wisdom. I had thought to go fancy, bright colors and bold statement jewelry, then settled on a crisp white top with navy stripes, jeans, favorite worn leather sandals and blue grey beads that landed just right. Simple earrings, favorite bracelet, watch and birthstone ring. I decided to be me and the morning was going pretty good.  It was good, a good hair day, feeling my best me.

One more thing though, I was hesitant over wearing it, would it be just the right touch?  Was it necessary to offset the subtle sparkle of bead and would it send the right message, give the right image?

My fingers reached for the tiny hook that opens the clasp, the thick rope chain that has always kept it safe.

Seconds between thinking, of course you wear it,  people will notice and then…No, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t act as if your day depends on what you wear or whether you’re someone to be seen and especially righteous by the wearing of your tiny gold cross.

Showy, Lisa Anne, that’s showy, that’s seeking notice.

Another second was all that passed and I convinced myself that’s silly, wear the necklace, no shame in your game, let it shine!

But, on the morning of my birthday,

I lost my cross.

It slipped from my hand and the delicate charm I was washing to make shine fell quickly into the drain of the hotel sink.

Well then, there you go, I thought. I tried to pull the drain from the sink, wedged the end of my toothbrush in and then decided it was okay.

I let it go.

No time to worry, no time to panic. Only time to carry on knowing what I needed to know.

I’d be fine without my cross resting on my chest.

No, I’d be better.

I’d be less showy, less fan girl of the authors hoping they notice me.

I’d be more quiet background and less front row.

I’d be able to see them, hear them, not be heard and not to be seen.

I’d be there to soak in what was poured out, not to be dying of thirst and hoping some special soul might notice and offer me a cool drink from their famously special cup.

A drink of attention, acclaim, of admiration of me and my appearance.

I’d be there to be changed.

And I was.

Two hours in,  my shirt’s all wrinkled and my lipstick has faded. My hair is puffy on one side and flat on the other. I’m next to a pretty young woman.  We’re facing the mirrors and she smiles as I smile and say, “humidity hair”.

Two or three others agree. After lunch with time before the next session, I join a group clustered and we begin to talk and we ask questions that seem so very much the same and we smile and we answer, we laugh and we agree.  We’ve learned so much more than we expected today but exactly what we prayed we would.

It’s all of us that matter, our stories of Jesus, not a one the same as the other.

Our messages are meant to be written and gradual or sudden nudges for others to know more.  To know more of our story before and even more of it now. We’re stewards or our stories, not proud owners and most of all not fancy paraders for our glory or our lingering disdain.

We are bearers of light; yet, not the light.

I am closer and closer to no longer fretting over what I lost or perceived as a loss. Closer to forgetting my need to remember, to hold on to, to believe I must appear to be so or just so.

The hotel called to say they’d found my cross. I asked them to mail it and told them I appreciated it so, it was from my husband and special to me because of it being a long ago birthday gift.

I drove right past the hotel as I headed home from the conference.  I thought to exit but decided instead to go on.

Decided to continue on back towards home, to arrive at the place where it matters no more what I left behind, only what I’ve come to know now.

What I lost mattering not, only what I’ve found and continue to find through Him.

I once was lost. Now I’m found. Was blind but now I’m (beginning) to see.

On the day I turned 58 I lost my cross, had to let go and leave it behind.

But, I’m pretty sure I found my message. Yes, I believe I found my song.

Linking up with Mary Geisen and others at Tell His Story. Yes, we’re just a blip on God’s radar, we’re small in this great big world. Still, we matter. 

Tell His Storyimg_5038

Jesus Made 13

bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I saw the suggested “thinking point”, the prompt and I thought of the chosen twelve along with the one different, Jesus, 13 an odd number, odd man out you might say.

The shaker up of things, the confronter of issues needing confronting, the consistent comforter, healer, setting himself to the side rather than on a mighty place of notice.

12, he chose to be “fishers of men”, observers of sorrow, to travel by foot, by boat, by His side.

Peter, Andrew, Matthew (Levi), John (brother of James) Phillip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Judas, James, Thaddeus, James (the younger), Simon

12 who were the imperfect yet willing.

12 who had no idea what they were in for.

12 who were not untainted by personal flaws and failures.

12 who simply said yes.

12 maybe initially intrigued by the phenomenon of this healer, this man on a mission, this bold and powerful presence.

