Stillness

According to Grace

confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I stepped out into the day, the Labrador scrounging for pieces of his food I’d spilled from the container not tightly closed.

Quiet except for the sound of his bowl lightly shifting against the floor as he dines. He glances my way, lets me be me. I believe he understands, the tennis ball rests in far corner for now.

My feet are in the soft moist grass, shifting with my steps, resting places for the view.

The sun is making greener the ground, illuminating the morning.

Purple blooms are leaning down, they’ve flourished more than before, the rain, the sun, the soil.

Must have been just right this time.

Fragile blooms, antique in appearance, the Rose of Sharon, has grown as high as the windows and will continue through September, up, up, upward towards the sky.

I’m alone in our morning yard, unconcerned over the back door open too long in August or eyes from houses on other sides of fence, pondering me as I ponder.

Grace has brought me here. Grace, the committing of my morning and my days to God.

For quite a while, I’ve been this way.

Quietly accepting come what may every morning and praying by God’s grace it goes long, longer every day into my days.

Grace, living according to grace thus far.

…that we may receive and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16

Happy Way of Life #14

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, grace, memoir, mercy, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Thinking today about choosing rightly, remembering good things that have proven to be good for me.

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, – Psalm 30:11

New thing, “by and by” moments of celebrations…anniversaries.

Two months ago, I saw the good results of good food, good efforts in preparation and I’m staying close to that, close to that good health.
Deciding to learn to run and wondering now why I waited so long and why I forgot God made it possible all along…
Last night I did a new thing. I ran on a treadmill. Afraid before that I’d fall off, I feigned clumsiness as my reason. A big deal for me.
There’s really nothing like the momentous joy of doing something you decided you could not do.
Moment by moment, my feet in unison, my happy steps in rhythmic bounce.

an·ni·ver·sa·ry

/ˌanəˈvərs(ə)rē/

noun

1.the date on which an event took place in a previous year

Writing on the prompt “Anniversary”, I found no words on love or marriage or recall of loss or season or celebration marked.

I’ve not a clue what was going on last year on this day.

I’m more concerned with momentous occasions, moments of my life that show me I should continue.

I do life best lately,  “momentarily”.

img_6008Like taking a moment to prepare breakfast for my Friday morning desk, I am doing more things for my better than I have ever done before.

Just fry up some bacon, scramble some eggs, grab an avocado from the pretty bowl and then arrange it all on the scalloped edge paper plate, flimsy but fancy.

Sit with music filling the aloneness of your office and be happy, be happy in just the moment, the moment of your choosing “right healthy” food.

Remembering when you saw the church sign that kept telling you at the moment your running late car sped past, “Don’t go back to the place God delivered you from.”

The words that amounted to a moment only, but over time, so timely.

Now, the same route and the third day so far, same sort of moment; yet, different.

The church sign has changed.

“Stay close to God and you will never be the same.”

Moment by moment, every one sort of a joyous recall of choices well chosen, close as possible staying close to God.

Momentary living, my Happy Way of Life.

Surrounding myself with wisdom, wisdom like a quote push pinned to my wall, takes less than a moment to read, to remember, to believe.

I’m taking it all in, storing them up, counting them as joy rather than sorrow.

Putting them all together in a book I’d call “mercy stories”.

You can’t imagine the number of them.

img_6019

Deciding to call myself “writer and artist”, after all.

Sort of a momentous decision.

For me.

Rambling on and on I know, and way more than five minutes and not much at all about “Anniversary”.

It can be hard to follow my conversation, I know.

Sentence or comma, moment or hour, every second, I’m making ’em count now.

Maybe I’ll look back and recall though, the day I changed my ways and decided to live “momentarily”, a momentous anniversary it shall be.

I Pray

bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Someone requested I pray.

I answered, “I will.”

Dr. Charles Stanley

Again, the request that I pray and again, later, the same.

I suggested in a way it seemed I wished they’d stop asking me.

