Salvation

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

Love and Rest

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability

I wake the same way every morning lately. 

My default mindset being, could yesterday have been better, maybe today will be. 

Blank page is bordered with “first thought”, a verse I read; but, I fail to remember the Book. 


This self analysis and prone to self condemnation is for the birds! I proclaim my daughter has taught me not to take myself so seriously; but, man I go right back to that place again! 

Little blips of things I’ve read and heard, absorbed from conversations are all opposing the other, making us look like a confused bunch of passive aggressive souls. 

“Are any of us ever good enough to be loved by Jesus or are we always good enough to be loved by him?”

Like a deep, deep gorge and a shaky bridge between two sides, that’s what it seems we’ve become, questioning the others’ side based on what we believe right or wrong, worthy enough or not at all. 

Who are we to know the heart of another? 

We scarcely know our own! 

Again, today I wake and consider my less than good enough behaviors.

 I question whether my feelings, my faith were strong enough and whether any of what I say I believe is true is believed enough consistently by me. 

We’ve decided, my staff and I to give a mother another chance. Her actions and behaviors had worn us all out; but, we will offer this morning a second chance. 

Work and faith intersect, I’m thinking now, no accident that God had my heart in tune with all of us, all of us a bunch of stumbling misfits. 

I sat amongst a circle of chairs one night. A question offered up, “Do you think you can live a sinful life once you’ve confessed that you believe in Jesus as your Savior?” 

Comments here and there about what you can and can’t do wrong and still be right.

 I was still, sort of trying to comprehend how we all had just heard of a harlot who was courageous and believed in God and how her story is nothing less than validation that we all are less than perfect on any given day. 

I believe we all stumble in many ways. 

Lord, help me admit my stumbling and your holding me back up rather than knocking and keeping down the one you haven’t yet to hold. 

Lately, I’ve been resting with a question, a timely one I believe, 

What is it that God desires most? Is it obedience or to be like Jesus, Christ-like? 

To correct or to love? 

I’m leaning strongly towards being like Jesus. I know him more, he knows me more. It’s relationship and with relationship over time my thoughts become like his thoughts, my ways more closely to his ways. 

That way, when I wake up with questions over my less than perfect ways, I’ll have open hands and heart to give thanks for more chances and to be given more grace and more mercy yet again. 

And I’ll close my hands before rising from bedside floor and squeeze tight that gift of redemption and I’ll walk today in peace and praise hoping others may notice and wonder, give me the chance to tell.  

Perhaps, an invitation to explain my decision to believe. 

“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.”

‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13:1-2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Because, well, because mercy has been given me and has covered and covers a multitude of my wrongs. 

I am loved and free to love. 

Linking up here: http://barbieswihart.com/2017/05/his-promise-still-stands-glimpses-link-up.html

Made Peaceable 

Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability

We have meetings to hear all the sides and to keep pushing to a place of simply able to coexist, sometimes. 

Such is the environment of working in or  calling a homeless shelter a home.

Different dilemmas and dynamics all get together after nearly falling apart and landing like the big fairy tale egg at our doorstep.  Mothers, women, daughters and sons, different paths scattered by different ways.

I dreaded a meeting; but, knew it had to be and we all gathered, three of us who do the work and an objective listener. 

The agenda set with a plan of issues to clarify, I walked up on the big porch of the historic home now a shelter, steps flanked by lush ferns to greet our families coming home. 

I had not planned to do so; but, I used my sometimes negative attitude and demeanor as an example…spoke of how I’m sometimes prone to  stomping in and taking charge, of correcting whatever might be wrong. 

“I’m guilty of that.” I said, of being all puffed up because the ferns on the porch didn’t get watered. 

The three of them smiled and for a minute or two, I believe simply called to mind things and attitudes they know were theirs. 

Sometime ago I heard a sermon on the Beatitudes. The radio preacher, essentially said that the proclamations in these verses are how we as Christians should live. 

“And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. 

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”‭‭ Matthew 5:3-11

These days we’re living in everyone knows most of how another is feeling and believing. 

Bandwagon faith or fault finding. 

There’s a big mindset I believe, toward declaring oneself a “believer ” of everything. We set the tone for loving all, embracing, all.  I suppose erring on the side of not finding any error at all. 

Far be it from us to question or debate one’s belief over ours, we fear being called judgemental or condemning. 

It’s a delicate walk for the Christian who boldly cherishes God’s word.

 Cherishes it, truly. 

Especially, the red words. 

It’s going to continue I’m afraid, so we’ll need to learn to be peacemakers. 

Be more peaceable people. 

