Trust

Dog and Pencil and Promise

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Homeless, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Like yesterday, I open my pretty journal. It’s the exact color of soft tangerine, like the chair from my husband’s mama’s home.

A list, oh, how I love and live by lists.

A new one every morning, today with new names and needs, two of them unexpectedly hard and two more most especially and welcomingly hopeful.

I thought the other day, is prayer the most simple of things, another of many we make laboriously complicated?

Even if I hadn’t carefully jotted down using my rose colored mechanical tool and strategically added a dot beside each need and name…

Wouldn’t God know, isn’t it true it’s not at all necessary that He see, read?

Practice, though, it’s a practice for me.

Today, my list includes

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING

Opportunities and assignments await, one a farewell piece to a monthly column, two others submissions for possibility, actually three and one, an in the works more probable than possible featured artist in a publication.

This one, a wow, the kind comments from an editor. I shared it with my son, surprised by the reply, as if to convey,

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Eleanor Roosevelt

I sit with my today list for a moment then suddenly, opening paragraphs are completed with pencil notations of subject and submission.

I have begun.

“My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131:1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I turn the page for empty spaces and discover a funny face of a child I began. I must’ve then handed the pencil over hoping to entertain her while her troubled mama and I met.

Lines all over my page, I’ll not tear it out or trash it, simply fill in the blank space and remember for a moment.

A little baby named Shyla, came home from hospital to our shelter, now a vivacious toddler with a smile that cannot be ignored.

A toddler with a passion and her mama with a purpose and me, us, our work a chance to be a part.

She called me last night, the mama. Things are going well, so very well. She’s a believer and she’s a bulldog to not give up or give in. She’s passionate about her progress, gives all the glory to God!

She’ll stop by, she said, with her daughters, one we got to help her bring into the world and the one we helped only a little with her reunification.

Then before goodbye she said “I love you.” first and it followed my reply, “I love you.”

Amazes me every time, drives me, compels my compassion.

So, I’ll not tear the scribbled all over page from my journal. I’ll remember on those days when I resent my work, when I’m grandiose in my ideas of being a painter and a writer only.

Lord, help me remember your equipping me for opportunities and your timing and your purpose. Help me remember I can do all of these things through you.

Forgive my resentment of what I see as obligation, work, and remind me again of my little spurts of writing that come all the more authentically when I sit and your spirit is evident becoming thoughts, words that flow.

Stop me when I justify my mood by reminding myself, my family, my friends, “I’ve been a helping professional almost 25 years!”

Remind me of days that flow like grace and days that are hard and filled with opposition and strife that all of a sudden settle and I’m met by the face of one whose countenance is now content.

Remind me again to wait, to wait for it to come. Make me passionate yet again about my work.

Flow so much all the more genuine, authentic and true.

Art and word, painting and writing, passions that feed and fuel me.

Thank you, Lord.

For a child’s scribbles in my journal, for opportunities and for potential in places that remind me to endure.

To be confident.

“So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭10:35-36‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Thank you for passion, enthusiasm that compels me to continue.

For

  • WRITING
  • PAINTING and
  • HELPING

Amen.

Linking up with TellHisStory writers.

http://marygeisen.com/tellhisstory/

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Happy Way of Life #9

Abuse Survivor, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, happy, kindness, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Saturday morning waking on cool crisp sheets and happy, simply to have missed the sunlight, to have slept just right.

I wake with wondering why I dreamt that I couldn’t find my mama and a dream that had no conclusion only a question, “Should we check to see if she’s okay?”

I understand, thank the Lord I understand and so the dreamy state leaves me light, not burdened.

I am better now.

I understand.

There were conversations and observations, I scanned an article about women dying at hands of abusers. I had thoughts of what to do or what not to do for a family and their mama, the wife.

Decided, simply pray.

“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭6:24-26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yet, another consideration buried deep and came out to frolic, my friend in Georgia, I want to know more and I want her to know that I want that.

She’s not well.

Still, I wake renewed and I’ll not bore you with the thing that’s helping…the Day 9 Whole30 thing.

I’ll just say.

Consider the possibility that your body feeds your mind with what you feed your body. I’m just sayin’…

Me

So, Saturday,

I’m open and wiling and I’m better!

I have new canvases and new thoughts and just a few hampered obligations!

No wonder I told Him, my Heavenly Father up there with my mama,

first thing,

Thank you God, for another day!

Fly Now

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

This bird theme is continuous lately and this morning I’ll be either thinkin’ about the crazy continuity of my seeing the red birds and knowing for sure it’s for something or unable to get the words of a country song, every girl’s anthem back then out of my head.

The one called “Born to Fly” with Sara Evans asking us how on earth do we wait for heaven and how do we keep our feet on the ground when we know, we know, we know, we were born to fly?

We both noticed, the sharp thump against the window, the same window I’d told her I was thankful for the view, the one adorned with the wisteria reminiscent of my youth.

A pause in conversation and the sound, both our faces follow and a beautiful bird, bright red, knocked against the highest window to get our notice and then promptly flew away.

Not a word for a moment or two.

We let it sink in.

Later, I leave our conversation and my car, alone in the parking lot now waits in its daily place, my approach is lazy after long day and so I see it there, not hurried in my leaving.

The driver side mirror of my car, a perch for the cardinal, the same bird in the window I decide and here I am and here it is and there’s a message in this.

I believe for sure, more surely than before.

I know the message now.

Continue, I’ll keep an eye out, guide you to the places you should go. Continue to follow.

God

I’ve become accustomed now to seeing them and before I thought well, I’m just more attentive, more fascinated, more curious about their presence.

Yet, it has become continuous in my periphery or planted directly in my view requiring no search, no pause, the vivid red bird refuses any longer to elude.

Early morning barely lit two days ago, I wake and see the figure just outside the door. I turn away, too early I decide, surely not again, probably just an ordinary robin, sparrow, or even crow.

Fly Now

Then its body lifts and yes, again, again, good morning to you too,

the cardinal first thing saying still, “I’m here.”

We believe there’s something to it, my friend and I. Coincidentally, I’ve decided I was not made to cower, rather to create and I know now to fly.

We were not made for fear.

Turing to my day’s Psalm, a Song of Ascent, I read a Psalm of David, words recalling escape from danger, words written to strengthen and lead the followers forward with courage.

Reminding them where their help came from.

“If it had not been the Lord who was on our side— let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side when people rose up against us, then they would have swallowed us up alive, when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters. Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth!

We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:1-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Focused now on flying and not so much on the fowlers, the ones who were bent on my capture, the ones who held me captive in their snares, focused on flying free now, thrilled and hopeful, strong and certain in my Lord who aided in my escape.

Born to fly.

Linking up with other writers guides by Kate Motaung’s prompt. “Fly”. I’m grateful for the prompting.

Five Minute Friday

Moon and Sun Together with Message

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

It’s a pivot is all, the motion of the body choosing one way over the other.

I open the door and pause, I’ll either go right or go left.

Either answer the bird call, the sky going blue or I’ll walk steady, coffee sat down on coaster and settle into the cushions, sort of sinking in and stuck.

Today, I chose the right and I remembered I love the morning and why.

Morning, most of all is to me without judgement.

Time briefly uncrowded, alone and without conversation.

It seems morning is worthy.

Worthy of such respect.

Morning, I believe the time most devoid of fear and fullest of perhaps.

The bordered sky, pink buffering to blueish violet hue.

Never a harsh beckon to come see, instead a call to step outside and to stand still,

To turn one side then the other and then discover before stepping through the door back in.

The moon still hanging,

the moon and the sun the same this morning, their calling of me.

Convincing me, be still, be still.

In this morning time, the moon, the sun they say.

Be still and know that He is God.

Momentarily, I turn to go inside then look back and see.

The two of them, together like goose and duckling or buck and a doe.

Two of them catch my eye, not typically together, usually one bright, the other with feathers tinted brown, they fly by, a couple.

Two females this morning, a cardinal pair catch my gaze and I’m astounded it has happened again.

Yesterday a friend shared something she’d been told.

…a cardinal’s presence represents a time to renew vitality through developing and accepting a new sense of our own true self.

Birds, red in color appearing almost always now. It’s extraordinary if you must know.

Back inside, I sit and write. I turn to read the guided passage in Timothy and in the Psalms.

The Labrador drops his tennis ball and waits at my feet. Morning, he knows.

He waits while I read.

Quiet every morning.

And the Psalm talks of birds and escape and how my hope is in the name of the Lord, how I’d once been held captive.

Now I’m free. So much more free.

“We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped! Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭124:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And I know for sure this much is true. The maker of every sunrise and moon waiting to fade away and the red birds perched and parading are for me, not against.

The maker of heaven and earth, of morning and night, the maker of me

and of you.

I am so very certain.

Certain of his knowing my name.

Yours too.

God is everywhere.

Don’t forget to notice.

For I’m not sure how long, I’ve linked my posts up on other writers’ blogs. In the beginning, I felt uncertain, felt “Community” was beyond my place as a writer. I decided to join, a hard thing for me and my insecurities, my measure of me.

What began as a hopeful chance to be seen has now become, dare I say it, a community. Reading the words of likeminded writers and reading the words of those with different expression, I’ve been educated, am now certain that I’m the only one with my voice, my experiences and my tone even.

Last week, we were in Genesis in Sunday school, the very beginning of the book. The question for discussion was about how God’s plan of creation made us feel about Him. Some said that we should honor Him, others said He’s in control.

I kept my response to myself, shared later with some women. I realized just how intricately I am made and how purposeful God was in creation. This means no need for competing, no cause for comparison.

As if God has said all along “Lisa Anne, You be you!”

The Tell His Story Community is a place to see this truth, to honor it, to honor God.

I’m so happy it is continuing and I know I’m not the only one!

You’ll be great, Mary! You be you.

Linking this post with others here:

Tell His Story

Practicing to Be Free

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, doubt, Faith, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I have a little pebble on which I wrote the word persist. It rests in the little dish shaped like an oak leaf, the color pale green, leaves marked with tender veins.

It has remained in this spot since I began.

Since I began to write.

This morning, I got specific with God.

After some names I list every morning, family, friends and some very ill suddenly others, I asked for help in my surrender to God’s control.

I added a few new phrases with marks of question…

  • Writing conference?
  • Writing memoir?
  • New site for art?
  • Incourage submission?
  • Piece on anxiety?

and a bold question.

Are any of these your will for me to pursue?

Added more names beside little bullets and finally, asked

Give me boldness, not fear.

Less than a few inches from one page of my journal to the other, I’ve added a verse I’d missed before, meant for me this morning.

In the first of the two Timothy books, chapter four, Timothy tells followers to persist.

I know the passage.

It’s underlined and has an angelic me in the margin, a scribbled note to self about persisting.

I continue through the passage and discover words new to me.

There for me to see.

An answer, already.

“Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.”

‭‭1 Timothy‬ ‭4:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Practice, submit the piece, paint new pieces, organize them like portfolio on display, continue writing, persist in painting.

I read again, the answer to my prayer and then got up from my spot to feed the dog.

Then discovered a bird in a panic, afraid.

A tiny bird, trapped in the corner of our porch was frantic, feathered wings faltering then flapping.

The Lab tilted his head to the side, his expression matching mine.

I move to help it be free and in an instant I see, the bird has flown from the corner, flying, flying free.

No longer bumping against our screen, cornered, hemmed in and unsure.

It continued, continued, continued until it was free.

Free like me, for me

For all of me to see.

Hopeful Brave and Possible

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, courage, doubt, Faith, happy, memoir, mercy, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

This morning I jotted in my journal, “You don’t need to be spectacular or famous to use what you know, what you have and have been given to tell your story…to tell what Jesus has done for you. Just be you, the Spirit will do the rest.”

And I knew this was true. Knew for sure I’d keep telling my stories of noticing God and noticing red birds and clouds and I’d keep sitting with my apron tied ’round my waist and I’d keep painting angels with old hymns inspiring their disposition.