I told them to pray, to read the Psalms and to pray.

As if compassion had me worn and weary, as if my well was near to dry and I feared I might run out of refreshing affirmation or advice.

“Compassion is a sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress, together with the desire to alleviate it”, according to Merriam Webster.

But much like the physician healing themselves, I realized what it means, “self-compassion”, and why I need to pray.

I opened the Psalms last night and I prayed intermittently with fitful sleep.

Intentional, I prayed Psalms 143:8.

Trusting God, I would wake and begin again.

Jesus, the Savior of the world slipped away alone to pray. Like a surgeon with nimble hands or an artist without inspiration, our capacity is limited if we are not nourishing ourselves, our souls and minds.

I can’t give my best, prayers or otherwise to others if I’m not sufficiently satisfied in my own soul.

Writing, painting, talking, loving or anything really, at all.

…you want your readers’ eye-motes to go click! with recognition as they begin to understand…but, you probably won’t be able to present a character that recognizable if you do not first have self-compassion. Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

I find it awesomely profound that both Anne Lamott and Dr. Charles Stanley are instilling in me the same guiding truth, that I must be self-compassionate.

Before I can give, I must accept.

Dr. Charles Stanley

So, I’ve been praying this morning and later, I may paint and I may write.

I have a list distractions have kept me from.

I’m home, alone intentionally and my time I’ve asked to be perfectly ordered by God.

For reading, writing, learning

Praying. Because, I need to.

For others, for me.

I’ll find time and place.

And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, – Matthew 14:23

Linking up with Mary Geisen and other storytellers here: Tell His Story

August ‘63

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. – 1 Corinthians 13:7

The greatest thing happened yesterday, more special than anyone will understand. I saw myself surrounded by love and I am hesitant to say; but, I am thinking it may be the unlocking of so much more, the freedom to change my perspective, to alter my imaginary ideas of what I was incapable of remembering.

That’s me there. The bobbed bangs and even back then I was unable to open my eyes for the shot. That’s me surrounded by love in the August of ’63 when I turned 3.

I’ve just read two separate perspectives on love after waking up with the realization that “we should just love”.

I can’t say how sleep unearthed this necessary proclamation.

It may have been the weekend with family, the coming together of us from different places and paths that had taken us all spread out from one another are bringing us back together.

In need of the other’s love.

In need of connecting again as if we were small and couldn’t help but be gathered together cousins, sisters, uncles, aunts, and dogs.

This morning I read of how disillusioned Jesus may have been perceived to be.

How he saw others as redeemable and that was all he saw. He saw them as returners to His Father’s love and He saw them without judgment of the places their hands, hearts, and feet had been before they came or returned from wandering.

I’d like to say I love this way. That I don’t pretend that my concerns over others is not judgment, that it is only my hoping for them to be better.

I’d love to know I could love, and that my love wouldn’t be questioned.

That I’d not have ideas about others that humbled me when they were conclusion jumping wrong.

That I’d love the way family loves, bound together although disjointed by life.

That I’d love without judgment, that my love would be childlike and innocent in acceptance and mature and intentional in the reality of its necessity and giving of grace.

I’d love to love like Jesus.

I believe I shall love better, knowing, after all, I have been loved, was and am.

The little girl in the pointy hat, the stretchy string pinching our necks as we all gathered around the table with our mamas, daddies, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers and a bird dog patiently waiting for a scrap.

Children, now adults, all found our way despite stumbling, falling, faltering along the way.

One, Stephanie, not with us, missed so much more than time can attempt to measure. Others, babies then, too tiny for the table and some yet to be conceived.

When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!

We all were loved, I’m so sorry to have ever doubted.

For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. – John 1:16

Love endured, endures still.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. – 1 Corinthians 13:11-13

Lament No More

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Yesterday I told a writer, a published author who is good, funny and honest, the thing I’d been thinking all week.

Andra Watkins is strong and unafraid and kind and I can’t wait to read her new book!

Andra Watkins

I’ve met her and read two of her books already. This one is a little different and she wrote that it had been an idea long ago, finally coming to fruition despite serious medical interruptions and detours.

I finally commented on her FB page.

I told her how seeing her accomplishment made me feel. Told her I was jealous. I told her I was happy for her. I told her I came up with a new word about my feelings. I had decided I was “jAPPY”.

She replied that she knew I would, that I would one day write a book.

I smiled.

Running last night, yes, me running, I decided to remember that I will only not write if it is not for me from God to write.

In that case, it will be okay.

I have written a whole lot already.

Yes.

I have a crazy real fear that my time will run out. Partly due to the lack of time because of my career and the mental exhaustion it causes, I have only tiny chunks to devote to writing. (This is my reality. This is not whining and not in need of encouraging or worthy comments along the lines of…if it mattered you’d make time.)

This is accepting that space and time will clear in time and if not, well, that change is no longer completely up to me.

The happening or not, I am a smaller part than I wanted to be.

Running towards something, pressing a little farther each time and committing to knowing this is my part, my new dedication, just keeping going.

I begin my day every day with the Jabez prayer. The one that is an imploring of God to make good things happen and to keep them coming, please.

Everyday, I realized today, I am praying for more when I already have so much, God has granted a multitude of what I have asked.

…and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not bring me pain!” And God granted what he asked. – 1 Chronicles 4:10

I’m a woman raised with very little and along the way I have been given so much, had opportunity to give from all I’ve been given.

The book I thought I might write no longer is the book I believe may come.

The prior was a lament, the future will perhaps only recall the past from which I’ve come; but, will be so much more heavy on hope.

God is moving me from all the past.

God is keeping me from my pain.

It is a necessary blessing.

My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. – Lamentations 3:20-23

The song in my ears while running reminding me that His mercy will not end.

I tapped replay.

His mercy never ends. His plan for me will not be thwarted even if I stumble and get bummed out by my past so hard to forget or agonizing my far away and unattainable to me future.

A mercy song:

As Sure As the Sun will rise and chase away the night, His mercy will not end. Ellie Holcomb

His mercy will not end.

His love for me will not be removed.

I will continue in rhythm with His timing, His mercy,

His idea for my book.

Happy Way of Life – #13

contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, love, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Humbled, but unashamed.

What is wonderful

Priceless

Invaluable in this life I live

Boundaried and buffeted by grace

Is that correction, His is gentle.

Spiritual redirection that’s simply an invitation and recognition of harsh thinking or word,

It is gradual and a gift without expectation of my equal exchange.

A gift not wrapped in bright red paper colored shame.

I heard once, the only verses or sermon we might need to perhaps live with one another in the whole world in His hands more mercifully would be these:

the Beautitudes

2 And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying:

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

5 “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.

10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

11 “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.

12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you. – Matthew 5:2-12

Humbled, gently stirred towards correction but, unashamed.

My happy way of life.

Noticing the stirring in my soul, preparing my new season

gradually

gracefully.

Black Crow Mercies

Art, birds, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. – Zephaniah 3:17

I told him, “Our troubles are minuscule” as we rode together bemoaning things that were trivial trials in our life.

We are well. Our children are well. We have what we need.

But last week, a crow flew just in front of my car as I turned in to the lot and as I’m prone to do, I took it to mean dismay.

I was early for work, not my norm.

Timely, I thought, just perfect for this pessimistic air all around me, my living and breathing blah apprehension.

Pity, full.

I open the door to step into the day and they all begin, a few of them now, to make the “caw” call of mockery seeking my notice.

I had a deadline, I resisted the idea, struggled to put together the right “ask” begrudgingly came to work to begin.

A minute into the task, an application for grant funds, I was interrupted and I huffed.

Corrected myself, listened and then explained my deadline.

The one who interrupted my day told me he would pray.

