Under Heaven

Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized

On a rainy day, exhausted for good and really happy reasons.

I walked.

It’s good for me, so I walk.

Reluctantly, I walked.

Grey sky under puddled ground, I set out and noticed the beauty of grey against green all around.

To me, just as beautiful as the clear, bright blue.

The trees, feathery leaves offering

pink and white distractions.

I thought to myself; feeling odd, I love the sky no matter its color.

I love the vast openness of sky, anticipating my arrival.

God, offering up the wide sky like a flip chart meeting, a strategic gathering of bird, tree, sky, God and me.

Walking with intent or just in meantime

I stop, look down before opening gate back home.

Fixed on the beauty of a fallen camellia amongst scattered petals of pear tree blossoms.

Pausing there and feeling content

Regardless of storm.

Time, season and purpose under God’s heaven

Ecclesiastes 3

Fridays and Good Mornings -Seeing Jesus

Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

I could have more morning time and be elated, really I could.

My Bible, pencils, coffee and big dog waiting patiently.

As I read, journal, think and thank.

Happy about it or contented in the ease of moments doesn’t really express how much I’d like more morning.

I’m in the Book of Numbers, refusing to skip it along with Leviticus this time.

It’s passage and passage of muddling through; if, but, sacrifices and rules, regulations and particulars.

When I was a teenager, I dated the preacher’s rebel grandson. We sat in the back of the church and changed the words of the hymns to dirty songs.

What a sinful rebellion, I followed along.

We loaded up the church van on Saturday mornings and we all had palm-sized booklets, stories of Jesus we’d been coached to share.

I wanted to be there. I wanted to be a follower of the rules, a follower of Jesus.

We told the story of Jesus because the preacher told us to.

Most of us, I believe not knowing Jesus really at all.

At least not me.

Still, we were good pupils of the teachings.

We were compliant. We were afraid. We were forced.

And so, I’m reading Numbers, a Psalm, and now the Book of John.

Because I want to.

Psalms recalling the greed of the people led from wilderness, through a parted ocean sized sea, fed manna from heaven and water from a rock.

Safe, rescued and led; yet, longing and discontent.

These followers of law, empty, defeated and angry unwilling to subsist in the provision of God through his reluctant leader, Moses.

Never able to attain enough, be enough, walking straight, stubborn and stoic enough to see themselves worthy of the ways of law.

Following rules, striving for perfectly, afraid to believe in grace.

I’ve been there.

A child in church with an angry leader who wanted us all to go to heaven, but didn’t really believe we could.

I wonder now, who formed his shame-filled mind.

Caused him to preach shame and remorse over mercy, love, acceptance.

I came to know the love of Jesus in my thirties.

A desperate need has become a peaceful seeking.

I’ve been confounded to understand more

The grace and favor that require no merit at all.

Yesterday, I read about Judas bringing the soldiers to Jesus. He’d spent time with the Twelve, handpicked to follow. He was despondent, yet calmly submissive over the coming day of His sacrificial death.

Some had slept when asked to watch and pray.

Peter promised allegiance, then denied being acquainted with Jesus.

3 times.

Judas brought the soldiers to the quiet of the garden and Jesus calmly told them all, I’m the one you are looking to capture.

Then Jesus, knowing all that could happen to him, came forward and said to them, “Whom do you seek?” John 18: 4

I imagine his arms open, as if to welcome their violent intrusion.

I hadn’t thought of Jesus as courageous before I thought of dark, angry soldiers intent on his arrest.

I sat in the quiet and filled the margin of my Bible.

Sketching a lush garden of flowers, Jesus facing an army of men seeking to destroy.

If you had told me I’d be coloring in my Bible 30 years ago, I would have denied it.

It would be one of those rules I’d be terrified of breaking.

I would still be telling the story of Jesus, a good story from a little booklet, afraid to get it wrong.

I’d still be telling a story, prompted by shame.

I’d be telling the story, cautionary, spurned by forceful warning of Hell.

I’d be telling the story of one who never knew grace herself.

Never believed in the courageous, sacrificial arms wide open love of Jesus.

It would not be my story.

My story of now.

Of mornings with Jesus.