All of it seems happenstance.

I never really believed in angels before they began to believe in me.

I’ll be doing an “artist” type thing very soon.

My brushes are clean, my work area is ready.

I’ve some new ideas for pieces I’ll call series’.

Some ideas for massive, mighty, color-filled canvases.

I’ll no longer have “The Art of Quiet Confidence” here, instead a new blog, portfolio and business type feel.

You see, I’ve decided to believe in some things others say are possible.

I’ve decided to agree with the ones who call me an artist.

The ones who call me a writer.

It’s a miracle you might not understand.

That somehow close to 60, I’ve decided to believe.

To be less apologetic, less doubtful and to meet the faces of those who speak kindly of my possibilities with a thankful “thank you” rather than an injured and hesitant acceptance of all I’d ever longed to be true.

I was created to create.

This, I know is true.

Is possible.

What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes. Mark‬ ‭9:23‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The Same Still

Children, courage, daughters, Faith, family, kindness, love, memoir, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

All the pretty pots sat near the sill.

Tender colors and smooth shapes. My niece has become a potter and all of her pieces, she’d brought home.

My weekend, I’ve named the weekend of nieces and it was a whirlwind, my daughter and I began at 5:20 in the morning on a Thursday and keep goin’ til late night on a Sunday.

I kept thinking, calling it, our trip on the “crazy train”.

Takeaways once we made it home through uncertain outcomes, a baby girl, perfection…a moonlit boat ride, a tropical storm, a downpour on a skinny back road and a time for bed ice cold beer with my uncle, excited over us joining him in the indulgence and laughter ’cause I decided not to be stubborn, to not keep driving on.

So we stayed the night with Aunt Boo because the rain had set in, the radar made my daughter a little scared.

Oh, the takeaway, yes, back to what I realized while walking, finally back home.

My family is diverse.

God has flung us one way and another and all within a three hour or so perimeter. Vastly different now, I kept thinking we are.

But, oh in many ways the same, just reshaped, reworked, fashioned as God would have us be, has had us become.

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭64:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Each of us, reflecting the other, changed only slightly by life’s ripples and waves.

My brother in law noticed me in my sister. I noticed my daughter in my niece. My daughter noticed my son in my brother in law and I noticed my mama and my daddy in the newborn great niece.

I noticed my daughter in me, oh, that’s a given.

In my brothers, I saw myself and in my nephew, I saw his daddy. In my niece, I saw me.

In my sister, well,

I saw my baby sister.

Time changes many things, grows us, moves us, melds us and muddles and befuddles us.

But, change us deep down?

Maybe not so much at all, just all worked a little differently, made to work a little differently.

Not meant for sameness, only similarity.

We, the work of His hands.

Reflections of those gone before us and looking over us, of one another and of God.

All things work for good, we all the work of His hands, vastly different, still the same.

Still, the same.

The same, still.

My Ungrowing

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The tiny houseplant was a gift to my daughter as a teacher. Its little pot barely containing the roots, yet I pull it from the pretty little pot, give it water and its leaves lift up and persist, my home, its home now.

Not sure why it’s taken so long to decide, to decide it needed room to grow and lifted it from the flimsy black pot and dig deep down the soil already waiting in a container that contained something planted before that would not for the life of me grow.

Moved the tender tiny clinging still plants to the border and I placed the philodendron (maybe) in the center and just because, I put the ceramic sparrow there, to rest and to watch with me, the new place the plant will grow.

“Revive me according to Your lovingkindness, So that I may keep the testimony of Your mouth.”

Psalms‬ ‭119:88‬ ‭NASB‬‬

I changed my morning spot, baffled over why I’d not thought to do so before.

Uncrowded now, the succulents are next to the others, two fat containers of thick odd things that grow best left alone. I’ll nourish this new planting, watch it flourish, see how it will go.

What a proud reply I’d been quick to give, popping back like an annoyingly cute little toddler pulling on the fabric of someone’s shirt, insisting on attention.