12 who agreed to follow and followed Him to the cross where everything changed for the 13th.

12 who saw His sacrifice for them, for us and if not changed by being with him before, knew they could surely be changed for good then.

12, occasional misfits, uncertain followers and a doubter along with a dissenter who chose death because of his disbelief.

Like us, like me.

Jesus said, come alongside me.

I will show you what God has planned.

Just follow, keep following me.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. – John 3:16-17

I’m linking up with others on the prompt of “13” for Five Minute Friday. Better than most times, I wrote freely for about 5 minutes.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/07/26/fmf-link-up-thirteen/

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.

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.

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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/

 

Book Review : A Place to Land, A Story of Longing and Belonging

book review, bravery, Children, courage, grace, grief, heaven, Peace, praise, rest, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability

I believe empathy should have another name, a word that’s descriptive without the clinical tone. I believe empathy, the word, should sound softer, a whispered acknowledging tone.

Empathy, whether you’re the giver or the receiver, an exchange really, is human hearts trading places.

I’ve finished Kate Motaung’s book and considered the technique of allowing the pages to fall open, deciding this is the place I should write of my connection with this story.

Still, each time I sought redirection, I wound up in the same place, the place we had in common, the place and time when grace filled the room.

Years ago, it was the most pitifully powerful memory I’d ever known.

Still is the most powerful, not pitiful or pity filled any longer.

The day was Christmas and the drive was three hours one way. My husband, the children, there was no discussion, we were going to see mama.

We arrived at the hospital and the nurse said, “She’s waiting.”

Her body was weak, her organs were weaker; but, she was expecting us. Her hair had been styled and she had on the most delicate of nightgowns I’d ever seen, more beautiful than any I’d ever known her to own.

She smiled. She “made over” my daughter and my son. She encouraged them, she reminded, she laughed a little, she gave them direction.

We gave her the gifts we’d brought and I remember that she thought my siblings might come later and my aunt had come and she had an expression of pure love and acceptance of whatever gift or not might be given.

She grew tired and it seemed we grew awkward, like clumsy adolescents not being sure what to do with our hands, none of us knew what to with our hearts.

A hospital room on Christmas Day and an hour or so with my mama and then three hours back home with little talk only uncertain sadness.

This was my mama’s last Christmas. I have never seen her more glowing, never seen her so resigned and simply open to come what may or may not.

I read Kate Motaung’s account of her mother’s cancer diagnosis and of her longing to be with her but, committed to stay on God’s course, a missionary in another country.

I was overjoyed by her telling of her mother’s travels to visit. I envisioned her love for Kate and her family and her maybe stubbornness to be with her daughter, to welcome babies, to leave them with good words and wisdom.

I smiled as I read of the trips for ice cream and the times her mama, weak and unable to be strong on her own, had a zest for life and humor, I could see them together making memories.

The mother giving all she had until she could give no more all for the sake of her children. I understood.

I struggled to imagine being so very far away and then realized prayer has no limits. God doesn’t set parameters as if to say oh, no the prayer you said well it’s way too far for the one you want it to help.

No, God is Sovereign. A mama three days away is no different from one three hours away when our living Father hears the supplication of a loving daughter, asking for mercy for her mama, and grace for the times together.

Towards the end of the book, Chapter 20 is titled “Grace”.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭3:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There’s a surprise trip to visit her, to return from Cape Town, Africa to Michigan.

Her mama’s condo smelled of cookies. The machinery all around, sustaining her breathing and yet, there were fresh cookies.

I wandered then if her mama baked cakes and made pot roast and potatoes and I decided for myself, I believe she did.

The chapter ends with celebration; she, her mama and her sister, memories, more laughter, hysterical laughter.

And a realization.

And it was grace. Kate Motaung

“A Place to Land” is a comfort, it’s consolation and it’s a telling and retelling of a daughter’s unwavering confidence in God.

Mostly, for me it’s a beautiful gift of grace, grace her mother gave, and grace that surrounded her and guided her home.

Guided her daughter through grief to be able to share.

To have other “motherless daughters” understand, be understood.

This book to me, it was grace.

Empathy’s new explanation, I’ve decided.

It’s grace, grace from one who understands shared with another.

Thanks for understanding, Kate.

Purchase your copy here: