Trust

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.

Faces like Flint

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, marriage, mercy, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Walking in step with the other, he paused when she paused. Each holding a skinny canned beverage boasting caffeine.

I’m standing in the kitchen of our vacation place, cleaning up from the breakfast spread, I look down to stare.

I’m drawn to their partnership, she takes his drink as he looks down towards the little boy with his face towards his lap and his arms angled perfectly at his sides, his legs positioned the same, the child seated in a small wheelchair.

It’s early and not so crowded, already hot, I decide they’re set on letting him see the ocean, planning to beat the Saturday crowd.

The man waits while the woman lights her cigarette, he takes a sip from his can and then passes it back to her. She manages all three, her Red Bull, his Monster and her Marlboro.

With both hands, he grips firm the wheelchair and as they pass by underneath, I step back, hoping to go unnoticed, my gaze and my sad sympathy.

Because they were determined in their partnership, their faces without expression, their eyes hollowed slightly.

Their day unfolding and being met by their best effort to continue, I felt.

I looked away. It’d be a shame I decided to have them see the pity in my eyes or worse, really, the acknowledgment of gratitude in my gaze that my life is mine.

But the Lord GOD helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame. – Isaiah 50:7

Their faces set like flint and continuing forward, Lord help them I pray, lighten their loads and bless them in their endeavors with their child, help them to know you see them, that you see them unafraid and unashamed. Help me to see others, see others more than I see me.

Not Too Old To Try

Art, confidence, courage, grace, praise, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

In the beginning I only took off amongst the secluded spaces. The neighbors most likely I decided would raise their eyebrows or gawk at the thickness of my girth.

Now I’m in a rhythm and there’s no need to pause, no concern over possible crossing paths or shimmying thighs.

A year ago I learned what a plank was and I held it a minute and a month ago I decided I could run.

It’s not much at all to do with a number, the scale or the age.

It’s more about time to try because trying is timely.

I happened upon words drawing me in closely via twitter.

Modern publication, online and I imagined modern spaces with wide, high narrowly sleek windows with views.

Maybe teleworkers technically expert and polished

Young men and women committed to this publication and their enthusiasm to enthuse others towards Christianity using brave and open perspective…

I was intrigued.

I dropped down the “Submissions” page and I decided to try.

I introduced the editors to my art and to my words.

There was interest in my art, possibly maybe if I’d like to try, one day my words.

The best of all, besides the again, decision to try?

The best thing is that I said precisely what I felt God wanted me to say in response to the questions and I know there’s no way I will ever know how someone or some ones might decide to try as well.

Might become immersed in creativity of their own regardless of time or age or fear.

If you’re curious in nature and especially drawn to truths, you’ll want to read the articles gathered in a place called “Fathom”.

Overwhelmed, I’m overwhelmed.

Visit here if you’d like to see grace, all grace towards me, nothing but grace.

Fathom Mag

Never Walk Alone

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, courage, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I’m led to Matthew 11 and happen upon the words of Jesus I have over time found hard to relate to, difficult to apply and for me, a struggle to see as I am meant to see.

Over time though, my overthinking has thankfully become lessened,

over time.

Struggling still, to understand the “yoke”, I try to be visual of what it might look like for Jesus to have a yoke attached to his back.

Thinking naturally of animals: oxen, donkeys, maybe cows or a poor old countryman, thin and worn, breaking up the land for seed and pushing forward

Bent by what’s behind him, intent on going forward.

A posture I do understand.

Struggling, but determined, working hard, a hard working tired soul.

This morning, I opened my Bible to see a girl reminiscent of me in the border.

On a morning some time before I must have begun to understand the yoke thing momentarily

even more so, thankfully, now.

If I had my way, I might prefer to open my Bible and read the tiny words as if a guide or simple self-help.

I know now that it’s the drawing in that is God’s desire and I’m drawn to consider meaning, there is cause for me to get quiet.

It is God’s intent.

That I get again and again, quietly confident.

To read, reread, can’t quite relate and after a while, begin to understand.

The passage about the yoke, I’ve long been unable “to get”.

But, this morning, I see.

I see.

Jesus is saying, let me come alongside you, let’s walk together. Here, I’ll put one side of the yoke on my back and you take the other.

