Stillness

Changing Contents and Adjusting Views

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, curiousity, Faith, hope, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

I changed it up today, wondering if anyone ever has oatmeal that’s not sweet. I woke early as if God knew I’d need a little extra time to combat fear.

Savory Not Sweet

Read my Bible, scribbled a prayer, and decided before sun up I was hungry. Boiled the water, added oatmeal and then changed from the usual cinnamon, raisins, etc.

I added cream cheese with veggies, taco cheese and bacon. I encourage you to try this.

You may also need carbs today.

Change a little thing, adjusting maybe the whole direction of your day.

Because twenty minutes before, the dread of our days took over, one post on FB by a well meaning and very kind friend…predicting we’ll be wearing masks through November and not as in next month, but November 2021.

My chest tightened. I looked away, shut it down and wrote a prayer.

Our Father, please end this fear that surrounds us, prods us, interrupts our mornings. Please come quickly and make us more fearless or in a mighty wave, remove completely this thing that causes us to fear we are wrong, to fear that you won’t make right all the wrong…that we are not really so courageous at all, after all. Remind us our strength flows through our closeness with you. We thank you that you never leave us even when our thoughts lead us away.

3 things I’ve learned this month:

Adjust.

Ask for help.

Tell yourself because of your kinship with God,

You can do hard things.

Adjust your perspective of what you hear, see, encounter. Change as it is necessary and at your own pace. Acknowledge you’re not everything and not equipped to do all things on your own. Be less stubborn and shamed by your inability and more open to others who are able and willing to help. Say to yourself on the regular “You can do hard things.” Say so not in a superpower or simply motivational way.

Say so because you remember the hard things you thought you couldn’t do but did.

Walking is an exercise in filtering my mind, conditioning it for better content, noticing what is correct from the perspective of my relationship with God.

Just A Tree

I walk with my granddaughter, eyes to the ground, back to her prancing stride and back to the ground again, surveying the surface, keeping her safe.

We pass this fallen branch every time and I pause and consider how it looks like a giant snake.

Then, I pause again and I am intentional, I unwrite my own dreadfully strange and scary story. I tell myself, it is true that tree branch decayed and fallen resembles a snake; but, it is not a snake.

I curtail the fear.

I adjust my thoughts.

We walk and sing, dig in the dirt, sometimes we both dance.

We notice God together.

With the autumn season comes a change in the woods. Leaves dance like twirling ballerinas in front our faces. Strange mushroom fungi affix themselves to trees, birds are happier it seems.

Beautiful Mystery

The earth is sprinkled with the mystery of little white veils lying themselves down overnight.

My granddaughter sees them, carefully approaches and looks up to me.

Her little hand reaches and with her one little finger she separates the mystical veil.

She lifts her arm for me to reach down then places the moist finger that touched nature’s mystery to my cheek.

We notice God together. It is clear, His nearness.

“But in the depths of my heart I truly know that you, Yahweh, have become my Shield; You take me and surround me with yourself. Your glory covers me continually. You lift high my head when I bow low in shame.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭3:3‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Know that God is still God. Adjust into the changes required of you, asking for help as help is needed and take a minute to recall the hardship you survived, you and God together, stronger than you could fathom.

Continue and believe.

Beautiful, In Time

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, hope, mercy, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Don’t you love it when the sky, pre-dusk and cloudy draws your eye up

to see a round ball with an aura and you’re confused over whether it is the sun or the moon?

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re not bothered by your lack of wisdom in the area of science. You’re enamored with the beauty, the beauty of the sun and/or moon.

Don’t you love it when you recognize your bravery and for only a minute, even less, you allow it to make you afraid,

Afraid of others, afraid of too much true you?

Don’t you feel brave when you are you?

Don’t you just love it when you reach down to collect another feather because to you, it means something, to you it feels like you see me?

Do you see the change when your aunt sends you off from your visit with a pot of your own of “hen and biddy” succulents?