Interrupting all other conversation, anxious to be addressed, noticed, allowed to be the star of her own show.

“Me, me, Me!”

I was determined to be sure others knew I was there.

My confident reply even if no one asked, “I’m just gonna take every single opportunity I get to write.”

Their faces, sometimes awkward smiles and oh, okay, go you kinda responses.

Their reactions puzzled a little as if “This is different, who is this person?”

What began as an answer to prayer sort of sneakily meandered it’s way to obsession and half-hearted and hurried completion.

Let me tell you, Jesus was merciful in not allowing me to make a bigger mess of it. Clearly, a couple of columns, a few pieces were written two hours before deadline and what I know for sure.

It was only grace driven by God’s design of my days that He not me made sense, brought it all together.

None of it my creation alone, still God allowed me such grace in the midst.

Cause my heart was not in it. Thank you, Lord,

Yours was.

Were it not for me telling you so, you might never know. might think there’s no need for you to know.

The answer came one morning, the understanding of and making right this time.

“dormant”

I thought that is it. I’m in the dormant stage. It’s not so lovely a word and not ever say or think with regularity.

I checked to see if I had it right. Did it mean doing nothing, did it mean an on purpose lack of plowing and cultivating of my writing soil?

Yes, dormant. Yes, latent. Letting things lie, all the while knowing I’d be back, they as well.

Yes, stepping away and letting the roots grow in their own.

Dormancy, a season of inactivity because opportunities had somehow become contradictory to opportunity and were heartless obligation.

Counterintuitive, my “ungrowing” season.

I believe it will be.

The minds that are alive to every word from God, give constant opportunity for His divine interference with a suggestion that may alter the courses of their lives…Richard H. Hutton, Joy and Strength

Next week I’ll write my final “Faith” column for the small town paper. I’ll say thank you to all who’ve read and I’ll welcome the new one, the one who’s waiting already for simply a time to grow.

Now, my hope feels unhindered and my pathway one of peace. I’ve not forgotten the morning God, that you told me of my treasure, the one you planted there to grow.

Meanwhile, my hope is in my ungrowing, my revival in my rest.

I believe, Lord. I believe.

“Uphold me according to your promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope!” Psalms‬ ‭119:116‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This post by Holly Gerth confirmed my assurance that it’s okay, okay to wait and see what God has for me.

https://holleygerth.com/blog/

Hold Fast to Good

bravery, Children, courage, grief, love, Peace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Mostly people are talking today about the wedding, the biracial American actress not walked down the aisle by her father.

The Bishop who shouted out imagine love changing our world and the bride’s mother sitting alone amongst the spectacle and the spectacular.

Oh, I love a wedding! Gonna miss a bridal tea tomorrow but hope we get an invite to the wedding.

I’m trying to catch up now. I didn’t set my alarm and wake up in the dark for the nuptials. I’m catching up and I’m so sorry, but it only took a minute or two.

So, I scroll and I’m reminded of the ten students. Oddly, I thought how difficult it is to fathom, how impossible to relate.

The front page of our small town paper’s headline said, “Its real!” referencing the shouts of a teacher towards children, not a false alarm, a prank or a threat.

It’s real.

I had the strangest revelation today. Facebook has become the instigator, the shallow sharer, the ” Enquirer”.

Satisfied and informed over the Bishop’s exhortation, I turn away, searching for writing instruction and example.

I scroll Twitter and retweet, finally feeling to some extent how they must be feeling, parents

teachers

friends, grandmas, grandpas, custodians, coaches

boyfriends and girlfriends.

A student comes to America, to Texas from Pakistan and she’s soon to return home.

But, she’s been shot. Her life is over, I stared at the picture, a beautiful girl and I felt closer to feeling the thing that makes no sense.

Because the 17 year old with the hair in his eyes made me sad, made me wonder, made me unable to believe.

He could be a killer and how no one had noticed.

But I believe and I grieve only a hint of what they are grieving.

I see the face of a child thinking life was only beginning and yet it has ended.

Everybody woke to watch the royals and it had been less than a day passing when 10 people were shot to death by a boy who himself wanted to die.