We’ll need courage to say what we believe and we’ll need to check our attitudes. 

We all stumble in many ways. One leans over, we lean too and there we go falling down that slippery slide of holier than they. 

I told a friend yesterday about sitting with someone whose ideas and beliefs are different from mine, talking about fathers and how we loved. We talked about family junk, favorites, keeping score and grief. 

We both knew.

We found common ground and that common ground path led to my sharing how I came to a place of acceptance in the very similar struggle we share. 

I told her about prayer and God and she listened to me share the things that keep me sane, grow my assurance of and faith in God. 

It was a pleasant exchange, unprompted. 

Pleasant, because it came from her inviting. Her struggle led to my sharing, her listening led me to continue. 

This is why I’m certain Jesus taught peacemaking as the way. 

Judgement, avoidance or questioning our differences would not have led to our warm goodbye. 

I said, “I’ll pray for you.” she said. 

“Please do.” 

Maybe we listen for invitations to share, not kick open the doors to demand a listen. 

Lots of people say “love wins” or is “the answer”.

I’m telling you, though, I believe it’s peace. 

I believe it’s peace, peace they will see. 

“Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to share His Story. 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/storms-raging-around-jesus-meets-right/

Other Prayers

courage, family, grace, mercy, Prayer, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

I asked a fellow blogger, “Why do some of us notice, while others stay insulated by self?”

Yes, work was a little more than overwhelming today; but, I took paintings to work with me and arrived at 8:00 (Write it down! she said, you made it in early) because a reporter asked to talk with me about my angels, my paintings, she’s noticed. 

I consider it opportunity, I told her, an opportunity to have others feel comforted, maybe at rest. 

An opportunity to tell of the opportunities God kept for me, brought me to, knew were there all along. 

Regardless of notice or lull, I’ve been revived by found treasure, I’ll be painting. 

So, I did my best to tell her why I paint, why I know for certain it’s a seed that finally found a bit of light to cause its growth. 

We talked of life too, being without our fathers. Eventually resting in the love we gave them, no longer disputing who among us loved well or more. 

Resigned in our relationships with our fathers. 

An elderly man has been killed by a stranger for no reason at all.

I read that he loved his family, grandchildren, great-grands. 

Randomly, he has left them. 

A mama, pregnant with a daughter she’s at last decided to welcome was upset today, 

Her four year old pouted when she sent him inside our homeless shelter to talk about grown up things with us. 

Sometimes I forget about that grace thing I say…But, for grace I might have gone there. 

I need reminding.  

Thank you, Jesus for bringing me to reasons for pause, to notice others.

I struggled with explaining to a reporter why my angels have no faces.  

I’d never been asked. 

Told her they’re all around, waiting to be a comfort, the sway of the hip, the curve of a shoulder, the stance shaped by flow of gown. 

They are hopeful comfort, almost like quiet observers interspersed in our life and are without wings because they’re 

here among us,  not above

You and I. 

They wait to be noticed as they notice.  

I worked hard today and tonight I will sleep, having texted my son “Sleep well, SYP’s (say your prayers)”  and catching the dinging reply in which he says. “Thanks, you too.”

I’ll say them, my prayers for struggles I’ve not known, for things other than self…it’s a worthy discipline, you should consider its practice. 

To pray for tragedies and people wrapped up in them, that we don’t know or understand,

And tho’ I’ll not know the ones I pray for, I am comforted in the assurance of being heard, 

Like an angel without features, a quietly comforting presence. 

We are all standing in need of prayers.

How can we not pray? 

How can we not comfort? 

Song and Story

courage, Easter, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Sometimes I sing songs to myself, quietly, affirmations. 

I may sing “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” or “I am weak though art strong, Jesus keep me from all wrong.”


The other day, I spoke to a group of women philanthropists and in detailing data and outcome, I kept circling back around to story. 

I stood in front of them, some questioning, some listening, some disenchanted and some quite enthralled. 

I told them, “I am a storyteller.” and some smiled, maybe thinking “Yes, you are.” Because theres a touchable lightness, a clarity I know, I can feel, when I have an invitation to tell. I have a friend who calls this the “Aura of God” He is all around us when we are being who he made us to be, the aura of God, maybe you know too. 

“I love to tell the story of Jesus and His love. Tell me the story of Jesus, write on my heart every word, sweetest that I’ve ever heard. Tell how the angels in glory sang as they welcomed his birth. Living he loved me. Dying he saved me…oh, glorious day!”

I’d loved to have been there. To sit with the two Marys. I believe I would have had no need to question or speak , although there would be much to understand. 