Don’t you feel brave when she doesn’t remind you that these grey green waxy flowers are from the funeral arrangement of your mama

And you remember but you don’t linger in the scene of sorrow’s visual?

Don’t you love it when even grief can become beautiful, when you see me more clearly and see more clearly how I see you?

Beautiful all along,

even more evident and every thing beautiful, in time?

Don’t you love it?

God


Overwhelmed with bliss are all
who will entwine their hearts in him, waiting for him to help them. Isaiah 30:18, Passion translation

Morning Chairs

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, Children, courage, daughters, doubt, Faith, family, heaven, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

It would be a stretch to say my parents were like Johnny and June. My daddy was small in stature and my mama although very wise, didn’t exhibit a tone of outward patience. Their tolerance for one another came and went, seems it was either battleground or preparing for the coming battles, a rhythm they finally mastered.

As a young woman, I had to move back home. Things happened that led to college being too hard for me. To an outsider, it would appear I gave up or wasn’t college material. Few people knew, most weren’t informed, college was interrupted by unanticipated harm. So, I lived at home in the house by the pond for just a bit, a young woman trying to figure what’s next and ignoring the need to heal.

Most mornings, I lingered lazily in my room. My fascination with art numbed by my sudden incapability.

My parents were in their chairs with coffee. Their singsong exchange in kind conversation captivated me. This is what made me think of Johnny Cash and his longsuffering wife, June.

“This morning, with her, having coffee.” Johnny Cash, when asked his idea of paradise

I cling to the memory of my parents having conquered hopeless days in their marriage and sitting in their morning chairs, calmly talking, planning for possibility.

It occurred to me last week as I thought of my own children, adults navigating marriage, parenting, career in a time such as this, I don’t remember my parents asking one another a question,

“How did we get here with Lisa? Where did we go wrong?”

And my tender heart is so grateful that I was never privy to those conversations.

Another thing I don’t recall hearing was panic over politics or very much talk at all about trouble to be expected here on earth, that earth is not my home, heaven is.

Surely, in different ways they felt similar fear, apathy and distrust of leaders back then.

There was Vietnam, there was integration, there was the President who had an interview in Playboy magazine and there were leaders assassinated and although we were grown by then, there was September 11th.

Funny story, my granddaddy purchased the said magazine and my brother and cousin found it, ran through the field and after enjoying it for a bit buried it in the sand.

I like to think that was one of my grandfather’s biggest and happiest moments, he probably yelled and stomped but I imagine him loving us all back then; but, especially the two rascals that sneaky and scandalous day.

There’s unrest, division, distress. It is palpable.

Someone told me; well, it was my daughter, “You sound so despondent.”

de·spond·ent/dəˈspändənt/ in low spirits from loss of hope or courage.

She called as I painted and repainted a piece. It was not coming together. I told her it was hard, this is new for me. I told her I have to finish so I can move on.

But, it wasn’t a painting for someone that was causing the mood she heard in my voice.

It was the piling on of other things, the dragging on of pandemic, the way the masked faces and isolation are destroying us all in our inners, depleting our reserve of hope.

So, I sit in my morning chair, a chair that belonged to my mama. The pines are dappled with morning sun, the same sun landing on the arm of my mama’s chair.

Saying, morning has come with wellness again. They did what they could and you are well. You’ve done what you could do as well and those you love are well, will be well. You know this is God’s promise.

“It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name, O Most High; to declare your steadfast love in the morning, and your faithfulness by night,”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭92:1-2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I did not hear my parents tell me that this world is not forever, there was minimal talk of heaven, even less conversation about our souls or salvation. We absorbed it I suppose from the sporadic other voices.

But, I saw and heard redemption when I laid quietly in the room that allowed me to be a temporary guest. I heard redemption in the conversation that was shared as they sat with coffee together in their “morning chairs”.

Imperfect love, grace and wisdom pulling me closer to living by faith because of mercy finding me, me finding God, continuously seeking, allowing every moment, my heart to be sought.