Later, I would be able to share with him the ease of completing the application.

More interruptions, people stopping by to help. I told them I couldn’t talk and they said rather curtly, knowing me…”okay don’t talk”.

Sometimes I’m so “unpeople”.

Left alone with my work, I completed the task, I asked the grantor for what we truly needed rather than something new and contrived, I was honest.

Then, I joined the ones who came to help me with another task they’d volunteered for, my husband, daughter, and grandson, giving up their Thursday to help lighten my load.

I walked in and they were working so very well together, hanging drapes, hanging pictures, it was unnecessary for me to be there.

I quickly chastised my husband as he hung the large painting off kilter. My daughter cut her eyes, cocked her head and said: “Mama, stop barking orders.”

Oh yes, I can be demanding.

I can forget to be grateful. Sitting on the beach, we heard of sudden serious illness and added this father to our dinner blessing.

My husband asked, “Do you think God does things to get our attention? Do you think God wants to humble people through tragic unexpected things?”

Immediately, I replied, “Well, I don’t know how I’ve dodged the bullet then.”

No further discussion.

Almost a week later, a young father has died in an accident and the one on life support has been healed.

Who are we to know? Who are we to comprehend?

God is able. Able to know all.

We are not.

On Saturday, I was grouchy again.

Stubborn and lazy. I was uncertain of putting myself out there again. My art and I would be on display, a new opportunity, a new place to hopefully make a profit. If my aunt and uncle hadn’t traveled two hours for the market, I had decided already to back out.

I sold three paintings, minimal profit.

I answered three people when they asked about Isaiah 30:15 and I told them why this verse is the one I call my life, how I’m better when I’m quietly confident in God.

What I didn’t say was how around 7:00 a.m I had to get myself in check and let my knees find the floor beside my bed to ask God to help me radiate this verse, this “quiet confidence”.

He did.

Conversations about comfort occurred, comparisons of struggles and needs were brought to my attention and I listened, I really listened.

A photographer I admire commissioned a piece and she told me that I should, yes …” You should write the book.”

Kind words were offered about my paintings. I accepted them.

The sweetest thing ever, my aunt, an ever observant one said: “I feel so good about you living here, I see how many people need and care about you..”

I said sincerely, thank you to onlookers without a tone of pity or pleading for purchase.

I asked God for the day I needed and He answered by showing me the beauty of contentment and of His being with me.

Now it’s Monday and the birds have begun to show up slowly after an overnight rain. Gradually, they are moving limb to limb, testing the branches and cavorting about.

My prayers are for the hurting, the very sick, both sickness of the heart and the body. For the hard hardness of unforeseen grief and tragic too early death. For those whose role assigned by You is one of bringing comfort and wisdom to all, I pray you equip and embrace them.

My prayers are of gratitude for what I was taught by God this weekend, what I was taught to recognize, consider and not forget,

Your presence, here.

My “art room” is back in order now, my writing space awaits. I’ll get back to it soon, not be hampered by the pressures of my pride, pitifully pitting me against myself.

Such an exhausting battle, unnecessary.

I will wait and I will ask again, how can I write in a way that is quietly confident, that emanates your grace, your mercy, my faith?

How can I see the birds overhead and remember my worth, not be woeful?

How can I glorify you as I continue in intentional surrender?

I can’t wait to see, to sense and to follow in this way, the way of grace and peace.

Show us your glory.

We know you are able.

Help us to recall our hardship only in terms of remembering your healing.

My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. – Lamentations 3:20-23

Looking for my red birds and robins today.

I know they are near.

Crows maybe too, the noisy crows sent to remind me of deliverance, of mercy.

God, we know you are with us. We know you are able, we are listening for you.

Comfort us as comforters and ease the hurt of grieving hearts.

Because of mercy,

Amen, me

Coffee and Morning

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, love, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

On our final beach day, I wake to the sound of lawnmower instead of sweet birds, the closest to sleeping in all vacation and the landscapers are I guess, trying to beat the heat.