Answered prayers in His name.

And simple, graces and glimpses unexpected of heaven.

Like Mary Magdalene searching an empty place on a hopelessly longing and grieving morn.

Looking up to recognize the Savior as he said “Mary”.

Her story is mine.

I have seen the Lord. John 21:18

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Outside with Blues

grace, rest, Trust

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Prayers Left Alone

Children, courage, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

Mary loved Jesus.

She’d wiped his feet with her hair.

She’d spent time in worship while Martha was bitter, angry and anxious over his presence in their home…worried she might not be good enough still.

Martha and Mary both struggled over the delay in Jesus coming to help their brother. He was dead.

I imagine they felt, “Well, not all my prayers and struggles matter to Jesus”

I’m the same way.

One prayer spoken can bring what seems an immediate resolution while another lingers unresolved for what feels like years, sometimes is.

Mary waited quietly.

Martha, still anxious and panicked, ran out to ask “Why so long?”

Mary had the same question; but, with a surrendered approach, a desire to understand and grow, she went out to welcome Jesus.

I want to be like Mary; to hear Jesus say “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” John 11:40

Most days I’m so uncertain of prayer it’s almost a passing thought.

A passing thought like early yesterday morning.

My daughter called. Her wallet was lost; somewhere between job, soon to be new home, and her bedroom here. We’re transitioning, a wedding very soon.

She will be moving out.

My house is in total disarray. Doors are closed to rooms that have become storage units and pretty little spots are unorganized and off kilter.

I searched everywhere, finally the laundry room.

Standing in the center of a spot only big enough for my feet. Two laundry baskets overflowing and shelves covered in socks unmatched, towels, things waiting to be hung or thrown back in to fluff, I ran my hands though the clothing and searched for a wallet I had no idea how would haved ended up here.

Stopped then, giving up the search and said a silent prayer, really just a thought, “Lord, please help Heather find her wallet.” and then decided to just go on with my morning.

Texted her to say, “Sorry, no wallet here anywhere”. I expected to hear later she’d found it.

She replied, “I just found it.”

I told her I had prayed. “Power of prayer” she replied.

I’m praying for bigger things than misplaced wallets lately.

I’m praying with big lumps in my throat and with an honest pleading of surrender.

Praying so much it feels like angst, like work, like frustration.

Prayers that I know God is hearing; but, maybe wondering why I’m hesitant to believe.

Why I’m ranting so, when help is on the way…in time.

Maybe not as immediate a response as a laundry room prayer.

I’ll believe and I will see, soon.

As soon as I continue on my way, resolute in His glory.

As soon as I decide to stop my diligent search for the answer, like a wallet left at work that was never in any of the places I looked, after all.

If I’ll let go, sit quietly and wait to welcome the arrival of the one who heals.

If I will believe.

Have faith in God. Mark 11:24

I’m linking up with others who tell stories of believing.

Stumbling Into Morning

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Yesterday, I drank from my son’s cup. Paisley flowers, curlicues, creamy colored. A cup, bought by a still chubby, middle schooler on a church trip with his friends. He came home, announced, “Here, I got you something.”

So, I drank my coffee, turned my back from the window, the morning so heavy with fog, no desire to gaze towards sunrise.

I read of a man in the Book of John, unable to move towards the water, to be healed.

Scripture defining him as “an invalid’.

Him and many others, others who’d decided to go down into the water, to believe they might see change; to be an invalid no more.

To be valid.

But, he couldn’t figure out how to move towards healing; he didn’t believe he could move what must have been just steps away.

He couldn’t step. He expected he’d fall, an invalid, after all.

⁶When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?”⁷The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” ⁸Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” ⁹And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.

John 5: 5-9

I thought of all times I’m paralyzed, unable, unwilling to try, until I stumble back towards the water.

I thought of the invalid; vowing to never to use the description again, recognizing how low a feeling it is to doubt one’s validity.

Walking outside with dogs as morning requires, I noticed in the lingering fog, the pear tree beginning to bloom.

IMG_1667_kindlephoto-1055205

The blossoms barely there against the full of a bland sky, insignificant on this less than optimistic day.