I pray your morning brings you the assurance that God is very near and that He is able to make good of all things, soften the hardest heart and redeem the angriest of relationships.

Continue and believe.

Wonderment

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, daughters, Faith, family, grace, grief, heaven, memoir, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

What are you wondering? What are you waiting for, wondering if you’ll ever get through or over it?

What are you waiting to experience, the wonder of a promise that comes true when you weren’t quite sure it would?

“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭62:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The begonia in the pot was an afterthought, an extra in the little plastic container, now growing towards the sun.

I wonder why its blooms are fabulous, the others with the caladium have dried up.

I wonder why the women who found the empty tomb, who’d been so grief stricken were scared, uncertain, even seen as crazy.

Were met by skeptics.

Jesus had told them that after three days, you will understand even better the purpose of my violent crucifixion.

It seems as if the women and the disciples had forgotten.

I get that. I’m very much prone to forgetting the promise of good when I’m caught up in the malaise of my waiting.

Or when I don’t see any evidence of just around the bend arrival of it. I act as if pending will never end. I grow weary in waiting.

“…Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee,”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭24:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then, like the women bent over by their waiting beside the tomb of Jesus, I’ll get a sense of God’s nearness akin to the angel who told the ladies…

Remember. Remember, God will.

God will bring good again.

What are you waiting for? Is it for grief to subside or to change its grip on your life and your soul?

Grief will change over time. It never goes away, it does change its emotion and the emotion it stirs in you.

What at first and for years and years is bitter, will become sweet.

Here’s why I say this.

A few nights ago, for the first time in decades since she’s been gone, I felt happiness over my memories of my mama.

A Netflix series, “A Chef’s Table”, the first episode, a story of a strong Texan named “Tootsie”.

I was enthralled. I felt I’d never heard a story so like my mama’s. I happily watched the whole show and later told my children, “If you want to watch something that will literally feel like being with your grandma, watch this show.”

I don’t know if they will. But, I will again.

So, here’s to the undeniable mystery of God. Was God aware there’d be a woman named Tootsie who would at last turn my grief to a sweeter thing when I watched a documentary?

I don’t know.

I’m simply accepting that God is good and makes good on His promises.

Promises we only have seen just a glimpse of here.

We are known.

Already known.

We can wait well knowing, the sweetest days are coming.

We can wait in wonder rather than worry.

Because God said so.

Continue and believe.

What are you waiting for?

What, to begin or to end?

Wait in wonder, knowing God knows.

Wonderment, such a pretty word. I’m holding onto it.

Secrets Found

contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

Does your soul have a longing unnamed or one you’re afraid pales in comparison with bigger in proportion things of these days?

Is it so buffered you feel only the hint of needing its revealing or do you not fully know what calls for your attention?

Is there a secret you’d just as soon prefer keeping it mysterious, untended?

I thought of the way the tide pulled on my ankles, caused me to brace my feet, tighten my calves.

Of the way a weighted blanket felt the first time I tested it, strangely it gave me no comfort, its undeniable entrapment.

I thought of the struggle of heavy load carried on my back, telling myself stand up straight or like walking up a steep hill, leaning forward to make it and of remembering it’s better to let my legs do the work.

I longed to understand the unnamed source of burden, the vague melancholy on an ordinary and pretty pleasant Sunday.

I’d turned away from the few seconds of news, breakfast had been good, the worship music and message of the faithfulness of God was uplifting, exciting even!

A day filled with freely finishing paintings, three pieces sealed.

Yet, there was something I was keeping secret from myself, something longing to be revealed in a quiet conversation with God.

I prayed, hoping prayer would lead to nap. The quilt was cool, the whole house silent. Sundays are for resting, a day designed to nap.

Closing my eyes, it came, the invitation to surrender that secret longing, question, the wish for control I could no longer hold.

Then, peace not in a joyous way, just peace that invites the way to a settled soul.