Leave your old yoke behind Lisa Anne, trade it for mine.

Mine is for you, not working against you and it is like me, gentle, not proud and not boisterous and burdened or stumbling along defeated by the arduous trek.

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Jesus -Matthew 11:28-30

Abide, stay near and in rhythm with me, your steps are now syncing with mine and mine with yours.

Today, and tomorrow and on and on, a promise here for your believing,

You never have to walk alone

There is rest here beside me

Rest for your soul.

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.

Knowing our Names

Art, bravery, courage, Homeless, mercy, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

My husband just handed me the morning paper and I glanced over to see new coaches “named”, young people serving in summer projects and a line stretched across the middle about a “gunman” and five lost lives. No mention of the names, the story not yet complete.

As a child, my cousins and I all hurried into town because my granddaddy, “Dan Dan” might have seen a famous man. My granddaddy, was named Austin, my grandma was Doris followed by Evelyn,their last name, it was Peacock.

It was a big deal when they heard he was coming through and since everybody flocked to see him, I reckon we went too.

Or, I don’t know, maybe we just happened to be with our grandma and we waited on the sidewalk with the others in a town with just a caution light, one grocery store and eventually, my mama’s little cafe’.

My family might tell a different story than the one my memory cradles. I’m learning this happens to some of us, some of us with clarity buffered by old wounds.

But, I remember the excitement of him, the “Goat Man”

I first thought he’d be scary, a creature like man and goat, my little girl imagination found it not at all nonsensical to decide.

Instead, he was old and bearded and he sat up high on a seat with an even loftier pile of his belongings, a handwritten sign telling the onlookers they should prepare to meet God.

All of his stuff and him, pulled slowly forward by a bunch of goats tethered and it seemed to me the little animals were confused and without other options.

Is it goats or sheep they say are not so intelligent? I believe it’s sheep, maybe goats too.

Random, I know, I thought about the Goat Man the other day, thought about his choice to live in such a way. I wanted to know more, were there photos, was there more to explore about his way of wandering?

My initial fascination was over the load he carried, his burdensome travel and I’d planned to correlate it to thoughts on our burdens and worrisome load. Instead, I began to be fascinated by his life, his name, his chosen way.

I googled “The Goat Man” and was happy that I’d remembered him correctly, found photos in counties surrounding my county of childhood, peered closely at his load and tried to see exactly what all he carried.

I looked closely for signs of vocation, curious over how he made his way.

I saw his name, the name his mama gave him and the one that came from the father.

It was Charles.

What a solid name I thought, Charles.

I bet not many of us knew it. I read of his life as an itinerant preacher and how he’d been mugged a couple of times; but, was trying to make it to California. There was a certain actress his heart was set on meeting.

Eventually, he gave up and his mind and heart must’ve acknowledged there was no more preaching for him to do and no more ground to cover.

I thought of a man named John, actually two that have crossed my path more than once.

One, refusing help because of his need for inebriation. He continues sleeping in an old abandoned place. The other walks the streets and the back roads or I’ve seen him resting on the tables the Publix employees use for breaks.

Both of them have beautiful names, John.

I’m remembering Amanda…the one I’ve heard is so thin I’d not recognize now. If I saw her, I’d try to welcome her back in. Can’t help but think of the beauty of her name and the sweet lilting melody of Waylon Jennings…”Amanda…light of my life…”

Now I’m wondering if she’s ever heard the song, I’m trying to figure out how I might be sure she listens, how I’d rush to greet her, hold her in a hug and say her name, “Amanda” she’d be sure to know I was so glad to find her.

Yesterday, we were talking, our shelter staff and I, a former volunteer is coming to work. An answer to a prayer that God send staff who want more than just a job, people who understand why we help, someone with compassion.

And He has. He sent two by surprise.

She mentioned some names and we lingered long over the ones who were in good places, were wordless over the ones who’d again lost their way.

We can’t fully understand what we don’t know.

We can only respond with the kindness, kindness like calling them by name not by circumstance.

Not homeless, not drunk or druggie, not lazy or entitled, not “Goat Man” and not crazy, gunman or victim.

Charles chose to travel with God and goats and all of his belongings, it seems he was oblivious to the gawking eyes and spectacle of himself. He left his legacy, a big sign pointing out God.