Timely, typical.

I groan.

A dog, I decide small, someplace chimes in and it’s crazy because both our dogs left early, yesterday with the children.

Isn’t it ironic? …it figures.

Alanis Morissette

Redirecting the day, I start the coffee and go for the pretty cup, not a morning I’ve had quiet.

Today, I return to bed and inventory my prayer list.

Haphazard or just right I had wondered when I couldn’t squeeze it in, my typical time alone.

So, one word was all. “Insight” was my petition.

I’m looking over my list now and what I just experienced, thinking about what felt like literal stirring in my soul, an uncomfortable unrest.

We watched the waves last night under the crescent moon.

High over the ocean from the pier, the sound of the churning up from underneath, the bringing in of new and the taking out of old, the tide a gentle yet powerful change.

My word, again.

Insight.

Hoping for change; but, maybe scared that quite very possibly it is possible.

Scary, the reality that God is readying me for something different and I know it.

Say to wisdom, “You are my sister,” and call insight your intimate friend, – Proverbs 7:4

I know it because my chest is filled with stirring over the potential and it makes me just a little bit afraid.

Returning to my words and His word, I read about the way He carries me, helps me carry my load and I’m remembering His eye on the sparrow and I’m remembering He is the potter, I’m just clay.

And I’m glad for the storing up of these promises because I’m believing based on this stirring that He is preparing me and He is preparing new and new ways.

I’ll be strong, stronger with Him helping to carry me and my load.

Bearer of Sorrows and Healer of Horrors

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

Matthew, Chapter 8 describes Jesus as a healer.

A healer of a leper, a servant fortunate to have a compassionate owner, a woman lying sick with unrelenting fever, and men tortured by mental demons.

The first was healed by an outreached hand, the slave healed from a distance at the request of his humble and heartbroken owner.

The touch of a fevered and weak hand and finally the exit of horrendous mental illness via a herd of pigs.

I’ve never experienced an unrelenting fever or been incapacitated by pain, physical nor evil, mental torment.

I have carried burdens for too long though and been bent by their load.

The words of the prophet Isaiah remind me I’m best when I’m quietly confident and now more than ever that I no longer should dwell on the past, that I should see all the good that is springing up before me.

And I have, yes, I have surely seen the springing up and I’m getting better at forgetting.

Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. – Isaiah 43:18

Everyday I drive by a tiny church. The sign out front remaining the same for weeks.

Do not return to the place God delivered you from.

church sign truth

I pass by, look either straight towards the truth or give a sideways glance.

Okay, okay yes, I know.

Matthew Chapter 8, is all about healing with reminders of rescue thrown in, a boat tossed by sudden storm and the disciples who’d just witnessed miraculous healing by the one accompanying them.

Jesus was sleeping like a baby.

They wake him and he calms the storm, a reminder to them and us of who He is, will always be.

25 And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.”

26 And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. – Matthew 8:25-26

Isaiah prophesied that Jesus would bring healing and that he would bear our burdens, that our heavy loads and sorrows would be His if we would allow it to be, that the cross would be the place of understanding, finally.

These horrors, this pain, these burdens, this trauma, we can leave them with Him, we can if we will, lay down our heavy loads.

This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: “He took our illnesses and bore our diseases.” – Matthew 8:17

The yoke that is not ours to be bent by we can let go.

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. – Isaiah 53:4-5

Someone skilled in understanding trauma posed the question to a group of us affected by such, her question about finally moving past…

How will you know? TT

And the answer, I believe quite possibly will be,

When you choose to truly believe in your healing. me

Lord, help those of us confounded by our pasts to believe and help not to be sidelined by the ever present reminders of our own making but, the constant conversations intent on igniting our fears, our memories, our fight or flight and mostly our tendency to carry our loads of sorrow again. Be our healer, Jesus, the healer of all, still.