The prayer I prayed, it will remain secret. The prayer you pray, that thing you don’t feel is suitable for sharing, ranting over or pleading for understanding, it can be secret for you, between you and God.

I wondered this morning if we’re all being forced to stuff down the sweet sorrows of our souls in light of the horrific strife and pain we’re inundated with.

I wonder if we all could use a silent place, a curling up to nap, a respite from the angry destruction we’re praying for God to heal and yet, sweeping under the rug our deepest hopes and fears.

A tender hearted prayer may be what you need. One that will surprise as the burden you’ve been carrying, the one that felt ominous and unnamed, will come to the surface for expressing and God will answer sweetly.

Sweetly, the well of just a few tears will puddle.

“You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭56:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And you will feel better, begin to be relieved. Your tears, the evidence of clarity and the proof of your Father’s already knowing.

Last week, I watched “The Shack”, a movie based on the book. There’s a garden scene towards the end. Mac is helping to tend the garden along with the actor representing the Holy Spirit. A tiny bottle is emptied of what represents all of Mac’s tears and the garden rises up, flowering in color.

I read the book years ago, three people suggested the movie. I thought it might be “hokey”. I found it to be tenderly redemptive, like a sweet secret prayer, a long and safe hug.

What is the source of your mysterious heaviness, maybe concealed by the “in our ears” worry and fear inducing content?

Get quiet. Allow God to help it surface and then listen softly with private tears.

You’ll feel known. Better. Lighter.

Loved.

What’s your secret wondering, your thing that compared to others seems a tiny trouble, so insignificant you don’t dare share it. God knows, he waits to help you be enlightened. He waits to surface alongside you the underneath things, the secret waiting to be found.

The one that begs surrender, to invite acceptance and meander towards peace.

I wonder how big is your bottle?

Continue and believe.

Linking up with other writers as we all move towards autumn with hope. We endured our Spring, our Summer. I have hope we can all move quietly into Fall as we welcome needed and long anticipated change.

Read here: https://marygeisen.com/august-musings-2020

Not So Far So Fast

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, daughters, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, Motherhood, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

I thought of the words to describe myself and two friends last week. I smiled to myself knowing I’d not find these three referenced in my Bible, just an idea maybe of them.

unhurried finds

The words?

Spunk, Dainty and Floundering.

I thought of my friend who goes by “Mel”, of her unwavering devotion to those she loves. I thought of her allegiance to me, although unnecessary. I thought of her sorrow in the aftermath of the untimely death of her husband. I hoped for resilience to remain her strongest quality. I longed to hope she’d rely on the smallest bit of spunk she is known for.

Still, I knew the days ahead would unsteady her. I cried when I told her I couldn’t find the word spunk in my Bible. She listened to me struggling to articulate my lost for words rambling over her loss.

My friend, the merciful one. The one with “spunk”.

Another friend, as gentle as a dove joined me for lunch and we caught up. I shared the decision to publish the children’s book, the journey from looking at birds on walks with my granddaughter to deciding to say “yes” to the commitment for it to become a book.

She listened and faintly smiled, not with excitement, just acknowledging what she knew was significant. I noticed her hands as she listened, diminutive and folded. I thought oh my goodness, she is so dainty.

I wondered later if the word “dainty” could be found in my Bible. I looked and as expected, no mention.

My friend who has much in common with me, an artist, a quiet friend who is longing to see how far life will take her.

She asked me to guess what she’d taken a chance on doing. I gave no answer because she was giddy to tell me.

She told me she’d learned to paddleboard, no idea why, she just decided to try.

I imagine her balanced amongst the other lake people, her petite frame having lots of room on the board but I shook my head and asked, “How on earth did you do it? I guess you must have good balance or strong legs, I could never do it!”

I thought of how I’d always thought of her so dainty, so delicate, not physically strong, more emotionally fit…dainty.