I’d loved to have simply been in their presence when they mourned the horrible death of Jesus, when they stretched out their faithful allegiance to him for as long as they could, lingering where he’d been laid. 

I wonder how long they would have remained had he not risen and then walked beside them to reveal his resurrection to them, His presence. 

Oh, what a comfort that must have been. 

What joy, what a humbling privilege. 

I cannot imagine.


 I’d love to have been able to sit with them. I know they must have told the story to thousands and certainly countless times. Still telling it to me as I make markings of how I conjure them to have been. 
“Early on Sunday morning, as the new day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went out to visit the tomb. Suddenly there was a great earthquake! For an angel of the Lord came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone, and sat on it. His face shone like lightning, and his clothing was as white as snow. The guards shook with fear when they saw him, and they fell into a dead faint. Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28:1-6

I’d love to have heard their sharing, been captivated by their sadness and joy as they sat before me, women who told their Easter morning story of Jesus. 

I met Jesus when a country preacher told me to just pray for his mercy. So, I did and every single day I feel more forgiven and I have more new and amazing stories of his mercy towards me that tells makes clear, “Yes, Lisa you are worthy of mercy and grace.” 

That’s the way of my moment by minute walk, it’s a growing journey, this song I sing…

“Just a closer walk with thee” and let me ever be aware of you Lord, let me not get so distracted and independent of you Lord. 

Let me linger in the place where death held your battered body. 

But, only just a little while. Because you live. 

This is why I sing, “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” 

May I be like the Marys, may I know where to stay. 

Tomorrow I’ll sing with our choir made up of women. 

I have a few lines to myself, a solo. 

“The love of God is greater far than any tongue or pen can tell. 

It goes beyond the highest star and reaches to the lowest hell…oh, how he loves you and me.”

What a story I get to tell because of mercy, unmerited favor. His death sacrificial. 

“Oh how he loves you and me…if we with ink, the ocean fill and we’re the skies of parchment made, if every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade…

to write the love of God above

would drain the ocean dry.”

“Love’s like a hurricane, I am a tree

Bending beneath

The weight of his wind and mercy.” 


In Jesus name and because of mercy

I pray, 

Amen.  

“This is my story. This is my song. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”

Palm Sunday Sundown 

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Palm Sunday, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

There’s a wide open field sitting catticorner as I turn down the last turn towards home. 

If I stay for church after choir, I’m affirmed in my choice because this field always causes me to stop.  No one around, I let the window down and I pay homage to the display, the sun is going down in a splendid way for me. Always does here. 

Tomorrow will be a new day. 


I consider it all together; the day, the words, the verses showing themselves as I waver over my thoughts and questions, lately enigmatic, where do I go from here? 

Maybe nowhere just yet. Linger, Lisa. 

He makes everything beautiful in His time. 

Become not overwhelmed with lofty what if or when. Let not the discernment of your thoughts be based on anything other than the loudly clear truth that comes when you get quiet and still. 

It’s then you notice what matters, not the validation of others; but, the undeniable notice of one, my Heavenly Father. 

 It happens by surprise, your thoughts lovingly taken captive. 

I cried in church this morning. 

My thoughts drifted during the sermon. I noticed the tiny little footnotes marked by teeny tinier numbers interspersed with scripture. 

I read ahead a little of the sermon on the three crosses and the thieves and skipped to the place marked “The Death of Jesus”. 

“It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:44-46‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I was curious about the explanation marked by footnote, so I looked more closely to understand. 

The time of day was noon, the sixth hour. 

The sun went away leaving what I imagine a large expanse of fear and darkness, of troubled minds, hearts and souls. 

It was dark until 3:00, the ninth hour, the middle of a day. 

Darkness marked the time and day,  Jesus died for the sins of us in between a man bold enough to be humble and believe and the other too proud, angry and defeated to accept the possibility of grace. 
I cried in church this morning. I read about the dark and sunless sky and I cried. 

I thought of Mary, his mother; but, mostly I wondered about God. 

I wondered if maybe God decided it was just too difficult to watch. 

Now, I’ll tell you that’s not scriptural, still I wondered if that may have been His reason. 

And I cried in church this morning over the darkness that marked death.  Had I not recorded it here, no one would know, that I sat next to my husband, looking down at my Bible and I cried. 

My tears were tender. They were soft and not for show, as if my reading of the black sky rested in my thoughts until a hand reached down somehow and clutched my heart, gently prompting a reaction I’d not let be forgotten. 

I’ve been journaling about the people who met Jesus. Women caught, found out, brought out and yet, redeemed. 