This morning I’m drinking from a different cup. It’s lined in the color of bluebird. It’s a funky little cup, my daughter’s. A big, healthy hog etched in the center of its round edges.

My daughter loves pigs, goats, cats, dogs, cows, livestock, in general. Her bridal portrait on Sunday will have a backdrop of peach blossoms and trees spread so far and wide, for miles it seems.

This morning, I sat with her cup.

The sky spoke, saying…”You can’t imagine the day I have for you, Lisa!”

So, I moved towards our big backyard, looked up and knew it was true.

Not just today, but so many more to come.

Stumbling, prancing, walking slowly or simply standing still in the early morning

If I could, I’d count these birds of this morning, their voices all a flutter.

I’d touch each blossom of the white flowers of pear tree and I’d know undoubtedly the significance, the validity of my every day.

I’d write on my heart, in my palm with a sharpie or somehow remember more strongly…the beautiful mercy of believing and stumbling into morning to be healed.

Thin Layer Chocolate Sundays

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

a satisfied heart

If you went to my mama’s on Sunday, there was always cake.

There might be roast beef, butterbeans, corn and biscuits.

There would be mashed potatoes, thick and creamy, with a little place where the butter sat in a little hollowed out center.

Some gravy on top and sweet, glazy carrots, onions.

We’d eat together and we’d talk. Maybe walk to the pond or nap.

Waiting for time for a piece of cake.

Maybe caramel, coconut, pound or “thin layer” chocolate.

The one with the yellow softness of 16 or so tiny layers, thin and spongy.

Striated like zebra, chocolate, layer, chocolate, layer, chocolate….

The dark, dark sweet chocolate cooked stovetop and then poured on top of layer, one by one, smoothed with big, flat knife…slowly, gingerly.

Layers baked on the old black griddle and then eased onto a towel spread on kitchen counter.

Easy talk about life as I watched my mama bake, so lovingly and at peace.

She’d gently take the layers, one by one, placing carefully on a pretty cake plate as she added the rich, chocolate, shiny icing, still warm from the pot.

Chocolate icing so thick with sugar, melting like warm grains of sand on the tongue.

This past Sunday, we talked about the bread of life.

How we all try to fill ourselves up, seeking to be content.

Jobs, cars, clothes, burgers, fries, recognition, acclaim and appearance.

I thought this morning of the insatiable seeking for more, for better, for as good as him, as attractive as her. Wondered if joy were measurable, if contentment could be calculated, would it even be a ripple in the sea of our heart’s deepest desires.

To never have cake again on Sunday at mama’s is just a tiny little longing.

My heart knows the scene, holds the image, keeps safe the memory. It’s just as sweet, sweeter maybe.

To never be famous, have my art only on the walls of friends and family is unimportant, really.

As long as my heart knows the abandonment of paint covered hands and the chance to step back to gaze for a long time at an image known by my soul alone.

To write on this little blog, almost 300 times now… yet, never place a book of my words in the hands of my children.

Is not so tragic as long as my words get to come together occasionally in a way that reflects my soul.

My heart…that’s contentment.

Satisfaction, fully.

Because your love is better than life,
    my lips will glorify you.
I will praise you as long as I live,
    and in your name I will lift up my hands.
I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;
    with singing lips my mouth will praise you. Psalm 63:5

Linking up to Tell His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

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Life and Papers

Children, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, praise, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

Vignette of my life

My day was all over the place; my mind, too.

This first, then what? Work list, home list, wedding list

to do.

Starting, stopping, pausing, pecking at everything, but finishing nothin’!

I sat, disorganized and discouraged, looked up and over the scattered

stacks sorted just yesterday; making no sense now.

Paused at this little vignette. (I use that word to excess, ’cause I love it. So, no apologies for my pretty little indulgence of word.)

I saw it then, the little thing making sense of it all…

Oh, okay….this is the problem. The paperweight’s upside down.

Smiling then, accepting the now of my life.

But, I left it there; because for some reason it makes more sense this way….at least for now lightens the mood a little.

My baby girl is getting married 4 Saturdays from this very day.

My son is almost done with his first year of college. He had pancakes his sister cooked us just now.