Preparing to speak about suicide on Monday, I updated my bio and I added some things I’d not mentioned before, a description of an artist, a writer. Not elaborate or showy in their mention, simply acknowledged in a new way.

Unafraid to believe in the possibility of both and that mine and other stories can be rewritten.

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. You have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet,

the birds of the heavens, and the fish of the sea, whatever passes along the paths of the seas.

O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Psalms 8:3-6, 8-9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God is mindful of us, of us all.

He knows our names.

In tragedy and triumph, He knows.

Able to Run

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, eating disorder, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Almost 100 degrees and not expected to drop until around 8:00, so I lace up my shoes and I set out.

Thought of the earbuds but chose silence thinking is there any good thing extra I might hear and benefit from?

Striving for every kernel of truth, every recommendation for continuation or confirmation that the things I’m doing I’m doing right.

Instead my arms are free, the pavement too hot for the Labrador, I’m energized by the thought of just the one thing, the decision to walk swiftly until I reach the spot at the top of the long stretch of hill to the place that is level, obscured and a straightaway.

It is hot. My breathing rebellious against my plan and pattern and my legs, large and weighty as I try to be rhythmic in their lifting. “I just can’t run.” I’m known to say and today I was told “It’s a mental game.”

So, I remembered the days of before, the steep hills on the North Georgia campus, early morning my roommate and I starving ourselves in the cafeteria and running three times around the campus.

That was a different determination.

One contentious and filled with a fervent need to control at least one thing I could, my weight, my body, my fear in a strange and new environment.

“But forget all that— it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:18-19‬ ‭

I make it past five fences and houses and give in, I walk and then turn the corner towards the road shaded and step it up again.

Different now, I notice my feet lightly falling and my forwardness more at ease.

Cars pass and I’m unconcerned by the shape of my shorts riding up, crooked and cornered. I continue.

Different, my pace, softer.

Quiet thoughts become prayer.

Lord, thank you that I’m able.

Help me to be more willing.

me

I considered the things I’ve decided of late, bravely trying and being unconcerned with how far I might go or if I might not be invited to participate at all, knowing I’d not go anywhere at all

Unless I stepped out.

Stepped forward. Changed some things, cared less about who is watching, waiting for my fall, surrendering back to the sameness of me.

I told my cousin that I’d decided to put my art out in a new places, broader landscapes, it seems it’s not as popular here, or maybe it’s run its course.

She replied,

Even Jesus wasn’t popular in his own hometown, he had to leave, go other places. VC

So quick was her retort, a few words in a lovely and long conversation, wise kernels sprinkled in through her from God.

I arrived home, red faced and t-shirt clinging to my chest, my face sweaty and making little trails on my cheeks, I go for cold water.

Saying to my son, “I ran more than before.”

His reply, “Keep adding to it. Every day add more, that’s what it takes.”

I thought again about the thought becoming a prayer, thankful at my age and with all the trauma of my past, its potential toll on my body and my mind, my soul, that I am able and I’m more willing than ever.

So, my prayer will be that God sustains my able state while I catch up on my willingness, while I continue at a smooth and steady race towards the ideas He decided were for me a very long time ago.

Remembering it was art that landed me in that place of my youth and I faltered there, I was harmed in some horrible ways and yet, it remains the determination to create, the words, the colors, the love of expression.

I am still able.

Thank God, I’m able.

Able to move forward, sporadic spurts or long stretches strengthened by ability and a new decisive willingness.

Through Him.

He is able. He is willing.

LINKING THIS STORY UP WITH OTHERS WHO LOVE TO TELL OUR STORIES OF JESUS. LINK HERE:  http://marygeisen.com/laughter-is-the-best-medicine/

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Happy Way of Life #10

confidence, contentment, courage, happy, memoir, Peace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Thick, thick steamy not yet even summer day and

without much thought

at all

I decide against a meeting,

not necessarily required but expected.

And go straight home.

Peaceably, later I walk alone.

Intentional, the swing of my arms and the strength of my stride

The sun fades making shadows and settles warm like ocean tide

Shallow, against my legs treading back toward home

As I press on and on

On my own and better

For choosing home over expectation.

“Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind.”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭4:6‬ ‭ESV‬

A happy way of life.

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Are We There Yet