The intellectuals made to tuck their tails and turn from places in the sand preventing stones hurled at “sinners”. 

I wrote about the woman at the well who met Jesus and then went about thrilled over all the bad he knew of her yet loved her. 

She told every single person about her encounter at the well. She was astounded in a joyously unabashed way. 

I cried at church today.  I cried to think of how God took away the sun in the middle of the day as his Son died for me and you. 

How could I not tell you of it, my tears and my redemption? 

How could I scarcely keep it in, the way the sun escorted me home the day I mourned its going away? 

Everything, beautiful in its time 

He makes it.  Darkness only lasts for a time, long enough to remind me of what matters most. 

This “calling”, this thing I call my treasure because God led me to name it so, it will flourish and it will grow to whatever size and benefit God decides will serve the purpose of his glory. 

I know some things grow best in the dark. 

Faith, especially, the strength our eyes do not see. 
Linking up with Michele Morin as she talks about her fears and a blind man who responded when Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do?”

 If not for Easter

Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized

I read from the Old Testament.

I turn the pages back, I always do the hard things first, move on more confident in completing the others and feeling more connected and encouraged, courageous.

I stopped on a verse about bringing all things valuable to God, gold and trinkets and valuables, such things worthy of being offered at the throne of God.

I would have nothing to give. What on earth could I have given? Wedding rings and tiny diamond studs? Bracelets here and there, gifts from my daughter, my son? I’d bring them there and leave them. They’d pale in comparison to the mounds of others left seeking to be atoned.

“And we have brought the Lord ‘s offering, what each man found, articles of gold, armlets and bracelets, signet rings, earrings, and beads, to make atonement for ourselves before the Lord.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭31:50‬ ‭ESV‬‬


I underlined here.  I penciled in the margin.

What would I have to bring?

I flipped to Psalms and read the verses describing the people who could never be satisfied, who forgot about the wonders and good things of God.

Sometimes I forget, I remember.

Miracles like parted seas, food raining down from heaven and protection from horrific famine, terror and defeat…led by Moses because God told him he could and he believed, even when the thousands did not.

“They forgot his works and the wonders that he had shown them.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭78:11

Then, I return to the Book of John and I am open hearted and minded and perhaps, even excited.

Because, the Book of John and the people Jesus decided mattered when no one else cared, these are the people who are making me strong, the women like me.

I understand the woman Jesus greeted as she waited to be stoned, tried to be as hidden as she could.  I imagine her smile as Jesus tells the others, cast a stone if you’re free of sin. If not, go your way.

And they did.

I can see the surprise on the woman’s face who’d known many men when Jesus told her, I know you too.

It’s time to thirst no more for what has not quenched you before you. He gave her water, living water.

So she told everyone who she met and how she was changed.

And this morning, in John 20, I am reacquainted with Mary Magdalene, the one weeping over the empty tomb.

The one Jesus healed, her mind able to see more clearly, whatever demons had entangled her thoughts, he removed.

No wonder she called him “Teacher”. She longed to learn more.

Mary Magdalene was healed by Jesus.

Lots of modern day reviewers of scripture call her a prostitute. She had seven demons and she anointed the feet of Jesus. She was the first to hear him speak when all the others had lost hope.

She heard him say her name.

She called him “Teacher” and followed him from the time he turned her life around, to his grave. When she and the disciples discovered the tomb empty, they left.

But, she lingered.

Grief is complicated.

Sometimes we stick with sorrow because sorrow is all we have left that is them, the one we are grieving. If we discard or sorrow, what then will remind?

So, I believe on Resurrection morn, Mary lingered in the last place her Savior and her Teacher, the one who changed her had been.

It’s barely daylight, she’s alone but oblivious to the possible danger or question of others. A man appears as her head lifts from her chest. She thinks he’s the gardener, maybe a worker, maybe there to clear up the mess the ones who’d removed Jesus left behind.
She asks if he knows where the body has gone.

“They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Jesus asked why she was weeping.

She turns and Jesus says, “Mary”.

She answers, “Teacher” and goes quickly to tell the others he lives.

“I have seen the Lord.”

I have not seen and it can be hard to believe; but I do. 

And if it were not for Easter, I’d not be free.

This I know, this I believe. 

I’ve not enough valuables or golden and cherished jewels to atone me. 

Grace, grace thus far. 

And mercy. 

 Because of mercy.

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Mindfilledness

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

I have a friend who is a therapist, yoga instructor and a quite beautiful singer. Her voice is smooth, her tone steady and open to my turning.

img_5382

He redeems my soul in safety from the battle I wage. Psalm 55:18

She talks about trauma like David thought of Goliath.