She answered that it is not dependent on your strength or your being able to balance, it is about trusting the board, allowing your body to let the board be in control.

Trust more than skill.

Days ago, I watched my granddaughter pick up and put down her little pink shoe clad feet.

The land that surrounds her home is bordered by paths, some grassy, others a mixture of sand, roots, big rocks and pebbles.

We walk together. I allow her independence with reminders of “careful” or “hold my hand” when her excitement for living causes her to prance ahead and risk tripping on rocks or over her own precious feet.

I bring my hand down to meet her tiny fingers, “Hold grandma’s hand.” I say and she either latches on or with a big girl motion huffs and shoos me away.

I smile. I watch. Soon she turns towards me and finds my hand and then lifts up in a surrender to be carried by me for part of the way.

She is learning independence and accepting assistance, the play of the two.

We walk together. We scamper. We dance. We sing and we gather pretty things, no hurry. No pressure, a rhythm of acceptance, balancing independence and surrender.

Holding accomplishment in one hand and humility in the other.

“Floundering”, the word I assigned to how I’d been feeling, the third word not found in my Bible; yet, the perfect description for my confusion, my unsteady thoughts, my leaning one way and fearing falling or leaning too far the other and tripping over my impatience.

“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12:12-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Floundering thoughts, death compromised spunk and resilience, and assumptions about the fragility in our feeble dainty frames.

Each of those telling me, steady yourself, your heart, your trust.

Steady now.

Not so far so fast.

Continue and believe.

Enduring Fragility

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom
Mama’s Book

Were it not for the fabric mask over most of my face, my response would’ve worsened the incident.

I was browsing the big sale at the Target entrance. I heard a loud crash and a moan. I looked over to see the feet of an elderly woman in shoes like mine, except her shoes slippery with mud, had caused her to fall.

She laid there as the red shirt employees called for a certain code on their radio walkie talkie looking phone.

I turned the corner and looked away as the thin older woman insisted, “I am okay.”

Yet, she still sat on the floor near the entrance. I didn’t look her way. A crowd had gathered. Enough people were gawking sympathetically already.

I felt my knees weaken. I wanted so badly to cry. I felt the welling up and the ache in my chest. I suddenly needed to cry. I wasn’t sure I could change my heart’s mind. My eyes moistened at the thought of the lady on the floor.

I saw her walking then, carefully and with evidence of an ache, proof of fragility.

Earlier in the week, I’d thought of endurance, felt better about the current call to endure in that endurance is to be expected if one hopes to see more clearly, live more by faith.

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭3:18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I accepted endurance as transformative. I felt optimistic about my enduring.

I pulled a book from the shelf from a long time ago.

“What God Can Do” by Deborah Mathis is a compilation of stories of people who gave up on God and themselves and then, faith and prayers …God came through.

The author begins with her personal story. I remembered it wrong. Her father, a cancer diagnosis, he lived longer twenty or so years longer than doctors thought possible.

The author as a child had prayed it to be so.

I put the book back on my shelf. The book I retrieved from my mama’s house after her death.

Shame, I felt shame for giving her the book when she was very ill. There’s a handwritten note on the first page. I can hardly think of it, a note to my living mama telling her my daughter has written down a Bible verse and put it on the fridge.

“Do not fear; only believe, and she will be well.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭8:50‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then more. My friend is close by in a hospital with her husband. He has test results of a degenerative brain disease that means not hopeful.

One thought led to others. My daddy almost 20 years ago beat cancer but died because of a rare pneumonia type bacterial infection. My mama, trying to get well but unable to process all of the medicines, her pancreas failed, medication toxicity.

Yes, parents pass away. I know this. But, both way too soon and both of crazy rare turns of events.

No wonder I walked the aisles of Target thinking, “Soon, I will need to cry. I will need to allow the breaking of me because of my friend’s husband and for my parents.”

The heavy burden lingered, the longing to believe in the goodness of endurance, the hope that all things are eventually for good.

