Trust

Permission to Pray

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

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I prayed for her. The mama on the phone named Coretta,  the one who called twice.

Crying in a way unable to stop, hopeless over her situation, her tears were heavy, her voice muffled in the strain.

Job loss, homeless, four children, the shelter is full, ours and the others.

I suggested one thing, then another, said “Let me call here. Let me try this.”  She’d call me tomorrow she said, “We’ll figure out one more night.”

And I was tired.

It was late; but, I wanted her to hold on.

I told her, ” I’m going to pray for you tonight, is that okay?”

Then I sat, unable to forget her sad and defeated cry and I wondered when it happened…when did I find it necessary to ask permission to pray?

And why I never thought to grab the agency card, pay for one night somewhere…a bed for her children.

Then, help her with finding a shelter tomorrow.

It’s perplexing to me, what God would have me do and the hesitant person I’ve become. Why I question my interactions so much lately.

Why I feel so unlike myself, a woman who believes, is assured?

Longing to ask, God. How would you have me speak?  Why do I silence my faith in rooms filled with those who don’t believe your Word?

How is it that, I’m surprised by the contrast of my convictions with those I’d thought read and carried your same book, used it as guide?

If I could, I’d ask you, face to face, God.  I’d look up towards you, Lord, as you’re looking down towards my suddenly tentative, timid and tender heart…What is it, Lord that you’d have me to say?  Because my heart says speak loudly, but lovingly. Speak unapologetically, for the times are causing much fear, much alarm, much need for a God who is longing for our return to him…longing for our belief.

When did skepticism and cautionary hesitancy overshadow my longing to be known as a believer, a woman of faith?

When did my faith get so muffled, so obscure, so unwelcome, and so much contrasted that I’m shocked by my subtle denial and longing more than anything to be known as set apart.

Longing to be standing up straight and tall, content and confident,  not afraid to set my face like flint?

Tonight, I’ll pray for Coretta and again tomorrow. I’ll hope to meet her, hope to give beds and a roof to her family.  I’ll pray for her each time I remember her tears.There will be no question in my voice, the voice God will hear, the one He knows, no permission necessary.

I will pray. God will hear. Regardless of the others in the room.

Because I fear you Lord,  I pray. Because I believe you, revere you, trust you,  and thank you,

I pray.

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

 

Some things mean something

courage, Faith, family, praise, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

When something means something to you

You long to share, but keep it close for the sake of its significance.

A bird lifted its wings quickly and flew in a straight path as I opened the door to leave.  Frustrated, deciding to take a break, hear a song, circle a block…just let it be for a bit. I head towards my car, having nowhere to go.

Then, it lands, the bird on the fence, sitting pretty. Facing me,  its torso the most vibrant flash of red.  I stopped, hoped to see again, waited as it rustled in the tree.

A red bird, I paused and felt empowered…Keep at it, Lisa.  Continue, you will be okay. “Never settle for less than your worth.” my mama said.

I remembered her strength.IMG_2291_kindlephoto-26066626

And just now, tonight as I decided to wait for God’s plan, things are falling into place.

I hear from two more friends as I’m listening via an email to advice from  “writers of hope”.

I notice the words in the corner of my new book for notes, just above the place I jotted, “God has been in this all along, the people, the places, the tough  and desperate times…the times of believing.”

With God, all things are possible. Matthew 19:26,  it said in the corner of my notebook.

I open the door to the back porch. The dog is barking. I call him, he lingers.  He waits, as if to beckon.  I wait, then ease out into the early darkness of night, look up and see the moon with the fuzzy border.

Again, my mama. Again, God.

Reminding me to be brave.

believe

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

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When your day starts with questioning

you move forward with uncertainty.

Then you do the new thing you said you would.

You stretch your mind, your limbs, your lungs, breathing deeply and with intention…in a room filled with strangers.

And you join them in murmurs of “Namaste”,  but, you’re thinking, ” Selah…It is well.”

Because the prayer you prayed when instructed to breathe, to release the heavy load you’re holding

was “Believe, believe, believe…”

You decide to believe and the late morning brings warmth in the voice of a friend.

Soft, slow, southern and sensual…she said, “Oh, Lisa…I’ve just read your letter…I’d love to see you.”

Her voice, slow like slight breeze in an open field, drawn out, long pauses in between.

 Later, thinking of the day, I left the usual route.

Decided to walk through high grass and turned to notice the sway of tree, the glimmer of leaves.

Beauty catching my eye, settled.

The sunlight decisive in it’s place of setting shadows.

It is well. Believe.

Blessed is she who believed that there would be fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.  Luke 1:45

 

 

 

Steps and Beginnings

courage, family, grace, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I knew I’d feel like taking steps when early this morning

I noticed the sun making wide spaces on the ground

And illuminating the hydrangea.

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Coaxing color and bloom…you’ve started, now grow.

So I wrote them.

Six letters.

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Revealed my longing, invited their joining, sealed the envelopes.

The flag already up, outgoing mail waiting,  I added my  letters, conflicted over their opening in a day or two, maybe three.

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Colors of my Bible, women of my heart, a compilation of them of me, of God, of us.

Then, I wrote tonight, the foreword.

I began.

Wrote one paragraph, 12 sentences and saved it.

A step, just a step towards not changing my mind.

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.  Zechariah 4:10

 

Because of Honeysuckle

Faith, grace, praise, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

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Tonight I met someone offended by faith.  I didn’t know right away that their belief in not believing was a factor in their frustration.

I didnt know until I had begun to say goodbye and discovered in a random few words, they were devoid of faith, had decided to go it alone, were steadfast in their rebellion of its embrace.

Last night, I read a blog written by someone who’d decided the searching and seeking for God was a wasteful plummet into never quite good enough, never ever anything other than disgrace in the face of grace. I remember that lack, that lost.

The writer had decided to not be wrangled any longer,had decided to throw off the burden of impossible aspiring towards the good grace of God.

I thought of them both, I thought of the stubborn decision to not believe…to refuse to waver in their close fisted, closed mind and closed heart deciding to be independent of God.

I know God is in my days, in my details. I know my life before believing, when fear of measuring up led me to be convinced that believing was a venture down a path with no assurance of ever having a chance of arriving.

I remember those days of looking for God but not seeing Him.

I remember searching, being lost.

Worried he might see me, unaware that he always had and that what He saw He knew already.

Seeing God, believing God is nothing more, yet so much more than can be explained.

It’s encounter. It’s acceptance of being made, fearfully, wonderfully, knowingly and purposefully.

It’s yearning to walk with Him because you’ve walked without Him, without knowing His Son and believing in His mercy, accepting Him and His grace.

But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain.  I Corinthians 15:37

God is not an explanation, a reporting of data driven research.

God is relationship.  God is personal.

God is a tender force, ever present, beckoning us to turn, to trust, to linger, to be at peace.

I paused to notice the flowers tucked in the shrubbery. The dog was patient as I stopped, thinking what is this bloom, not honeysuckle; there was no vine.

The fragrance of the bloom reminding of my days on dirt roads my children holding hands.  I thought, how amazing is our earth that even blooms are family, even scents are in communion?

This is why I believe in God. Because my soul knows very well.

Moments like this, an evening walk, a blooming tiny flower and the timeliness of all of it

All at once to be noticed by me, by God.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. How wonderful are your works.

My soul knows it very well.

Psalm 139: 14

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Here’s a wonderful post about giving and generous acts unexpected:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/

Commas, Periods and Joy

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

I write grants. I  deplore asking for money. That’s tough, but an honest admission.

What I enjoy so, so much is sharing stories of our work, compelling others to come alongside in giving.

Two big grants were denied within days of each other…one large in amount, one large in significance.  Two things in my “pending” file that have now been decided upon, denial…not a comma, a period.

So, I decided to Let it go, Lisa.  Turn the page.  Close the book.

God is in control.  Walk by faith. Period.

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The monthly Faith column contributed for April: 

Grammar and God

I must admit there are times I could use an editor. In life and in writing I have a tendency to overuse the comma. Quite often and unnecessarily, I pause in the middle, hanging on to an idea, taking it down some path rather than closing with a firm ending, a period. If you’ve had more than a few conversations with me, you’ll know I can talk about a variety of things all at once. I have been told it can be hard to know whether I’ve finished with one thing before jumping to the next. I jump around and then pause, circling back to the beginning. I don’t think a comma would even help there. My life sometimes feels like a series of long run-on sentences.

A friend who is a wise conversationalist shared a bit of wisdom last week. Surprisingly, this insight came from a very young woman, a patient of hers. My friend, advising the young woman through trauma and life change, had been listening as her patient recalled her hardships. She paused, looked at my friend and said, “Maybe I should start using periods instead of commas.” She had essentially realized the time had come to rest, to accept certain truths.

In my desk, there’s a folder marked “pending”. About once a week I take it out, remind myself of its contents. I may remove a paper or finish a task left undone, but I don’t hassle over the items waiting. I leave them there in the place of pending. Life is full of waiting, wondering and pausing.

It can be torment to keep looking at what we don’t know, what’s not yet complete. We have commas and long pauses of doubt all over the places of our lives. What if we made prayer our pending file? Waiting would be less overwhelming. What if our lives modeled good grammar, God’s grammar? I decided to become more disciplined in my commas by adding more periods. I made a list of truths and marked them with strong, black dots of assurance, periods at the end of each. Have faith in God. Pray, and let God work. Trust God’s plan. God is good. God is in control. Let it go, Lisa.