As if to say, “I know you’re lurking, come at me, I’m stronger than you know.”

Oh, the mind filled messes we all hide away, stuff under the bed or way, way back in the dark corner of our dusty attic minds…

Thinking, “I know you’re still there; but, I have no need for you whatsoever…stay up there, away, I know you; but, have no need to bring you out.”

Trauma and memory, fine ’til they can’t rest and start to dance together, way past midnight in our dreams.

Last night, I watched a movie. Rare for me because I despise the “F word” and I have no desire for sex that looks like proud display of nastiness and shame.

The movie, “Woman in Gold” and the actor a strong and determinedly beautiful woman scarred by the siege of Hitler.

The one scene, the one that stirred up my thoughts, she is afraid to go back and remembers fleeing before being taken prisoner.

She melts down. I saw it in her eyes, Helen Mirren portraying trauma splendidly well.

She faced it. It was so very debilitating,  just for a few seconds.

She knew her giant.

Would not concede.

I dreamt in color of scary things last night, of being held captive, of being harmed.

It was clear and real. It was a true story, true of my story.

Still, I woke and said to myself.

You know the reason for the dream. You know the games your mind plays either you let it become filled with the messes or you pause to be mindful of its seed.

I thought of my friend as I practiced mindfulness and rose to begin my day unscarred by the night and its thoughts.

Birds singing to celebrate the early bloom of forsythia and azalea, of hope, truth and quiet confidence.

Feathers found reminding of grace singing over me.

Filling my mind with things to grab hold to, store up, win battles with.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who is changing the way I see “happy”.

 

Tell His Story

Towards Grace

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

On the first day of new, I wrote a prayer and called it “Winter”, knowing that what I write, I might retain.

I found it beautiful then. It was descriptive and true.

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Grace found

Pausing to look it over, gray lines and loops on thin white paper, I pondered the seven days since I’d already begun to fear.

Welcome, Winter.

May your arrival bring new things.

May I be unafraid of your truth

and of mine. 

May I hold fast to a promise uttered for others and for me,

a breakthrough is coming,  it’s about to be time. 

This morning I sat in a dim space.  The morning faded by moist and thick fog led me to linger. I read and wrote, three or four lines at most.  The quiet of the morning, too much of a calm nothingness for me to move.

I listened and heard a dove in the distance. Its coo was quiet, then more clear, then quiet again. The notes of its song danced like black squiggly shapes on sheets of music.

I listened and thought of grace.

Grace, manifested, making itself evident, the only other sound the tick of the clock on kitchen wall.

The cooing of the bird becoming conversation, for me, I decide.

I waited. It continued.

It quietens, so I move, unfolding the quilt from my bare feet.

I think of seeking the sound, the sight of grace.

For months, I walked almost daily with lens pointed towards the sky. Random shots of clouds that called me to notice. The sky, like dove song, I’m certain was always for me.

Grace, manifested. Grace, rediscovered.

Had never moved, not been removed nor withdrawn, I’d just stopped looking. Maybe I’d become comfortable in the apathy of apprehensive unknown.

Sometimes we do these little things like “quiet time” and journaling and they’re nothing short of cliched habit, practicing a trendy social sharing, searching for a word to declare will carry us through the day…like wearing our badges of honor to mark our fading faith.

Then, we see grace.

We feel it. We hear it because it was not of our making, we got silent and still enough to see God.

I’m looking again. I’m noticing again. It’s a quiet and private practice.

Earlier today, I was captivated by a presentation. Watch and listen:

Are you listening?

A video created by a photographer, the intent to capture the emotion of 2016. It’s hard to watch. Hard not to watch. The voice of the narrator is reminiscent of the sweetest teacher a Southern girl may have ever known. It’s a voice that is somber in its serious tone, broken in its cadence.

If voices were visible emotion, her’s would be the drawn face of sorrowful acceptance.

It was hard to watch, such an accurate commentary of our time, our distress.

Hard to watch, yet, impossible not to take notice.

I watched and still, I thought of grace.

I thought of  Job and his refusal to give up on God, his dismay, his defeat and his holding out and holding on to see grace again when they all told him it was not to be found.

 No more grace for you, curse what you’ve decided to count on for good and accept that your doubts have come true.  His wife, his friends, the bodies of his children cried out.    Job 2:9

I thought of the sky that I turned to notice once the fog had cleared.

The open spot where the blue came in.

That’s the place that reminded me of my Winter prayer

and eventually, again, of grace.

Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. Psalm 86:6

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/want-give-2017-even-starts/