It lingered all day. I painted.

I completed a commission with the only insight, photos from the person’s home.

I looked towards the painting from yesterday. I’d been sitting at my desk. I made a new list, I read words from my Bible, I looked at the redemptive figure I’d painted on canvas. It reminded me of an abandoned woman in a wilderness of her very own making and of being seen and known.

The painting was named, “The God Who Sees”.

This evening, I accepted my own heaviness. I thought of how waiting brings clarity, brings redemption and peace.

I told myself waiting is necessary although it is not pleasant.

Waiting to feel less fragile.

Waiting to see God move.

It happened in an unexpected way, the way life circles back and weakens your knees again.

The buyer of the commission with a background of grey and blue asked if “God Who Sees” was still available. She has a sister who lost a son to suicide and she needs to know that God knows, God sees.

The feeling came. The evidence of God in everything. A stranger sees the “God Who Sees” just as I had seen.

She shares the loss of a nephew to suicide. I read her message. I stand still at the kitchen sink and I know I must give this painting away.

Me, now an artist, sort of writer although not so great blogger, a woman who counseled people who lost others to suicide, I have painted a painting which will now go to a mother who no longer has her son.

And so, I knew for sure, the painting will be gifted. The encounter via messaging that gave me cause to truly see endurance and gave me opportunity to think less of myself and give something, art to someone else.

And that was the tying the knot in this week’s regretfully melancholy and honest week, that was the evidence of good still to be done, the unveiling of the truth, even fragility is glorious.

Able to endure because of all we’ve endured with fragility already. Endurance is a peaceful settling for what happened unlike we had wished.

Prayed for.

So, I walked this evening and came home to see my “Savannah girl” standing strong in the changing air, the feel of Fall, the season we have not yet seen.

And the decision to put others stories of faith away and to just believe in the faith stories of my own.

Endurance is what we do because we know God is good. Fragility is the reminder unexpected of the humanity of us, the stories we thought might end differently and didn’t, the people God puts right in front of us to remind us we are okay.

We fall, we falter.

But, we’re not defeated.

Like the woman who fell on her way to pick up prescriptions, not in reply to anyone’s question as they circled around her to respond in the proper way.

“I am okay.” she said to herself first and then to them and she then rose up from the floor, adjusted her purse, steadied her walk and continued toward the purpose she was there for.

Continue and believe.

Endure, even if you feel fragile.

Addendum: My Georgia friend, the one who loves so well, the one I’ve assigned the color red, mercy, let me know this morning. She held her husband closely as died in her arms. Their’s was a great love, a crazy legacy leaving love.

“Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.”
‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13:13‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The Better

Abuse Survivor, birthday, bravery, Children, courage, curiousity, Faith, freedom, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Salvation, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

A deer jumped from the field onto my path and I slowed. I expected another and then, yes, a young one skirted on wobbly legs all by itself into the woods.

I thought of the season, not being a hunter or having knowledge of why they were out walking so early, feeding I assumed, preparing for something, going some set aside place or looking for seclusion.

Later, instead of the regular “walk around the block” I saw an opening. A deeply wooded path, narrow with a valley and then a slight curve that made me curious about where it might lead.

I stepped in with the baby. Very quiet, very careful to watch my feet. We looked together up towards heaven in an enchanted gaze.

The brown ground was covered in seasoned oak leaves. I moved slowly with intention and walked unafraid.

Standing still to see a pair of cardinals and hear the rustling in the branches of others, I listened.

I thought. I am sixty-and a day years old today. It’s okay.

I saw God there and I felt him see me. Thinking towards the next things because of uncertainty of where the path may take me if I choose the more wooded way at the top of the hill.

I turned back, the peaceful way called my name. I chose to take the simple route, the one I had barely begun to know.

I turned and was greeted by the view of an opening like a garden entrance, a glow of gold and green that begged me to see.

You discovered a new way today, now step back into the old path forever changed by your seeing.