A grant I wrote for our homeless shelter was approved.

I didn’t trip in my heels yesterday in front of a fancy audience of women.

The sun is shining. I’ll go for a walk.

Later ride to the country, my daughter’s new home soon.

Oh, the little, big things worth noticing.

Good day, friends and family.

Good day!

Thanks and Love Unprompted

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

When your children become grown-ups.

There’s a holding back, a fumbling for words sometimes in seeking to know, to just be a part.

All involved, in control, in charge…no more.

What was expectation before becomes tentative, should I ask…?

Questions feel at first, like awkward conversation, small talk sometimes.

Like your babies are just acquaintances now…just people you know and love, respect, admire.

Then, the sweetest things happen.

Sweet words or just something unexpected.

Thank you for that

or love your hair in this picture

And

Love you.

Crazy special and blessed when love happens unprompted.

And my prayers for them, my daughter and my son, jotted…little dots marking them…have been answered,

This week.

This month.

This year.

Be still, the Lord is Working

Children, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized

The sky this morning was dark.

Dull and heavy gray, the color of dirty mop water left in kitchen sink.

Unpleasant dark gray, dirt, dust and murk.

Grandma mopped her floor at night.

She dusted little mahogany shelves lined with tiny puppies, angels, bells, and kittens.

Pretty pink ceramic roses, so many little “nic-nacs”.

Forgot to drain the sink after hanging the mop from a nail on the back screen door.

She’d say, “Look at that, you better not be trackin’ dirt in my kitchen again.”

Early this morning, the trees were bent to their sides by the wind.

The kind of morning, at my grandma’s we’d have been real quiet.

All of us, cousins at grandma’s, the little white house on the hill filled with love, pancakes and butter cookies.

We’d have moved to the settee and sat straight up, feet dangling over edge, stiff and still.

Knees touching, a straight line of cousins, staring out the picture window, through the corn field towards Aunt Gloria’s.

We’d have sat there until the rumbling sky was a whisper not a jolt.

Until the wind no longer wrapped around us, sang its whistling song of swirl.

Because, my grandma would say, “This is the Lord’s work, be still.”

So, I wanted to cancel my trip today; wanted to be still.

Worried over my daughter driving before dawn.

Uneasy about the wind, the rain, the roads.

Prayed for her, journaling “Keep us safe, Lord…help us not be anxious.”

The little girl in me, round freckled face, crooked pixie cut bangs shielding shy blue eyes

Remembered her grandma’s instructions,

Remembered her grandma.

Be quiet.

The Lord is working.

The storm will pass, she said.

And it did.

Peace.

Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

One of those mornings, waking up early for no reason to a totally quiet house.

Read Psalms and Proverbs, day 16, before sleep. Needing to flush out the negative of social media overload.

The gluttony of politics making me nauseous. So, purposefully, I read from Psalms, from Proverbs.

Rest was good, full and sufficient.

Led me to wake without alarm, to greet the day before dawn.

Jesus Calling today, a reminder to shut out the craziness, distractions, disorder and get back to Jesus…back to peace.

So, I hold my Bible before opening.

Turn to guide, little check marks for my reading through this year.

Genesis and Exodus almost done, a quarter way through the Psalms and made it to the heart of Luke,

Oh, the beautiful words of Jesus here!

Today, I turned back, though before picking up at place from day before.

Wanted to reread a special passage.

The place in Exodus where I discovered my daddy’s name, Ruel.

A man who welcomed Moses in, fed him, blessed him and gave his blessing.

I wondered if he was quiet and handsome like daddy or if my grandmother, Cynthia, who I never had chance to know, chose this name on a morning years and years ago as she sat in the quiet with her Bible.

I believe she did, believe she chose my daddy’s name this way.

I can’t explain the joy of this, finding my daddy’s name there in the Book of Exodus.

Turning to Psalm 44, I read of people seeking God in time of unrest, crying out to Him.

Comforted by people who committed to “not turn back, not departed from God’s way” verse 18.

Finally read from Luke 7, Jesus’ loving response to a woman, her tears, falling from her face to wash His feet.

His words in response…
“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Peace.

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