And I, not normally political was changed and I’m grateful for it finally, by the face of a pretty girl in a country foreign to her.

Quite possibly believed to be safe, secure, American-ish home.

While everyone was watching a wedding, families in Texas were just trying to breathe.

And some were numb and ceremonially engaged in the plans to bury their babies, their daughters, sons, wives.

I cannot even.

I don’t know the answer; but, it may in fact start with love. May start with intentional notice and knowing.

Everyone is taking about the dress and the choir.

The outspoken spoken word, the lyric, the call to love.

If you don’t believe me, just stop and think and imagine, think and imagine, well, think and imagine a world where love is the way.

Bishop Michael Curry

What an odd contrast, a high school massacre and a royal wedding.

I’d be naive to believe it.

But, believe it still.

Jesus

and love,

the answers.

Hold fast. Love is still at least a part of the answer.

Contentment, a Choice

bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Peace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Towards the end of my walk sans Labrador and with instruction in my ears,

I took the trail instead of the cul de sac.

I gave up one thing already, an obligation accepted because someone thought I’d be good at its demands.

I didn’t paint a pretty or pitiful reason why I’d be quitting, simply said not for me anymore. Here’s what I accomplished, it was small, happy I could help meet a need. Now, you’ll need to find someone else.

I was truthful, confident in my choice of no.

Done. Accepted promptly and the reply was with gratitude.

I’d waited a month to tell them, Lord knows why.

Podcast almost done, one about the secret to contentment.

The voice in my ears started with a story of seasons in our lives when we’re so focused on the attainment of something to complete us, striving towards what we decide will be satisfying and then realizing why on earth did I push so stubbornly and steady towards what I know now didn’t shine so brightly after all.

Did that, done, what now, what next?

What can I do that might finally feel well done?

I’ve heard it before. The secret to a full life is learning to live in the moment, to be satisfied where you’re standing, to be content no matter the circumstances.

I listened as the podcast voice reminded of Paul’s teaching to those in Corinth and in Philippi.

His life, the fodder of many a memory verse, he learned to be content.

He learned. He learned through his mistakes. He paid attention to his times better, not worse.

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:11-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I approached the place where the anonymous dog barks incessantly, longing to know the footfall on the trail encroaching on his property.

I barely hear it; yet, I know he’s growling, struggling to break down the fence. I know he’ll keep barking, following me til I’m far from his fence.

I don’t hear him the same. The words in my ear, wisdom and better.

I turned just in time to see the way the sun was laying down its shadow on the open field, deciding it was good for me to walk this way today.

The right thing to choose long walk with a chance of a storm over a crosstown drive for a night of boot camp with the trainer.

It was good that I paid attention and I chose the other.

Later, I sent an email, informing an editor that June would be my last monthly contribution, explained to her I was trying to free up some space so that I could hear God’s plan more clearly, trying to make sure my focus is His.

Many will miss my column, the sweet ladies will wonder why. They’d grown accustomed to anticipating my picture in the paper and found it somehow celebrity like.

I realized I did too.

So, the secret to contentment is less me more Jesus.

Less believing that achievement and recognition will equal satisfaction. More realization of the thing that feeds my soul and enlightens my mind.

More quiet, being content no matter the notice of others, knowing so much more surely and unending I’m noticed by God.

Contentment, I’m reminded does not come naturally. It’s something we come back to because we remember how it feels.

We remember to be satisfied in so very little of what we say, do, aspire towards or even are recognized for.

We learn it’s not about us and we stay as surely as this crazy world allows in that place where the light came in, the place where God was illumined quite beautifully and clearly.

We give up being responsible for creating it.

We stop striving, cease controlling and we shield our ears from critical, chaotic or demanding requests like the bark of angry dog.

We learn to hear,

to fix our focus, the secret to being content, our choosing.

I’m prompted by the Five Minute Friday word, “Secret” and I always hope I can stop at five minutes, but never do: full disclosure.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/05/17/fmf-link-up-secret/

Still I couldn’t help but think of contentment and the secret to keeping it.