The settled way, the way without accomplishment, goal or agenda.

The trusting way, the way to allow God to show me instead of anxiety’s need of always knowing, forever second guessing and harboring remorse because they did and I didn’t.

The better.

Mary, the sister of Martha chose to be settled, to choose the better in a time women were expected to be fixers of things, holders of it all together, preparers of perfectly orchestrated outcome things.

Perhaps, I may be exaggerating here. Naturally, I didn’t live in the days of the sisters who had Jesus come to dinner.

But, I have lived in days of huge expectations and pressures and I am beginning to understand, allow, most of all believe in the better.

“There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭10:42‬ ‭NLT‬‬

To linger longer in the places God calls me, to slow down and believe he sees me.

Late in the afternoon, I watched from the windows. The trees that were far from me reminded me of a stormy ocean tide rolling on. The rhythm of their sway and the brushing up of the trees was a dance with the wind.

Synchronicity. I had said a quiet prayer, a pause and I opened my eyes and sat still.

I sat and rested my eyes on the horizon of dark cloudless sky, the gathering of trees.

Knowing it’s impossible to stay here for long, there are many things to do.

But, for a moment, and more moments later.

I can choose the new and the better, redemption this side of heaven.

The Very Best Dream

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, courage, doubt, Faith, family, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom
Found feather

I woke up and remembered, I had the very best dream.

I told my grown up children, with me because of our beach vacation.

We were all together the night before. They both know my ways. My son, for years slept across the hall, sometimes heard my night terrors. Morose recollections typically triggered by the slightest unintentional fear created dramas in my sleep.

So, when like a breath of fresh clear air, I had an optimistic dream, I had to tell them.

The night before we’d all sat together around the table. Adult children joining in conversation about Co-Vid, the election, the changing world known as America.

My son-in-law shared a video being shared all around. A county or city meeting somewhere in Florida and an invocation to something, anything other than God that led to six or so people standing and leaving.

The person giving the invocation prayed to nature and the earth and the only mention of Jesus was that he “might” forgive us.

I wasn’t particularly bothered by the video, I’d been in similar meetings, I told them.

I recalled a time I chaired a coalition I initiated to understand the issue of homelessness. I added that a member of the coalition decided each meeting should begin with a “good thought”, a sort of prayer.

I told my family, I never left the room, I simply did not bow my head. I did not join in the prayers that forbade the mention of Jesus.

Then I said to them,

It’s really going to be different for your children, an effort really to keep talking about Jesus.

Then my husband added that it will be okay, our parents probably felt the same worries.

Then we all said goodnight and exhausted from heat and beach went to bed.

I dreamt of a group regathering. I must’ve been invited as if a charter member or ex-officio sort of thing.

Three days after the dream, the details are skewed.

Like a reunion, we all spoke of what we’d been up to.

I stood in front of twenty or so people and I talked about my relationship with Jesus. I told the people who prayed the prayer excluding God and Jesus why I prayed differently.

I’d been with these people before. This time I felt welcome.

I felt free to be me.

I spoke with clarity. They were enthralled and actively listened. In the dream, there were men and women encircling me, attentive.

I recalled my days of being afraid of God, of being certain of my unworthiness, my days of working hard as a teenage peddler of paper booklets called tracts. I convincingly told of my God whom I believe in.

Someone, a well-dressed theologian sort asked,

“When did you decide to believe in God?”

In the dream I answered “about twenty years ago”.

And the questioner added, “that’s a long time, a long time…where are you now” as if I shouldn’t still be increasing my believing.

And I answered.

I’m just still growing and I’ll keep growing in my knowing of God.

It was the best dream. I’d been in meetings, spoken to large crowds, detailed our need for support and hinted occasionally of my faith.

But only hinted.

Tonight after unpacking sandy beach coolers, clothes and stuff, I had a good walk and thought of the dream that sang of freedom.

As I walked, I opened my palm easily upward to heaven and I thought, prophetic dream.