The Book of James guides us in times of trouble. We are to expect trouble. We’re told there will be times we feel our “sentences” will never be complete, our circumstances unresolved, and our delays will lack an understanding. We will meet trials of various kinds. Do not doubt. Ask God. Believe. Don’t be tossed about. Ask in faith for wisdom, Amen,  add a period.

Count it all joy when you meet trials. The testing of your faith produces steadfastness. James 1:2

Turn the page.

Close the book.

Re-read your Faith column.

Live what you believe.

Count it as joy.

Tomorrow’s another day.

 

 

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as she reminds us all of the miralce we are, the miracles within and around us…http://jenniferdukeslee.com/miracle/

Seeing my Children

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

So, it must be what others have known.

The simplest of things that remind you of them little.

My daughter, a beautiful woman, ecstatic over the joy of dogs…

That’s the way she was.   The way she is.

Little girl, giggly lovely woman

over a dog overjoyed.

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When Heather comes home..

It was, I thought, the best part of the day…remembering dogs and her.

Little girl and dogs.

We hug  goodbye and then I walk with him, “Colton Dixon” I call him.

There’s time left in the day, so I walk.

A slight loneliness in my step.  There’s a glancing towards sky, a noticing of green trees swaying…looking to fill the space they’ve left open.

A small void….not such a pitiful or gaping hole

just a place you didn’t expect

to be so obvious.

Nothing to wait for…no one to anticipate coming in back door, down the hall.

Walking to clear the mind has become walking to fill the time.

I’m intent though and I walk on with prayers and thanks.

We turn, the set path and Colt turns his body towards the steep hill.

So, we go this way instead… to cut across the grassy field past the homes.

Topping the hill, a soft sound, a door shuts and I turn.

“Hey” he says. I smile, meeting the look of  little boy with light brown hair, damp with warmth of day over his eyes.

“Hey”, I say. Then, “How are you?”

“Fine.” he says, reaching down to tie his shoes…then bounces up, looks towards me and waves his hand…”Bye.” he says.

I saw him there, my son.  Little boy  legs, bounding out into the afternoon…little blue Keds on white socks and happy suntan cheeks.

Texted him later, one more exam he answers. “Did well on the one today.”

“Love you, call me if you want to talk” I say.

“Okay, love you too.” he texts.

The newlywed and the rising college sophomore…

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Austin- Recognition Day – a culmination of perserverance

I saw them as children today.

It was sweet and timely, good.

It was just enough.

Seeing my children, dogs and smiles.

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Pretty girl, Beagle puppy, little brother

Grace and Open Space

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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We turned the sharp turn towards the little house.

Dinner with the newlyweds, the planned welcome home.

I can see the roof from a distance on the long, main road.

Looking towards the right, in the distance past the wide field.

Yellow house under blue sky embraced all around by border of green.

I turned towards peach fields, all leaves now, blooms becoming soft, pretty fruit.

Wide open fields lined with trees for miles.

This is the place God graced them.

I look again, again, again.

Same place.

Same grace, still I look again and linger.

We eat together surrounded by ribbons, paper, china…talking, laughing, remembering bliss of the day they wed.

I  look towards window,  I can’t resist.

Almost night now, the trees lit low.

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My daughter is a wife.

I’m a surreal kind of floating happy, like not believing I was chosen to be an observer of her joy.

It’s a new happy, a graciously quiet content.

We say goodbyes to newly husband and wife.

And turn towards the sharp curve home in the road.

Almost cobalt dusky blue sky love, grace, and God.

I’m captivated, yet again

By the grace of their open space.

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Mud Rooms and God

Faith, family, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

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I cleaned the mudroom/dog’s room/art studio last night. It was an absolute mess! There was green paint, pale in places on the wall I hadn’t seen before.

I remember the painting, large and vibrant sunflowers against muddy muted green.

My hands and my fingertips I’d used to create the raised center of flowers and then with sandpaper and a metal tool, I’d distressed the background, removing paint, exposing the old wood underneath.

Art is tactile. Life and God, too.

His hands all over our lives, we in His hands.

We, the clay

He, the potter.

Us, the work of His hand.

I thought of my painting style, a bit impatient, erratic.

Calm, but with fury in my focus.

The potter, though, has a gentle hand. The potter is slowly creating, no rush all rhythm.

Giving and grace-filled, a light tender touch.

Taking away, adding to or starting again.

A blob of clay held steady near the lap of the potter becomes a beautiful vessel.

Every circumstance, a question about what’s ahead, whether happy, disappointing, or unfolding is a molding of me.

If I truly believe God’s hand is ever on my life, then I’ll not be afraid.

I’ll not worry.

I’ll not live with the anxiety that compels me to know everything all the time.

I’ll stay there, okay in not knowing all, His potter hands on my life, my heart and I’ll surrender.

I’ll sit still there, accepting what He has in mind for me, for those I love, all vessels made from clay into a beautiful design of the hands of the potter.

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
    We are the clay, you are the potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.  Isaiah 64:8

Tell His Story