May my healing journey bring hope to others. Because of your mercy, I am able to say,

Amen

Catching up on reading the words of others, I love the way Mary describes her inner scars and the suggestion that the ones that show now are the ones resulting from the places Jesus healed us. I’m late to the link-up but thought my thoughts here are somewhat similar.

Tell His Story

Beautiful in Time

Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting

I prayed and then I answered the questions of me, the ones that would be an introduction of me.

I’d been chosen as a featured artist.

But, on Wednesday, I’d decided it wasn’t to be and eventually settled into accepting that “It wasn’t time”.

And my stretch of running was longer, the trail bordered by new and unoccupied houses. The roots trying to burst through concrete making it necessary that I lift my feet in little jumps.

Down the last hill and I kept my pace, choosing the cul-de-sac lane farthest from eyes and running past the sprinklers misting my calves.

Frustration mixed with apathy, my fuel to press on.

Eventually, shifted to walking and the song in my ears said creation sings God’s praises and so should I.

The sky fat with puffs of gray and black shapes of birds darting across my path.

I said to myself what I felt in the sky.

“It’s not time.” I accepted this as truth. Simply, “It’s not time.”

Later, I recalled the conversation,  her reply to my inquiry over my art not selling “It comes in spells.”

The clamor over my creations had faded.

I considered it becoming just a hobby, cover the walls with bright or subtle, simple or not. Or just stack ’em in the corners, have people say “Oh” when they stop by and I could say, “Here, take it, it’s yours.”

Joyless bartering for validation, the way I’d become.

I looked closely at the newest piece, still oily and moist, her expression was mine and yet, she was patient, more serene.

Aspirations and need for notice had begun to taint my treasure.

It was good to finally hear God and know there are still plans for my future.

“It’s not time.” I heard it again.

Then came Thursday and still waiting to hear from something still.

I walked around all day with a heavy sense of lost hope.

I was honest and told God first thing, I don’t know how to do the thing I thought I was made to do, how to do everything for your glory, not mine.

I was clear, I mean who really knows how to do these things, to surrender to His plan, to wait and not grow weary all the while feeling useless and filled with doubt?

It’s hard for me, I realized and I owned up to my not knowing how or if.

Then, I left that there with Him and I carried on still carrying my load a little.

Then I named it later, my apathy.

It was my “sense of possibility” I had lost.

Lying on the gym floor, staring at ceiling tiles and I figured it out, the loss of “possibility” thinking.

Round two, same thing, same tiles and this time a but…”you can do everything through Christ” and “everything is possible if you believe”.

How had I forgotten that promise and the one about all things through Him?

And Jesus said to him,

“‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” – Mark 9:23

Worn and sweaty, we stretch and we’re done.

I settle in to my car and checking my phone for messages, none.

I go to my mail and my thumb moves quickly to swipe and delete junk and same old same ol’ and there it is…the reply,

the next step.

“…got your artwork and we’re excited to have you featured in the next edition. Just need you to answer these questions.”

It is time.

I said Thank you, Lord, no more, no less.

Prayed about my replies and replied.

Now it’s Friday and like every other evening, I unclasp my bracelet and remove my ring, take my earrings out and let them rest safely.

I reach for my watch and loosen the leather from the loop.

I lay them all down and I discover something new I’ve never seen, the underside of my watch’s face, in the center engraved.

A gift for my birthday from my daughter and son in law almost a year ago now and the words I’m so surprised to see, I call her and she says, “Yes, I had it engraved.”

Everything is beautiful

In its time.

Soon, I’ll share the pages of the publication that will be sharing my art and I’ll share my reply to the question of why and when and

how to continue in this craft, this treasure, this thing God made yours,

the words that came at just the right time.

Maybe others might need to know again.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. – Ecclesiastes 3:11

I’ll thank God for not ever letting me go, and for lessons and grace and more, on time.

I’ll cherish this happening of something I never thought likely and I will pray.

I will pray, I get better at waiting.