Not having a clue if that’s a possibility of me…for me.

Prophetic? Me?

My friend says these are not the days to lean into Jesus, rather these are the days to press ourselves to Him.

I couldn’t help but think of impression, allowing God’s impression to be made on me.

No longer overthinking it, not being afraid of it not being true.

Simply believing that it is just as Jesus said, He is the way. He is the answer to His Father’s plan so we have hope, experience peace and eternity with Him.

Google the sinner’s prayer or search the Bible or if you’re fortunate like me, a kind voice will tell you if you ask how it can be…

“Just pray for mercy.” they may answer.

Understand you were born a sinner, admit it. Confess that realization in a prayer to your Creator and then believe in Jesus and keep believing despite the world finding it irrational or a silly offensive fairy tale.

“Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.”
‭‭John‬ ‭14:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Allow Jesus to begin your transformation, as you press in.

Left forever, that mark like a print from an original masterpiece making.

Four days without journaling other than scribble marks with the baby, I read my Bible this evening.

“Ye shall walk after the Lord your God, and fear him, and keep his commandments, and obey his voice, and ye shall serve him, and cleave unto him.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭13:4‬ ‭KJV‬‬

These are old words with timely discovering by me.

Cleave, to unwaveringly believe.

Cleave, not a word you might use usually.

This is me. This was me in my happy dream, being brave and contentedly certain of being loved by God, cleaving.

And God loving me.

Sweet dreams.

Say your prayers and sweet dreams.

Ask the Questions

confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, depression, Faith, hope, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

Last week, I asked a question of someone I never thought of asking. I reminded myself of times leading and training others, how I’d tell them if you ask a question, that shows you are committed to learning and it also shows me you’re okay with not knowing as long as you trust that you can learn.

I asked three precise questions to help me with a writing decision and the person who answered, answered with “No problem, that’s what I’m here for”.

And I didn’t think it until today, this lost and listless morning, I should ask God to help me unravel these feelings, this lost exhaustion.

And He did.

“And stopping, Jesus called them and said, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭20:32-33‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Being honest with God about the empty and boring angst my morning began with led to a gradual shift.

Numb due to the daily same no indication of change because of pandemic, discord and lack of good sleep due to dreams about Christmas, I’m barely moving as I go towards the coffee.

I sit with pen, open my Bible, circle boldly the word “trust” and then add the same letters on the place below my thumb, add a cross where the big nail pierced Him.

Flat, unmotivated, agenda-less and only pending set aside for later ideas kind of days.

I decide fresh air may enthuse me and I see the sunlight on the wild purple flowers.

I find the tomato sweet granddaughter discovered and dropped. It seems a rabbit took a bite out of its side, left it near the porch.

I find the new red bloom on the daisies and I see the geese crossing the road slowly, unconcerned over the big truck lightly tapping a beat with its horn.

The geese take their time, their plans for today are the same as the days before.

I saw the acceptance of rest in all of it. The empty slate day that welcomes restoration in a gradual way, the renewing of my mind, a required reminder.

Today, a summer Sunday perfect for quiet supplication of a clean slate, anxious clutter cleared and a willingness to be okay in the widening expanse of waiting.

These are not days of “finger snap” make all things better.

The realization of this, at first is exhausting. Still, these days that represent dwindling hope are only doors to more trusting.

If I could, I’d go stand in the widest open field I could find secluded from all eyes and I’d open my arms way, way wide.

I’d celebrate a realization.

I trust you, God.

I’d celebrate the change quiet brought me on Sunday morning when I woke so depleted. I’d thank God for answering when I asked for restoration. I’d thank Him for new ideas ready to be followed up on. I would thank him for answering all my questions.

I’d be grateful for the dream that kept me thinking although sleeping, I’d thank God for dreams about Christmas.

Because, Christmas is my favorite.

Thank you, God, for correcting my vision.

“He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭18:19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Happy Sunday!

Continue and believe.